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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Unaddressed Letters, by Anonymous
-
-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'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Unaddressed Letters
-
-Author: Anonymous
-
-Editor: Frank Athelstane Swettenham
-
-Release Date: November 22, 2014 [EBook #47420]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNADDRESSED LETTERS ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Clarity and the Online Distributed Proofreading
-Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
-images generously made available by The Internet
-Archive/American Libraries.)
-
-
-
-
-
-Transcriber’s Note:
-
-  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
-  For more transcriber’s notes, please go to the end of this book.
-
-
-
-
-UNADDRESSED LETTERS
-
-
-
-
-_By the same Author_
-
-
-MALAY SKETCHES
-
-Second Edition
-
-Cr. 8vo, 6s.
-
-
-
-
-UNADDRESSED
-LETTERS
-
-  EDITED BY
-  _FRANK ATHELSTANE
-  SWETTENHAM, K.C.M.G._
-
-[Illustration]
-
-  JOHN LANE
-  THE BODLEY HEAD
-  LONDON AND NEW YORK
-  MDCCCXCVIII
-
-
-
-
-  _All rights reserved_
-
-
-  Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
-  At the Ballantyne Press
-
-
-
-
-PREFACE
-
-
-“I had a friend who loved me;” but he has gone, and the “great gulf”
-is between us.
-
-After his death I received a packet of manuscript with these few
-words:--
-
-“What I have written may appeal to you because of our friendship, and
-because, when you come to read them, you will seek to grasp, in these
-apparent confidences, an inner meaning that to the end will elude you.
-If you think others, not the many but the few, might find here any
-answer to their unuttered questionings, any fellowship of sympathy in
-those experiences which are the milestones of our lives, then use the
-letters as you will, but without my name. I shall have gone, and the
-knowledge of my name would make no one either wiser or happier.”
-
-In the packet I found these letters. I cannot tell whether there is any
-special order in which they should be read--there was nothing to guide
-me on that point. I do not know whether they are to real or imaginary
-people, whether they were ever sent or only written as an amusement,
-a relief to feeling, or with a purpose--the one to which they are now
-put, for instance. One thing is certain, namely, that, however taken,
-they are not all indited to the same person; of that there seems to be
-convincing internal evidence.
-
-The writer was, by trade, a diplomatist; by inclination, a sportsman
-with literary and artistic tastes; by force of circumstances he was a
-student of many characters, and in some sense a cynic. He was also a
-traveller--not a great traveller, but he knew a good deal of Europe, a
-little of America, much of India and the further East. He spent some
-time in this neighbourhood, and was much interested in the country and
-its people. There is an Eastern atmosphere about many of the letters,
-and he made no secret of the fact that he was fascinated by the glamour
-of the lands of sunshine. He died very suddenly by misadventure, and,
-even to me, his packet of letters came rather as a revelation.
-
-Before determining to publish the letters, I showed them to a friend on
-whose opinion I knew the writer had set store. He said, “The critic
-will declare there is too much scenery, too much sentiment. Very likely
-he will be right for those whose lives are passed in the streets of
-London, and the letters will not interest so many readers as would
-stories of blood and murder. Yet leave them. Love is in the atmosphere
-day and night, and the scenery is in true proportion to our lives here,
-where, after all, sunsets are commoner than murders.” Therefore I have
-left them as they came to me, only using my discretion to omit some of
-the letters altogether.
-
-    F. A. S.
-
-    _February 12, 1898._
-
-    “_Thus fare you well right hertely beloved
-    frende ... and love me as you have ever
-    done, for I love you better than ever I dyd._”
-
-
-
-
-CONTENTS
-
-
-                                                        PAGE
-
-       I.  THE HILL OF SOLITUDE                            1
-
-      II.  OF WORSHIP                                      6
-
-     III.  WEST AND EAST                                  13
-
-      IV.  A CLEVER MONGOOSE                              21
-
-       V.  A BLUE DAY                                     33
-
-      VI.  OF LOVE, IN FICTION                            42
-
-     VII.  THE JINGLING COIN                              48
-
-    VIII.  A STRANGE SUNSET                               61
-
-      IX.  OF LETTER-WRITING                              68
-
-       X.  AT A FUNERAL                                   72
-
-      XI.  OF CHANGE AND DECAY                            82
-
-     XII.  DAUGHTERS AND DESPOTISM                        96
-
-    XIII.  HER FIANCÉ                                    107
-
-     XIV.  BY THE SEA                                    115
-
-      XV.  AN ILLUMINATION                               123
-
-     XVI.  OF DEATH, IN FICTION                          129
-
-    XVII.  A HAND AT ÉCARTÉ                              138
-
-   XVIII.  THE GENTLE ART OF VEERING WITH THE WIND       145
-
-     XIX.  A REJOINDER                                   153
-
-      XX.  OF IMPORTUNITY                                159
-
-     XXI.  OF COINCIDENCES                               168
-
-    XXII.  OF A COUNTRY-HOUSE CUSTOM                     175
-
-   XXIII.  A MERE LIE                                    182
-
-    XXIV.  TIGERS AND CROCODILES                         191
-
-     XXV.  A ROSE AND A MOTH                             203
-
-    XXVI.  A LOVE-PHILTRE                                209
-
-   XXVII.  MOONSTRUCK                                    220
-
-  XXVIII.  THE “DEVI”                                    229
-
-    XXIX. THE DEATH-CHAIN                                242
-
-     XXX. SCANDAL AND BANGLES                            252
-
-    XXXI. THE REPREHENSIBLE HABIT OF MAKING COMPARISONS  259
-
-   XXXII. A CHALLENGE                                    265
-
-  XXXIII. IN EXILE                                       270
-
-   XXXIV. OF LOVE--NOT IN FICTION                        284
-
-    XXXV. OF OBSESSION                                   295
-
-   XXXVI. OF PARADISE LOST                               303
-
-  XXXVII. “TO MARY, IN HEAVEN”                           307
-
-
-
-
-UNADDRESSED LETTERS
-
-
-
-
-I
-
-THE HILL OF SOLITUDE
-
-
-An hour ago I climbed the narrow, winding path that circles the Hill of
-Solitude, and as I gained the summit and sat upon that narrow bench,
-facing the west, I may have fallen into a trance, for there appeared to
-me an ever-changing vision of unearthly beauty.
-
-The sun was sinking into the sea, directly in a line with the wide
-estuary that marks a distant river’s mouth. It was setting in a blaze
-of molten gold, while all above and to the northward, the background of
-sky glowed with that extraordinary, clear pale-blue blent with green,
-that makes one of the most striking features of the sunsets seen from
-this hill. The clouds were fewer to-night, the background wider and
-clearer, the colour more intense, more transparent, as though the
-earnest gazer might even discern some greater glory, beyond and through
-the shining crystal of those heavenly windows.
-
-The calm surface of the sea beneath mirrored the lights above, till sea
-and sky vied with each other in a perfection of delicate translucent
-sheen. Northwards a few grey-gold clouds lay against this wondrous
-background, but in the south they were banked in heavy masses, far down
-the sky to the limits of vision.
-
-Out of a deep forest-clad valley, immediately behind the hill, a
-freshening breeze was driving volumes of white mist across the northern
-spur; driving it, at racing speed, in whirling, tangled wisps, across
-the water-holes that cluster around the foot of the great range;
-driving it over the wide plain, out towards the glittering coast-line.
-
-But in a moment, as though by magic, the thick banks of cloud in the
-south were barred with broad shafts of brilliant _rose dorée_; the
-spaces of clear sky, which, an instant before, were pale silver-blue,
-became pale green, momentarily deepening in intensity of tone. Close
-around the setting sun the gold was turning to flame, and, as the
-glory of magnificent colouring spread over all the south, the clouds
-took every rainbow hue, as though charged with a galaxy of living,
-palpitating radiance, grand yet fateful, a God-painted picture of
-battle and blazing cities, of routed hosts and desperate pursuit.
-
-Overhead, and filling the arc from zenith to the outer edge of
-sun-coloured cloud, the sky was a deep sapphire, half covered by soft,
-rounded clouds of deeper sapphire still, only their edges tinged with
-gleams of dull gold.
-
-Another sweep of the magic wand, and, as the patches of pale aquamarine
-deepened into emerald, the heavier clouds became heliotrope, and a
-thick heliotrope haze floated gently across the wide plain, seawards.
-The fires of crimson light blazed brighter in the gathering gloom of
-rising mist and lowering cloud, but the sea shone with ever-increasing
-clearness in the rapidly narrowing space of yet unhidden view.
-
-For a moment the mist disappeared, as suddenly as it came; the sapphire
-clouds took a deeper hue, heliotrope turned to purple, the crimson
-lights were softer but richer in colour, streaked with narrow bands of
-gold, and dark arrowlike shafts shot from the bow of Night.
-
-Standing there, it was as though one were vouchsafed, for a moment,
-a vision of the Heavenly City which enshrines the glory of God.
-One caught one’s breath and shivered, as at the sound of violins
-quivering under inspired fingers, or the voices of boys singing in a
-cathedral choir.
-
-All this while a solitary, ragged-edged cloud-kite hung, almost
-motionless, in middle distance, over the glittering waters of the river
-mouth. This cloud gathered blackness and motion, spread itself out,
-like a dark thick veil, and, as the mist, now grey and cold, closed in,
-the last sparks of the dying sunset were extinguished in the distant
-sea.
-
-And then I was stumbling down the path in the darkness, my eyes blinded
-by the glory of the vision; and as I groped through the gloom, and
-heard the wail of the night-wind rushing from those far-away mountains,
-across this lonely peak, I began to wonder whether I had not been
-dreaming dreams conjured up by the sadly-sweet associations of the
-place.
-
-The darkness deepened, and, as I reached the dividing saddle and began
-to mount the opposite hill, I heard the faint jingle of a dangling coin
-striking metal, and I said to myself that such associations, acting
-on the physical weariness resulting from days of intolerable strain,
-followed by nights of worse regret, were enough to account for far
-stranger journeys in the land which lies beyond the Gates of Ivory and
-Horn.
-
-
-
-
-II
-
-OF WORSHIP
-
-
-“This life--good as it can be--is horribly difficult and complicated.
-I feel as though I were walking in the dark, just stumbling along and
-groping my way--there seems to be no light to guide me--you are so far
-away, and there is ever that wall between us,--no higher than before,
-but quite as impenetrable--I wonder,--I wonder,--I wonder what the
-future will bring to you,--to me.”
-
-“I think of you up there, among the soft white clouds, watching the sun
-setting into the sea, while the great blue hills are melting through
-twilight into night. Oh! there’s nothing like that beauty here,--in
-the West,--and I am sick for the East and all her hot, passionate
-loveliness; all her colour and light; all her breadth and grandeur; for
-her magnificent storms and life,--life on a big scale. Here everything
-is so small, so petty, so trivial. I want,--I want,--I want,--that’s
-how I feel; I am lovesick and heartsick and sick for the sun. Well,
-this life is nearly done, and in the next I shall at least be
-worshipped.”
-
-That is well, and if you are worshipped you should not say “at least.”
-What more can you want? Especially since, having all other things and
-lacking worship, you would have nothing. They were not meant for this
-application, but these old Monkish lines are worth remembering:--
-
-    “_Qui Christum nescit, nil scit, si cætera noscit.
-     Qui Christum noscit, sat scit, si cætera nescit._”
-
-I hardly like to suggest it, but are you afraid of the “worship,” of
-its quality, or its lasting properties? Or, assured on these points, do
-you think worship alone will prove unsatisfying? I wonder.
-
-It is an attractive subject, and women disagree as to how it should
-be treated. The fact is, that they are seldom able to generalise;
-they do not take any great interest in generalities, and the answer
-to an impersonal question must have a personal application before it
-can be given. And not that alone, for where, as in this case, and,
-indeed, all those of greatest human interest, another person, a
-special person, is concerned, then the answer depends largely on that
-other person as well. You can, perhaps, in your own mind, think of
-some one or more from whom you would rather have a little worship,
-than become an object of lifelong adoration to many others who have
-seemed anxious to offer it. And that is not because their all was
-less than the little of those with a larger capacity for the worship
-of human beings, nor even because their appreciation of your personal
-worth is in any degree limited, or smaller by comparison with that of
-others. Probably it is exactly the reverse. But I will ask you, of your
-sweetness and light, to give me knowledge. Would you rather have the
-absolute, unsought worship of a man, or would you win, perchance even
-from his unwillingness, a devotion that, if it was not thrown at you,
-was probably, when gained, not likely to burn itself out in a blaze of
-ardent protestations? You will, of course, say that it depends on the
-attitude assumed by the man, and I reply that it does not, because the
-same man would never be found ready to render his service in either
-of these--well--disguises, if you will. It would be in one or in the
-other. Therefore my question will admit of the personal application,
-and you can go through your acquaintances, admirers, friends (I dare
-not say the other word), and tell me whether you would be most attracted
-by the man who fell at your feet and worshipped, giving of his ample
-store without effort and without stint, or by the man who, if he were
-a woman, would be called _difficile_. This problem will give you
-no trouble if, as I said before, you can work it out as a personal
-equation, and it is therefore only necessary that you should have
-amongst your friends two men of the required types.
-
-In return for your anticipated answer, I will give you this. There are
-many men who pay their court to women, if not all in one breath, or
-at one sitting, at least the phase is limited by a definite period.
-That period is usually shorter or longer in the inverse ratio of the
-violence of the attack. The operations result in a decisive action,
-where the man is either worsted or victorious. If he gains his end, and
-persuades the lady to take him for whatever he is worth, the ordinary
-type of Englishman will very often consider that his obligation towards
-her as an idolater, a lover,--whatever name you call the part by,--is
-over when the curtain comes down on the procession to the altar or
-to the office of the Registrar, or, at any rate, when the honeymoon
-has set and the duty-moon rises to wax and wane for evermore. That is
-the man to avoid; and if the womanly instinct, which is so useful and
-so little understanded of men (until they learn to fear its unerring
-accuracy), is only called upon in time, it will not mislead its owner.
-
-You know all this, you will say; very likely, but it is extraordinary
-how many thousands of women, especially English women, there are who
-are now eating out their hearts, because they neglected either to ask
-this question of their instincts or disregarded the answer. Probably
-it is very seldom asked; for a girl is hardly likely to suppose that,
-after feeding her on love for a few weeks, or months, the man will
-starve her of the one thing needful, until death does at last part
-them. He says he has not time for love-making, and he acts as though
-he had not the inclination either, though probably, somewhere in his
-system he keeps the forces that once stirred him to expressions of
-affection that now seem as needless as it would be to ask his servants
-for permission to eat the dinner which he has paid for, and which he
-can take or neglect, praise or find fault with, at his own will and
-pleasure.
-
-That is a very long homily, but it has grown out of the point of the
-pen, possibly because I am sitting here alone, “up in the soft white
-clouds,” as you say, or rather in the softer moonlight; and some of the
-littlenesses of life loom large, but not over-large, considering their
-bearing on the lifelong happiness, or misery, of men and women.
-
-Yes, I am sitting exactly where you imagined. It was on that sofa
-that you used to lie in the evenings, when you were too feeble to sit
-up, and I read to you out of a book of knowledge. But that was years
-and years ago, and now you wonder. Well, I too wonder, and--there, it
-has just struck 1 A.M.--I will wonder no more, but look out at the
-surpassing loveliness of this white night, and then--rest.
-
-It is so strange, I have come back to tell you. The soft white clouds
-are actually there--motionless--they cover everything, sea and plain
-and valley, everything but the loftiest ridges of this mountain. The
-moon rides high, turning to silver the tops of the great billowy
-clouds, while it shines full on this house and garden, casting deep
-shadows from the fern-trees across the gravel, and, from the eaves and
-pillars of the house, across the verandah. The air is perfectly still
-now, though, some hours ago, it was blowing a gale and the wind wailed
-as though mourning its own lost soul.
-
-It seemed then, as it tore round the corner of the house, to be
-crying, “I come from the rice swamps which have no dividing banks,
-from the waters which contain no fish, where the apes cry by night
-and the baboons drink as they hang from the boughs; a place where the
-_chinchîli_ resorts to bathe, and where man’s food is the _kĕmahang_
-fern.” Some day I will tell you more about that place.
-
-And the spirits of the storm that have passed and left this death-like
-stillness, where are they now? They went seaward, westward, to
-you-ward, but they will never reach you, and you will not hear their
-message.
-
-
-
-
-III
-
-WEST AND EAST
-
-
-One night, in the early months of this year, I sat at dinner next to a
-comparatively young married woman, of the type that is superlatively
-blonde in colour and somewhat over-ample in figure. She was
-indifferently dressed, not very well informed, but apparently anxious,
-by dint of much questioning, to improve her knowledge where possible.
-She was, I believe, a journalist.
-
-Some one must have told her that I had been in the East, and she,
-like most stay-at-home people, evidently thought that those who go
-beyond the shores of England can only be interested in, or have an
-acquaintance with, the foreign country wherein they have sojourned.
-Therefore the lady fired at me a volley of questions, about the
-manners and habits of the Malay people, whom she always referred to as
-“savages.” I ventured to say that she must have a mistaken, or at any
-rate incomplete, knowledge of the race to speak of Malays as savages,
-but she assured me that people who were black, and not Christians,
-could only be as she described them. I declined to accept that
-definition, and added that Malays are not black. I fancy she did not
-believe me; but she said it did not matter, as they were not white and
-wore no clothes. I am afraid I began to be almost irritated, for the
-long waits between the courses deprived me of all shelter from the rain
-of questions and inconsequent remarks.
-
-At last, I said, “It may surprise you to hear that these savages would
-think, if they saw you now, that you are very insufficiently clad;”
-and I added, to try and take the edge off a speech that I felt was
-inexcusably rude, “they consider the ordinary costume of white _men_ so
-immodest as to be almost indecent.” “Indeed,” said the lady, who only
-seemed to hear the last statement, “I have often thought so too, but I
-am surprised that savages, for I must call them savages, should mind
-about such things.” It was hopeless, and I asked how soon the great
-American people might be expected to send a force to occupy London.
-
-I have just been reminded of this conversation. A few days ago, I wrote
-to a friend of mine, a Malay Sultan, whom I have not seen for some
-months, a letter inquiring how he was, and saying I hoped soon to be
-able to visit him. Now comes his answer; and you, who are in sympathy
-with the East, will be able to appreciate the missive of this truculent
-savage.
-
-In the cover there were three enclosures: a formal letter of extreme
-politeness, written by a scribe, the Arabic characters formed as
-precisely and clearly as though they had been printed. Secondly, a
-letter written in my friend’s own hand, also in the Arabic character,
-but the handwriting is very difficult to decipher. And thirdly there
-is another paper, headed “Hidden Secrets,” written also in the
-Sultan’s own hand. The following is a translation of the beginning
-of the second letter. At the top of the first page is written, “Our
-friendship is sealed in the inmost recesses of my heart.” Then this:
-“I send this letter to my honoured and renowned friend” (here follow
-my name, designation, and some conventional compliments). The letter
-then continues: “You, my dear friend, are never out of my thoughts, and
-they are always wishing you well. I hear that you are coming to see me,
-and for that reason my heart is exceeding glad, as though the moon had
-fallen into my lap, or I had been given a cluster of flowers grown in
-the garden called _Bĕnjerâna Sri_, wide-opening under the influence of
-the sun’s warm rays. May God the Most Mighty hasten our meeting, so
-that I may assuage the thirst of longing in the happy realisation of
-my affectionate and changeless regard. At the moment of writing, by
-God’s grace, and thanks to your prayers, I and my family are in good
-health, and this district is in the enjoyment of peace; but the river
-is in flood, and has risen so high that I fear for the safety of the
-bridge.”
-
-There is more, but what I have quoted is enough to show you the style.
-When the savage has turned from his savagery he will write “Dear sir,”
-and “Yours truly”; his correspondence will be type-written, in English,
-and the flaxen-haired lady will remark with approval that the writer is
-a business man and a Christian, and hardly black at all.
-
-Whilst the Malays are still in my mind, it may interest you to know
-that they have a somewhat original form of verse in four-line stanzas,
-each stanza usually complete in itself, the second and fourth lines
-rhyming. The last two lines convey the sense, while the first two are
-only introduced to get the rhythm, and often mean nothing at all. Here
-are some specimens which may give you an idea of these _pantun_, as
-they are called, though in translating them I have made no attempt to
-give the necessary “jingle.”
-
-    “A climbing bean will gain the roof;
-       The red _hibiscus_ has no scent.
-     All eyes can see a house on fire;
-       No smoke the burning heart betrays.
-
-     Hark! the flutter of the death’s-head moth;
-       It flies behind the headman’s house.
-     Before the Almighty created Adam,
-       Our destinies were already united.
-
-     This is the twenty-first night of the moon,
-       The night when women die in child-birth.
-     I am but as a captive song-bird,
-       A captive bird in the hand of the fowler.
-
-     If you must travel far up river,
-       Search for me in every village;
-     If you must die, while I yet linger,
-       Wait for me at the Gate of Heaven.”
-
-One of the fascinations of letter-writing is that one can wander at
-will from one subject to another, as the butterflies flutter from
-flower to flower; but I suppose there is nearly always something
-that suggests to the writer the sequence of thought, though it might
-be difficult to explain exactly what that something is. I think the
-reference in the above stanzas to Adam and the Gate of Heaven,--or
-Paradise,--have suggested to me the snake,
-
-    “And even in Paradise devise the snake,”
-
-which reminds me that, last night, I said to the ancient and worthy
-person to whom is entrusted the care of this house--
-
-“Leave the drawing-room doors open while I am at dinner: the room gets
-overheated.”
-
-Then he, “I not like leave open the doors, because plenty snakes.”
-
-“Snakes: where?”
-
-“Outside, plenty snakes, leave doors open come inside.”
-
-“What sort of snakes?”
-
-“Long snakes” (stretching out his arm to show the length), “short
-snakes” (measuring off about a foot with the other hand).
-
-“Have you seen them?”
-
-“Yes, plenty.”
-
-This is cheerful news, and I inquire: “Where?”
-
-“In bedrooms.”
-
-“When?”
-
-“Sometimes daytime, sometimes night-time.”
-
-An even pleasanter prospect,--but I am still full of unbelief.
-
-“Have you seen them yourself?”
-
-“Yes, I kill.”
-
-“But when and how was it?”
-
-“One time master not here, lady staying here; daytime I kill one long
-snake, here, this room--night-time lady call me, I kill one short snake
-in bedroom.”
-
-“Which bedroom?”
-
-“Master’s bedroom.”
-
-That is not exactly reassuring, especially when you like to leave
-your doors and windows open, and sleep in the dark. I thank him, and
-he goes away, having entirely destroyed my peace of mind. The wicked
-old man! I wish I could have seen his face as he went out. Now I go
-delicately, both “daytime” and “night-time,” above all at night-time,
-and I am haunted by the dread of the “plenty long snake, plenty short
-snake.” In one’s bedroom too, it is a gruesome idea. If I had gone on
-questioning him, I dare say he would have told me he killed a “plenty
-long snake” inside the bed, trying to warm itself under the bed-clothes
-in this absurdly cold place. I always thought this a paradise, but
-without the snake. Alas! how easily one’s cherished beliefs are
-destroyed.
-
-It is past midnight; the moon is full, and looking down, resplendent
-in all her majesty, bathes everything in a silver radiance. I love to
-go and stand in it; but the verandahs are full of ferns, roses and
-honeysuckle twine round the pillars, the shadows are as dark as the
-lights are bright, and everywhere there is excellent cover for the
-“long snake” and the “short snake.” Perhaps bed is the safest place
-after all, and to-morrow--well, to-morrow I can send for a mongoose.
-
-
-
-
-IV
-
-A CLEVER MONGOOSE
-
-
-In my last letter I told you how the ancient who guards this Eden had
-complained of the prevalence of snakes, and I, with an experience
-which Adam does not appear to have possessed, determined to send for a
-mongoose to deal with the matter. Well, I saw nothing of the serpent,
-did not even dream about him, and forgot all about the mongoose. It is
-the thought of what I last wrote to you that reminds me of an excellent
-story, and a curious trick which I once witnessed, both having to do
-with the mongoose.
-
-First the story. A boy of twenty got into a train one day, and found,
-already seated in the carriage, a man of middle age, who had beside
-him, on the floor, a closed basket. The train started, and by-and-by
-the boy, feeling dull, looked at his companion, and, to break the ice,
-said--
-
-“Is that your basket, sir?”
-
-To which the stranger, who did not at all relish the idea of being
-dragged into a conversation with a strange youth, replied, “Yes, it
-is,” slightly stammering as he said it.
-
-A pause,--then the boy, “I beg your pardon, but is there some beast in
-it?”
-
-The man, annoyed, “Ye--es, there’s a m--mongoose in it.”
-
-The boy had no idea what a mongoose was, but he had the curiosity of
-youth and was unabashed, so he said, “May I ask what the mongoose is
-for?”
-
-The man, decidedly irritated, and wishing to silence his companion,
-“G--got a f--friend that sees snakes, t--taking the m--mongoose to
-catch ’em.”
-
-The boy concluded the stranger was mad, and wishing to pacify him,
-said--
-
-“Yes, but the snakes are not really there, are they?”
-
-The man, “No, n--neither is the m--mongoose.”
-
-Now as to my experience. Some years ago I was in Calcutta, and, walking
-in the street one day, I was accosted by a man carrying a bag and
-leading a mongoose by a string. He said, “I Madras man, master want
-to see plenty trick, I very good conjurer,” and he produced a sheaf of
-more or less grimy credentials, in which it was stated, by a number of
-reputable people, that he was a conjurer of unusual skill. When I had
-looked at some of the papers, he said, “I come master’s house, do
-trick, this very clever mongoose, I bring him show master.”
-
-I was quite willing, so I gave him my address and told him to come
-whenever he liked.
-
-Some days later the conjurer was announced, and there happened to be in
-my rooms at the time a German dealer in Japanese curios, who had seen
-rather more than usual during a sixteen years’ residence in Japan and
-the Farthest East. He was an extremely amusing old person, and glad of
-the opportunity of seeing the conjurer, who was duly admitted to our
-presence with his bag of properties. The very clever mongoose came in
-last, at the end of his string.
-
-The conjurer certainly justified his reputation, and performed some
-extremely clever tricks, while the mongoose sat by with a _blasé_
-expression, taking very little interest in the proceedings. When the
-conjurer had come to the end of his programme, or thought he had
-done enough, he offered to sell the secret of any trick I liked to
-buy, and, taking him at his word, I was shown several tricks, the
-extreme simplicity of the deceit, when once you knew it, being rather
-aggravating.
-
-In the interest of watching the performance and the subsequent
-explanations, I had forgotten the mongoose, and the conjurer was
-already pushing his paraphernalia into the sack, when I said, “But the
-mongoose, the clever mongoose, where is his trick?”
-
-The conjurer sat down again, pulled the mongoose towards him, and tied
-the end of his string to a chair leg, giving the little beast plenty
-of rope on which to play. Then the man pushed round in front of him
-an earthenware _chatty_ or water-vessel, which had hitherto stood on
-the floor, a piece of dirty cloth being tied over its mouth. Next the
-conjurer thrust his hand into the sack, and pulled out one of the
-trumpet-mouthed pipes on which Indians play weird and discordant airs.
-
-Now I want you to remember that this was my room, that the man’s
-stock-in-trade was contained in the sack which he had pushed on one
-side, that the pieces in the game were the mongoose, the _chatty_ (or
-what it contained), and the pipe, while the lynx-eyed curio-dealer and
-I sat as close as we pleased to see fair play. I am obliged to tell
-you that; of what happened I attempt no explanation, I only relate
-exactly what I saw.
-
-The stage being arranged as I have described, the conjurer drew the
-_chatty_ towards him, and said, “Got here one very good snake, catch
-him in field this morning;” at the same time he untied the cloth, and
-with a jerk threw on the floor an exceedingly lively snake, about three
-feet long. From the look of it, I should say it was not venomous. The
-conjurer had thrown the snake close to the mongoose, who jumped out of
-its way with surprising agility, while the conjurer kept driving it
-towards the little beast. Neither snake nor mongoose seemed to relish
-the situation, and to force the game the conjurer seized the snake by
-the tail, and, swinging it thereby, tried, two or three times, to hit
-the mongoose with it. This seemed to rouse both beast and reptile, and
-the mongoose, making a lightning-like movement, seized the snake by the
-head, shook it for a second or two, dragging it over the matting, and
-then dropped it on the floor. The instant the snake showed fight the
-conjurer had let it go, and the mongoose did the rest.
-
-Where the snake had been dragged, the floor was smeared with blood,
-and now the creature lay, giving a few spasmodic twitches of its body,
-and then was still. The conjurer pulled it towards him, held it up by
-the tail, and said laconically, “Snake dead.” The mongoose meanwhile
-sat quietly licking its paw as though nothing particular had happened.
-
-As the man held it up I looked very carefully at the snake; one eye was
-bulging out, by reason of a bite just over it; the head and neck were
-covered with blood, and as far as my judgment went, the thing was dead
-as Herod. The conjurer dropped the snake on the floor, where it fell
-limply, as any dead thing would, then he put it on its back and coiled
-it up, head inwards, saying again, “You see, snake dead.”
-
-He left the thing lying there, and searched in his sack till he found
-what appeared to be a very small piece of wood, it was, in fact,
-exactly like a wooden match. The sack, all this time, was at his
-side, but not close to him, while the snake was straight in front of
-him, under our noses. Breaking off a very small piece of the wood,
-he gave it to the mongoose, which began to eat it, apparently as a
-matter of duty. At the same time the conjurer took an even smaller
-bit of the same stuff, and opening the snake’s mouth, pushed the
-stick, or whatever it was, inside, and then shut the mouth again. This
-transaction would, I think, have convinced any one who saw it that
-there was no life in the snake.
-
-The conjurer now took up his pipe, and made it squeal some high
-discordant notes. Then taking it from his lips, he said in Hindustani,
-as he touched the snake’s tail with the pipe, “Put out your tail,”
-and the creature’s tail moved slowly outwards, a little way from
-the rest of the coiled body. The conjurer skirled another stave on
-his pipe, and as he lowered the instrument with his left hand, he
-exclaimed, “Snake all right now,” and stretched out his right hand
-at the same instant, to seize the reptile by the tail. Either as
-he touched it, or just before, the snake with one movement was up,
-wriggling and twisting, apparently more alive than when first taken
-out of the _chatty_. While the conjurer thrust it back into the vessel
-there was plenty of time to remark that, miraculous as the resurrection
-appeared to be, the creature’s eye still protruded through the blood
-which oozed from the hole in its head.
-
-As he tied the rag over the top of the _chatty_, the conjurer said,
-with a smile, “Very clever mongoose,” gathered up his sack, took the
-string of his clever assistant in his left hand, raised his right to
-his forehead, and with a low bow, and a respectful “Salâam, Sahib,” had
-left the room before I had quite grasped the situation.
-
-I looked at the dealer in curios, and, as with Bill Nye, “he gazed upon
-me,” but in our few minutes’ conversation, before he left, he could
-throw no light on the mystery, and we agreed that our philosophy was
-distinctly at fault.
-
-That evening I related what had taken place to half-a-dozen men, all of
-whom had lived in India for some years, and I asked if any of them had
-seen and could explain the phenomenon.
-
-No one had seen it, some had heard of it, all plainly doubted my story.
-One suggested that a new snake had been substituted for that killed by
-the mongoose, and another thought that there was no real snake at all,
-only a wooden make-believe. That rather exasperated me, and I said I
-was well enough acquainted with snakes to be able to distinguish them
-from chair-legs. As the company was decidedly sceptical, and inclined
-to be facetious at my expense, I said I would send for the man again,
-and they could tell me how the thing was done when they had seen it.
-
-I sent, and it so happened that the conjurer came on a Sunday, when I
-was sitting in the hall, on the ground-floor of the house where I was
-staying. The conjurer was already squatted on the white marble flags,
-with his sack and his _chatty_ (the mongoose’s string held under his
-foot), when my friends, the unbelievers, or some of them, returned
-from church, and joined me to watch the proceedings. I will not weary
-you by going through it all again. What took place then was an exact
-repetition of what occurred in my room, except that this time the
-man had a larger _chatty_, which contained several snakes, and when
-he had taken out one, and the mongoose had consented to lay hold of
-it, he worried the creature as a terrier does a rat, and, pulling his
-string away from under his master’s foot, he carried the snake into
-the corner of the room, whither the conjurer pursued him and deprived
-him of his prey. The result of the encounter was that the marble
-was smeared with streaks of blood that effectually disposed of the
-wooden-snake theory. That little incident was certainly not planned by
-the conjurer; but when the victim had been duly coiled on the floor and
-the bit of stick placed (like the coin with which to fee Charon) within
-its mouth, then, to my surprise, the conjurer re-opened the _chatty_,
-took out _another_ snake, which in its turn was apparently killed by
-the mongoose, and this one was coiled up and laid on the floor beside
-the first victim. Then, whilst the first corpse was duly resuscitated,
-according to the approved methods I have already described, the second
-lay on the floor, without a sign of life, and it was only when No.
-1 had been “resurrectioned,” and put back in the vessel, that the
-conjurer took up the case of No. 2, and, with him, repeated the miracle.
-
-This time I was so entertained by the manifest and expressed
-astonishment of the whilom scoffers, that again the conjurer had gone
-before I had an opportunity of buying this secret, if indeed he would
-have sold it. I never saw the man again.
-
-There is the story, and, even as it stands, I think you will admit
-that the explanation is not exactly apparent on the surface. I can
-assure you, however, that wherever the deception (and I diligently,
-but unsuccessfully, sought to find it), the performance was the most
-remarkable I have ever witnessed in any country. To see a creature,
-full of life,--and a snake, at close quarters, is apt to impress you
-with its vitality,--to see it killed, just under your eyes, to watch
-its last convulsive struggles, to feel it in your hands, and gaze
-at it as it lies, limp and dead, for a space of minutes; then heigh,
-presto! and the thing is wriggling about as lively as ever. It is a
-very curious trick--if trick it is.
-
-That, however, is not quite all.
-
-A month or two later I was sitting in the verandah of an hotel in Agra.
-A number of American globe-trotters occupied most of the other chairs,
-or stood about the porch, where I noticed there was a little knot of
-people gathered together. I was idly staring into the street when the
-words, “Very clever little mongoose,” suddenly attracted my attention,
-and I realised that two Indian conjurers were amusing the party in the
-porch. I went at once to the spot, and found the mongoose-snake trick
-was just beginning. I watched it with great attention, and I noticed
-that the mongoose only seemed to give the snake one single nip, and
-there was very little blood drawn. The business proceeded merrily, and
-in all respects in accordance with what I had already seen, until,
-at the conclusion of the sort of Salvation-Army resurrection-march,
-the juggler declared that the snake was quite alive and well--but he
-was not, he was dead, dead as Bahram the Great Hunter. No piping
-or tickling or pulling of his tail could awaken the very faintest
-response from that limp carcass, and the conjurers shuffled their
-things together with downcast faces, and departed in what the
-spectators called “a frost.” To them, no doubt, the game was absolutely
-meaningless; to me it seemed that the mongoose had “exceeded his
-instructions.”
-
-
-
-
-V
-
-A BLUE DAY
-
-
-“There is a green hill,” you know it well; it is not very “far away,”
-perhaps a little over a mile, but then that mile is not quite like
-other miles. For one thing it takes you up 500 feet, and as that is
-the last pull to reach the highest point of this range (the summit
-of a mountain over 5000 feet in height), the climb is steep. Indeed,
-one begins by going down some rough stone steps, between two immense
-granite boulders; then you make a half-circuit of the hill by a path
-cut on the level, and thence descend for at least 250 feet, till you
-are on the narrow saddle which joins this peak to the rest of the
-range. Really, therefore, in a distance of little over half a mile
-there is an ascent of 750 feet.
-
-And what a path it is that brings you here! For I am now on the summit,
-though several times on the way I was sorely tempted to sit down and
-put on paper the picture of that road as it lay before my eyes. It is
-a narrow jungle track, originally made by the rhinoceros, the bison,
-and the elephant, and now simply kept clear of falling trees. It is
-exceeding steep, as I have said, and you may remember. It begins by
-following the stony bed of a mountain stream, dry in fine weather, but
-full of water after half-an-hour’s tropical rain. Where the path
-is not covered by roots or stones, it is of a chocolate colour; but,
-in the main, it is overspread by a network of gnarled and knotted
-tree-roots, which, in the lapse of ages, have become so interlaced
-that they hide the soil. These roots, the stones round which they are
-often twined, and the banks on either side, are covered by mosses in
-infinite variety, so that when you look upwards the path stands like a
-moss-grown cleft in the wood.
-
-The forest through which this track leads is a mass of dwarfed trees,
-of palms, shrubs, and creepers. Every tree, without exception, is
-clothed with moss, wherever there is room to cling on branch or stem,
-while often there are great fat tufts of it growing in and round the
-forks, or at any other place with convenient holding. The trees are
-moss-grown, but that is only where the innumerable creepers, ferns,
-and orchids leave any space to cover. The way in which these things
-climb up, embrace, and hang to every tree or stick that will give them
-a footing is simply marvellous. Even the great granite boulders are
-hidden by this wealth of irresistible vegetation. Through the green
-foliage blaze vivid patches of scarlet, marking the dazzling blossoms
-of a rhododendron that may be seen in all directions, but usually
-perched high on some convenient tree. Then there is the wonderful
-magnolia with its creamy petals; the jungle apple-blossom, whose white
-flowers are now turning to crimson berries; the forest lilac, graceful
-in form, and a warm heliotrope in colour. These first catch the eye,
-but, by-and-by, one realises that there are orchids everywhere, and
-that, if the blossoms are not great in size or wonderful in colour,
-they are still charming in form, and painted in delicate soft tones of
-lilac and brown, orange and lemon, while one, with strings of large,
-pale, apple-green blossoms, is as lovely as it is _bizarre_.
-
-As for palms, the forest is full of them, in every size, colour, and
-shape; and wherever the sunlight can break through the foliage will be
-found the graceful fronds of the giant tree-fern. Lastly, the ground
-is carpeted with an extravagant luxuriance of ferns and flowers and
-“creeping things innumerable, both small and great.” The wasteful
-abundance of it all is what first strikes one, and then you begin to
-see the beauty of the details. Masses of _lycopodium_, ringing all the
-changes through wonderful metallic-blue to dark and light green, and
-then to russet brown; there are Malay primroses, yellow and blue, and a
-most delightful little pale-violet trumpet, with crinkled lip, gazing
-towards the light from the highest point of its delicate stem. On
-either side of this path one sees a dozen jungle flowers in different
-shades of blue or lilac; it seems to be the prevailing colour for the
-small flowers, as scarlet and yellow are for the great masses of more
-striking blossom. And then there are birds--oh yes, there are birds,
-but they are strange, like their surroundings. At the foot of this hill
-I came suddenly on a great black-and-white hornbill, which, seeing me,
-slowly got up and flew away with the noise of a train passing at a
-distance. High up the path was a collection of small birds, flitting
-and twittering amongst the leaves. There were hardly two of the same
-plumage, but most of them carried their tails spread out like fans,
-and many had pronounced tufts of feathers on their heads. The birds at
-this height are usually silent, and, when they make any sound at all,
-they do not seem to sing but to call; and from the jungle all round,
-far and near, loud and faint, will be heard similar answering calls. I
-was surprised to hear, suddenly, some bars of song, close by me, and I
-waited for a long time, peering earnestly into the tree from which the
-sound came; but I saw nothing and heard nothing beyond the perpetual
-double note (short and long, with the accent on the latter) of a bird
-that must be the bore and outcast of the forest.
-
-Coming out into the clearing which crowns the hill, I passed several
-kinds of graceful grasses, ten or twelve feet high, and the flight
-of steps which leads to the actual summit is cut through a mass of
-bracken, over and through which hang the strange, delicately painted
-cups of the _nepenthes_, the stems of the bracken rising from a bed
-made rosy by the countless blossoms of a three-pointed pale-pink
-starwort.
-
-In the jungle one could only see the things within reach, but, once on
-the peak, one has only eyes for the grandeur and magnificence of an
-unequalled spectacle.
-
-The view seems limitless, it is complete in every direction, unbarred
-by any obstruction, natural or artificial. First I look eastwards to
-those great ranges of unexplored mountains, rising tier after tier,
-their outlines clear as cut cameos against the grey-blue sky. Betwixt
-them and my point of sight flows a great river, and though it is ten or
-twelve miles distant as the crow flies, I can see that it is brown with
-flood-water, and, in some places, overflowing its banks. Nearer lie the
-green rice-fields and orchards, and, nearer still, the spurs of the
-great range on whose highest point I stand.
-
-Then northward, that is the view that is usually shut out from me.
-It is only hill and dale, river and plain, but it is grand by reason
-of its extent, beautiful in colour and form, intensely attractive in
-the vastness of those miles of mysterious jungle, untrodden, save by
-the feet of wild beasts; endless successions of mountain and valley,
-peak and spur, immovable and eternal. You know there are grey days and
-golden days; as there are crimson and heliotrope evenings, white, and,
-alas! also black nights--well, this is a blue day. There is sunlight,
-but it is not in your eyes, it only gives light without shedding its
-own colour on the landscape. The atmosphere seems to be blue; the sky
-is blue, except on the horizon, where it pales into a clear grey. Blue
-forest-clad hills rise, in the middle distance, from an azure plain,
-and the distant mountains are sapphire, deep sapphire. The effect is
-strange and uncommon, but supremely beautiful.
-
-Westward, a deep valley runs down from this range into the flat,
-forest-covered plains, till, nearing the coast, great patches of light
-mark fields of sugar-canes and thousands upon thousands of acres of
-rice. Then the sea, the sea dotted by distant islands, the nearest
-thirty miles away, the farthest perhaps fifty. The morning heat is
-drawing a veil of haze across the distance; on a clear evening a great
-island, eighty miles away to the northward, is clearly visible.
-
-I turn to the south, and straight before me rises the grand blue peak
-of a mountain, 6000 feet high, and not more than six miles away. It
-is the highest point of a gigantic mass of hill that seems to fill
-the great space between the flooded river and the bright calm sea.
-Looking across the eastern shoulder of the mountain, the eye wanders
-over a wide plain, lost far away to the south in cloud-wrapt distance.
-Beyond the western slopes lies the calm mirror of a summer sea, whereon
-many islands seem to float. The coast-line is broken, picturesque and
-beautiful, by reason of its many indentations and the line of bold
-hills which, rising sheer out of the water, seem to guard the shore.
-
-Due west I see across the deep valley into my friend’s house,
-where it crowns the ridge, and then beyond to that vast plain which,
-in its miles and miles of forest-covered flatness, broken by great
-river-mouths, long vistas of deep lagoons, and a group of shining pools
-scattered over its surface, forms one of the strangest features in
-this matchless panorama of mountain, river and plain, sea, sky, and
-ever-changing cloud-effects.
-
-There is an empty one-roomed hut of brown palm-leaves on this most
-lonely peak. One pushes the mat window upwards and supports it on a
-stick,--beneath the window is a primitive seat or couch. That is where
-I have been sitting, a cool breeze blowing softly through the wide open
-windows. I could not stay there any longer, the place seemed full of
-memories of another day, when there was no need, and no inclination, to
-look outside to see the beauty of the world and the divine perfection
-of the Creator’s genius. And then I heard something, it must have
-been fancy, but there was a faint but distinct jingle of metal.
-
-It is better out here, sitting on a moss-grown boulder in the pleasant
-warmth of the sun. The swifts are circling the hill, and they flash
-past me with the hiss of a sword cleaving the air. I look down on the
-tops of all these stunted trees, heavy with their burden of creepers
-and mosses straining towards the light. A great bunch of pitcher-plants
-is hanging in front of me, pitcher-plants a foot long, scarlet and
-yellow, green and purple, in all the stages of their growth, their lids
-standing tilted upwards, leaving the pitcher open to be filled by any
-passing shower. But my eyes travel across all the intervening miles to
-rest upon the sea, the sea which is now of a quite indescribable blue,
-basking under a sky of the same colour. Out there, westward, if I could
-only pierce the distance, I should see----
-
-Ah! the great white clouds are rising and warning me to go. Good-bye!
-good-bye! for you the missing words are as plain as these.
-
-
-
-
-VI
-
-OF LOVE, IN FICTION
-
-
-I have been reading “Casa Braccio,” and I must talk to you about it.
-Of course I do not know whether you have read it or not, so if I bore
-you forgive me. I was much interested in Part I., rather disappointed
-with Part II., and it struck me that Mr. Crawford showed signs in Part
-III. of weariness with the characters of his own creation. There are
-nine people who play important parts in the story, and the author kills
-six of them. The first, an abbess, dies naturally but conveniently;
-the second, an innkeeper’s daughter, dies suddenly, by misadventure;
-the third, a nun, dies, one is not told how, when, or where--but
-she dies. This is disappointing, because she promised to be a very
-interesting character. Then the fourth, daughter of No. 3, commits
-suicide, because, having run away from her husband, and got tired of
-the other man, the husband declines to have her back. The fifth, a
-most uninteresting and weak-kneed individual, is an artist, husband
-of No. 4, and he dies, apparently to make himself disagreeable; while
-the sixth, the original cause of all the trouble, is murdered by the
-innkeeper, who has been hunting him, like a good Christian, for twenty
-years, determined to kill him when found, under the mistaken impression
-that he eloped with, and disposed of, his daughter, No. 2.
-
-No one can deny that the author has dealt out destruction with
-impartiality, and it is rather strange, for Mr. Crawford often likes to
-use his characters for two or even three books; that is why, I think,
-he got a little tired with these particular people, and determined
-to bury them. Out of this lot he has kept only three for future
-vivisection and ultimate extinction.
-
-I trust that, if you have not read the book already, you will be
-induced, by what I have told you, to get “Casa Braccio,” for you will
-find many interesting human problems discussed in it, and many others
-suggested for the consideration of the reader. Here, for instance, is a
-text which may well give you pause, “The widowhood of the unsatisfied
-is hell, compared with the bereavement of complete possession.”
-
-Now what do you say to that? For I am sure the somewhat bald, if not
-positively repellent, look and sound of the words, will not deter you
-from considering the truth or falseness of the statement. I do not
-altogether like the theory; and one may even be permitted to differ
-from the conclusion contained in the text. But the reason why this
-sentence arrested my attention is because you quote, “_L’absence ni
-le temps ne sont rien quand on aime_,” and later, you appeal to the
-East as a place of broader views, of deeper feeling, of longer, wider
-experience than the West. You appeal to the East, and this is what a
-Persian poet says:--
-
-    “All that is by nature twain,
-     Fears and suffers by the pain
-     Of separation--Love is only perfect,
-     When itself transcends itself,
-     And one with that it loves
-     In Undivided Being blends.”
-
-Now, how do you reconcile the Western with the Eastern statement, and
-will either support the “Casa Braccio” theory? You tell me that time
-and absence count for nothing as between lovers; the Persian says that
-separation, under these circumstances, is the one calamity most to be
-dreaded, and that love cannot be perfect without union. The French
-writer evidently believed that “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,”
-while the Eastern, without saying, “Out of sight, out of mind,” clearly
-thought that love in absence is a very poor substitute for the passion
-which sees, hears, and touches the object of its adoration. Undoubtedly
-the Eastern expressed the feeling, not only of his own countrymen, but
-of all other Orientals, and probably of Western lovers as well; but if
-the separation is a matter of necessity, then the Western character,
-the feeling of loyalty towards and faith in the object of our love,
-helps us to the belief that “Partings and tears and absence” none need
-fear, provided the regard is mutual. It is a good creed, and the only
-one to uphold, but we are not so blind that we cannot see how often it
-fails to secure even fidelity; while who would deny the Persian’s
-contention that the bond cannot be perfect in absence?
-
-“The widowhood of the unsatisfied is hell, compared with the
-bereavement of complete possession.”
-
-No, certainly, it does not look well. It is hardly worth while to
-inquire into the bereavement of a complete possession that was not
-only satisfied but satiated; therefore the comparison must be between
-perfect love realised, and love that is only not perfected because
-unrealised. If that is so, then the text appears to be false in
-theory, for, inasmuch as nothing earthly can be more perfect than that
-realisation of mutual affection which the same Persian describes as--
-
-    “She and I no more,
-     But in one Undivided Being blended,”--
-
-so the severance of that union by death must be the greatest of human
-ills.
-
-“The widowhood of the unsatisfied” admits of so many special
-constructions, each of which would accentuate the despair of the
-unsatisfied, that it makes the consideration rather difficult, but, in
-any case, the magnitude of the loss must be imaginative. It is only,
-therefore, by supposing that no realisation could be so perfect as to
-equal the ideal of imagination, that the theory of the text could be
-established. If that be granted, and it were also admitted that the
-widowhood of this unsatisfied imagination were as hell, compared with
-“the bereavement of complete possession,” that would merely show that
-“complete possession” is worth very little, and no one need grieve
-because their longings after a purely imaginary heaven had been widowed
-before being wedded to the hell of such a disappointing possession.
-
-In any case, I think one is forced to the conclusion that the man (and
-one must assume it to be a man, in spite of the word “widowhood”) who
-should thus express his feelings would never agree that “_L’absence
-ni le temps ne sont rien quand on aime_;” that is, of course, supposing
-he has not got beyond the protesting and unsatisfied stage. Once
-arrived, he would doubtless subscribe to the phrase with virtuous
-stolidity. Personally I think, as you probably do, that these words
-of De Musset give a most charming description of the best form of
-that true friendship which time cannot weaken nor absence change. For
-friends it is admirable, for lovers, no.
-
-I have not sought out this riddle for the purpose of airing my own
-views, but to draw from you an expression of yours. You say my letters
-are the most tantalising in the world, as I never tell you anything
-you want to know; just leading up to what most interests you, and then
-breaking off to something else. If there is nothing in this letter to
-interest you, at least I have kept to one subject, and I have discussed
-it as though I were expressing a real opinion! One can hardly do more
-than that. You see, if I gave you no opportunity of scolding me, you
-might never write!
-
-
-
-
-VII
-
-THE JINGLING COIN
-
-
-You ask me the meaning of the jingling coin. It was a tale I heard that
-impressed me, and sometimes comes back with a strange fascination. Did
-I never tell you? Well, here it is.
-
-I was in India, staying at a hill station, no matter where. I met there
-a man who for years had spent his holidays in the place, and, walking
-with him one day up a narrow mountain-path to the top of a hill, whence
-there was a magnificent view of the Himalayan snows, we passed a small
-stone slab on which was cut a date. The stone was at a spot where,
-from the path, was a sheer fall of several hundreds of feet, and as we
-passed it my companion said--“Look at that. I will tell you what it
-means when we get to the top.”
-
-As we lay on the grass and feasted our eyes upon the incomparable
-spectacle, before which earthly lives and troubles seemed so
-insignificant, my companion told his tale. I now repeat it, as nearly
-as I can remember, in his own words.
-
-“If I tell you this story,” he said, “you must not ask me how I know
-the details, or seek for any particulars beyond what I give you.
-
-“During one of my many visits to this place, I met a man whom I had
-seen before and heard a good deal about, for he was one of those people
-who concern themselves with no one’s business but their own, and,
-therefore, their affairs seem to have a special attraction for the
-Philistine. He knew that rumour was busy with his name, but beyond
-the fact that he became more reserved than nature had already made
-him, the gossip, which was always founded on imagination, sometimes
-on jealousy, and even malice, seemed to make no impression whatever.
-That may have been the result of a strong character, but partly, no
-doubt, it was due to the fact that all his public life had been lived
-under the fierce light of a criticism that was, in a way, the measure
-of his success. His friends (and he was fortunate in the possession of
-particularly loyal friends of both sexes) realised that if, even to
-them, this man showed little of his real self, he sometimes writhed
-under calumnies of which no one knew the authorship, and the existence
-of which only reached him rarely, through his most intimate friends.
-For his own reasons he kept his own counsel, and I doubt whether any
-one knew as much of the real man as I did. A few months before the
-time I speak of he had made the acquaintance of a girl, or, perhaps I
-ought to say, a woman, for she was married, who was, with her mother,
-visiting India. When first the man met this girl he was amazed, and,
-to some extent, carried away by her extraordinary beauty. But his work
-took him elsewhere, and, beyond that first impression, which had so
-powerfully affected him, there was neither time nor opportunity to
-ascertain whether the lovely exterior was the casket to a priceless
-jewel, or only the beautiful form harbouring a mindless, soulless,
-disappointment. She had heard of the man, and while unwilling to be
-prejudiced by gossip, she was on her guard, and rather afraid of a
-cynicism which her quick intelligence had noted at their first meeting.
-Otherwise she was,--womanlike and generous,--curious to see, and to
-judge for herself, what manner of man this was, against whom more than
-one indiscreet acquaintance had already warned her.
-
-“Some time elapsed, and then these two found themselves staying in the
-same house. The man realised the attractions of the woman’s glorious
-beauty, and he honestly determined that he would neither think, nor
-look, nor utter any feeling beyond that of ordinary friendship. This
-resolve he as honestly kept, and, though accident threw in his way
-every kind of opportunity, and he was constantly alone with the girl,
-he made no attempt to read her character, to seek her confidence, or
-to obtain her friendship;--indeed, he charged himself with having been
-somewhat neglectful in those attentions which make the courtesy of man
-to woman,--and, when they parted, he questioned whether any man had
-ever been so much in this woman’s society without saying a word that
-might not have been shouted in the market-place. Somehow the man had
-an intuitive feeling that gossip had supplied the girl with a not too
-friendly sketch of him, and he, for once, abandoned the cynicism that,
-had he cared less, might have prompted him to convey any impression of
-himself, so long as it should not be the true one. To her this visit
-said nothing beyond the fact that the man, as she found him, was quite
-unlike his picture, as painted by professed friends, and that the
-reality interested her.
-
-“The three Fateful Sisters, who weave the destinies of men and women
-into such strange tangles, threw these two across each other’s
-paths, until the man, at least, sought to aid Fortune, in providing
-opportunities for meeting one whose attractive personality appealed so
-greatly to his artistic sense. Chance helped him, and, again catching
-together the threads of these lives, Destiny twisted them into a single
-strand. One brief day, or less, is enough to make a bond that only
-death can sever, and for this man and woman there were days and days
-when, in spite of resistance, their lives were gradually drawn so close
-together that at last the rivets were as strong as they were invisible.
-
-“The triumphant beauty of the woman, rare and disturbing though it was,
-would not alone have overcome him, but, as the days went by, and they
-were brought more and more into each other’s society, she gradually
-let him see the greater beauty of her soul; and small wonder if he
-found the combined attractions irresistible. She was so young that I
-have called her a girl, and yet she had seen as much of life as many
-women twice her age. Her beauty and charm of manner had brought her
-hosts of admirers, but still she was completely unspoilt, and devoid
-of either coquetry or self-consciousness. A lovely face, lighted by the
-winning expression of an intelligent mind and a warm, loving nature;
-a graceful, willowy figure, whose lissom movements showed a quite
-uncommon strength and power of endurance; these outward attractions,
-united to quick discernment, absolute honesty of speech and intention,
-a bright energy, perfectly unaffected manners, and a courage of the
-highest order, moral as well as physical, fascinated a man, the
-business of whose life had been to study his fellow-creatures. He felt
-certain that he saw here--
-
-    “‘_La main qui ne trahit, la bouche qui ne ment._’
-
-“His experience had given him a horror of weakness in every form, and
-here, he realised, was a woman who was only capable of great thoughts
-and great deeds, obeying the dictates of her own heart and mind, not
-the suggestions of the weaker brethren. If she fell, it would be as an
-angel might fall, through love of one of the sons of men.
-
-“Her shy reserve slowly gave way to confidence, and, in the sympathy
-of closer friendship, she let him see beauties of soul of which he
-would have deemed it sacrilege to speak to another. What drew her to
-him I cannot tell; perhaps his profound reverence for, and admiration
-of, her sex, his complete understanding of herself, or perhaps some
-quality of his own. I had not her confidence, so cannot say; but there
-were men who recognised his fascination, due in part, no doubt, to his
-compelling will. Perhaps she was simply carried away by the man’s
-overpowering love, which at last declared itself. They realised the
-hopelessness of the position, and yet they both took comfort from their
-mutual love and trust in each other’s unchanging faith. That was all
-they had to look forward to,--that and Fate.
-
-“With that poor prospect before them he gave her, on a day, a gold
-coin, ‘for luck,’ he said--an ancient Indian coin of some forgotten
-dynasty, and she hung it on a bangle and said laughingly, that if
-ever she were likely to forget him the jingle of the coin would be a
-ceaseless reminder of the giver. And so the thing lived there day and
-night, and, when she moved, it made little musical sounds, singing its
-story to her willing ears, as it struck against the bangle from which
-it hung.
-
-“Then they came here, he to his work, she to see the snows and some
-friends, before leaving India for Japan, or California, or some other
-stage of the voyage which brings no rest to the troubled soul. One
-day they had ridden up here, and were returning down the hill. It was
-afternoon, and she was riding in front, he behind, the syces following.
-The path is narrow, as you saw, and very steep. She dropped something,
-stopped, and called a syce to pick it up. Her horse was impatient,
-got his head round, and, as the syce approached, backed over the edge
-of the road. The thing was done in an instant, the horse was over the
-side, down on his belly, terror-struck and struggling in the loose
-earth. The man had only time to shout, ‘Get off! get off!’ but she
-could not get off, the horse had fallen on his off side, and, as the
-man threw himself on the road, her horse rolled slowly right over her,
-with a horrible crunching noise,--then faster, over her again, and then
-horse and rider disappeared, and, crashing through the undergrowth,
-banging against great granite boulders, fell with a horrible thud, far
-down the height.
-
-“He had never seen her face; she had her back towards him, and she
-never uttered a sound.
-
-“The road makes a long détour, and then comes back, several hundred
-feet lower down, to a spot almost directly underneath the point where
-the accident happened. A little way in from there the man saw the horse
-lying perfectly still, with its neck broken. Higher up the bank he
-found the woman, moaning a little, but quite unconscious, crushed and
-torn,--you have seen the place and you can guess. She only lived a few
-minutes.
-
-“When at last the man awoke out of his stupor, to lift her up and carry
-her down to the path, he noticed that the bangle and the coin had both
-gone, wrenched off in that wild plunge through trees and stones into
-eternity--or oblivion.
-
-“The man waited there, while one of the syces went for help and a
-litter, and it was only after they had carried her home that I saw him.
-I could hardly recognise him. There were times when I had thought him
-the saddest-looking man I had ever seen, but this was different. There
-was a grey, drawn setness on his face, and something in his eyes I did
-not care to look at. He and I were living in the same house, and in the
-evening he told me briefly what had happened, and several times, both
-while he spoke and afterwards, I saw him throw up his head and listen
-intently. I asked him what it was, and he said, ‘Nothing, I thought I
-heard something.’ Later, he started suddenly, and said--
-
-“‘Did you hear that?’
-
-“‘Hear what?’ I asked.
-
-“‘A faint jingling noise,’ he replied. ‘You must have heard it; did you
-do it?’
-
-“But I had heard nothing, and I said so.
-
-“He got up and looked about to see if any one was moving, and then came
-back and sat down again. I tried to make him go to bed, but he would
-not, and I left him there at last.
-
-“They buried her the next evening, and all the English in the station
-were there. The man and I stood on the outskirts of the people, and
-we lingered till they had gone, and then watched the grave-diggers
-finish the filling of the grave, put on the sods, and finally leave
-the place. As they built up the earth, and shaped it into the form of
-a roof to cover that narrow dwelling, the man winced under every blow
-of the spades, as though he were receiving them on his own body. There
-was nothing to say, and we said nothing, but more than once I noticed
-the man in that listening attitude, and I began to be alarmed about
-him. I got him home, and except for that look, which had not left his
-face, and the intentness with which I sometimes caught him listening,
-there was nothing strange in his manner; only he hardly spoke at all.
-On subsequent evenings for the next fortnight he talked more than usual
-about himself, and as I knew that he often spent a good deal of time
-in, or looking on to, the cemetery, I was not surprised to hear him say
-that he thought it a particularly attractive graveyard, and one where
-it would be pleasant to lie, if one had to be put away somewhere. It is
-on the hill, you know, by the church, and one can see the eternal snows
-across that blue valley which divides us from the highlands of Sikkim.
-He was insistent, and made me remark that, as far as he was concerned,
-there could be no better place to lie than in this God’s Acre.
-
-“Once or twice, again, he asked me if I did not hear a jingle, and
-constantly, especially in the quiet of evening, I saw him start and
-listen, till sometimes I really began to think I heard the noise he
-described.
-
-“A few evenings later, but less than a month after the accident, I
-went to bed, leaving him cleaning a revolver which he thought a deal
-of, and certainly he could shoot very straight with it. I was sitting
-half-undressed, when I heard a loud report, and you may imagine the
-feelings with which I ran to the room where I had left him. He was
-sitting at the table, with his left hand raised, as though to reach his
-heart, and his right straight down by his side, the revolver on the
-floor beneath it. He was dead, shot through the heart; but his head
-was slightly thrown back, his eyes wide open, and in them that look of
-listening expectancy I had seen so often of late. At the corners of his
-mouth there seemed to be the shadow of the faintest smile.
-
-“At the inquest I explained that I left him cleaning the pistol,
-and that, as it had a hair-trigger, no doubt it had gone off by
-misadventure. When each of the jurors had, in turn, raised the hammer,
-and found it was hardly necessary to touch the trigger in order to fire
-the weapon, they unanimously returned a verdict of ‘accidental death.’”
-
-“It is curious,” concluded my companion, “but I sometimes think _I_
-hear the jingle of that coin, especially if I am alone on this hill,
-or sitting by myself at night in the house where that sad accident
-happened.” He put a slight stress on the word “accident,” that was not
-lost on me.
-
-As we passed the stone, on our way down the hill, I seemed to see that
-horse blunder backwards over the edge of the path, to hear the slow,
-crunching roll, and then the crash and ghastly thud, far down below;
-and, as an involuntary shudder crept slowly down my back, I thought _I_
-heard the faint jingle of that ill-omened piece of gold.
-
-
-
-
-VIII
-
-A STRANGE SUNSET
-
-
-You will think I am eternally babbling of sunsets, but no one, with a
-spark of feeling, could be here and not be moved to the depths of his
-nature by the matchless, the ever-changing beauty of the wonderful
-pictures that are so constantly before his eyes. People who are utterly
-commonplace, whose instincts seem, in some respects, to approach those
-of the beasts, when they come here are amazed into new sensations, and,
-in unaccustomed words, voice the expression of their admiration. If I
-weary you, pardon me, and remember that you are the only victim of my
-exaltation.
-
-One looks for a sunset in the west, does one not? and that is the
-direction in which to find it here as elsewhere; but to-night the
-marvellous effects of the setting sun were, for a time, confined almost
-entirely to the east, or, to be strictly accurate, rather to the south
-of east. Facing that direction one looks across a remarkable ridge,
-entirely covered by giant forest trees. The ridge dips in a sort of
-crescent from about 4500 feet in height at one extremity to 3000 feet
-at the other, and extends for a distance of perhaps two miles between
-the horns. Beyond and below the ridge lies a great, fertile valley,
-watered by a stately river, along the opposite bank of which runs a
-range of hills, varying in height from 2000 to 3000 feet. Behind these
-hills there is another valley, another range, and then a succession of
-ever-loftier mountains, forming the main chain.
-
-The sun had disappeared behind a thick bank of grey clouds, and the
-only evidence of his presence was in the lambent edges of these clouds,
-which here and there glittered like molten metal. The western sky was,
-except for this bank, extraordinarily clear and cloudless, of a pale
-translucent blue, flecked here and there by tiny cloud-boats, airy
-and delicate, moving very slowly across the empyrean. I noticed this
-because what I saw in the east was so remarkable that I noted every
-detail.
-
-Against a background the colour of a hedge-sparrow’s egg in the
-south, and blue without the green in the east, stood one white cloud,
-like a huge plume, with its base resting on the many ranges across the
-river, while it seemed to lean towards me, the top of the plume being
-almost over my head. At first the plume shone, from base to top, with
-a golden effulgence; but this gradually gave place to that lovely tint
-which I can only describe as _rose dorée_, the warm colour momentarily
-intensifying in tone until it suffused the entire cloud with such a
-roseate blush that all the hills beneath, and all the fast-darkening
-plain, blushed in response.
-
-For twenty minutes that glowing plume of softly rounded, feathery
-cloud stood framed against its wondrous blue-green background, the
-rosy colour of the cloud deepening as the land beneath it gathered
-blackness. Then, almost imperceptibly, the glow flickered and
-died, leaving only an immense grey-white cloud hanging over the
-night-shrouded plain.
-
-The sun, I knew, had long sunk beneath the horizon. Though I could
-see nothing behind that thick curtain of cloud, I waited, for the
-after-glow, seen from this height, is often more wonderful than the
-actual sunset. Five minutes of dull greyness, and then the whole
-western sky, for a space above the horizon, was overspread with pale
-gold, while countless shafts of brighter light radiated, as from the
-hub of the Sun-God’s chariot-wheel, across the gilded space, into
-the blue heights above. In the midst of this pale golden sheen there
-appeared, almost due west, and low down in the sky, a silver crescent,
-fine as a thread, curved upwards like the lip of a cup of which bowl
-and stem were invisible. It was the new-born moon.
-
-Gradually all sunlight failed, and close above the long, narrow bank
-of dark clouds, clearly etched against their grey background, hung a
-now golden crescent, into which seemed to be falling a solitary star of
-surpassing brilliance.
-
-To stand alone here in the presence of Nature, to witness the marvels
-of sunrise or sunset, the strange influence of nights of ravishing
-moonlight and days of quickening heat, impresses one with the
-conviction that if Oriental language is couched in terms that sound
-extravagant to Western ears, the reason is not far to seek. Nature
-revels here; one can really see things grow, where the sun shines every
-day as it never shines in lands of cold and fog. Natural phenomena are
-on a grander scale; the lightning is more vivid, the thunder more
-deafening, the rain a deluge against which the feeble artifices of man
-offer no protection. The moonlight is brighter, the shadows deeper,
-the darkness blacker than in northern climes. So the vegetation covers
-the earth, climbs on to the rocks, and disputes possession even with
-the waters of the sea. The blossoms are as brilliant in colour as they
-are profuse in quantity, and two men will stagger under the weight of
-a single fruit. As for thorns, they are long as nails, stiff as steel,
-and sharp as needles. The beasts of the forest are mighty, the birds of
-the air are of wonderful plumage, the denizens of the deep are many,
-and huge, and strange. In the lower forms of life it is just the same;
-the lizards, the beetles, the ants, the moths and butterflies, the
-frogs and the snakes,--they are great in size and legion in number.
-Even the insects, however small, are in myriads.
-
-Only man stagnates, propagates feebly, loses his arts, falls a prey
-to pestilence, to new diseases, to imported vices, dies,--while every
-creature and every plant around him is struggling in the ceaseless
-renewal of life. Man dies, possibly because exultant nature leaves him
-so little to do to support his own existence; but it is not strange
-that, when he goes beyond the ordinary avocations of daily life, and
-takes himself at all seriously, his language should partake somewhat
-of the colour of his surroundings. Nor, perhaps, is it altogether
-surprising that, living with the tiger and the crocodile, the cobra
-and the stinging-ray, the scorpion and the centipede, he should have
-acquired some of their bloodthirstiness and venom, rather than have
-sought an example in the gentleness of the dove, a bird much fancied by
-Eastern peoples for the sweetness of its note and the excellence of its
-fighting qualities.
-
-I suppose it is the appalling difficulties of making a passage through
-the jungle that have given the elephant and rhinoceros their strength
-and courage; but for the people, who are never really cold, and seldom
-hungry, there is little inducement to exertion. They can lie under
-the fruit trees, and idly watch the grey, gossamer-winged butterflies
-floating dreamily across a sunlit glade; they drowse and sleep to the
-music of the waters, as the whispering river slips gently towards a
-summer sea.
-
-And it is all so comfortable. There is Death, but that is predestined,
-the one thing certain in so much that is too hard for the finite mind.
-There is also Hell, but of all those who speak so glibly of it, none
-ever believes that the same Power which created him, to live for a
-moment in trouble on the earth, will condemn him to an eternity of
-awful punishment. It is Paradise for which each man, in his own mind,
-is destined; a Paradise where he will be rewarded for all his earthly
-disappointments by some such pleasant material advantages as he can
-picture to himself, while he lies on the river bank and gradually
-sinks into a delightful slumber, lulled by the restful rippling of the
-passing stream. And he will dream--dream of that Celestial Being of
-whom it is related that “his face shone golden, like that of a god, so
-that many lizards fell, dazzled, from the walls, and the cockroaches in
-the thatch fought to bask in the light of his countenance.”
-
-Oriental imagery,--but a quaintly pretty idea, the creatures struggling
-to sit in the light shed by that radiant face.
-
-
-
-
-IX
-
-OF LETTER-WRITING
-
-
-So you prefer the unaddressed letters, such as you have seen, to those
-which you receive from me in a cover, whereon are duly inscribed your
-name, style, and titles, and you ask me whether some of the letters are
-not really written to you. They are written to “Mary, in heaven,” or
-to you, if you please, or to any one to whom they appeal. The reason
-why you prefer them to the epistles I address to you is because they
-are unconstrained (too much so, you might think, if you saw them all),
-while, in writing to you, I am under constraint, and, directly I feel
-it, I have to be careful what I say, and beat about for some safe
-subject; and, as I abhor gossip and cannot write about my neighbour’s
-cat, I become unnatural, stilted, stupid, boring. With Mary it is
-different, for she is in heaven, where there are no marriages, and,
-therefore, I imagine, no husbands. As for lovers, I do not mind them,
-for they have no special privileges; at any rate, they have no right to
-interfere with me. The idea that what I write for your eye may be read
-by some one for whom it was not intended, hampers the pen and takes
-away more than half the pleasure of writing.
-
-If you answer, “You ought not to want to write anything to me that
-may not be read by the master over my shoulder, or by the maid in the
-kitchen,” I say that I do not wish to interfere with the circulation
-of the _Family Herald_; and, for the rest, when you honour me with a
-letter, is it to be shown to any one who wishes to know what a really
-charming and interesting letter is like? I am blessed with some really
-delightful correspondents, of whom I would say you are the chief,
-did I not fear to offend some others; but I cannot help noticing,
-sometimes with amusement and sometimes with painful regret, that the
-character of their letters has a way of changing that, between first
-and last, may be compared to looking at the landscape through one end
-of a telescope and then through the other. When I see the field of
-vision narrowing to something like vanishing-point, until, in fact,
-the features of interest are no longer visible, I feel that I too
-must put on a minifying-glass, before I attempt to describe to you
-my surroundings, my thoughts, my hopes and fears. Worst of all, I can
-no longer ask you freely how life is treating you; for if I do, I get
-no answer, or you tell me that the winter has been one of unexampled
-severity, or the political party in power seems to be losing ground
-and missing its opportunities. Individuals and parties have been
-losing opportunities since the days when Joseph lost his coat; always
-regretting them and always doing it again, because every party and
-every individual scorns to profit by the experience of another. That,
-you will tell me, is a platitude beneath a child’s notice. I agree
-with you, and I only mention it in support of my contention that it is
-better to write what you see, or hear, or imagine, or believe, to no
-one at all, than to write “delicately,” with the knowledge that there
-is a possible Samuel waiting somewhere about, if not to hew you in
-pieces, to put inconvenient questions to your friends, and give them
-the trouble of making explanations which are none the less aggravating
-because they are needless. As a man, I may say that the effort to
-avoid writing to women everything that can, by a suspicious mind, be
-twisted into something mildly compromising, is more than I am capable
-of. The thought that one may innocently get a friend into trouble is
-not amusing, so pray dismiss from your mind the idea that any of these
-letters are written to you. They are not; and if they ever recall
-scenes, or suggest situations that seem familiar, that is merely an
-accident. Pure, undiluted fable is, I fancy, very rare indeed; but
-travellers are supposed to be responsible for the most of it, and I am
-a traveller. On the other hand, almost all fiction is founded on fact,
-but you know how small a divergence from the latter is sufficient to
-make the former. If my fiction looks like fact, I am gratified; if,
-at the same time, it has awakened your interest (and you say it has),
-that is more than I ever hoped to achieve. A wanderer’s life in often
-beautiful, sometimes strange, surroundings; a near insight into the
-fortunes of men and women of widely differing race, colour, and creed;
-and the difficulty of writing freely and fearlessly to those who, like
-yourself, would give me their sympathy and kindly interest--these
-are mainly responsible for the Letters. As to the other contributing
-causes, it will amuse you more to exercise your imagination in lively
-speculations than to hear the dull truth from me. Besides, if I told
-you the truth it would only mislead, for you would not believe it.
-
-
-
-
-X
-
-AT A FUNERAL
-
-
-Do you remember how Matthew Arnold, in his Essay on “Pagan and Mediæval
-Religious Sentiment,” translates a scene from the fifteenth Idyll of
-Theocritus, giving the experiences of two Syracusan visitors at the
-feast of Adonis at Alexandria, about three hundred years before the
-Christian era? The description is wonderfully fresh and realistic,
-and it came back to me with strange insistence last night when my
-host detailed to me his experiences at a Malay funeral. I fear the
-effect will all be lost when I try to repeat what I heard--but you are
-indulgent, and you will pardon my clumsy periods for the sake of my
-desire to interest you. My only chance of conveying any idea of the
-impression made on me is to assume the rôle of narrator at first hand,
-and to try, as far as I may, to speak in my host’s words.
-
-“I was travelling,” he said, “and on the point of starting for a
-place where lived a Malay raja who was a great friend of mine, when I
-heard accidentally that his son had just died. That evening I reached
-the station where my friend lived. I saw him, and learned that his
-son, a mere lad, would be buried the next day. It is needless to
-say why he died, it is not a pretty tale. He had visited, perhaps
-eighteen months earlier, a British possession where the screams of
-Exeter Hall had drowned the curses of the people of the land, and
-this wretched boy returned to his country to suffer eighteen months
-of torture,--agonising, loathsome corruption,--in comparison with
-which death on the cross would be a joyous festival. That is nothing,
-he was dead; and, while his and many another life cry to deaf ears,
-the momentary concern of his family and his friends was to bury him
-decently. My arrival was regarded as a fortuitous circumstance, and I
-was bidden to take part in the function.
-
-“It was early afternoon when I found myself, with the father, standing
-at the window of a long room, full of women, watching till the body
-should be carried to a great catafalque that stood at the door to
-receive it. As we waited there, the man beside me,--a man of unusually
-tender feeling,--showed no emotion. He simply said, ‘I am not sorry;
-it is better to die than to live like that; he has peace at last.’
-
-“There was a sound of heavy feet staggering over the grass under the
-weight of a great load, and the coffin was borne past our window
-towards the door. As we walked down the room a multitude of women and
-children pressed after us, and while a crowd of men lifted the body
-into its place on the catafalque, a girl close by us burst into a
-perfect passion of weeping, intermingled with despairing cries, and
-expressions of affection for the dead, whom she would never see again.
-The raja pulled me by the sleeve, saying, ‘Come outside, I cannot bear
-this,’ and I saw the tears were slowly coursing down his face as we
-passed the heart-broken child, who, in the abandonment of her grief,
-had thrown herself into the arms of another girl, and was weeping
-hysterically on her breast. The mourner was the dead boy’s only
-sister.
-
-“Meanwhile, the coffin had been placed on the huge wooden bier, and
-this was now being raised on the shoulders of a hundred men, with at
-least another hundred crowded round to take turns in carrying it to
-the place of burial. At this moment the procession moved off, and
-anything more unlike a funeral, as you and I know it, would be hard to
-imagine. A band of musicians, Spanish _mestizos_, in military uniforms,
-headed the _cortège_, playing a wild Spanish lament, that seemed to
-sob and wail and proclaim, by every trick of sound, the passing of the
-dead. Immediately behind them followed a company of stalwart Indian
-soldiers with arms reversed. Then a posse of priests and holy men
-chanting prayers. Next we came, and behind us a row of boys carrying
-their dead master’s clothes, a very pathetic spectacle. After them
-the great bier, vast in size, curious in form, and gay with colour,
-but so unwieldy that it seemed to take its own direction and make
-straight for the place of burial, regardless of roads and ditches,
-shrubs and flowers, or the shouts and cries of its bearers and those
-who were attempting to direct their steps. Last of all, a crowd of men
-and boys,--friends, retainers, chiefs, sightseers, idlers, gossips and
-beggars, a very heterogeneous throng.
-
-“The road to the burial-ground wound down one hill and up another, and
-the band, the escort, the priests, and the mourners followed it. But
-the catafalque pursued its own devious course in its own blundering
-fashion, and, by-and-by, was set down on a high bluff, o’erlooking a
-great shining river, with palm-clad banks, backed by a space of level
-ground shut in by lofty blue hills. The coffin was then lifted from out
-the bier and placed upon the ground.
-
-“I stood by the ready-dug grave and waited; while the father of the
-dead boy moved away a few yards, and an aged chief called out, ‘Now,
-all you praying people, come and pray.’
-
-“The raja, the priests, and the holy men gathered round the body,
-and after several had been invited to take up the word and modestly
-declined in favour of some better qualified speaker, a voice began to
-intone, while, from time to time, the rest of the company said ‘Amîn.’
-
-“Just then it began to rain a little, and those who had no umbrellas
-ran for protection to the catafalque and sheltered themselves under
-its overhanging eaves, while a lively interchange of badinage passed
-between those who, for the moment, had nothing to do. This was the sort
-of conversation that reached my ears.
-
-“‘Now, then, all you people, come and pray.’
-
-“‘Why don’t you pray yourself?’
-
-“‘We did all our praying yesterday; I don’t believe you have done
-any. Now is the time, with all these holy men here.’
-
-“‘I dare say; but you don’t suppose I’m going out into the rain to
-pray: I’m not a priest.’
-
-“‘No one thought you were; but that is no reason why you should not
-pray.’
-
-“‘Never mind about me, tell these other people; but you need not bother
-now, for they’ve got it over.’
-
-“And all the time the monotonous voice of the priest muttered the
-guttural Arabic words, as though these frivolous talkers were a mile
-off, instead of within a few feet of him and those who stood round the
-coffin.
-
-“No one could have helped being struck by the curious incongruity of
-the scene at that moment. I stood in a place of graves, with an open
-sepulchre at my feet. The stage was one of extraordinary beauty, the
-players singularly picturesque. That high bluff, above the glistening
-river, circled by forest-clad hills of varying height, one needle-like
-point rising to at least 6000 feet. Many old graves lay beneath the
-shadow of graceful, wide-spreading trees, which carried a perfect
-blaze of crimson blossoms, lying in huge masses over dark green
-leaves, as though spread there for effect. Groups of brown men, clad
-in garments of bright but harmoniously toned colours, stood all about
-the hill. On the very edge of the bluff, towards the river, was the
-gaily caparisoned, quaintly constructed catafalque, a number of men and
-boys sitting in it and round its edge, smoking, laughing, and talking.
-Within a dozen feet of them, the closely packed crowd of priests and
-holy men praying round the coffin. The band and the guard had been
-told to march off, and they were wending their way round a hillside in
-middle distance; while the strains of a quick step, the monotone of
-rapidly uttered prayer, the conversation and laughter of the idlers,
-crossed and re-crossed each other in a manner that to me was distinctly
-_bizarre_. Seen against that background and lighted by the fiery rays
-of a dying Eastern sun, the scarlet uniforms of the bandsmen, the
-dark blue of the escort, the long white coats of the priests, and the
-many-coloured garments of the two or three hundred spectators scattered
-about the graves, completed a picture not easily forgotten.
-
-“Just then a move was made to the sepulchre, and two ropes were
-stretched across it, while some men began to lift the coffin.
-
-“‘What are you doing?’ said the uncle of the dead boy. ‘If you put him
-in like that how will his head lie?’
-
-“The bearers immediately let the coffin down, and another man in
-authority said, ‘Well, after all, how should his head lie?’
-
-“‘Towards the west,’ said the uncle.
-
-“‘No, it should not,’ replied the other; ‘it should be to the north,
-and then he looks towards the west.’
-
-“Several people here joined in the argument, and it was eventually
-decided that the head must be towards the north; and then, as the body
-was lying on its right side, the face would look towards Mecca.
-
-“‘Well, who knows at which end of the box his head is?’
-
-“Various guesses were hazarded, but the uncle said that would never
-do, and he would see for himself. So the wreaths and garlands of ‘blue
-chempaka,’ the flower of death, the gorgeous silks and cloths of gold,
-were all thrown off, the heavy cover was lifted up, and the uncle began
-to feel about in the white grave-clothes for the head of the corpse.
-
-“‘Ha! here it is,’ he said; ‘if we had put him in without looking, it
-would have been all wrong, and we should have had a nice job to get him
-out again.’
-
-“‘Well, you know all about it now,’ said a bystander, ‘so we may as
-well get on.’
-
-“The cover was accordingly replaced, the box turned with the head to
-the north, and then, with a deal of talk and superabundance of advice,
-from near and from far, the poor body was at last lowered into the
-grave. Once there the corpse lies on the earth, for the coffin has no
-bottom. The reason is obvious.
-
-“You have probably never been to a funeral, and if so, you do not know
-the horrible sound of the first spadesful of earth as they fall, with
-dull blows, on that which is past feeling and resistance. The friends
-who stand round the grave shudder as each clod strikes the wood under
-which lies their beloved dead. Here it was different, for two men got
-into the grave and held up a grass mat, against which the earth was
-shovelled while the coffin was protected. There was hardly any sound,
-and, as the earth accumulated, the men spread it with their hands to
-right and left, and finally over the top of the coffin, and then the
-rest of the work was done rapidly and quietly. When filled in, two
-wooden pegs, each covered with a piece of new white cloth, were placed
-at the head and foot of the grave. These are eventually replaced by
-stones.
-
-“Then, as the officers of the raja’s household began to distribute
-funeral gifts amongst the priests, the holy men, and the poor, my
-friend and I slowly retraced our steps, and, with much quiet dignity,
-the father thanked me for joining him in performing the last offices to
-his dead son.
-
-“‘His sufferings were unbearable,’ he said; ‘they are over now, and
-why should I regret?’
-
-“Truly death was best, I could not gainsay it; but that young life, so
-horribly and prematurely ended, seemed to have fallen into the snare of
-a civilisation that cannot be wholly appreciated by primitive people.
-They do not understand why the burning moral principles of a section of
-an alien race should be applied to communities that have no sympathy
-with the principles, or their application to different conditions of
-society.”
-
-
-
-
-XI
-
-OF CHANGE AND DECAY
-
-
-There is a subject which has an abiding interest for all men and women
-who are not too old to love; it is Constancy. I suppose there are few
-questions on which any half-dozen intelligent people will express such
-different opinions, and it is doubtful whether any of the six (unless
-there be amongst them one who is very young and inexperienced) will
-divulge his, or her, true thoughts thereanent. Almost all women, and
-most men, seem to think they are morally bound to declare themselves to
-be very mirrors of constancy, and each is prepared to shower scorn and
-indignation on the erring mortal convicted of change of feeling. The
-only feeling I here refer to is the declared love of man for woman, of
-woman for man.
-
-The other day a friend, writing to me, said, with admirable candour,
-“Do not think my heart is so small that it can only contain love
-for one man,” and I know that she means one man at a time. The maze
-surrounding this suggestion is attractive; let us wander in it for
-awhile, and if we become bewildered in its devious turns, if we lose
-ourselves in the intricacies of vague phrases, we may yet win our way
-back to reason by the road of hard, practical fact.
-
-In the spring of life, when the fancies of the young man and the
-girl “lightly turn to thoughts of love,” I suppose the average lover
-honestly believes in the doctrine of eternal constancy, for himself
-and the object of his affections, and words will almost fail him and
-her to describe their contempt for the frail creature who has admitted
-a change of mind; worse still, if the change includes a confession of
-love for a new object. Coquette, jilt, faithless deceiver, breaker of
-hearts, ruthless destroyer of peace of mind,--words of opprobrium are
-not sufficient in quantity, or poisonous enough in quality, to satisfy
-those from whose lips they flow with the violence and destructive force
-of a river in flood.
-
-Now, suppose this heaven-mated couple proceeds to extremities--that is,
-to marriage. And suppose that, after quite a short time, so short that
-no false note has ever been heard to mar the perfect harmony of their
-duet of mutual praise and rapture, one of them dies, or goes mad, or
-gets lost, or is put into prison for a long term of years;--will not
-the other find a new affinity? It happens so often that I think it must
-be admitted as a very likely possibility. When convention permits of
-an outward and visible application, and plaster is put over the wound,
-most of the very virtuous say, “and an excellent thing, too.”
-
-There, then, we arrive at once at the possibility of change; the
-possibility of A, who once swore deathless love and fealty to B,
-swearing the same deathless love and fealty to X. It happens, and it
-has high approval.
-
-Now go a little step further, and suppose that the excellent couple of
-whom I first spoke perpetrate matrimony, and neither of them dies, or
-goes mad, or gets into prison. Only, after a longer or shorter time,
-they become utterly bored with each other; or one finds the other out;
-or, what is most common, one, and that one usually the woman, for
-divers reasons, comes to loathe the married state, all it implies and
-all it exacts. Just then Satan supplies another and a quite different
-man, who falls naturally into his place in the situation, and the play
-runs merrily along. B’s deathless love and fealty for A are thrown
-out of the window, and what remains is pledged, up to the very hilt,
-to that spawn of the Evil One, the wrecker of happy homes, Z. It can
-hardly be denied that this also happens.
-
-I come, then, to the case of the affianced but unmarried lovers, where
-one, or both, perceives in time that the other is not quite all that
-fancy painted; realises that there is a lover, “for showy,” and a
-disagreeable companion and master “for blowy”: a helpful daughter, a
-charming sweetheart one day, and a very selfish, not to say grasping,
-spit-fire on another. Or, across the distant horizon, there sails into
-the quiet waters of this love-locked sea a privateer, with attractions
-not possessed by the ordinary merchant vessel, and, when the privateer
-spreads its sails again, it carries with it a willing prize, leaving
-behind a possibly better-found and more seaworthy craft to indulge its
-wooden frame with a burst of impotent fury and despair. B’s deathless
-love has been transplanted to a more congenial soil, and, after a
-space, A will find another and a better helpmate, and both will be
-satisfied,--for a time.
-
-If one may love, and marry, and lose, and love again; if one may
-love, and promise to marry, but, seeing the promise means disaster,
-withdraw it, to love elsewhere; if one may love and the love be choked
-to death, or frozen to entire absence of feeling, and then revive
-under the warmth of new sympathy to live and feel again--if all these
-things may be, and those to whom the experience comes are held to be
-no more criminal than their fellows, surely there may be love, real
-love, honestly given with both hands, as honestly clasped and held, and
-yet--and yet--a time may come when, for one of a thousand reasons, or
-for two or three, that love will wane and wane until, from illumining
-the whole firmament of those within its radiance, it disappears and
-leaves nothing but black, moonless night. But, by-and-by, a new moon of
-love may rise, may wax to equal splendour, making as glorious as before
-everything on which it shines; and the heart, forgetting none of the
-past, rejoices again in the present, and says, “Life is good; let me
-live it as it comes.” If that be possible, the alternate day and night
-of love and loss may succeed each other more than twice or thrice, and
-yet no charge, even of fickleness, may fairly lie at the door of him
-or her to whom this fate may come unsought.
-
-To love, as some can love, and be loved as well in return; to trust in
-the unswerving faith, the unassailable loyalty, the unbounded devotion
-of another, as one trusts in God, in the simple laws of nature, in
-anything that is absolutely certain; and then to find that our deity
-has feet of clay, that our perfect gem has, after all, a flaw, is
-a very bad experience. Worse than all, to lose, absolutely and for
-ever, and yet without death, a love that seemed more firmly rooted and
-grounded in us than any sacred principle, more surely ours than any
-possession secured by bolt and bar--that is a pain that passeth the
-understanding of those who have not felt it. Add to this the knowledge
-that this curse has come upon us as the result of our own work--folly,
-blind, senseless, reckless confidence, or worse--that is the very acme
-of human suffering. It is not a thing to dwell upon. On the grave
-of a love that has surpassed, in the perfection of its reality, all
-the dreams of imagination, and every ideal conjured out of depths of
-passionate romance, grow weeds which poison the air and madden the
-brain with grisly spectres. It is well to “let the dead bury their
-dead”--if we only can.
-
-There, I am at the end; or is it only the close of a chapter? I suppose
-it must be the latter, for I have but now come to my friend’s
-proposition, namely, that of love distributed amongst a number of
-objects; all perhaps different, yet all in their way, let us hope,
-equally worthy. I know how she explains it. She says she loves one man
-because he appeals to her in one way, another in another; and as there
-are many means of approach to her heart, so there are many who, by one
-road or another, find their way to it. After all, she is probably more
-candid than singular in the distribution of her affection. How many
-worldlings who have reached the age of thirty can say that they have
-not had a varied experience in the elasticity of their affections, in
-the variety of shrines at which they have worshipped? Aphrodite and
-Athene and Artemis for the men; Phœbus and Ares and Hermes for the
-women; and a host of minor deities for either. Minor chords, delicate
-harmonies, charming pages of melody between the tragic scenes, the
-carefully scored numbers, the studied effects, which introduce the
-distinguishing _motifs_ of the leading characters, in that strange
-conception wherein is written all the music of their lives.
-
-We are told that the sons of God took unto themselves wives from
-the daughters of men. Do you believe they left no wives, no broken
-faith, in heaven, before they came to earth to seek what they could
-not find above the spheres? What form of marriage ceremony do you
-suppose they went through with those daughters of men? Was it binding
-until death, and did that last trifling incident only open the door
-to an eternity of wedded bliss in the heaven from which earthly love
-had been able to seduce these sons of God? I fear there is proof of
-inconstancy somewhere. There is clear evidence of a desire for change,
-and that is usually taken to be a synonym for inconstancy, as between
-the sexes. The daughters of men have something to answer for, much to
-be proud of; but I hardly see why either they, or their menkind, who
-never drew any loving souls down from the safe heights of heaven to
-be wives to them, should be expected to make a choice of a partner
-early in life and never waver in devotion to that one, until death
-has put them beyond the possibility of temptation. It does happen
-sometimes; it is beautiful, enviable, and worthy of all praise. But
-when the heart of man or woman, following that most universal law
-of nature, change, goes through the whole gamut of feeling, from
-indifference to passionate love, and later retraces its steps, going
-back over only a few of them, or to a place, beyond indifference, where
-dislike is reached, there seems no good reason why that disappointed,
-disillusioned soul should be made the object of reproach, or the mark
-for stones, cast by others who have already gone through the same
-experience or have yet to learn it.
-
-If we claim immortality, I think we must admit our mutability. Perhaps
-the fault is not all ours. It is written:--
-
-    “Alas for those who, having tasted once
-     Of that forbidden vintage of the lips
-     That, press’d and pressing, from each other draw
-     The draught that so intoxicates them both,
-     That, while upon the wings of Day and Night
-     Time rustles on, and Moons do wax and wane,
-     As from the very Well of Life they drink,
-     And, drinking, fancy they shall never drain.
-     But rolling Heaven from His ambush whispers,
-     So in my licence is it not set down:
-     Ah for the sweet societies I make
-     At Morning, and before the Nightfall break;
-     Ah for the bliss that coming Night fills up,
-     And Morn looks in to find an empty Cup!”
-
-I do not seek to persuade you; it is a subject we often discuss, on
-which we never agree. I only state the facts as I know them, and I am
-for the truth!--even though I wish it were not true--rather than for a
-well-sounding pretence, which usually covers a lie. I have believed;
-I have seen what, with my life, I would have maintained was perfect,
-changeless love; and I have seen that love bestowed, in apparently
-equal measure, on another; while, sometimes, the first affection has
-died utterly, or, at others, it has never died at all, and the wavering
-heart, divided in allegiance, has suffered agonies of remorse, and at
-last begged one object of its devotion to shun it for ever, and so help
-it “to be true to some one.”
-
-There you find a result almost the same as that so candidly confessed
-by my friend; but the phases through which either will pass to arrive
-at it are utterly different. Fate and circumstances, the prolonged
-absence of the lover, misunderstandings, silence, and the ceaseless,
-wearing efforts of another to take the place of the absent--the absent,
-who is always wrong;--these things will loosen the tightest bond,
-when once the enemy at the gate has established a feeling of sympathy
-between himself and the beleaguered city. If at last there is a
-capitulation, it is only when the besieged is _au bout de ressources_;
-only made in extreme distress, only perhaps under a belief of
-abandonment by one on whom the city relied for assistance in its dire
-need.
-
-My candid friend has no regrets, passes through no phases of feeling,
-sees no harm, means none, and for herself is probably safe. Only
-her heart is large and warm; she desires sympathy, intellectual
-companionship, amusement, passionate adoration. She gets these things,
-but not all from the same man, and she is prepared to give love in
-return for each, but it is love with a wise reservation. Sometimes she
-cannot understand why the objects of her catholic affections are not
-equally satisfied with the arrangement, and she thinks their discontent
-is unreasonable. She will learn. Possibly, as she acquires knowledge,
-she may change. Nothing is more certain than that there is, if not
-always, very very often, the widest difference in the world between
-the girl of twenty and the woman of thirty. It is a development, an
-evolution,--often a startling one,--and if men more often realised what
-is likely to come, waited for it, and understood it when it arrived,
-there would be a deal less unhappiness in the world.
-
-That, however, is another question, about which I should like to talk
-to you on another day, for it has interest.
-
-Of love, and change in the object of love, I think you will not deny
-the possibility. If you have never known such change, you are the
-exception, and out of your strength you can afford to deal gently
-with those weaker vessels whose feelings have gone through several
-experiences. But has your faith never wavered? Have your affections
-been set on one man, and one only; and are they there to-day, as
-strong, as single-hearted, as true and as contented as ever? I wonder;
-pardon me if I also doubt!
-
-I have spoken only of those cases where the love that was has ceased
-to be; ceased altogether and gone elsewhere, or so changed from what
-it was, that it no longer knits together those it once held to the
-exclusion of all others. But I might remind you that there are many
-other phases, all of which imply change, or at least such difference
-as must be counted faithlessness. Your quick intelligence can supply
-a multitude of instances from the unfortunate experiences of your
-friends, and I will only cite one that is not altogether unheard of.
-It is this; when two people are bound by the ties of mutual love, and
-fate divides them by time and distance, it sometimes happens that one
-will prove faithless in heart, while remaining firmly constant in deed.
-That is usually the woman. The other may be faithless in deed; but he
-says to himself (and, if he has to confess his backsliding, he will
-swear the same to his lady) that his affections have never wavered.
-He often does not realise that this statement, the truth of which he
-takes such trouble to impress upon his outraged goddess, adds to the
-baseness of his deed. It is curious, but it is true, that the woman,
-if she believes, will pardon that offence, while she would not forgive
-the heart-faithlessness of which she is herself guilty. He is not
-likely to learn that her fealty has wandered; he takes a good deal for
-granted, and he does not easily believe that such things are possible
-where he is concerned; but, should he suspect it, should she even
-admit that another has aroused in her feelings akin to those she had
-hitherto only felt for him, he will hold that aberration from the path
-of faith rather lightly, though neither tears nor blood could atone for
-a faithless deed, such as that of which he stands convicted.
-
-Woman realises that if man’s lower nature takes him into the gutter,
-or even less unclean places, he will not hanker after whatever it was
-that attracted him when once his temptation is out of sight. She
-despises, but she estimates the disloyalty at its right value in a
-creature for whose want of refinement she learns to feel a certain
-contempt. Man, busy about many other things, treats as trivial a lapse
-which implies no smirch on his honour; and he, knowing himself and
-judging thereby, says, “Out of sight, out of mind.” It seldom occurs
-to him that, where the woman’s heart has been given away from him,
-he has already lost at least as much as his utmost dread; and even
-that is more likely to follow, than he to return to one who has never
-aroused in him any feeling of which he cares to think. Therefore, he is
-inclined rather to be amused than distressed; and, still mindful of his
-own experiences, he dismisses the matter from his thoughts with almost
-a sense of satisfaction. But he is wrong: is he not?
-
-Of course I am not thinking of the jealous men. They are impossible
-people whom no one pities. They never see that, while they make
-themselves hateful to every one who is unhappily thrown into contact
-with them, they only secure their own misery. I believe there are men
-who are jealous of the door-mat. These are beyond the help of prayer.
-
-
-
-
-XII
-
-DAUGHTERS AND DESPOTISM
-
-
-I agree with you that few things are more astonishing than the want of
-sympathy between parents and their daughters. Many fathers and mothers
-seem to be absolutely insensible to the thoughts, the desires, and the
-aspirations of those for whom they usually profess, and probably feel,
-a very great affection. There are two principal causes for this very
-common state of matters. One is the difference in age between parents
-and children. The fathers and mothers are losing, or have already lost,
-their interest in many of those things which are just beginning to most
-keenly interest their children. The children are very quick to see
-this, and the confidence they will give to a comparative stranger they
-withhold from parents, to whom they are too shy to confess themselves,
-because they dread ridicule, coldness, displeasure. The other cause of
-estrangement is the fact that parents will insist upon regarding their
-daughters as children until they marry, and sometimes even afterwards;
-and they are so accustomed to ordering and being obeyed, that they
-cannot understand independence of thought. Their children are always
-children to them; they must do exactly what they are told without
-question; they ought not to have any ideas of their own, and, if they
-are really good Christian children, well brought up and a credit to
-their parents, they must, before all things, be obedient and have no
-likes and dislikes, no opinions that are not those of their parents. As
-with crows, they must be feathered like the old birds and caw, always
-and only caw, if they wish to be heard at all.
-
-It sounds, and it seems, unreasonable, and yet one sees it every day,
-and the amused or enraged spectator, with no fledglings of his own,
-is lost in wonderment at the crass stupidity of otherwise sensible
-people, who, while they do these things themselves, and glory in their
-own shame, will invite attention to the mote in their neighbour’s
-eye, which ought to be invisible to them by reason of the great beam
-in their own. I suppose it never occurs to them that they are all the
-time committing hateful and unpardonable crimes; that their want of
-intelligent appreciation is driving their children to resort to all
-kinds of concealment, subterfuge, and deceit; while home becomes often
-so hateful to a girl that she seizes the first opportunity of leaving
-it, and makes her life a long misery or something worse.
-
-If the spectator dared, or cared, to speak the naked truth to a parent,
-I can imagine that dignified individual choking with respectable rage
-at the bare suggestion that he was in any sense responsible for his
-daughter’s regrettable conduct. Yet surely the father and the mother
-are blameworthy, if they decline to treat their grown-up daughters as
-intelligent creatures, with the instincts, the yearnings, the passions
-for which they are less responsible than their parents. “You must do
-this, because I was made to do it; and you must not do that, because
-I was never allowed to do it. You must never question my directions,
-because they are for your good; because you are younger than I am, and
-cannot therefore know as well as I do; because I am your mother and
-you are my daughter; and, in my day, daughters never questioned their
-mothers.” All this, and a great deal more, may be admirable; but it
-does not seem so. It may even answer sometimes; but that is rather
-cause for surprise than congratulation. It does fail, often and badly;
-but the parents are the last to realise the fact, and probably nothing
-would ever persuade them that the failure is due to their methods. If
-ever it comes home to parents that their revolted children have grown
-to hate them, they call them “unnatural,” and almost expect the earth
-to open and swallow them up, as happened to Korah and all his company.
-
-To onlookers the position often seems intolerable, and they avoid it,
-lest they should be tempted to interfere and so make matters worse.
-Nowadays, intelligent opinion is not surprised when tyranny is followed
-by rebellion. The world is getting even beyond that phase. Both men and
-women demand that their opinions should be heard; and where, amongst
-English-speaking people, they can be shown to be in accordance with
-common-sense, with freedom of thought, and with what are called the
-Rights of Man, they usually prevail. Children do not often complain
-of tyranny, and they seldom revolt; but they bitterly resent being
-treated as if they were ten years old when they are twenty, when
-their intelligence, their education, and even their knowledge of the
-world entitle them to hold and express opinions. Nay, more, they are
-conscious of what is due to their own self-esteem, their family, and
-their order; and there are better ways of keeping them true to high
-purposes and lofty ideals than by treating them as children, whose
-intentions must always be suspected, because prone to naughtiness. The
-finer feelings are often strongest in youth; life and its experiences
-blunt them. While they are there, it is well to encourage them.
-Sympathy from an equal can easily do that; but, unless equality in
-speech be granted, the being who is held in bondage will be shy to
-express thoughts and aspirations that may be ridiculed, and will also
-resent the position of inferiority to which he or she is relegated for
-reasonless reasons.
-
-In the relations between parents and children, perhaps the most
-surprising point is the absolute disregard of the pitiless vengeance of
-heredity. Men and women seem to forget that some of their ancestors’
-least attractive attributes may appear in their descendants, after
-sparing a child or skipping a generation. The guiding traits (whether
-for good or evil) in most characters can be traced with unerring
-accuracy to an ancestor, where there is any record of family history.
-One child is predestined to be a musician, another a soldier, and
-a third a commonplace or remarkable sinner. Identical methods of
-education and treatment may not suit all equally well. Because a
-parent has lived only one life, the half-dozen children for whom he is
-responsible may not, even in the natural course of events, turn out to
-be exact replicas of their father, nor thrive on the food which reared
-him to perfection.
-
-I do not pretend that there are not many exceptions; but the daughters
-who are the victims of parental zeal, or parental repression, are so
-numerous that, in England at any rate, they probably form the majority
-of their kind. Of those who marry, the greater number may be entirely
-well-mated. Every one must hope that it is so. Some there are who are
-not so fortunate; and some, again, begin well but end in disaster,--due
-to their own mistakes and defects, to those of their husbands, or to
-unkind circumstances. With the daughters who are favoured by Fortune
-we have no concern. For the others, there is only one aspect of their
-case with which I will bore you, and that because it seems to me to be
-to some extent a corollary to my last letter. If a girl has ideas and
-intelligence beyond those of her parents; if she has felt constraint
-and resented it; if she has exercised self-repression, while she
-longed for sympathy, for expansion, for a measure of freedom--such
-an experience, especially if it has lasted for any time, is not the
-best preparation for marriage. Married life--where man and woman
-are in complete sympathy, where mutual affection and admiration
-make self-sacrifice a joy, and trouble taken for the other a real
-satisfaction--is not altogether an easy path to tread, with sure and
-willing feet, from the altar to the grave. Many would give much to be
-able to turn back: but there is no return. So some faint and others
-die; some never cease from quarrelling; some accept the inevitable
-and lose all interest in life; while a few get off the road, over the
-barriers, break their necks or their hearts, or simply disappear out of
-the ken, beyond the vision, of their kind.
-
-I think much of the unhappiness that comes to be a millstone round the
-necks of married people is due, primarily, to the deep ignorance of
-womankind so commonly displayed by mankind. It is a subject that is
-not taught, probably because no man would be found conceited enough to
-profess more than the most superficial knowledge of it. Some Eastern
-writers have gone into the question, but their point of view differs
-from ours, as do their climate, their religion, their temperament,
-habits, and moral code. Their teachings are difficult to obtain; they
-are written in languages not commonly understood, and they deal with
-races and societies that have little in common with Europeans. Michelet
-has, however, produced a book that may be read with advantage by all
-those who wish to acquire a few grains of knowledge on a subject that
-has such an enthralling interest at some period of most men’s lives.
-It is not exactly easy to indicate other aids to an adequate conception
-of the feminine gender, but they will not be found in the streets and
-gutters of great cities.
-
-The school-boy shuns girls. He is parlously ignorant of all that
-concerns them, except that they cannot compete with him in strength
-and endurance. He first despises them for their comparative physical
-weakness; then, as he grows a little older, a certain shyness of the
-other sex seizes him; but this usually disappears with the coming of
-real manhood, when his instincts prompt him to seek women’s society.
-What he learns then, unless he is very fortunate, will not help him to
-understand and fully appreciate the girl who somewhat later becomes his
-wife--indeed, it is more likely to mislead him and contribute to her
-unhappiness. Unite this inexperienced, or over-experienced, youth with
-the girl who is ready to accept almost any one who will take her from
-an uncongenial home, and it says a good deal for the Western world that
-the extraordinary difficulties of the position should, in so large a
-proportion of cases, be overcome as well as they are.
-
-In the rage for higher education, why does not some philanthropic
-lady, some many-times-married man, open a seminary for the instruction
-of inexperienced men who wish to take into their homes, for life and
-death, companions, of whose sex generally, their refined instincts,
-tender feelings, reckless impulses, strange cravings, changeful moods,
-overpowering curiosity, attitudes of mind, methods of attack and
-defence, signals of determined resistance or speedy capitulation, they
-know, perhaps, as little as of the Grand Llama. What an opportunity
-such a school would afford to the latest development of woman to
-impress her own views upon the rising generation of men! How easily she
-might mould them to her fancy, or, at least, plant in them seeds of
-repentance, appreciation, and constancy, to grow up under the care of
-wives for whose society the Benedictentiary would have somewhat fitted
-them.
-
-It is really an excellent idea, this combination of Reformatory of the
-old man and Education of the new. Can you not see all the newspapers
-full of advertisements like this:--
-
-    PREPARATION OF GENTLEMEN FOR MATRIMONY
-
-    The great success which has attended all those who have gone
-    through the course of study at the Benedictentiary of Mesdames
-    ---- has led the proprietors to add another wing to this
-    popular institution. The buildings are situated in park-like
-    grounds, far from any disturbing influences. The lecturers
-    are ladies of personal attraction with wide experience, and
-    the discipline of the establishment is of the severest kind
-    compatible with comfort. A special feature of this institution
-    is the means afforded for healthy recreation of all kinds, the
-    object being to make the students attractive in every sense.
-    Gentlemen over fifty years of age are only admitted on terms
-    which can be learnt by application to the Principal. These
-    terms will vary according to the character of the applicant.
-    During the last season twenty-five of Mesdames ---- pupils made
-    brilliant marriages, and the most flattering testimonials are
-    constantly being received from the wives of former students.
-    There are only a few vacancies, and application should be made
-    at once to the Principal.
-
-That is the sort of thing. Do you know any experienced lady in want
-of a vocation that might combine profit with highly interesting
-employment? You can give her this suggestion, but advise her to be
-careful in her choice of lecturers, and let the ladies combine the
-wisdom of the serpent with the gentle cooing of the dove; otherwise,
-some possible husbands might be spoilt in the making.
-
-
-
-
-XIII
-
-HER FIANCÉ
-
-
-You say that my opinions are very unorthodox, that my views on human
-constancy are cynical, and that it is wicked to sympathise with
-children who oppose their inclinations to the behests of their parents.
-
-Do you forget that I said we should not agree, and will you be angry if
-I venture to suggest that you have not read my letters very carefully,
-or that your sense of justice is temporarily obscured? If I dared, I
-would ask you to look again at the letters, and then tell me exactly
-wherein I have sinned. I maintained that all are not gifted with that
-perfect constancy which distinguished Helen and Guinevere, and a few
-other noble ladies whose names occur to me. I notice that, as regards
-yourself, you disdain to answer my question, and we might safely
-discuss the subject without reference to personal considerations.
-
-My regrets over the strained relations which sometimes exist between
-parents and children could hardly be construed into an incitement to
-rebellion. They did not amount to more than a statement of lamentable
-facts, and a diagnosis of the causes of the trouble. When you add that
-truth is often disagreeable and better left unspoken, I will subscribe
-to the general principle, but fail to see its application here. Nor can
-I agree with you that problems of this sort are lacking in interest. To
-be able to construct a geometrical figure, and prove that the method
-is correct, does not sound very interesting; but architects, who have
-knowledge of this kind, have achieved results that appeal to those who
-look at the finished work, without thought of the means by which the
-end was gained.
-
-With your permission, I will move the inquiry to new ground; and do not
-think I am wavering in my allegiance, or that my loyalty is open to
-doubt, if I say one word on behalf of man, whose unstable affections
-are so widely recognised that no sensible person would seek to dispute
-the verdict of all the ages. He is represented as loving a sex rather
-than an individual; is likened to the bee which sucks where sweetness
-can be found and only whilst it lasts; he shares with the butterfly
-the habit of never resting long on any flower, and, like it, he is
-drawn by brilliant colouring and less clean attractions. Virtuous
-affection and plain solid worth do not appeal to him.
-
-These are articles of popular belief, and must not be questioned;
-but I may say to you, that they do the poor man somewhat less than
-justice. As a bachelor, he has few opportunities of examining virtuous
-affection, on his own account; the experiences of his friends are
-not always encouraging; and, if he has to work, other things absorb
-most of his attention at this stage of his existence. If he marries,
-especially if he marries young, he is often enthusiastic, and usually
-hopelessly ignorant of feminine methods, inclinations, and fastidious
-hesitation. He feels an honest, blundering, but real and passionate
-affection. He shows it, and that is not seldom an offence. He looks
-for a reciprocation of his passion, and when, as often happens, he
-fully realises that his transports awaken no responsive feeling, but
-rather a scarcely veiled disgust, his enthusiasm wanes, he cultivates
-self-repression, and assumes a chilly indifference that, in time,
-becomes the true expression of his changed feelings. From this keen
-disappointment, this sense of his own failure in his own home, the
-transition to a state of callousness, and thence, to one of deep
-interest in another object where his advances are met in a different
-spirit, is not very difficult.
-
-You see, I am taking for granted that the popular conception of his
-shortcomings in regard to the affections is correct, and I only want
-to suggest some of the reasons which have earned for him such a bad
-reputation. First, it is the fault of his nature, for which he is not
-altogether responsible; it is different to yours. In this respect he
-starts somewhat unfairly handicapped, if his running is tried by the
-same standard as that fixed for the gentler sex. Then his education,
-not so much in the acquirement of book-knowledge as in the ways of the
-world, is also different. His physical robustness is thought to qualify
-him, when still a boy, to go anywhere, to see everything at close
-quarters, and without a chaperone. He is thrown into the maelstrom of
-life, and there he is practically left to sink or swim; and whether
-he drown or survive, he must pass through the deep water where only
-his own efforts will save him. A few disappear altogether, and, while
-all get wet, some come out covered with mud, and others are maimed, or
-their constitutions permanently injured by the immersion.
-
-That is the beginning, and I think you will admit that, except in a
-few very peculiar cases, the boy’s early life is more calculated to
-smirch than to preserve his original innocence.
-
-Then he settles down to work for a living or for ambition, and, in
-either case, he is left but little time to study the very complex
-complement of his life, woman. If he does not incontinently fall in
-love with what appeals to his eye, he deliberately looks about for some
-one who may make him a good, a useful, and, if possible, an ornamental
-wife. In the first case he is really to be pitied; but his condition
-only excites amusement. The man is treated as temporarily insane,
-and every one looks to the consummation of the marriage as the only
-means to restore him to his right mind. That, indeed, is generally
-the result, but not for the reason to which the cure is popularly
-ascribed. The swain is very much in love, whereas the lady of his
-choice is entering into the contract for a multitude of reasons, where
-passionate affection, very probably, plays quite an inferior part. The
-man’s ardour destroys any discretion he may have. He digs a pit for
-himself and falls into it, and, unless he has great experience, unusual
-sympathy, or consummate tact, he misunderstands the signs, draws false
-conclusions, and nurses the seeds of discontent which will sooner or
-later come up and bear bitter fruit.
-
-If, on the other hand, he deliberately enters the matrimonial market
-and makes his choice with calm calculation, as he would enter the mart
-to supply any other need, he may run less risk of disappointment. But
-the other party to the bargain will, in due time, come to regret the
-part she has undertaken to play, and feel that what the man wanted
-was less a wife than a housekeeper, a hostess, a useful ally, or an
-assistant in the preservation of a family name. Very few women would
-fail to discover the truth in such a case, and probably none would
-neglect to mention it. Neither the fact, the discovery, nor the mention
-of it will help to make a happy home.
-
-With husbands and wives, if neither have any need to work, it ought
-to be easy to avoid boredom (the most gruesome of all maladies), and
-to accommodate themselves to each other’s wishes. They, however,
-constitute a very small proportion of society. A man usually has
-to work all day, and, if he is strong and healthy, it is hardly
-reasonable to suppose that his only thought, when his work is over,
-should be how he can best amuse his wife. If he sets that single object
-before him as his duty or his pleasure, and his wife accepts the
-sacrifice, the man’s health is almost certain to suffer, unless there
-is some form of exercise which they can enjoy together.
-
-Husbands and wives take a good deal for granted, and it is more curious
-that lovers, who are bound by no such tie, often meet with shipwreck on
-exactly the same sort of dangers. To be too exacting is probably, of
-all causes, the most fertile in parting devoted lovers.
-
-But enough of speculation. Pardon my homily, and let me answer your
-question. You ask me what has become of the man we used to see so
-constantly, sitting in the Park with a married lady who evidently
-enjoyed his society. I will tell you, and you will then understand
-why it is that you have not seen him since that summer when we too
-found great satisfaction in each other’s company. He was generally
-“about the town,” and when not there seemed rather to haunt the river.
-Small blame to him for that; there is none with perceptions so dead
-that the river, on a hot July day, will not appeal to them. I cannot
-tell how long afterwards it was, but the man became engaged to a girl
-who was schooling or travelling in France. She was the sister of the
-woman we used to see in the Park. _Un bel giorno_ the man and his
-future sister-in-law started for the Continent, to see his _fiancée_.
-Arrived at Dover, the weather looked threatening, or the lady wanted
-rest, or it was part of the arrangement--details of this kind are
-immaterial--anyhow, they decided to stay the night in an hotel and
-cross the following morning. In the grey light which steals through
-darkness and recoils from day, some wanderer or stolid constable saw a
-white bundle lying on the pavement by the wall of the hotel. A closer
-examination showed this to be the huddled and shattered body of a man
-in his night-dress; a very ghastly sight, for he was dead. It was the
-man we used to see in the Park, and several storeys above the spot
-where he was found were the windows, not of his room, but of another.
-I do not know whether the lady continued her journey; but, if she did,
-her interview with her sister must have been a bad experience.
-
-
-
-
-XIV
-
-BY THE SEA
-
-
-You asked me to paint you a picture--a picture of a wonderful strand
-half-circling a space of sunlit sea; an island-studded bay, girt,
-landwards, by a chain of low blue hills, whose vesture of rich foliage
-is, through all the years, mirrored in the dazzling waters that bathe
-those rocky feet. The bay is enclosed between two headlands, both
-lofty, both rising sheer out of the sea, but that on the north juts
-out only a little, while the southern promontory is much bolder, and
-terminates a long strip of land running at right angles to the shore
-out into very deep water.
-
-The beach between these headlands forms an arc of a circle, and the
-cord joining its extremities would be about seven miles in length,
-while following the shore the distance is nearly ten miles.
-
-One might search east or west, the Old World or the New, and find
-in them few places so attractive as this little-known and sparsely
-inhabited dent in a far Eastern coast.
-
-Here the sky is nearly always bright; a day which, in its thirteen
-hours of light, does not give at least half of brilliant, perhaps too
-brilliant sunshine, is almost unknown. Then it is the sunshine of
-endless summer, not for a month or a season, but for ever.
-
-Except on rare occasions, the winds from the sea are softest zephyrs,
-the land breezes are cool and fragrant, sufficient only to stir the
-leaves of trees and gently ruffle the placid surface of the bay.
-
-The waters of the bay are green--green like a yellow emerald--but
-in some few places, near the shore, this changes into a warm brown.
-The beach is a wide stretch of sand broken by rocks of dark umber or
-Indian red. The sand is, in some places, so startlingly white that
-the eye can hardly bear the glare of it, while in others it is mixed
-with fine-broken grains of the ironstone called laterite, and this
-gives a burnt-sienna colour to the beach. When the tide is high, the
-great stretches of hard, clean sand are covered with water to a depth
-of between five and ten feet, and, owing to the absence of mud,
-mangroves, and mankind, the waters of the bay are of an extraordinary
-limpidity. The beach in many places dips steeply, so that, at high
-tide, there are six feet of water within two or three yards of the
-trees, shrubs, ferns, and creepers that clothe the shore in an
-abandonment of wild and graceful luxuriance. The sand shines beneath
-the waters of the sea like powdered diamonds, and all the myriads of
-pebbles and shells glisten and scintillate, with a fire and life and
-colour which they lose when the tide falls and leaves the sands dry,
-but for the little pools that fill the depressions of a generally even
-surface.
-
-Then, however, is the time to see strange shells moving slowly about,
-and crabs, of marvellous colour and unexpected instincts, scampering
-in hundreds over the purple rocks, that here and there make such a
-striking contrast to the brilliant orange and red, or the startling
-whiteness of the sand in which they lie half-embedded.
-
-And how positively delightful it is to paddle with bare feet between
-and over these rounded stones, while the tireless waters make
-continents and oceans in miniature, and the strange denizens of this
-life-charged summer sea destroy each other, in the ceaseless struggle
-to preserve an existence for which they are no more responsible than
-we are. Here is an army of scarlet-backed crabs, hunting in battalions
-for something smaller and weaker than its own tiny, fragile units.
-The spider-like legion, alarmed by the approach of your naked feet,
-scuttles hurriedly towards a new Red Sea, and, dashing recklessly into
-the two inches of water, which are running between banks of sandy
-desert, disappears as completely as Pharaoh and his host. Unlike the
-Egyptian king, however, the crabs, which have only burrowed into the
-sand, will presently reappear on the other shore and scour the desert
-for a morning meal.
-
-And then you are standing amongst the rocks, on a point of a bay within
-the bay; and, as the rippling wavelets wash over your feet, you peer
-down into the deeper eddies and pools in search of a sea-anemone.
-Again, you exclaim in childish admiration of the marvellous colouring
-of a jelly-fish and his puzzling fashion of locomotion, or your
-grown-up experience allows you an almost pleasurable little shudder
-when you think of the poisonous possibilities of this tenderly-tinted,
-gauzily-gowned digestive system.
-
-The land is not less rich in life than the sea. Nature has fringed the
-waters with a garden of graceful trees, flowering shrubs, brilliantly
-blossomed creepers, and slender ferns, far more beautiful in their
-untrained luxuriance than any effort of human ingenuity could have made
-them. There are magnolias, sweeping the waters with their magnificent
-creamy blossoms, made more conspicuous by their background of great,
-dark green leaves. There are gorgeous yellow alamanders, each blossom
-as large as a hand; soft pale pink myrtles, star-flowered jasmines,
-and the delicate wax-plant with its clusters of red or white blossoms.
-These and a multitude of others, only known by barbarous botanical
-names, nestle into each other’s arms, interlace their branches, and
-form arbours of perfumed shade. Close behind stand almond and cashew
-trees, tree-ferns, coconuts, and sago palms, and then the low hills,
-clothed with the giants of a virgin forest, that shut out any distant
-view.
-
-Groups of sandpipers paddle in the little wavelets that lovingly caress
-the shore; birds of the most gorgeous plumage flit through the jungle
-with strange cries; and, night and morning, flocks of pigeons, plumed
-in green and yellow, in orange and brown, flash meteor-like trails of
-colour, in their rapid flight from mainland to island and back again.
-The bay is studded with islets, some near, some far, tiny clusters of
-trees growing out of the water, or a mass of stone, clothed from base
-to summit with heavy jungle, except for a narrow band of red rocks
-above the water’s edge.
-
-Sailing in and out the islands, rounding the headlands, or standing
-across the bay, are boats with white or brown or crimson sails; boats
-of strange build, with mat or canvas sails of curious design, floating,
-like tired birds, upon the restful waters of this “changeless summer
-sea.”
-
-But you remember it all: how we sat under the great blossoms and
-shining leaves of the magnolias, and, within arm’s length, found
-treasures of opal-tinted pebbles, and infinite variety of tiny shells,
-coral-pink and green and heliotrope,--and everything seemed very good
-indeed.
-
-A mass of dark-red boulders, overlying a bed of umber rock, ran out
-into the water, closing, as with a protecting arm, one end of the
-little inlet, while the forest-clad hill, rising sheer from the point,
-shut out everything beyond. And then the road! bright _terra cotta_,
-winding round the bluff through masses of foliage in every shade of
-green,--giant trees, a maze of undergrowth, and the dew-laden ferns
-and mosses, blazing with emerald fires under the vagrant shafts of
-sunlight;--_dies cretâ notanda_.
-
-Do you remember how, when the sun had gone, and the soft, fragrant,
-Eastern night brought an almost tangible darkness, lighted only by the
-stars, we returned across the bay in a little boat, with two quaintly
-coloured paper lanterns making a bright spot of colour high above the
-bow? The only sound to break the measured cadence of the oars was the
-gentle whisper of the land-wind through the distant palm leaves, and
-the sighing of the tide as it wooed the passive beach.
-
-And then, as we glided slowly through the starlit darkness, you, by
-that strange gift of sympathetic intuition, answered my unspoken
-thought, and sang the _Allerseelen_, sang it under your breath, “soft
-and low,” as though it might not reach any ears but ours--yes, that was
-All Souls’ Day.
-
-There was only the sea and the sky and the stars, only the perfection
-of aloneness, “_Le rêve de rester ensemble sans dessein_.”
-
-And then, all too soon, we came to a space of lesser darkness, visible
-through the belt of trees which lined the shore; far down that
-water-lane twinkled a light, the beacon of our landing-place. Do you
-remember?----
-
-
-
-
-XV
-
-AN ILLUMINATION
-
-
-After an absence which cannot be measured by days--not at least days
-of twenty-four hours, but rather by spaces of longing and regret,--I
-am back again in a house where everything suggests your presence so
-vividly that I hardly yet realise that I cannot find you, and already,
-several times, hearing, or fancying I heard, some sound, I have looked
-up expecting to see you. It is rather pitiful that, waking or sleeping,
-our senses should let us be so cruelly fooled.
-
-It seems years ago, but, sitting in this room to-night, memory carries
-me back to another evening when you were also here. It had rained
-heavily, and the sun had almost set when we started to ride down the
-hill, across the river, and out into the fast-darkening road that
-strikes through the grass-covered plain, and leads to the distant
-hills. The strangely fascinating transformation of day into night, as
-commonly seen from that road, cannot fail to arrest the attention and
-awaken the admiration of the most casual observer; but for us, I think,
-it possessed the special charm which comes from the contemplation of
-nature in harmony with the mood of the spectator,--or seen, as with
-one sight, by two persons in absolute sympathy of body and soul. Then
-nothing is lost--no incident, no change of colour, no momentary effect
-of light or shade; the scene is absorbed through the eyes, and when the
-sensation caused finds expression through the voice of one, the heart
-of the other responds without the need of words.
-
-I see the picture now; a string of waggons, the patient oxen standing
-waiting for their drivers, picturesquely grouped before a wayside
-booth; a quaintly fashioned temple, with its faint altar-light shining
-like a star from out the deep gloom within the portal; tall, feathery
-palms, whose stems cast long, sharp shadows across the dark-red road;
-on either side a grass-covered, undulating plain, disappearing into
-narrow valleys between the deep blue hills; behind all, the grey,
-mist-enshrouded mountains, half hidden in the deepening twilight.
-
-The last gleams of colour were dying out of the sky as we left the
-main road, and, turning sharp to the left, urged our horses through
-the gathering darkness. At last we were obliged to pull up, uncertain
-of our bearings, and even doubtful, in the now absolute blackness of
-tropical night, whether we were in the right way. Carefully avoiding
-the deep ditches, more by the instinct of the horses than any guidance
-of ours, we struck into another road and set our faces homewards.
-It was still intensely dark, but growing clearer as the stars shone
-out, and we gradually became more accustomed to the gloom; dark yet
-delightful, and we agreed that this was the time of all others to
-really enjoy the East, with a good horse under you and a sympathetic
-companion to share the fascination of the hour.
-
-Riding through the groves of trees that lined both sides of the road,
-we caught occasional glimpses of illuminated buildings, crowning the
-steep hill which forms one side of the valley. Traversing the outskirts
-of the town, we crossed a river and came out on a narrow plain, above
-which rose the hill. I shall never forget the vision which then rose
-before us. How we exclaimed with delight! and yet there was such an air
-of glamour about the scene, such unrealness, such a savour of magic
-and enchantment as tied our tongues for a while.
-
-The heights rose in a succession of terraces till they seemed to almost
-pierce the clouds, each terrace a maze of brilliantly illuminated
-buildings to which the commanding position, the environment, the
-style of architecture, and the soft, hazy atmosphere lent an imposing
-grandeur.
-
-The buildings which crowned the summit of the spur, lined the terraces,
-and seemed to be connected by a long flight of picturesque stone steps,
-were all of a dazzling whiteness. Low-reaching eaves, supported on
-white pillars, formed wide verandahs, whose outer edges were bordered
-by heavy balustrades. Every principal feature of every building, each
-door and window, each verandah, balustrade, and step, was outlined by
-innumerable yellow lights that shone like great stars against the soft
-dark background of sky and hill. It is impossible to imagine the beauty
-of the general effect: this succession of snow-white walls, rising from
-foot to summit of a mist-enveloped hill, suggested the palace-crowned
-heights of Futtepur Síkri, illuminated for some brilliant festival. The
-effect of splendour and enchantment was intensified by the graceful
-but indistinct outlines of a vast building, standing in unrelieved
-darkness by the bank of the river we had just crossed. In the gloom
-it was only possible to note the immense size of this nearer palace,
-and to realise its towers and domes, its pillars and arches, and the
-consistently Moorish style of its architecture.
-
-As we approached the lowest of the series of illuminated buildings
-that, step by step, rose to the summit of the heights, we beheld
-a sheet of water beneath us on our right, and in this water were
-reflected the innumerable lights of a long, low temple, standing fifty
-feet above the opposite bank of the lake. Fronds of the feathery bamboo
-rose from the bank, and, bending forwards in graceful curves, cast deep
-shadows over the waters of this little lake, from the depths of which
-blazed the fires of countless lights.
-
-We stood there and drank in the scene, graving it on the tablets of
-our memories as something never to be forgotten. Then slowly our
-horses passed into the darkness of the road, which, winding round the
-hillside, led up into the open country, a place of grass-land and wood,
-lying grey and silent under a starlit sky.
-
-And, when we had gained the house, it was here you sat, in this
-old-world seat, with its covering of faded brocade. I can see you
-now, in the semi-darkness of a room where the only lamp centres its
-softened light on you--an incomparable picture in a charming setting.
-You do not speak; you are holding in your hand a small white card,
-and you slowly tear it in two, and then again and again. There is
-something in your face, some strange glory that is not of any outward
-light, nor yet inspired by that enchanted vision so lately seen. It is
-a transfiguration, a light from within, like the blush that dyes the
-clouds above a waveless sea, at the dawn of an Eastern morning. Still
-you speak no word, but the tiny fragments of that card are now so small
-that you can no longer divide them, and some drop from your hands upon
-the floor.
-
-I picked them up--afterwards--did I not?
-
-
-
-
-XVI
-
-OF DEATH, IN FICTION
-
-
-It is delightful to have some one to talk to with whom it is not
-necessary to think always before one speaks, to choose every word, to
-explain every thought--some one, in fact, who has sympathy enough not
-to be bored with the discussion of a subject that deals neither with
-gossip nor garments, and intelligence enough to understand what is
-implied as well as what is said. I have done a good deal of desultory
-reading lately, mostly modern English and French fiction, and I cannot
-help being struck by the awkward manner in which authors bring their
-stories to a conclusion. It so very often happens that a book begins
-well, possibly improves as the plot develops, becomes even powerful as
-it nears the climax, and then--then the poor puppets, having played
-their several parts and done all that was required of them, must be
-got rid of, in order to round off the tale, to give finality, and
-satisfy the ordinary reader’s craving for “full particulars.” This
-varnishing and framing and hanging of the picture is usually arrived
-at by marrying or slaying some principal character; the first is a
-life, and the last a death, sentence. Thus the reader is satisfied,
-and often the story is ruined; that is, if skilful drafting and true
-perspective are as necessary to a good picture as artistic colouring
-and the correct disposition of light and shade. But is the reader
-satisfied? Usually, yes; occasionally, no. In the latter case the book
-is closed with a strong sense of disappointment, and a conviction that
-the writer has realised the necessity of bringing down the curtain on
-a scene that finishes the play, and leaves nothing to the imagination;
-so, to secure that end, he has abandoned truth, and even probability,
-and has clumsily introduced the priest or the hangman, the “cup of
-cold poison,” or the ever-ready revolver. The effect of the charming
-scenery, the pretty frocks, the artistic furniture, and “the crisp and
-sparkling dialogue,” is thus spoilt by the unreal and unconvincing
-_dénouement_.
-
-It seems to me--“to my stupid comprehension,” as the polite Eastern
-constantly insists--that this failure is due to two causes. First,
-most fiction is founded on fact, and the writer has, in history, in
-the newspapers, in his own experience or that of his friends, met with
-some record or paragraph, some adventure or incident, that has served
-for the foundation of his story; but, unless purely historical, he has
-been obliged to supply the last scene himself, because in reality there
-was none, or, if there was, he could not use it. In our own experience,
-in that of every one who has seen a little of the world, have we not
-become acquainted with quite a number of dramatic, or even tragic
-incidents, that have scarred our own or others’ lives, and would make
-stories of deep interest in the hands of a skilful writer? But the
-action does not cease. The altar is oftener the fateful beginning than
-the happy ending of the drama; and, when the complications fall thick
-upon each other, there is no such easy way out of the _impasse_ as that
-provided by a little prussic acid or a bullet. They are ready to hand,
-I grant you, but they are not so often used in life as in fiction. I
-have known a man walk about, with a revolver in his pocket, for three
-days, looking for a suitable opportunity to use it upon himself, and
-then he has put it away against the coming of a burglar. When it is not
-yourself, but some one else, you desire to get rid of, the prospect
-is, strange to say, even less inviting. Thus it happens that, in real
-life, we suffer and we endure, the drama is played and the tragedy is
-in our hearts, but it does not take outward and visible form. So the
-fiction--whilst it is true to life--holds our interest, and the skill
-of the artist excites our admiration; but the impossible climax appeals
-to us, no more than a five-legged cow. It is a _lusus naturæ_, that is
-all. They happen, these monstrosities, but they never live long, and it
-were best to stifle them at birth.
-
-Pardon! you say there is genius. Yes, but it is rare, and I have not
-the courage to even discuss genius; it is like Delhi and the planets,
-a long way off. We can only see it with the help of a powerful glass,
-if indeed then it is visible. There is only one writer who openly lays
-claim to it, and the claim seems to be based chiefly on her lofty
-disdain for adverse criticism. That is, perhaps, a sign, but not a
-complete proof, of the existence of the divine fire.
-
-But to return to the humbler minds. It does happen that real lives are
-suddenly and violently ended by accident, murder, or suicide, and there
-seems no special reason why fictitious lives should be superior to such
-chances. Indeed, to some authors, there would be no more pleasure in
-writing novels, without the tragic element as the main feature, than
-there is for some great billiard exponents to play the game with the
-spot-stroke barred. I would only plead, in this case, that the accident
-or the suicide, to be life-like, need not be very far-fetched. In
-murder, as one knows, the utmost licence is not only permissible but
-laudable, for the wildest freaks of imagination will hardly exceed the
-refinements, the devilish invention, and the cold-blooded execution of
-actual crimes. I remember you once spoke scornfully of using a common
-form of accident as a means of getting rid of a character in fiction;
-but surely that is not altogether inartistic, for the accidents that
-occur most commonly are those to which the people of romance will
-naturally be as liable as you or I. It is difficult to imagine that
-you should be destroyed by an explosion in a coal-mine, or that I
-should disappear in a balloon; but we might either of us be drowned, or
-killed in a railway accident, under any one of a variety of probable
-circumstances. Again, in suicide, the simplest method is, for purposes
-of fiction, in all likelihood the best. Men usually shoot themselves,
-and women, especially when they cannot swim, seek the water. Those
-who prefer poison are probably the swimmers. It is a common practice
-in fiction to make the noble-minded man who loves the lady, but finds
-himself in the way of what he believes to be her happiness (that is,
-of course, some other man), determine to destroy himself; and he does
-it with admirable resolution, considering how cordially he dislikes
-the rôle for which he has been cast, and how greatly he yearns for
-the affection which no effort of his can possibly secure. I cannot,
-however, remember any hero of fiction who has completed the sacrifice
-of his life in a thoroughly satisfactory manner, for he invariably
-leaves his body lying about, where it is sure to attract attention,
-and cause great distress to the lady he designs to oblige. That is
-thoughtless; and those who really mean to prove their self-denial
-should arrange, not only to extinguish their lives, but to get rid of
-their bodies, so that there may be as little scandal and trouble to
-their friends as possible. I have always felt the sincerest admiration
-for the man who, having made up his mind to destroy himself, and
-purchased a revolver with which to do the deed, settled his affairs,
-moved into lodgings quite close to a cemetery, wrote letters to the
-coroner, the doctor, and the undertaker, giving them in each case the
-exact hour at which they should call on their several errands, paid
-all his debts, left something to indemnify his landlady, and more than
-enough for funeral expenses, and then shot himself. That, however, was
-not a character in fiction, but a common mortal, and there was no lady
-in the case.
-
-I am sure there are many people who would be greatly obliged to me
-for inviting attention to these matters, if only they could get it
-in print, to lie about on the table with the page turned down at the
-proper place. Nothing is more common than the determined suicides who
-live to a green old age for want of a book of instructions. These
-people weary their friends and acquaintances by eternally reiterated
-threats that they will destroy themselves, and yet, however desirable
-that course may be, they never take it. This novel and brilliant idea
-first comes to them in some fit of pique, and they declare that they
-will make an end of themselves, “and then perhaps you will be sorry.”
-They are so pleased with the effect caused by this statement, that,
-on the next favourable opportunity, they repeat it; and then they go
-on and on, dragging in their wretched threat on every possible and
-impossible occasion, especially in the presence of strangers and the
-aged relatives of themselves or the person they want to get at, until
-mere acquaintances wish they would fulfil their self-imposed task and
-cease from troubling. It is almost amusing to hear how these _suicides
-déterminés_ vary, from day to day or week to week, the methods which
-they have selected for their own destruction--poison, pistols,
-drowning, throwing themselves out of window or under a train--nothing
-comes amiss; but, when they wish to be really effective, and carry
-terror into the hearts of their hearers, they usually declare either,
-that they will blow their brains out, or cut their throats. The vision
-of either of these processes of self-extinction, even though remote and
-unsubstantial, is well calculated to curdle the blood. That, as a rule,
-is all that is meant; and, when you understand it, the amusement is
-harmless if it is not exactly kind. “Vain repetitions” are distinctly
-wearying, even when they come from husbands and wives, parents or
-children; the impassioned lover, too, is not altogether free from the
-threat of suicide and the repetition of it. In all these cases it
-would be a kindness to those who appear weary of life, and who weary
-others by threatening to put an end to it, if they could be persuaded,
-either to follow the example of the man who, without disclosing his
-intentions, took a room by the gate of the cemetery, or, if they
-don’t really mean it, to say nothing more about it. Therefore, if
-ever you are over-tried in this way, leave this letter where it will be
-read. The weak point about the prescription is that it is more likely
-to cure than to kill. However, I must leave that to you, for a good
-deal depends on how the remedy is applied. The size of the dose, the
-form of application, whether external or internal, will make all the
-difference in the world. I do not prescribe for a patient, but for a
-disease; the rest may safely be left to your admirable discretion;
-but you will not forget that a dose which can safely and advisedly be
-administered to an adult may kill a child.
-
-
-
-
-XVII
-
-A HAND AT ÉCARTÉ
-
-
-I wrote to you of death in fiction, and, if I now write of death in
-fact, it is partly to see how far you agree with an opinion that was
-lately expressed to me by a man who is himself literary, and whose
-business it is to know the public taste in works of fiction. We were
-discussing a book of short stories, and he spoke of the author’s
-success, and said he hoped we might have a further instalment of
-similar tales. I ventured to suggest that the public must be rather
-nauseated with horrors, with stories of blood and crime, even though
-they carried their readers into new surroundings, and introduced them
-to interesting and little-described societies. My companion said,
-“No, there need be no such fear; we like gore. A craving for horrors
-pervades all classes, and is not easily satisfied. Those who cannot
-gloat over the contemplation of carcasses and blood, revel in the
-sanguinary details which make them almost spectators in the real or
-imaginary tragedies of life. The newspapers give one, and some writers
-of fiction the other; there is a large demand for both, especially now
-that the circle of readers is so rapidly widening amongst a class that
-cannot appreciate refinements of style, and neither understands nor
-desires the discussion of abstract questions. Therefore give us,--not
-Light, but--Blood.”
-
-I wonder what you think. If I felt you had a craving for horrors I
-could paint the pages scarlet; for I have been in places where human
-life was held so cheap that death by violence attracted little notice,
-where tragedies were of daily occurrence, and hundreds of crimes,
-conceived with fiendish ingenuity and carried out with every detail
-calculated to thrill the nerves and tickle the jaded palate of the
-most determined consumer of “atrocities,” lie hidden in the records
-of Courts of Justice and Police Offices. Any one who compares the
-feelings with which he throws aside the daily paper, as he leaves the
-Underground Railway, or even those with which he closes the shilling
-shocker in more favourable surroundings, with the sense of exaltation,
-of keen, pulse-quickening joy that comes to him after reading one
-page in the book of Nature--after a long look at one of its myriad
-pictures--would, I think, hesitate to confess to a great hankering
-for a perpetual diet of blood. It is not the dread of appearing to be
-dissipated, but the certainty that there is better health, and a far
-more intense pleasure, in the clear atmosphere of woods and hills, of
-river and sea, than in the shambles.
-
-Sewers are a product of civilisation in cities, but they are not
-pretty to look at, and I cannot appreciate a desire to explore their
-darksome nastiness while we may, if we choose, remain in the light
-and air of heaven. London slums are daily and nightly the scenes of
-nameless horrors, but it may be doubted whether a faithful and minute
-description of them, in the form of cheap literature, does more good
-than harm.
-
-That is by way of preface. What I am going to tell you struck me,
-because I question whether a tragedy in real life was ever acted with
-details that sound so fictional, so imaginary, and yet there was no
-straining after effect. It was the way the thing had to be worked out;
-and like the puzzles you buy, and waste hours attempting to solve, I
-suppose the pieces would only fit when arranged in the places for which
-they were designed by their Maker.
-
-A long time ago there lived, in one of the principal cities of Italy, a
-certain marchese, married to a woman of great beauty and distinguished
-family. She had a lover, a captain of cavalry, who had made himself an
-Italian reputation for his success in love-affairs, and also in the
-duels which had been forced upon him by those who believed themselves
-to have been wronged. The soldier was a very accomplished swordsman
-and equally skilful with a pistol, and that is possibly the reason why
-the husband of the marchesa was blind to a state of affairs which at
-last became the scandal of local society. The marchesa had a brother, a
-leading member of the legal profession; and when he had unsuccessfully
-indicated to his brother-in-law the line of his manifest duty, he
-determined to himself defend his sister’s name, for the honour of
-an ancient and noble family. The brother was neither a swordsman nor
-a pistol-shot, and when he undertook to vindicate his sister’s
-reputation he realised exactly what it might cost him. The position
-was unbearable; the _cafés_ were ringing with the tale; and, if her
-husband shirked the encounter, some man of her own family must bring
-the offender to book and satisfy the demands of public opinion.
-
-Having made up his mind as to the _modus operandi_, the brother sought
-his foe in a crowded _café_, and in the most public manner insulted him
-by striking him across the face with his glove. A challenge naturally
-followed, and the choice of weapons was left with the assailant. He
-demanded pistols, and, knowing his own absolute inferiority, stipulated
-for special conditions, which were, that the combatants should stand
-at a distance of one pace only, that they should toss, or play a game
-of _écarté_ for the first shot, and that if the loser survived it, he
-should go as close to his adversary as he pleased before discharging
-his own weapon. Under the circumstances, the soldier thought he could
-hardly decline any conditions which gave neither party an advantage,
-but no one could be found to undertake the duties of second in a duel
-on such terms. Two friends of the principals agreed, however, to stand
-by with rifles, to see that the compact was not violated; and it was
-understood that they would at once fire on the man who should attempt
-foul play.
-
-It was, of course, imperative that the proceedings should be conducted
-with secrecy, and the meeting was arranged to take place on the
-outskirts of a distant town, to which it was necessary to make a long
-night journey by rail. In the early dawn of a cold morning in March,
-the four men met in the cemetery of a famous monastery, that stands
-perched on a crag, overlooking the neighbouring city, and a wide
-vale stretching away for miles towards the distant hills. A pack of
-cards was produced, and, with a tombstone as a table, the adversaries
-played one hand at _écarté_. The game went evenly enough, and rather
-slowly, till the brother marked four against his opponent’s three.
-It was then the latter’s deal; he turned up the king and made the
-point, winning the game. A line was drawn, the distance measured, the
-pistols placed in the duellists’ hands, and the two friends retired
-a few yards, holding their loaded rifles ready for use. The word was
-given, and the brother stood calmly awaiting his fate. The soldier
-slowly raised his pistol to a point in line with the other’s head,
-and, from a distance of a few inches, put a bullet through his brain,
-the unfortunate man falling dead without uttering a sound or making a
-movement.
-
-The officer obtained a month’s leave and fled across the border into
-Switzerland, but, before the month was up, public excitement over the
-affair had waned, and the gossips were busy with a new scandal. Their
-outraged sense of propriety had been appeased by the sacrifice of the
-dead, and the novel and piquant circumstances which accompanied it. As
-for the intrigue which had led to the duel, that, of course, went on
-the same as ever, only rather more so.
-
-
-
-
-XVIII
-
-THE GENTLE ART OF VEERING WITH THE WIND
-
-
-To-day I received a letter from you. I have read it twice, and, though
-it contains eight pages of closely written lines, there is not one
-word in it that would show that I am any more to you than the merest
-acquaintance. For weeks I have anxiously awaited this letter; plans, of
-the utmost importance to me, depended upon the answer you would give
-to a question I had put; and my whole future, at least that future
-which deals with a man’s ambitions, would, in all probability, be
-influenced by your reply. I asked you--well, never mind what--and you,
-being entirely free to write what you mean and what you wish, say that
-it is a point on which you cannot offer advice; but you tell me that
-you have given up reading and taken to gardening, as you find it is
-better for you! Have you ever read the story of Zadig? If you have, you
-will perhaps remember how his wife, Azora, railed against the newly
-made widow whom she found gardening. I have no prejudices of that kind,
-and, in my case, no one’s nose is in danger of the razor; but still I
-think I may not unreasonably feel somewhat aggrieved.
-
-Do not believe that I could ever wish to remind you of what you have
-forgotten, or wish to forget. I only want to know what is real and what
-is counterfeit, and you alone can tell me. I may ask this, may I not?
-It is not that I may presume to judge you, or from any wish to gratify
-an impertinent curiosity, but that I may be saved from imagining what
-is not, and, while torturing myself, possibly even distress you. I find
-it hard to reconcile this letter of yours with others I have received,
-and if that sounds to you but a confession of my stupidity, I would
-rather admit my want of intelligence and crave your indulgence, than
-stand convicted of putting two and two together and making of them
-twenty-two. If you tell me there is no question of indulgence, but that
-quite regular verbs have different moods, that present and past tenses
-are irreconcilable, and, of the future, no man knoweth--I shall have my
-answer.
-
-You do not write under the influence of winter. I cannot charge myself
-with any offence against you. Nay, God knows that all my thoughts and
-all my efforts are but to do you honour. If I have misread your earlier
-letters, if I have been unduly elated by such kind words as you have
-sent me, it is the simplest thing in the world to undeceive me and
-show me the error of my ways. Are you only _souffrante_, and may I
-disregard the chilling atmosphere of your present missive, remembering
-the tender sympathy of voice, of eye, of hand, in the rapturous days of
-a cherished past?
-
-It seems as natural to some people to love to-day, and to be almost
-strangers to-morrow, as that we should revel in a flood of light when
-the moon is full, and grope in darkness when the goddess of night is no
-longer visible. The temperament that makes this possible is fortunately
-rare, so much so that it creates an interest in the observer. I have
-never seen it in man, but I have in woman; and one realises that then
-it is better to be a spectator than an actor in what is never a farce,
-and may easily develop into tragedy. Imagine such a woman of very
-unusual personal attractions: great beauty of face and figure united
-to a high intelligence and extreme charm of manner; witty, ambitious,
-courageous, full of high thoughts and endowed with all the advantages
-that wealth can add to personal gifts. Deep in a nature that is
-strangely complex, and capable of the most opposite extremes, suppose
-there is implanted, amongst many other feelings, a passionate yearning
-to be understood, and to be loved with a love that would shrink from
-nothing to prove the greatness of its devotion. Here you have a
-being capable of what seem the strangest contradictions, and not the
-least startling of these may be a rare, but absolute and passionate,
-self-abandonment, under the influence of certain circumstances
-which strongly appeal to the senses. Overcome by intoxication of
-sound, colour, and magnetism, every moral and conventional muscle
-suddenly relaxes, and, the violence of the forces released, is wild
-and uncontrolled, because of the firm determination by which they
-are habitually bound. To-morrow, in the cold grey light of day, the
-slow-working mind of man is absolutely bewildered by what he sees
-and hears. He comes, dominated by an exalted passion, enthralled by
-a vision of ecstasy through which he sees, imperfectly, the people
-about him, only “men as trees walking”; reserving his thoughts and
-perceptions of surrounding objects till he shall again gaze upon that
-face which seems to him to have opened the door of life with the key
-of a boundless love. Still dazed by the memories of last night, he
-enters the presence of his beloved, and experiences a shock, such as a
-swimmer might feel, if floating, half-entranced, in some tropic sea, he
-suddenly hit against an iceberg.
-
-Sometimes, even, influenced by surroundings, maddened by the
-whisperings of a southern night, passed in a place where she breathes
-an atmosphere impregnated with the romance of centuries, the lonely
-soul of the woman, hungering for sympathy and communion, will seize a
-pen and write, “Come to me; I want you, for you understand; come, and I
-will give you happiness.” Before the letter has been gone one day, on a
-journey that may take it to the ends of the earth, the writer’s mood
-has changed, and she has forgotten her summons as completely as though
-it had never been written. When the missive reaches its destination,
-the recipient will be wise to curb his impetuosity, and realise that
-his opportunity is long since dead and buried.
-
-The bewildering phases of such a nature as I have here imagined are
-nothing to us. To you it may even seem inexcusable that I should
-allude to a character with which you have no sympathy, an abnormal
-growth which sounds rather fantastic than real. It is the _argumentum
-ad absurdum_, and has its value. This strange perversity which, by
-reason of its startling contradictions, seems almost inhuman, and if,
-in rare instances, met with, can only excite feelings of curiosity or
-repugnance--this is the extreme case. The application of the moral will
-come nearer home to us, if we make the changes from passionate love
-to cold indifference a little less marked, the intervals between the
-moods a little longer. It is well to know one’s own mind, not because
-wavering and change hurt the fickle, but because some stupid person may
-suffer by the purchase of experience; may take it to heart, and may
-do himself an injury. It is well to know one’s own heart, and what
-it can give; lest another put too high a value on the prize and lose
-all in trying to win it. It is well to know our own weakness, and at
-once recognise that we shall be guided by it; lest another think it is
-strength, and make, for our sakes, sacrifices that only frighten and
-perhaps even annoy us, especially when they are made in the absurd
-belief that they will please us.
-
-If you can give the extreme of happiness, do not forget that you can
-also cause an infinity of pain. No one can blame you for declining to
-accord favours; and if that refusal gives pain, there is no help for
-it. There can be little sympathy for those who seek the battle and
-then complain of their wounds. Such hurts do not rankle, and quickly
-heal. But it is different when a woman gives love of her own free will,
-uninfluenced by any consideration beyond her inclination, and then
-takes it back, also without other cause than caprice. It is difficult
-to use any other word--either it was a caprice to say she gave what
-never was given, or it is a caprice to take it back. A confession of
-thoughtlessness in estimating the character of her own feelings, or
-of weakness and inability to resist any opposing influence, is a poor
-pretext for a sudden withering of the tendrils of affection. Such a
-confession is an indifferent consolation to the heart which realises
-its loss, but cannot appreciate the situation. Do not mistake me; it is
-so hard to be absolutely candid and fair in considering our own cases.
-We are not less likely to make mistakes in matters of sentiment than
-in the purely practical affairs of life. If we think we love, and then
-become certain that we have made a mistake, the only safe and kind
-course is to confess the error; but if we deliberately seek love and
-give it, much protesting and much exacting, how shall we then deny it?
-Would one say, “If you asked me, I would go down into hell with you,
-now,” and then, ere twelve months had passed, for no crime but enforced
-absence, speak or write, to that other, almost as a stranger?
-
-There was Peter, I know; but even he was not altogether satisfied with
-himself, and, besides denying his Lord, he stands convicted of physical
-cowardice.
-
-
-
-
-XIX
-
-A REJOINDER
-
-
-Thank you. Before my last letter could reach you, _vous m’aviez donné
-affreusement à penser_, and this is what occurs to me:--
-
-    “Of all the lover’s sorrows, next to that
-     Of Love by Love forbidden, is the voice
-     Of Friendship turning harsh in Love’s reproof,
-     And overmuch of counsel--whereby Love
-     Grows stubborn, and recoiling unsupprest
-     Within, devours the heart within the breast.”
-
-I dare say it is as well. I am beginning to recognise the real
-attractions of what I may call a “surprise letter.” I have had several
-lately. It is perhaps the irony of fate that, just after I had mildly
-hinted to you that the phases of the moods of the feminine mind were
-sometimes rather bewildering, you should write to me the sort of letter
-which, had it been sent by me to a man I called my friend, I should
-richly deserve death at his hands. There are certainly few things
-more thoroughly enjoyable than to take up a letter that you see comes
-from--well, let us say from a very dear friend--to dally a little
-over the opening, in the mingled desire and hesitation to read the
-contents; feverish desire to know that all is well, to hear some word
-of affectionate regard--hesitation lest the news be bad, the letter
-cold; and then to find such a missive as you have sent to me.
-
-To begin with, there is a page and a half on which you have poured out
-the vials of your wrath. I was quite hot before I had read half of it,
-and my ears even were burning before I came to a page in which you told
-me how greatly you were enjoying yourself. And then, at the end, there
-was another page and a half, every word of which seemed to strike me in
-the face like a blow. I suppose you introduced the middle section that
-I might meditate on the difference between your circumstances and mine,
-and duly appreciate the full weight of your displeasure. Well, yes, I
-have done so; and, as God only knows when I shall see you again, I must
-write one or two of the many words it is in my heart to say to you.
-
-I am a very unworthy person; I have deeply offended you; and you
-have felt it necessary to tell me gently how ill my conduct looks to
-you. You leave me to infer that there are offences which cannot be
-tolerated, and that it would not be difficult to dispense with my
-acquaintance. I humbly accept this verdict, and as it is absolutely
-just and right that the prisoner should first be condemned without
-hearing, and then suffered to state his case, and say anything he
-pleases in mitigation of sentence, I will try not to weary you by any
-reference to ancient history, but simply confine myself to the charge.
-
-Now, what is my crime? You asked me a question; I am sure you have long
-ago forgotten what it was, and I need not remind you; but I, like an
-idiot, thought you really wanted an answer, and that it was my bounden
-duty to find a means of sending it. The question gave me infinite
-pleasure, and, again like an idiot, I thought the answer I longed to
-send would be welcome. I could not send it in the ordinary way, as you
-will admit, and, a sudden thought striking me that there was a safe
-and easy means of transmission, I acted on it, and your letter is the
-result. You tell me your pride is wounded, your trust in my word gone,
-and your conscience scandalised. It is useless for me now to express
-regret. I have been convicted, and I am only pleading in mitigation of
-sentence. Well, mine was a deliberate sin. I had to decide whether I
-would answer you or not, and, though I disliked the means, I thought
-the end would justify them. To me they did not then, and do not now,
-seem very objectionable; and it certainly did not occur to me that I
-could thereby wound the most sensitive feelings. Of course I was an
-imbecile, and ought to have realised that a question like that was only
-a phrase, with no serious meaning. I gave a promise, you say, and have
-broken it. It is a pity. I had rather have sinned in any other way,
-for I have my pride too, and it asserts itself chiefly in the keeping
-of promises, rather than the gift of them. As to the conscience, I
-deeply sympathise. An offended conscience must be a very inconvenient,
-not to say unpleasant, companion. But you were greatly enjoying
-yourself (you impress that upon me, so you will not be offended if I
-mention it), therefore I conclude your conscience was satisfied by the
-uncompromising expression of your sense of my misdeeds. Might I ask
-which way your conscience was looking when you wrote this letter to me,
-or does it feel no call to speak on my behalf? I would rather my hand
-were palsied than write such a letter to any one, and you know that
-I have forfeited your favour in trying to do your will. I think your
-quarrel was rather with your conscience than with me; but it is well to
-keep friends with those of one’s own household.
-
-Truly it is an evil thing to stake one’s happiness upon the value
-of _x_ in an indeterminate equation. It is possible to regard the
-unknown quantity with philosophy; it is like the unattainable. The
-mischief all comes with what looks like solution, but proves in the end
-to be drawn from false premises. Lines can be straight, and figures
-may be square, but sentient beings are less reliable, and therefore
-more interesting--as studies. The pity is that we sometimes get too
-close, in our desire to examine minutely what looks most beautiful
-and most attractive. Then proximity destroys the powers of critical
-judgment, and, from appearances, we draw conclusions which are
-utterly unreliable, because our own intelligence is obscured by the
-interference of our senses. We have to count with quantities that not
-only have no original fixed value, but vary from day to day, and even
-from hour to hour.
-
-You will say that if I can liken you to an algebraic sign, speak of
-you as a “quantity” and “an indeterminate equation,” it cannot matter
-much whether you write to me in terms of hate or love. If, however,
-you consider where you are and where I am, and if, when this lies in
-your hand, you are on good terms with your pride and your conscience,
-you may be able to spare, from the abundance you lavish on them, a
-grain of sympathy for me in my loneliness. Is it a crime for the humble
-worshipper to seek to assure the deity of his unaltered devotion? It
-used not to be so; and though the temple has infinite attractions for
-me, the tavern none, I could say with the Persian--
-
-    “And this I know: whether the one True Light
-     Kindle to love, or Wrath-consume me quite,
-       One Flash of It within the Tavern caught
-     Better than in the Temple lost outright.”
-
-Life is too short, and too full of storm and stress, to induce any one
-to stake it on a proved uncertainty, however attractive. It is better
-never to take ship at all than to be constantly meeting disaster on
-the shoals and rocks of the loveliest summer sea. Of the end of such a
-venture there is no uncertainty. The bravest craft that ever left port
-will be reduced to a few rotting timbers, while the sea smiles anew on
-what is but a picturesque effect.
-
-
-
-
-XX
-
-OF IMPORTUNITY
-
-
-I must unburden myself to you, because I may do so without offence,
-without shocking you beyond forgiveness; for I feel that if my letter
-were to another, I should either have to use such self-control that
-I should gain no relief for my injured feelings, or else the other
-would think I had gone mad, and blot my name out of the book of her
-correspondents--two r’s, please. You see I am in an evil mood, the
-bad tense of the evil mood; so I may as well begin in the green leaf
-what is sure to come in the brown. Besides, you are partly to blame! Is
-not that like a man? You supplied me with the fruit of this knowledge
-which has set my teeth on edge, but it is also true that you gave it
-in furtherance of my request and to oblige me. I fancy that was the
-case with Eve. Adam probably sent her up a tree (the expression has
-lasted to our own time), looked the other way, and pretended he had
-forgotten all about it when the obliging lady came down and tendered
-the result of her painful efforts. It is bad enough to climb with your
-clothes on, as I saw the other day, when I induced a friend to swarm
-up a fern-tree by telling him I did not believe he could do it. But
-this is all beside the mark;--what has roused my ire is a parcel of new
-books, kindly selected by you to cheer my solitude. As they came direct
-from the bookseller, I do not know whether you have read them, but
-they are very new indeed, and, from what you say, I think you must at
-least have wrestled with some of them. Very recent publications, like
-many of these, are rather a rarity here, and, as I was particularly
-busy, I lent some of them to friends who are always hungering for
-new literature. Now I am rather sorry, though I washed my hands of
-the transaction by saying that I would not take the responsibility
-of recommending anything, but they were at liberty to take what they
-liked. In due time the volumes were returned, without comment, but
-with the pages cut. I did not think anything of that at the time, the
-realities of the moment interested me a great deal more than any book
-could; but now I have read some of the batch, and I am suffering from
-an earnest desire to meet the authors and “have it out with them.” As
-however, that is not in my power, I am going to victimise you. There
-is one story, of a kind that is now common enough, that is specially
-aggravating. If you have read it you will know which I refer to; if
-not, I won’t tell you. It is written by a woman, and discourses in
-a very peculiar fashion on the ways of men. That is of no particular
-moment, for the writer has either a very indifferent knowledge of men,
-or she is not to be congratulated on her male friends, or she has had
-some very unfortunate personal experiences, and judges the species by
-some repulsive individuals. It was a man who said that women do not
-possess the sentiment of justice, and he might, if he had wished to
-be fair, have added that it is comparatively rare in men. Men have
-written many unkind and untrue things about women as a sex, but they
-cannot have harmed them much, since their influence over the beings,
-derisively styled “Lords of Creation” is certainly on the increase,
-especially in new countries like America.
-
-What, however, is rather strange is that, in the book I speak of, there
-are two women--joint-heroines, as it were--held up for the reader’s
-admiration, but described as perfectly odious creatures. The story,
-however, is practically confined to the life and character of one of
-these ladies, and the exact position of the other, in relation to
-her friend, is not altogether clear, nor of any concern as regards
-my point. Let me then speak of the one woman as the heroine; it is
-to her I wish to apply the epithet odious. The writer, I take it, is
-very pleased and satisfied with the lady of her creation, and, whilst
-she never loses an opportunity of enlarging on the very objectionable
-characteristics of all men of birth and education, she evidently means
-the reader to understand that she has drawn and coloured the picture of
-a very perfect and altogether captivating woman. A young, beautiful,
-intelligent, highly educated, perfectly dressed woman, surrounded by
-every luxury that great wealth and good taste can secure, may easily be
-captivating, and it might be counted something less than a crime that
-a number of admirers should be anxious to marry her. When it comes to
-character it is different; and even though the spectacle of a woman
-with fewer attractions than I have named, and a disposition that left
-something to be desired, enslaving men of renown, is not unknown to
-history, it seems a little unusual to design a heroine as the very
-embodiment of selfishness, and then exhibit her as the perfect woman.
-The life that is shown to us is chiefly that of a girl,--old enough,
-and independent and intelligent enough, to know perfectly what she was
-doing,--constantly allowing, or alluring, men to make love to her; and
-then, when they wished to marry her, telling them in language which,
-if not considerate, was certainly plain, how deeply insulted she felt.
-If they wasted years and years, or lost their useless, sinful lives
-altogether, over her, that was a matter of such absolute indifference
-that it never gave her a second thought or a moment of regret. She
-did not avoid men altogether; on the contrary, she seemed rather fond
-of their society, as she had only one woman friend, and is described
-as giving them all ample opportunities of declaring their passionate
-admiration for her beauty and intelligence. The lovers were many and
-varied; coming from the peerage, the squirearchy, the army, the Church,
-and other sources; but they all met with the same fate, and each in
-turn received a special lecture on the vice and amazing effrontery of
-his proposal.
-
-I suppose it is a book with a purpose, and, unlike a Scotch sermon, it
-is divided into only two heads. As to one, I could imagine the reply
-might be in the form of another book styled “Her Lord the Eunuch.”
-Biblical history deals with the species. It is less common now, but if
-a demand again arises, no doubt there will be a supply to meet it. That
-is the head I cannot discuss, even in these days of _fin de siècle_
-literature, wherein it is a favourite subject, and would have fewer
-difficulties than the case of a nineteenth-century Virgin Mary, which
-formed the text of one volume in the parcel. The other consideration
-seems to rest on safe ground, with no treacherous bogs or dangerous
-quicksands, and therefore I venture to ask you what you think of this
-paragon of all the virtues. Is she the type of a woman’s woman? One
-sometimes, but very, very rarely, meets a woman like this, in England
-at any rate; and though the lady’s girdle is certain to be decorated
-with a collection of male scalps of all ages and many colours, very few
-of her own sex will be found in the number of her friends or admirers.
-Her charity is generally a form of perversity; for if she occasionally
-lavishes it on some animal or human being, it is a caprice that costs
-her little, and to the horse or dog which fails in instant obedience,
-to the beggar or relative who importunes, she is passionately or coldly
-cruel. Yet her fascination is real enough, but it seldom endures. There
-is no need to sympathise with the would-be lovers, who are rejected yet
-still importunate. When, as sometimes happens in a world of change,
-there has been mutual love between man and woman, and one has ceased to
-love, it is natural enough that the other should desire to retain what
-may still be, to him or her, the only thing worth living for. But to
-importune a woman to give herself, her body and soul, her whole destiny
-till death, when she does not wish it, is to ask for something that
-it were better not to precisely define. Presumably if the man thinks
-he is in love, it is the woman’s love he wants. She says she does
-not love him, and he is a fool, or worse, to take anything less, even
-when she is willing to sacrifice or sell herself for any conceivable
-reason. Surely, if the man had any real regard for her, he would think
-first of her happiness, and refuse to take advantage of her weakness or
-necessities. Besides, her misery could not be his advantage, and the
-worn-out sophism of parents or other interested persons, that “she did
-not know her own mind, and would get to like him,” is too hazardous a
-chance on which to stake the welfare of two lives. Of course men plague
-women to marry them after they have been refused. The world is full of
-people who want what is not for them, and are not too particular as to
-the means, if they can secure the end. But I wonder what a man would
-say if some woman he did not care about worried his life out to marry
-her. Man is easily flattered, the sensation is with him comparatively
-rare, and he is very susceptible to the agreeable fumes of that
-incense; but only the very weakest would be lured to the altar, and the
-after-life of the lady who took him there would not be an altogether
-happy one. Man and his descendants have had a grudge against the first
-woman for thousands of years, for an alleged proposal of hers that is
-said to have interfered with his prospects. It is not chivalrous for a
-man to press a woman to “let him love her, if she can’t love him;”
-it is not a very nice proposition, if he will take it home and work
-it out quietly; it is something very like an insult to her, and it is
-certainly not likely to be anything but a curse to him. That is when
-she is endowed with those charming qualities common to most women.
-When, however, as in the case I have referred to, she has a special
-aversion to men generally, and him in particular, and prides herself
-on the possession of characteristics that he could not admire in his
-own mother, to still insist upon forcing the lady into a union with
-him is to be vindictively silly. It is hardly necessary to go as far
-as this to prove his determination and his title to a sort of spurious
-constancy.
-
-
-
-
-XXI
-
-OF COINCIDENCES
-
-
-In spite of the testimony of many worthy and some unworthy people,
-I have not yet been able to accept spiritual manifestations and the
-reappearance of the dead as even remotely probable. I think most of
-the current ghost stories are capable of a simple explanation, if
-one could only get an unvarnished statement of real facts from the
-witnesses. Usually, however, those on whose authority these stories
-rest, are constitutionally of such a nervous organisation that they
-are physically incapable of describing with exact accuracy what they
-saw or heard. When, as not infrequently happens, those who have seen
-visions admit to having felt that extremity of fear which bathes
-them in a cold perspiration, or makes their hair rise up straight
-on their heads (this last is not, I think, alleged by women), then
-there is all the more reason to doubt their testimony. Undoubtedly
-curious things happen which do not admit of easy explanation, but
-they are not necessarily supernatural, or connected in any way with
-the return of the dead to the sight of the living. Dreams, again, are
-sometimes very curious, and it might be difficult to offer a reasonable
-explanation of some dream-experiences, especially those which lead to
-the backing of winning horses or the purchase of prize-tickets in a
-lottery. A really reliable dreamer of this kind would be a valuable
-investment; but, unfortunately, there is a want of certainty about even
-those who have, once in a lifetime, brought off a successful _coup_.
-Still, it has happened. I myself have heard a dreamer--who was also a
-dream-talker--place accurately the three first horses in a coming race;
-but I had not sufficient confidence in the “tip” to take advantage of
-it. In that case, too, the winner was a very pronounced favourite. Many
-people say they have dreamt of strange places, and _afterwards_ seen
-those places in reality, and even been able to find their way about
-in them. It may be so. For myself, I cannot say I have ever had such
-an experience, but I believe (I say it doubtfully, because one may be
-deceived about journeys in dreamland) that I have often seen the same
-places in different dreams, dreamed after intervals of years, so that,
-while dreaming, I have at once recognised the place as a familiar scene
-in my dreamland. But those places I have never beheld on earth. In my
-early youth, scared by tales of the bottomless pit and the lake of
-brimstone, I used to dream, almost nightly, of those places of torment;
-but it is a long time ago, and I have quite forgotten what they were
-like. I have no ambition to renew my acquaintance, or to be given the
-opportunity of comparing the reality with the nightmare of my childish
-imagination and a cramped position. Apart from these more or less vain
-considerations, I have known some very curious coincidences, and I will
-tell you the story of one of them.
-
-I was journeying in a strange, a distant, and an almost unknown land.
-More than this, I was the guest of the only white man in a remote
-district of that country. It was a particularly lovely spot, and,
-being an idler for the moment, I asked my host, after a few days,
-what there was of interest that I could go and see. He said he would
-send a servant with me to show me a cemetery, where were buried a
-number of Englishmen who, some few years before, had been killed or
-died in the neighbourhood, during the progress of one of England’s
-successful little military expeditions. That afternoon I was led to the
-cemetery in question. I have seldom seen a more glorious succession
-of pictures than were presented by the view from that lovely spot;
-and never in any country have I beheld a more ideal resting-place for
-the honoured dead. It did not surprise me that my host told me he had
-already selected his own corner, and repeatedly made it the objective
-of his afternoon walks. Within a fenced enclosure, partly surrounded by
-graceful, ever-green trees, lay the small plot of carefully kept grass
-which formed the burial-ground. It occupied the summit of a rising
-ground commanding a magnificent view of the surrounding country. From
-the gate the ground sloped steeply down to a road, and then dropped
-sheer forty or fifty feet to the waters of a great, wide, crystal-clear
-river, flowing over a bed of golden sand. Under this steep and lofty
-bank, the base all rock, the river swirled deep and green; but it
-rapidly shallowed towards the centre, and the opposite shore, seven
-hundred feet distant, was a wide expanse of sand, half-circled by
-great groves of palms, and backed by steep, forest-clad hills. The
-river made a wide sweep here, so that, looking down on it from such
-a height gave it rather the appearance of a huge lake narrowing into
-the distant hills. Picturesque villages lined both banks of the river,
-the houses showing splashes of colour between the trees. Boats of
-quaint build--sailing, poling, paddling, rowing--passed up and down
-the broad stream, giving life to the scene; while at distances varying
-from three miles to thirty or more, the valley was shut in by lofty
-mountains, green near by, with their garment of unbroken forest, but,
-in the distance, blue as an Italian sky. I drank this in, felt it all
-as a feeling, this and much more with which I will not weary you, and
-then I turned to look at the grass-covered mounds and wooden crosses
-that marked the graves of the exiled dead. I was standing in front of
-a somewhat more pretentious headstone, which marked the resting-place
-of an officer killed a few miles from this spot, when, through the
-wicket, came a messenger bearing a letter for me. The cover bore many
-post-marks, signs of a long chase, and here at last it had caught me
-in my wanderings. I did not recognise the handwriting, but when I had
-opened the letter and looked at the signature, I realised that it was
-that of an old lady who was but an acquaintance, and one of whom
-I had not heard for years. I read the letter, and I may confess to
-some little astonishment. It told me that, hearing that I was leaving
-England for a long journey, and that I should eventually arrive at
-somewhere in the East, the writer wished to tell me that her daughter
-(whom I hardly remembered) had married a certain soldier, that he had
-been killed some time before, and was buried in some place (which she
-tried indifferently to name) where there were no Europeans. If I should
-ever be in the neighbourhood, would I try to find his grave, and tell
-them something about it; for they were in great grief, and no one could
-relieve their anxiety on the subject of their loved one’s last home.
-
-It seemed to me a somewhat remarkable coincidence that I should, at
-that moment, be standing in front of the stone which told me that,
-underneath that emerald turf, lay all that was left of the poor
-lady’s son-in-law, the grief-stricken daughter’s husband. The
-situation appealed to my artistic instincts. I sat down, there and
-then, and, with a pencil and a bit of paper, I made a rough sketch of
-the soldier’s grave; carefully drawing the headstone, and inscribing
-on it, in very plain and very black print, the legend that I saw in
-front of me. Then I went home, and, while the situation was hot upon
-me, I wrote, not to the mother, but to the widow, a little account of
-what had occurred, using the most appropriate and touching language I
-could think of, to describe the scene and my deep sympathy. Finally I
-enclosed the little picture, which I had drawn with such a compelling
-sense of my responsibilities, and the unique character of the
-opportunity, to show that I was a man of rather uncommon feeling. Much
-pleased with the result of my efforts, I entrusted the letter to my
-friend (there was no such thing as a post-office), and we became almost
-sentimental over the chastened tears with which my letter would be read
-by the two poor ladies.
-
-The mother’s letter to me had wandered about for two or three months
-before it came to my hands; but I learned,--ages afterwards,--that my
-letter to the daughter was a far longer time in transit; not the fault
-of my friend, but simply of the general unhingedness of things in those
-wild places.
-
-The letter did at last arrive, and was handed to the widow on the
-day she was married to a new husband. That is why I believe in the
-quaintness of coincidences.
-
-
-
-
-XXII
-
-OF A COUNTRY-HOUSE CUSTOM
-
-
-I went one morning to a hotel in London to call upon a celebrated
-writer of fiction, a lady, and she told me that, as a protest against
-ideas which she despised, she always locked her door when she was
-talking to a man. I stayed there about two hours, but I don’t
-remember whether the door was locked or not, probably not; no one,
-however, tried it, and my reputation survived the ordeal. The practice
-is unconventional, though innocent enough. It is much more common to
-find yourself in a lady’s room, at night, in a country-house in
-England, and there you may talk to a friend, perhaps to two, and even,
-on occasions, smoke a cigarette, while the door is seldom locked. Do
-you see any harm in it? The thing itself is so pleasant that I do not
-mean to discuss with you the fors and againsts; I am satisfied that
-it is often done, and that I sometimes profit by the arrangement. A
-century ago, or rather more, it was common enough, if not in England,
-certainly on the Continent, and the guest was sometimes present while
-the lady lay in bed, or made her toilette. It is conceivable that this
-custom deserved to be discouraged, and it seems to have gone out of
-fashion, no doubt for sufficiently good reasons.
-
-I was once a guest in a delightful country-house in the heart of
-England, a house where nothing was lacking that could contribute to
-comfort, and where the hostess was attraction sufficient to draw
-visitors from the uttermost parts of the earth, and keep them with
-her as long as she desired their presence. She was wayward (an added
-charm), and the company came and went, and some came again, but none
-remained long enough to become overpoweringly tedious or compromisingly
-_épris_. It was winter, the hard earth was full of “bone,” the waters
-icebound, and the face of the country white with a thick covering of
-frozen snow. There were but few of us in the house, and we had been
-skating on the ornamental water in a neighbour’s park, miles away.
-That was the only form of exercise open to us, and we had enjoyed
-it. The long walk over the crisp snow and the uneven cart tracks
-of a country road, the intoxicating ease and rapidity of motion
-over the glassy ice, the ring of steel on that hard, smooth surface,
-how distinctly they all come back! And then the trudge home in the
-gathering dusk, between the woods whose snow-laden trees looked the
-very picture of winter,--it was all delightful and exhilarating, and,
-if our dinner-party was small, it was certainly a merry one. When we
-parted on the stairs it was close on midnight, and I was standing
-enjoying the blaze of my fire and the intense cosiness of my room, when
-there came a knock, and what I had thought was a cupboard-door opened
-to admit the head of our charming chatelaine, with an inquiry as to my
-comfort and contentment, and an invitation to put on a smoking-jacket
-and have a cigarette in her snuggery. I very eagerly and gratefully
-accepted that offer, and a few minutes later found myself in the most
-delightfully warm, cosy, and withal artistically beautiful room the
-heart and mind of woman could desire or design. This boudoir faced
-the front of the house, and looking over the lawn and terraces were
-three French windows, through which streamed bright rays of moonlight,
-for the shutters were not closed. Within, a great wood fire blazed
-on a wide hearth of olive-green tiles. Two lamps, with shades of
-_vieille rose_, shed a soft glow over inviting-looking chairs, thick
-carpet, tables littered with books and papers, lovely bits of porcelain
-and bronze, treasures in burnished silver and dull red gold. Every
-chair looked as if it were made for comfort, and the whole room said
-unmistakably, “This is where I live.” I should have noted the general
-effect at a glance, but I had time to appreciate the details, for, when
-I entered, I found the room unoccupied. In a few minutes my hostess
-appeared from her room, which opened out of this fascinating retreat,
-and said--
-
-“Well, how do you like my snuggery; is it not cosy?”
-
-I said it was charming and delightful, and everything that good taste
-and an appreciation of real comfort could make it.
-
-“I am so glad,” she said; “will you smoke one of my cigarettes?”
-
-“Thank you, yes.”
-
-“Shall I light it for you?”
-
-“That would be most kind.”
-
-“There; now we can make ourselves quite comfortable and have a real
-good chat, and no one will come to disturb us. What have you been doing
-with yourself all this time? What new friends have you made? What books
-have you been reading? Tell me all about everything. I think you
-would be more comfortable over there; don’t worry about me, this is
-my favourite seat, but I change about and never sit very long in one
-place. You can imagine I am your Father Confessor, so don’t keep me
-waiting; tell it all, and keep back nothing; you know I shall be sure
-to find you out if you try to deceive me.”
-
-I found a seat--not exactly where I had first wished to place myself,
-but where I was put--and our chat was so mutually interesting that I
-was surprised to find it was 2 A.M. when my hostess told me I must go
-to bed. I must have smoked a good many cigarettes, and I have a vague
-recollection that there were glasses with spiritual comfort as well;
-it is probable, for nothing that any reasonable human being could want
-was ever lacking there. I know that I lingered, and the white light
-through the curtains drew us both to the window. Never shall I forget
-the incomparable picture of that snow-covered landscape;--glittering,
-scintillating under the silver radiance of a full winter moon, riding
-high in a clear, grey, frosty sky. The absolute stillness of it; not
-a sign of life; the bare trees throwing sharp shadows on the dazzling
-whiteness of a prospect broken only by the evergreens of the garden,
-the cleared stone steps of the terraces, and beyond, a small stream
-winding through the narrow valley, and forming a little lake of as yet
-unfrozen water, its ever rippling surface showing black and sombre
-under the shadow of a high bank which shut out the moonlight. The
-contrast between that outside,--the coldness, the whiteness, the sense
-of far-into-the-nightness, which somehow struck one instantly; and the
-inside,--the warmth, the comfort, the subtle sympathy of companionship
-with a most fascinating, most beautiful, perfectly-garmented woman: it
-was too striking to be ever forgotten. The picture has risen unbidden
-before my eyes on many a night since then, under other skies and widely
-different circumstances.
-
-Turning away from the window, I could see through an open door into
-my companion’s room, and I said, “How did you get into my room?”
-“Very easily,” she answered; “there is a cupboard in the thickness of
-the wall between your room and mine; it opens into both rooms, but is
-at present full of my gowns, as you would have seen had you had the
-curiosity to look in, and the door happened to be unlocked.”
-
-I said I had abundant curiosity, and would gratify it when I got back.
-
-My hostess smiled and said, “There is nothing to find out now; I have
-told you all there is to tell. Good night.”
-
-“But,” I said, “why should I go all the way round, through cold
-passages, when I can walk straight through to my room by this way?” and
-I pointed to the open door.
-
-“That is very ingenious of you,” she answered; “and you are not
-wanting either in the quick grasp of a situation, or the assurance to
-make the most of it. You do not deserve that I should pay you such a
-pretty compliment! It is too late for banter; I am getting sleepy. Good
-night.”
-
-
-
-
-XXIII
-
-A MERE LIE
-
-
-As the tale I am going to tell you is only a lie, you will understand
-that it is not of my making; I cannot even pretend to have heard it
-at first hand. The author was a scientist who lied in the intervals
-between his researches. It was a relief, I suppose, after too close
-contact with the eternal truths of Nature. His mental fingers seemed
-to wander over the keys of an instrument of romance, striking strange
-chords and producing unsuspected effects in an accompaniment to which
-he sang a perpetual solo.
-
-Amongst the most eccentric of his class the Professor would still have
-been a remarkable character. No one seemed to know to what nationality
-he belonged, and it was useless to ask him for any information, because
-of the doubt which clouded any statement that he made. Indeed, to
-put it shortly, he lied like a tombstone. When I met him his only
-companion was a Papuan boy, so black that a bit of coal would have made
-a white mark on him; and the Professor would affectionately stroke the
-child’s head, and say that when he had grown bigger, when his skull
-was fully developed, he meant to take it, and was looking forward to
-the day when he could examine it carefully, inside and out, and compare
-it with the skulls of certain wild tribes which, he felt certain, he
-should thus be able to prove were of true Melanesian origin. He would
-then sometimes relate how, during a visit to Cadiz, he took a great
-fancy to the head of a Spaniard whom he met there. He thought the man
-was in failing health; but as he could not waste time in the Peninsula,
-he looked about for some means of hastening the possibly slow progress
-of disease. The Professor soon found that the owner of the head had a
-reckless and profligate nephew, with whom he scraped acquaintance. To
-him the Professor said that he had observed his uncle, and thought him
-looking far from well, indeed, he did not fancy he could last long,
-and, explaining that he was himself an anthropologist, concerned in
-scientific studies for the benefit of humanity, he arranged with the
-nephew that, _when his uncle died_, the Professor should pay a sum of
-£30 and be allowed to take the uncle’s head. The uncle died shortly
-afterwards, and the money was paid, but the nephew, a man without
-principle, buried his relative in defiance of his bargain with the
-Professor.
-
-The means by which the man of science secured full value for his
-investment made one of his best stories; and some day I may tell it to
-you, but, when I began this letter, I had quite a different adventure
-in my mind, and I will take the liberty of asking you to suppose that
-the collector of skulls is telling you his own tale in his own way.
-
-“I was in Australia, where I had already met with some strange
-experiences, the last of them a disastrous expedition into the desert,
-where, when I was quite alone and a thousand miles from the nearest
-habitation, I fell over two precipices, first breaking my right and
-then immediately afterwards my left leg. I got back to civilisation
-with some difficulty, as I had to crawl on my hands most of the way,
-dragging my broken legs behind me; but what really made the journey
-seem long was the fact that I had to forage for my own sustenance as
-well. I was somewhat exhausted by these hardships, and was giving
-myself a short holiday for rest, when Australia was moved to a pitch
-of the greatest excitement and indignation by the exploits of a
-daring bushranger, who set the Police and the Government at defiance,
-and established such a panic in the land that a party of Volunteers
-was formed, sworn to track the outlaw down and bring him in alive or
-dead. I do not say that I had any ultimate designs on the man’s
-head, but still the skull of a person of that type could not fail to
-be interesting. So, partly as a relaxation, but mainly in the cause of
-science, I joined the expedition.
-
-“It would not interest you to describe our failures--how the man
-outwitted us; how, just when we thought we had him, he would slip
-through our fingers, partly by his own skill, his knowledge of the
-bush, and the excellence of his horses, but mainly, I think, by the
-help of sympathisers, who always gave warning of our movements and most
-secret plans. I will pass over all that and take you to the final scene
-in the drama.
-
-“When we were not actually in the bush we were following our quarry
-from one country-place to another, as the information we received gave
-us a clue to his whereabouts. It seldom happened that we passed a night
-in a town, and, when not camping out, we were billeted on the people
-of the district, the wealthiest and most important of them being
-too glad to place their houses at our disposal. One evening, after a
-hot pursuit, feeling sure we were close upon the trail of our man,
-we reached a great house where a number of guests were already being
-entertained. In spite of our numbers we were welcomed with effusion,
-and, after dinner, the ladies of the party took advantage of the sudden
-arrival of a number of young fellows ready for anything to get up an
-impromptu dance. I am not a dancing man--my time has been spent in
-communion with Nature, in reading in the open book of Truth--therefore
-I left the revellers and went to bed.
-
-“We had had a long and a hard day in the saddle, and I was weary, and
-must have fallen asleep almost as soon as I lay down.
-
-“Now I must tell you what I afterwards heard from others of my party.
-It was a little after midnight, and the dancing was going on with
-great spirit, when I--this, of course, is what they tell me--suddenly
-appeared at a door of the ball-room in my night-dress, with a rifle
-in my hand, and, without hesitation, I walked through the room and
-out into a verandah that led towards the back of the house. My head
-was thrown somewhat back, my eyes were wide open and seemed fixed on
-some distant object, while I was evidently unconscious of my immediate
-surroundings.
-
-“I fear my sudden entry into the dancing-room in such a very
-unconventional dress was rather a shock to some of the ladies. I am
-told that several screamed, and one or more of the older ones fainted;
-but for myself I knew none of this till afterwards. It appears that,
-what with astonishment at my appearance, and the necessary attentions
-to the ladies whose nerves were upset, a little time elapsed before any
-one thought of following me. Then some one fancied he heard the sound
-of a horse’s feet, and the men of my party pulled themselves together
-and made for the stables, as that was the direction I seemed to have
-taken.
-
-“I was nowhere to be seen; but a stable door was open, and my horse,
-saddle, and bridle had gone. Then the matter began to look serious,
-and, as my friends saddled their horses and started to look for me,
-riding they hardly knew where, there were rather dismal forebodings
-of the probable fate of even a fully-clad man luckless enough to be
-lost in the Australian bush. It was a lovely starlight night with a
-young moon, and, under other circumstances, the ride might have been
-pleasant enough; but the aimlessness of the whole business was becoming
-painfully evident to the searchers, when the sound of a rifle-shot was
-distinctly heard at no great distance. The horses’ heads were turned
-towards the direction from which the sound came, and the troop pushed
-on at a brisk pace. Almost immediately, a faint column of smoke was
-perceived, and as the horsemen approached the spot, the embers of a
-dying fire shed a slight ruddy glow in the darkness. The word was
-passed to proceed with caution, but the party was already so close that
-they could see my white night-dress, as I stood with naked feet by the
-side of my horse, regarding, with a half-dazed expression, the smoking
-rifle which I held in my hand. Sixty yards off was the thin column of
-smoke rising from the dying fire.
-
-“I was surrounded by my friends, who all spoke at once, and fired a
-perfect volley of questions at me. I said, ‘Softly, gentlemen, softly,
-and I will tell you all I know about it, for indeed the situation seems
-strange enough. As you know I went to bed. I slept and I dreamed. I
-suppose I was over-wrought, and my mind was full of the bushranger,
-for I thought I was again on his track, out in the bush, on horseback
-and alone. It was night, but I seemed to be riding with a purpose, or
-my horse knew where he was going, for by-and-by I was drawn towards
-a thin column of white smoke, the smoke of a wood fire, and then, as
-I got nearer, I caught the flickering glow of dying embers. I _felt_
-the object of our search was there, and I moved forward with extreme
-caution, till I had got within a hundred yards, and then I distinctly
-saw the outlaw lying perfectly straight on the ground, his feet towards
-the fire, and his horse hobbled hard by. I say I saw the outlaw, but
-I was dreaming, and in my dream I _knew_ it was the man, though I
-could not see his face. I dismounted, and, leading my horse, I got to
-within sixty yards of the sleeper. Then, fearing that if I went nearer
-he might wake and escape me, I took a steady aim, pulled the trigger,
-and--the next instant I was wide awake standing here in my night-dress.’
-
-“Almost before I had finished I saw men looking towards the fire, which
-was no dream, and we all of us now distinctly made out the form of a
-man, lying on his side, almost on his face, with his feet towards the
-embers and his head by the bush. Moreover, we could both see and hear
-a horse, that was evidently hobbled not very far from the sleeper.
-It did not take long to surround the spot where the man lay; but, as
-we rapidly closed in on the sleeper, he never stirred. A moment more
-and we were beside him. A dark stream, on which the glow from the
-fire seemed to shed some of its own red light, was oozing slowly from
-beneath the man’s chest; and, as several hands turned his face up to
-the stars and the pale moonlight, it was too evident that he was dead,
-and that his life had gone out with that crimson stream which flowed
-from a bullet wound in his heart.
-
-“I did not know the man myself, but several of our party recognised
-him. It was the bushranger, and, as I expected, his skull was not
-without features of special interest to science.”
-
-
-
-
-XXIV
-
-TIGERS AND CROCODILES
-
-
-When I first came, a visitor, to the Malay Peninsula, I was struck by
-the fact that wherever I went I heard stories of tigers. If, in the
-course of a day’s ride, I stopped at a village to eat my luncheon,
-the people who pressed round to watch me and have a chat would always
-tell me a tiger story of local and comparatively recent occurrence.
-Wherever I encamped for the night, I should be sure of at least one
-tale of successful attack or successful resistance, where a tiger
-had filled the principal rôle. When once I understood the little
-peculiarity, I took it as a matter of course, and at talking time I
-used to say, “Now tell me about the tiger: what was it he did?” It may
-have been accident, but it is no exaggeration to say that my question
-nearly always drew forth a more or less ghastly story.
-
-Now that my visit is nearly over, it occurs to me that, though I
-have accumulated an almost endless series of more or less interesting
-tales of the “low, crouching horror with the cruel fangs,” I have
-not retailed any of them to you. In a certain number of cases I was
-myself near enough to be able to verify details, and in others I had
-means of proving main facts. One is almost bound to say that, because
-tiger-stories, which are worth repeating, are almost always listened
-to with incredulity, or, what is worse, with that banter which often
-means, in plain words, “What I have not seen myself I decline to
-believe.” That is the attitude of England to the Orient in the presence
-of a tiger-story with which the auditors can claim no connection. I
-said that the prevalence of these tales struck me on my first arrival.
-I soon became _blasé_, and for a long time I have had no curiosity
-on the subject; but I will tell you of two tiger incidents that I
-personally verified, as far as I was able, and I will make no attempt
-to paint in the background with local colour, in order to supply you
-with finished pictures.
-
-There is an island by the western shore of the Straits of Malacca.
-You would never guess it to be an island, for it is simply a block of
-mangrove-covered mud, with one side towards the sea, and the other
-three sides separated from the mainland by deep but narrow lagoons
-of tidal water. The only inhabitants are a few wood-cutters, Malays
-and Chinese, who live in huts of mat or bark with palm-leaf roofs,
-while they are employed cutting mangroves and a hard-wood palm called
-_Nîbong_. The huts of the Chinese are on the ground, but the Malay
-dwellings are invariably raised a few feet above the damp soil, and
-to them entry is obtained by means of a ladder. These hovels are very
-carelessly built; they are of flimsy materials, only intended to
-last for a few months, when they are abandoned and rapidly fall to
-pieces. They serve their purpose. The occupants are out from dawn till
-afternoon, when they return to cook, eat, and sleep; and so, from day
-to day, till the job on which they are engaged is completed, and they
-can return, in the case of the Malays, to their families, while the
-Chinese are probably moved to another scene of similar labour.
-
-I was obliged to tell you this; you would not understand the story
-otherwise.
-
-The island covers an area of several thousand acres, but except for
-the few wood-cutters it was, at the time I write of, uninhabited. At
-one spot there was a hut containing two Chinese, near it a Malay house
-with eight or ten men in it, and at no great distance a large shed
-with nearly a score of Chinese. One dark night, about 11 P.M., the two
-Chinese who lived together were awakened by a noise in that part of the
-hut where they kept their food. One of the two got up, struck a light,
-and went into the back room. Immediately there was a dull thud, as of
-a man knocked heavily down, and the poor wretch screamed, “Help me, it
-is a tiger!” His comrade at once got out of his mosquito-curtain, and
-sprang to his friend’s assistance. Seizing him by the arm, he tried
-to free him from the clutches of the tiger, who already had a firm hold
-of the doomed man’s leg. The tug of life and death did not last long,
-for the tiger pulled the would-be rescuer down on his face, and, the
-light having been extinguished in the struggle, the man’s courage
-went out with it, and, in a paroxysm of fear, he climbed on to the
-roof. There he remained till daylight, while, close beneath him, within
-the narrow limits of the hut, the tiger dragged his victim hither and
-thither, snarling and growling, tearing the flesh and crunching the
-bones of the man, whose agonies were mercifully hidden. In the grey
-light which heralds dawn, the watcher, clinging to the roof-ridge,
-saw the tiger drag out of the house and into the forest the shapeless
-remains of his late companion. When once the sun was fairly up, the
-survivor slid down, and without daring to look inside the hut, made his
-way to the nearest Police Station, and reported what had occurred. An
-examination of the premises fully bore out his statement.
-
-A week passed. The Malays, whose hut was nearest to that visited by the
-tiger, were careful to bar their door after hearing what had happened;
-but in this case the precaution proved useless. Easterns, especially
-those engaged in severe manual labour, sleep exceedingly heavily, and
-the men of this household were aroused by a smothered cry from one of
-their number; the noise of a heavy body falling through the thatch
-having passed practically unnoticed. One of the party got up, lighted a
-torch, and was at once knocked down by a tiger springing upon him. In
-a moment every man had seized his heavy chopping-knife, and the whole
-party fell upon the man-eater, and, by the light of the fallen torch,
-hit so hard and straight that the beast suddenly sprang through the
-roof and disappeared. It was then, for the first time, discovered that
-this was the means by which the tiger had effected its entrance, and
-it left by the hole which it had made on entering the hut. The first
-man attacked was dead; the second was taken to hospital, and there died
-of his wounds.
-
-There was a fourth victim. I am not certain of the facts in that case,
-but he was severely injured and was sent to hospital, where, I believe,
-he recovered with the entire loss of his scalp. That filled up the cup
-of crime. Almost directly afterwards the murderer killed a bullock;
-the carcass was poisoned, and the next day the body of a tigress was
-found close by that of her victim. She was not very large, eight feet
-from nose to the tip of the tail; she was in splendid condition--teeth
-perfect and coat glossy--but her legs and feet were disproportionately
-large to the size of her body. On her head there was a deep clean cut,
-and one of her fore-legs was gashed, evidently by a Malay chopper. The
-most curious feature was that in certainly two out of the three cases
-the tigress, who always attacked by night, the only time when the huts
-were occupied, effected her entrance by springing on the roof and
-forcing her way through the thin palm thatching.
-
-There is another tiger story that I can tell you in two words. It is
-curious, it sounds highly improbable; but, after hearing it on the spot
-from the two men concerned, I believe it.
-
-Quite recently it was the fruit season here, and, as is customary, two
-men were watching an orchard situated on the side of a main cart-road.
-The orchard was not enclosed in any way, and the fruit trees on one
-side actually overhung the road. The road was divided from the orchard
-by a rather wide but quite shallow ditch, that was always dry except
-during rain. Fifteen or twenty feet on the inside of this ditch was a
-tiny lean-to under the trees. The shelter consisted of a raised floor
-of split bamboos, covered by a palm-thatch roof, and a narrow sort of
-bench, also under the roof, but level with the floor. The bench was
-next to the high road.
-
-On the night of which I write, one man was sleeping on the bench,
-the other on the floor of the shelter. It was fine, with a young,
-early-setting moon; the scattered houses of a considerable village were
-all round, and there was nothing to fear.
-
-I said before that natives sleep soundly, and you must believe it,
-or you will never credit my story. About 1 A.M. the man sleeping
-on the floor of the shelter heard his friend shouting for help.
-The voice came from the ditch by the road, and thither the man
-ran, shouting “What is the matter?” “Thieves!” promptly replied
-the other, but a moment’s conversation dispelled the idea born
-of his partially-awakened intelligence, and led them to the true
-interpretation of the riddle. The man in the ditch said then, and
-says now, that he was asleep, and knew nothing till he suddenly
-found himself thrown in the ditch, when he awoke and shouted, “Help,
-thieves!” But, all the same, when he tried to get up, and his friend
-helped him to the shelter and got a light, it was seen that he had a
-deep gash in the shoulder, which kept him in hospital for nearly three
-weeks. The light also showed the track of a tiger up to the bench,
-thence to the spot in the ditch where the man was lying, and straight
-across the high road into another orchard. One other thing it showed,
-and that was a patch of earth on the top of the wounded man’s head.
-
-The friend’s theory, shared by all the neighbours, is this. He points
-to the exact position in which the sleeper was lying, and how a post,
-from ground to roof, completely protected the back of his neck, so that
-the tiger could not seize him as he must have wished to do. Owing to
-the man’s position, and the way the post of the house and the rails
-of the bench (for it had a sort of back) ran, the tiger had to take
-a very awkward grip of his prey, catching him by the shoulder, and
-therefore carrying him with his head almost on the ground. Three or
-four steps, a second or two in time, would bring him to the shallow,
-dry ditch. It was so shallow that he would not jump it, but the
-in-and-out of a tiger with a kill would be the equivalent of a jump.
-In he would go easily enough, but the cut slope of the ditch and the
-slight rise into the road on the other side just saved the man’s
-life, for the top of his head hit against the edge of the ditch, and,
-awkwardly held as he was, knocked him out of the tiger’s mouth.
-
-Once dropped, the beast would not return to pick his prey up again,
-especially with one man shouting and the noise of the other coming to
-his assistance.
-
-The tiger is the scourge of the land, the crocodile of the water. They
-seem to be complement and supplement--each of the other: the “golden
-terror with the ebon bars,” the very embodiment of vitality, sinew,
-and muscle--of life that is savage and instant to strike--and the
-stony-eyed, spiky-tailed monster, outwardly a lifeless, motionless
-log; but, once those pitiless jaws open, it is only a question of what
-tooth closes on the victim, whether it be “The last chance,” “Tear the
-shroud,” or “God save your soul.”
-
-I was starting for some hot springs in a remote spot, far in the
-interior, where I was certain of finding both elephant and rhinoceros,
-and the second night of my journey I spent at the junction of two large
-streams. Strolling back from a swim in the river, the local chief told
-me this pathetic story of fruitless heroism.
-
-The country hereabout is very sparsely peopled, only a few scattered
-huts breaking the monotony of the virgin forest, Malays and wild tribes
-the sole inhabitants. Every house is on the bank of a river, and beyond
-the produce of their rice-fields and orchards the people rely mainly on
-the water to supply them with food. The Malay is exceedingly cunning
-in devising various means for catching fish, but what he likes best is
-to go out in the evening, just at sundown, with a casting-net. Either
-he wades about by himself, or, with a boy to steer for him, he creeps
-along in a tiny dug-out, throws his net in the deep pools, and usually
-dives in after it, to free the meshes from the numerous snags on which
-they are sure to become entangled.
-
-One evening, a few days before my arrival, a Malay peasant was netting
-in the river accompanied by his son, a boy of twelve years old. They
-were wading, and, while the father moved along the edge of the deeper
-water under the bank, the boy walked in the shallows out in the stream.
-The short twilight passed, and the darkness of night was gathering over
-the waters of the wide river, when suddenly the father was startled by
-a cry from the boy, and, as he turned, he shuddered to hear the one
-word, “crocodile,” come in an agonised scream from the poor child.
-Dropping his net, the man swam and stumbled through the shallowing
-stream to the boy’s rescue. The child was down, but making frantic,
-though hopelessly ineffectual struggles to free himself from the grip
-of a crocodile which had him by the knee and thigh. The man was naked,
-except for a pair of short trousers; he had no weapon whatever, yet he
-threw himself, without hesitation, on the saurian, and with his hands
-alone began a struggle with the hideous reptile for the possession of
-the boy. The man was on the deep-water side of his foe, determined at
-all costs to prevent him from drowning the child; he had seized the
-creature from behind, so as to save himself from its claws, and he
-tried to find, through darkness and water, the eye-sockets, by which
-alone he could hope to reach a vulnerable joint in its impenetrable
-harness. The father’s fury and despair guided his hands to the
-reptile’s eyes, and pressing his thumbs with all his might on these
-points of less resistance, he inflicted such pain that the creature
-gave a convulsive spring which threw the man backwards into the
-water. But the boy was released, and the saurian retired from the
-fight to sulk and blink over his defeat in some dark pool beneath the
-overhanging grasses of the river bank.
-
-The man carried the boy on shore, and thence to his home; but the poor
-child was so severely injured that, with no skilled surgeon to attend
-him, he died after three days of suffering.
-
-
-
-
-XXV
-
-A ROSE AND A MOTH
-
-
-When I came again to this enchanted mountain, above the steaming
-plains, the first thing I did was to wander in the garden, amid the
-sweet-smelling blossoms and the bees and butterflies, and feast my eyes
-upon the ever-new loveliness of the changeless hills, the changeful sky
-and sea, that crowd the prospect with a thousand pictures of infinite
-beauty and inspiring grandeur. Then I saw a perfect rose, a rose of
-divine, deep colour--betwixt rubies and red wine--of the texture of
-finest velvet, and I gathered it. Once, long ago, at least so it seems,
-you gave me the fellow of this rose, plucked from the same tree. To me
-this flower will always suggest you, for, beyond the association, there
-are certain characteristics which you share with it, “dark and true and
-tender,” a rare sweetness of perfume and, in the heart of the rose, a
-slumbering passion, the like of which will some day wake you to the
-joy or the sorrow of life. I have treasured that sweet-scented blossom
-as long as it would stay with me; and now, when the petals are falling,
-I see that they are the counterpart of three rose-petals that had
-travelled from far over sea in a letter from you. They came the bearers
-of their own message, and now I seem to read it. Have I been very
-dense, or am I only fatuous now? Why can’t they speak, these things
-you have touched, or do they speak and I lack understanding? At least
-you sent them, and that is much from you. I am grateful, and if I am a
-prey to vain imaginings, you will forgive me, and understand that I did
-not, presumptuously and with indecent haste, set about the construction
-of a castle that, even now, has but my wish for its unsubstantial
-foundation.
-
-Last night, this morning rather, for it was between midnight and 1 A.M.,
-I was reading that very weird story about a phantom dog. I was deeply
-engrossed in the weirdest part of it, when I heard a buzzing noise,
-and in a dark corner behind the piano I saw a pair of very strange
-eyes approaching and receding. They were like small coals of fire,
-extraordinarily brilliant, with a pinkish flame, shedding light as
-well as containing it. I realised that they were the eyes of what
-looked like a very large moth, whose wings never ceased to move with
-marvellous rapidity.
-
-My chair was touching a table on which was a long vase of perfume-laden
-lilies, white lilies with yellow hearts, and by-and-by the moth flew
-to the flowers and stood, poised in air, before a lily-blossom. There
-were two very bright lights on the table, and the creature was within
-two feet of me, so I saw it plainly enough. The wings never for an
-instant stopped their vibration, and it was so rapid that I could not
-tell their form or colour. Once directly opposite the flower, the moth
-produced a delicate proboscis, which it inserted into the blossom,
-and then slowly pushed it right up the stamen, apparently in search
-of honey. When extended, this feeler was of quite abnormal length, at
-least two or three inches. What, however, surprised me was that, having
-withdrawn the probe (for that was what it looked like, a very fine
-steel or wire probe, such as dentists use), the instrument seemed to
-go back into the moth’s head, or wherever it came from, to be again
-extended to sound the depths of another blossom. There! it is past
-midnight, and I hear the buzzing in the next room; here it comes; and
-I can examine the creature again. Alas! what a disappointment: this is
-a horned beetle. I thought it made over-much noise for my interesting
-friend. Now to continue my tale.
-
-I observed the moth had a large, dark, cigar-shaped body, with two
-longish _antennæ_, much stouter than the proboscis, and infinitely
-shorter. After pursuing its researches into the internal economy of
-several lilies, the thing flew into my face, and I ought to have
-caught and examined it, for then the feeler had disappeared; but I was
-surprised and rather alarmed, and I thought it would return to the
-flowers, and I could again watch, and, if necessary, catch it. It made,
-however, for a dark corner, and then buzzed about the wooden ceiling
-till it came to an iron hook from which hung a basket of ferns. I was
-carefully watching it all the time, and at the hook it disappeared, the
-buzzing ceased, and I concluded the creature had gone into a hole where
-it probably lived. To-day, in daylight, I examined the ceiling all
-round the hook, but there was no hole anywhere.
-
-Now is this the beginning of the dog business, and am I to be haunted
-by those fiery eyes, by the ceaseless clatter of those buzzing wings,
-and the long supple feeler that suggests the tortures of dentistry,
-and may probe deep into the recesses of my brain? It can’t, I
-think, be liver, for I have not yet learnt on which side of me that
-useful organ lies, and it is not drink. If it is only a moth of a
-rather uncommon kind, I suppose the fire in its eyes is to light
-it through the darkness; but I never before saw a moth going into
-raptures over flowers, and I can’t yet understand where it puts
-away that instrument of torture, unless it winds it round a bobbin,
-inside its head or its body, when not using it. It reminds me of a
-man I saw swallowing swords at the Aquarium. I was quite willing to
-admire and believe, until he took up a sword, the blade of which, by
-outside measurement, stretched from his mouth nearly to his knee, and
-swallowed it to the hilt at one gulp. Then I doubted; and the knotty
-sticks, umbrellas, and bayonets, which he afterwards disposed of
-with consummate ease, only increased my dislike for him. Still this
-proboscis is not an umbrella, and though it is about twice as long
-as the moth itself, and seems to come out of the end of its nose, I
-know so little of the internal arrangements of these creatures that I
-dare say this one can, by winding the instrument up like the spring
-of a watch, find room for it in its head. Why the thing won’t keep
-its wings still, and sit quietly on the petals of the flower while it
-thrusts that probe into the lily’s nerve-centres, I can’t imagine.
-Then one could examine it quietly, and not go to bed in fear of a
-deadly nightmare.
-
-Perhaps, after all, it is the result of reading about that “Thing too
-much,” that starving, murderous cur, at 1 A.M.; if it is, I had better
-go to bed now, for it has just struck the hour. Am I wrong about the
-message of the rose? You see how hard I try to do your bidding.
-
-
-
-
-XXVI
-
-A LOVE-PHILTRE
-
-
-There is, to me, something strangely attractive about Muhammadan
-prayers, especially those fixed for the hour of sunset. Time and
-again I have gone in with the Faithful, when the priest chants the
-_mu’azzin_, and I have sat by and been deeply impressed by the
-extraordinary reverence of the worshippers, while eye and ear have
-been captivated by the picturesque figures against their colourful
-background, the wonderfully musical intoning of the priest, and the
-not less harmonious responses. I do not pretend that this oft-repeated
-laudation of God’s name, this adoration by deep sonorous words and by
-every bodily attitude that can convey profound worship, would appeal to
-others as it does to me, even when I have to guess at the exact meaning
-of prayers whose general import needs no interpretation.
-
-The fifth hour of prayer follows closely on that fixed for sundown,
-and the interval is filled up by singing hymns of praise led by the
-priest, or by telling, and listening to, stories of olden times. Of
-Eastern places the Malay Peninsula had special attractions for me, and
-the few European travellers I met there, and who, like myself, were not
-bound to a programme, seemed equally fascinated. Most of them either
-prolonged their stay, or determined to return for a longer visit.
-
-It is difficult to say exactly wherein lies the spell, but there
-are beauties of scenery, the undoubted charm of the people (as
-distinguished from other Easterns), and the sense of mystery, of
-exclusiveness, of unspoilt nature and undescribed life, that arouse a
-new interest in the wearied children of the West. It is pleasant to
-get at something which is not to be found in any encyclopædia, and
-it is, above all, gratifying to obtain knowledge direct and at the
-fountain-head. This is why I often return, in thought, to the narrow
-land that lies between two storm-swept seas, itself more free from
-violent convulsions than almost any other. There, is perpetual summer;
-no volcanoes, no earthquakes, no cyclones. Even the violence of the
-monsoons, that lash the China Sea and the Indian Ocean into periodical
-fury, is largely spent before it reaches the unprotected seaboards of
-the richly dowered peninsula.
-
-Forgive this digression. I was sitting with the Faithful, and the first
-evening prayer was over. The brief twilight was fast deepening into
-night. The teacher excused himself, and the disciples pushed themselves
-across the floor till they could sit with their backs against the wall,
-leaving two rows of prayer-carpets to occupy the middle of the room. I
-had asked some question which, in a roundabout way, led to the telling
-of this tale.
-
-“I remember all about it,” said a man, sitting in the corner; “he was
-a stranger, a man of Sumatra, called Nakhôdah Ma’win, and he gave the
-girl a love-potion that drove her mad. He was a trader from Bâtu Bâra,
-and he had been selling the famous silks of his country in the villages
-up our river. Having exhausted his stock and collected his money,
-he embarked in his boat and made his way to the mouth of the river.
-Every boat going to sea had to take water on board, and there were two
-places where you could get it; one was at Teluk Bâtu on our coast, and
-the other was on an island hard by. But, in those days, the strait
-between the coast and the island was a favourite haunt of pirates,
-and Nakhôdah Ma’win made for Teluk Bâtu to get his supply of fresh
-water. He was in no hurry, a week or a month then made no difference;
-so he first called on the chief of the place, a man of importance,
-styled Toh Permâtang, and then he began to think about getting the
-water. Now it happened that Toh Permâtang had four daughters, and the
-youngest but one, a girl called Ra’ûnah, was very beautiful. When
-there is a girl of uncommon beauty in a place, people talk about it,
-and no doubt the Nakhôdah, idling about, heard the report and managed
-to get sight of Ra’ûnah. At once he fell in love with her, and set
-about thinking how he could win her, though she was already promised
-in marriage to another. These Sumatra people know other things besides
-making silks and daggers, and Nakhôdah Ma’win had a love-philtre of
-the most potent kind. It was made from the tears of the sea-woman whom
-we call _dûyong_. I know the creature. I have seen it. It is bigger
-than a man, and something like a porpoise. It comes out of the sea to
-eat grass, and, if you lie in wait for it, you can catch it and take
-the tears. Some people eat the flesh, it is red like the flesh of a
-buffalo; and the tears are red, and if you mix them with rice they
-make the rice red; at least, people say so. Anyhow, Nakhôdah Ma’win
-had the philtre, and he got an old woman to needle the way for him,
-as one always does, and she managed to mix the dûyong’s tears with
-Ra’ûnah’s rice, and, when the girl had eaten it, she was mad with
-love for the Nakhôdah. He stayed at Teluk Bâtu for a month, making
-excuses, but all to be with Ra’ûnah; and he saw her every day--with
-the help of the old woman, of course. You can’t go on like that
-for long without some one suspecting something, and, though I never
-heard for certain that there was anything really wrong, the girl was
-mad and reckless, and the Nakhôdah took fright. She was a chief’s
-daughter, while he was a trader and a stranger, and he knew they would
-kill him without an instant’s hesitation if Toh Permâtang so much as
-suspected what was going on. Therefore, having got the water on board,
-the Nakhôdah put to sea, saying nothing to any one. In a little place
-people talk of little things, and some one said, in the hearing of
-Ra’ûnah, that the Bâtu Bâra trader had sailed away. With a cry of
-agony the girl dashed from the house, her sisters after her; and seeing
-the boat sailing away, but still at no great distance, for there was
-little breeze, she rushed into the sea and made frantic efforts to
-tear herself from the restraining arms of her sisters, who could barely
-prevent her from drowning herself. At the noise of all this uproar a
-number of men ran down to the shore, and, when they saw and heard what
-was the matter, they shouted to the Nakhôdah to put back again. He knew
-better than to thrust his neck into the noose, and, though they pursued
-his boat, they failed to catch him.
-
-“When Ra’ûnah saw that she could not get to her lover, and that each
-moment was carrying him farther away, she cried to him to return, and
-bursting into sobs, she bemoaned her abandonment, and told her tale of
-love in words of endearment and despair that passed into a song, which
-to this day is known as Ra’ûnah’s Lament.
-
-“Yes, I can remember the verses, and will repeat them if it does not
-weary you. The Nakhôdah never returned.
-
-    “‘Oh, shelter! my dear shelter! the palm stands in the plain.
-      The fruit of the nutmeg falls to the ground and lies there.
-      Thine is thy sister, small but comely,
-      Thy diamond! the light of Permâtang Guntong.
-
-      Oh, my shelter! I hear the measured splash of the oars;
-      I see the drift-weed caught in the rudder.
-      Thou art above, my protecting shelter;
-      I am beneath, in lowly worship.
-
-      Oh, my shelter! ’twas the hour of evening prayer when thou
-          settest sail;
-      The oars are straining and the boat reels along.
-      God’s mercy is great, His promise sure;
-      By His blessing we shall meet in the Garden of Paradise.
-
-      Oh, my shelter! the breeze is blowing in fitful gusts;
-      Be careful not to pull the sail to the left.
-      In three months and ten days,
-      Thou wilt return, my brother!
-
-      Oh, my shelter! make for the island, Sri Rama;
-      For there are two marabouts and a fish-weir.
-      Though thou leavest me, be not long absent;
-      In two, at most in three, months, return again.
-
-      Oh, my shelter! the waters of the sea are calm,
-      Yet do not hug the shore.
-      Have no fear of my betrothed;
-      Was not thy sword but lately sharpened?
-
-      Oh, my shelter! thou camest to Teluk Bâtu,
-      And the peace of my heart has gone.
-      Satan delights in my undoing,
-      For my heart cleaves to thine.
-
-      Oh, my shelter! take good thought,
-      The passions war with the soul.
-      Do not waste the gold in thy hand,
-      Lest scoffers have cause to mock thee.
-
-      Oh, my Nakhôdah! when the mattress is spread, who will lie on it?
-      Who shall be covered by the folded coverlet?
-      Who will sit upon the embroidered mat,
-      Or lean against the great round pillow?
-
-      Oh, my Nakhôdah! the feast is waiting, but who will eat it?
-      The water is cool, but who will drink it?
-      The napkin is there, whose mouth can it wipe?
-      The sireh is ready, but who will use it?
-      Thy Sister is cold, who will fondle her?
-      Ah-hu! ah-hu! come death, deliver me.’
-
-“And then she fell to weeping and moaning, struggling with her sisters,
-and trying to cast herself into the sea.
-
-“That is the tale of Ra’ûnah and Nakhôdah Ma’win, and every one
-knows it. Some tell it one way and some another, but that is how it
-came to me. The girl was mad, mad with love and regret for six months;
-and then her father married her to another man, and that cured her. I
-knew the man: he was a foreigner. She and two of her sisters died long
-ago, but the other is alive still.
-
-“How to get the dûyong’s tears? Oh, that is easy enough. You catch
-the sea-woman when she comes up the sand to eat the sweet grass on
-shore. I told you how to do it. You have to lie in wait and she
-waddles up on two sort of fins that she uses like feet, helping with
-her tail. If she sees you, she tries to get back into the sea, but you
-stand between her and the water and so catch her. Then, if you want
-her tears, you make a palisade of sticks in the deeper water of the
-bay through which she came, and there you bind her in a sort of cage,
-at the surface of the water, so that she can’t move. It is like the
-thing they put elephants in when they are half-tamed. When she finds
-she is held fast there, and cannot get down into the deep water to her
-young, she weeps, and as the tears stream down her face you catch them,
-sweep them into a vessel, and you have the philtre.”
-
-There was a pause. Then a man said, “I hear they sell dûyong’s tears
-in Penang.”
-
-The teller of the story at once replied, “Very likely, I have heard it
-too; but it is probably only some make-believe stuff. You must try it
-before you buy it.”
-
-“How do you do that?”
-
-“Easily. Rub some of the philtre on a chicken’s beak; if it is really
-potent, the chicken will follow you wherever you go!”
-
-“Have you seen that yourself?”
-
-“No. I want no love-philtres. I manage well enough without them. I
-don’t care to play with a thing you can’t control. I might get into
-trouble, like Nakhôdah Ma’win. It is easy enough to give the potion,
-but I never heard what you do to stop it. Anyhow, if I wanted to buy
-the stuff, I should first try it on a chicken, and if it had no effect
-I should not believe in it, for every one knows that the story of
-Ra’ûnah and Ma’win is true, or they would not sing about it to this
-day. Hark! the teacher is calling to prayer.”
-
-A number of boys’ high-pitched voices were chanting--
-
-    “_Bihak-illah, rizal-l’ Allah!
-     A’ain-nu na, bi-aun illah!_”
-
-and, across their chorus, came the sonorous, far-reaching tones of the
-priest--
-
-    “_Allah-hu akbar!
-     Allah-hu akbar!
-     Ashâd-du Allah, illah-ha il-Allah._”
-
-When the little group of men had fallen into their places, and
-the only sound in the building was the musical intoning of the
-half-whispered prayers, I could not help musing on the extraordinarily
-happy expression, “he found an old woman to _needle_ the way for
-him.” Nothing could be more delightful than the symbol of the small,
-insinuating, finely tempered, horribly sharp bit of steel that goes so
-easily through things, and leaves no trace of its passage. And then
-there is nearly always a thread behind it, and that remains when the
-needle has gone!
-
-I have translated Ra’ûnah’s lament for you absolutely literally,
-except that the word which occurs so often, and which I have rendered
-“shelter,” means “umbrella.” The umbrella here, as in other countries,
-is an emblem of the highest distinction: a shelter from sun and rain,
-a shield and protection, “the shadow of a great rock in a dry land.” A
-yellow umbrella is a sign and token of sovereignty.
-
-
-
-
-XXVII
-
-MOONSTRUCK
-
-
-Once I suggested to you that the greatest facts of life are, in
-English, expressed by the smallest words, and, with that dainty,
-hesitating manner that is so captivating, you almost consented to
-agree. Look, for instance, at these words: God, sin, good, bad, day,
-night, sun, moon, light, dark, heat, cold, earth, sky, sea, world,
-peace, war, joy, pain, eat, drink, sleep, love, hate, birth, death.
-They cover a good deal of ground, and you can easily add to them. A
-philologist would tell you why the most profound conceptions, the
-most important abstract facts, are denoted by simple words, but the
-explanation might not interest you. The circle of my acquaintances does
-not include a philologist; my nearest approach to such dissipation is a
-friend who pretends to be a lexicographer. Now look at that word, it is
-long enough in all conscience, but the idea which it represents only
-makes one tired.
-
-Whilst a good reason could be found for expressing original principles
-in monosyllables, I wonder if any one can say why that fantastic
-product of this century, the (so-called) educated Indian, revels in
-the use and misuse of all the longest words he can find to convey his,
-sometimes grotesque, but nearly always commonplace, thoughts, when he
-tries to put them in English. Curiously enough, this transcendental
-language, which is the peculiar pride of the Indian babu, leaves on
-the mind of the listener no concrete idea, no definite conception of
-what the speaker wants to say; but it does invariably conjure up a
-figure typical of the class which employs this barbarous tongue as
-a high-sounding medium in which to disguise its shallow thoughts.
-And then one feels sorry for the poor overthrown words, the maimed
-quotations, and the slaughtered sentences, so that one realises how
-happy is that description which speaks of the English conversation of
-East Indians as a _mêlée_, wherein the words lie about “like dead men
-on a battle-field.” There must be something in the Indian’s character
-to account for this; and, as a great stream of words pours from the
-narrow channel of his mind, and gives expression to his turgid thoughts
-in an avalanche of sound, so you will see the same extravagance of
-outward display in the manner of his life, in his strange garments, his
-sham jewellery, and his pitiful and disastrous attempts to ape what he
-thinks is the riotous “fastness” of the quite white man. Behind this
-outward seeming, there is also, in many cases, nothing, and sometimes
-even less than that. Misapplied English education has a good deal to
-answer for, and, if the babu has a soul, it may demand a reckoning
-from those who gave it a speech in which to make known the impossible
-aspirations of a class that is as rich in wordy agitation as it is poor
-in the spirit and physique of a ruling race. Many babus cannot quench
-revolt. Perhaps the babu is the “thing too much” in India; they could
-do without him. And yet he and education, combined, make a growing
-danger that may yet have to be counted with. But enough of the babu; I
-cannot think how he got into my letter.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-My visit to this strange and beautiful country is over. For the last
-time a steamer is hurrying me down one of those great waterways
-which, until recent times, have been the only means of getting into
-this mysterious land. The dying day supplied a feast of colour, of
-momentarily changing pictures that, however familiar, seem always new,
-always resplendent with amazing lights, delicate half-tints, and soft
-shadows, such as only a moisture-charged atmosphere and a fiery sun can
-produce. Does the thought of such an evening ever come back to you,
-or are you trying to accustom yourself to the greys and neutral tints
-of the life of resignation? Ah! The moon is just rising; the scene is
-quite enchanting, and I must try to tell you exactly what I see.
-
-The river is six or seven hundred yards wide. It is high tide, and,
-to the eye, the picture has but three component parts--sky, wood,
-and water. Sky and water are divided by a belt of wood which borders
-the river. The continuous belt of trees, of varying height, growing
-from out the river and up the bank, makes a deeply indented line
-of vegetation. This belt is unbroken, but it rises into plumes and
-graceful fronds, where some loftier palm or giant jungle-tree towers
-above its neighbours, and all its foliage shows clear as an etching
-against the grey-blue background. Again, the belt dips and leaves
-broken spaces of sky, where the foliage suddenly dwarfs. The sky is
-dark grey just above the trees, but the grey changes to blue as the
-eye travels upward, and overhead the zenith is sapphire, cloudless
-sapphire spangled with stars. The water is like burnished gun-metal,
-and, under the shore, there is a shadow as dark and wide as the line of
-trees which throws it. The moon, a perfect circle of brilliant light,
-not silver nor gold, but the colour produced by silvering over a golden
-ground, has just risen, and rides a short space above the trees. In the
-deepest shadow, exactly where water and land meet, there is a narrow
-streak of amazingly bright light; then a space of darkness, covered
-by the shadow of the trees, and then a veritable column of gold, the
-width of the moon, and the length of the moon’s distance above the
-trees. The column is not still, it is moved by the shimmer of the
-water, and it dazzles the eyes. The effect is marvellous: this intense
-brilliance as of molten gold, this pillar of light with quivering but
-clearly-defined edges, playing on a mirror of dark burnished steel.
-Then that weird glint of yellow flame, appearing and disappearing, in
-the very centre of the blackest shadow, and, above all, the Queen of
-Night moves through the heavens in superb consciousness of her own
-transcendent beauty, calmly satisfied to recognise that the sapphire
-firmament, and all the world of stars, are but the background and the
-foils to her surpassing loveliness.
-
-As the moon rises, the reflection in the river lengthens, widens,
-breaks into ripples of amber, and shoots out arrows of paler light.
-Soon there is a broad pathway of glittering wavelets, which opens out
-into a great silvery road, and the light of the risen moon dispels the
-grey fog that hung over the belt of jungle, and tinges with silver the
-few fleecy clouds that emphasise the blueness of their background.
-Then a dark curtain gradually spreads itself across the sky, dims the
-moonlight, veils the stars, and throws a spell over the river, hiding
-its luminous highway, and casting upon the water the reflection of its
-own spectre-like form.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The fog clung to the river, but when we reached the sea the moon
-reigned alone, paling the stars and filling the air with a flood of
-delicious light. I was leaning over the side of the ship, wondering
-where I could ever see such a sight again, when a man of the country
-came and stood by me. I said something to him of the beauty of the
-night, and he answered, “Yes, there are flowers in the moon.”
-
-I asked him what he meant, and this is what he told me:--
-
-“It was a night like this, and I was going with my mother, my wife,
-and child to a neighbouring island to visit some relatives. We were
-travelling by a small steamer, and in the early hours of the morning
-were coasting along the shore of the island. The moon was then setting,
-but it was extraordinarily brilliant, and I tried to find a spot in the
-shadow where I could sleep. As I settled myself comfortably, I noticed
-that my mother was standing, looking over the bulwark. It might have
-been an hour later when I awoke, and, as we were near the port, I went
-to rouse my people and collect my luggage. I could not find my mother
-anywhere. The rest of my party and all the other passengers were asleep
-till I roused them, and no one had seen or heard anything unusual. We
-all of us searched the ship in every direction, but without success,
-and the only conclusion was that the poor old lady had somehow fallen
-overboard. By this time the vessel had reached the anchorage, and there
-was nothing to be done but to go ashore. I took my family to the house
-of our friends, some miles from the landing-place, and then wondered
-what to do next. The village we had come to was on the shore, and not
-very far from the place where I had last seen my mother on board the
-ship. I determined, therefore, to drive to a spot as nearly opposite
-that place as I could get, and then to walk along the beach, and ask at
-the huts of the Chinese fishermen whether they had seen a body in the
-water. The first two or three cottages I came to were empty, but I made
-my way to a solitary hut which I saw standing in the centre of a tiny
-bay. In that hut, to my surprise and great joy, I found my mother and
-two Chinese fishermen. The men told me that they had gone out before
-daylight to set their nets, and in the light of the moon, then almost
-on the horizon, they saw a woman, as they described it, “standing in
-the water,” so that, though her head only was visible, she seemed to be
-upright, and they imagined she must be supported somehow, or resting
-her feet on an old fishing stake, for the water was fifteen or twenty
-feet deep there. She did not cry out or seem frightened, only rather
-dazed. They rowed to the spot and pulled her into the boat, and just
-then the moon sank out of sight. The old lady had lost her skirt, but
-otherwise seemed little the worse, and, as far as the fishermen could
-see, she was not resting on any support. When I asked her how she got
-into the sea, she said she could not tell, but she was looking at the
-moon, and she saw such lovely flowers in it that she felt she must try
-to get to them. Then she found herself in the water, but all the time
-she kept looking at the flowers till the fishermen pulled her into
-their boat and brought her on shore. I took her to the house where we
-were staying, and I have left her in the island ever since, because I
-dare not let her travel by sea again.”
-
-
-
-
-XXVIII
-
-THE “DEVI”
-
-
-I am in Agra. The Japanese say that if you have not been to Nikko
-you cannot say _kekko_. That is an insular conceit, meant, no
-doubt, originally for Japan and the Japanese only; but national
-pride--speaking as the frog spoke who lived under half a coconut-shell,
-and thought the limits of his vision comprised the universe--now
-declares that the Nikko temples are incomparable. I cannot claim to
-have seen all the great buildings in the world, but I have visited some
-of the most famous, and I say with confidence that the Tâj at Agra is
-the most perfect triumph of the architect’s and builder’s skill in
-existence. I visited this tomb first by daylight, and it is difficult
-to give you any idea of the extraordinary effect the first sight of it
-produced on me. I drove in a wretched two-horse gharry, along a dusty
-and uninteresting road, until the rickety vehicle was pulled up with
-a jerk in front of a great red stone portal, and I got out. Through
-that lofty Gothic arch, and framed by it, appeared a vision of white
-loveliness, an amazing structure of dazzling marble, shooting towers
-and minarets into a clear, blue, cloudless sky.
-
-The Tâj--the Crown of Kings--stands on a raised terrace; it is a
-considerable distance from the gate, and the eye is led to it by a
-wide, straight path, bisecting a garden, which, at the first glance,
-seems a mass of dark green foliage. The garden is extensive, and shut
-in by a high wall. Just outside this wall, to right and left of the
-Tâj, are a palace and a mosque of deep red sandstone. More than that
-you cannot see, but the river Jumna flows under the rear wall of the
-raised terrace on which the Tâj stands.
-
-The marble monument, which contains the tombs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz
-Mahal, is an enormous building, and represents seventeen years’ work
-of a force of twenty thousand men. But the design is so faultless, the
-proportions so perfect, the whole effect so exquisitely graceful, that,
-until you are close to the wide steps leading up to the terrace, and
-realise that men standing by the walls look almost like flies, you are
-not struck by any sense of extraordinary size.
-
-The building itself is superb. The conception is absolutely unique,
-and the harmony of every part a crowning triumph; the splendour of
-material, the purity of that dazzling, unbroken whiteness--these are a
-joy and a delight.
-
-But the surroundings, the setting in which this jewel stands, are so
-marvellously well calculated to exactly frame the picture, that the
-whole scene seems a vision, unearthly in its beauty. When once that
-sensation passes, when one has gazed, and blinked, and rubbed one’s
-eyes, and compassed the reality of it all, one is profoundly impressed
-by the genius that could raise such a heavenly edifice, and one is
-proudly thankful to have lived that hour of life, to have felt the soul
-stir, and to carry away an imperishable memory of one of the noblest of
-human achievements.
-
-The main entrance is by a great arched door, bordered by Arabic
-characters in black marble let into the white wall. Pierced marble
-windows admit a dim and softened light to a lofty chamber. In the
-comparative gloom one slowly discerns a marble wall surrounding the
-centre space. The wall is inlaid with precious stones--jasper and
-onyx, sardius and topaz, amethyst, chrysobel, and sapphire, set in
-floral designs. Within this enclosure are the white marble tombs of
-Shah Jahan and his wife.
-
-Last night the moon was full, and, an hour before midnight, I went
-and sat in that dark stone palace, and revelled in the beauty of a
-spectacle that cannot be equalled on earth. It is said that the palace
-was built for Royal ladies, and was specially designed to give them
-the most perfect view of the Tâj. There is an open stone verandah,
-over which I leaned and gazed in ecstasy at the scene. The dark trees
-of the garden spread from under the walls of the palace over a wide
-space of ground, and from them rose the incomparable Tâj; minarets,
-walls, and windows, blazing with silver sheen under the direct rays
-of the moon, softened in the half shadows, darkening to deep tones of
-grey on the river face. Slightly to the left of the Tâj, and as far
-beyond it as the Tâj was from me, stood the mosque, a splendid foil to
-the glittering radiance of the tomb. In the shadow, cast by the great
-mass of marble, rippled the shallow waters of the wide river. The rear
-walls of the building are on the edge of the bank, and beyond the Tâj
-the river stretches away in a silver ribbon towards the city. In a
-line to the right of the Tâj, and distant about three miles, rises a
-dark hill, crowned by the Palace and Citadel of Agra. The enclosing
-walls and battlements, built of the same red sandstone, were scarcely
-distinguishable from the hill; but the moonlight caught the white
-marble buildings within, and innumerable lights twinkled from walls and
-windows.
-
-I must have been a long time in my solitude, intoxicated by the wonder
-of the night and the splendour of the scene, when I heard the strains
-of a violin, played with extraordinary skill. The music seemed familiar
-(for I had heard the songs of many Eastern lands), and, moreover,
-I became certain that the instrument was being played somewhere in
-the great building wherein I chanced to be. The sounds ceased, but
-presently the musician began a Persian dance which I recognised; and
-as the wild air leaped from the strings in quickening waves of sound,
-the devilry of the mad nautch seemed to possess me, and it became
-impossible not to beat time to the rhythm of the music. Again there
-was silence, and I wondered greatly who could make a violin throb
-with such feeling, and where the minstrel could be. Whilst still
-absorbed by these thoughts, and anxiously listening for the faintest
-sound, my ear caught the strains of an Arab love-song that I knew well
-enough, but had never heard played like this before, nor yet under
-such circumstances. The air was in the minor key, and was, I knew,
-played only on three strings, but it seemed to wail and shiver from the
-instrument out into the night, through the trees, across the bright
-lights and deep shadows, to mingle with the crooning of the river, to
-fill the atmosphere and soar towards the empyrean. It was like the song
-of a lark at the dawn of a day in spring. The power of the musician was
-such that Tâj and city, mosque and river and garden faded away, and I
-distinctly saw a narrow street in an Arab town. Flat-roofed buildings,
-pierced by a few small iron-barred windows, lined either side of a
-street, which rose in a gentle ascent till it twisted out of sight
-round a distant corner. A brilliant moon, shining in a cloudless sky,
-threw into white light the roofs on one side the street. But the houses
-on the other side cast a deep shadow, and in that shadow a man, with
-his back to me, was standing playing the three-stringed Arab _gambus_,
-and singing--singing as though for his life, in a low, sweet voice--up
-to a barred window whence issued a ray of yellow light. I thought I
-could even understand the words of the passionate _serenata_, though I
-know almost as little of the Arabic as of the Patagonian tongue. It was
-the music, the angelic skill of the violinist, which had bewitched me,
-and I stood enthralled by that soul-entrancing melody.
-
-Before you write me down an emotional ass, remember where I was, and
-try to imagine what I saw, what I heard. I cannot expect to impress you
-with any true idea of either scene or song.
-
-While those yearning, thrilling, imploring waves of sound cried to the
-exquisite beauty of the night, I was spell-bound. But, in the silence
-that followed, I reasoned that the music came from above me, probably
-from the roof, and that I might well seek the author of it. I passed
-through a maze of passages, where light and shadow alternated, and, as
-I groped about to find a staircase, I was guided to my object by the
-strains of the violin, and a gleam of light which, striking through a
-narrow window, disclosed a winding stair.
-
-As I expected, the stairs led up to the roof, and I was not a little
-surprised by what I saw there. The head of the staircase was in a
-corner of the great flat space forming the roof, and a parapet, about
-thirty inches high, completely enclosed it, except for a flight of
-outside steps leading down to another and lower roof. The cement floor
-and surrounding parapet were so brilliantly lighted by the moon, that
-every inch unshadowed was as bright as day. Four people occupied the
-space, and my eye was first caught by a white-robed, dark-complexioned
-boy, who, leaning against the parapet, played a violin with closed
-eyes, his face set in an expression of dreamy rapture. At a little
-distance from him, but nearer to me, were a woman and two girls. The
-woman sat upon a quantity of silks spread over the parapet, while
-she leaned against a pile of cushions placed against a round stone
-column. I should say she was hardly twenty. Her skin was very fair, her
-complexion wonderfully clear, her hair black and abundant, her eyes
-large, dark, and liquid, while long curling lashes threw a shadow far
-down her cheeks. The eyebrows were strongly marked and slightly arched,
-like the artificial spur of a game-cock. Her nose was straight and
-rather small; her scarlet lips made a perfect Cupid’s bow, and the
-upper lip was so short that it disclosed teeth of extreme regularity
-with a whiteness and sheen as of pearls. The chin was round, the face
-oval; the ears, hands, and feet very small, but beautifully formed.
-This woman, or girl, was clothed in silk skirts of a dull red, heavy
-with gold thread; she wore a jacket of white satin, embroidered with
-small red and gold flowers, and fastened by three diamond brooches.
-On her head, falling in graceful folds over her shoulders, was a dark
-gossamer veil, studded with tiny gold stars, and bordered by a wide hem
-of shining gold lace. In one hand she listlessly held a long spray of
-stephanotis. She seemed absorbed by the music, and the wonder of that
-soft white light, which so enhanced her loveliness that I stared in
-wide-eyed admiration, forgetful of Eastern customs, of politeness, and
-all else, save only that fascinating figure. At her feet, on the roof,
-sat two girls, attendants, both clad in bright-coloured silk garments,
-and both wearing gold-embroidered gossamer veils.
-
-Not one of the group seemed to notice my presence, and I heard no words
-exchanged.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-It was long past midnight; the violinist had excelled himself in
-pulse-stirring dances, in passionate love-songs and laments that
-sounded like the sobbing of despairing hearts. I had gradually moved
-forward, and was leaning over the parapet looking towards Agra,
-and feeling that no moment of a night like this could be missed or
-forgotten, when suddenly I heard a sharp cry, half of surprise,
-half of dread. I turned and saw my four companions all gazing with
-startled eyes at something beyond me, out past the parapet, towards
-the glistening river. I turned again, and I now saw a white marble
-bridge stretching in a single graceful arch--an arch like a strung
-bow--springing from the centre of the back wall of the Tâj across the
-river, till it rested on the farther bank. There rose another Tâj! the
-exact duplicate of the one standing on the hither side of the stream,
-as white, as graceful, as perfect in all respects as its fellow.
-
-The roadway of the bridge was enclosed in a sort of long gallery, the
-sides of marble fretwork, with windows at intervals opening on to the
-river. The roof was formed of marble slabs. One could see the shining
-water through the perforated walls of the gallery; occasionally, where
-two opposite windows were open, there were glimpses of the distant
-lights, the palace, and the hill. The beautiful flat arch of that
-bridge, its graceful lines, and the airy lightness of the structure
-are unforgetable. Think of that bridge, that pure white bow of
-glistening stone, spanning the river’s width, and tying Tâj to Tâj!
-
-As I feasted my eyes, in wonder and admiration, on this alluring
-vision, a mist rose from the river, gathered volume and density, shut
-out the distance, enveloped bridge and river, bank and building, and
-hung in a thick white cloud, the ends creeping rapidly to right and
-left across the level plain. I looked upward; the moon was slowly
-sinking towards the west; it had a faint bluish tinge, a common effect
-at very late hours of the night, when it seems to shine with even
-greater brilliance.
-
-I turned to look for my companions, but found I was alone. There
-was not a sign of lady, or maid, or minstrel. They had disappeared,
-vanished without a sound; and, of their late presence, there was no
-sign--except the spray of stephanotis. It was strange, I thought, as
-I walked to the spot where the flower lay and picked it up, but one
-cannot be astonished at anything in the East.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-I felt a chill puff of wind, and I glanced back towards Agra. The mist
-was moving, rising rapidly in wisps; it was thin and transparent, and
-I could indistinctly see the background through it. The marble bridge,
-the other Tâj--that second tomb Shah Jahan _meant_ to build--were gone.
-Clearly my imagination, a mirage, or the mist had played me a trick.
-And then the girl, the violinist: were they also the phantoms of my
-brain? Surely that was impossible. Why, I can see the girl now; I could
-tell you every detail of her face, her figure, _pose_, and dress. The
-violinist could have been no spirit; though he played like an angel,
-his music was earthly, and perfectly familiar to me.
-
-I gave it up and went away, wondering; but I took the stephanotis, and
-it stands in front of me now in a tiny vase of water.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-To-day, in daylight, when the sun was high, and I had eaten and bandied
-commonplaces, and knew that I was sane, I went to find the old creature
-who keeps the gate of the garden of the Tâj. I asked him who was in
-the Red Palace late last night, and he said that not having been there
-himself he could not tell; moreover, that he did not turn night into
-day, but slept, like other respectable people. I felt snubbed but still
-curious, so I said--
-
-“The boy who plays the violin, who is he?”
-
-“What boy? Where? How should I know?” he said, but he began to look
-rather startled.
-
-“On the roof of the Red Palace, over there,” I replied, pointing to the
-corner of the building visible from where we stood. “And the lady, the
-young lady in the beautiful clothes, who is she?”
-
-But the old man had started, and at mention of the girl he dropped the
-stick on which he leaned; and as he slowly and painfully recovered
-himself from the effort of picking it up, I heard him say, in an
-awe-struck whisper, “The _Devi_!”
-
-My attempts to extract anything further from this old fossil were
-futile. He hobbled off to his den, muttering to himself, and evidently
-anxious to be rid of my society.
-
-After this rebuff I hesitate to make further inquiries from others,
-because I know no one here; because the white people never concern
-themselves with native matters, and are mainly interested in gossip;
-and because I am conscious that my story invites doubt, and must rest
-on my word alone. It is not the personal ridicule I am afraid of, but I
-don’t like the idea of jest at the expense of the girl whom I saw on
-that parapet, the _Devi_ whose stephanotis perfumes my room.
-
-
-
-
-XXIX
-
-THE DEATH-CHAIN
-
-
-When last I wrote and told you about the _Devi_, I had a vague hope
-that my stephanotis would, indirectly, prove that the lovely girl, from
-whose hand it had fallen, gathered it in some heavenly garden, beyond
-mortal ken, where Death and Time are unknown.
-
-I did not like to say so, but I meant to keep the flower, and, if I had
-seen it fade and die, I should have been disappointed, perhaps even
-rather surprised. You will say such fantastic ideas can only come to
-people whose minds have been warped by contact with Oriental mysticism;
-and, while you are probably right, I reply that when you have a Tâj,
-when you have an atmosphere of sunshine unsoiled by coal-smoke, when,
-in fine, any really big miracle is wrought in your Western world, then
-_you_ may see a _Devi_ sitting in the moonlight, _you_ may hear angelic
-music played by a boy unknown to the critics, and _you_ may even weave
-romances round a spray of stephanotis.
-
-I guarded my flower carefully, and, for five days, I could not see that
-it showed any sign of fading. True I kept it in water, even when I was
-travelling; and, if it came from a heavenly garden, I dare say that
-care was altogether needless; but we are creatures of habit, and my
-Faith was not very robust, and leaned somewhat heavily on Hope. I had
-to leave Agra and journey through Rajputana. On the fifth day from that
-night, which I had almost said “was worth, of other nights, a hundred
-thousand million years,” I was in Jaipur, and from there I visited the
-glorious Palace of Amber. I restrain myself with difficulty from going
-into raptures over that ancient castle, which, for so many centuries,
-has stood on that distant hillside and watched its many masters come
-and go, while the ladies loved, and gossiped, and hated, in the Hall of
-a Thousand Delights, and the horsemen and spearmen went down from the
-gates to the dusty road, the seething plains, whence many of them never
-returned.
-
-I will spare you. You are long-suffering, but there must be a limit
-even to your patience. I know that _qui s’excuse s’accuse_, and
-I offer no excuse for trying to draw for you the pictures that are
-only seen beyond beaten tracks. Ruskin has said, “The greatest thing
-the human soul ever does in this world is to _see_ something, and tell
-what it _saw_ in a plain way. Hundreds of people can talk for one who
-can think, but thousands can think for one who can see. To see clearly
-is poetry, prophecy, and religion all in one.” If thousands can think
-for one who can see, surely there must be still thousands who see and
-cannot tell “in a plain way” what they saw. There are millions whose
-eyes are to them only what animals’ eyes are--aids to the gratification
-of appetite. There are thousands more who do see and appreciate, yet
-cannot put what they have seen into words; cannot communicate their own
-feelings, cannot help another to share, even a little, in the joy that
-has come to them through greater opportunities. I have often wondered
-why people who have seen the most interesting places on earth, have
-been present perhaps on memorable occasions, and have met the most
-famous people of their time, showed, in their conversation, no sign
-of these advantages, and, if questioned, could only give the most
-disappointing, uninteresting description of any personal experiences.
-Then there are the very few who have seen, and can help others to see
-again, through their eyes; but they seldom do it, because they have
-found that, with rare exceptions, the relation of their experiences is
-but little appreciated. Ruskin himself is one of the few who can see
-and can describe, but others may hesitate to string the plain words,
-knowing how little worthy they will be of what the eyes have seen.
-
-Some of this I may have been thinking, as I slowly made my way back
-to Jaipur; but, when I reached the house of my sojourn, almost the
-first thing I noticed was that the tiny vase which had carried my
-spray of stephanotis was empty of all but water. Of course I sent for
-everybody, and made minute inquiries, and, of course, every one had
-seen the flower, and no one had touched it, and I was left to draw any
-conclusion I pleased.
-
-I drew none. There are no data on which to come to a conclusion; but
-the facts remind me of a story I will tell you.
-
-I have an Italian friend. He is a very uncommon type, and worthy of far
-more attention than I will give him now, because, for the moment, I am
-concerned rather with his story than with him. He was in Egypt, and
-whilst there he discovered a buried city. Carefully and wisely he kept
-his knowledge to himself, till, owing to an absence of some months, he
-lost all trace of the place, and never found it again. A sand-storm had
-buried it once more.
-
-The original discovery was purely the result of accident, and his
-first researches had to be conducted in secrecy, without assistance,
-otherwise the _trouvaille_ would have become public property. His
-explorations led him to a building that he believed was a tomb;
-and having, by laborious efforts, gained an entrance, he had the
-satisfaction of proving that his surmise was correct, and also the
-reward of finding in the chamber a single sarcophagus, containing a
-mummified girl, or woman, in wonderful preservation. He knew the common
-superstition that disaster would befall any one who disturbed a mummy;
-but he thought little of the tale, and did not mean to be deterred from
-removing the body when he should have the means to do so. Meanwhile he
-had to be content with what he could carry, and that consisted of a
-few coins, and a necklace which he unfastened from the lady’s poor
-shrivelled neck, or rather from the cere-cloths in which it was swathed.
-
-Perhaps you have never seen one of these mummy necklaces; they are
-rather curious, and, from my friend’s account of it, the one he
-found nearly resembled others which I have seen myself. The material
-seemed to be some kind of pottery, or opaque glass made into rough
-beads, and short lengths of small glazed piping, strung together in
-a quaint pattern. The prevailing colour was a sort of turquoise with
-an extra dash of green, and every bit of piping was so tinted; but,
-alternately with these blue lengths, were strung groups of round beads,
-in bunches of two to six or eight, or even more. By far the majority of
-the beads were turquoise-blue, but some were yellow, others brown, and
-a few almost black, and the arrangement was such that it could easily
-have been made to represent a string of words. The effect of the chain
-was _bizarre_ but attractive, and it somewhat resembled the rosaries
-worn by devout Arabs. The intrinsic worth of the thing was _nil_, but
-sometimes one has a friend who will accept and value _un rien_ like
-this, for the sake of the giver, when jewels would be declined. My
-Italian had such a friend, and the bauble found a new home on her neck.
-
-Not long after she had begun to wear the quaint little chain which
-had lain for so many centuries round the throat of the dead Egyptian,
-its new owner was distressed and alarmed by a persistent form of
-nightmare, which gradually induced a feeling that she was haunted by
-the wraith of a dark-skinned girl, of a type of feature unlike any
-known to her, but clad in raiment such as she fancied had been worn
-by Egyptians in the days of the Pharaohs. The apparition was always
-clothed in the same manner, and though she wore a number of strangely
-fashioned ornaments, her neck was left completely bare. The girl seemed
-to be ever present in her dreams, and her face always wore a look of
-extreme distress, as of one who grieved for the loss of some dearly
-beloved friend or possession. The curious part of it was, that the
-dream-girl seemed always to come to the sleeper as to one from whom
-she could get relief; and while, in her earlier appearances, she had
-the expression and the manner of a supplicant, the dreamer fancied
-that latterly there had been a change, and the dark face looked both
-agonised and threatening.
-
-These visitations, which could not be ascribed to any reasonable cause,
-had so got on the lady’s nerves that she had gone for change to a
-villa on the coast of Normandy. The change of scene brought no relief.
-The haunting form of the Egyptian girl, though not a nightly visitor,
-was so constantly present, that the dread of seeing her deprived sleep
-of all power of giving rest, and the poor lady was not only becoming
-seriously ill, but she was so affected by her uncanny infliction, that
-she even sometimes imagined she caught glimpses of her tormentor when
-she herself was wide awake.
-
-One afternoon, the lady was lying in a darkened room, the _persiennes_
-closed to keep out the hot and penetrating rays of a summer sun. She
-felt very weary and despondent, the result of many broken nights and
-the prolonged strain on her nerves, and, though she held a book in
-her hand she was all the time wondering how much longer she could
-bear this oppression, and what she had done to deserve such a weirdly
-horrible fate. In a dull sort of way she supposed she must be going
-mad, and felt with grim cynicism that the border-land between sanity
-and insanity was so narrow that she would hardly realise the moment
-when she crossed it. There was absolute silence everywhere, except for
-the faint soothing whisper of the sea, rippling over the sand beneath
-the wooded bluff on which the villa stood. The air was warm and heavy
-with summer perfumes; the room was darkening slowly as the sun dipped
-towards the placid waters of La Manche; the woman was deadly weary, and
-she slept.
-
-At first her sleep must have been sound; but, after a time, her eyes
-opened to that other consciousness which is of the world of dreams,
-and once again she saw her now dreaded companion, the dark-eyed,
-dark-skinned girl from the land of the Pharaohs. The girl seemed to
-plead in impassioned terms for something, but the dreamer could not
-understand the strange words, and racked her brain, as dreamers will,
-to try to imagine their meaning. The girl burst into a storm of tears,
-sinking to the ground in her grief and despair, and burying her face
-on a pile of cushions. Still the dreamer, suffering torture herself,
-was helpless to relieve the other. Then suddenly the girl sprang
-up, and, dashing the tears from her eyes, which now seemed to blaze
-with murderous resolve, she sprang upon the white woman, enlaced her
-throat with supple brown fingers, pressed and pressed, tighter and
-tighter--ah, God! the horror and the suffocating pain of it--and all
-the while the sleeper’s hands seemed tied to her side. Then with a
-scream the dreamer awoke. She felt her eyes must be starting from her
-head, and instinctively raised her hands to her throat, only to realise
-that her vivid sensation of strangulation was merely a nightmare, but
-that the chain--the string of turquoise beads which she had never
-unfastened from the day she first put it on--was gone.
-
-There was now little light in the room, only enough to see things
-vaguely, yet the lady declares that in that first moment of waking she
-distinctly saw a figure, exactly like that of the girl of her dreams,
-glide swiftly away from her and pass out through a _portière_ into the
-verandah. For some time she was too frightened and unnerved to move,
-but when at last she summoned her people they had seen no one.
-
-The only thing that was real was that she had lost the necklace, and
-never saw it again. As some compensation she also lost for ever the
-society of her dream-visitor, and completely recovered her own health.
-
-Now who took my stephanotis?
-
-
-
-
-XXX
-
-SCANDAL AND BANGLES
-
-
-For years I have not been so angry as I am at this minute; I have
-very nearly lost my temper, and the reason is really ridiculous. Why
-I should choose this as a favourable opportunity for writing to you I
-cannot tell, but my tormentor had no sooner left the room than I seized
-the pen, which is nearly always ready to my hand, and you are the
-victim. The cause of this unusual and unseemly frame of mind is a girl,
-quite a pretty girl, who walked in here, _sans cérémonie_, and, after
-a few minutes’ desultory conversation, told me a preposterous piece of
-gossip about myself, a fantastic story in which there was not a grain
-of truth.
-
-“Who says that?” I asked.
-
-“Everybody says so.”
-
-“Then everybody is mistaken.”
-
-“Of course you deny it; but it is true, all the same.”
-
-“It is not in the least true, and I am prepared to swear that in any
-form of oath.”
-
-“I dare say you are, but no one will believe you.”
-
-“Very well. Now what does your story rest upon?”
-
-“The evidence of people’s senses. Every one has seen you.”
-
-“I cannot deal with ‘every one,’ it is too indefinite. You say I
-went to some one’s house,--not that it would matter the least if I
-did,--but who saw me?”
-
-“I did.”
-
-“You did! I never was in the house in my life.”
-
-“Try to remember. I have seen you go in and also seen you come out of
-it.”
-
-“If it were not so stupid, one might almost get angry. I repeat that I
-have never been in the house, nor spoken to the owner.”
-
-“And I, having seen with my own eyes, maintain that you have.”
-
-“You have mistaken some one else for me, or drawn on your imagination,
-for what you say is absolutely untrue. But, as you seem to have
-constructed a fantastic story on that insecure foundation, I have a
-good mind to charge you with defaming me.”
-
-“By all means, and I will go into court and say what I know and you
-know to be true.”
-
-Now, what can you do with a person like that? If I were the judge,
-trying my own cause and knowing there is not a semblance of a particle
-of truth in this absurd tale, I believe that if a witness appeared and
-gave evidence against me with this sublime assurance, I would decide
-the case against myself.
-
-The wasp has still a sting left; she says, “You sent your carriage to a
-lady, that she might drive in it?”
-
-“I did.”
-
-“And she sent it back.”
-
-“She did.”
-
-“She would not use it because of what I have told you, and she does not
-want to see or speak to you again!”
-
-I said I should not die of the affront, nor commit any rash act if the
-lady adhered to her determination; but I admit that, though I laughed,
-I was beginning to lose my temper, and I told my tormentor that if
-I could whip her it would be a satisfaction! She also laughed, but
-as I had seen that she was brimful of merriment all along, that was
-nothing. By-and-by she disclosed that she wanted me to do something for
-her, and, when I had heaped coals of fire on her head by doing what she
-wished, she went away asking me if I had any message for the lady who
-had refused my carriage! I heard her laughing all the way downstairs,
-and, as she insisted on walking through the grounds to her carriage, I
-fancy I can hear her giggling still.
-
-I think I remarked once before that the train of another’s thoughts
-are not easy to divine, but explanations are boring, so I leave you to
-supply the connection between what I have just written and what now
-occurs to me to tell you. It is not only fowls and curses that come
-home to roost.
-
-Once upon a time there was a very beautiful and attractive lady, the
-wife of a high official in India. She was of those who have but one
-admirer at a time, and that one very devoted. Women of her type cannot
-share with any one else the attentions of their cavaliers; they insist
-upon a service that is complete and unquestioning, dog-like in devotion
-and obedience; and they do not seem to care if it is also dog-like
-in its inability to do more than gaze in rapture at the face of its
-mistress. I have known cases of the kind myself, and marvelled to see
-how the lady and her slave can stand, and sit, and walk together,
-with no one to disturb their confidences, and yet they never seem to
-speak. As far as I can understand, that was the case with the heroine
-of my tale and her _cavaliere servente_. They were on the hills or in
-the plains--it does not matter where--when a native Prince appeared
-upon the scene. He was a delightful and fascinating person, but
-wicked beyond the dreams of wickedness. He stayed several months in
-the station, and when about to return to his own native state, he
-called upon an English friend of his and said, “I am going away; I
-speak English very indifferently; I wish to say good-bye to some of my
-friends: will you come with me?” The Englishman at once said he would
-be delighted, and they set out on a round of calls, the Prince saying
-where he wished to go. Amongst other houses they visited that of the
-engaging lady, and after a few words explaining his early departure
-and regret, the Prince produced a number of beautiful gold bangles,
-and said he trusted the lady would accept them as a token of his
-respectful admiration. This was duly interpreted, and the lady replied
-that as her husband held a Government post she could not accept any
-present. The Prince said he trusted that she would not persist in this
-determination, because he was merely a visitor, and as the lady’s
-husband had no authority or influence in his territory, he could not
-believe that the ordinary rules would apply to a gift of such small
-value, which was merely an expression of his esteem and thanks for the
-kindness he had received. Meanwhile the bangles had been tendered to
-the lady; they had lain in her hand, and she appreciated their curious
-design and artistic excellence.
-
-“What shall I do?” said the lady, appealing to the Englishman.
-
-“What you please,” he replied.
-
-It is possible that it was out of consideration for the feelings of the
-donor that she then said--
-
-“My husband would never let me accept the bangles, but I should like to
-keep them if I knew that you would say nothing.”
-
-“Pray do not think of me,” said the friend; “I am an accident in the
-interview, and, when I leave the house, I shall have forgotten all
-about it.”
-
-“Then I shall keep them.”
-
-One evening, about a fortnight or three weeks later, the lady was
-dancing with the man who had interpreted, and he said, “Will you allow
-me to admire your bangles: they are not only beautiful in themselves
-but exceedingly becoming.”
-
-“Yes,” she replied, “but the unfortunate part of it is that my husband
-thinks they have been given to me by some one else, and I can’t
-enlighten him, for I dare not tell the truth!”
-
-_P.S._--The lady who refused to use my carriage has just sent me an
-invitation to dinner!
-
-
-
-
-XXXI
-
-THE REPREHENSIBLE HABIT OF MAKING COMPARISONS
-
-
-I am not given to the use of postscripts, but I indulged myself with
-one in the last letter I wrote to you. It reminds me of the only _bon
-mot_ to which I can lay claim. When I was about six years old, my
-mother and I were visiting an aunt of mine, and, one evening, my mother
-read aloud to my aunt a letter she had just received. It was lengthy,
-and no doubt interesting to the two ladies, while the contents were
-probably beyond my comprehension. “Little pigs have long ears,” and I
-noticed that, at the conclusion of the letter, my mother read “_P.S._,”
-and then some final sentences. Immediately afterwards I was ordered to
-bed, and, once there, my mother came to see me. My small mind was full
-of this new idea, and I was thirsting for information as to the meaning
-of these mysterious letters. Therefore, when my mother had bid me good
-night and was going away, I said, “Mother, what does _P.S._ mean; is
-it Parting Subject?” She smiled and said, “No, the letters stand for
-_post scriptum_, but the meaning is not very different.” She afterwards
-helped me to wrestle with the Latin grammar, and in time I arrived at
-the exact translation of _post scriptum_, but my childish rendering
-of _P.S._ would do just as well. I was made to bitterly regret having
-ever suggested it; for, when my proud mother told the story, my various
-brothers and sisters, separately and collectively, insisted that some
-one had told me to say it, and I am not sure that they did not, each in
-turn, give me a thrashing to impress upon me the vice of “trying to be
-sharp.” When children have brothers and sisters, their schooling begins
-early and lasts a long time--fortunately for themselves and the world
-at large.
-
-That, however, has nothing to do with the matter I was going to write
-about. I suppose you sometimes look through those galleries of garments
-which begin and end ladies’ journals, just as I occasionally glance at
-the advertisements of new books, which I find at the end of a modern
-novel. The other day I was idly turning over the pages of such a series
-of advertisements (each page devoted to one book, and quotations from
-the newspaper reviews of it), and I could not help noticing how, in the
-case of every book, if not in every _critique_, the author was compared
-with some well-known writer--Dickens, Thackeray, George Meredith, Zola,
-Ibsen, De Maupassant--it does not seem to matter who it is, so long
-as it is some one. As for Mr. Rudyard Kipling, a writer who mentions
-India, China, Japan, Siam, the French or Dutch Indies, or any place
-within two or three thousand miles of them, is certain to find himself
-compared with the astonishingly talented author of “Soldiers Three,”
-“The Drums of the Fore and Aft,” and a dozen other tales that had made
-Mr. Kipling famous in India years before his name had been heard in the
-West.
-
-I know that whenever we visit a new place, we have a ridiculous desire
-to compare it with some totally different spot that is familiar to us;
-and I suppose we make the comparison, either because we want to show
-that we have been somewhere and seen something, or because we are so
-devoid of ideas or language to express them, that this comparison is
-our only means of description. Like London, only bigger; Petersburg in
-winter, but not so cold; bluer than the Mediterranean, and so on. It
-seems to imply poverty of resource; but if to help readers to realise
-the appearance of a spot in New Zealand, that place is compared with
-the Carse of Stirling, the information is not of much use to those who
-do not know their Scotland.
-
-Is it the same with literary critics? Hardly, I fancy; because even
-though they write easily of Lake Toba, the Thibetan highlands, or more
-or less known writers, it can’t give them any real satisfaction, for
-their own names are but seldom disclosed.
-
-Enlightened people who attend places of Christian worship, often wish
-that the occupant of the pulpit would read a sermon by some great
-divine, rather than stumble through an original discourse, which
-possibly arouses only the scorn, the resentment, or the pity of his
-hearers. The preacher who is conscious of his own want of eloquence, or
-realises that the spring of his ideas trickles in the thinnest and most
-uncertain of streams, may seek to improve his language, or replenish
-his own exhausted stock of subjects, by studying the sermons of abler
-men. I doubt if he is greatly to be blamed. Some illustrious writers
-have won renown after a diligent study of the works of dead authors,
-and a suggestion of the style of a famous master may be observable in
-the work of his admirer; just as a modern painter may, consciously or
-unconsciously, follow the methods, the composition, or the colour
-schemes of a genius who has given his name to a school of imitators. It
-would, however, be a little unreasonable to compare all play-writers
-with Shakespeare, all essayists with Macaulay. If there is nothing new
-under the sun, two or more men or women, contemporaries, may have the
-same ideas on a given subject without either being open to a charge
-of plagiarism. They may express the same ideas differently, or put
-different ideas in somewhat the same style of language: both may have
-drawn inspiration from a more or less original source, not generally
-known or quoted--in all these cases comparisons may be, and often
-are, simply inept. Some subjects are not yet entirely exhausted, and
-while it is interesting to compare the different views of recognised
-authorities, it is annoying to both writers and readers to find that
-the highest flight of criticism of a new work seems often to consist in
-mentioning the names of other writers on the same subject--as though
-it were, in a sense, their personal property, or they had some vested
-interest in it, by reason of discovery or continual harping on that
-particular theme. I suppose reviewers, except in a few instances,
-have no time to really read the books they criticise, and judge them
-on their merits; but, if they could, it would be more satisfactory
-to possible readers, who, as things are, can form very little opinion
-of what a book contains, its relative value or worthlessness, from
-statements like this, which purports to be an extract from a review in
-a leading London paper:--
-
-    “The opening chapters have a savour of Dickens; the climax is
-    almost Zolaesque.”
-
-Or this:--
-
-    “The knowledge of character revealed reminds us of George
-    Eliot’s ‘Scenes of Clerical Life.’”
-
-You will think that one who wanders from an infantile legend about the
-word _postscript_ to a growl anent newspaper reviews, is indifferently
-qualified to criticise any one or anything. As a letter-writer I
-acknowledge that I am inconsequent. I do not even seek to be otherwise.
-
-
-
-
-XXXII
-
-A CHALLENGE
-
-
-Oh! Oh! Oh! What a storm! But are you not a little unreasonable?
-
-You are not a circulating library, you say, nor a railway book-stall;
-you don’t want to hear tales of forest and flood which have
-no personal interest for you or me; and you cannot carry on a
-correspondence with a phrase-book, a thing that has no existence as a
-human being, and, when not lecturing you, or taking advantage of your
-good-nature to air boring platitudes, is doling out little stories to
-you, as though you were a child in a Sunday School.
-
-My dear lady, I hope that you feel better after that tirade; but as you
-have attacked me with violence, and at all points at once, I claim the
-right to defend myself, and again I say you are unreasonable. We were
-never strangers to each other, or so it seems to me, but circumstances
-and a certain mental attraction drew us into friendship. In the
-delight of your society I realised what it would be to me if, through
-that friendship, I might win your affection. I even dreamed that I
-might compel the impossible, and attain to an earthly paradise of sweet
-alliance whence no mortal promises and no inspired writings could ever
-win me.
-
-Whilst we dream of life’s big possibilities, its little duties drive
-us where they will. We were parted, and, if I do not now remind you
-of that time, it is because I know that there are few things a woman
-hates more than to be told she once, by word or deed, showed any tender
-feeling for a man who no longer holds the same place in her regard. You
-went and I stayed; you spoke and I believed; and what I did not say was
-only what you told me not to repeat, lest parting should seem over-hard
-to bear. Then I wrote and you wrote, and, at first, your letters were
-so fine a gift that they almost consoled me for your absence, and, in
-my great gratitude, I wrote some of the thoughts of my inmost heart. My
-fervour seemed to frighten you, and the chill of your surroundings came
-through your letters to me. It may have been the fault of those about
-you; it may have been that you were tried beyond endurance, possibly
-even that I, in some indirect way, was a cause of your distress. But
-you never said so; you never took me into your confidence and frankly
-told me you were in any trouble; only your letters went through those
-phases which I, once, cynically suggested were the common fate of those
-whose friendship could not survive a real separation. I was too slow
-to at once trim my sails to the varying breeze, nor could I call back
-letters which were already on their way. Therefore I fell under your
-displeasure, and you ordered me to write only of “the daily round, the
-common task.” I obeyed you, as nearly as I was able. When you asked
-me to tell you of what I saw, of what I was doing, I attempted to do
-so, and to make the telling as little personal as I could. To weary
-you with the trivialities of my daily life, to describe to you the
-wearisome people I met, the _banalités_ they uttered--that was beyond
-me. Therefore, to try and interest you, I gave you the best of what had
-interested me, and even that was only done with some sacrifice, for
-you know my time is not all my own. Naturally those letters were empty
-of personal reference. To have written of myself would have been to
-write of you, and that might have brought down on my head another storm
-of invective. I am in the position of the burnt child: I dread the
-fire. Even now I dare not accept your invitation. I might write, and,
-before the letter could reach you, receive from you another missive,
-telling me your present letter was written under an impulse you regret
-but cannot explain, and that of course it meant nothing. You would add
-that you delight in the discussion of abstract questions, and queer
-little stories are, to you, as rain to dry land. Then I can imagine the
-sternly traced characters of that other destroying scroll, in which
-you would sum up the tale of my sins, after reading such a letter
-as I might send in answer to your present message of discontent and
-provocation. So, I warn you. I shall give you time to think; in spite
-of your scoffing, I shall continue to write to you as I have done in
-these latter days; and then--and then--your blood be on your own head.
-If the outward cold of damp and fog, of weeks of sunless gloom and
-surroundings of rain-drenched rows of hideous dwellings, muddy roads,
-sullen skies, and leaden seas produce what you no doubt think is a
-virtuous frame of mind, when the state of the crops and the troubles of
-the farmers are the only matters with which a conscience-burdened woman
-can occupy her mind, I shall pander to your appetite, and write to you
-of famine and plague, the prospects of the poppy (the opium poppy,
-you understand) and I will even stretch a point to discuss the silver
-question and the fate of the rupee. If, on the other hand, you throw
-discretion to the winds; if in that atmosphere where you say you are
-always frozen, “outside and in,” you pine for a glimpse of sunlight;
-if you like to watch a conflagration when at a safe distance from the
-flames, or even if the contortions of the cockchafer, when impaled by
-the pin, excite your amusement;--then also I will help you to realise
-these very reasonable wishes. Yes, then I will write you a love-letter
-that will be but a poor substitute for the impassioned words that
-should stir your heart, were once my lips within reach of yours.
-
-Even from here I see you smile; even now I hear you say, “Well,
-write--after all vivisection has benefited the race, and the
-contortions of the cockchafer will perhaps distract one’s attention
-for a moment from the eternal monotony of the narrow life.”
-
-
-
-
-XXXIII
-
-IN EXILE
-
-
-In order that I may keep on perfectly safe ground, and successfully
-resist the temptation to depart from my resolve, I will tell you a
-story of my visit to Burmah, where, wandering aimlessly, I found an old
-friend in a distinguished Indian civilian, who invited me to accompany
-him on a tour of inspection. I gladly accepted his invitation, and
-we had been travelling for some time, driving, riding, walking, and,
-finally, after rafting over a magnificent series of rapids, had been
-some days paddling down the river in house-boats, when we reached a
-remote inland station called Phatmah. I caught my first view of the
-place as our boat swung round a bend in the great river, disclosing a
-reach of brown water, enclosed between high, jungle-covered banks, and
-shut in, at the end, by a green hill, crowned by a plank bungalow with
-a mat roof.
-
-The boat was soon alongside the rough landing-stage, where a young
-civilian, introduced as Basset, was waiting to receive his chief. We
-climbed the steep hill, and Basset conducted us to the house devoted to
-our shelter for the couple of days we were to spend at Phatmah.
-
-In my two days’ stay there, I had ample opportunities of seeing the
-place, and realising its few attractions and its many drawbacks. There
-was a tiny native village on the bank of one of the two streams that
-here united in one great river, and flowed in stately, ever-widening
-progress for over two hundred miles before it reached the sea: two
-hundred miles of virgin forest, save for the native villages and
-clearings that lined the banks at uncertain intervals. A few jungle
-tracks leading to distant mines were the only apology for roads; the
-river was the real highway, and the sole means of transport were native
-boats. Comfortable enough, these boats, for men used to jungle travel;
-flat and wide, with a palm-leaf roof, the fore-part occupied by the
-crew, the after-part by passengers. There was a deck of boards or split
-bamboos, and you could only move about it by crawling on your hands and
-knees. Entrance and exit were accomplished by the same means. A door,
-at the back of the enclosed after-deck, led on to a bamboo frame over
-the rudder; the steersman sat on the palm-leaf awning, and the only
-privacy was obtained by hanging a screen between crew and passengers.
-There was room for two mattresses on the after-deck, and there the
-passengers sat or lay through the blazing heat of the tropical day and
-the star-lit stillness of the Burmese night.
-
-At this station there dwelt, besides Basset, an officer of police,
-another concerned with public works, and an apothecary in charge of
-a hospital. That was all. Their quarters were dotted about on the
-high land behind Basset’s bungalow. For the rest, the eye was met
-by jungle--near and far--endless jungle, and the river-reach. Silent
-and placid the waters, moving along in brown eddies, when, as now,
-the river was in flood; clear and shallow, disclosing groups of rocks
-dotted about the bed, in what was called the dry season.
-
-At the time of our visit it was spring, and the jungle, especially in
-certain parts of the mountainous country, was a truly marvellous sight.
-The forest had put on its wedding garment, and the new leaves of many,
-even of most of the trees, were dazzling in the brilliance of their
-colouring. The prevailing hues were red and yellow; but then there were
-shades of red and of yellow that one never seemed to have dreamed of,
-such quantity, such intensity that the eyes almost ached with gazing at
-the glory of it all.
-
-One is struck, especially in the East, by the wonder of flowering
-trees, or the striking creepers that cling to the tops of forest
-giants; but imagine these same trees in all their height, their wealth
-of foliage, and beauty of form, one mass of colour! There were trees of
-delicate lemon, of brilliant cadmium, of deepest orange; trees of such
-crimson that every leaf looked as though it were dripping with fresh
-blood; trees of copper and pale pink, of terra-cotta and scarlet--all
-these in one pure colour, or intermingled with every shade of green
-from palest apple, through varying tones of emerald, to the shining
-dark leaves that seemed all but black. Dotted about, here and there,
-stood trees of some shade of brown, or graceful forms clothed in darker
-or paler heliotrope. The virgin Eastern forest is a sight to see, but
-the glory of the jungle in the first freshness of spring leafage is a
-revelation.
-
-That jungle was one of the attractions of Phatmah;--not monopolised by
-Phatmah, only shared, and not to so large an extent as by a thousand
-other places nearer the great hills.
-
-Then there was the river reach, where all day long the shadows crept
-gradually closer under one bank as they were projected from the other;
-while now and then a native boat passed up or down the river, and,
-for a few minutes, broke the melancholy of that changeless stretch of
-water. The sunsets made the last, and perhaps the greatest attraction
-of Phatmah. Then, in the after-glow, great beams of light would rise,
-fan-like, from east and west, almost meeting in the zenith, and leave,
-between their rays, sharply-defined, heavenly roads of deepest blue;
-while the soft white clouds, riding through the sky, took shades of
-gold and rose and pearly-grey, until the stars shone out and set all
-the cicadas shrilling a chorus to waken every other denizen of the
-jungle.
-
-Sunsets cannot be commanded; they are intermittent, and, though they
-are comforting--in a way--they do not always come when they are most
-wanted. In Phatmah it would rain in torrents on the evening that you
-had set your heart upon seeing a gorgeous sunset, and, when it did not
-rain, it was hotter than in almost any other spot in Burmah, and that
-is saying a great deal. Moreover, it was as dull probably as any place
-on earth, except to the three white men who lived there and had their
-work to do, or whose business took them, weekly, or at least monthly,
-into some other more or less desolate part of the district.
-
-I noted these things in that first day I was at Phatmah, while my
-friend and Basset were talking about roads to be made and buildings
-constructed, natives to be encouraged or sat upon, dacoits harried,
-and all the things that make the life of the exiled English officer in
-the outermost parts of the Empire. I also observed Basset. I knew he
-had a wife, a girl whom he had just married, when at home on leave in
-England, and who was now in that house, across the grass, a hundred
-yards away. I had not seen Basset’s wife, but I had heard of her from
-some who had met her, before she left the last confines of civilisation
-and started for what must in future be her home. What I had heard made
-it seem unlikely that Mrs. Basset would reconcile herself to jungle
-life, and, when I understood Phatmah, I thought it would be very
-surprising if such a miracle could be wrought for the sake of Basset.
-
-Basset was a most excellent fellow, a good officer, good to look at,
-lithe and well-made, a man who had found favour with his seniors and
-was likely to do well. He was young, but that was a fault for which he
-was not responsible, and one that every day was curing. And yet, when
-I saw Phatmah, I thought Basset had been unwise, and when I saw his
-wife, as I did the next day, I felt certain of it.
-
-I had been told she was very young in years and child-like at that,
-nervous to the last degree, selfish, unreasonable, full of fancies,
-and rather pretty--but the one or two ladies who were my informants
-differed as to this last important particular.
-
-What I saw for myself, when I went to call upon “the only lady in
-Phatmah,” was this: a glory of fair waving hair framing a young, but
-not very youthful face; a pallid complexion, and features where nothing
-specially appealed for admiration; a voice that was not more than
-pleasant, and a figure that, while very _petite_, seemed well enough
-shapen, as far as could be seen under the garment of silk and lace that
-must have been the first of its kind to visit Phatmah. The house did
-not strike me as showing more than the evidences of a young man’s
-anxiety to make it what he would call “fit for a lady”; but then the
-resources of Phatmah were strictly limited, the Bassets had only just,
-so to speak, arrived, and things entrusted to the tender mercies of
-river transport were often months upon the way. On the whole there was
-nothing about Mrs. Basset to excite either sympathy or interest, if
-you had met her in any civilised place; but as the only white woman
-in Phatmah, come here to gain her first real experiences of life,
-scared by frogs and lizards, and terrified by the many insects that fly
-straight at you and stick on your hair, your face, your clothes, one
-could not help feeling that the experiment, if not a cruel one to her,
-was at least thoughtless, and, if persisted in, might end in disaster.
-
-My friend and I exerted ourselves that afternoon and evening (for
-the Bassets dined with us) to put as good a complexion as we could
-on Burmah in general and Phatmah in particular; and though, to the
-ordinary spectator, we might have appeared to succeed fairly well, I
-carried away with me vague suspicions, born of my own observation and
-the conversation I had had with the lady as we sat and looked over
-that jungle-shrouded river-reach, while the path to the stars grew an
-ever-deepening blue, and she told me somewhat of herself and her life.
-There was no doubt that she not only _looked_ dissatisfied, but felt
-it, and said it, and took credit for her candour. Then she complained
-that Phatmah offered no opportunities for “getting into mischief,” but
-that was probably merely another way of saying that she was utterly
-bored; and, in truth, when she asked if I could conceive a greater
-dulness, the trite reply that she had her husband stuck in my throat,
-and I admitted that it was immeasurably dull, but talked cheerfully
-of what it would be when communication with the outside world was
-easier, and then fell to asking her if she read, or played, or sang,
-or sketched, as Phatmah seemed to be the very place for study, or the
-practice of accomplishments. She pleaded that she was too lately from
-school to hanker after study, but became almost enthusiastic on the
-subject of music.
-
-Then our _tête-à-tête_ was interrupted, and in the evening the only
-thing that struck me was that, for a girl so lately from school,
-our guest drank rather more in quantity and variety than was usual,
-and whenever in the after-days my thoughts went back to Phatmah, I
-remembered this with an uncomfortable feeling of the awful loneliness
-of that reach of brown river, the boundless forest, and the girl, left
-for days to her own devices, and the possibility of “getting into
-mischief” by drowning a craving, not for excitement so much as for the
-companionship of her kind.
-
-A hundred miles below Phatmah the river wound through the plains
-in long reaches, six or seven miles in length; the country was more
-open, and the banks were occasionally fringed with palms and orchards
-surrounding the huts of a native hamlet. The moon was waxing to the
-full, and, sitting at the stern of my boat, looking back up the long
-stretch of water bathed in mellow light, till the wide band of silver
-narrowed to a point that vanished in grey mist, I could not help
-thinking that, even here, the sense of loneliness, of monotony, and
-banishment, was less acute than in Phatmah’s forest-bound clearing.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Years passed, and I was again in Burmah, this time with an object. I
-had forgotten all about the Bassets: one does not remember people who
-live in the East, only the places that are striking, and the things
-seen or heard of that may become profitable in one way or another.
-I thought of my friend, because he might be able to help me, but he
-was away in another part of the province and I had to journey alone.
-Officials are useful on their own ground, and even when they are not
-personal friends, they are, in the East at any rate, ready enough to
-be hospitable. The advantage of “entertaining angels unawares” is,
-however, all on their side, and guests so soon recognise this fact,
-that they feel under no obligation to their hosts, and seldom wish
-to remember them if they meet them in Europe. This is specially the
-case with English notabilities, who seem to think that they have a
-prescriptive right, not only to waste a man’s time, but also to use
-his house, stables, and servants, as at an hotel where the visitor
-exercises every privilege except that of making payment. Unfortunately
-for me, I had to go beyond the region of even occasional civilians,
-those isolated exiles whose houses the stranger occupies, whether the
-master is present or absent, and for some days I had to put up with the
-Dâk Bungalow and the chicken of happy despatch.
-
-It was the very hottest time of the morning when I arrived at such a
-bungalow in a small mining village. I had been riding since dawn, and
-was glad enough to turn into that weedy compound and get off my pony.
-Whew! the heat of it! The two or three sinewy hens, which by-and-by
-would be slaughtered to make the traveller’s holiday, were sitting
-half-buried and wallowing in the dust, with their wings spread out
-and their mouths open, gasping for breath. It was a day when solids
-liquefy, when inanimate objects develop an extraordinary faculty for
-sticking to each other, and when water no longer feels wet. There
-was not a sign of any human being anywhere, and I went round to the
-back premises to try and find the caretaker. After a diligent search I
-discovered him, fast asleep of course, and, while he went to prepare
-a room, I unsaddled the pony and put it in the stable. Then I went
-into the house and told the servant to get me some food while I had a
-bath. The process of catching the hen and cooking her was a long one,
-and I was sleeping in a chair when the man came to tell me the feast
-was ready. I had an idea that I was not alone in the house, and, when
-I questioned the caretaker, he said that there was a lady who had
-arrived the night before and had not appeared that morning. Our means
-of conversation was limited to a few words, and I could not make out
-who the lady was, or even whether he knew her; but it seemed to me a
-curious thing that a white woman should be there, and I supposed she
-came from one of the big ruby mines; but even then it was strange that
-she should be alone. I made further inquiries about the neighbourhood,
-and learned that I was not more than a day’s journey from Phatmah.
-I knew it was somewhere about, but had not thought it so near; it was
-not on the line of my objective, and I was not interested in its
-exact position. Then some of my bearers arrived with luggage, and I
-deliberately settled myself for a siesta.
-
-It was late afternoon when I awoke, and I determined to push on to
-another small place, which I could just reach before darkness made
-further progress impossible. Even a short stage by night would be
-preferable to the frightful heat and the oppressive atmosphere of this
-lonely house, in its neglected and overgrown garden, where one lean
-chicken now scratched alone. Just then the caretaker came to me and
-asked my advice about the other guest. He had seen and heard nothing of
-her for the whole day, and was afraid there must be something amiss.
-That, I felt, was extremely likely, especially when he told me he had
-knocked at the door of her room and received no answer. I did not at
-all like the mission, but there was nothing for it but to go and see
-what was the matter. A few steps took us to the door of the lady’s
-room, and I knocked, first gently, then loudly, but no sound broke
-the ominous silence. Then I turned the handle, only to find that the
-door was locked. As I could not force it open without making a great
-clatter, I went outside to try the windows. There were two of these
-some height from the ground, and it was difficult to get at them. The
-first was fast, and from my insecure footing I could not force it; but
-with the second I was more fortunate, and as a half-shutter sprang
-open, and a stream of light poured into the dark room, I saw the form
-of a girl, or woman, lying on the bed, in an attitude that somehow did
-not suggest sleep. I shouted at her, but she never moved, and then
-I climbed into the room. I noticed instantly that there was hardly
-anything lying about the ill-furnished room, but, on a small table
-near the bed, was an almost empty brandy bottle and a glass. The woman
-was dressed in a blouse and skirt, the only things she had taken off
-being apparently her hat and shoes. She had her back towards me, and
-the sunlight centred on a mass of fair hair and gave it a deeper tinge.
-Before I put my hand on her cold fingers I felt certain she was dead,
-and as I gently turned her head and recognised in the now grey features
-the face of the only white woman in Phatmah, I don’t think I was very
-much surprised, though I was terribly shocked. Held tightly in her
-other hand was a small empty bottle that had once held chloral, and the
-faint sickly smell of it hung in the heavy stifling atmosphere of that
-bare and comfortless room. Poor lonely child, she had managed to “get
-into mischief” after all.
-
-
-
-
-XXXIV
-
-OF LOVE--NOT IN FICTION
-
-
-You have sent me the answer which I expected. Now tell me how to write
-a love-letter that shall speak no word of love--a letter as full of
-the passion, the boundless adoration, and the faith of love, as the
-Chaurapanchâsika, those fifty distichs of Chauras that proclaimed
-his forbidden worship of the lovely daughter of King Sundava. The
-Brahman’s lament won the king’s heart and saved the poet’s life;
-and I would learn of you how to win a heart, and perhaps save more
-than one life from shipwreck. After all, our civilisation may, in its
-comparative refinement, be more cruel than the unfettered caprice of an
-Eastern king nineteen centuries ago. Tell me, tell me, you who know,
-how can pen and ink be made to speak with the force and persuasion of
-spoken words, when half the world divides the writer from the reader of
-poor halting sentences that must, of necessity, leave unsaid all that
-the heart yearns to utter?
-
-When eye can look into eye, when the stretched-out hand meets a
-responsive touch,--timid and uncertain, or confident with the knowledge
-of passionate love passionately returned,--the words that are spoken
-may be feeble, but the influence of a loved presence will carry
-conviction, and one voice awaken in one heart the music of the spheres.
-Then the dullest day is bright, the lovers’ feet tread on air, day
-is a joy and night a gladness, or at least a dream of delight. Then
-life is divided between anticipation and reality. No wonder the hours
-fly on wings; no wonder the thoughts suggested by brief absences are
-forgotten in the wonder and delight of briefer meetings, till the dread
-moment of separation comes, and aching hearts too late realise the
-appalling suddenness of the actual parting and the ceaseless regret
-for opportunities lost. You understand that my thoughts are not of the
-devout lover who is going through a short apprenticeship before signing
-a bond of perpetual servitude or partnership, as the case may be. That
-is a phase which, if it occasionally deserves sympathy, seldom receives
-it; indeed, it hardly awakens interest, except in those who wish to
-see the preliminaries concluded, that their interest in the principals
-may either cease, and give themselves more freedom, or begin, and bring
-them some profit. I appeal to you to tell me how to keep alive the
-divine flame when oceans and continents divide two loving hearts; how
-to tell of longing and bitter regret, of faith and love and worship,
-when such words may not be written; how to make personal influence
-felt across five seas and through many weary months; how to kill doubt
-and keep strong and faithful a priceless love, against which the stars
-in their courses may seem ready to fight; how, above all, to help one
-who needs help, and warm sympathy, and wise advice, so that, if it
-be possible, she may escape some of life’s misery and win some of
-life’s joy.
-
-Journeying through this weary old world, who has not met the poor
-struggling mortal, man or woman, old or young, for whom the weal or
-woe of life hangs in the balance, to turn one way or the other, when
-the slightest weight is cast into either scale? Who has not been asked
-for sympathy or advice, or simply to lend an ear to the voice of a
-hopeless complaint? Some feel the iron in their souls far more keenly
-than others. While the strong fight, the weak succumb, and the shallow
-do not greatly mind, after they have gone through a short torture of
-what seems to them profound emotion. But in their case sympathy is
-rather wasted, for, however violent their grief, their tears are soon
-dried, and it must have been written for them that “joy cometh with the
-morning.”
-
-You know what it is when the heart seems to struggle for more freedom,
-because it is choking with a love it may not, or will not, express;
-when, in the absence of one face, all other companionship is irksome,
-all conversation stale and unprofitable; when daylight wearies and
-night is cruelly welcome, because the struggle to play a part, and
-pretend an interest one does not feel, is over, and one stretches out
-one’s arms to the darkness, and whispers, “Come to me,” to ears that
-cannot hear. What strange unnatural creatures we are, for we stifle the
-voices of our souls, and seem to delight in torturing ourselves for the
-sake of some idea born of a tradition, the value of which we dare not
-even submit to the test of argument. If in response to your heart’s
-cry there came the one whose presence you desire, you would instantly
-torture yourself rather than confess your message. Whatever it cost
-you, you would not only pretend that the sudden appearance of the
-greatly beloved was the last thing you wished for, but you might even
-send him away with the impression that he had deeply offended you. And
-yet--Ah well! this artificial fortress we take such pains to build, and
-to keep in repair, is not proof against every assault. There are crises
-of life--an imminent danger, the presence or appearance of death, a
-sudden and irresistible wave of passionate feeling, or a separation
-that has no promise of reunion--before these the carefully constructed
-rampart of convention and outward seeming goes down like a house of
-cards.
-
-    “When a beloved hand is laid in ours,
-     When, jaded by the rush and glare
-     Of the interminable hours,
-     Our eyes within another’s eyes see clear;
-     When one world-deafened ear
-     Is by the tones of a loved voice caressed,
-     A bolt is shot back somewhere in the heart,
-     And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again;
-     The eye sinks inward and the heart lies plain,
-     And what we mean we say,
-     And what we would we know.”
-
-There was a day which, to me, will ever be my day of days--halcyon
-hours of joy and gladness, coloured by a setting of wondrous beauty,
-and burdened by the fateful shadow of an inevitable parting that would,
-in all human probability, be the point where two lives, which had
-grown strangely and sweetly close, must divide, without any hope of
-re-uniting. You remember how in that early dawn we drove through the
-dewy grass, covered with the fairies’ dainty white gossamer kerchiefs,
-lace cobwebs spread out to dry in the morning sun; and, as we left the
-town and made for the distant mountains, the dark red road wound up and
-down hills, through orchards and grass-land and forest, till we gained
-a little village, where the road forked, and a clear, rain-swollen
-stream slipped swiftly past the picturesque brown cottages. Whilst the
-horses were being changed, we strolled a little way down the road, and
-watched a group of laughing urchins, playing in that lilied stream
-like water-babies. How they screamed with delight as their small
-glistening bodies emerged from the shining water to struggle up a crazy
-ladder that led from the back of a hut down into the winding stream;
-and how the sun shone! lighting the snow-white plumage of a brood of
-solemn-looking ducks, sailing majestically round the sedge-girt edges
-of a tiny pool beneath the bridge. In that pool was mirrored a patch
-of clear blue sky, and across it fell the shadows cast by a great
-forest tree. That was “a day in spring, a day with thee and pleasure!”
-Then, as we drove on, there were heavenly glimpses of sapphire hills,
-seen down long vistas through the forest. For the last few miles, the
-road followed the bank of a deep and rapid river, whose clear waters
-reflected the graceful overhanging trees, while the banks were buried
-in a thick maze of ferns and grasses, and great shining patches of
-buttercups and marigolds.
-
-Were you sorry when the drive was over, and our sweet converse perforce
-ended? I wonder would you have enjoyed it better had that exquisite
-spot, in the depths of the forest, been ours alone for that one day?
-One day is so little in a lifetime, and yet what was ours was good! Do
-you remember how, in that far-off place, we met on the road one whom
-you recognised, but whose face and manner gave no clue to the romantic
-story of his life, a story that would have brought him great renown
-in the days when valour was accounted of the highest worth? You have
-not forgotten that, nor yet the return drive, when, as we crested the
-last hill, and began the steep and tortuous descent into the plain, the
-lurid rays of the setting sun threw crimson stains across dark pools of
-lotus-bearing water, half-hidden by overhanging grasses and the dank
-leaves of white-blossomed lilies. Beneath us lay a wide stretch of
-swamp-land, the very picture of abandonment, desolation, and solitude;
-heaps of up-turned earth, green with rank vegetation, and pools of
-dead water, whose dark shadows reflected the lambent fires of the
-western horizon. A broken line of black trees stood clear against the
-rapidly-darkening sky, but, as we reached the foot of the hill, heaven
-and earth were wrapped in the shadows of night. And then my day was
-done. Doubt was buried, and the “big word” bound our hearts in the joy
-of that priceless sympathy which carries human aspirations beyond the
-storm and stress of human life to a knowledge of the Divine. We said
-little; when hearts are at one, few words are needed, for either knows
-the other’s thoughts. But you were slow to unbend, making a brave
-fight against fate, and keeping true to your creed, though seven days
-would bring the end. To me, the light of that one brilliant day had
-been intensified by the rapidly approaching shadow of the inevitable
-parting. I wonder--now that the bitterness of separation has come,
-now that I vaguely ask myself what has happened to Time since I lost
-you--whether, if we could have that day again, you would again be so
-merciless in your determination to hold love in leash, and give no sign
-of either the passion or the pain that was tearing your heart. I think
-it was a hard fight, for, though you concealed your thoughts, you could
-not hide the physical effects of the struggle. Did you know how your
-weariness distressed me, and what I would have given to have the right
-to try to comfort you?
-
-I have a confused memory of those other days. Brief meetings and
-partings; insane desires to make any excuse to write to you, or hear
-from you, though I had but just left your presence; a hopeless and
-helpless feeling that I had a thousand things to say to you, and yet
-that I never could say one of them, because the time was so short
-that every idea was swallowed up in the ever-present dread of your
-departure, and the ceaseless repetition of your cry, “I cannot bear it,
-I cannot bear it.” From out that vague background shine two stars, two
-brilliant memories to light the darkness of the weary months until I
-see your face again--a blissful memory and a sign. All the rest seems
-swallowed up in the bitterness of that parting, which comes back like
-some horrible nightmare.
-
-Only black water under a heavy overcast sky; only the knowledge that
-the end had come; that what should be said must be said then, with
-the instant realisation that the pain of the moment, the feeling of
-impotent rebellion against fate, destroyed all power of reflection, and
-the impulse to recklessness was only choked back by the cold words of
-a publicly spoken farewell. Then rapid motion, and in one minute the
-envious darkness had taken everything but the horrible sense of loss
-and inconsolable regret. Whatever my suffering, it was worse for you; I
-at least was alone, alone with a voice which ever murmured in my ears
-that despairing cry, “I cannot bear it, I cannot bear it.”
-
-When two who have been brought together, so close together that they
-have said the “big word” without faltering, are suddenly swept asunder
-by the receding wave of adverse circumstances, there must ever arise
-in their hearts that evil question, “How is it now? Is it the same?
-Or have time, and distance, and a thousand other enemies, so filled
-the space between us that the memory of either is growing dim, and
-the influence of the other waning, waning till the absence of all
-binding tie begins to feel like a very bond. Will the vision simply
-fade gradually out of sight?” For us there is no promise, no tie,
-no protestations of fealty; only knowledge, and that forced upon us
-rather than sought. You give or you don’t give, that is all; if
-you also take away, you are within your right. There may be reasons
-and reasons, I understand them all; and I have only one desire, that
-whatever prevails may secure you happiness. What you can give seems
-to me so unlike what others ever have to give, so infinitely beyond
-price, that, where I might gain, it is not right that I should speak.
-Therefore I cannot urge, I dare not even plead, a cause that has less
-to recommend it than the forlornest hope.
-
-
-
-
-XXXV
-
-OF OBSESSION
-
-
-If that is irrevocable--why, then, no more. You can only decide, and
-while I would not have you consider me, I do ask you to think of
-yourself. I have no title to be considered, not the remotest; if I had,
-it might be different. Possibly, even, I had better not write now, and
-yet I must, though you say “Don’t.” It cannot matter for this once,
-and after--well, there may be no after. We are curiously inconsistent
-and very hard to understand; even when we think we know each other
-well, we speak to conceal our thoughts; and, when we write (and it is
-often easier to write what we mean than to say it) I wonder whether
-it occurs to us how marvellously contradictory we can be, and what
-difficult riddles we can frame, in two or three pages of a letter that
-comes straight from the heart and cries to be understood. Verily we
-are the slaves of circumstance; but whilst we accept that position,
-whilst we make sacrifices that can be absolutely heroic, and dumbly
-suffer the crucifixion of a lifetime, we want one other heart to know
-and understand. There are few things harder to bear than to stifle
-every strongest inclination, every dearest hope, to shut the gate
-of life, to lock it and throw away the key, with a determination to
-accept existence and make the best of it. God knows how bitter is that
-renunciation, but, if it be for another, and that other misunderstands,
-then the cruelty of it all seems almost beyond endurance.
-
-If I may write no more to you, you may never understand. If I saw you,
-later, under other circumstances, I could not speak; so there can be
-no explanation for me. I do not plead, I may not. Not once, but often
-you have heard my profession of faith--a gift is good, because it is
-given freely. The greatest good, the most priceless gift, is love. It
-is valuable because it is free. You cannot buy it or compel it; even
-when given, you cannot lock it up, or chain it down, and say, “It is
-mine for ever.” It comes, and it is the joy of life; it goes, and it
-is pity, misery, despair. It is as useless to rave against the loss,
-as to shake one’s fist at Zeus and his thunderbolts. If I ever had,
-then I was thrice-blessed. If I have no longer, the fault is probably
-mine, and I have still the knowledge of what was. Not God Himself can
-deprive me of that. I would have liked that you should know all I yearn
-to say, but because you are not here to tell me, “Say it, say it all,”
-therefore I must keep silence. Perhaps I do not read aright all you
-mean; but some at least I know, and that is what you would have me
-understand without any shadow of doubt. That I realise, down to the
-very lowest depths of the suffering which is dumb for sheer pain; and
-I can say nothing, absolutely nothing, because I have no right; nay,
-more, you tell me to be silent. Surely you know, you know, what I would
-say? You remember how one evening we rode out by the rocks, and we
-talked of a story of faith and high resolve, and you said you did not
-think I was capable of a like devotion. That was a fairy tale; but what
-I said then, I repeat, with greater confidence, now; with hope, yes, I
-could stand and wait--with none, perhaps not.
-
-That is all of me. What your letters have been you know, or at least
-you can guess, for I have answered them, and in those answers you
-could read all I might not say. “There must be an end, and it is not
-because of the trouble, but it is because of the pleasure.” You could
-not tell me that and think, because you bid me, I would not answer?
-Nor does one forget--fortunately--though if to forget be fortunate,
-I suppose to remember must be unfortunate, only it does not seem so
-to me. “Silence is a great barrier”--yes, death is silence, and the
-greatest barrier of all, and the silence of the living is, in a way,
-harder to bear, for it seems so needlessly unkind. Silence, determined,
-unbroken silence, will, I think, kill all feeling. I will not accept
-that as your last word, not yet; but if, when you receive this, you
-make that the beginning of silence, then I shall know, and I will not
-break it. Only I beg of you not to do so hard a thing as this, for
-I will gladly accept any less cruel sentence if you will not make
-yourself as dead to me. I have not done anything that need drive you to
-issue such an edict. Will not some less hopeless judgment, something
-short of eternal silence, serve until I bring on myself this ghastly
-doom? You are thinking that it was I who said, “All or nothing,” I who
-said friendship was too hard a road to tread. That was before--before I
-had tried; before I knew all I know now. You hid your heart far out of
-sight, and I never dared to guess--I do not now. But you went, and I,
-remembering how you went, catch at straws; for, as the Eastern says, I
-am drowning in the deepest sea. Do not think that is extravagant; it is
-because I have learned to count the unattainable at its true value that
-I also realise the immensity of the loss. We stood on either side of a
-wall, and because the wall was near to me I looked over it and almost
-forgot its existence. You, standing farther off, saw always the wall,
-and it shut me out. Then I, thinking it could be nothing to you, tried
-to get across the intervening space, and so fell, hurting myself, as
-those who fall must do. It was not a caprice, not an impulse that took
-me, it was the victory of the uncontrollable. So, doubting me, and to
-do right for both, you said, “I will build a wall too, stronger and
-higher, and then we can sometimes look over and talk to each other,
-and everything will be well.” But it is not well. Only you have vowed
-yourself to the work, and, if it seems hard, you say that all things
-are hard, and this must be good because it costs so much. To suffer
-is bad enough; to give suffering where you would strain every nerve
-to give only joy is so hard that, to help the other, seems worth any
-conceivable pain to oneself. What can it matter how it affects me,
-if I can do some little good for you; something that may save you a
-little pain, win you a little joy? Believe me, I have no wish but this.
-Whatever my selfishness would suggest is not really me, for “Thy law is
-my delight”; nay more, it is my delight to try to anticipate your wish.
-I have no fear except that you should misunderstand me, that I should
-misunderstand you. I am my own to offer, yours to accept--equally if,
-by effacement, I can save you the smallest regret, help you for a few
-yards over the stony path of life by keeping silence, you will neither
-see nor hear from me again. I would you did not doubt, perhaps you do
-not now; at least you cannot distrust, and in this I shall not fail. I
-shall not say farewell. I will never say that; but through the silence,
-if so it must be, sometimes, on a day in spring, perhaps, will come
-the echo of a past that you can recall with nothing more than regret.
-And that is what I do not quite understand. You say, “In all the years
-to come I shall not regret.” Not regret what has been, what might
-have been, or what will be then? Therein lies all the difference, and
-therein lies the riddle, there and in those words, “I am sometimes--”
-How am I to supply the rest? It might be any one of so many things.
-Could it ever be that you are sometimes driven to wonder whether
-everything I could offer is worth anything you would give? “Many waters
-cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it; if a man would
-give all the substance of his house for love, it would be utterly
-contemned.” If that be true, and it has high authority, then in that
-one sentence is contained the conclusion of the whole matter. It tells
-you all that you can wish to know for yourself and myself and even for
-others. I have done; an accident drew from me an acknowledgment of my
-own hurt when it seemed unlikely that the fact should interest you. Now
-I am so unfortunate that, hurt myself, I have made you suffer as well.
-I have nothing to offer to help you, for all I had is yours already.
-And so the end: if so you deem it best. “_Si j’étais Dieu_,” I would
-use what power I had to spare you a moment’s pain and give you such
-happiness that you should forget the meaning of the word “suffering.”
-How utterly powerless we are, how impotent to save those we love, when
-no offer of the best we have, no devotion, no self-effacement, will
-secure the happiness of one other being, whose every pulse throbs in
-unison with ours, yet between whom and us there is fixed the great
-gulf of our own conventions. Is the end of all human hopes, all human
-sorrows, described in these two lines?--
-
-    “Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
-     There was, and then no more of Thee and Me.”
-
-“Let me say it whilst I have the courage.” Suppose you had the greater
-courage to write, “I will never say it.” Let me rather cry with Saul,
-“Farewell to others, but never we part.” And yet I know that we have
-already parted to meet no more.
-
-
-
-
-XXXVI
-
-OF PARADISE LOST
-
-
-By a dispensation of that Providence which, if seldom kind,
-is sometimes less than malignant, I received your two letters
-together--the poison and the antidote. I looked at the dates on the
-postmarks, and I took the poison first. It did not take long to read,
-and I am glad now that I can truly tell you that my impulse was to
-ignore your expressed wish, your command, and to at once tell you
-that I did not believe a single word of those lines, which, if meant
-to hurt, could not have been better conceived, for truly they were
-coldly cruel. Indeed, the note was hateful, and so absolutely unlike
-you, that it must have defeated its object, had that been really as
-you declared it. If you know me at all, you must have realised that,
-if I know the Kingdom of Heaven may not be taken by storm, I should
-never seek for the charity which is thrown to the importunate. But the
-other letter was there, and in it I found such measure of consolation
-as is vouchsafed to those who find that, if their path is difficult,
-they will not tread it alone, and it tends upward. It may not be all we
-desire--how should it be in a world which is full of
-
-                      “Infinite passion
-    And the pain of finite hearts that yearn”?
-
-Still, it is much; and, at the worst, it is death without its sting.
-
-Do I know? I think I do. You see, if the future contains nothing
-for me, I have still the past--and, in that past, I have learnt to
-implicitly trust you, and you have let me see enough of your very self
-to make me disregard even what comes from you, when it has nothing in
-common with your real character. But I shall not forget--I do not do
-that easily at any time--and, if all else faded, I could not forget
-our friendship. Do you think the first man and woman ever forgot that
-once they dwelt in Paradise? It was the recollection of all they had
-lost which was the beginning of mortal suffering. If that “pleasant
-place” is closed to me, I am not likely to forget that I have seen the
-gate, that I know where to find it, and that there is but one. Yes, I
-understand; and the proof is, that in my regret there is no bitterness
-now. I also remember what I said when we leant over the balustrade of
-a verandah and looked out into the silver sheen of a ravishing Eastern
-night, wherein the frail chalices of the moonflower shone like great,
-milk-white stars in their leafy sky, while from the trellis-work
-beneath us rose the faint, sweet scent of those strange blossoms. You
-have taught me how great the exception can be. The cynicism is only
-skin-deep, and I shall never swell the ranks of the Faithful--though
-I still think there is much to be said for the Faith. The creed, like
-other creeds, suffers by the perfunctory service of those who profess
-to be true believers. As for the way you have chosen, I think it is
-the right way, at least it is the best to follow now; and, to help you
-tread it well, I also say, “God be with you.” They need not be my last
-words to you, for, if ever my loyal service can further any wish of
-yours, our friendship is not so poor a thing that you would hesitate
-to give me the satisfaction of doing for you anything that lies in my
-power. That was in the bond we made long ago. If we cannot forget what
-came into our dream of mutual trust and intellectual companionship, is
-it not better to bravely accept the fiat of Destiny and make the past a
-link to bind us more closely to the terms of our bond? Even so we may
-still help each other, still cleave to the sympathy which we know will
-never fail us; and, if our paths divide, the earth is not wide enough
-to keep us asunder, should we ever try to say “Adieu.”
-
-
-
-
-XXXVII
-
-“TO MARY, IN HEAVEN”
-
-
-This is my last letter to you, _Carina_, and I am writing in the belief
-that you are in heaven. But are you really there, and, if you are, is
-all well with you? Have you everything you desire and no regrets? It
-seems such a very long way off, you have such small control over the
-means of transport, and so much depends on hearsay, that one may, I
-trust, be pardoned for entertaining doubt where all is so indefinite.
-Then the accounts of that blessed place that have come to different
-parts of the world, though always inspired, differ so materially.
-To mortals, immortality is a difficult conception. To finite minds,
-conscious of the grasp of a limited intelligence, but still very much
-alive to the evidence of the senses we possess, the idea of a heaven,
-somewhere beyond the reach of earthly imagination, is perhaps more
-difficult still. So many millions come into the world, and we realise
-fairly well how and why they come; they all, without exception, go,
-and none ever return, and some, we are told, are in heaven, and some
-elsewhere. The time here is so absurdly short, and the eternity there
-is so impossibly long, that, if our chances of spending the latter in
-joy, or sorrow, depend on what we do in the former, it is only natural
-that this one idea should occupy our thoughts to the exclusion of all
-others. Yet there, again, we are such frail things, that in this way
-lies what we call madness.
-
-If you have solved the great problem, can you not enlighten my
-darkness, my craving for exact knowledge? Write to me, _Carina_, write
-and tell me what it is all like. If I have wearied you with my feeble,
-little tales, my stupid questions, my pictures that must seem to you
-so flat and colourless in the glory of that better world, my vain
-imaginings and poor human longings, will you not take pity on me and
-gladden my weary eyes with a word-painted vision of the Heavenly City,
-the fields of Elysium, or at least the houris who are to be the portion
-of the Faithful? I do not know which paradise you are in. See, I wait
-with the pencil on the paper: will you not make it write?
-
-You do not heed. Perhaps, after all, you are not there; or is it
-possible that you have forgotten this small planet and those you left
-here, and that you find more congenial friends in the company of the
-angels? I dare say it is natural, and I do not upbraid you; but some
-day I may reach that desired haven, and I want you to remember that I
-have earned your consideration by my discretion, if you can spare me
-no more tender feeling. If, for instance, I had sent you these letters
-while you were still on earth, and you had incautiously left them about
-(as you would have been certain to do), quite a number of them would
-have compromised you in the opinion of the servant girl, and she is the
-origin of a vast deal of earthly gossip. I suppose you have no servant
-girls and no gossip where you are: the absence of effect depending
-on the want of cause. Happy heaven! and yet I believe that there are
-people on this earth who really enjoy being the subject of gossip. To
-them the suggestions of scandal are as the savour of salt, as danger
-is to the sportsman; the wilder the suggestion, the more amusing the
-game; and there are even those who, when tattle wanes and desire fails,
-say or insinuate, to their own detriment, the thing that is not, rather
-than disappear into obscurity. It is the same desire for notoriety and
-attention which prompted Martin to set fire to York Minster, and led
-the woman to complain to the vicar that her husband had ceased to beat
-her.
-
-Up in the serene atmosphere of those heavenly heights you have no
-cathedrals, no husbands, no wives, no work, no play, no food, no
-frocks--pardon me, that is a slip of the pen; of course you have
-frocks, but what else have you? Is it not sometimes just a little
-monotonous? If life is so short that it amounts to little more than the
-constant fear of coming death, are you not sometimes overawed by the
-contemplation of eternity? But, after all, the dwellers in heaven may
-never think. Never to remember, and so never to regret; never to think,
-and so never to desire--that is a possible scheme of existence where
-a thousand years might be as one day, and to the weary it would mean
-rest. But so would oblivion, and we are not altogether satisfied with
-the thought of oblivion.
-
-    “Oh, Threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
-     One thing is certain--_This_ Life flies;
-       One thing is certain, and the rest is Lies;
-     The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.”
-
-That is well enough, but it is not an inspired writing; it is a cry
-rather of despair than conviction, and oft repeated to make up for
-want of certainty. Of things mundane we have acquired a tolerable
-knowledge, however much there is yet to be learnt; but that in us which
-we call the Soul will never be satisfied till it learns something of
-the hereafter. Who will teach it? Do we know more now than they did
-when men fought with bows and arrows, or flint weapons, instead of
-hundred-ton guns fired by electricity?
-
-Standing alone in some vast solitude where man and his doings have
-no part, have made no mark and left no trace--where face to face
-with Nature, with mountain and plain, forest and sea and a limitless
-firmament, man’s somewhat puny efforts are forgotten, there comes an
-intense longing for something higher and nobler than the life we live.
-The soul of man cries out for light, for some goal towards which he may
-by effort and sacrifice attain; for he is not lacking in the qualities
-that have made heroes and martyrs throughout all the ages. If he cannot
-rend the veil and scale the heights of heaven, he can grasp the things
-within his reach; and, realising that there are problems beyond his
-intelligence, he can yet give his life to make easier the lot of his
-fellow-creatures, seeking humbly, but courageously, to follow, no
-matter how far behind, in the footsteps of his Great Exemplar. Nor need
-his efforts be less strenuous, his object less worthy, because this
-passionate cry of a voice, stilled centuries ago, strikes a sympathetic
-chord in his heart.
-
-    “Yet ah! that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
-      That Youth’s sweet-scented manuscript should close!
-        The Nightingale, that in the branches sang,
-      Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
-
-     Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
-      One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed reveal’d,
-        To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
-      As springs the trampled herbage of the field!
-
-     Would but some wingèd Angel, ere too late,
-      Arrest the yet-unfolded Roll of Fate,
-        And make the stern Recorder otherwise
-      Enregister, or quite obliterate!
-
-     Ah Love, could you and I with Him conspire
-      To grasp this sorry Scheme of things entire,
-        Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
-      Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!”
-
-
-THE END
-
-
-    Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
-    Edinburgh & London
-
-
-
-
-  _SECOND EDITION_
-
-  Malay Sketches
-
-  BY
-
-  FRANK ATHELSTANE SWETTENHAM
-
-  WITH TITLE-PAGE AND COVER DESIGNED BY
-
-  PATTEN WILSON
-
-  Crown 8vo, 6s.
-
-
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-Particularly good is his eye for colour, and he has a fine sense of
-the brilliant melancholy of the East. To few falls the good fortune of
-introducing us to a new people, and seldom have we the advantage of so
-admirable a guide.”--_Pall Mall Gazette._
-
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-illuminative analysis has yet seen the light about that fascinating
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-
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-
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-more reliable kind of his favourite literature.”--_Spectator._
-
-
-LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
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-[Illustration]
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-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-THE YELLOW BOOK
-
-An Illustrated Quarterly.
-
-_Pott 4to. 5s. net._
-
-
-       I. April 1894, 272 pp., 15 Illustrations.
-            [_Out of print._
-
-      II. July 1894, 364 pp., 23 Illustrations.
-
-     III. October 1894, 280 pp., 15 Illustrations.
-
-      IV. January 1895, 285 pp., 16 Illustrations.
-
-       V. April 1895, 317 pp., 14 Illustrations.
-
-      VI. July 1895, 335 pp., 16 Illustrations.
-
-     VII. October 1895, 320 pp., 20 Illustrations.
-
-    VIII. January 1896, 406 pp., 26 Illustrations.
-
-      IX. April 1896, 256 pp., 17 Illustrations.
-
-       X. July 1896, 340 pp., 13 Illustrations.
-
-      XI. October 1896, 342 pp., 12 Illustrations.
-
-     XII. January 1897, 350 pp., 14 Illustrations.
-
-    XIII. April 1897, 316 pp., 18 Illustrations.
-
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-
-  Transcriber’s Note:
-
-  Quotations from other sources, and transliterated materials,
-  have been transcribed as they appear in this book.
-
-  The ordering of entries in the book catalogue has been retained.
-
-  Spelling, grammar, and variation in hyphenation and word usage
-  have been retained.
-
-  Punctuation has been changed occasionally where a clear predominance
-  of usage could be ascertained.
-
-  Typographical changes have been made as as follows:
-
-  p. 7:
-  si cœtera noscit
-    changed to
-  si cætera noscit
-
-  p. 124:
-  between the deep blue bills
-    changed to
-  between the deep blue hills
-
-  p. 157:
-  to regard the unknown quanity with philosophy
-    changed to
-  to regard the unknown quantity with philosophy
-
-  p. 165:
-  Persumably if the man thinks
-    changed to
-  Presumably if the man thinks
-
-  p. 254:
-  The wasp has still a sting left, she says; “You sent
-    changed to
-  The wasp has still a sting left; she says, “You sent
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Unaddressed Letters, by Anonymous
-
-*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNADDRESSED LETTERS ***
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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 47420 ***
+
+Transcriber’s Note:
+
+  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
+  For more transcriber’s notes, please go to the end of this book.
+
+
+
+
+UNADDRESSED LETTERS
+
+
+
+
+_By the same Author_
+
+
+MALAY SKETCHES
+
+Second Edition
+
+Cr. 8vo, 6s.
+
+
+
+
+UNADDRESSED
+LETTERS
+
+  EDITED BY
+  _FRANK ATHELSTANE
+  SWETTENHAM, K.C.M.G._
+
+[Illustration]
+
+  JOHN LANE
+  THE BODLEY HEAD
+  LONDON AND NEW YORK
+  MDCCCXCVIII
+
+
+
+
+  _All rights reserved_
+
+
+  Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
+  At the Ballantyne Press
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+“I had a friend who loved me;” but he has gone, and the “great gulf”
+is between us.
+
+After his death I received a packet of manuscript with these few
+words:--
+
+“What I have written may appeal to you because of our friendship, and
+because, when you come to read them, you will seek to grasp, in these
+apparent confidences, an inner meaning that to the end will elude you.
+If you think others, not the many but the few, might find here any
+answer to their unuttered questionings, any fellowship of sympathy in
+those experiences which are the milestones of our lives, then use the
+letters as you will, but without my name. I shall have gone, and the
+knowledge of my name would make no one either wiser or happier.”
+
+In the packet I found these letters. I cannot tell whether there is any
+special order in which they should be read--there was nothing to guide
+me on that point. I do not know whether they are to real or imaginary
+people, whether they were ever sent or only written as an amusement,
+a relief to feeling, or with a purpose--the one to which they are now
+put, for instance. One thing is certain, namely, that, however taken,
+they are not all indited to the same person; of that there seems to be
+convincing internal evidence.
+
+The writer was, by trade, a diplomatist; by inclination, a sportsman
+with literary and artistic tastes; by force of circumstances he was a
+student of many characters, and in some sense a cynic. He was also a
+traveller--not a great traveller, but he knew a good deal of Europe, a
+little of America, much of India and the further East. He spent some
+time in this neighbourhood, and was much interested in the country and
+its people. There is an Eastern atmosphere about many of the letters,
+and he made no secret of the fact that he was fascinated by the glamour
+of the lands of sunshine. He died very suddenly by misadventure, and,
+even to me, his packet of letters came rather as a revelation.
+
+Before determining to publish the letters, I showed them to a friend on
+whose opinion I knew the writer had set store. He said, “The critic
+will declare there is too much scenery, too much sentiment. Very likely
+he will be right for those whose lives are passed in the streets of
+London, and the letters will not interest so many readers as would
+stories of blood and murder. Yet leave them. Love is in the atmosphere
+day and night, and the scenery is in true proportion to our lives here,
+where, after all, sunsets are commoner than murders.” Therefore I have
+left them as they came to me, only using my discretion to omit some of
+the letters altogether.
+
+    F. A. S.
+
+    _February 12, 1898._
+
+    “_Thus fare you well right hertely beloved
+    frende ... and love me as you have ever
+    done, for I love you better than ever I dyd._”
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                        PAGE
+
+       I.  THE HILL OF SOLITUDE                            1
+
+      II.  OF WORSHIP                                      6
+
+     III.  WEST AND EAST                                  13
+
+      IV.  A CLEVER MONGOOSE                              21
+
+       V.  A BLUE DAY                                     33
+
+      VI.  OF LOVE, IN FICTION                            42
+
+     VII.  THE JINGLING COIN                              48
+
+    VIII.  A STRANGE SUNSET                               61
+
+      IX.  OF LETTER-WRITING                              68
+
+       X.  AT A FUNERAL                                   72
+
+      XI.  OF CHANGE AND DECAY                            82
+
+     XII.  DAUGHTERS AND DESPOTISM                        96
+
+    XIII.  HER FIANCÉ                                    107
+
+     XIV.  BY THE SEA                                    115
+
+      XV.  AN ILLUMINATION                               123
+
+     XVI.  OF DEATH, IN FICTION                          129
+
+    XVII.  A HAND AT ÉCARTÉ                              138
+
+   XVIII.  THE GENTLE ART OF VEERING WITH THE WIND       145
+
+     XIX.  A REJOINDER                                   153
+
+      XX.  OF IMPORTUNITY                                159
+
+     XXI.  OF COINCIDENCES                               168
+
+    XXII.  OF A COUNTRY-HOUSE CUSTOM                     175
+
+   XXIII.  A MERE LIE                                    182
+
+    XXIV.  TIGERS AND CROCODILES                         191
+
+     XXV.  A ROSE AND A MOTH                             203
+
+    XXVI.  A LOVE-PHILTRE                                209
+
+   XXVII.  MOONSTRUCK                                    220
+
+  XXVIII.  THE “DEVI”                                    229
+
+    XXIX. THE DEATH-CHAIN                                242
+
+     XXX. SCANDAL AND BANGLES                            252
+
+    XXXI. THE REPREHENSIBLE HABIT OF MAKING COMPARISONS  259
+
+   XXXII. A CHALLENGE                                    265
+
+  XXXIII. IN EXILE                                       270
+
+   XXXIV. OF LOVE--NOT IN FICTION                        284
+
+    XXXV. OF OBSESSION                                   295
+
+   XXXVI. OF PARADISE LOST                               303
+
+  XXXVII. “TO MARY, IN HEAVEN”                           307
+
+
+
+
+UNADDRESSED LETTERS
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+THE HILL OF SOLITUDE
+
+
+An hour ago I climbed the narrow, winding path that circles the Hill of
+Solitude, and as I gained the summit and sat upon that narrow bench,
+facing the west, I may have fallen into a trance, for there appeared to
+me an ever-changing vision of unearthly beauty.
+
+The sun was sinking into the sea, directly in a line with the wide
+estuary that marks a distant river’s mouth. It was setting in a blaze
+of molten gold, while all above and to the northward, the background of
+sky glowed with that extraordinary, clear pale-blue blent with green,
+that makes one of the most striking features of the sunsets seen from
+this hill. The clouds were fewer to-night, the background wider and
+clearer, the colour more intense, more transparent, as though the
+earnest gazer might even discern some greater glory, beyond and through
+the shining crystal of those heavenly windows.
+
+The calm surface of the sea beneath mirrored the lights above, till sea
+and sky vied with each other in a perfection of delicate translucent
+sheen. Northwards a few grey-gold clouds lay against this wondrous
+background, but in the south they were banked in heavy masses, far down
+the sky to the limits of vision.
+
+Out of a deep forest-clad valley, immediately behind the hill, a
+freshening breeze was driving volumes of white mist across the northern
+spur; driving it, at racing speed, in whirling, tangled wisps, across
+the water-holes that cluster around the foot of the great range;
+driving it over the wide plain, out towards the glittering coast-line.
+
+But in a moment, as though by magic, the thick banks of cloud in the
+south were barred with broad shafts of brilliant _rose dorée_; the
+spaces of clear sky, which, an instant before, were pale silver-blue,
+became pale green, momentarily deepening in intensity of tone. Close
+around the setting sun the gold was turning to flame, and, as the
+glory of magnificent colouring spread over all the south, the clouds
+took every rainbow hue, as though charged with a galaxy of living,
+palpitating radiance, grand yet fateful, a God-painted picture of
+battle and blazing cities, of routed hosts and desperate pursuit.
+
+Overhead, and filling the arc from zenith to the outer edge of
+sun-coloured cloud, the sky was a deep sapphire, half covered by soft,
+rounded clouds of deeper sapphire still, only their edges tinged with
+gleams of dull gold.
+
+Another sweep of the magic wand, and, as the patches of pale aquamarine
+deepened into emerald, the heavier clouds became heliotrope, and a
+thick heliotrope haze floated gently across the wide plain, seawards.
+The fires of crimson light blazed brighter in the gathering gloom of
+rising mist and lowering cloud, but the sea shone with ever-increasing
+clearness in the rapidly narrowing space of yet unhidden view.
+
+For a moment the mist disappeared, as suddenly as it came; the sapphire
+clouds took a deeper hue, heliotrope turned to purple, the crimson
+lights were softer but richer in colour, streaked with narrow bands of
+gold, and dark arrowlike shafts shot from the bow of Night.
+
+Standing there, it was as though one were vouchsafed, for a moment,
+a vision of the Heavenly City which enshrines the glory of God.
+One caught one’s breath and shivered, as at the sound of violins
+quivering under inspired fingers, or the voices of boys singing in a
+cathedral choir.
+
+All this while a solitary, ragged-edged cloud-kite hung, almost
+motionless, in middle distance, over the glittering waters of the river
+mouth. This cloud gathered blackness and motion, spread itself out,
+like a dark thick veil, and, as the mist, now grey and cold, closed in,
+the last sparks of the dying sunset were extinguished in the distant
+sea.
+
+And then I was stumbling down the path in the darkness, my eyes blinded
+by the glory of the vision; and as I groped through the gloom, and
+heard the wail of the night-wind rushing from those far-away mountains,
+across this lonely peak, I began to wonder whether I had not been
+dreaming dreams conjured up by the sadly-sweet associations of the
+place.
+
+The darkness deepened, and, as I reached the dividing saddle and began
+to mount the opposite hill, I heard the faint jingle of a dangling coin
+striking metal, and I said to myself that such associations, acting
+on the physical weariness resulting from days of intolerable strain,
+followed by nights of worse regret, were enough to account for far
+stranger journeys in the land which lies beyond the Gates of Ivory and
+Horn.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+OF WORSHIP
+
+
+“This life--good as it can be--is horribly difficult and complicated.
+I feel as though I were walking in the dark, just stumbling along and
+groping my way--there seems to be no light to guide me--you are so far
+away, and there is ever that wall between us,--no higher than before,
+but quite as impenetrable--I wonder,--I wonder,--I wonder what the
+future will bring to you,--to me.”
+
+“I think of you up there, among the soft white clouds, watching the sun
+setting into the sea, while the great blue hills are melting through
+twilight into night. Oh! there’s nothing like that beauty here,--in
+the West,--and I am sick for the East and all her hot, passionate
+loveliness; all her colour and light; all her breadth and grandeur; for
+her magnificent storms and life,--life on a big scale. Here everything
+is so small, so petty, so trivial. I want,--I want,--I want,--that’s
+how I feel; I am lovesick and heartsick and sick for the sun. Well,
+this life is nearly done, and in the next I shall at least be
+worshipped.”
+
+That is well, and if you are worshipped you should not say “at least.”
+What more can you want? Especially since, having all other things and
+lacking worship, you would have nothing. They were not meant for this
+application, but these old Monkish lines are worth remembering:--
+
+    “_Qui Christum nescit, nil scit, si cætera noscit.
+     Qui Christum noscit, sat scit, si cætera nescit._”
+
+I hardly like to suggest it, but are you afraid of the “worship,” of
+its quality, or its lasting properties? Or, assured on these points, do
+you think worship alone will prove unsatisfying? I wonder.
+
+It is an attractive subject, and women disagree as to how it should
+be treated. The fact is, that they are seldom able to generalise;
+they do not take any great interest in generalities, and the answer
+to an impersonal question must have a personal application before it
+can be given. And not that alone, for where, as in this case, and,
+indeed, all those of greatest human interest, another person, a
+special person, is concerned, then the answer depends largely on that
+other person as well. You can, perhaps, in your own mind, think of
+some one or more from whom you would rather have a little worship,
+than become an object of lifelong adoration to many others who have
+seemed anxious to offer it. And that is not because their all was
+less than the little of those with a larger capacity for the worship
+of human beings, nor even because their appreciation of your personal
+worth is in any degree limited, or smaller by comparison with that of
+others. Probably it is exactly the reverse. But I will ask you, of your
+sweetness and light, to give me knowledge. Would you rather have the
+absolute, unsought worship of a man, or would you win, perchance even
+from his unwillingness, a devotion that, if it was not thrown at you,
+was probably, when gained, not likely to burn itself out in a blaze of
+ardent protestations? You will, of course, say that it depends on the
+attitude assumed by the man, and I reply that it does not, because the
+same man would never be found ready to render his service in either
+of these--well--disguises, if you will. It would be in one or in the
+other. Therefore my question will admit of the personal application,
+and you can go through your acquaintances, admirers, friends (I dare
+not say the other word), and tell me whether you would be most attracted
+by the man who fell at your feet and worshipped, giving of his ample
+store without effort and without stint, or by the man who, if he were
+a woman, would be called _difficile_. This problem will give you
+no trouble if, as I said before, you can work it out as a personal
+equation, and it is therefore only necessary that you should have
+amongst your friends two men of the required types.
+
+In return for your anticipated answer, I will give you this. There are
+many men who pay their court to women, if not all in one breath, or
+at one sitting, at least the phase is limited by a definite period.
+That period is usually shorter or longer in the inverse ratio of the
+violence of the attack. The operations result in a decisive action,
+where the man is either worsted or victorious. If he gains his end, and
+persuades the lady to take him for whatever he is worth, the ordinary
+type of Englishman will very often consider that his obligation towards
+her as an idolater, a lover,--whatever name you call the part by,--is
+over when the curtain comes down on the procession to the altar or
+to the office of the Registrar, or, at any rate, when the honeymoon
+has set and the duty-moon rises to wax and wane for evermore. That is
+the man to avoid; and if the womanly instinct, which is so useful and
+so little understanded of men (until they learn to fear its unerring
+accuracy), is only called upon in time, it will not mislead its owner.
+
+You know all this, you will say; very likely, but it is extraordinary
+how many thousands of women, especially English women, there are who
+are now eating out their hearts, because they neglected either to ask
+this question of their instincts or disregarded the answer. Probably
+it is very seldom asked; for a girl is hardly likely to suppose that,
+after feeding her on love for a few weeks, or months, the man will
+starve her of the one thing needful, until death does at last part
+them. He says he has not time for love-making, and he acts as though
+he had not the inclination either, though probably, somewhere in his
+system he keeps the forces that once stirred him to expressions of
+affection that now seem as needless as it would be to ask his servants
+for permission to eat the dinner which he has paid for, and which he
+can take or neglect, praise or find fault with, at his own will and
+pleasure.
+
+That is a very long homily, but it has grown out of the point of the
+pen, possibly because I am sitting here alone, “up in the soft white
+clouds,” as you say, or rather in the softer moonlight; and some of the
+littlenesses of life loom large, but not over-large, considering their
+bearing on the lifelong happiness, or misery, of men and women.
+
+Yes, I am sitting exactly where you imagined. It was on that sofa
+that you used to lie in the evenings, when you were too feeble to sit
+up, and I read to you out of a book of knowledge. But that was years
+and years ago, and now you wonder. Well, I too wonder, and--there, it
+has just struck 1 A.M.--I will wonder no more, but look out at the
+surpassing loveliness of this white night, and then--rest.
+
+It is so strange, I have come back to tell you. The soft white clouds
+are actually there--motionless--they cover everything, sea and plain
+and valley, everything but the loftiest ridges of this mountain. The
+moon rides high, turning to silver the tops of the great billowy
+clouds, while it shines full on this house and garden, casting deep
+shadows from the fern-trees across the gravel, and, from the eaves and
+pillars of the house, across the verandah. The air is perfectly still
+now, though, some hours ago, it was blowing a gale and the wind wailed
+as though mourning its own lost soul.
+
+It seemed then, as it tore round the corner of the house, to be
+crying, “I come from the rice swamps which have no dividing banks,
+from the waters which contain no fish, where the apes cry by night
+and the baboons drink as they hang from the boughs; a place where the
+_chinchîli_ resorts to bathe, and where man’s food is the _kĕmahang_
+fern.” Some day I will tell you more about that place.
+
+And the spirits of the storm that have passed and left this death-like
+stillness, where are they now? They went seaward, westward, to
+you-ward, but they will never reach you, and you will not hear their
+message.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+WEST AND EAST
+
+
+One night, in the early months of this year, I sat at dinner next to a
+comparatively young married woman, of the type that is superlatively
+blonde in colour and somewhat over-ample in figure. She was
+indifferently dressed, not very well informed, but apparently anxious,
+by dint of much questioning, to improve her knowledge where possible.
+She was, I believe, a journalist.
+
+Some one must have told her that I had been in the East, and she,
+like most stay-at-home people, evidently thought that those who go
+beyond the shores of England can only be interested in, or have an
+acquaintance with, the foreign country wherein they have sojourned.
+Therefore the lady fired at me a volley of questions, about the
+manners and habits of the Malay people, whom she always referred to as
+“savages.” I ventured to say that she must have a mistaken, or at any
+rate incomplete, knowledge of the race to speak of Malays as savages,
+but she assured me that people who were black, and not Christians,
+could only be as she described them. I declined to accept that
+definition, and added that Malays are not black. I fancy she did not
+believe me; but she said it did not matter, as they were not white and
+wore no clothes. I am afraid I began to be almost irritated, for the
+long waits between the courses deprived me of all shelter from the rain
+of questions and inconsequent remarks.
+
+At last, I said, “It may surprise you to hear that these savages would
+think, if they saw you now, that you are very insufficiently clad;”
+and I added, to try and take the edge off a speech that I felt was
+inexcusably rude, “they consider the ordinary costume of white _men_ so
+immodest as to be almost indecent.” “Indeed,” said the lady, who only
+seemed to hear the last statement, “I have often thought so too, but I
+am surprised that savages, for I must call them savages, should mind
+about such things.” It was hopeless, and I asked how soon the great
+American people might be expected to send a force to occupy London.
+
+I have just been reminded of this conversation. A few days ago, I wrote
+to a friend of mine, a Malay Sultan, whom I have not seen for some
+months, a letter inquiring how he was, and saying I hoped soon to be
+able to visit him. Now comes his answer; and you, who are in sympathy
+with the East, will be able to appreciate the missive of this truculent
+savage.
+
+In the cover there were three enclosures: a formal letter of extreme
+politeness, written by a scribe, the Arabic characters formed as
+precisely and clearly as though they had been printed. Secondly, a
+letter written in my friend’s own hand, also in the Arabic character,
+but the handwriting is very difficult to decipher. And thirdly there
+is another paper, headed “Hidden Secrets,” written also in the
+Sultan’s own hand. The following is a translation of the beginning
+of the second letter. At the top of the first page is written, “Our
+friendship is sealed in the inmost recesses of my heart.” Then this:
+“I send this letter to my honoured and renowned friend” (here follow
+my name, designation, and some conventional compliments). The letter
+then continues: “You, my dear friend, are never out of my thoughts, and
+they are always wishing you well. I hear that you are coming to see me,
+and for that reason my heart is exceeding glad, as though the moon had
+fallen into my lap, or I had been given a cluster of flowers grown in
+the garden called _Bĕnjerâna Sri_, wide-opening under the influence of
+the sun’s warm rays. May God the Most Mighty hasten our meeting, so
+that I may assuage the thirst of longing in the happy realisation of
+my affectionate and changeless regard. At the moment of writing, by
+God’s grace, and thanks to your prayers, I and my family are in good
+health, and this district is in the enjoyment of peace; but the river
+is in flood, and has risen so high that I fear for the safety of the
+bridge.”
+
+There is more, but what I have quoted is enough to show you the style.
+When the savage has turned from his savagery he will write “Dear sir,”
+and “Yours truly”; his correspondence will be type-written, in English,
+and the flaxen-haired lady will remark with approval that the writer is
+a business man and a Christian, and hardly black at all.
+
+Whilst the Malays are still in my mind, it may interest you to know
+that they have a somewhat original form of verse in four-line stanzas,
+each stanza usually complete in itself, the second and fourth lines
+rhyming. The last two lines convey the sense, while the first two are
+only introduced to get the rhythm, and often mean nothing at all. Here
+are some specimens which may give you an idea of these _pantun_, as
+they are called, though in translating them I have made no attempt to
+give the necessary “jingle.”
+
+    “A climbing bean will gain the roof;
+       The red _hibiscus_ has no scent.
+     All eyes can see a house on fire;
+       No smoke the burning heart betrays.
+
+     Hark! the flutter of the death’s-head moth;
+       It flies behind the headman’s house.
+     Before the Almighty created Adam,
+       Our destinies were already united.
+
+     This is the twenty-first night of the moon,
+       The night when women die in child-birth.
+     I am but as a captive song-bird,
+       A captive bird in the hand of the fowler.
+
+     If you must travel far up river,
+       Search for me in every village;
+     If you must die, while I yet linger,
+       Wait for me at the Gate of Heaven.”
+
+One of the fascinations of letter-writing is that one can wander at
+will from one subject to another, as the butterflies flutter from
+flower to flower; but I suppose there is nearly always something
+that suggests to the writer the sequence of thought, though it might
+be difficult to explain exactly what that something is. I think the
+reference in the above stanzas to Adam and the Gate of Heaven,--or
+Paradise,--have suggested to me the snake,
+
+    “And even in Paradise devise the snake,”
+
+which reminds me that, last night, I said to the ancient and worthy
+person to whom is entrusted the care of this house--
+
+“Leave the drawing-room doors open while I am at dinner: the room gets
+overheated.”
+
+Then he, “I not like leave open the doors, because plenty snakes.”
+
+“Snakes: where?”
+
+“Outside, plenty snakes, leave doors open come inside.”
+
+“What sort of snakes?”
+
+“Long snakes” (stretching out his arm to show the length), “short
+snakes” (measuring off about a foot with the other hand).
+
+“Have you seen them?”
+
+“Yes, plenty.”
+
+This is cheerful news, and I inquire: “Where?”
+
+“In bedrooms.”
+
+“When?”
+
+“Sometimes daytime, sometimes night-time.”
+
+An even pleasanter prospect,--but I am still full of unbelief.
+
+“Have you seen them yourself?”
+
+“Yes, I kill.”
+
+“But when and how was it?”
+
+“One time master not here, lady staying here; daytime I kill one long
+snake, here, this room--night-time lady call me, I kill one short snake
+in bedroom.”
+
+“Which bedroom?”
+
+“Master’s bedroom.”
+
+That is not exactly reassuring, especially when you like to leave
+your doors and windows open, and sleep in the dark. I thank him, and
+he goes away, having entirely destroyed my peace of mind. The wicked
+old man! I wish I could have seen his face as he went out. Now I go
+delicately, both “daytime” and “night-time,” above all at night-time,
+and I am haunted by the dread of the “plenty long snake, plenty short
+snake.” In one’s bedroom too, it is a gruesome idea. If I had gone on
+questioning him, I dare say he would have told me he killed a “plenty
+long snake” inside the bed, trying to warm itself under the bed-clothes
+in this absurdly cold place. I always thought this a paradise, but
+without the snake. Alas! how easily one’s cherished beliefs are
+destroyed.
+
+It is past midnight; the moon is full, and looking down, resplendent
+in all her majesty, bathes everything in a silver radiance. I love to
+go and stand in it; but the verandahs are full of ferns, roses and
+honeysuckle twine round the pillars, the shadows are as dark as the
+lights are bright, and everywhere there is excellent cover for the
+“long snake” and the “short snake.” Perhaps bed is the safest place
+after all, and to-morrow--well, to-morrow I can send for a mongoose.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+A CLEVER MONGOOSE
+
+
+In my last letter I told you how the ancient who guards this Eden had
+complained of the prevalence of snakes, and I, with an experience
+which Adam does not appear to have possessed, determined to send for a
+mongoose to deal with the matter. Well, I saw nothing of the serpent,
+did not even dream about him, and forgot all about the mongoose. It is
+the thought of what I last wrote to you that reminds me of an excellent
+story, and a curious trick which I once witnessed, both having to do
+with the mongoose.
+
+First the story. A boy of twenty got into a train one day, and found,
+already seated in the carriage, a man of middle age, who had beside
+him, on the floor, a closed basket. The train started, and by-and-by
+the boy, feeling dull, looked at his companion, and, to break the ice,
+said--
+
+“Is that your basket, sir?”
+
+To which the stranger, who did not at all relish the idea of being
+dragged into a conversation with a strange youth, replied, “Yes, it
+is,” slightly stammering as he said it.
+
+A pause,--then the boy, “I beg your pardon, but is there some beast in
+it?”
+
+The man, annoyed, “Ye--es, there’s a m--mongoose in it.”
+
+The boy had no idea what a mongoose was, but he had the curiosity of
+youth and was unabashed, so he said, “May I ask what the mongoose is
+for?”
+
+The man, decidedly irritated, and wishing to silence his companion,
+“G--got a f--friend that sees snakes, t--taking the m--mongoose to
+catch ’em.”
+
+The boy concluded the stranger was mad, and wishing to pacify him,
+said--
+
+“Yes, but the snakes are not really there, are they?”
+
+The man, “No, n--neither is the m--mongoose.”
+
+Now as to my experience. Some years ago I was in Calcutta, and, walking
+in the street one day, I was accosted by a man carrying a bag and
+leading a mongoose by a string. He said, “I Madras man, master want
+to see plenty trick, I very good conjurer,” and he produced a sheaf of
+more or less grimy credentials, in which it was stated, by a number of
+reputable people, that he was a conjurer of unusual skill. When I had
+looked at some of the papers, he said, “I come master’s house, do
+trick, this very clever mongoose, I bring him show master.”
+
+I was quite willing, so I gave him my address and told him to come
+whenever he liked.
+
+Some days later the conjurer was announced, and there happened to be in
+my rooms at the time a German dealer in Japanese curios, who had seen
+rather more than usual during a sixteen years’ residence in Japan and
+the Farthest East. He was an extremely amusing old person, and glad of
+the opportunity of seeing the conjurer, who was duly admitted to our
+presence with his bag of properties. The very clever mongoose came in
+last, at the end of his string.
+
+The conjurer certainly justified his reputation, and performed some
+extremely clever tricks, while the mongoose sat by with a _blasé_
+expression, taking very little interest in the proceedings. When the
+conjurer had come to the end of his programme, or thought he had
+done enough, he offered to sell the secret of any trick I liked to
+buy, and, taking him at his word, I was shown several tricks, the
+extreme simplicity of the deceit, when once you knew it, being rather
+aggravating.
+
+In the interest of watching the performance and the subsequent
+explanations, I had forgotten the mongoose, and the conjurer was
+already pushing his paraphernalia into the sack, when I said, “But the
+mongoose, the clever mongoose, where is his trick?”
+
+The conjurer sat down again, pulled the mongoose towards him, and tied
+the end of his string to a chair leg, giving the little beast plenty
+of rope on which to play. Then the man pushed round in front of him
+an earthenware _chatty_ or water-vessel, which had hitherto stood on
+the floor, a piece of dirty cloth being tied over its mouth. Next the
+conjurer thrust his hand into the sack, and pulled out one of the
+trumpet-mouthed pipes on which Indians play weird and discordant airs.
+
+Now I want you to remember that this was my room, that the man’s
+stock-in-trade was contained in the sack which he had pushed on one
+side, that the pieces in the game were the mongoose, the _chatty_ (or
+what it contained), and the pipe, while the lynx-eyed curio-dealer and
+I sat as close as we pleased to see fair play. I am obliged to tell
+you that; of what happened I attempt no explanation, I only relate
+exactly what I saw.
+
+The stage being arranged as I have described, the conjurer drew the
+_chatty_ towards him, and said, “Got here one very good snake, catch
+him in field this morning;” at the same time he untied the cloth, and
+with a jerk threw on the floor an exceedingly lively snake, about three
+feet long. From the look of it, I should say it was not venomous. The
+conjurer had thrown the snake close to the mongoose, who jumped out of
+its way with surprising agility, while the conjurer kept driving it
+towards the little beast. Neither snake nor mongoose seemed to relish
+the situation, and to force the game the conjurer seized the snake by
+the tail, and, swinging it thereby, tried, two or three times, to hit
+the mongoose with it. This seemed to rouse both beast and reptile, and
+the mongoose, making a lightning-like movement, seized the snake by the
+head, shook it for a second or two, dragging it over the matting, and
+then dropped it on the floor. The instant the snake showed fight the
+conjurer had let it go, and the mongoose did the rest.
+
+Where the snake had been dragged, the floor was smeared with blood,
+and now the creature lay, giving a few spasmodic twitches of its body,
+and then was still. The conjurer pulled it towards him, held it up by
+the tail, and said laconically, “Snake dead.” The mongoose meanwhile
+sat quietly licking its paw as though nothing particular had happened.
+
+As the man held it up I looked very carefully at the snake; one eye was
+bulging out, by reason of a bite just over it; the head and neck were
+covered with blood, and as far as my judgment went, the thing was dead
+as Herod. The conjurer dropped the snake on the floor, where it fell
+limply, as any dead thing would, then he put it on its back and coiled
+it up, head inwards, saying again, “You see, snake dead.”
+
+He left the thing lying there, and searched in his sack till he found
+what appeared to be a very small piece of wood, it was, in fact,
+exactly like a wooden match. The sack, all this time, was at his
+side, but not close to him, while the snake was straight in front of
+him, under our noses. Breaking off a very small piece of the wood,
+he gave it to the mongoose, which began to eat it, apparently as a
+matter of duty. At the same time the conjurer took an even smaller
+bit of the same stuff, and opening the snake’s mouth, pushed the
+stick, or whatever it was, inside, and then shut the mouth again. This
+transaction would, I think, have convinced any one who saw it that
+there was no life in the snake.
+
+The conjurer now took up his pipe, and made it squeal some high
+discordant notes. Then taking it from his lips, he said in Hindustani,
+as he touched the snake’s tail with the pipe, “Put out your tail,”
+and the creature’s tail moved slowly outwards, a little way from
+the rest of the coiled body. The conjurer skirled another stave on
+his pipe, and as he lowered the instrument with his left hand, he
+exclaimed, “Snake all right now,” and stretched out his right hand
+at the same instant, to seize the reptile by the tail. Either as
+he touched it, or just before, the snake with one movement was up,
+wriggling and twisting, apparently more alive than when first taken
+out of the _chatty_. While the conjurer thrust it back into the vessel
+there was plenty of time to remark that, miraculous as the resurrection
+appeared to be, the creature’s eye still protruded through the blood
+which oozed from the hole in its head.
+
+As he tied the rag over the top of the _chatty_, the conjurer said,
+with a smile, “Very clever mongoose,” gathered up his sack, took the
+string of his clever assistant in his left hand, raised his right to
+his forehead, and with a low bow, and a respectful “Salâam, Sahib,” had
+left the room before I had quite grasped the situation.
+
+I looked at the dealer in curios, and, as with Bill Nye, “he gazed upon
+me,” but in our few minutes’ conversation, before he left, he could
+throw no light on the mystery, and we agreed that our philosophy was
+distinctly at fault.
+
+That evening I related what had taken place to half-a-dozen men, all of
+whom had lived in India for some years, and I asked if any of them had
+seen and could explain the phenomenon.
+
+No one had seen it, some had heard of it, all plainly doubted my story.
+One suggested that a new snake had been substituted for that killed by
+the mongoose, and another thought that there was no real snake at all,
+only a wooden make-believe. That rather exasperated me, and I said I
+was well enough acquainted with snakes to be able to distinguish them
+from chair-legs. As the company was decidedly sceptical, and inclined
+to be facetious at my expense, I said I would send for the man again,
+and they could tell me how the thing was done when they had seen it.
+
+I sent, and it so happened that the conjurer came on a Sunday, when I
+was sitting in the hall, on the ground-floor of the house where I was
+staying. The conjurer was already squatted on the white marble flags,
+with his sack and his _chatty_ (the mongoose’s string held under his
+foot), when my friends, the unbelievers, or some of them, returned
+from church, and joined me to watch the proceedings. I will not weary
+you by going through it all again. What took place then was an exact
+repetition of what occurred in my room, except that this time the
+man had a larger _chatty_, which contained several snakes, and when
+he had taken out one, and the mongoose had consented to lay hold of
+it, he worried the creature as a terrier does a rat, and, pulling his
+string away from under his master’s foot, he carried the snake into
+the corner of the room, whither the conjurer pursued him and deprived
+him of his prey. The result of the encounter was that the marble
+was smeared with streaks of blood that effectually disposed of the
+wooden-snake theory. That little incident was certainly not planned by
+the conjurer; but when the victim had been duly coiled on the floor and
+the bit of stick placed (like the coin with which to fee Charon) within
+its mouth, then, to my surprise, the conjurer re-opened the _chatty_,
+took out _another_ snake, which in its turn was apparently killed by
+the mongoose, and this one was coiled up and laid on the floor beside
+the first victim. Then, whilst the first corpse was duly resuscitated,
+according to the approved methods I have already described, the second
+lay on the floor, without a sign of life, and it was only when No.
+1 had been “resurrectioned,” and put back in the vessel, that the
+conjurer took up the case of No. 2, and, with him, repeated the miracle.
+
+This time I was so entertained by the manifest and expressed
+astonishment of the whilom scoffers, that again the conjurer had gone
+before I had an opportunity of buying this secret, if indeed he would
+have sold it. I never saw the man again.
+
+There is the story, and, even as it stands, I think you will admit
+that the explanation is not exactly apparent on the surface. I can
+assure you, however, that wherever the deception (and I diligently,
+but unsuccessfully, sought to find it), the performance was the most
+remarkable I have ever witnessed in any country. To see a creature,
+full of life,--and a snake, at close quarters, is apt to impress you
+with its vitality,--to see it killed, just under your eyes, to watch
+its last convulsive struggles, to feel it in your hands, and gaze
+at it as it lies, limp and dead, for a space of minutes; then heigh,
+presto! and the thing is wriggling about as lively as ever. It is a
+very curious trick--if trick it is.
+
+That, however, is not quite all.
+
+A month or two later I was sitting in the verandah of an hotel in Agra.
+A number of American globe-trotters occupied most of the other chairs,
+or stood about the porch, where I noticed there was a little knot of
+people gathered together. I was idly staring into the street when the
+words, “Very clever little mongoose,” suddenly attracted my attention,
+and I realised that two Indian conjurers were amusing the party in the
+porch. I went at once to the spot, and found the mongoose-snake trick
+was just beginning. I watched it with great attention, and I noticed
+that the mongoose only seemed to give the snake one single nip, and
+there was very little blood drawn. The business proceeded merrily, and
+in all respects in accordance with what I had already seen, until,
+at the conclusion of the sort of Salvation-Army resurrection-march,
+the juggler declared that the snake was quite alive and well--but he
+was not, he was dead, dead as Bahram the Great Hunter. No piping
+or tickling or pulling of his tail could awaken the very faintest
+response from that limp carcass, and the conjurers shuffled their
+things together with downcast faces, and departed in what the
+spectators called “a frost.” To them, no doubt, the game was absolutely
+meaningless; to me it seemed that the mongoose had “exceeded his
+instructions.”
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+A BLUE DAY
+
+
+“There is a green hill,” you know it well; it is not very “far away,”
+perhaps a little over a mile, but then that mile is not quite like
+other miles. For one thing it takes you up 500 feet, and as that is
+the last pull to reach the highest point of this range (the summit
+of a mountain over 5000 feet in height), the climb is steep. Indeed,
+one begins by going down some rough stone steps, between two immense
+granite boulders; then you make a half-circuit of the hill by a path
+cut on the level, and thence descend for at least 250 feet, till you
+are on the narrow saddle which joins this peak to the rest of the
+range. Really, therefore, in a distance of little over half a mile
+there is an ascent of 750 feet.
+
+And what a path it is that brings you here! For I am now on the summit,
+though several times on the way I was sorely tempted to sit down and
+put on paper the picture of that road as it lay before my eyes. It is
+a narrow jungle track, originally made by the rhinoceros, the bison,
+and the elephant, and now simply kept clear of falling trees. It is
+exceeding steep, as I have said, and you may remember. It begins by
+following the stony bed of a mountain stream, dry in fine weather, but
+full of water after half-an-hour’s tropical rain. Where the path
+is not covered by roots or stones, it is of a chocolate colour; but,
+in the main, it is overspread by a network of gnarled and knotted
+tree-roots, which, in the lapse of ages, have become so interlaced
+that they hide the soil. These roots, the stones round which they are
+often twined, and the banks on either side, are covered by mosses in
+infinite variety, so that when you look upwards the path stands like a
+moss-grown cleft in the wood.
+
+The forest through which this track leads is a mass of dwarfed trees,
+of palms, shrubs, and creepers. Every tree, without exception, is
+clothed with moss, wherever there is room to cling on branch or stem,
+while often there are great fat tufts of it growing in and round the
+forks, or at any other place with convenient holding. The trees are
+moss-grown, but that is only where the innumerable creepers, ferns,
+and orchids leave any space to cover. The way in which these things
+climb up, embrace, and hang to every tree or stick that will give them
+a footing is simply marvellous. Even the great granite boulders are
+hidden by this wealth of irresistible vegetation. Through the green
+foliage blaze vivid patches of scarlet, marking the dazzling blossoms
+of a rhododendron that may be seen in all directions, but usually
+perched high on some convenient tree. Then there is the wonderful
+magnolia with its creamy petals; the jungle apple-blossom, whose white
+flowers are now turning to crimson berries; the forest lilac, graceful
+in form, and a warm heliotrope in colour. These first catch the eye,
+but, by-and-by, one realises that there are orchids everywhere, and
+that, if the blossoms are not great in size or wonderful in colour,
+they are still charming in form, and painted in delicate soft tones of
+lilac and brown, orange and lemon, while one, with strings of large,
+pale, apple-green blossoms, is as lovely as it is _bizarre_.
+
+As for palms, the forest is full of them, in every size, colour, and
+shape; and wherever the sunlight can break through the foliage will be
+found the graceful fronds of the giant tree-fern. Lastly, the ground
+is carpeted with an extravagant luxuriance of ferns and flowers and
+“creeping things innumerable, both small and great.” The wasteful
+abundance of it all is what first strikes one, and then you begin to
+see the beauty of the details. Masses of _lycopodium_, ringing all the
+changes through wonderful metallic-blue to dark and light green, and
+then to russet brown; there are Malay primroses, yellow and blue, and a
+most delightful little pale-violet trumpet, with crinkled lip, gazing
+towards the light from the highest point of its delicate stem. On
+either side of this path one sees a dozen jungle flowers in different
+shades of blue or lilac; it seems to be the prevailing colour for the
+small flowers, as scarlet and yellow are for the great masses of more
+striking blossom. And then there are birds--oh yes, there are birds,
+but they are strange, like their surroundings. At the foot of this hill
+I came suddenly on a great black-and-white hornbill, which, seeing me,
+slowly got up and flew away with the noise of a train passing at a
+distance. High up the path was a collection of small birds, flitting
+and twittering amongst the leaves. There were hardly two of the same
+plumage, but most of them carried their tails spread out like fans,
+and many had pronounced tufts of feathers on their heads. The birds at
+this height are usually silent, and, when they make any sound at all,
+they do not seem to sing but to call; and from the jungle all round,
+far and near, loud and faint, will be heard similar answering calls. I
+was surprised to hear, suddenly, some bars of song, close by me, and I
+waited for a long time, peering earnestly into the tree from which the
+sound came; but I saw nothing and heard nothing beyond the perpetual
+double note (short and long, with the accent on the latter) of a bird
+that must be the bore and outcast of the forest.
+
+Coming out into the clearing which crowns the hill, I passed several
+kinds of graceful grasses, ten or twelve feet high, and the flight
+of steps which leads to the actual summit is cut through a mass of
+bracken, over and through which hang the strange, delicately painted
+cups of the _nepenthes_, the stems of the bracken rising from a bed
+made rosy by the countless blossoms of a three-pointed pale-pink
+starwort.
+
+In the jungle one could only see the things within reach, but, once on
+the peak, one has only eyes for the grandeur and magnificence of an
+unequalled spectacle.
+
+The view seems limitless, it is complete in every direction, unbarred
+by any obstruction, natural or artificial. First I look eastwards to
+those great ranges of unexplored mountains, rising tier after tier,
+their outlines clear as cut cameos against the grey-blue sky. Betwixt
+them and my point of sight flows a great river, and though it is ten or
+twelve miles distant as the crow flies, I can see that it is brown with
+flood-water, and, in some places, overflowing its banks. Nearer lie the
+green rice-fields and orchards, and, nearer still, the spurs of the
+great range on whose highest point I stand.
+
+Then northward, that is the view that is usually shut out from me.
+It is only hill and dale, river and plain, but it is grand by reason
+of its extent, beautiful in colour and form, intensely attractive in
+the vastness of those miles of mysterious jungle, untrodden, save by
+the feet of wild beasts; endless successions of mountain and valley,
+peak and spur, immovable and eternal. You know there are grey days and
+golden days; as there are crimson and heliotrope evenings, white, and,
+alas! also black nights--well, this is a blue day. There is sunlight,
+but it is not in your eyes, it only gives light without shedding its
+own colour on the landscape. The atmosphere seems to be blue; the sky
+is blue, except on the horizon, where it pales into a clear grey. Blue
+forest-clad hills rise, in the middle distance, from an azure plain,
+and the distant mountains are sapphire, deep sapphire. The effect is
+strange and uncommon, but supremely beautiful.
+
+Westward, a deep valley runs down from this range into the flat,
+forest-covered plains, till, nearing the coast, great patches of light
+mark fields of sugar-canes and thousands upon thousands of acres of
+rice. Then the sea, the sea dotted by distant islands, the nearest
+thirty miles away, the farthest perhaps fifty. The morning heat is
+drawing a veil of haze across the distance; on a clear evening a great
+island, eighty miles away to the northward, is clearly visible.
+
+I turn to the south, and straight before me rises the grand blue peak
+of a mountain, 6000 feet high, and not more than six miles away. It
+is the highest point of a gigantic mass of hill that seems to fill
+the great space between the flooded river and the bright calm sea.
+Looking across the eastern shoulder of the mountain, the eye wanders
+over a wide plain, lost far away to the south in cloud-wrapt distance.
+Beyond the western slopes lies the calm mirror of a summer sea, whereon
+many islands seem to float. The coast-line is broken, picturesque and
+beautiful, by reason of its many indentations and the line of bold
+hills which, rising sheer out of the water, seem to guard the shore.
+
+Due west I see across the deep valley into my friend’s house,
+where it crowns the ridge, and then beyond to that vast plain which,
+in its miles and miles of forest-covered flatness, broken by great
+river-mouths, long vistas of deep lagoons, and a group of shining pools
+scattered over its surface, forms one of the strangest features in
+this matchless panorama of mountain, river and plain, sea, sky, and
+ever-changing cloud-effects.
+
+There is an empty one-roomed hut of brown palm-leaves on this most
+lonely peak. One pushes the mat window upwards and supports it on a
+stick,--beneath the window is a primitive seat or couch. That is where
+I have been sitting, a cool breeze blowing softly through the wide open
+windows. I could not stay there any longer, the place seemed full of
+memories of another day, when there was no need, and no inclination, to
+look outside to see the beauty of the world and the divine perfection
+of the Creator’s genius. And then I heard something, it must have
+been fancy, but there was a faint but distinct jingle of metal.
+
+It is better out here, sitting on a moss-grown boulder in the pleasant
+warmth of the sun. The swifts are circling the hill, and they flash
+past me with the hiss of a sword cleaving the air. I look down on the
+tops of all these stunted trees, heavy with their burden of creepers
+and mosses straining towards the light. A great bunch of pitcher-plants
+is hanging in front of me, pitcher-plants a foot long, scarlet and
+yellow, green and purple, in all the stages of their growth, their lids
+standing tilted upwards, leaving the pitcher open to be filled by any
+passing shower. But my eyes travel across all the intervening miles to
+rest upon the sea, the sea which is now of a quite indescribable blue,
+basking under a sky of the same colour. Out there, westward, if I could
+only pierce the distance, I should see----
+
+Ah! the great white clouds are rising and warning me to go. Good-bye!
+good-bye! for you the missing words are as plain as these.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+OF LOVE, IN FICTION
+
+
+I have been reading “Casa Braccio,” and I must talk to you about it.
+Of course I do not know whether you have read it or not, so if I bore
+you forgive me. I was much interested in Part I., rather disappointed
+with Part II., and it struck me that Mr. Crawford showed signs in Part
+III. of weariness with the characters of his own creation. There are
+nine people who play important parts in the story, and the author kills
+six of them. The first, an abbess, dies naturally but conveniently;
+the second, an innkeeper’s daughter, dies suddenly, by misadventure;
+the third, a nun, dies, one is not told how, when, or where--but
+she dies. This is disappointing, because she promised to be a very
+interesting character. Then the fourth, daughter of No. 3, commits
+suicide, because, having run away from her husband, and got tired of
+the other man, the husband declines to have her back. The fifth, a
+most uninteresting and weak-kneed individual, is an artist, husband
+of No. 4, and he dies, apparently to make himself disagreeable; while
+the sixth, the original cause of all the trouble, is murdered by the
+innkeeper, who has been hunting him, like a good Christian, for twenty
+years, determined to kill him when found, under the mistaken impression
+that he eloped with, and disposed of, his daughter, No. 2.
+
+No one can deny that the author has dealt out destruction with
+impartiality, and it is rather strange, for Mr. Crawford often likes to
+use his characters for two or even three books; that is why, I think,
+he got a little tired with these particular people, and determined
+to bury them. Out of this lot he has kept only three for future
+vivisection and ultimate extinction.
+
+I trust that, if you have not read the book already, you will be
+induced, by what I have told you, to get “Casa Braccio,” for you will
+find many interesting human problems discussed in it, and many others
+suggested for the consideration of the reader. Here, for instance, is a
+text which may well give you pause, “The widowhood of the unsatisfied
+is hell, compared with the bereavement of complete possession.”
+
+Now what do you say to that? For I am sure the somewhat bald, if not
+positively repellent, look and sound of the words, will not deter you
+from considering the truth or falseness of the statement. I do not
+altogether like the theory; and one may even be permitted to differ
+from the conclusion contained in the text. But the reason why this
+sentence arrested my attention is because you quote, “_L’absence ni
+le temps ne sont rien quand on aime_,” and later, you appeal to the
+East as a place of broader views, of deeper feeling, of longer, wider
+experience than the West. You appeal to the East, and this is what a
+Persian poet says:--
+
+    “All that is by nature twain,
+     Fears and suffers by the pain
+     Of separation--Love is only perfect,
+     When itself transcends itself,
+     And one with that it loves
+     In Undivided Being blends.”
+
+Now, how do you reconcile the Western with the Eastern statement, and
+will either support the “Casa Braccio” theory? You tell me that time
+and absence count for nothing as between lovers; the Persian says that
+separation, under these circumstances, is the one calamity most to be
+dreaded, and that love cannot be perfect without union. The French
+writer evidently believed that “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,”
+while the Eastern, without saying, “Out of sight, out of mind,” clearly
+thought that love in absence is a very poor substitute for the passion
+which sees, hears, and touches the object of its adoration. Undoubtedly
+the Eastern expressed the feeling, not only of his own countrymen, but
+of all other Orientals, and probably of Western lovers as well; but if
+the separation is a matter of necessity, then the Western character,
+the feeling of loyalty towards and faith in the object of our love,
+helps us to the belief that “Partings and tears and absence” none need
+fear, provided the regard is mutual. It is a good creed, and the only
+one to uphold, but we are not so blind that we cannot see how often it
+fails to secure even fidelity; while who would deny the Persian’s
+contention that the bond cannot be perfect in absence?
+
+“The widowhood of the unsatisfied is hell, compared with the
+bereavement of complete possession.”
+
+No, certainly, it does not look well. It is hardly worth while to
+inquire into the bereavement of a complete possession that was not
+only satisfied but satiated; therefore the comparison must be between
+perfect love realised, and love that is only not perfected because
+unrealised. If that is so, then the text appears to be false in
+theory, for, inasmuch as nothing earthly can be more perfect than that
+realisation of mutual affection which the same Persian describes as--
+
+    “She and I no more,
+     But in one Undivided Being blended,”--
+
+so the severance of that union by death must be the greatest of human
+ills.
+
+“The widowhood of the unsatisfied” admits of so many special
+constructions, each of which would accentuate the despair of the
+unsatisfied, that it makes the consideration rather difficult, but, in
+any case, the magnitude of the loss must be imaginative. It is only,
+therefore, by supposing that no realisation could be so perfect as to
+equal the ideal of imagination, that the theory of the text could be
+established. If that be granted, and it were also admitted that the
+widowhood of this unsatisfied imagination were as hell, compared with
+“the bereavement of complete possession,” that would merely show that
+“complete possession” is worth very little, and no one need grieve
+because their longings after a purely imaginary heaven had been widowed
+before being wedded to the hell of such a disappointing possession.
+
+In any case, I think one is forced to the conclusion that the man (and
+one must assume it to be a man, in spite of the word “widowhood”) who
+should thus express his feelings would never agree that “_L’absence
+ni le temps ne sont rien quand on aime_;” that is, of course, supposing
+he has not got beyond the protesting and unsatisfied stage. Once
+arrived, he would doubtless subscribe to the phrase with virtuous
+stolidity. Personally I think, as you probably do, that these words
+of De Musset give a most charming description of the best form of
+that true friendship which time cannot weaken nor absence change. For
+friends it is admirable, for lovers, no.
+
+I have not sought out this riddle for the purpose of airing my own
+views, but to draw from you an expression of yours. You say my letters
+are the most tantalising in the world, as I never tell you anything
+you want to know; just leading up to what most interests you, and then
+breaking off to something else. If there is nothing in this letter to
+interest you, at least I have kept to one subject, and I have discussed
+it as though I were expressing a real opinion! One can hardly do more
+than that. You see, if I gave you no opportunity of scolding me, you
+might never write!
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+THE JINGLING COIN
+
+
+You ask me the meaning of the jingling coin. It was a tale I heard that
+impressed me, and sometimes comes back with a strange fascination. Did
+I never tell you? Well, here it is.
+
+I was in India, staying at a hill station, no matter where. I met there
+a man who for years had spent his holidays in the place, and, walking
+with him one day up a narrow mountain-path to the top of a hill, whence
+there was a magnificent view of the Himalayan snows, we passed a small
+stone slab on which was cut a date. The stone was at a spot where,
+from the path, was a sheer fall of several hundreds of feet, and as we
+passed it my companion said--“Look at that. I will tell you what it
+means when we get to the top.”
+
+As we lay on the grass and feasted our eyes upon the incomparable
+spectacle, before which earthly lives and troubles seemed so
+insignificant, my companion told his tale. I now repeat it, as nearly
+as I can remember, in his own words.
+
+“If I tell you this story,” he said, “you must not ask me how I know
+the details, or seek for any particulars beyond what I give you.
+
+“During one of my many visits to this place, I met a man whom I had
+seen before and heard a good deal about, for he was one of those people
+who concern themselves with no one’s business but their own, and,
+therefore, their affairs seem to have a special attraction for the
+Philistine. He knew that rumour was busy with his name, but beyond
+the fact that he became more reserved than nature had already made
+him, the gossip, which was always founded on imagination, sometimes
+on jealousy, and even malice, seemed to make no impression whatever.
+That may have been the result of a strong character, but partly, no
+doubt, it was due to the fact that all his public life had been lived
+under the fierce light of a criticism that was, in a way, the measure
+of his success. His friends (and he was fortunate in the possession of
+particularly loyal friends of both sexes) realised that if, even to
+them, this man showed little of his real self, he sometimes writhed
+under calumnies of which no one knew the authorship, and the existence
+of which only reached him rarely, through his most intimate friends.
+For his own reasons he kept his own counsel, and I doubt whether any
+one knew as much of the real man as I did. A few months before the
+time I speak of he had made the acquaintance of a girl, or, perhaps I
+ought to say, a woman, for she was married, who was, with her mother,
+visiting India. When first the man met this girl he was amazed, and,
+to some extent, carried away by her extraordinary beauty. But his work
+took him elsewhere, and, beyond that first impression, which had so
+powerfully affected him, there was neither time nor opportunity to
+ascertain whether the lovely exterior was the casket to a priceless
+jewel, or only the beautiful form harbouring a mindless, soulless,
+disappointment. She had heard of the man, and while unwilling to be
+prejudiced by gossip, she was on her guard, and rather afraid of a
+cynicism which her quick intelligence had noted at their first meeting.
+Otherwise she was,--womanlike and generous,--curious to see, and to
+judge for herself, what manner of man this was, against whom more than
+one indiscreet acquaintance had already warned her.
+
+“Some time elapsed, and then these two found themselves staying in the
+same house. The man realised the attractions of the woman’s glorious
+beauty, and he honestly determined that he would neither think, nor
+look, nor utter any feeling beyond that of ordinary friendship. This
+resolve he as honestly kept, and, though accident threw in his way
+every kind of opportunity, and he was constantly alone with the girl,
+he made no attempt to read her character, to seek her confidence, or
+to obtain her friendship;--indeed, he charged himself with having been
+somewhat neglectful in those attentions which make the courtesy of man
+to woman,--and, when they parted, he questioned whether any man had
+ever been so much in this woman’s society without saying a word that
+might not have been shouted in the market-place. Somehow the man had
+an intuitive feeling that gossip had supplied the girl with a not too
+friendly sketch of him, and he, for once, abandoned the cynicism that,
+had he cared less, might have prompted him to convey any impression of
+himself, so long as it should not be the true one. To her this visit
+said nothing beyond the fact that the man, as she found him, was quite
+unlike his picture, as painted by professed friends, and that the
+reality interested her.
+
+“The three Fateful Sisters, who weave the destinies of men and women
+into such strange tangles, threw these two across each other’s
+paths, until the man, at least, sought to aid Fortune, in providing
+opportunities for meeting one whose attractive personality appealed so
+greatly to his artistic sense. Chance helped him, and, again catching
+together the threads of these lives, Destiny twisted them into a single
+strand. One brief day, or less, is enough to make a bond that only
+death can sever, and for this man and woman there were days and days
+when, in spite of resistance, their lives were gradually drawn so close
+together that at last the rivets were as strong as they were invisible.
+
+“The triumphant beauty of the woman, rare and disturbing though it was,
+would not alone have overcome him, but, as the days went by, and they
+were brought more and more into each other’s society, she gradually
+let him see the greater beauty of her soul; and small wonder if he
+found the combined attractions irresistible. She was so young that I
+have called her a girl, and yet she had seen as much of life as many
+women twice her age. Her beauty and charm of manner had brought her
+hosts of admirers, but still she was completely unspoilt, and devoid
+of either coquetry or self-consciousness. A lovely face, lighted by the
+winning expression of an intelligent mind and a warm, loving nature;
+a graceful, willowy figure, whose lissom movements showed a quite
+uncommon strength and power of endurance; these outward attractions,
+united to quick discernment, absolute honesty of speech and intention,
+a bright energy, perfectly unaffected manners, and a courage of the
+highest order, moral as well as physical, fascinated a man, the
+business of whose life had been to study his fellow-creatures. He felt
+certain that he saw here--
+
+    “‘_La main qui ne trahit, la bouche qui ne ment._’
+
+“His experience had given him a horror of weakness in every form, and
+here, he realised, was a woman who was only capable of great thoughts
+and great deeds, obeying the dictates of her own heart and mind, not
+the suggestions of the weaker brethren. If she fell, it would be as an
+angel might fall, through love of one of the sons of men.
+
+“Her shy reserve slowly gave way to confidence, and, in the sympathy
+of closer friendship, she let him see beauties of soul of which he
+would have deemed it sacrilege to speak to another. What drew her to
+him I cannot tell; perhaps his profound reverence for, and admiration
+of, her sex, his complete understanding of herself, or perhaps some
+quality of his own. I had not her confidence, so cannot say; but there
+were men who recognised his fascination, due in part, no doubt, to his
+compelling will. Perhaps she was simply carried away by the man’s
+overpowering love, which at last declared itself. They realised the
+hopelessness of the position, and yet they both took comfort from their
+mutual love and trust in each other’s unchanging faith. That was all
+they had to look forward to,--that and Fate.
+
+“With that poor prospect before them he gave her, on a day, a gold
+coin, ‘for luck,’ he said--an ancient Indian coin of some forgotten
+dynasty, and she hung it on a bangle and said laughingly, that if
+ever she were likely to forget him the jingle of the coin would be a
+ceaseless reminder of the giver. And so the thing lived there day and
+night, and, when she moved, it made little musical sounds, singing its
+story to her willing ears, as it struck against the bangle from which
+it hung.
+
+“Then they came here, he to his work, she to see the snows and some
+friends, before leaving India for Japan, or California, or some other
+stage of the voyage which brings no rest to the troubled soul. One
+day they had ridden up here, and were returning down the hill. It was
+afternoon, and she was riding in front, he behind, the syces following.
+The path is narrow, as you saw, and very steep. She dropped something,
+stopped, and called a syce to pick it up. Her horse was impatient,
+got his head round, and, as the syce approached, backed over the edge
+of the road. The thing was done in an instant, the horse was over the
+side, down on his belly, terror-struck and struggling in the loose
+earth. The man had only time to shout, ‘Get off! get off!’ but she
+could not get off, the horse had fallen on his off side, and, as the
+man threw himself on the road, her horse rolled slowly right over her,
+with a horrible crunching noise,--then faster, over her again, and then
+horse and rider disappeared, and, crashing through the undergrowth,
+banging against great granite boulders, fell with a horrible thud, far
+down the height.
+
+“He had never seen her face; she had her back towards him, and she
+never uttered a sound.
+
+“The road makes a long détour, and then comes back, several hundred
+feet lower down, to a spot almost directly underneath the point where
+the accident happened. A little way in from there the man saw the horse
+lying perfectly still, with its neck broken. Higher up the bank he
+found the woman, moaning a little, but quite unconscious, crushed and
+torn,--you have seen the place and you can guess. She only lived a few
+minutes.
+
+“When at last the man awoke out of his stupor, to lift her up and carry
+her down to the path, he noticed that the bangle and the coin had both
+gone, wrenched off in that wild plunge through trees and stones into
+eternity--or oblivion.
+
+“The man waited there, while one of the syces went for help and a
+litter, and it was only after they had carried her home that I saw him.
+I could hardly recognise him. There were times when I had thought him
+the saddest-looking man I had ever seen, but this was different. There
+was a grey, drawn setness on his face, and something in his eyes I did
+not care to look at. He and I were living in the same house, and in the
+evening he told me briefly what had happened, and several times, both
+while he spoke and afterwards, I saw him throw up his head and listen
+intently. I asked him what it was, and he said, ‘Nothing, I thought I
+heard something.’ Later, he started suddenly, and said--
+
+“‘Did you hear that?’
+
+“‘Hear what?’ I asked.
+
+“‘A faint jingling noise,’ he replied. ‘You must have heard it; did you
+do it?’
+
+“But I had heard nothing, and I said so.
+
+“He got up and looked about to see if any one was moving, and then came
+back and sat down again. I tried to make him go to bed, but he would
+not, and I left him there at last.
+
+“They buried her the next evening, and all the English in the station
+were there. The man and I stood on the outskirts of the people, and
+we lingered till they had gone, and then watched the grave-diggers
+finish the filling of the grave, put on the sods, and finally leave
+the place. As they built up the earth, and shaped it into the form of
+a roof to cover that narrow dwelling, the man winced under every blow
+of the spades, as though he were receiving them on his own body. There
+was nothing to say, and we said nothing, but more than once I noticed
+the man in that listening attitude, and I began to be alarmed about
+him. I got him home, and except for that look, which had not left his
+face, and the intentness with which I sometimes caught him listening,
+there was nothing strange in his manner; only he hardly spoke at all.
+On subsequent evenings for the next fortnight he talked more than usual
+about himself, and as I knew that he often spent a good deal of time
+in, or looking on to, the cemetery, I was not surprised to hear him say
+that he thought it a particularly attractive graveyard, and one where
+it would be pleasant to lie, if one had to be put away somewhere. It is
+on the hill, you know, by the church, and one can see the eternal snows
+across that blue valley which divides us from the highlands of Sikkim.
+He was insistent, and made me remark that, as far as he was concerned,
+there could be no better place to lie than in this God’s Acre.
+
+“Once or twice, again, he asked me if I did not hear a jingle, and
+constantly, especially in the quiet of evening, I saw him start and
+listen, till sometimes I really began to think I heard the noise he
+described.
+
+“A few evenings later, but less than a month after the accident, I
+went to bed, leaving him cleaning a revolver which he thought a deal
+of, and certainly he could shoot very straight with it. I was sitting
+half-undressed, when I heard a loud report, and you may imagine the
+feelings with which I ran to the room where I had left him. He was
+sitting at the table, with his left hand raised, as though to reach his
+heart, and his right straight down by his side, the revolver on the
+floor beneath it. He was dead, shot through the heart; but his head
+was slightly thrown back, his eyes wide open, and in them that look of
+listening expectancy I had seen so often of late. At the corners of his
+mouth there seemed to be the shadow of the faintest smile.
+
+“At the inquest I explained that I left him cleaning the pistol,
+and that, as it had a hair-trigger, no doubt it had gone off by
+misadventure. When each of the jurors had, in turn, raised the hammer,
+and found it was hardly necessary to touch the trigger in order to fire
+the weapon, they unanimously returned a verdict of ‘accidental death.’”
+
+“It is curious,” concluded my companion, “but I sometimes think _I_
+hear the jingle of that coin, especially if I am alone on this hill,
+or sitting by myself at night in the house where that sad accident
+happened.” He put a slight stress on the word “accident,” that was not
+lost on me.
+
+As we passed the stone, on our way down the hill, I seemed to see that
+horse blunder backwards over the edge of the path, to hear the slow,
+crunching roll, and then the crash and ghastly thud, far down below;
+and, as an involuntary shudder crept slowly down my back, I thought _I_
+heard the faint jingle of that ill-omened piece of gold.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+A STRANGE SUNSET
+
+
+You will think I am eternally babbling of sunsets, but no one, with a
+spark of feeling, could be here and not be moved to the depths of his
+nature by the matchless, the ever-changing beauty of the wonderful
+pictures that are so constantly before his eyes. People who are utterly
+commonplace, whose instincts seem, in some respects, to approach those
+of the beasts, when they come here are amazed into new sensations, and,
+in unaccustomed words, voice the expression of their admiration. If I
+weary you, pardon me, and remember that you are the only victim of my
+exaltation.
+
+One looks for a sunset in the west, does one not? and that is the
+direction in which to find it here as elsewhere; but to-night the
+marvellous effects of the setting sun were, for a time, confined almost
+entirely to the east, or, to be strictly accurate, rather to the south
+of east. Facing that direction one looks across a remarkable ridge,
+entirely covered by giant forest trees. The ridge dips in a sort of
+crescent from about 4500 feet in height at one extremity to 3000 feet
+at the other, and extends for a distance of perhaps two miles between
+the horns. Beyond and below the ridge lies a great, fertile valley,
+watered by a stately river, along the opposite bank of which runs a
+range of hills, varying in height from 2000 to 3000 feet. Behind these
+hills there is another valley, another range, and then a succession of
+ever-loftier mountains, forming the main chain.
+
+The sun had disappeared behind a thick bank of grey clouds, and the
+only evidence of his presence was in the lambent edges of these clouds,
+which here and there glittered like molten metal. The western sky was,
+except for this bank, extraordinarily clear and cloudless, of a pale
+translucent blue, flecked here and there by tiny cloud-boats, airy
+and delicate, moving very slowly across the empyrean. I noticed this
+because what I saw in the east was so remarkable that I noted every
+detail.
+
+Against a background the colour of a hedge-sparrow’s egg in the
+south, and blue without the green in the east, stood one white cloud,
+like a huge plume, with its base resting on the many ranges across the
+river, while it seemed to lean towards me, the top of the plume being
+almost over my head. At first the plume shone, from base to top, with
+a golden effulgence; but this gradually gave place to that lovely tint
+which I can only describe as _rose dorée_, the warm colour momentarily
+intensifying in tone until it suffused the entire cloud with such a
+roseate blush that all the hills beneath, and all the fast-darkening
+plain, blushed in response.
+
+For twenty minutes that glowing plume of softly rounded, feathery
+cloud stood framed against its wondrous blue-green background, the
+rosy colour of the cloud deepening as the land beneath it gathered
+blackness. Then, almost imperceptibly, the glow flickered and
+died, leaving only an immense grey-white cloud hanging over the
+night-shrouded plain.
+
+The sun, I knew, had long sunk beneath the horizon. Though I could
+see nothing behind that thick curtain of cloud, I waited, for the
+after-glow, seen from this height, is often more wonderful than the
+actual sunset. Five minutes of dull greyness, and then the whole
+western sky, for a space above the horizon, was overspread with pale
+gold, while countless shafts of brighter light radiated, as from the
+hub of the Sun-God’s chariot-wheel, across the gilded space, into
+the blue heights above. In the midst of this pale golden sheen there
+appeared, almost due west, and low down in the sky, a silver crescent,
+fine as a thread, curved upwards like the lip of a cup of which bowl
+and stem were invisible. It was the new-born moon.
+
+Gradually all sunlight failed, and close above the long, narrow bank
+of dark clouds, clearly etched against their grey background, hung a
+now golden crescent, into which seemed to be falling a solitary star of
+surpassing brilliance.
+
+To stand alone here in the presence of Nature, to witness the marvels
+of sunrise or sunset, the strange influence of nights of ravishing
+moonlight and days of quickening heat, impresses one with the
+conviction that if Oriental language is couched in terms that sound
+extravagant to Western ears, the reason is not far to seek. Nature
+revels here; one can really see things grow, where the sun shines every
+day as it never shines in lands of cold and fog. Natural phenomena are
+on a grander scale; the lightning is more vivid, the thunder more
+deafening, the rain a deluge against which the feeble artifices of man
+offer no protection. The moonlight is brighter, the shadows deeper,
+the darkness blacker than in northern climes. So the vegetation covers
+the earth, climbs on to the rocks, and disputes possession even with
+the waters of the sea. The blossoms are as brilliant in colour as they
+are profuse in quantity, and two men will stagger under the weight of
+a single fruit. As for thorns, they are long as nails, stiff as steel,
+and sharp as needles. The beasts of the forest are mighty, the birds of
+the air are of wonderful plumage, the denizens of the deep are many,
+and huge, and strange. In the lower forms of life it is just the same;
+the lizards, the beetles, the ants, the moths and butterflies, the
+frogs and the snakes,--they are great in size and legion in number.
+Even the insects, however small, are in myriads.
+
+Only man stagnates, propagates feebly, loses his arts, falls a prey
+to pestilence, to new diseases, to imported vices, dies,--while every
+creature and every plant around him is struggling in the ceaseless
+renewal of life. Man dies, possibly because exultant nature leaves him
+so little to do to support his own existence; but it is not strange
+that, when he goes beyond the ordinary avocations of daily life, and
+takes himself at all seriously, his language should partake somewhat
+of the colour of his surroundings. Nor, perhaps, is it altogether
+surprising that, living with the tiger and the crocodile, the cobra
+and the stinging-ray, the scorpion and the centipede, he should have
+acquired some of their bloodthirstiness and venom, rather than have
+sought an example in the gentleness of the dove, a bird much fancied by
+Eastern peoples for the sweetness of its note and the excellence of its
+fighting qualities.
+
+I suppose it is the appalling difficulties of making a passage through
+the jungle that have given the elephant and rhinoceros their strength
+and courage; but for the people, who are never really cold, and seldom
+hungry, there is little inducement to exertion. They can lie under
+the fruit trees, and idly watch the grey, gossamer-winged butterflies
+floating dreamily across a sunlit glade; they drowse and sleep to the
+music of the waters, as the whispering river slips gently towards a
+summer sea.
+
+And it is all so comfortable. There is Death, but that is predestined,
+the one thing certain in so much that is too hard for the finite mind.
+There is also Hell, but of all those who speak so glibly of it, none
+ever believes that the same Power which created him, to live for a
+moment in trouble on the earth, will condemn him to an eternity of
+awful punishment. It is Paradise for which each man, in his own mind,
+is destined; a Paradise where he will be rewarded for all his earthly
+disappointments by some such pleasant material advantages as he can
+picture to himself, while he lies on the river bank and gradually
+sinks into a delightful slumber, lulled by the restful rippling of the
+passing stream. And he will dream--dream of that Celestial Being of
+whom it is related that “his face shone golden, like that of a god, so
+that many lizards fell, dazzled, from the walls, and the cockroaches in
+the thatch fought to bask in the light of his countenance.”
+
+Oriental imagery,--but a quaintly pretty idea, the creatures struggling
+to sit in the light shed by that radiant face.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+OF LETTER-WRITING
+
+
+So you prefer the unaddressed letters, such as you have seen, to those
+which you receive from me in a cover, whereon are duly inscribed your
+name, style, and titles, and you ask me whether some of the letters are
+not really written to you. They are written to “Mary, in heaven,” or
+to you, if you please, or to any one to whom they appeal. The reason
+why you prefer them to the epistles I address to you is because they
+are unconstrained (too much so, you might think, if you saw them all),
+while, in writing to you, I am under constraint, and, directly I feel
+it, I have to be careful what I say, and beat about for some safe
+subject; and, as I abhor gossip and cannot write about my neighbour’s
+cat, I become unnatural, stilted, stupid, boring. With Mary it is
+different, for she is in heaven, where there are no marriages, and,
+therefore, I imagine, no husbands. As for lovers, I do not mind them,
+for they have no special privileges; at any rate, they have no right to
+interfere with me. The idea that what I write for your eye may be read
+by some one for whom it was not intended, hampers the pen and takes
+away more than half the pleasure of writing.
+
+If you answer, “You ought not to want to write anything to me that
+may not be read by the master over my shoulder, or by the maid in the
+kitchen,” I say that I do not wish to interfere with the circulation
+of the _Family Herald_; and, for the rest, when you honour me with a
+letter, is it to be shown to any one who wishes to know what a really
+charming and interesting letter is like? I am blessed with some really
+delightful correspondents, of whom I would say you are the chief,
+did I not fear to offend some others; but I cannot help noticing,
+sometimes with amusement and sometimes with painful regret, that the
+character of their letters has a way of changing that, between first
+and last, may be compared to looking at the landscape through one end
+of a telescope and then through the other. When I see the field of
+vision narrowing to something like vanishing-point, until, in fact,
+the features of interest are no longer visible, I feel that I too
+must put on a minifying-glass, before I attempt to describe to you
+my surroundings, my thoughts, my hopes and fears. Worst of all, I can
+no longer ask you freely how life is treating you; for if I do, I get
+no answer, or you tell me that the winter has been one of unexampled
+severity, or the political party in power seems to be losing ground
+and missing its opportunities. Individuals and parties have been
+losing opportunities since the days when Joseph lost his coat; always
+regretting them and always doing it again, because every party and
+every individual scorns to profit by the experience of another. That,
+you will tell me, is a platitude beneath a child’s notice. I agree
+with you, and I only mention it in support of my contention that it is
+better to write what you see, or hear, or imagine, or believe, to no
+one at all, than to write “delicately,” with the knowledge that there
+is a possible Samuel waiting somewhere about, if not to hew you in
+pieces, to put inconvenient questions to your friends, and give them
+the trouble of making explanations which are none the less aggravating
+because they are needless. As a man, I may say that the effort to
+avoid writing to women everything that can, by a suspicious mind, be
+twisted into something mildly compromising, is more than I am capable
+of. The thought that one may innocently get a friend into trouble is
+not amusing, so pray dismiss from your mind the idea that any of these
+letters are written to you. They are not; and if they ever recall
+scenes, or suggest situations that seem familiar, that is merely an
+accident. Pure, undiluted fable is, I fancy, very rare indeed; but
+travellers are supposed to be responsible for the most of it, and I am
+a traveller. On the other hand, almost all fiction is founded on fact,
+but you know how small a divergence from the latter is sufficient to
+make the former. If my fiction looks like fact, I am gratified; if,
+at the same time, it has awakened your interest (and you say it has),
+that is more than I ever hoped to achieve. A wanderer’s life in often
+beautiful, sometimes strange, surroundings; a near insight into the
+fortunes of men and women of widely differing race, colour, and creed;
+and the difficulty of writing freely and fearlessly to those who, like
+yourself, would give me their sympathy and kindly interest--these
+are mainly responsible for the Letters. As to the other contributing
+causes, it will amuse you more to exercise your imagination in lively
+speculations than to hear the dull truth from me. Besides, if I told
+you the truth it would only mislead, for you would not believe it.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+AT A FUNERAL
+
+
+Do you remember how Matthew Arnold, in his Essay on “Pagan and Mediæval
+Religious Sentiment,” translates a scene from the fifteenth Idyll of
+Theocritus, giving the experiences of two Syracusan visitors at the
+feast of Adonis at Alexandria, about three hundred years before the
+Christian era? The description is wonderfully fresh and realistic,
+and it came back to me with strange insistence last night when my
+host detailed to me his experiences at a Malay funeral. I fear the
+effect will all be lost when I try to repeat what I heard--but you are
+indulgent, and you will pardon my clumsy periods for the sake of my
+desire to interest you. My only chance of conveying any idea of the
+impression made on me is to assume the rôle of narrator at first hand,
+and to try, as far as I may, to speak in my host’s words.
+
+“I was travelling,” he said, “and on the point of starting for a
+place where lived a Malay raja who was a great friend of mine, when I
+heard accidentally that his son had just died. That evening I reached
+the station where my friend lived. I saw him, and learned that his
+son, a mere lad, would be buried the next day. It is needless to
+say why he died, it is not a pretty tale. He had visited, perhaps
+eighteen months earlier, a British possession where the screams of
+Exeter Hall had drowned the curses of the people of the land, and
+this wretched boy returned to his country to suffer eighteen months
+of torture,--agonising, loathsome corruption,--in comparison with
+which death on the cross would be a joyous festival. That is nothing,
+he was dead; and, while his and many another life cry to deaf ears,
+the momentary concern of his family and his friends was to bury him
+decently. My arrival was regarded as a fortuitous circumstance, and I
+was bidden to take part in the function.
+
+“It was early afternoon when I found myself, with the father, standing
+at the window of a long room, full of women, watching till the body
+should be carried to a great catafalque that stood at the door to
+receive it. As we waited there, the man beside me,--a man of unusually
+tender feeling,--showed no emotion. He simply said, ‘I am not sorry;
+it is better to die than to live like that; he has peace at last.’
+
+“There was a sound of heavy feet staggering over the grass under the
+weight of a great load, and the coffin was borne past our window
+towards the door. As we walked down the room a multitude of women and
+children pressed after us, and while a crowd of men lifted the body
+into its place on the catafalque, a girl close by us burst into a
+perfect passion of weeping, intermingled with despairing cries, and
+expressions of affection for the dead, whom she would never see again.
+The raja pulled me by the sleeve, saying, ‘Come outside, I cannot bear
+this,’ and I saw the tears were slowly coursing down his face as we
+passed the heart-broken child, who, in the abandonment of her grief,
+had thrown herself into the arms of another girl, and was weeping
+hysterically on her breast. The mourner was the dead boy’s only
+sister.
+
+“Meanwhile, the coffin had been placed on the huge wooden bier, and
+this was now being raised on the shoulders of a hundred men, with at
+least another hundred crowded round to take turns in carrying it to
+the place of burial. At this moment the procession moved off, and
+anything more unlike a funeral, as you and I know it, would be hard to
+imagine. A band of musicians, Spanish _mestizos_, in military uniforms,
+headed the _cortège_, playing a wild Spanish lament, that seemed to
+sob and wail and proclaim, by every trick of sound, the passing of the
+dead. Immediately behind them followed a company of stalwart Indian
+soldiers with arms reversed. Then a posse of priests and holy men
+chanting prayers. Next we came, and behind us a row of boys carrying
+their dead master’s clothes, a very pathetic spectacle. After them
+the great bier, vast in size, curious in form, and gay with colour,
+but so unwieldy that it seemed to take its own direction and make
+straight for the place of burial, regardless of roads and ditches,
+shrubs and flowers, or the shouts and cries of its bearers and those
+who were attempting to direct their steps. Last of all, a crowd of men
+and boys,--friends, retainers, chiefs, sightseers, idlers, gossips and
+beggars, a very heterogeneous throng.
+
+“The road to the burial-ground wound down one hill and up another, and
+the band, the escort, the priests, and the mourners followed it. But
+the catafalque pursued its own devious course in its own blundering
+fashion, and, by-and-by, was set down on a high bluff, o’erlooking a
+great shining river, with palm-clad banks, backed by a space of level
+ground shut in by lofty blue hills. The coffin was then lifted from out
+the bier and placed upon the ground.
+
+“I stood by the ready-dug grave and waited; while the father of the
+dead boy moved away a few yards, and an aged chief called out, ‘Now,
+all you praying people, come and pray.’
+
+“The raja, the priests, and the holy men gathered round the body,
+and after several had been invited to take up the word and modestly
+declined in favour of some better qualified speaker, a voice began to
+intone, while, from time to time, the rest of the company said ‘Amîn.’
+
+“Just then it began to rain a little, and those who had no umbrellas
+ran for protection to the catafalque and sheltered themselves under
+its overhanging eaves, while a lively interchange of badinage passed
+between those who, for the moment, had nothing to do. This was the sort
+of conversation that reached my ears.
+
+“‘Now, then, all you people, come and pray.’
+
+“‘Why don’t you pray yourself?’
+
+“‘We did all our praying yesterday; I don’t believe you have done
+any. Now is the time, with all these holy men here.’
+
+“‘I dare say; but you don’t suppose I’m going out into the rain to
+pray: I’m not a priest.’
+
+“‘No one thought you were; but that is no reason why you should not
+pray.’
+
+“‘Never mind about me, tell these other people; but you need not bother
+now, for they’ve got it over.’
+
+“And all the time the monotonous voice of the priest muttered the
+guttural Arabic words, as though these frivolous talkers were a mile
+off, instead of within a few feet of him and those who stood round the
+coffin.
+
+“No one could have helped being struck by the curious incongruity of
+the scene at that moment. I stood in a place of graves, with an open
+sepulchre at my feet. The stage was one of extraordinary beauty, the
+players singularly picturesque. That high bluff, above the glistening
+river, circled by forest-clad hills of varying height, one needle-like
+point rising to at least 6000 feet. Many old graves lay beneath the
+shadow of graceful, wide-spreading trees, which carried a perfect
+blaze of crimson blossoms, lying in huge masses over dark green
+leaves, as though spread there for effect. Groups of brown men, clad
+in garments of bright but harmoniously toned colours, stood all about
+the hill. On the very edge of the bluff, towards the river, was the
+gaily caparisoned, quaintly constructed catafalque, a number of men and
+boys sitting in it and round its edge, smoking, laughing, and talking.
+Within a dozen feet of them, the closely packed crowd of priests and
+holy men praying round the coffin. The band and the guard had been
+told to march off, and they were wending their way round a hillside in
+middle distance; while the strains of a quick step, the monotone of
+rapidly uttered prayer, the conversation and laughter of the idlers,
+crossed and re-crossed each other in a manner that to me was distinctly
+_bizarre_. Seen against that background and lighted by the fiery rays
+of a dying Eastern sun, the scarlet uniforms of the bandsmen, the
+dark blue of the escort, the long white coats of the priests, and the
+many-coloured garments of the two or three hundred spectators scattered
+about the graves, completed a picture not easily forgotten.
+
+“Just then a move was made to the sepulchre, and two ropes were
+stretched across it, while some men began to lift the coffin.
+
+“‘What are you doing?’ said the uncle of the dead boy. ‘If you put him
+in like that how will his head lie?’
+
+“The bearers immediately let the coffin down, and another man in
+authority said, ‘Well, after all, how should his head lie?’
+
+“‘Towards the west,’ said the uncle.
+
+“‘No, it should not,’ replied the other; ‘it should be to the north,
+and then he looks towards the west.’
+
+“Several people here joined in the argument, and it was eventually
+decided that the head must be towards the north; and then, as the body
+was lying on its right side, the face would look towards Mecca.
+
+“‘Well, who knows at which end of the box his head is?’
+
+“Various guesses were hazarded, but the uncle said that would never
+do, and he would see for himself. So the wreaths and garlands of ‘blue
+chempaka,’ the flower of death, the gorgeous silks and cloths of gold,
+were all thrown off, the heavy cover was lifted up, and the uncle began
+to feel about in the white grave-clothes for the head of the corpse.
+
+“‘Ha! here it is,’ he said; ‘if we had put him in without looking, it
+would have been all wrong, and we should have had a nice job to get him
+out again.’
+
+“‘Well, you know all about it now,’ said a bystander, ‘so we may as
+well get on.’
+
+“The cover was accordingly replaced, the box turned with the head to
+the north, and then, with a deal of talk and superabundance of advice,
+from near and from far, the poor body was at last lowered into the
+grave. Once there the corpse lies on the earth, for the coffin has no
+bottom. The reason is obvious.
+
+“You have probably never been to a funeral, and if so, you do not know
+the horrible sound of the first spadesful of earth as they fall, with
+dull blows, on that which is past feeling and resistance. The friends
+who stand round the grave shudder as each clod strikes the wood under
+which lies their beloved dead. Here it was different, for two men got
+into the grave and held up a grass mat, against which the earth was
+shovelled while the coffin was protected. There was hardly any sound,
+and, as the earth accumulated, the men spread it with their hands to
+right and left, and finally over the top of the coffin, and then the
+rest of the work was done rapidly and quietly. When filled in, two
+wooden pegs, each covered with a piece of new white cloth, were placed
+at the head and foot of the grave. These are eventually replaced by
+stones.
+
+“Then, as the officers of the raja’s household began to distribute
+funeral gifts amongst the priests, the holy men, and the poor, my
+friend and I slowly retraced our steps, and, with much quiet dignity,
+the father thanked me for joining him in performing the last offices to
+his dead son.
+
+“‘His sufferings were unbearable,’ he said; ‘they are over now, and
+why should I regret?’
+
+“Truly death was best, I could not gainsay it; but that young life, so
+horribly and prematurely ended, seemed to have fallen into the snare of
+a civilisation that cannot be wholly appreciated by primitive people.
+They do not understand why the burning moral principles of a section of
+an alien race should be applied to communities that have no sympathy
+with the principles, or their application to different conditions of
+society.”
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+OF CHANGE AND DECAY
+
+
+There is a subject which has an abiding interest for all men and women
+who are not too old to love; it is Constancy. I suppose there are few
+questions on which any half-dozen intelligent people will express such
+different opinions, and it is doubtful whether any of the six (unless
+there be amongst them one who is very young and inexperienced) will
+divulge his, or her, true thoughts thereanent. Almost all women, and
+most men, seem to think they are morally bound to declare themselves to
+be very mirrors of constancy, and each is prepared to shower scorn and
+indignation on the erring mortal convicted of change of feeling. The
+only feeling I here refer to is the declared love of man for woman, of
+woman for man.
+
+The other day a friend, writing to me, said, with admirable candour,
+“Do not think my heart is so small that it can only contain love
+for one man,” and I know that she means one man at a time. The maze
+surrounding this suggestion is attractive; let us wander in it for
+awhile, and if we become bewildered in its devious turns, if we lose
+ourselves in the intricacies of vague phrases, we may yet win our way
+back to reason by the road of hard, practical fact.
+
+In the spring of life, when the fancies of the young man and the
+girl “lightly turn to thoughts of love,” I suppose the average lover
+honestly believes in the doctrine of eternal constancy, for himself
+and the object of his affections, and words will almost fail him and
+her to describe their contempt for the frail creature who has admitted
+a change of mind; worse still, if the change includes a confession of
+love for a new object. Coquette, jilt, faithless deceiver, breaker of
+hearts, ruthless destroyer of peace of mind,--words of opprobrium are
+not sufficient in quantity, or poisonous enough in quality, to satisfy
+those from whose lips they flow with the violence and destructive force
+of a river in flood.
+
+Now, suppose this heaven-mated couple proceeds to extremities--that is,
+to marriage. And suppose that, after quite a short time, so short that
+no false note has ever been heard to mar the perfect harmony of their
+duet of mutual praise and rapture, one of them dies, or goes mad, or
+gets lost, or is put into prison for a long term of years;--will not
+the other find a new affinity? It happens so often that I think it must
+be admitted as a very likely possibility. When convention permits of
+an outward and visible application, and plaster is put over the wound,
+most of the very virtuous say, “and an excellent thing, too.”
+
+There, then, we arrive at once at the possibility of change; the
+possibility of A, who once swore deathless love and fealty to B,
+swearing the same deathless love and fealty to X. It happens, and it
+has high approval.
+
+Now go a little step further, and suppose that the excellent couple of
+whom I first spoke perpetrate matrimony, and neither of them dies, or
+goes mad, or gets into prison. Only, after a longer or shorter time,
+they become utterly bored with each other; or one finds the other out;
+or, what is most common, one, and that one usually the woman, for
+divers reasons, comes to loathe the married state, all it implies and
+all it exacts. Just then Satan supplies another and a quite different
+man, who falls naturally into his place in the situation, and the play
+runs merrily along. B’s deathless love and fealty for A are thrown
+out of the window, and what remains is pledged, up to the very hilt,
+to that spawn of the Evil One, the wrecker of happy homes, Z. It can
+hardly be denied that this also happens.
+
+I come, then, to the case of the affianced but unmarried lovers, where
+one, or both, perceives in time that the other is not quite all that
+fancy painted; realises that there is a lover, “for showy,” and a
+disagreeable companion and master “for blowy”: a helpful daughter, a
+charming sweetheart one day, and a very selfish, not to say grasping,
+spit-fire on another. Or, across the distant horizon, there sails into
+the quiet waters of this love-locked sea a privateer, with attractions
+not possessed by the ordinary merchant vessel, and, when the privateer
+spreads its sails again, it carries with it a willing prize, leaving
+behind a possibly better-found and more seaworthy craft to indulge its
+wooden frame with a burst of impotent fury and despair. B’s deathless
+love has been transplanted to a more congenial soil, and, after a
+space, A will find another and a better helpmate, and both will be
+satisfied,--for a time.
+
+If one may love, and marry, and lose, and love again; if one may
+love, and promise to marry, but, seeing the promise means disaster,
+withdraw it, to love elsewhere; if one may love and the love be choked
+to death, or frozen to entire absence of feeling, and then revive
+under the warmth of new sympathy to live and feel again--if all these
+things may be, and those to whom the experience comes are held to be
+no more criminal than their fellows, surely there may be love, real
+love, honestly given with both hands, as honestly clasped and held, and
+yet--and yet--a time may come when, for one of a thousand reasons, or
+for two or three, that love will wane and wane until, from illumining
+the whole firmament of those within its radiance, it disappears and
+leaves nothing but black, moonless night. But, by-and-by, a new moon of
+love may rise, may wax to equal splendour, making as glorious as before
+everything on which it shines; and the heart, forgetting none of the
+past, rejoices again in the present, and says, “Life is good; let me
+live it as it comes.” If that be possible, the alternate day and night
+of love and loss may succeed each other more than twice or thrice, and
+yet no charge, even of fickleness, may fairly lie at the door of him
+or her to whom this fate may come unsought.
+
+To love, as some can love, and be loved as well in return; to trust in
+the unswerving faith, the unassailable loyalty, the unbounded devotion
+of another, as one trusts in God, in the simple laws of nature, in
+anything that is absolutely certain; and then to find that our deity
+has feet of clay, that our perfect gem has, after all, a flaw, is
+a very bad experience. Worse than all, to lose, absolutely and for
+ever, and yet without death, a love that seemed more firmly rooted and
+grounded in us than any sacred principle, more surely ours than any
+possession secured by bolt and bar--that is a pain that passeth the
+understanding of those who have not felt it. Add to this the knowledge
+that this curse has come upon us as the result of our own work--folly,
+blind, senseless, reckless confidence, or worse--that is the very acme
+of human suffering. It is not a thing to dwell upon. On the grave
+of a love that has surpassed, in the perfection of its reality, all
+the dreams of imagination, and every ideal conjured out of depths of
+passionate romance, grow weeds which poison the air and madden the
+brain with grisly spectres. It is well to “let the dead bury their
+dead”--if we only can.
+
+There, I am at the end; or is it only the close of a chapter? I suppose
+it must be the latter, for I have but now come to my friend’s
+proposition, namely, that of love distributed amongst a number of
+objects; all perhaps different, yet all in their way, let us hope,
+equally worthy. I know how she explains it. She says she loves one man
+because he appeals to her in one way, another in another; and as there
+are many means of approach to her heart, so there are many who, by one
+road or another, find their way to it. After all, she is probably more
+candid than singular in the distribution of her affection. How many
+worldlings who have reached the age of thirty can say that they have
+not had a varied experience in the elasticity of their affections, in
+the variety of shrines at which they have worshipped? Aphrodite and
+Athene and Artemis for the men; Phœbus and Ares and Hermes for the
+women; and a host of minor deities for either. Minor chords, delicate
+harmonies, charming pages of melody between the tragic scenes, the
+carefully scored numbers, the studied effects, which introduce the
+distinguishing _motifs_ of the leading characters, in that strange
+conception wherein is written all the music of their lives.
+
+We are told that the sons of God took unto themselves wives from
+the daughters of men. Do you believe they left no wives, no broken
+faith, in heaven, before they came to earth to seek what they could
+not find above the spheres? What form of marriage ceremony do you
+suppose they went through with those daughters of men? Was it binding
+until death, and did that last trifling incident only open the door
+to an eternity of wedded bliss in the heaven from which earthly love
+had been able to seduce these sons of God? I fear there is proof of
+inconstancy somewhere. There is clear evidence of a desire for change,
+and that is usually taken to be a synonym for inconstancy, as between
+the sexes. The daughters of men have something to answer for, much to
+be proud of; but I hardly see why either they, or their menkind, who
+never drew any loving souls down from the safe heights of heaven to
+be wives to them, should be expected to make a choice of a partner
+early in life and never waver in devotion to that one, until death
+has put them beyond the possibility of temptation. It does happen
+sometimes; it is beautiful, enviable, and worthy of all praise. But
+when the heart of man or woman, following that most universal law
+of nature, change, goes through the whole gamut of feeling, from
+indifference to passionate love, and later retraces its steps, going
+back over only a few of them, or to a place, beyond indifference, where
+dislike is reached, there seems no good reason why that disappointed,
+disillusioned soul should be made the object of reproach, or the mark
+for stones, cast by others who have already gone through the same
+experience or have yet to learn it.
+
+If we claim immortality, I think we must admit our mutability. Perhaps
+the fault is not all ours. It is written:--
+
+    “Alas for those who, having tasted once
+     Of that forbidden vintage of the lips
+     That, press’d and pressing, from each other draw
+     The draught that so intoxicates them both,
+     That, while upon the wings of Day and Night
+     Time rustles on, and Moons do wax and wane,
+     As from the very Well of Life they drink,
+     And, drinking, fancy they shall never drain.
+     But rolling Heaven from His ambush whispers,
+     So in my licence is it not set down:
+     Ah for the sweet societies I make
+     At Morning, and before the Nightfall break;
+     Ah for the bliss that coming Night fills up,
+     And Morn looks in to find an empty Cup!”
+
+I do not seek to persuade you; it is a subject we often discuss, on
+which we never agree. I only state the facts as I know them, and I am
+for the truth!--even though I wish it were not true--rather than for a
+well-sounding pretence, which usually covers a lie. I have believed;
+I have seen what, with my life, I would have maintained was perfect,
+changeless love; and I have seen that love bestowed, in apparently
+equal measure, on another; while, sometimes, the first affection has
+died utterly, or, at others, it has never died at all, and the wavering
+heart, divided in allegiance, has suffered agonies of remorse, and at
+last begged one object of its devotion to shun it for ever, and so help
+it “to be true to some one.”
+
+There you find a result almost the same as that so candidly confessed
+by my friend; but the phases through which either will pass to arrive
+at it are utterly different. Fate and circumstances, the prolonged
+absence of the lover, misunderstandings, silence, and the ceaseless,
+wearing efforts of another to take the place of the absent--the absent,
+who is always wrong;--these things will loosen the tightest bond,
+when once the enemy at the gate has established a feeling of sympathy
+between himself and the beleaguered city. If at last there is a
+capitulation, it is only when the besieged is _au bout de ressources_;
+only made in extreme distress, only perhaps under a belief of
+abandonment by one on whom the city relied for assistance in its dire
+need.
+
+My candid friend has no regrets, passes through no phases of feeling,
+sees no harm, means none, and for herself is probably safe. Only
+her heart is large and warm; she desires sympathy, intellectual
+companionship, amusement, passionate adoration. She gets these things,
+but not all from the same man, and she is prepared to give love in
+return for each, but it is love with a wise reservation. Sometimes she
+cannot understand why the objects of her catholic affections are not
+equally satisfied with the arrangement, and she thinks their discontent
+is unreasonable. She will learn. Possibly, as she acquires knowledge,
+she may change. Nothing is more certain than that there is, if not
+always, very very often, the widest difference in the world between
+the girl of twenty and the woman of thirty. It is a development, an
+evolution,--often a startling one,--and if men more often realised what
+is likely to come, waited for it, and understood it when it arrived,
+there would be a deal less unhappiness in the world.
+
+That, however, is another question, about which I should like to talk
+to you on another day, for it has interest.
+
+Of love, and change in the object of love, I think you will not deny
+the possibility. If you have never known such change, you are the
+exception, and out of your strength you can afford to deal gently
+with those weaker vessels whose feelings have gone through several
+experiences. But has your faith never wavered? Have your affections
+been set on one man, and one only; and are they there to-day, as
+strong, as single-hearted, as true and as contented as ever? I wonder;
+pardon me if I also doubt!
+
+I have spoken only of those cases where the love that was has ceased
+to be; ceased altogether and gone elsewhere, or so changed from what
+it was, that it no longer knits together those it once held to the
+exclusion of all others. But I might remind you that there are many
+other phases, all of which imply change, or at least such difference
+as must be counted faithlessness. Your quick intelligence can supply
+a multitude of instances from the unfortunate experiences of your
+friends, and I will only cite one that is not altogether unheard of.
+It is this; when two people are bound by the ties of mutual love, and
+fate divides them by time and distance, it sometimes happens that one
+will prove faithless in heart, while remaining firmly constant in deed.
+That is usually the woman. The other may be faithless in deed; but he
+says to himself (and, if he has to confess his backsliding, he will
+swear the same to his lady) that his affections have never wavered.
+He often does not realise that this statement, the truth of which he
+takes such trouble to impress upon his outraged goddess, adds to the
+baseness of his deed. It is curious, but it is true, that the woman,
+if she believes, will pardon that offence, while she would not forgive
+the heart-faithlessness of which she is herself guilty. He is not
+likely to learn that her fealty has wandered; he takes a good deal for
+granted, and he does not easily believe that such things are possible
+where he is concerned; but, should he suspect it, should she even
+admit that another has aroused in her feelings akin to those she had
+hitherto only felt for him, he will hold that aberration from the path
+of faith rather lightly, though neither tears nor blood could atone for
+a faithless deed, such as that of which he stands convicted.
+
+Woman realises that if man’s lower nature takes him into the gutter,
+or even less unclean places, he will not hanker after whatever it was
+that attracted him when once his temptation is out of sight. She
+despises, but she estimates the disloyalty at its right value in a
+creature for whose want of refinement she learns to feel a certain
+contempt. Man, busy about many other things, treats as trivial a lapse
+which implies no smirch on his honour; and he, knowing himself and
+judging thereby, says, “Out of sight, out of mind.” It seldom occurs
+to him that, where the woman’s heart has been given away from him,
+he has already lost at least as much as his utmost dread; and even
+that is more likely to follow, than he to return to one who has never
+aroused in him any feeling of which he cares to think. Therefore, he is
+inclined rather to be amused than distressed; and, still mindful of his
+own experiences, he dismisses the matter from his thoughts with almost
+a sense of satisfaction. But he is wrong: is he not?
+
+Of course I am not thinking of the jealous men. They are impossible
+people whom no one pities. They never see that, while they make
+themselves hateful to every one who is unhappily thrown into contact
+with them, they only secure their own misery. I believe there are men
+who are jealous of the door-mat. These are beyond the help of prayer.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+DAUGHTERS AND DESPOTISM
+
+
+I agree with you that few things are more astonishing than the want of
+sympathy between parents and their daughters. Many fathers and mothers
+seem to be absolutely insensible to the thoughts, the desires, and the
+aspirations of those for whom they usually profess, and probably feel,
+a very great affection. There are two principal causes for this very
+common state of matters. One is the difference in age between parents
+and children. The fathers and mothers are losing, or have already lost,
+their interest in many of those things which are just beginning to most
+keenly interest their children. The children are very quick to see
+this, and the confidence they will give to a comparative stranger they
+withhold from parents, to whom they are too shy to confess themselves,
+because they dread ridicule, coldness, displeasure. The other cause of
+estrangement is the fact that parents will insist upon regarding their
+daughters as children until they marry, and sometimes even afterwards;
+and they are so accustomed to ordering and being obeyed, that they
+cannot understand independence of thought. Their children are always
+children to them; they must do exactly what they are told without
+question; they ought not to have any ideas of their own, and, if they
+are really good Christian children, well brought up and a credit to
+their parents, they must, before all things, be obedient and have no
+likes and dislikes, no opinions that are not those of their parents. As
+with crows, they must be feathered like the old birds and caw, always
+and only caw, if they wish to be heard at all.
+
+It sounds, and it seems, unreasonable, and yet one sees it every day,
+and the amused or enraged spectator, with no fledglings of his own,
+is lost in wonderment at the crass stupidity of otherwise sensible
+people, who, while they do these things themselves, and glory in their
+own shame, will invite attention to the mote in their neighbour’s
+eye, which ought to be invisible to them by reason of the great beam
+in their own. I suppose it never occurs to them that they are all the
+time committing hateful and unpardonable crimes; that their want of
+intelligent appreciation is driving their children to resort to all
+kinds of concealment, subterfuge, and deceit; while home becomes often
+so hateful to a girl that she seizes the first opportunity of leaving
+it, and makes her life a long misery or something worse.
+
+If the spectator dared, or cared, to speak the naked truth to a parent,
+I can imagine that dignified individual choking with respectable rage
+at the bare suggestion that he was in any sense responsible for his
+daughter’s regrettable conduct. Yet surely the father and the mother
+are blameworthy, if they decline to treat their grown-up daughters as
+intelligent creatures, with the instincts, the yearnings, the passions
+for which they are less responsible than their parents. “You must do
+this, because I was made to do it; and you must not do that, because
+I was never allowed to do it. You must never question my directions,
+because they are for your good; because you are younger than I am, and
+cannot therefore know as well as I do; because I am your mother and
+you are my daughter; and, in my day, daughters never questioned their
+mothers.” All this, and a great deal more, may be admirable; but it
+does not seem so. It may even answer sometimes; but that is rather
+cause for surprise than congratulation. It does fail, often and badly;
+but the parents are the last to realise the fact, and probably nothing
+would ever persuade them that the failure is due to their methods. If
+ever it comes home to parents that their revolted children have grown
+to hate them, they call them “unnatural,” and almost expect the earth
+to open and swallow them up, as happened to Korah and all his company.
+
+To onlookers the position often seems intolerable, and they avoid it,
+lest they should be tempted to interfere and so make matters worse.
+Nowadays, intelligent opinion is not surprised when tyranny is followed
+by rebellion. The world is getting even beyond that phase. Both men and
+women demand that their opinions should be heard; and where, amongst
+English-speaking people, they can be shown to be in accordance with
+common-sense, with freedom of thought, and with what are called the
+Rights of Man, they usually prevail. Children do not often complain
+of tyranny, and they seldom revolt; but they bitterly resent being
+treated as if they were ten years old when they are twenty, when
+their intelligence, their education, and even their knowledge of the
+world entitle them to hold and express opinions. Nay, more, they are
+conscious of what is due to their own self-esteem, their family, and
+their order; and there are better ways of keeping them true to high
+purposes and lofty ideals than by treating them as children, whose
+intentions must always be suspected, because prone to naughtiness. The
+finer feelings are often strongest in youth; life and its experiences
+blunt them. While they are there, it is well to encourage them.
+Sympathy from an equal can easily do that; but, unless equality in
+speech be granted, the being who is held in bondage will be shy to
+express thoughts and aspirations that may be ridiculed, and will also
+resent the position of inferiority to which he or she is relegated for
+reasonless reasons.
+
+In the relations between parents and children, perhaps the most
+surprising point is the absolute disregard of the pitiless vengeance of
+heredity. Men and women seem to forget that some of their ancestors’
+least attractive attributes may appear in their descendants, after
+sparing a child or skipping a generation. The guiding traits (whether
+for good or evil) in most characters can be traced with unerring
+accuracy to an ancestor, where there is any record of family history.
+One child is predestined to be a musician, another a soldier, and
+a third a commonplace or remarkable sinner. Identical methods of
+education and treatment may not suit all equally well. Because a
+parent has lived only one life, the half-dozen children for whom he is
+responsible may not, even in the natural course of events, turn out to
+be exact replicas of their father, nor thrive on the food which reared
+him to perfection.
+
+I do not pretend that there are not many exceptions; but the daughters
+who are the victims of parental zeal, or parental repression, are so
+numerous that, in England at any rate, they probably form the majority
+of their kind. Of those who marry, the greater number may be entirely
+well-mated. Every one must hope that it is so. Some there are who are
+not so fortunate; and some, again, begin well but end in disaster,--due
+to their own mistakes and defects, to those of their husbands, or to
+unkind circumstances. With the daughters who are favoured by Fortune
+we have no concern. For the others, there is only one aspect of their
+case with which I will bore you, and that because it seems to me to be
+to some extent a corollary to my last letter. If a girl has ideas and
+intelligence beyond those of her parents; if she has felt constraint
+and resented it; if she has exercised self-repression, while she
+longed for sympathy, for expansion, for a measure of freedom--such
+an experience, especially if it has lasted for any time, is not the
+best preparation for marriage. Married life--where man and woman
+are in complete sympathy, where mutual affection and admiration
+make self-sacrifice a joy, and trouble taken for the other a real
+satisfaction--is not altogether an easy path to tread, with sure and
+willing feet, from the altar to the grave. Many would give much to be
+able to turn back: but there is no return. So some faint and others
+die; some never cease from quarrelling; some accept the inevitable
+and lose all interest in life; while a few get off the road, over the
+barriers, break their necks or their hearts, or simply disappear out of
+the ken, beyond the vision, of their kind.
+
+I think much of the unhappiness that comes to be a millstone round the
+necks of married people is due, primarily, to the deep ignorance of
+womankind so commonly displayed by mankind. It is a subject that is
+not taught, probably because no man would be found conceited enough to
+profess more than the most superficial knowledge of it. Some Eastern
+writers have gone into the question, but their point of view differs
+from ours, as do their climate, their religion, their temperament,
+habits, and moral code. Their teachings are difficult to obtain; they
+are written in languages not commonly understood, and they deal with
+races and societies that have little in common with Europeans. Michelet
+has, however, produced a book that may be read with advantage by all
+those who wish to acquire a few grains of knowledge on a subject that
+has such an enthralling interest at some period of most men’s lives.
+It is not exactly easy to indicate other aids to an adequate conception
+of the feminine gender, but they will not be found in the streets and
+gutters of great cities.
+
+The school-boy shuns girls. He is parlously ignorant of all that
+concerns them, except that they cannot compete with him in strength
+and endurance. He first despises them for their comparative physical
+weakness; then, as he grows a little older, a certain shyness of the
+other sex seizes him; but this usually disappears with the coming of
+real manhood, when his instincts prompt him to seek women’s society.
+What he learns then, unless he is very fortunate, will not help him to
+understand and fully appreciate the girl who somewhat later becomes his
+wife--indeed, it is more likely to mislead him and contribute to her
+unhappiness. Unite this inexperienced, or over-experienced, youth with
+the girl who is ready to accept almost any one who will take her from
+an uncongenial home, and it says a good deal for the Western world that
+the extraordinary difficulties of the position should, in so large a
+proportion of cases, be overcome as well as they are.
+
+In the rage for higher education, why does not some philanthropic
+lady, some many-times-married man, open a seminary for the instruction
+of inexperienced men who wish to take into their homes, for life and
+death, companions, of whose sex generally, their refined instincts,
+tender feelings, reckless impulses, strange cravings, changeful moods,
+overpowering curiosity, attitudes of mind, methods of attack and
+defence, signals of determined resistance or speedy capitulation, they
+know, perhaps, as little as of the Grand Llama. What an opportunity
+such a school would afford to the latest development of woman to
+impress her own views upon the rising generation of men! How easily she
+might mould them to her fancy, or, at least, plant in them seeds of
+repentance, appreciation, and constancy, to grow up under the care of
+wives for whose society the Benedictentiary would have somewhat fitted
+them.
+
+It is really an excellent idea, this combination of Reformatory of the
+old man and Education of the new. Can you not see all the newspapers
+full of advertisements like this:--
+
+    PREPARATION OF GENTLEMEN FOR MATRIMONY
+
+    The great success which has attended all those who have gone
+    through the course of study at the Benedictentiary of Mesdames
+    ---- has led the proprietors to add another wing to this
+    popular institution. The buildings are situated in park-like
+    grounds, far from any disturbing influences. The lecturers
+    are ladies of personal attraction with wide experience, and
+    the discipline of the establishment is of the severest kind
+    compatible with comfort. A special feature of this institution
+    is the means afforded for healthy recreation of all kinds, the
+    object being to make the students attractive in every sense.
+    Gentlemen over fifty years of age are only admitted on terms
+    which can be learnt by application to the Principal. These
+    terms will vary according to the character of the applicant.
+    During the last season twenty-five of Mesdames ---- pupils made
+    brilliant marriages, and the most flattering testimonials are
+    constantly being received from the wives of former students.
+    There are only a few vacancies, and application should be made
+    at once to the Principal.
+
+That is the sort of thing. Do you know any experienced lady in want
+of a vocation that might combine profit with highly interesting
+employment? You can give her this suggestion, but advise her to be
+careful in her choice of lecturers, and let the ladies combine the
+wisdom of the serpent with the gentle cooing of the dove; otherwise,
+some possible husbands might be spoilt in the making.
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+HER FIANCÉ
+
+
+You say that my opinions are very unorthodox, that my views on human
+constancy are cynical, and that it is wicked to sympathise with
+children who oppose their inclinations to the behests of their parents.
+
+Do you forget that I said we should not agree, and will you be angry if
+I venture to suggest that you have not read my letters very carefully,
+or that your sense of justice is temporarily obscured? If I dared, I
+would ask you to look again at the letters, and then tell me exactly
+wherein I have sinned. I maintained that all are not gifted with that
+perfect constancy which distinguished Helen and Guinevere, and a few
+other noble ladies whose names occur to me. I notice that, as regards
+yourself, you disdain to answer my question, and we might safely
+discuss the subject without reference to personal considerations.
+
+My regrets over the strained relations which sometimes exist between
+parents and children could hardly be construed into an incitement to
+rebellion. They did not amount to more than a statement of lamentable
+facts, and a diagnosis of the causes of the trouble. When you add that
+truth is often disagreeable and better left unspoken, I will subscribe
+to the general principle, but fail to see its application here. Nor can
+I agree with you that problems of this sort are lacking in interest. To
+be able to construct a geometrical figure, and prove that the method
+is correct, does not sound very interesting; but architects, who have
+knowledge of this kind, have achieved results that appeal to those who
+look at the finished work, without thought of the means by which the
+end was gained.
+
+With your permission, I will move the inquiry to new ground; and do not
+think I am wavering in my allegiance, or that my loyalty is open to
+doubt, if I say one word on behalf of man, whose unstable affections
+are so widely recognised that no sensible person would seek to dispute
+the verdict of all the ages. He is represented as loving a sex rather
+than an individual; is likened to the bee which sucks where sweetness
+can be found and only whilst it lasts; he shares with the butterfly
+the habit of never resting long on any flower, and, like it, he is
+drawn by brilliant colouring and less clean attractions. Virtuous
+affection and plain solid worth do not appeal to him.
+
+These are articles of popular belief, and must not be questioned;
+but I may say to you, that they do the poor man somewhat less than
+justice. As a bachelor, he has few opportunities of examining virtuous
+affection, on his own account; the experiences of his friends are
+not always encouraging; and, if he has to work, other things absorb
+most of his attention at this stage of his existence. If he marries,
+especially if he marries young, he is often enthusiastic, and usually
+hopelessly ignorant of feminine methods, inclinations, and fastidious
+hesitation. He feels an honest, blundering, but real and passionate
+affection. He shows it, and that is not seldom an offence. He looks
+for a reciprocation of his passion, and when, as often happens, he
+fully realises that his transports awaken no responsive feeling, but
+rather a scarcely veiled disgust, his enthusiasm wanes, he cultivates
+self-repression, and assumes a chilly indifference that, in time,
+becomes the true expression of his changed feelings. From this keen
+disappointment, this sense of his own failure in his own home, the
+transition to a state of callousness, and thence, to one of deep
+interest in another object where his advances are met in a different
+spirit, is not very difficult.
+
+You see, I am taking for granted that the popular conception of his
+shortcomings in regard to the affections is correct, and I only want
+to suggest some of the reasons which have earned for him such a bad
+reputation. First, it is the fault of his nature, for which he is not
+altogether responsible; it is different to yours. In this respect he
+starts somewhat unfairly handicapped, if his running is tried by the
+same standard as that fixed for the gentler sex. Then his education,
+not so much in the acquirement of book-knowledge as in the ways of the
+world, is also different. His physical robustness is thought to qualify
+him, when still a boy, to go anywhere, to see everything at close
+quarters, and without a chaperone. He is thrown into the maelstrom of
+life, and there he is practically left to sink or swim; and whether
+he drown or survive, he must pass through the deep water where only
+his own efforts will save him. A few disappear altogether, and, while
+all get wet, some come out covered with mud, and others are maimed, or
+their constitutions permanently injured by the immersion.
+
+That is the beginning, and I think you will admit that, except in a
+few very peculiar cases, the boy’s early life is more calculated to
+smirch than to preserve his original innocence.
+
+Then he settles down to work for a living or for ambition, and, in
+either case, he is left but little time to study the very complex
+complement of his life, woman. If he does not incontinently fall in
+love with what appeals to his eye, he deliberately looks about for some
+one who may make him a good, a useful, and, if possible, an ornamental
+wife. In the first case he is really to be pitied; but his condition
+only excites amusement. The man is treated as temporarily insane,
+and every one looks to the consummation of the marriage as the only
+means to restore him to his right mind. That, indeed, is generally
+the result, but not for the reason to which the cure is popularly
+ascribed. The swain is very much in love, whereas the lady of his
+choice is entering into the contract for a multitude of reasons, where
+passionate affection, very probably, plays quite an inferior part. The
+man’s ardour destroys any discretion he may have. He digs a pit for
+himself and falls into it, and, unless he has great experience, unusual
+sympathy, or consummate tact, he misunderstands the signs, draws false
+conclusions, and nurses the seeds of discontent which will sooner or
+later come up and bear bitter fruit.
+
+If, on the other hand, he deliberately enters the matrimonial market
+and makes his choice with calm calculation, as he would enter the mart
+to supply any other need, he may run less risk of disappointment. But
+the other party to the bargain will, in due time, come to regret the
+part she has undertaken to play, and feel that what the man wanted
+was less a wife than a housekeeper, a hostess, a useful ally, or an
+assistant in the preservation of a family name. Very few women would
+fail to discover the truth in such a case, and probably none would
+neglect to mention it. Neither the fact, the discovery, nor the mention
+of it will help to make a happy home.
+
+With husbands and wives, if neither have any need to work, it ought
+to be easy to avoid boredom (the most gruesome of all maladies), and
+to accommodate themselves to each other’s wishes. They, however,
+constitute a very small proportion of society. A man usually has
+to work all day, and, if he is strong and healthy, it is hardly
+reasonable to suppose that his only thought, when his work is over,
+should be how he can best amuse his wife. If he sets that single object
+before him as his duty or his pleasure, and his wife accepts the
+sacrifice, the man’s health is almost certain to suffer, unless there
+is some form of exercise which they can enjoy together.
+
+Husbands and wives take a good deal for granted, and it is more curious
+that lovers, who are bound by no such tie, often meet with shipwreck on
+exactly the same sort of dangers. To be too exacting is probably, of
+all causes, the most fertile in parting devoted lovers.
+
+But enough of speculation. Pardon my homily, and let me answer your
+question. You ask me what has become of the man we used to see so
+constantly, sitting in the Park with a married lady who evidently
+enjoyed his society. I will tell you, and you will then understand
+why it is that you have not seen him since that summer when we too
+found great satisfaction in each other’s company. He was generally
+“about the town,” and when not there seemed rather to haunt the river.
+Small blame to him for that; there is none with perceptions so dead
+that the river, on a hot July day, will not appeal to them. I cannot
+tell how long afterwards it was, but the man became engaged to a girl
+who was schooling or travelling in France. She was the sister of the
+woman we used to see in the Park. _Un bel giorno_ the man and his
+future sister-in-law started for the Continent, to see his _fiancée_.
+Arrived at Dover, the weather looked threatening, or the lady wanted
+rest, or it was part of the arrangement--details of this kind are
+immaterial--anyhow, they decided to stay the night in an hotel and
+cross the following morning. In the grey light which steals through
+darkness and recoils from day, some wanderer or stolid constable saw a
+white bundle lying on the pavement by the wall of the hotel. A closer
+examination showed this to be the huddled and shattered body of a man
+in his night-dress; a very ghastly sight, for he was dead. It was the
+man we used to see in the Park, and several storeys above the spot
+where he was found were the windows, not of his room, but of another.
+I do not know whether the lady continued her journey; but, if she did,
+her interview with her sister must have been a bad experience.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+BY THE SEA
+
+
+You asked me to paint you a picture--a picture of a wonderful strand
+half-circling a space of sunlit sea; an island-studded bay, girt,
+landwards, by a chain of low blue hills, whose vesture of rich foliage
+is, through all the years, mirrored in the dazzling waters that bathe
+those rocky feet. The bay is enclosed between two headlands, both
+lofty, both rising sheer out of the sea, but that on the north juts
+out only a little, while the southern promontory is much bolder, and
+terminates a long strip of land running at right angles to the shore
+out into very deep water.
+
+The beach between these headlands forms an arc of a circle, and the
+cord joining its extremities would be about seven miles in length,
+while following the shore the distance is nearly ten miles.
+
+One might search east or west, the Old World or the New, and find
+in them few places so attractive as this little-known and sparsely
+inhabited dent in a far Eastern coast.
+
+Here the sky is nearly always bright; a day which, in its thirteen
+hours of light, does not give at least half of brilliant, perhaps too
+brilliant sunshine, is almost unknown. Then it is the sunshine of
+endless summer, not for a month or a season, but for ever.
+
+Except on rare occasions, the winds from the sea are softest zephyrs,
+the land breezes are cool and fragrant, sufficient only to stir the
+leaves of trees and gently ruffle the placid surface of the bay.
+
+The waters of the bay are green--green like a yellow emerald--but
+in some few places, near the shore, this changes into a warm brown.
+The beach is a wide stretch of sand broken by rocks of dark umber or
+Indian red. The sand is, in some places, so startlingly white that
+the eye can hardly bear the glare of it, while in others it is mixed
+with fine-broken grains of the ironstone called laterite, and this
+gives a burnt-sienna colour to the beach. When the tide is high, the
+great stretches of hard, clean sand are covered with water to a depth
+of between five and ten feet, and, owing to the absence of mud,
+mangroves, and mankind, the waters of the bay are of an extraordinary
+limpidity. The beach in many places dips steeply, so that, at high
+tide, there are six feet of water within two or three yards of the
+trees, shrubs, ferns, and creepers that clothe the shore in an
+abandonment of wild and graceful luxuriance. The sand shines beneath
+the waters of the sea like powdered diamonds, and all the myriads of
+pebbles and shells glisten and scintillate, with a fire and life and
+colour which they lose when the tide falls and leaves the sands dry,
+but for the little pools that fill the depressions of a generally even
+surface.
+
+Then, however, is the time to see strange shells moving slowly about,
+and crabs, of marvellous colour and unexpected instincts, scampering
+in hundreds over the purple rocks, that here and there make such a
+striking contrast to the brilliant orange and red, or the startling
+whiteness of the sand in which they lie half-embedded.
+
+And how positively delightful it is to paddle with bare feet between
+and over these rounded stones, while the tireless waters make
+continents and oceans in miniature, and the strange denizens of this
+life-charged summer sea destroy each other, in the ceaseless struggle
+to preserve an existence for which they are no more responsible than
+we are. Here is an army of scarlet-backed crabs, hunting in battalions
+for something smaller and weaker than its own tiny, fragile units.
+The spider-like legion, alarmed by the approach of your naked feet,
+scuttles hurriedly towards a new Red Sea, and, dashing recklessly into
+the two inches of water, which are running between banks of sandy
+desert, disappears as completely as Pharaoh and his host. Unlike the
+Egyptian king, however, the crabs, which have only burrowed into the
+sand, will presently reappear on the other shore and scour the desert
+for a morning meal.
+
+And then you are standing amongst the rocks, on a point of a bay within
+the bay; and, as the rippling wavelets wash over your feet, you peer
+down into the deeper eddies and pools in search of a sea-anemone.
+Again, you exclaim in childish admiration of the marvellous colouring
+of a jelly-fish and his puzzling fashion of locomotion, or your
+grown-up experience allows you an almost pleasurable little shudder
+when you think of the poisonous possibilities of this tenderly-tinted,
+gauzily-gowned digestive system.
+
+The land is not less rich in life than the sea. Nature has fringed the
+waters with a garden of graceful trees, flowering shrubs, brilliantly
+blossomed creepers, and slender ferns, far more beautiful in their
+untrained luxuriance than any effort of human ingenuity could have made
+them. There are magnolias, sweeping the waters with their magnificent
+creamy blossoms, made more conspicuous by their background of great,
+dark green leaves. There are gorgeous yellow alamanders, each blossom
+as large as a hand; soft pale pink myrtles, star-flowered jasmines,
+and the delicate wax-plant with its clusters of red or white blossoms.
+These and a multitude of others, only known by barbarous botanical
+names, nestle into each other’s arms, interlace their branches, and
+form arbours of perfumed shade. Close behind stand almond and cashew
+trees, tree-ferns, coconuts, and sago palms, and then the low hills,
+clothed with the giants of a virgin forest, that shut out any distant
+view.
+
+Groups of sandpipers paddle in the little wavelets that lovingly caress
+the shore; birds of the most gorgeous plumage flit through the jungle
+with strange cries; and, night and morning, flocks of pigeons, plumed
+in green and yellow, in orange and brown, flash meteor-like trails of
+colour, in their rapid flight from mainland to island and back again.
+The bay is studded with islets, some near, some far, tiny clusters of
+trees growing out of the water, or a mass of stone, clothed from base
+to summit with heavy jungle, except for a narrow band of red rocks
+above the water’s edge.
+
+Sailing in and out the islands, rounding the headlands, or standing
+across the bay, are boats with white or brown or crimson sails; boats
+of strange build, with mat or canvas sails of curious design, floating,
+like tired birds, upon the restful waters of this “changeless summer
+sea.”
+
+But you remember it all: how we sat under the great blossoms and
+shining leaves of the magnolias, and, within arm’s length, found
+treasures of opal-tinted pebbles, and infinite variety of tiny shells,
+coral-pink and green and heliotrope,--and everything seemed very good
+indeed.
+
+A mass of dark-red boulders, overlying a bed of umber rock, ran out
+into the water, closing, as with a protecting arm, one end of the
+little inlet, while the forest-clad hill, rising sheer from the point,
+shut out everything beyond. And then the road! bright _terra cotta_,
+winding round the bluff through masses of foliage in every shade of
+green,--giant trees, a maze of undergrowth, and the dew-laden ferns
+and mosses, blazing with emerald fires under the vagrant shafts of
+sunlight;--_dies cretâ notanda_.
+
+Do you remember how, when the sun had gone, and the soft, fragrant,
+Eastern night brought an almost tangible darkness, lighted only by the
+stars, we returned across the bay in a little boat, with two quaintly
+coloured paper lanterns making a bright spot of colour high above the
+bow? The only sound to break the measured cadence of the oars was the
+gentle whisper of the land-wind through the distant palm leaves, and
+the sighing of the tide as it wooed the passive beach.
+
+And then, as we glided slowly through the starlit darkness, you, by
+that strange gift of sympathetic intuition, answered my unspoken
+thought, and sang the _Allerseelen_, sang it under your breath, “soft
+and low,” as though it might not reach any ears but ours--yes, that was
+All Souls’ Day.
+
+There was only the sea and the sky and the stars, only the perfection
+of aloneness, “_Le rêve de rester ensemble sans dessein_.”
+
+And then, all too soon, we came to a space of lesser darkness, visible
+through the belt of trees which lined the shore; far down that
+water-lane twinkled a light, the beacon of our landing-place. Do you
+remember?----
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+AN ILLUMINATION
+
+
+After an absence which cannot be measured by days--not at least days
+of twenty-four hours, but rather by spaces of longing and regret,--I
+am back again in a house where everything suggests your presence so
+vividly that I hardly yet realise that I cannot find you, and already,
+several times, hearing, or fancying I heard, some sound, I have looked
+up expecting to see you. It is rather pitiful that, waking or sleeping,
+our senses should let us be so cruelly fooled.
+
+It seems years ago, but, sitting in this room to-night, memory carries
+me back to another evening when you were also here. It had rained
+heavily, and the sun had almost set when we started to ride down the
+hill, across the river, and out into the fast-darkening road that
+strikes through the grass-covered plain, and leads to the distant
+hills. The strangely fascinating transformation of day into night, as
+commonly seen from that road, cannot fail to arrest the attention and
+awaken the admiration of the most casual observer; but for us, I think,
+it possessed the special charm which comes from the contemplation of
+nature in harmony with the mood of the spectator,--or seen, as with
+one sight, by two persons in absolute sympathy of body and soul. Then
+nothing is lost--no incident, no change of colour, no momentary effect
+of light or shade; the scene is absorbed through the eyes, and when the
+sensation caused finds expression through the voice of one, the heart
+of the other responds without the need of words.
+
+I see the picture now; a string of waggons, the patient oxen standing
+waiting for their drivers, picturesquely grouped before a wayside
+booth; a quaintly fashioned temple, with its faint altar-light shining
+like a star from out the deep gloom within the portal; tall, feathery
+palms, whose stems cast long, sharp shadows across the dark-red road;
+on either side a grass-covered, undulating plain, disappearing into
+narrow valleys between the deep blue hills; behind all, the grey,
+mist-enshrouded mountains, half hidden in the deepening twilight.
+
+The last gleams of colour were dying out of the sky as we left the
+main road, and, turning sharp to the left, urged our horses through
+the gathering darkness. At last we were obliged to pull up, uncertain
+of our bearings, and even doubtful, in the now absolute blackness of
+tropical night, whether we were in the right way. Carefully avoiding
+the deep ditches, more by the instinct of the horses than any guidance
+of ours, we struck into another road and set our faces homewards.
+It was still intensely dark, but growing clearer as the stars shone
+out, and we gradually became more accustomed to the gloom; dark yet
+delightful, and we agreed that this was the time of all others to
+really enjoy the East, with a good horse under you and a sympathetic
+companion to share the fascination of the hour.
+
+Riding through the groves of trees that lined both sides of the road,
+we caught occasional glimpses of illuminated buildings, crowning the
+steep hill which forms one side of the valley. Traversing the outskirts
+of the town, we crossed a river and came out on a narrow plain, above
+which rose the hill. I shall never forget the vision which then rose
+before us. How we exclaimed with delight! and yet there was such an air
+of glamour about the scene, such unrealness, such a savour of magic
+and enchantment as tied our tongues for a while.
+
+The heights rose in a succession of terraces till they seemed to almost
+pierce the clouds, each terrace a maze of brilliantly illuminated
+buildings to which the commanding position, the environment, the
+style of architecture, and the soft, hazy atmosphere lent an imposing
+grandeur.
+
+The buildings which crowned the summit of the spur, lined the terraces,
+and seemed to be connected by a long flight of picturesque stone steps,
+were all of a dazzling whiteness. Low-reaching eaves, supported on
+white pillars, formed wide verandahs, whose outer edges were bordered
+by heavy balustrades. Every principal feature of every building, each
+door and window, each verandah, balustrade, and step, was outlined by
+innumerable yellow lights that shone like great stars against the soft
+dark background of sky and hill. It is impossible to imagine the beauty
+of the general effect: this succession of snow-white walls, rising from
+foot to summit of a mist-enveloped hill, suggested the palace-crowned
+heights of Futtepur Síkri, illuminated for some brilliant festival. The
+effect of splendour and enchantment was intensified by the graceful
+but indistinct outlines of a vast building, standing in unrelieved
+darkness by the bank of the river we had just crossed. In the gloom
+it was only possible to note the immense size of this nearer palace,
+and to realise its towers and domes, its pillars and arches, and the
+consistently Moorish style of its architecture.
+
+As we approached the lowest of the series of illuminated buildings
+that, step by step, rose to the summit of the heights, we beheld
+a sheet of water beneath us on our right, and in this water were
+reflected the innumerable lights of a long, low temple, standing fifty
+feet above the opposite bank of the lake. Fronds of the feathery bamboo
+rose from the bank, and, bending forwards in graceful curves, cast deep
+shadows over the waters of this little lake, from the depths of which
+blazed the fires of countless lights.
+
+We stood there and drank in the scene, graving it on the tablets of
+our memories as something never to be forgotten. Then slowly our
+horses passed into the darkness of the road, which, winding round the
+hillside, led up into the open country, a place of grass-land and wood,
+lying grey and silent under a starlit sky.
+
+And, when we had gained the house, it was here you sat, in this
+old-world seat, with its covering of faded brocade. I can see you
+now, in the semi-darkness of a room where the only lamp centres its
+softened light on you--an incomparable picture in a charming setting.
+You do not speak; you are holding in your hand a small white card,
+and you slowly tear it in two, and then again and again. There is
+something in your face, some strange glory that is not of any outward
+light, nor yet inspired by that enchanted vision so lately seen. It is
+a transfiguration, a light from within, like the blush that dyes the
+clouds above a waveless sea, at the dawn of an Eastern morning. Still
+you speak no word, but the tiny fragments of that card are now so small
+that you can no longer divide them, and some drop from your hands upon
+the floor.
+
+I picked them up--afterwards--did I not?
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+OF DEATH, IN FICTION
+
+
+It is delightful to have some one to talk to with whom it is not
+necessary to think always before one speaks, to choose every word, to
+explain every thought--some one, in fact, who has sympathy enough not
+to be bored with the discussion of a subject that deals neither with
+gossip nor garments, and intelligence enough to understand what is
+implied as well as what is said. I have done a good deal of desultory
+reading lately, mostly modern English and French fiction, and I cannot
+help being struck by the awkward manner in which authors bring their
+stories to a conclusion. It so very often happens that a book begins
+well, possibly improves as the plot develops, becomes even powerful as
+it nears the climax, and then--then the poor puppets, having played
+their several parts and done all that was required of them, must be
+got rid of, in order to round off the tale, to give finality, and
+satisfy the ordinary reader’s craving for “full particulars.” This
+varnishing and framing and hanging of the picture is usually arrived
+at by marrying or slaying some principal character; the first is a
+life, and the last a death, sentence. Thus the reader is satisfied,
+and often the story is ruined; that is, if skilful drafting and true
+perspective are as necessary to a good picture as artistic colouring
+and the correct disposition of light and shade. But is the reader
+satisfied? Usually, yes; occasionally, no. In the latter case the book
+is closed with a strong sense of disappointment, and a conviction that
+the writer has realised the necessity of bringing down the curtain on
+a scene that finishes the play, and leaves nothing to the imagination;
+so, to secure that end, he has abandoned truth, and even probability,
+and has clumsily introduced the priest or the hangman, the “cup of
+cold poison,” or the ever-ready revolver. The effect of the charming
+scenery, the pretty frocks, the artistic furniture, and “the crisp and
+sparkling dialogue,” is thus spoilt by the unreal and unconvincing
+_dénouement_.
+
+It seems to me--“to my stupid comprehension,” as the polite Eastern
+constantly insists--that this failure is due to two causes. First,
+most fiction is founded on fact, and the writer has, in history, in
+the newspapers, in his own experience or that of his friends, met with
+some record or paragraph, some adventure or incident, that has served
+for the foundation of his story; but, unless purely historical, he has
+been obliged to supply the last scene himself, because in reality there
+was none, or, if there was, he could not use it. In our own experience,
+in that of every one who has seen a little of the world, have we not
+become acquainted with quite a number of dramatic, or even tragic
+incidents, that have scarred our own or others’ lives, and would make
+stories of deep interest in the hands of a skilful writer? But the
+action does not cease. The altar is oftener the fateful beginning than
+the happy ending of the drama; and, when the complications fall thick
+upon each other, there is no such easy way out of the _impasse_ as that
+provided by a little prussic acid or a bullet. They are ready to hand,
+I grant you, but they are not so often used in life as in fiction. I
+have known a man walk about, with a revolver in his pocket, for three
+days, looking for a suitable opportunity to use it upon himself, and
+then he has put it away against the coming of a burglar. When it is not
+yourself, but some one else, you desire to get rid of, the prospect
+is, strange to say, even less inviting. Thus it happens that, in real
+life, we suffer and we endure, the drama is played and the tragedy is
+in our hearts, but it does not take outward and visible form. So the
+fiction--whilst it is true to life--holds our interest, and the skill
+of the artist excites our admiration; but the impossible climax appeals
+to us, no more than a five-legged cow. It is a _lusus naturæ_, that is
+all. They happen, these monstrosities, but they never live long, and it
+were best to stifle them at birth.
+
+Pardon! you say there is genius. Yes, but it is rare, and I have not
+the courage to even discuss genius; it is like Delhi and the planets,
+a long way off. We can only see it with the help of a powerful glass,
+if indeed then it is visible. There is only one writer who openly lays
+claim to it, and the claim seems to be based chiefly on her lofty
+disdain for adverse criticism. That is, perhaps, a sign, but not a
+complete proof, of the existence of the divine fire.
+
+But to return to the humbler minds. It does happen that real lives are
+suddenly and violently ended by accident, murder, or suicide, and there
+seems no special reason why fictitious lives should be superior to such
+chances. Indeed, to some authors, there would be no more pleasure in
+writing novels, without the tragic element as the main feature, than
+there is for some great billiard exponents to play the game with the
+spot-stroke barred. I would only plead, in this case, that the accident
+or the suicide, to be life-like, need not be very far-fetched. In
+murder, as one knows, the utmost licence is not only permissible but
+laudable, for the wildest freaks of imagination will hardly exceed the
+refinements, the devilish invention, and the cold-blooded execution of
+actual crimes. I remember you once spoke scornfully of using a common
+form of accident as a means of getting rid of a character in fiction;
+but surely that is not altogether inartistic, for the accidents that
+occur most commonly are those to which the people of romance will
+naturally be as liable as you or I. It is difficult to imagine that
+you should be destroyed by an explosion in a coal-mine, or that I
+should disappear in a balloon; but we might either of us be drowned, or
+killed in a railway accident, under any one of a variety of probable
+circumstances. Again, in suicide, the simplest method is, for purposes
+of fiction, in all likelihood the best. Men usually shoot themselves,
+and women, especially when they cannot swim, seek the water. Those
+who prefer poison are probably the swimmers. It is a common practice
+in fiction to make the noble-minded man who loves the lady, but finds
+himself in the way of what he believes to be her happiness (that is,
+of course, some other man), determine to destroy himself; and he does
+it with admirable resolution, considering how cordially he dislikes
+the rôle for which he has been cast, and how greatly he yearns for
+the affection which no effort of his can possibly secure. I cannot,
+however, remember any hero of fiction who has completed the sacrifice
+of his life in a thoroughly satisfactory manner, for he invariably
+leaves his body lying about, where it is sure to attract attention,
+and cause great distress to the lady he designs to oblige. That is
+thoughtless; and those who really mean to prove their self-denial
+should arrange, not only to extinguish their lives, but to get rid of
+their bodies, so that there may be as little scandal and trouble to
+their friends as possible. I have always felt the sincerest admiration
+for the man who, having made up his mind to destroy himself, and
+purchased a revolver with which to do the deed, settled his affairs,
+moved into lodgings quite close to a cemetery, wrote letters to the
+coroner, the doctor, and the undertaker, giving them in each case the
+exact hour at which they should call on their several errands, paid
+all his debts, left something to indemnify his landlady, and more than
+enough for funeral expenses, and then shot himself. That, however, was
+not a character in fiction, but a common mortal, and there was no lady
+in the case.
+
+I am sure there are many people who would be greatly obliged to me
+for inviting attention to these matters, if only they could get it
+in print, to lie about on the table with the page turned down at the
+proper place. Nothing is more common than the determined suicides who
+live to a green old age for want of a book of instructions. These
+people weary their friends and acquaintances by eternally reiterated
+threats that they will destroy themselves, and yet, however desirable
+that course may be, they never take it. This novel and brilliant idea
+first comes to them in some fit of pique, and they declare that they
+will make an end of themselves, “and then perhaps you will be sorry.”
+They are so pleased with the effect caused by this statement, that,
+on the next favourable opportunity, they repeat it; and then they go
+on and on, dragging in their wretched threat on every possible and
+impossible occasion, especially in the presence of strangers and the
+aged relatives of themselves or the person they want to get at, until
+mere acquaintances wish they would fulfil their self-imposed task and
+cease from troubling. It is almost amusing to hear how these _suicides
+déterminés_ vary, from day to day or week to week, the methods which
+they have selected for their own destruction--poison, pistols,
+drowning, throwing themselves out of window or under a train--nothing
+comes amiss; but, when they wish to be really effective, and carry
+terror into the hearts of their hearers, they usually declare either,
+that they will blow their brains out, or cut their throats. The vision
+of either of these processes of self-extinction, even though remote and
+unsubstantial, is well calculated to curdle the blood. That, as a rule,
+is all that is meant; and, when you understand it, the amusement is
+harmless if it is not exactly kind. “Vain repetitions” are distinctly
+wearying, even when they come from husbands and wives, parents or
+children; the impassioned lover, too, is not altogether free from the
+threat of suicide and the repetition of it. In all these cases it
+would be a kindness to those who appear weary of life, and who weary
+others by threatening to put an end to it, if they could be persuaded,
+either to follow the example of the man who, without disclosing his
+intentions, took a room by the gate of the cemetery, or, if they
+don’t really mean it, to say nothing more about it. Therefore, if
+ever you are over-tried in this way, leave this letter where it will be
+read. The weak point about the prescription is that it is more likely
+to cure than to kill. However, I must leave that to you, for a good
+deal depends on how the remedy is applied. The size of the dose, the
+form of application, whether external or internal, will make all the
+difference in the world. I do not prescribe for a patient, but for a
+disease; the rest may safely be left to your admirable discretion;
+but you will not forget that a dose which can safely and advisedly be
+administered to an adult may kill a child.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+A HAND AT ÉCARTÉ
+
+
+I wrote to you of death in fiction, and, if I now write of death in
+fact, it is partly to see how far you agree with an opinion that was
+lately expressed to me by a man who is himself literary, and whose
+business it is to know the public taste in works of fiction. We were
+discussing a book of short stories, and he spoke of the author’s
+success, and said he hoped we might have a further instalment of
+similar tales. I ventured to suggest that the public must be rather
+nauseated with horrors, with stories of blood and crime, even though
+they carried their readers into new surroundings, and introduced them
+to interesting and little-described societies. My companion said,
+“No, there need be no such fear; we like gore. A craving for horrors
+pervades all classes, and is not easily satisfied. Those who cannot
+gloat over the contemplation of carcasses and blood, revel in the
+sanguinary details which make them almost spectators in the real or
+imaginary tragedies of life. The newspapers give one, and some writers
+of fiction the other; there is a large demand for both, especially now
+that the circle of readers is so rapidly widening amongst a class that
+cannot appreciate refinements of style, and neither understands nor
+desires the discussion of abstract questions. Therefore give us,--not
+Light, but--Blood.”
+
+I wonder what you think. If I felt you had a craving for horrors I
+could paint the pages scarlet; for I have been in places where human
+life was held so cheap that death by violence attracted little notice,
+where tragedies were of daily occurrence, and hundreds of crimes,
+conceived with fiendish ingenuity and carried out with every detail
+calculated to thrill the nerves and tickle the jaded palate of the
+most determined consumer of “atrocities,” lie hidden in the records
+of Courts of Justice and Police Offices. Any one who compares the
+feelings with which he throws aside the daily paper, as he leaves the
+Underground Railway, or even those with which he closes the shilling
+shocker in more favourable surroundings, with the sense of exaltation,
+of keen, pulse-quickening joy that comes to him after reading one
+page in the book of Nature--after a long look at one of its myriad
+pictures--would, I think, hesitate to confess to a great hankering
+for a perpetual diet of blood. It is not the dread of appearing to be
+dissipated, but the certainty that there is better health, and a far
+more intense pleasure, in the clear atmosphere of woods and hills, of
+river and sea, than in the shambles.
+
+Sewers are a product of civilisation in cities, but they are not
+pretty to look at, and I cannot appreciate a desire to explore their
+darksome nastiness while we may, if we choose, remain in the light
+and air of heaven. London slums are daily and nightly the scenes of
+nameless horrors, but it may be doubted whether a faithful and minute
+description of them, in the form of cheap literature, does more good
+than harm.
+
+That is by way of preface. What I am going to tell you struck me,
+because I question whether a tragedy in real life was ever acted with
+details that sound so fictional, so imaginary, and yet there was no
+straining after effect. It was the way the thing had to be worked out;
+and like the puzzles you buy, and waste hours attempting to solve, I
+suppose the pieces would only fit when arranged in the places for which
+they were designed by their Maker.
+
+A long time ago there lived, in one of the principal cities of Italy, a
+certain marchese, married to a woman of great beauty and distinguished
+family. She had a lover, a captain of cavalry, who had made himself an
+Italian reputation for his success in love-affairs, and also in the
+duels which had been forced upon him by those who believed themselves
+to have been wronged. The soldier was a very accomplished swordsman
+and equally skilful with a pistol, and that is possibly the reason why
+the husband of the marchesa was blind to a state of affairs which at
+last became the scandal of local society. The marchesa had a brother, a
+leading member of the legal profession; and when he had unsuccessfully
+indicated to his brother-in-law the line of his manifest duty, he
+determined to himself defend his sister’s name, for the honour of
+an ancient and noble family. The brother was neither a swordsman nor
+a pistol-shot, and when he undertook to vindicate his sister’s
+reputation he realised exactly what it might cost him. The position
+was unbearable; the _cafés_ were ringing with the tale; and, if her
+husband shirked the encounter, some man of her own family must bring
+the offender to book and satisfy the demands of public opinion.
+
+Having made up his mind as to the _modus operandi_, the brother sought
+his foe in a crowded _café_, and in the most public manner insulted him
+by striking him across the face with his glove. A challenge naturally
+followed, and the choice of weapons was left with the assailant. He
+demanded pistols, and, knowing his own absolute inferiority, stipulated
+for special conditions, which were, that the combatants should stand
+at a distance of one pace only, that they should toss, or play a game
+of _écarté_ for the first shot, and that if the loser survived it, he
+should go as close to his adversary as he pleased before discharging
+his own weapon. Under the circumstances, the soldier thought he could
+hardly decline any conditions which gave neither party an advantage,
+but no one could be found to undertake the duties of second in a duel
+on such terms. Two friends of the principals agreed, however, to stand
+by with rifles, to see that the compact was not violated; and it was
+understood that they would at once fire on the man who should attempt
+foul play.
+
+It was, of course, imperative that the proceedings should be conducted
+with secrecy, and the meeting was arranged to take place on the
+outskirts of a distant town, to which it was necessary to make a long
+night journey by rail. In the early dawn of a cold morning in March,
+the four men met in the cemetery of a famous monastery, that stands
+perched on a crag, overlooking the neighbouring city, and a wide
+vale stretching away for miles towards the distant hills. A pack of
+cards was produced, and, with a tombstone as a table, the adversaries
+played one hand at _écarté_. The game went evenly enough, and rather
+slowly, till the brother marked four against his opponent’s three.
+It was then the latter’s deal; he turned up the king and made the
+point, winning the game. A line was drawn, the distance measured, the
+pistols placed in the duellists’ hands, and the two friends retired
+a few yards, holding their loaded rifles ready for use. The word was
+given, and the brother stood calmly awaiting his fate. The soldier
+slowly raised his pistol to a point in line with the other’s head,
+and, from a distance of a few inches, put a bullet through his brain,
+the unfortunate man falling dead without uttering a sound or making a
+movement.
+
+The officer obtained a month’s leave and fled across the border into
+Switzerland, but, before the month was up, public excitement over the
+affair had waned, and the gossips were busy with a new scandal. Their
+outraged sense of propriety had been appeased by the sacrifice of the
+dead, and the novel and piquant circumstances which accompanied it. As
+for the intrigue which had led to the duel, that, of course, went on
+the same as ever, only rather more so.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+THE GENTLE ART OF VEERING WITH THE WIND
+
+
+To-day I received a letter from you. I have read it twice, and, though
+it contains eight pages of closely written lines, there is not one
+word in it that would show that I am any more to you than the merest
+acquaintance. For weeks I have anxiously awaited this letter; plans, of
+the utmost importance to me, depended upon the answer you would give
+to a question I had put; and my whole future, at least that future
+which deals with a man’s ambitions, would, in all probability, be
+influenced by your reply. I asked you--well, never mind what--and you,
+being entirely free to write what you mean and what you wish, say that
+it is a point on which you cannot offer advice; but you tell me that
+you have given up reading and taken to gardening, as you find it is
+better for you! Have you ever read the story of Zadig? If you have, you
+will perhaps remember how his wife, Azora, railed against the newly
+made widow whom she found gardening. I have no prejudices of that kind,
+and, in my case, no one’s nose is in danger of the razor; but still I
+think I may not unreasonably feel somewhat aggrieved.
+
+Do not believe that I could ever wish to remind you of what you have
+forgotten, or wish to forget. I only want to know what is real and what
+is counterfeit, and you alone can tell me. I may ask this, may I not?
+It is not that I may presume to judge you, or from any wish to gratify
+an impertinent curiosity, but that I may be saved from imagining what
+is not, and, while torturing myself, possibly even distress you. I find
+it hard to reconcile this letter of yours with others I have received,
+and if that sounds to you but a confession of my stupidity, I would
+rather admit my want of intelligence and crave your indulgence, than
+stand convicted of putting two and two together and making of them
+twenty-two. If you tell me there is no question of indulgence, but that
+quite regular verbs have different moods, that present and past tenses
+are irreconcilable, and, of the future, no man knoweth--I shall have my
+answer.
+
+You do not write under the influence of winter. I cannot charge myself
+with any offence against you. Nay, God knows that all my thoughts and
+all my efforts are but to do you honour. If I have misread your earlier
+letters, if I have been unduly elated by such kind words as you have
+sent me, it is the simplest thing in the world to undeceive me and
+show me the error of my ways. Are you only _souffrante_, and may I
+disregard the chilling atmosphere of your present missive, remembering
+the tender sympathy of voice, of eye, of hand, in the rapturous days of
+a cherished past?
+
+It seems as natural to some people to love to-day, and to be almost
+strangers to-morrow, as that we should revel in a flood of light when
+the moon is full, and grope in darkness when the goddess of night is no
+longer visible. The temperament that makes this possible is fortunately
+rare, so much so that it creates an interest in the observer. I have
+never seen it in man, but I have in woman; and one realises that then
+it is better to be a spectator than an actor in what is never a farce,
+and may easily develop into tragedy. Imagine such a woman of very
+unusual personal attractions: great beauty of face and figure united
+to a high intelligence and extreme charm of manner; witty, ambitious,
+courageous, full of high thoughts and endowed with all the advantages
+that wealth can add to personal gifts. Deep in a nature that is
+strangely complex, and capable of the most opposite extremes, suppose
+there is implanted, amongst many other feelings, a passionate yearning
+to be understood, and to be loved with a love that would shrink from
+nothing to prove the greatness of its devotion. Here you have a
+being capable of what seem the strangest contradictions, and not the
+least startling of these may be a rare, but absolute and passionate,
+self-abandonment, under the influence of certain circumstances
+which strongly appeal to the senses. Overcome by intoxication of
+sound, colour, and magnetism, every moral and conventional muscle
+suddenly relaxes, and, the violence of the forces released, is wild
+and uncontrolled, because of the firm determination by which they
+are habitually bound. To-morrow, in the cold grey light of day, the
+slow-working mind of man is absolutely bewildered by what he sees
+and hears. He comes, dominated by an exalted passion, enthralled by
+a vision of ecstasy through which he sees, imperfectly, the people
+about him, only “men as trees walking”; reserving his thoughts and
+perceptions of surrounding objects till he shall again gaze upon that
+face which seems to him to have opened the door of life with the key
+of a boundless love. Still dazed by the memories of last night, he
+enters the presence of his beloved, and experiences a shock, such as a
+swimmer might feel, if floating, half-entranced, in some tropic sea, he
+suddenly hit against an iceberg.
+
+Sometimes, even, influenced by surroundings, maddened by the
+whisperings of a southern night, passed in a place where she breathes
+an atmosphere impregnated with the romance of centuries, the lonely
+soul of the woman, hungering for sympathy and communion, will seize a
+pen and write, “Come to me; I want you, for you understand; come, and I
+will give you happiness.” Before the letter has been gone one day, on a
+journey that may take it to the ends of the earth, the writer’s mood
+has changed, and she has forgotten her summons as completely as though
+it had never been written. When the missive reaches its destination,
+the recipient will be wise to curb his impetuosity, and realise that
+his opportunity is long since dead and buried.
+
+The bewildering phases of such a nature as I have here imagined are
+nothing to us. To you it may even seem inexcusable that I should
+allude to a character with which you have no sympathy, an abnormal
+growth which sounds rather fantastic than real. It is the _argumentum
+ad absurdum_, and has its value. This strange perversity which, by
+reason of its startling contradictions, seems almost inhuman, and if,
+in rare instances, met with, can only excite feelings of curiosity or
+repugnance--this is the extreme case. The application of the moral will
+come nearer home to us, if we make the changes from passionate love
+to cold indifference a little less marked, the intervals between the
+moods a little longer. It is well to know one’s own mind, not because
+wavering and change hurt the fickle, but because some stupid person may
+suffer by the purchase of experience; may take it to heart, and may
+do himself an injury. It is well to know one’s own heart, and what
+it can give; lest another put too high a value on the prize and lose
+all in trying to win it. It is well to know our own weakness, and at
+once recognise that we shall be guided by it; lest another think it is
+strength, and make, for our sakes, sacrifices that only frighten and
+perhaps even annoy us, especially when they are made in the absurd
+belief that they will please us.
+
+If you can give the extreme of happiness, do not forget that you can
+also cause an infinity of pain. No one can blame you for declining to
+accord favours; and if that refusal gives pain, there is no help for
+it. There can be little sympathy for those who seek the battle and
+then complain of their wounds. Such hurts do not rankle, and quickly
+heal. But it is different when a woman gives love of her own free will,
+uninfluenced by any consideration beyond her inclination, and then
+takes it back, also without other cause than caprice. It is difficult
+to use any other word--either it was a caprice to say she gave what
+never was given, or it is a caprice to take it back. A confession of
+thoughtlessness in estimating the character of her own feelings, or
+of weakness and inability to resist any opposing influence, is a poor
+pretext for a sudden withering of the tendrils of affection. Such a
+confession is an indifferent consolation to the heart which realises
+its loss, but cannot appreciate the situation. Do not mistake me; it is
+so hard to be absolutely candid and fair in considering our own cases.
+We are not less likely to make mistakes in matters of sentiment than
+in the purely practical affairs of life. If we think we love, and then
+become certain that we have made a mistake, the only safe and kind
+course is to confess the error; but if we deliberately seek love and
+give it, much protesting and much exacting, how shall we then deny it?
+Would one say, “If you asked me, I would go down into hell with you,
+now,” and then, ere twelve months had passed, for no crime but enforced
+absence, speak or write, to that other, almost as a stranger?
+
+There was Peter, I know; but even he was not altogether satisfied with
+himself, and, besides denying his Lord, he stands convicted of physical
+cowardice.
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+A REJOINDER
+
+
+Thank you. Before my last letter could reach you, _vous m’aviez donné
+affreusement à penser_, and this is what occurs to me:--
+
+    “Of all the lover’s sorrows, next to that
+     Of Love by Love forbidden, is the voice
+     Of Friendship turning harsh in Love’s reproof,
+     And overmuch of counsel--whereby Love
+     Grows stubborn, and recoiling unsupprest
+     Within, devours the heart within the breast.”
+
+I dare say it is as well. I am beginning to recognise the real
+attractions of what I may call a “surprise letter.” I have had several
+lately. It is perhaps the irony of fate that, just after I had mildly
+hinted to you that the phases of the moods of the feminine mind were
+sometimes rather bewildering, you should write to me the sort of letter
+which, had it been sent by me to a man I called my friend, I should
+richly deserve death at his hands. There are certainly few things
+more thoroughly enjoyable than to take up a letter that you see comes
+from--well, let us say from a very dear friend--to dally a little
+over the opening, in the mingled desire and hesitation to read the
+contents; feverish desire to know that all is well, to hear some word
+of affectionate regard--hesitation lest the news be bad, the letter
+cold; and then to find such a missive as you have sent to me.
+
+To begin with, there is a page and a half on which you have poured out
+the vials of your wrath. I was quite hot before I had read half of it,
+and my ears even were burning before I came to a page in which you told
+me how greatly you were enjoying yourself. And then, at the end, there
+was another page and a half, every word of which seemed to strike me in
+the face like a blow. I suppose you introduced the middle section that
+I might meditate on the difference between your circumstances and mine,
+and duly appreciate the full weight of your displeasure. Well, yes, I
+have done so; and, as God only knows when I shall see you again, I must
+write one or two of the many words it is in my heart to say to you.
+
+I am a very unworthy person; I have deeply offended you; and you
+have felt it necessary to tell me gently how ill my conduct looks to
+you. You leave me to infer that there are offences which cannot be
+tolerated, and that it would not be difficult to dispense with my
+acquaintance. I humbly accept this verdict, and as it is absolutely
+just and right that the prisoner should first be condemned without
+hearing, and then suffered to state his case, and say anything he
+pleases in mitigation of sentence, I will try not to weary you by any
+reference to ancient history, but simply confine myself to the charge.
+
+Now, what is my crime? You asked me a question; I am sure you have long
+ago forgotten what it was, and I need not remind you; but I, like an
+idiot, thought you really wanted an answer, and that it was my bounden
+duty to find a means of sending it. The question gave me infinite
+pleasure, and, again like an idiot, I thought the answer I longed to
+send would be welcome. I could not send it in the ordinary way, as you
+will admit, and, a sudden thought striking me that there was a safe
+and easy means of transmission, I acted on it, and your letter is the
+result. You tell me your pride is wounded, your trust in my word gone,
+and your conscience scandalised. It is useless for me now to express
+regret. I have been convicted, and I am only pleading in mitigation of
+sentence. Well, mine was a deliberate sin. I had to decide whether I
+would answer you or not, and, though I disliked the means, I thought
+the end would justify them. To me they did not then, and do not now,
+seem very objectionable; and it certainly did not occur to me that I
+could thereby wound the most sensitive feelings. Of course I was an
+imbecile, and ought to have realised that a question like that was only
+a phrase, with no serious meaning. I gave a promise, you say, and have
+broken it. It is a pity. I had rather have sinned in any other way,
+for I have my pride too, and it asserts itself chiefly in the keeping
+of promises, rather than the gift of them. As to the conscience, I
+deeply sympathise. An offended conscience must be a very inconvenient,
+not to say unpleasant, companion. But you were greatly enjoying
+yourself (you impress that upon me, so you will not be offended if I
+mention it), therefore I conclude your conscience was satisfied by the
+uncompromising expression of your sense of my misdeeds. Might I ask
+which way your conscience was looking when you wrote this letter to me,
+or does it feel no call to speak on my behalf? I would rather my hand
+were palsied than write such a letter to any one, and you know that
+I have forfeited your favour in trying to do your will. I think your
+quarrel was rather with your conscience than with me; but it is well to
+keep friends with those of one’s own household.
+
+Truly it is an evil thing to stake one’s happiness upon the value
+of _x_ in an indeterminate equation. It is possible to regard the
+unknown quantity with philosophy; it is like the unattainable. The
+mischief all comes with what looks like solution, but proves in the end
+to be drawn from false premises. Lines can be straight, and figures
+may be square, but sentient beings are less reliable, and therefore
+more interesting--as studies. The pity is that we sometimes get too
+close, in our desire to examine minutely what looks most beautiful
+and most attractive. Then proximity destroys the powers of critical
+judgment, and, from appearances, we draw conclusions which are
+utterly unreliable, because our own intelligence is obscured by the
+interference of our senses. We have to count with quantities that not
+only have no original fixed value, but vary from day to day, and even
+from hour to hour.
+
+You will say that if I can liken you to an algebraic sign, speak of
+you as a “quantity” and “an indeterminate equation,” it cannot matter
+much whether you write to me in terms of hate or love. If, however,
+you consider where you are and where I am, and if, when this lies in
+your hand, you are on good terms with your pride and your conscience,
+you may be able to spare, from the abundance you lavish on them, a
+grain of sympathy for me in my loneliness. Is it a crime for the humble
+worshipper to seek to assure the deity of his unaltered devotion? It
+used not to be so; and though the temple has infinite attractions for
+me, the tavern none, I could say with the Persian--
+
+    “And this I know: whether the one True Light
+     Kindle to love, or Wrath-consume me quite,
+       One Flash of It within the Tavern caught
+     Better than in the Temple lost outright.”
+
+Life is too short, and too full of storm and stress, to induce any one
+to stake it on a proved uncertainty, however attractive. It is better
+never to take ship at all than to be constantly meeting disaster on
+the shoals and rocks of the loveliest summer sea. Of the end of such a
+venture there is no uncertainty. The bravest craft that ever left port
+will be reduced to a few rotting timbers, while the sea smiles anew on
+what is but a picturesque effect.
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+OF IMPORTUNITY
+
+
+I must unburden myself to you, because I may do so without offence,
+without shocking you beyond forgiveness; for I feel that if my letter
+were to another, I should either have to use such self-control that
+I should gain no relief for my injured feelings, or else the other
+would think I had gone mad, and blot my name out of the book of her
+correspondents--two r’s, please. You see I am in an evil mood, the
+bad tense of the evil mood; so I may as well begin in the green leaf
+what is sure to come in the brown. Besides, you are partly to blame! Is
+not that like a man? You supplied me with the fruit of this knowledge
+which has set my teeth on edge, but it is also true that you gave it
+in furtherance of my request and to oblige me. I fancy that was the
+case with Eve. Adam probably sent her up a tree (the expression has
+lasted to our own time), looked the other way, and pretended he had
+forgotten all about it when the obliging lady came down and tendered
+the result of her painful efforts. It is bad enough to climb with your
+clothes on, as I saw the other day, when I induced a friend to swarm
+up a fern-tree by telling him I did not believe he could do it. But
+this is all beside the mark;--what has roused my ire is a parcel of new
+books, kindly selected by you to cheer my solitude. As they came direct
+from the bookseller, I do not know whether you have read them, but
+they are very new indeed, and, from what you say, I think you must at
+least have wrestled with some of them. Very recent publications, like
+many of these, are rather a rarity here, and, as I was particularly
+busy, I lent some of them to friends who are always hungering for
+new literature. Now I am rather sorry, though I washed my hands of
+the transaction by saying that I would not take the responsibility
+of recommending anything, but they were at liberty to take what they
+liked. In due time the volumes were returned, without comment, but
+with the pages cut. I did not think anything of that at the time, the
+realities of the moment interested me a great deal more than any book
+could; but now I have read some of the batch, and I am suffering from
+an earnest desire to meet the authors and “have it out with them.” As
+however, that is not in my power, I am going to victimise you. There
+is one story, of a kind that is now common enough, that is specially
+aggravating. If you have read it you will know which I refer to; if
+not, I won’t tell you. It is written by a woman, and discourses in
+a very peculiar fashion on the ways of men. That is of no particular
+moment, for the writer has either a very indifferent knowledge of men,
+or she is not to be congratulated on her male friends, or she has had
+some very unfortunate personal experiences, and judges the species by
+some repulsive individuals. It was a man who said that women do not
+possess the sentiment of justice, and he might, if he had wished to
+be fair, have added that it is comparatively rare in men. Men have
+written many unkind and untrue things about women as a sex, but they
+cannot have harmed them much, since their influence over the beings,
+derisively styled “Lords of Creation” is certainly on the increase,
+especially in new countries like America.
+
+What, however, is rather strange is that, in the book I speak of, there
+are two women--joint-heroines, as it were--held up for the reader’s
+admiration, but described as perfectly odious creatures. The story,
+however, is practically confined to the life and character of one of
+these ladies, and the exact position of the other, in relation to
+her friend, is not altogether clear, nor of any concern as regards
+my point. Let me then speak of the one woman as the heroine; it is
+to her I wish to apply the epithet odious. The writer, I take it, is
+very pleased and satisfied with the lady of her creation, and, whilst
+she never loses an opportunity of enlarging on the very objectionable
+characteristics of all men of birth and education, she evidently means
+the reader to understand that she has drawn and coloured the picture of
+a very perfect and altogether captivating woman. A young, beautiful,
+intelligent, highly educated, perfectly dressed woman, surrounded by
+every luxury that great wealth and good taste can secure, may easily be
+captivating, and it might be counted something less than a crime that
+a number of admirers should be anxious to marry her. When it comes to
+character it is different; and even though the spectacle of a woman
+with fewer attractions than I have named, and a disposition that left
+something to be desired, enslaving men of renown, is not unknown to
+history, it seems a little unusual to design a heroine as the very
+embodiment of selfishness, and then exhibit her as the perfect woman.
+The life that is shown to us is chiefly that of a girl,--old enough,
+and independent and intelligent enough, to know perfectly what she was
+doing,--constantly allowing, or alluring, men to make love to her; and
+then, when they wished to marry her, telling them in language which,
+if not considerate, was certainly plain, how deeply insulted she felt.
+If they wasted years and years, or lost their useless, sinful lives
+altogether, over her, that was a matter of such absolute indifference
+that it never gave her a second thought or a moment of regret. She
+did not avoid men altogether; on the contrary, she seemed rather fond
+of their society, as she had only one woman friend, and is described
+as giving them all ample opportunities of declaring their passionate
+admiration for her beauty and intelligence. The lovers were many and
+varied; coming from the peerage, the squirearchy, the army, the Church,
+and other sources; but they all met with the same fate, and each in
+turn received a special lecture on the vice and amazing effrontery of
+his proposal.
+
+I suppose it is a book with a purpose, and, unlike a Scotch sermon, it
+is divided into only two heads. As to one, I could imagine the reply
+might be in the form of another book styled “Her Lord the Eunuch.”
+Biblical history deals with the species. It is less common now, but if
+a demand again arises, no doubt there will be a supply to meet it. That
+is the head I cannot discuss, even in these days of _fin de siècle_
+literature, wherein it is a favourite subject, and would have fewer
+difficulties than the case of a nineteenth-century Virgin Mary, which
+formed the text of one volume in the parcel. The other consideration
+seems to rest on safe ground, with no treacherous bogs or dangerous
+quicksands, and therefore I venture to ask you what you think of this
+paragon of all the virtues. Is she the type of a woman’s woman? One
+sometimes, but very, very rarely, meets a woman like this, in England
+at any rate; and though the lady’s girdle is certain to be decorated
+with a collection of male scalps of all ages and many colours, very few
+of her own sex will be found in the number of her friends or admirers.
+Her charity is generally a form of perversity; for if she occasionally
+lavishes it on some animal or human being, it is a caprice that costs
+her little, and to the horse or dog which fails in instant obedience,
+to the beggar or relative who importunes, she is passionately or coldly
+cruel. Yet her fascination is real enough, but it seldom endures. There
+is no need to sympathise with the would-be lovers, who are rejected yet
+still importunate. When, as sometimes happens in a world of change,
+there has been mutual love between man and woman, and one has ceased to
+love, it is natural enough that the other should desire to retain what
+may still be, to him or her, the only thing worth living for. But to
+importune a woman to give herself, her body and soul, her whole destiny
+till death, when she does not wish it, is to ask for something that
+it were better not to precisely define. Presumably if the man thinks
+he is in love, it is the woman’s love he wants. She says she does
+not love him, and he is a fool, or worse, to take anything less, even
+when she is willing to sacrifice or sell herself for any conceivable
+reason. Surely, if the man had any real regard for her, he would think
+first of her happiness, and refuse to take advantage of her weakness or
+necessities. Besides, her misery could not be his advantage, and the
+worn-out sophism of parents or other interested persons, that “she did
+not know her own mind, and would get to like him,” is too hazardous a
+chance on which to stake the welfare of two lives. Of course men plague
+women to marry them after they have been refused. The world is full of
+people who want what is not for them, and are not too particular as to
+the means, if they can secure the end. But I wonder what a man would
+say if some woman he did not care about worried his life out to marry
+her. Man is easily flattered, the sensation is with him comparatively
+rare, and he is very susceptible to the agreeable fumes of that
+incense; but only the very weakest would be lured to the altar, and the
+after-life of the lady who took him there would not be an altogether
+happy one. Man and his descendants have had a grudge against the first
+woman for thousands of years, for an alleged proposal of hers that is
+said to have interfered with his prospects. It is not chivalrous for a
+man to press a woman to “let him love her, if she can’t love him;”
+it is not a very nice proposition, if he will take it home and work
+it out quietly; it is something very like an insult to her, and it is
+certainly not likely to be anything but a curse to him. That is when
+she is endowed with those charming qualities common to most women.
+When, however, as in the case I have referred to, she has a special
+aversion to men generally, and him in particular, and prides herself
+on the possession of characteristics that he could not admire in his
+own mother, to still insist upon forcing the lady into a union with
+him is to be vindictively silly. It is hardly necessary to go as far
+as this to prove his determination and his title to a sort of spurious
+constancy.
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+OF COINCIDENCES
+
+
+In spite of the testimony of many worthy and some unworthy people,
+I have not yet been able to accept spiritual manifestations and the
+reappearance of the dead as even remotely probable. I think most of
+the current ghost stories are capable of a simple explanation, if
+one could only get an unvarnished statement of real facts from the
+witnesses. Usually, however, those on whose authority these stories
+rest, are constitutionally of such a nervous organisation that they
+are physically incapable of describing with exact accuracy what they
+saw or heard. When, as not infrequently happens, those who have seen
+visions admit to having felt that extremity of fear which bathes
+them in a cold perspiration, or makes their hair rise up straight
+on their heads (this last is not, I think, alleged by women), then
+there is all the more reason to doubt their testimony. Undoubtedly
+curious things happen which do not admit of easy explanation, but
+they are not necessarily supernatural, or connected in any way with
+the return of the dead to the sight of the living. Dreams, again, are
+sometimes very curious, and it might be difficult to offer a reasonable
+explanation of some dream-experiences, especially those which lead to
+the backing of winning horses or the purchase of prize-tickets in a
+lottery. A really reliable dreamer of this kind would be a valuable
+investment; but, unfortunately, there is a want of certainty about even
+those who have, once in a lifetime, brought off a successful _coup_.
+Still, it has happened. I myself have heard a dreamer--who was also a
+dream-talker--place accurately the three first horses in a coming race;
+but I had not sufficient confidence in the “tip” to take advantage of
+it. In that case, too, the winner was a very pronounced favourite. Many
+people say they have dreamt of strange places, and _afterwards_ seen
+those places in reality, and even been able to find their way about
+in them. It may be so. For myself, I cannot say I have ever had such
+an experience, but I believe (I say it doubtfully, because one may be
+deceived about journeys in dreamland) that I have often seen the same
+places in different dreams, dreamed after intervals of years, so that,
+while dreaming, I have at once recognised the place as a familiar scene
+in my dreamland. But those places I have never beheld on earth. In my
+early youth, scared by tales of the bottomless pit and the lake of
+brimstone, I used to dream, almost nightly, of those places of torment;
+but it is a long time ago, and I have quite forgotten what they were
+like. I have no ambition to renew my acquaintance, or to be given the
+opportunity of comparing the reality with the nightmare of my childish
+imagination and a cramped position. Apart from these more or less vain
+considerations, I have known some very curious coincidences, and I will
+tell you the story of one of them.
+
+I was journeying in a strange, a distant, and an almost unknown land.
+More than this, I was the guest of the only white man in a remote
+district of that country. It was a particularly lovely spot, and,
+being an idler for the moment, I asked my host, after a few days,
+what there was of interest that I could go and see. He said he would
+send a servant with me to show me a cemetery, where were buried a
+number of Englishmen who, some few years before, had been killed or
+died in the neighbourhood, during the progress of one of England’s
+successful little military expeditions. That afternoon I was led to the
+cemetery in question. I have seldom seen a more glorious succession
+of pictures than were presented by the view from that lovely spot;
+and never in any country have I beheld a more ideal resting-place for
+the honoured dead. It did not surprise me that my host told me he had
+already selected his own corner, and repeatedly made it the objective
+of his afternoon walks. Within a fenced enclosure, partly surrounded by
+graceful, ever-green trees, lay the small plot of carefully kept grass
+which formed the burial-ground. It occupied the summit of a rising
+ground commanding a magnificent view of the surrounding country. From
+the gate the ground sloped steeply down to a road, and then dropped
+sheer forty or fifty feet to the waters of a great, wide, crystal-clear
+river, flowing over a bed of golden sand. Under this steep and lofty
+bank, the base all rock, the river swirled deep and green; but it
+rapidly shallowed towards the centre, and the opposite shore, seven
+hundred feet distant, was a wide expanse of sand, half-circled by
+great groves of palms, and backed by steep, forest-clad hills. The
+river made a wide sweep here, so that, looking down on it from such
+a height gave it rather the appearance of a huge lake narrowing into
+the distant hills. Picturesque villages lined both banks of the river,
+the houses showing splashes of colour between the trees. Boats of
+quaint build--sailing, poling, paddling, rowing--passed up and down
+the broad stream, giving life to the scene; while at distances varying
+from three miles to thirty or more, the valley was shut in by lofty
+mountains, green near by, with their garment of unbroken forest, but,
+in the distance, blue as an Italian sky. I drank this in, felt it all
+as a feeling, this and much more with which I will not weary you, and
+then I turned to look at the grass-covered mounds and wooden crosses
+that marked the graves of the exiled dead. I was standing in front of
+a somewhat more pretentious headstone, which marked the resting-place
+of an officer killed a few miles from this spot, when, through the
+wicket, came a messenger bearing a letter for me. The cover bore many
+post-marks, signs of a long chase, and here at last it had caught me
+in my wanderings. I did not recognise the handwriting, but when I had
+opened the letter and looked at the signature, I realised that it was
+that of an old lady who was but an acquaintance, and one of whom
+I had not heard for years. I read the letter, and I may confess to
+some little astonishment. It told me that, hearing that I was leaving
+England for a long journey, and that I should eventually arrive at
+somewhere in the East, the writer wished to tell me that her daughter
+(whom I hardly remembered) had married a certain soldier, that he had
+been killed some time before, and was buried in some place (which she
+tried indifferently to name) where there were no Europeans. If I should
+ever be in the neighbourhood, would I try to find his grave, and tell
+them something about it; for they were in great grief, and no one could
+relieve their anxiety on the subject of their loved one’s last home.
+
+It seemed to me a somewhat remarkable coincidence that I should, at
+that moment, be standing in front of the stone which told me that,
+underneath that emerald turf, lay all that was left of the poor
+lady’s son-in-law, the grief-stricken daughter’s husband. The
+situation appealed to my artistic instincts. I sat down, there and
+then, and, with a pencil and a bit of paper, I made a rough sketch of
+the soldier’s grave; carefully drawing the headstone, and inscribing
+on it, in very plain and very black print, the legend that I saw in
+front of me. Then I went home, and, while the situation was hot upon
+me, I wrote, not to the mother, but to the widow, a little account of
+what had occurred, using the most appropriate and touching language I
+could think of, to describe the scene and my deep sympathy. Finally I
+enclosed the little picture, which I had drawn with such a compelling
+sense of my responsibilities, and the unique character of the
+opportunity, to show that I was a man of rather uncommon feeling. Much
+pleased with the result of my efforts, I entrusted the letter to my
+friend (there was no such thing as a post-office), and we became almost
+sentimental over the chastened tears with which my letter would be read
+by the two poor ladies.
+
+The mother’s letter to me had wandered about for two or three months
+before it came to my hands; but I learned,--ages afterwards,--that my
+letter to the daughter was a far longer time in transit; not the fault
+of my friend, but simply of the general unhingedness of things in those
+wild places.
+
+The letter did at last arrive, and was handed to the widow on the
+day she was married to a new husband. That is why I believe in the
+quaintness of coincidences.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+OF A COUNTRY-HOUSE CUSTOM
+
+
+I went one morning to a hotel in London to call upon a celebrated
+writer of fiction, a lady, and she told me that, as a protest against
+ideas which she despised, she always locked her door when she was
+talking to a man. I stayed there about two hours, but I don’t
+remember whether the door was locked or not, probably not; no one,
+however, tried it, and my reputation survived the ordeal. The practice
+is unconventional, though innocent enough. It is much more common to
+find yourself in a lady’s room, at night, in a country-house in
+England, and there you may talk to a friend, perhaps to two, and even,
+on occasions, smoke a cigarette, while the door is seldom locked. Do
+you see any harm in it? The thing itself is so pleasant that I do not
+mean to discuss with you the fors and againsts; I am satisfied that
+it is often done, and that I sometimes profit by the arrangement. A
+century ago, or rather more, it was common enough, if not in England,
+certainly on the Continent, and the guest was sometimes present while
+the lady lay in bed, or made her toilette. It is conceivable that this
+custom deserved to be discouraged, and it seems to have gone out of
+fashion, no doubt for sufficiently good reasons.
+
+I was once a guest in a delightful country-house in the heart of
+England, a house where nothing was lacking that could contribute to
+comfort, and where the hostess was attraction sufficient to draw
+visitors from the uttermost parts of the earth, and keep them with
+her as long as she desired their presence. She was wayward (an added
+charm), and the company came and went, and some came again, but none
+remained long enough to become overpoweringly tedious or compromisingly
+_épris_. It was winter, the hard earth was full of “bone,” the waters
+icebound, and the face of the country white with a thick covering of
+frozen snow. There were but few of us in the house, and we had been
+skating on the ornamental water in a neighbour’s park, miles away.
+That was the only form of exercise open to us, and we had enjoyed
+it. The long walk over the crisp snow and the uneven cart tracks
+of a country road, the intoxicating ease and rapidity of motion
+over the glassy ice, the ring of steel on that hard, smooth surface,
+how distinctly they all come back! And then the trudge home in the
+gathering dusk, between the woods whose snow-laden trees looked the
+very picture of winter,--it was all delightful and exhilarating, and,
+if our dinner-party was small, it was certainly a merry one. When we
+parted on the stairs it was close on midnight, and I was standing
+enjoying the blaze of my fire and the intense cosiness of my room, when
+there came a knock, and what I had thought was a cupboard-door opened
+to admit the head of our charming chatelaine, with an inquiry as to my
+comfort and contentment, and an invitation to put on a smoking-jacket
+and have a cigarette in her snuggery. I very eagerly and gratefully
+accepted that offer, and a few minutes later found myself in the most
+delightfully warm, cosy, and withal artistically beautiful room the
+heart and mind of woman could desire or design. This boudoir faced
+the front of the house, and looking over the lawn and terraces were
+three French windows, through which streamed bright rays of moonlight,
+for the shutters were not closed. Within, a great wood fire blazed
+on a wide hearth of olive-green tiles. Two lamps, with shades of
+_vieille rose_, shed a soft glow over inviting-looking chairs, thick
+carpet, tables littered with books and papers, lovely bits of porcelain
+and bronze, treasures in burnished silver and dull red gold. Every
+chair looked as if it were made for comfort, and the whole room said
+unmistakably, “This is where I live.” I should have noted the general
+effect at a glance, but I had time to appreciate the details, for, when
+I entered, I found the room unoccupied. In a few minutes my hostess
+appeared from her room, which opened out of this fascinating retreat,
+and said--
+
+“Well, how do you like my snuggery; is it not cosy?”
+
+I said it was charming and delightful, and everything that good taste
+and an appreciation of real comfort could make it.
+
+“I am so glad,” she said; “will you smoke one of my cigarettes?”
+
+“Thank you, yes.”
+
+“Shall I light it for you?”
+
+“That would be most kind.”
+
+“There; now we can make ourselves quite comfortable and have a real
+good chat, and no one will come to disturb us. What have you been doing
+with yourself all this time? What new friends have you made? What books
+have you been reading? Tell me all about everything. I think you
+would be more comfortable over there; don’t worry about me, this is
+my favourite seat, but I change about and never sit very long in one
+place. You can imagine I am your Father Confessor, so don’t keep me
+waiting; tell it all, and keep back nothing; you know I shall be sure
+to find you out if you try to deceive me.”
+
+I found a seat--not exactly where I had first wished to place myself,
+but where I was put--and our chat was so mutually interesting that I
+was surprised to find it was 2 A.M. when my hostess told me I must go
+to bed. I must have smoked a good many cigarettes, and I have a vague
+recollection that there were glasses with spiritual comfort as well;
+it is probable, for nothing that any reasonable human being could want
+was ever lacking there. I know that I lingered, and the white light
+through the curtains drew us both to the window. Never shall I forget
+the incomparable picture of that snow-covered landscape;--glittering,
+scintillating under the silver radiance of a full winter moon, riding
+high in a clear, grey, frosty sky. The absolute stillness of it; not
+a sign of life; the bare trees throwing sharp shadows on the dazzling
+whiteness of a prospect broken only by the evergreens of the garden,
+the cleared stone steps of the terraces, and beyond, a small stream
+winding through the narrow valley, and forming a little lake of as yet
+unfrozen water, its ever rippling surface showing black and sombre
+under the shadow of a high bank which shut out the moonlight. The
+contrast between that outside,--the coldness, the whiteness, the sense
+of far-into-the-nightness, which somehow struck one instantly; and the
+inside,--the warmth, the comfort, the subtle sympathy of companionship
+with a most fascinating, most beautiful, perfectly-garmented woman: it
+was too striking to be ever forgotten. The picture has risen unbidden
+before my eyes on many a night since then, under other skies and widely
+different circumstances.
+
+Turning away from the window, I could see through an open door into
+my companion’s room, and I said, “How did you get into my room?”
+“Very easily,” she answered; “there is a cupboard in the thickness of
+the wall between your room and mine; it opens into both rooms, but is
+at present full of my gowns, as you would have seen had you had the
+curiosity to look in, and the door happened to be unlocked.”
+
+I said I had abundant curiosity, and would gratify it when I got back.
+
+My hostess smiled and said, “There is nothing to find out now; I have
+told you all there is to tell. Good night.”
+
+“But,” I said, “why should I go all the way round, through cold
+passages, when I can walk straight through to my room by this way?” and
+I pointed to the open door.
+
+“That is very ingenious of you,” she answered; “and you are not
+wanting either in the quick grasp of a situation, or the assurance to
+make the most of it. You do not deserve that I should pay you such a
+pretty compliment! It is too late for banter; I am getting sleepy. Good
+night.”
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+A MERE LIE
+
+
+As the tale I am going to tell you is only a lie, you will understand
+that it is not of my making; I cannot even pretend to have heard it
+at first hand. The author was a scientist who lied in the intervals
+between his researches. It was a relief, I suppose, after too close
+contact with the eternal truths of Nature. His mental fingers seemed
+to wander over the keys of an instrument of romance, striking strange
+chords and producing unsuspected effects in an accompaniment to which
+he sang a perpetual solo.
+
+Amongst the most eccentric of his class the Professor would still have
+been a remarkable character. No one seemed to know to what nationality
+he belonged, and it was useless to ask him for any information, because
+of the doubt which clouded any statement that he made. Indeed, to
+put it shortly, he lied like a tombstone. When I met him his only
+companion was a Papuan boy, so black that a bit of coal would have made
+a white mark on him; and the Professor would affectionately stroke the
+child’s head, and say that when he had grown bigger, when his skull
+was fully developed, he meant to take it, and was looking forward to
+the day when he could examine it carefully, inside and out, and compare
+it with the skulls of certain wild tribes which, he felt certain, he
+should thus be able to prove were of true Melanesian origin. He would
+then sometimes relate how, during a visit to Cadiz, he took a great
+fancy to the head of a Spaniard whom he met there. He thought the man
+was in failing health; but as he could not waste time in the Peninsula,
+he looked about for some means of hastening the possibly slow progress
+of disease. The Professor soon found that the owner of the head had a
+reckless and profligate nephew, with whom he scraped acquaintance. To
+him the Professor said that he had observed his uncle, and thought him
+looking far from well, indeed, he did not fancy he could last long,
+and, explaining that he was himself an anthropologist, concerned in
+scientific studies for the benefit of humanity, he arranged with the
+nephew that, _when his uncle died_, the Professor should pay a sum of
+£30 and be allowed to take the uncle’s head. The uncle died shortly
+afterwards, and the money was paid, but the nephew, a man without
+principle, buried his relative in defiance of his bargain with the
+Professor.
+
+The means by which the man of science secured full value for his
+investment made one of his best stories; and some day I may tell it to
+you, but, when I began this letter, I had quite a different adventure
+in my mind, and I will take the liberty of asking you to suppose that
+the collector of skulls is telling you his own tale in his own way.
+
+“I was in Australia, where I had already met with some strange
+experiences, the last of them a disastrous expedition into the desert,
+where, when I was quite alone and a thousand miles from the nearest
+habitation, I fell over two precipices, first breaking my right and
+then immediately afterwards my left leg. I got back to civilisation
+with some difficulty, as I had to crawl on my hands most of the way,
+dragging my broken legs behind me; but what really made the journey
+seem long was the fact that I had to forage for my own sustenance as
+well. I was somewhat exhausted by these hardships, and was giving
+myself a short holiday for rest, when Australia was moved to a pitch
+of the greatest excitement and indignation by the exploits of a
+daring bushranger, who set the Police and the Government at defiance,
+and established such a panic in the land that a party of Volunteers
+was formed, sworn to track the outlaw down and bring him in alive or
+dead. I do not say that I had any ultimate designs on the man’s
+head, but still the skull of a person of that type could not fail to
+be interesting. So, partly as a relaxation, but mainly in the cause of
+science, I joined the expedition.
+
+“It would not interest you to describe our failures--how the man
+outwitted us; how, just when we thought we had him, he would slip
+through our fingers, partly by his own skill, his knowledge of the
+bush, and the excellence of his horses, but mainly, I think, by the
+help of sympathisers, who always gave warning of our movements and most
+secret plans. I will pass over all that and take you to the final scene
+in the drama.
+
+“When we were not actually in the bush we were following our quarry
+from one country-place to another, as the information we received gave
+us a clue to his whereabouts. It seldom happened that we passed a night
+in a town, and, when not camping out, we were billeted on the people
+of the district, the wealthiest and most important of them being
+too glad to place their houses at our disposal. One evening, after a
+hot pursuit, feeling sure we were close upon the trail of our man,
+we reached a great house where a number of guests were already being
+entertained. In spite of our numbers we were welcomed with effusion,
+and, after dinner, the ladies of the party took advantage of the sudden
+arrival of a number of young fellows ready for anything to get up an
+impromptu dance. I am not a dancing man--my time has been spent in
+communion with Nature, in reading in the open book of Truth--therefore
+I left the revellers and went to bed.
+
+“We had had a long and a hard day in the saddle, and I was weary, and
+must have fallen asleep almost as soon as I lay down.
+
+“Now I must tell you what I afterwards heard from others of my party.
+It was a little after midnight, and the dancing was going on with
+great spirit, when I--this, of course, is what they tell me--suddenly
+appeared at a door of the ball-room in my night-dress, with a rifle
+in my hand, and, without hesitation, I walked through the room and
+out into a verandah that led towards the back of the house. My head
+was thrown somewhat back, my eyes were wide open and seemed fixed on
+some distant object, while I was evidently unconscious of my immediate
+surroundings.
+
+“I fear my sudden entry into the dancing-room in such a very
+unconventional dress was rather a shock to some of the ladies. I am
+told that several screamed, and one or more of the older ones fainted;
+but for myself I knew none of this till afterwards. It appears that,
+what with astonishment at my appearance, and the necessary attentions
+to the ladies whose nerves were upset, a little time elapsed before any
+one thought of following me. Then some one fancied he heard the sound
+of a horse’s feet, and the men of my party pulled themselves together
+and made for the stables, as that was the direction I seemed to have
+taken.
+
+“I was nowhere to be seen; but a stable door was open, and my horse,
+saddle, and bridle had gone. Then the matter began to look serious,
+and, as my friends saddled their horses and started to look for me,
+riding they hardly knew where, there were rather dismal forebodings
+of the probable fate of even a fully-clad man luckless enough to be
+lost in the Australian bush. It was a lovely starlight night with a
+young moon, and, under other circumstances, the ride might have been
+pleasant enough; but the aimlessness of the whole business was becoming
+painfully evident to the searchers, when the sound of a rifle-shot was
+distinctly heard at no great distance. The horses’ heads were turned
+towards the direction from which the sound came, and the troop pushed
+on at a brisk pace. Almost immediately, a faint column of smoke was
+perceived, and as the horsemen approached the spot, the embers of a
+dying fire shed a slight ruddy glow in the darkness. The word was
+passed to proceed with caution, but the party was already so close that
+they could see my white night-dress, as I stood with naked feet by the
+side of my horse, regarding, with a half-dazed expression, the smoking
+rifle which I held in my hand. Sixty yards off was the thin column of
+smoke rising from the dying fire.
+
+“I was surrounded by my friends, who all spoke at once, and fired a
+perfect volley of questions at me. I said, ‘Softly, gentlemen, softly,
+and I will tell you all I know about it, for indeed the situation seems
+strange enough. As you know I went to bed. I slept and I dreamed. I
+suppose I was over-wrought, and my mind was full of the bushranger,
+for I thought I was again on his track, out in the bush, on horseback
+and alone. It was night, but I seemed to be riding with a purpose, or
+my horse knew where he was going, for by-and-by I was drawn towards
+a thin column of white smoke, the smoke of a wood fire, and then, as
+I got nearer, I caught the flickering glow of dying embers. I _felt_
+the object of our search was there, and I moved forward with extreme
+caution, till I had got within a hundred yards, and then I distinctly
+saw the outlaw lying perfectly straight on the ground, his feet towards
+the fire, and his horse hobbled hard by. I say I saw the outlaw, but
+I was dreaming, and in my dream I _knew_ it was the man, though I
+could not see his face. I dismounted, and, leading my horse, I got to
+within sixty yards of the sleeper. Then, fearing that if I went nearer
+he might wake and escape me, I took a steady aim, pulled the trigger,
+and--the next instant I was wide awake standing here in my night-dress.’
+
+“Almost before I had finished I saw men looking towards the fire, which
+was no dream, and we all of us now distinctly made out the form of a
+man, lying on his side, almost on his face, with his feet towards the
+embers and his head by the bush. Moreover, we could both see and hear
+a horse, that was evidently hobbled not very far from the sleeper.
+It did not take long to surround the spot where the man lay; but, as
+we rapidly closed in on the sleeper, he never stirred. A moment more
+and we were beside him. A dark stream, on which the glow from the
+fire seemed to shed some of its own red light, was oozing slowly from
+beneath the man’s chest; and, as several hands turned his face up to
+the stars and the pale moonlight, it was too evident that he was dead,
+and that his life had gone out with that crimson stream which flowed
+from a bullet wound in his heart.
+
+“I did not know the man myself, but several of our party recognised
+him. It was the bushranger, and, as I expected, his skull was not
+without features of special interest to science.”
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+TIGERS AND CROCODILES
+
+
+When I first came, a visitor, to the Malay Peninsula, I was struck by
+the fact that wherever I went I heard stories of tigers. If, in the
+course of a day’s ride, I stopped at a village to eat my luncheon,
+the people who pressed round to watch me and have a chat would always
+tell me a tiger story of local and comparatively recent occurrence.
+Wherever I encamped for the night, I should be sure of at least one
+tale of successful attack or successful resistance, where a tiger
+had filled the principal rôle. When once I understood the little
+peculiarity, I took it as a matter of course, and at talking time I
+used to say, “Now tell me about the tiger: what was it he did?” It may
+have been accident, but it is no exaggeration to say that my question
+nearly always drew forth a more or less ghastly story.
+
+Now that my visit is nearly over, it occurs to me that, though I
+have accumulated an almost endless series of more or less interesting
+tales of the “low, crouching horror with the cruel fangs,” I have
+not retailed any of them to you. In a certain number of cases I was
+myself near enough to be able to verify details, and in others I had
+means of proving main facts. One is almost bound to say that, because
+tiger-stories, which are worth repeating, are almost always listened
+to with incredulity, or, what is worse, with that banter which often
+means, in plain words, “What I have not seen myself I decline to
+believe.” That is the attitude of England to the Orient in the presence
+of a tiger-story with which the auditors can claim no connection. I
+said that the prevalence of these tales struck me on my first arrival.
+I soon became _blasé_, and for a long time I have had no curiosity
+on the subject; but I will tell you of two tiger incidents that I
+personally verified, as far as I was able, and I will make no attempt
+to paint in the background with local colour, in order to supply you
+with finished pictures.
+
+There is an island by the western shore of the Straits of Malacca.
+You would never guess it to be an island, for it is simply a block of
+mangrove-covered mud, with one side towards the sea, and the other
+three sides separated from the mainland by deep but narrow lagoons
+of tidal water. The only inhabitants are a few wood-cutters, Malays
+and Chinese, who live in huts of mat or bark with palm-leaf roofs,
+while they are employed cutting mangroves and a hard-wood palm called
+_Nîbong_. The huts of the Chinese are on the ground, but the Malay
+dwellings are invariably raised a few feet above the damp soil, and
+to them entry is obtained by means of a ladder. These hovels are very
+carelessly built; they are of flimsy materials, only intended to
+last for a few months, when they are abandoned and rapidly fall to
+pieces. They serve their purpose. The occupants are out from dawn till
+afternoon, when they return to cook, eat, and sleep; and so, from day
+to day, till the job on which they are engaged is completed, and they
+can return, in the case of the Malays, to their families, while the
+Chinese are probably moved to another scene of similar labour.
+
+I was obliged to tell you this; you would not understand the story
+otherwise.
+
+The island covers an area of several thousand acres, but except for
+the few wood-cutters it was, at the time I write of, uninhabited. At
+one spot there was a hut containing two Chinese, near it a Malay house
+with eight or ten men in it, and at no great distance a large shed
+with nearly a score of Chinese. One dark night, about 11 P.M., the two
+Chinese who lived together were awakened by a noise in that part of the
+hut where they kept their food. One of the two got up, struck a light,
+and went into the back room. Immediately there was a dull thud, as of
+a man knocked heavily down, and the poor wretch screamed, “Help me, it
+is a tiger!” His comrade at once got out of his mosquito-curtain, and
+sprang to his friend’s assistance. Seizing him by the arm, he tried
+to free him from the clutches of the tiger, who already had a firm hold
+of the doomed man’s leg. The tug of life and death did not last long,
+for the tiger pulled the would-be rescuer down on his face, and, the
+light having been extinguished in the struggle, the man’s courage
+went out with it, and, in a paroxysm of fear, he climbed on to the
+roof. There he remained till daylight, while, close beneath him, within
+the narrow limits of the hut, the tiger dragged his victim hither and
+thither, snarling and growling, tearing the flesh and crunching the
+bones of the man, whose agonies were mercifully hidden. In the grey
+light which heralds dawn, the watcher, clinging to the roof-ridge,
+saw the tiger drag out of the house and into the forest the shapeless
+remains of his late companion. When once the sun was fairly up, the
+survivor slid down, and without daring to look inside the hut, made his
+way to the nearest Police Station, and reported what had occurred. An
+examination of the premises fully bore out his statement.
+
+A week passed. The Malays, whose hut was nearest to that visited by the
+tiger, were careful to bar their door after hearing what had happened;
+but in this case the precaution proved useless. Easterns, especially
+those engaged in severe manual labour, sleep exceedingly heavily, and
+the men of this household were aroused by a smothered cry from one of
+their number; the noise of a heavy body falling through the thatch
+having passed practically unnoticed. One of the party got up, lighted a
+torch, and was at once knocked down by a tiger springing upon him. In
+a moment every man had seized his heavy chopping-knife, and the whole
+party fell upon the man-eater, and, by the light of the fallen torch,
+hit so hard and straight that the beast suddenly sprang through the
+roof and disappeared. It was then, for the first time, discovered that
+this was the means by which the tiger had effected its entrance, and
+it left by the hole which it had made on entering the hut. The first
+man attacked was dead; the second was taken to hospital, and there died
+of his wounds.
+
+There was a fourth victim. I am not certain of the facts in that case,
+but he was severely injured and was sent to hospital, where, I believe,
+he recovered with the entire loss of his scalp. That filled up the cup
+of crime. Almost directly afterwards the murderer killed a bullock;
+the carcass was poisoned, and the next day the body of a tigress was
+found close by that of her victim. She was not very large, eight feet
+from nose to the tip of the tail; she was in splendid condition--teeth
+perfect and coat glossy--but her legs and feet were disproportionately
+large to the size of her body. On her head there was a deep clean cut,
+and one of her fore-legs was gashed, evidently by a Malay chopper. The
+most curious feature was that in certainly two out of the three cases
+the tigress, who always attacked by night, the only time when the huts
+were occupied, effected her entrance by springing on the roof and
+forcing her way through the thin palm thatching.
+
+There is another tiger story that I can tell you in two words. It is
+curious, it sounds highly improbable; but, after hearing it on the spot
+from the two men concerned, I believe it.
+
+Quite recently it was the fruit season here, and, as is customary, two
+men were watching an orchard situated on the side of a main cart-road.
+The orchard was not enclosed in any way, and the fruit trees on one
+side actually overhung the road. The road was divided from the orchard
+by a rather wide but quite shallow ditch, that was always dry except
+during rain. Fifteen or twenty feet on the inside of this ditch was a
+tiny lean-to under the trees. The shelter consisted of a raised floor
+of split bamboos, covered by a palm-thatch roof, and a narrow sort of
+bench, also under the roof, but level with the floor. The bench was
+next to the high road.
+
+On the night of which I write, one man was sleeping on the bench,
+the other on the floor of the shelter. It was fine, with a young,
+early-setting moon; the scattered houses of a considerable village were
+all round, and there was nothing to fear.
+
+I said before that natives sleep soundly, and you must believe it,
+or you will never credit my story. About 1 A.M. the man sleeping
+on the floor of the shelter heard his friend shouting for help.
+The voice came from the ditch by the road, and thither the man
+ran, shouting “What is the matter?” “Thieves!” promptly replied
+the other, but a moment’s conversation dispelled the idea born
+of his partially-awakened intelligence, and led them to the true
+interpretation of the riddle. The man in the ditch said then, and
+says now, that he was asleep, and knew nothing till he suddenly
+found himself thrown in the ditch, when he awoke and shouted, “Help,
+thieves!” But, all the same, when he tried to get up, and his friend
+helped him to the shelter and got a light, it was seen that he had a
+deep gash in the shoulder, which kept him in hospital for nearly three
+weeks. The light also showed the track of a tiger up to the bench,
+thence to the spot in the ditch where the man was lying, and straight
+across the high road into another orchard. One other thing it showed,
+and that was a patch of earth on the top of the wounded man’s head.
+
+The friend’s theory, shared by all the neighbours, is this. He points
+to the exact position in which the sleeper was lying, and how a post,
+from ground to roof, completely protected the back of his neck, so that
+the tiger could not seize him as he must have wished to do. Owing to
+the man’s position, and the way the post of the house and the rails
+of the bench (for it had a sort of back) ran, the tiger had to take
+a very awkward grip of his prey, catching him by the shoulder, and
+therefore carrying him with his head almost on the ground. Three or
+four steps, a second or two in time, would bring him to the shallow,
+dry ditch. It was so shallow that he would not jump it, but the
+in-and-out of a tiger with a kill would be the equivalent of a jump.
+In he would go easily enough, but the cut slope of the ditch and the
+slight rise into the road on the other side just saved the man’s
+life, for the top of his head hit against the edge of the ditch, and,
+awkwardly held as he was, knocked him out of the tiger’s mouth.
+
+Once dropped, the beast would not return to pick his prey up again,
+especially with one man shouting and the noise of the other coming to
+his assistance.
+
+The tiger is the scourge of the land, the crocodile of the water. They
+seem to be complement and supplement--each of the other: the “golden
+terror with the ebon bars,” the very embodiment of vitality, sinew,
+and muscle--of life that is savage and instant to strike--and the
+stony-eyed, spiky-tailed monster, outwardly a lifeless, motionless
+log; but, once those pitiless jaws open, it is only a question of what
+tooth closes on the victim, whether it be “The last chance,” “Tear the
+shroud,” or “God save your soul.”
+
+I was starting for some hot springs in a remote spot, far in the
+interior, where I was certain of finding both elephant and rhinoceros,
+and the second night of my journey I spent at the junction of two large
+streams. Strolling back from a swim in the river, the local chief told
+me this pathetic story of fruitless heroism.
+
+The country hereabout is very sparsely peopled, only a few scattered
+huts breaking the monotony of the virgin forest, Malays and wild tribes
+the sole inhabitants. Every house is on the bank of a river, and beyond
+the produce of their rice-fields and orchards the people rely mainly on
+the water to supply them with food. The Malay is exceedingly cunning
+in devising various means for catching fish, but what he likes best is
+to go out in the evening, just at sundown, with a casting-net. Either
+he wades about by himself, or, with a boy to steer for him, he creeps
+along in a tiny dug-out, throws his net in the deep pools, and usually
+dives in after it, to free the meshes from the numerous snags on which
+they are sure to become entangled.
+
+One evening, a few days before my arrival, a Malay peasant was netting
+in the river accompanied by his son, a boy of twelve years old. They
+were wading, and, while the father moved along the edge of the deeper
+water under the bank, the boy walked in the shallows out in the stream.
+The short twilight passed, and the darkness of night was gathering over
+the waters of the wide river, when suddenly the father was startled by
+a cry from the boy, and, as he turned, he shuddered to hear the one
+word, “crocodile,” come in an agonised scream from the poor child.
+Dropping his net, the man swam and stumbled through the shallowing
+stream to the boy’s rescue. The child was down, but making frantic,
+though hopelessly ineffectual struggles to free himself from the grip
+of a crocodile which had him by the knee and thigh. The man was naked,
+except for a pair of short trousers; he had no weapon whatever, yet he
+threw himself, without hesitation, on the saurian, and with his hands
+alone began a struggle with the hideous reptile for the possession of
+the boy. The man was on the deep-water side of his foe, determined at
+all costs to prevent him from drowning the child; he had seized the
+creature from behind, so as to save himself from its claws, and he
+tried to find, through darkness and water, the eye-sockets, by which
+alone he could hope to reach a vulnerable joint in its impenetrable
+harness. The father’s fury and despair guided his hands to the
+reptile’s eyes, and pressing his thumbs with all his might on these
+points of less resistance, he inflicted such pain that the creature
+gave a convulsive spring which threw the man backwards into the
+water. But the boy was released, and the saurian retired from the
+fight to sulk and blink over his defeat in some dark pool beneath the
+overhanging grasses of the river bank.
+
+The man carried the boy on shore, and thence to his home; but the poor
+child was so severely injured that, with no skilled surgeon to attend
+him, he died after three days of suffering.
+
+
+
+
+XXV
+
+A ROSE AND A MOTH
+
+
+When I came again to this enchanted mountain, above the steaming
+plains, the first thing I did was to wander in the garden, amid the
+sweet-smelling blossoms and the bees and butterflies, and feast my eyes
+upon the ever-new loveliness of the changeless hills, the changeful sky
+and sea, that crowd the prospect with a thousand pictures of infinite
+beauty and inspiring grandeur. Then I saw a perfect rose, a rose of
+divine, deep colour--betwixt rubies and red wine--of the texture of
+finest velvet, and I gathered it. Once, long ago, at least so it seems,
+you gave me the fellow of this rose, plucked from the same tree. To me
+this flower will always suggest you, for, beyond the association, there
+are certain characteristics which you share with it, “dark and true and
+tender,” a rare sweetness of perfume and, in the heart of the rose, a
+slumbering passion, the like of which will some day wake you to the
+joy or the sorrow of life. I have treasured that sweet-scented blossom
+as long as it would stay with me; and now, when the petals are falling,
+I see that they are the counterpart of three rose-petals that had
+travelled from far over sea in a letter from you. They came the bearers
+of their own message, and now I seem to read it. Have I been very
+dense, or am I only fatuous now? Why can’t they speak, these things
+you have touched, or do they speak and I lack understanding? At least
+you sent them, and that is much from you. I am grateful, and if I am a
+prey to vain imaginings, you will forgive me, and understand that I did
+not, presumptuously and with indecent haste, set about the construction
+of a castle that, even now, has but my wish for its unsubstantial
+foundation.
+
+Last night, this morning rather, for it was between midnight and 1 A.M.,
+I was reading that very weird story about a phantom dog. I was deeply
+engrossed in the weirdest part of it, when I heard a buzzing noise,
+and in a dark corner behind the piano I saw a pair of very strange
+eyes approaching and receding. They were like small coals of fire,
+extraordinarily brilliant, with a pinkish flame, shedding light as
+well as containing it. I realised that they were the eyes of what
+looked like a very large moth, whose wings never ceased to move with
+marvellous rapidity.
+
+My chair was touching a table on which was a long vase of perfume-laden
+lilies, white lilies with yellow hearts, and by-and-by the moth flew
+to the flowers and stood, poised in air, before a lily-blossom. There
+were two very bright lights on the table, and the creature was within
+two feet of me, so I saw it plainly enough. The wings never for an
+instant stopped their vibration, and it was so rapid that I could not
+tell their form or colour. Once directly opposite the flower, the moth
+produced a delicate proboscis, which it inserted into the blossom,
+and then slowly pushed it right up the stamen, apparently in search
+of honey. When extended, this feeler was of quite abnormal length, at
+least two or three inches. What, however, surprised me was that, having
+withdrawn the probe (for that was what it looked like, a very fine
+steel or wire probe, such as dentists use), the instrument seemed to
+go back into the moth’s head, or wherever it came from, to be again
+extended to sound the depths of another blossom. There! it is past
+midnight, and I hear the buzzing in the next room; here it comes; and
+I can examine the creature again. Alas! what a disappointment: this is
+a horned beetle. I thought it made over-much noise for my interesting
+friend. Now to continue my tale.
+
+I observed the moth had a large, dark, cigar-shaped body, with two
+longish _antennæ_, much stouter than the proboscis, and infinitely
+shorter. After pursuing its researches into the internal economy of
+several lilies, the thing flew into my face, and I ought to have
+caught and examined it, for then the feeler had disappeared; but I was
+surprised and rather alarmed, and I thought it would return to the
+flowers, and I could again watch, and, if necessary, catch it. It made,
+however, for a dark corner, and then buzzed about the wooden ceiling
+till it came to an iron hook from which hung a basket of ferns. I was
+carefully watching it all the time, and at the hook it disappeared, the
+buzzing ceased, and I concluded the creature had gone into a hole where
+it probably lived. To-day, in daylight, I examined the ceiling all
+round the hook, but there was no hole anywhere.
+
+Now is this the beginning of the dog business, and am I to be haunted
+by those fiery eyes, by the ceaseless clatter of those buzzing wings,
+and the long supple feeler that suggests the tortures of dentistry,
+and may probe deep into the recesses of my brain? It can’t, I
+think, be liver, for I have not yet learnt on which side of me that
+useful organ lies, and it is not drink. If it is only a moth of a
+rather uncommon kind, I suppose the fire in its eyes is to light
+it through the darkness; but I never before saw a moth going into
+raptures over flowers, and I can’t yet understand where it puts
+away that instrument of torture, unless it winds it round a bobbin,
+inside its head or its body, when not using it. It reminds me of a
+man I saw swallowing swords at the Aquarium. I was quite willing to
+admire and believe, until he took up a sword, the blade of which, by
+outside measurement, stretched from his mouth nearly to his knee, and
+swallowed it to the hilt at one gulp. Then I doubted; and the knotty
+sticks, umbrellas, and bayonets, which he afterwards disposed of
+with consummate ease, only increased my dislike for him. Still this
+proboscis is not an umbrella, and though it is about twice as long
+as the moth itself, and seems to come out of the end of its nose, I
+know so little of the internal arrangements of these creatures that I
+dare say this one can, by winding the instrument up like the spring
+of a watch, find room for it in its head. Why the thing won’t keep
+its wings still, and sit quietly on the petals of the flower while it
+thrusts that probe into the lily’s nerve-centres, I can’t imagine.
+Then one could examine it quietly, and not go to bed in fear of a
+deadly nightmare.
+
+Perhaps, after all, it is the result of reading about that “Thing too
+much,” that starving, murderous cur, at 1 A.M.; if it is, I had better
+go to bed now, for it has just struck the hour. Am I wrong about the
+message of the rose? You see how hard I try to do your bidding.
+
+
+
+
+XXVI
+
+A LOVE-PHILTRE
+
+
+There is, to me, something strangely attractive about Muhammadan
+prayers, especially those fixed for the hour of sunset. Time and
+again I have gone in with the Faithful, when the priest chants the
+_mu’azzin_, and I have sat by and been deeply impressed by the
+extraordinary reverence of the worshippers, while eye and ear have
+been captivated by the picturesque figures against their colourful
+background, the wonderfully musical intoning of the priest, and the
+not less harmonious responses. I do not pretend that this oft-repeated
+laudation of God’s name, this adoration by deep sonorous words and by
+every bodily attitude that can convey profound worship, would appeal to
+others as it does to me, even when I have to guess at the exact meaning
+of prayers whose general import needs no interpretation.
+
+The fifth hour of prayer follows closely on that fixed for sundown,
+and the interval is filled up by singing hymns of praise led by the
+priest, or by telling, and listening to, stories of olden times. Of
+Eastern places the Malay Peninsula had special attractions for me, and
+the few European travellers I met there, and who, like myself, were not
+bound to a programme, seemed equally fascinated. Most of them either
+prolonged their stay, or determined to return for a longer visit.
+
+It is difficult to say exactly wherein lies the spell, but there
+are beauties of scenery, the undoubted charm of the people (as
+distinguished from other Easterns), and the sense of mystery, of
+exclusiveness, of unspoilt nature and undescribed life, that arouse a
+new interest in the wearied children of the West. It is pleasant to
+get at something which is not to be found in any encyclopædia, and
+it is, above all, gratifying to obtain knowledge direct and at the
+fountain-head. This is why I often return, in thought, to the narrow
+land that lies between two storm-swept seas, itself more free from
+violent convulsions than almost any other. There, is perpetual summer;
+no volcanoes, no earthquakes, no cyclones. Even the violence of the
+monsoons, that lash the China Sea and the Indian Ocean into periodical
+fury, is largely spent before it reaches the unprotected seaboards of
+the richly dowered peninsula.
+
+Forgive this digression. I was sitting with the Faithful, and the first
+evening prayer was over. The brief twilight was fast deepening into
+night. The teacher excused himself, and the disciples pushed themselves
+across the floor till they could sit with their backs against the wall,
+leaving two rows of prayer-carpets to occupy the middle of the room. I
+had asked some question which, in a roundabout way, led to the telling
+of this tale.
+
+“I remember all about it,” said a man, sitting in the corner; “he was
+a stranger, a man of Sumatra, called Nakhôdah Ma’win, and he gave the
+girl a love-potion that drove her mad. He was a trader from Bâtu Bâra,
+and he had been selling the famous silks of his country in the villages
+up our river. Having exhausted his stock and collected his money,
+he embarked in his boat and made his way to the mouth of the river.
+Every boat going to sea had to take water on board, and there were two
+places where you could get it; one was at Teluk Bâtu on our coast, and
+the other was on an island hard by. But, in those days, the strait
+between the coast and the island was a favourite haunt of pirates,
+and Nakhôdah Ma’win made for Teluk Bâtu to get his supply of fresh
+water. He was in no hurry, a week or a month then made no difference;
+so he first called on the chief of the place, a man of importance,
+styled Toh Permâtang, and then he began to think about getting the
+water. Now it happened that Toh Permâtang had four daughters, and the
+youngest but one, a girl called Ra’ûnah, was very beautiful. When
+there is a girl of uncommon beauty in a place, people talk about it,
+and no doubt the Nakhôdah, idling about, heard the report and managed
+to get sight of Ra’ûnah. At once he fell in love with her, and set
+about thinking how he could win her, though she was already promised
+in marriage to another. These Sumatra people know other things besides
+making silks and daggers, and Nakhôdah Ma’win had a love-philtre of
+the most potent kind. It was made from the tears of the sea-woman whom
+we call _dûyong_. I know the creature. I have seen it. It is bigger
+than a man, and something like a porpoise. It comes out of the sea to
+eat grass, and, if you lie in wait for it, you can catch it and take
+the tears. Some people eat the flesh, it is red like the flesh of a
+buffalo; and the tears are red, and if you mix them with rice they
+make the rice red; at least, people say so. Anyhow, Nakhôdah Ma’win
+had the philtre, and he got an old woman to needle the way for him,
+as one always does, and she managed to mix the dûyong’s tears with
+Ra’ûnah’s rice, and, when the girl had eaten it, she was mad with
+love for the Nakhôdah. He stayed at Teluk Bâtu for a month, making
+excuses, but all to be with Ra’ûnah; and he saw her every day--with
+the help of the old woman, of course. You can’t go on like that
+for long without some one suspecting something, and, though I never
+heard for certain that there was anything really wrong, the girl was
+mad and reckless, and the Nakhôdah took fright. She was a chief’s
+daughter, while he was a trader and a stranger, and he knew they would
+kill him without an instant’s hesitation if Toh Permâtang so much as
+suspected what was going on. Therefore, having got the water on board,
+the Nakhôdah put to sea, saying nothing to any one. In a little place
+people talk of little things, and some one said, in the hearing of
+Ra’ûnah, that the Bâtu Bâra trader had sailed away. With a cry of
+agony the girl dashed from the house, her sisters after her; and seeing
+the boat sailing away, but still at no great distance, for there was
+little breeze, she rushed into the sea and made frantic efforts to
+tear herself from the restraining arms of her sisters, who could barely
+prevent her from drowning herself. At the noise of all this uproar a
+number of men ran down to the shore, and, when they saw and heard what
+was the matter, they shouted to the Nakhôdah to put back again. He knew
+better than to thrust his neck into the noose, and, though they pursued
+his boat, they failed to catch him.
+
+“When Ra’ûnah saw that she could not get to her lover, and that each
+moment was carrying him farther away, she cried to him to return, and
+bursting into sobs, she bemoaned her abandonment, and told her tale of
+love in words of endearment and despair that passed into a song, which
+to this day is known as Ra’ûnah’s Lament.
+
+“Yes, I can remember the verses, and will repeat them if it does not
+weary you. The Nakhôdah never returned.
+
+    “‘Oh, shelter! my dear shelter! the palm stands in the plain.
+      The fruit of the nutmeg falls to the ground and lies there.
+      Thine is thy sister, small but comely,
+      Thy diamond! the light of Permâtang Guntong.
+
+      Oh, my shelter! I hear the measured splash of the oars;
+      I see the drift-weed caught in the rudder.
+      Thou art above, my protecting shelter;
+      I am beneath, in lowly worship.
+
+      Oh, my shelter! ’twas the hour of evening prayer when thou
+          settest sail;
+      The oars are straining and the boat reels along.
+      God’s mercy is great, His promise sure;
+      By His blessing we shall meet in the Garden of Paradise.
+
+      Oh, my shelter! the breeze is blowing in fitful gusts;
+      Be careful not to pull the sail to the left.
+      In three months and ten days,
+      Thou wilt return, my brother!
+
+      Oh, my shelter! make for the island, Sri Rama;
+      For there are two marabouts and a fish-weir.
+      Though thou leavest me, be not long absent;
+      In two, at most in three, months, return again.
+
+      Oh, my shelter! the waters of the sea are calm,
+      Yet do not hug the shore.
+      Have no fear of my betrothed;
+      Was not thy sword but lately sharpened?
+
+      Oh, my shelter! thou camest to Teluk Bâtu,
+      And the peace of my heart has gone.
+      Satan delights in my undoing,
+      For my heart cleaves to thine.
+
+      Oh, my shelter! take good thought,
+      The passions war with the soul.
+      Do not waste the gold in thy hand,
+      Lest scoffers have cause to mock thee.
+
+      Oh, my Nakhôdah! when the mattress is spread, who will lie on it?
+      Who shall be covered by the folded coverlet?
+      Who will sit upon the embroidered mat,
+      Or lean against the great round pillow?
+
+      Oh, my Nakhôdah! the feast is waiting, but who will eat it?
+      The water is cool, but who will drink it?
+      The napkin is there, whose mouth can it wipe?
+      The sireh is ready, but who will use it?
+      Thy Sister is cold, who will fondle her?
+      Ah-hu! ah-hu! come death, deliver me.’
+
+“And then she fell to weeping and moaning, struggling with her sisters,
+and trying to cast herself into the sea.
+
+“That is the tale of Ra’ûnah and Nakhôdah Ma’win, and every one
+knows it. Some tell it one way and some another, but that is how it
+came to me. The girl was mad, mad with love and regret for six months;
+and then her father married her to another man, and that cured her. I
+knew the man: he was a foreigner. She and two of her sisters died long
+ago, but the other is alive still.
+
+“How to get the dûyong’s tears? Oh, that is easy enough. You catch
+the sea-woman when she comes up the sand to eat the sweet grass on
+shore. I told you how to do it. You have to lie in wait and she
+waddles up on two sort of fins that she uses like feet, helping with
+her tail. If she sees you, she tries to get back into the sea, but you
+stand between her and the water and so catch her. Then, if you want
+her tears, you make a palisade of sticks in the deeper water of the
+bay through which she came, and there you bind her in a sort of cage,
+at the surface of the water, so that she can’t move. It is like the
+thing they put elephants in when they are half-tamed. When she finds
+she is held fast there, and cannot get down into the deep water to her
+young, she weeps, and as the tears stream down her face you catch them,
+sweep them into a vessel, and you have the philtre.”
+
+There was a pause. Then a man said, “I hear they sell dûyong’s tears
+in Penang.”
+
+The teller of the story at once replied, “Very likely, I have heard it
+too; but it is probably only some make-believe stuff. You must try it
+before you buy it.”
+
+“How do you do that?”
+
+“Easily. Rub some of the philtre on a chicken’s beak; if it is really
+potent, the chicken will follow you wherever you go!”
+
+“Have you seen that yourself?”
+
+“No. I want no love-philtres. I manage well enough without them. I
+don’t care to play with a thing you can’t control. I might get into
+trouble, like Nakhôdah Ma’win. It is easy enough to give the potion,
+but I never heard what you do to stop it. Anyhow, if I wanted to buy
+the stuff, I should first try it on a chicken, and if it had no effect
+I should not believe in it, for every one knows that the story of
+Ra’ûnah and Ma’win is true, or they would not sing about it to this
+day. Hark! the teacher is calling to prayer.”
+
+A number of boys’ high-pitched voices were chanting--
+
+    “_Bihak-illah, rizal-l’ Allah!
+     A’ain-nu na, bi-aun illah!_”
+
+and, across their chorus, came the sonorous, far-reaching tones of the
+priest--
+
+    “_Allah-hu akbar!
+     Allah-hu akbar!
+     Ashâd-du Allah, illah-ha il-Allah._”
+
+When the little group of men had fallen into their places, and
+the only sound in the building was the musical intoning of the
+half-whispered prayers, I could not help musing on the extraordinarily
+happy expression, “he found an old woman to _needle_ the way for
+him.” Nothing could be more delightful than the symbol of the small,
+insinuating, finely tempered, horribly sharp bit of steel that goes so
+easily through things, and leaves no trace of its passage. And then
+there is nearly always a thread behind it, and that remains when the
+needle has gone!
+
+I have translated Ra’ûnah’s lament for you absolutely literally,
+except that the word which occurs so often, and which I have rendered
+“shelter,” means “umbrella.” The umbrella here, as in other countries,
+is an emblem of the highest distinction: a shelter from sun and rain,
+a shield and protection, “the shadow of a great rock in a dry land.” A
+yellow umbrella is a sign and token of sovereignty.
+
+
+
+
+XXVII
+
+MOONSTRUCK
+
+
+Once I suggested to you that the greatest facts of life are, in
+English, expressed by the smallest words, and, with that dainty,
+hesitating manner that is so captivating, you almost consented to
+agree. Look, for instance, at these words: God, sin, good, bad, day,
+night, sun, moon, light, dark, heat, cold, earth, sky, sea, world,
+peace, war, joy, pain, eat, drink, sleep, love, hate, birth, death.
+They cover a good deal of ground, and you can easily add to them. A
+philologist would tell you why the most profound conceptions, the
+most important abstract facts, are denoted by simple words, but the
+explanation might not interest you. The circle of my acquaintances does
+not include a philologist; my nearest approach to such dissipation is a
+friend who pretends to be a lexicographer. Now look at that word, it is
+long enough in all conscience, but the idea which it represents only
+makes one tired.
+
+Whilst a good reason could be found for expressing original principles
+in monosyllables, I wonder if any one can say why that fantastic
+product of this century, the (so-called) educated Indian, revels in
+the use and misuse of all the longest words he can find to convey his,
+sometimes grotesque, but nearly always commonplace, thoughts, when he
+tries to put them in English. Curiously enough, this transcendental
+language, which is the peculiar pride of the Indian babu, leaves on
+the mind of the listener no concrete idea, no definite conception of
+what the speaker wants to say; but it does invariably conjure up a
+figure typical of the class which employs this barbarous tongue as
+a high-sounding medium in which to disguise its shallow thoughts.
+And then one feels sorry for the poor overthrown words, the maimed
+quotations, and the slaughtered sentences, so that one realises how
+happy is that description which speaks of the English conversation of
+East Indians as a _mêlée_, wherein the words lie about “like dead men
+on a battle-field.” There must be something in the Indian’s character
+to account for this; and, as a great stream of words pours from the
+narrow channel of his mind, and gives expression to his turgid thoughts
+in an avalanche of sound, so you will see the same extravagance of
+outward display in the manner of his life, in his strange garments, his
+sham jewellery, and his pitiful and disastrous attempts to ape what he
+thinks is the riotous “fastness” of the quite white man. Behind this
+outward seeming, there is also, in many cases, nothing, and sometimes
+even less than that. Misapplied English education has a good deal to
+answer for, and, if the babu has a soul, it may demand a reckoning
+from those who gave it a speech in which to make known the impossible
+aspirations of a class that is as rich in wordy agitation as it is poor
+in the spirit and physique of a ruling race. Many babus cannot quench
+revolt. Perhaps the babu is the “thing too much” in India; they could
+do without him. And yet he and education, combined, make a growing
+danger that may yet have to be counted with. But enough of the babu; I
+cannot think how he got into my letter.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+My visit to this strange and beautiful country is over. For the last
+time a steamer is hurrying me down one of those great waterways
+which, until recent times, have been the only means of getting into
+this mysterious land. The dying day supplied a feast of colour, of
+momentarily changing pictures that, however familiar, seem always new,
+always resplendent with amazing lights, delicate half-tints, and soft
+shadows, such as only a moisture-charged atmosphere and a fiery sun can
+produce. Does the thought of such an evening ever come back to you,
+or are you trying to accustom yourself to the greys and neutral tints
+of the life of resignation? Ah! The moon is just rising; the scene is
+quite enchanting, and I must try to tell you exactly what I see.
+
+The river is six or seven hundred yards wide. It is high tide, and,
+to the eye, the picture has but three component parts--sky, wood,
+and water. Sky and water are divided by a belt of wood which borders
+the river. The continuous belt of trees, of varying height, growing
+from out the river and up the bank, makes a deeply indented line
+of vegetation. This belt is unbroken, but it rises into plumes and
+graceful fronds, where some loftier palm or giant jungle-tree towers
+above its neighbours, and all its foliage shows clear as an etching
+against the grey-blue background. Again, the belt dips and leaves
+broken spaces of sky, where the foliage suddenly dwarfs. The sky is
+dark grey just above the trees, but the grey changes to blue as the
+eye travels upward, and overhead the zenith is sapphire, cloudless
+sapphire spangled with stars. The water is like burnished gun-metal,
+and, under the shore, there is a shadow as dark and wide as the line of
+trees which throws it. The moon, a perfect circle of brilliant light,
+not silver nor gold, but the colour produced by silvering over a golden
+ground, has just risen, and rides a short space above the trees. In the
+deepest shadow, exactly where water and land meet, there is a narrow
+streak of amazingly bright light; then a space of darkness, covered
+by the shadow of the trees, and then a veritable column of gold, the
+width of the moon, and the length of the moon’s distance above the
+trees. The column is not still, it is moved by the shimmer of the
+water, and it dazzles the eyes. The effect is marvellous: this intense
+brilliance as of molten gold, this pillar of light with quivering but
+clearly-defined edges, playing on a mirror of dark burnished steel.
+Then that weird glint of yellow flame, appearing and disappearing, in
+the very centre of the blackest shadow, and, above all, the Queen of
+Night moves through the heavens in superb consciousness of her own
+transcendent beauty, calmly satisfied to recognise that the sapphire
+firmament, and all the world of stars, are but the background and the
+foils to her surpassing loveliness.
+
+As the moon rises, the reflection in the river lengthens, widens,
+breaks into ripples of amber, and shoots out arrows of paler light.
+Soon there is a broad pathway of glittering wavelets, which opens out
+into a great silvery road, and the light of the risen moon dispels the
+grey fog that hung over the belt of jungle, and tinges with silver the
+few fleecy clouds that emphasise the blueness of their background.
+Then a dark curtain gradually spreads itself across the sky, dims the
+moonlight, veils the stars, and throws a spell over the river, hiding
+its luminous highway, and casting upon the water the reflection of its
+own spectre-like form.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The fog clung to the river, but when we reached the sea the moon
+reigned alone, paling the stars and filling the air with a flood of
+delicious light. I was leaning over the side of the ship, wondering
+where I could ever see such a sight again, when a man of the country
+came and stood by me. I said something to him of the beauty of the
+night, and he answered, “Yes, there are flowers in the moon.”
+
+I asked him what he meant, and this is what he told me:--
+
+“It was a night like this, and I was going with my mother, my wife,
+and child to a neighbouring island to visit some relatives. We were
+travelling by a small steamer, and in the early hours of the morning
+were coasting along the shore of the island. The moon was then setting,
+but it was extraordinarily brilliant, and I tried to find a spot in the
+shadow where I could sleep. As I settled myself comfortably, I noticed
+that my mother was standing, looking over the bulwark. It might have
+been an hour later when I awoke, and, as we were near the port, I went
+to rouse my people and collect my luggage. I could not find my mother
+anywhere. The rest of my party and all the other passengers were asleep
+till I roused them, and no one had seen or heard anything unusual. We
+all of us searched the ship in every direction, but without success,
+and the only conclusion was that the poor old lady had somehow fallen
+overboard. By this time the vessel had reached the anchorage, and there
+was nothing to be done but to go ashore. I took my family to the house
+of our friends, some miles from the landing-place, and then wondered
+what to do next. The village we had come to was on the shore, and not
+very far from the place where I had last seen my mother on board the
+ship. I determined, therefore, to drive to a spot as nearly opposite
+that place as I could get, and then to walk along the beach, and ask at
+the huts of the Chinese fishermen whether they had seen a body in the
+water. The first two or three cottages I came to were empty, but I made
+my way to a solitary hut which I saw standing in the centre of a tiny
+bay. In that hut, to my surprise and great joy, I found my mother and
+two Chinese fishermen. The men told me that they had gone out before
+daylight to set their nets, and in the light of the moon, then almost
+on the horizon, they saw a woman, as they described it, “standing in
+the water,” so that, though her head only was visible, she seemed to be
+upright, and they imagined she must be supported somehow, or resting
+her feet on an old fishing stake, for the water was fifteen or twenty
+feet deep there. She did not cry out or seem frightened, only rather
+dazed. They rowed to the spot and pulled her into the boat, and just
+then the moon sank out of sight. The old lady had lost her skirt, but
+otherwise seemed little the worse, and, as far as the fishermen could
+see, she was not resting on any support. When I asked her how she got
+into the sea, she said she could not tell, but she was looking at the
+moon, and she saw such lovely flowers in it that she felt she must try
+to get to them. Then she found herself in the water, but all the time
+she kept looking at the flowers till the fishermen pulled her into
+their boat and brought her on shore. I took her to the house where we
+were staying, and I have left her in the island ever since, because I
+dare not let her travel by sea again.”
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII
+
+THE “DEVI”
+
+
+I am in Agra. The Japanese say that if you have not been to Nikko
+you cannot say _kekko_. That is an insular conceit, meant, no
+doubt, originally for Japan and the Japanese only; but national
+pride--speaking as the frog spoke who lived under half a coconut-shell,
+and thought the limits of his vision comprised the universe--now
+declares that the Nikko temples are incomparable. I cannot claim to
+have seen all the great buildings in the world, but I have visited some
+of the most famous, and I say with confidence that the Tâj at Agra is
+the most perfect triumph of the architect’s and builder’s skill in
+existence. I visited this tomb first by daylight, and it is difficult
+to give you any idea of the extraordinary effect the first sight of it
+produced on me. I drove in a wretched two-horse gharry, along a dusty
+and uninteresting road, until the rickety vehicle was pulled up with
+a jerk in front of a great red stone portal, and I got out. Through
+that lofty Gothic arch, and framed by it, appeared a vision of white
+loveliness, an amazing structure of dazzling marble, shooting towers
+and minarets into a clear, blue, cloudless sky.
+
+The Tâj--the Crown of Kings--stands on a raised terrace; it is a
+considerable distance from the gate, and the eye is led to it by a
+wide, straight path, bisecting a garden, which, at the first glance,
+seems a mass of dark green foliage. The garden is extensive, and shut
+in by a high wall. Just outside this wall, to right and left of the
+Tâj, are a palace and a mosque of deep red sandstone. More than that
+you cannot see, but the river Jumna flows under the rear wall of the
+raised terrace on which the Tâj stands.
+
+The marble monument, which contains the tombs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz
+Mahal, is an enormous building, and represents seventeen years’ work
+of a force of twenty thousand men. But the design is so faultless, the
+proportions so perfect, the whole effect so exquisitely graceful, that,
+until you are close to the wide steps leading up to the terrace, and
+realise that men standing by the walls look almost like flies, you are
+not struck by any sense of extraordinary size.
+
+The building itself is superb. The conception is absolutely unique,
+and the harmony of every part a crowning triumph; the splendour of
+material, the purity of that dazzling, unbroken whiteness--these are a
+joy and a delight.
+
+But the surroundings, the setting in which this jewel stands, are so
+marvellously well calculated to exactly frame the picture, that the
+whole scene seems a vision, unearthly in its beauty. When once that
+sensation passes, when one has gazed, and blinked, and rubbed one’s
+eyes, and compassed the reality of it all, one is profoundly impressed
+by the genius that could raise such a heavenly edifice, and one is
+proudly thankful to have lived that hour of life, to have felt the soul
+stir, and to carry away an imperishable memory of one of the noblest of
+human achievements.
+
+The main entrance is by a great arched door, bordered by Arabic
+characters in black marble let into the white wall. Pierced marble
+windows admit a dim and softened light to a lofty chamber. In the
+comparative gloom one slowly discerns a marble wall surrounding the
+centre space. The wall is inlaid with precious stones--jasper and
+onyx, sardius and topaz, amethyst, chrysobel, and sapphire, set in
+floral designs. Within this enclosure are the white marble tombs of
+Shah Jahan and his wife.
+
+Last night the moon was full, and, an hour before midnight, I went
+and sat in that dark stone palace, and revelled in the beauty of a
+spectacle that cannot be equalled on earth. It is said that the palace
+was built for Royal ladies, and was specially designed to give them
+the most perfect view of the Tâj. There is an open stone verandah,
+over which I leaned and gazed in ecstasy at the scene. The dark trees
+of the garden spread from under the walls of the palace over a wide
+space of ground, and from them rose the incomparable Tâj; minarets,
+walls, and windows, blazing with silver sheen under the direct rays
+of the moon, softened in the half shadows, darkening to deep tones of
+grey on the river face. Slightly to the left of the Tâj, and as far
+beyond it as the Tâj was from me, stood the mosque, a splendid foil to
+the glittering radiance of the tomb. In the shadow, cast by the great
+mass of marble, rippled the shallow waters of the wide river. The rear
+walls of the building are on the edge of the bank, and beyond the Tâj
+the river stretches away in a silver ribbon towards the city. In a
+line to the right of the Tâj, and distant about three miles, rises a
+dark hill, crowned by the Palace and Citadel of Agra. The enclosing
+walls and battlements, built of the same red sandstone, were scarcely
+distinguishable from the hill; but the moonlight caught the white
+marble buildings within, and innumerable lights twinkled from walls and
+windows.
+
+I must have been a long time in my solitude, intoxicated by the wonder
+of the night and the splendour of the scene, when I heard the strains
+of a violin, played with extraordinary skill. The music seemed familiar
+(for I had heard the songs of many Eastern lands), and, moreover,
+I became certain that the instrument was being played somewhere in
+the great building wherein I chanced to be. The sounds ceased, but
+presently the musician began a Persian dance which I recognised; and
+as the wild air leaped from the strings in quickening waves of sound,
+the devilry of the mad nautch seemed to possess me, and it became
+impossible not to beat time to the rhythm of the music. Again there
+was silence, and I wondered greatly who could make a violin throb
+with such feeling, and where the minstrel could be. Whilst still
+absorbed by these thoughts, and anxiously listening for the faintest
+sound, my ear caught the strains of an Arab love-song that I knew well
+enough, but had never heard played like this before, nor yet under
+such circumstances. The air was in the minor key, and was, I knew,
+played only on three strings, but it seemed to wail and shiver from the
+instrument out into the night, through the trees, across the bright
+lights and deep shadows, to mingle with the crooning of the river, to
+fill the atmosphere and soar towards the empyrean. It was like the song
+of a lark at the dawn of a day in spring. The power of the musician was
+such that Tâj and city, mosque and river and garden faded away, and I
+distinctly saw a narrow street in an Arab town. Flat-roofed buildings,
+pierced by a few small iron-barred windows, lined either side of a
+street, which rose in a gentle ascent till it twisted out of sight
+round a distant corner. A brilliant moon, shining in a cloudless sky,
+threw into white light the roofs on one side the street. But the houses
+on the other side cast a deep shadow, and in that shadow a man, with
+his back to me, was standing playing the three-stringed Arab _gambus_,
+and singing--singing as though for his life, in a low, sweet voice--up
+to a barred window whence issued a ray of yellow light. I thought I
+could even understand the words of the passionate _serenata_, though I
+know almost as little of the Arabic as of the Patagonian tongue. It was
+the music, the angelic skill of the violinist, which had bewitched me,
+and I stood enthralled by that soul-entrancing melody.
+
+Before you write me down an emotional ass, remember where I was, and
+try to imagine what I saw, what I heard. I cannot expect to impress you
+with any true idea of either scene or song.
+
+While those yearning, thrilling, imploring waves of sound cried to the
+exquisite beauty of the night, I was spell-bound. But, in the silence
+that followed, I reasoned that the music came from above me, probably
+from the roof, and that I might well seek the author of it. I passed
+through a maze of passages, where light and shadow alternated, and, as
+I groped about to find a staircase, I was guided to my object by the
+strains of the violin, and a gleam of light which, striking through a
+narrow window, disclosed a winding stair.
+
+As I expected, the stairs led up to the roof, and I was not a little
+surprised by what I saw there. The head of the staircase was in a
+corner of the great flat space forming the roof, and a parapet, about
+thirty inches high, completely enclosed it, except for a flight of
+outside steps leading down to another and lower roof. The cement floor
+and surrounding parapet were so brilliantly lighted by the moon, that
+every inch unshadowed was as bright as day. Four people occupied the
+space, and my eye was first caught by a white-robed, dark-complexioned
+boy, who, leaning against the parapet, played a violin with closed
+eyes, his face set in an expression of dreamy rapture. At a little
+distance from him, but nearer to me, were a woman and two girls. The
+woman sat upon a quantity of silks spread over the parapet, while
+she leaned against a pile of cushions placed against a round stone
+column. I should say she was hardly twenty. Her skin was very fair, her
+complexion wonderfully clear, her hair black and abundant, her eyes
+large, dark, and liquid, while long curling lashes threw a shadow far
+down her cheeks. The eyebrows were strongly marked and slightly arched,
+like the artificial spur of a game-cock. Her nose was straight and
+rather small; her scarlet lips made a perfect Cupid’s bow, and the
+upper lip was so short that it disclosed teeth of extreme regularity
+with a whiteness and sheen as of pearls. The chin was round, the face
+oval; the ears, hands, and feet very small, but beautifully formed.
+This woman, or girl, was clothed in silk skirts of a dull red, heavy
+with gold thread; she wore a jacket of white satin, embroidered with
+small red and gold flowers, and fastened by three diamond brooches.
+On her head, falling in graceful folds over her shoulders, was a dark
+gossamer veil, studded with tiny gold stars, and bordered by a wide hem
+of shining gold lace. In one hand she listlessly held a long spray of
+stephanotis. She seemed absorbed by the music, and the wonder of that
+soft white light, which so enhanced her loveliness that I stared in
+wide-eyed admiration, forgetful of Eastern customs, of politeness, and
+all else, save only that fascinating figure. At her feet, on the roof,
+sat two girls, attendants, both clad in bright-coloured silk garments,
+and both wearing gold-embroidered gossamer veils.
+
+Not one of the group seemed to notice my presence, and I heard no words
+exchanged.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was long past midnight; the violinist had excelled himself in
+pulse-stirring dances, in passionate love-songs and laments that
+sounded like the sobbing of despairing hearts. I had gradually moved
+forward, and was leaning over the parapet looking towards Agra,
+and feeling that no moment of a night like this could be missed or
+forgotten, when suddenly I heard a sharp cry, half of surprise,
+half of dread. I turned and saw my four companions all gazing with
+startled eyes at something beyond me, out past the parapet, towards
+the glistening river. I turned again, and I now saw a white marble
+bridge stretching in a single graceful arch--an arch like a strung
+bow--springing from the centre of the back wall of the Tâj across the
+river, till it rested on the farther bank. There rose another Tâj! the
+exact duplicate of the one standing on the hither side of the stream,
+as white, as graceful, as perfect in all respects as its fellow.
+
+The roadway of the bridge was enclosed in a sort of long gallery, the
+sides of marble fretwork, with windows at intervals opening on to the
+river. The roof was formed of marble slabs. One could see the shining
+water through the perforated walls of the gallery; occasionally, where
+two opposite windows were open, there were glimpses of the distant
+lights, the palace, and the hill. The beautiful flat arch of that
+bridge, its graceful lines, and the airy lightness of the structure
+are unforgetable. Think of that bridge, that pure white bow of
+glistening stone, spanning the river’s width, and tying Tâj to Tâj!
+
+As I feasted my eyes, in wonder and admiration, on this alluring
+vision, a mist rose from the river, gathered volume and density, shut
+out the distance, enveloped bridge and river, bank and building, and
+hung in a thick white cloud, the ends creeping rapidly to right and
+left across the level plain. I looked upward; the moon was slowly
+sinking towards the west; it had a faint bluish tinge, a common effect
+at very late hours of the night, when it seems to shine with even
+greater brilliance.
+
+I turned to look for my companions, but found I was alone. There
+was not a sign of lady, or maid, or minstrel. They had disappeared,
+vanished without a sound; and, of their late presence, there was no
+sign--except the spray of stephanotis. It was strange, I thought, as
+I walked to the spot where the flower lay and picked it up, but one
+cannot be astonished at anything in the East.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I felt a chill puff of wind, and I glanced back towards Agra. The mist
+was moving, rising rapidly in wisps; it was thin and transparent, and
+I could indistinctly see the background through it. The marble bridge,
+the other Tâj--that second tomb Shah Jahan _meant_ to build--were gone.
+Clearly my imagination, a mirage, or the mist had played me a trick.
+And then the girl, the violinist: were they also the phantoms of my
+brain? Surely that was impossible. Why, I can see the girl now; I could
+tell you every detail of her face, her figure, _pose_, and dress. The
+violinist could have been no spirit; though he played like an angel,
+his music was earthly, and perfectly familiar to me.
+
+I gave it up and went away, wondering; but I took the stephanotis, and
+it stands in front of me now in a tiny vase of water.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+To-day, in daylight, when the sun was high, and I had eaten and bandied
+commonplaces, and knew that I was sane, I went to find the old creature
+who keeps the gate of the garden of the Tâj. I asked him who was in
+the Red Palace late last night, and he said that not having been there
+himself he could not tell; moreover, that he did not turn night into
+day, but slept, like other respectable people. I felt snubbed but still
+curious, so I said--
+
+“The boy who plays the violin, who is he?”
+
+“What boy? Where? How should I know?” he said, but he began to look
+rather startled.
+
+“On the roof of the Red Palace, over there,” I replied, pointing to the
+corner of the building visible from where we stood. “And the lady, the
+young lady in the beautiful clothes, who is she?”
+
+But the old man had started, and at mention of the girl he dropped the
+stick on which he leaned; and as he slowly and painfully recovered
+himself from the effort of picking it up, I heard him say, in an
+awe-struck whisper, “The _Devi_!”
+
+My attempts to extract anything further from this old fossil were
+futile. He hobbled off to his den, muttering to himself, and evidently
+anxious to be rid of my society.
+
+After this rebuff I hesitate to make further inquiries from others,
+because I know no one here; because the white people never concern
+themselves with native matters, and are mainly interested in gossip;
+and because I am conscious that my story invites doubt, and must rest
+on my word alone. It is not the personal ridicule I am afraid of, but I
+don’t like the idea of jest at the expense of the girl whom I saw on
+that parapet, the _Devi_ whose stephanotis perfumes my room.
+
+
+
+
+XXIX
+
+THE DEATH-CHAIN
+
+
+When last I wrote and told you about the _Devi_, I had a vague hope
+that my stephanotis would, indirectly, prove that the lovely girl, from
+whose hand it had fallen, gathered it in some heavenly garden, beyond
+mortal ken, where Death and Time are unknown.
+
+I did not like to say so, but I meant to keep the flower, and, if I had
+seen it fade and die, I should have been disappointed, perhaps even
+rather surprised. You will say such fantastic ideas can only come to
+people whose minds have been warped by contact with Oriental mysticism;
+and, while you are probably right, I reply that when you have a Tâj,
+when you have an atmosphere of sunshine unsoiled by coal-smoke, when,
+in fine, any really big miracle is wrought in your Western world, then
+_you_ may see a _Devi_ sitting in the moonlight, _you_ may hear angelic
+music played by a boy unknown to the critics, and _you_ may even weave
+romances round a spray of stephanotis.
+
+I guarded my flower carefully, and, for five days, I could not see that
+it showed any sign of fading. True I kept it in water, even when I was
+travelling; and, if it came from a heavenly garden, I dare say that
+care was altogether needless; but we are creatures of habit, and my
+Faith was not very robust, and leaned somewhat heavily on Hope. I had
+to leave Agra and journey through Rajputana. On the fifth day from that
+night, which I had almost said “was worth, of other nights, a hundred
+thousand million years,” I was in Jaipur, and from there I visited the
+glorious Palace of Amber. I restrain myself with difficulty from going
+into raptures over that ancient castle, which, for so many centuries,
+has stood on that distant hillside and watched its many masters come
+and go, while the ladies loved, and gossiped, and hated, in the Hall of
+a Thousand Delights, and the horsemen and spearmen went down from the
+gates to the dusty road, the seething plains, whence many of them never
+returned.
+
+I will spare you. You are long-suffering, but there must be a limit
+even to your patience. I know that _qui s’excuse s’accuse_, and
+I offer no excuse for trying to draw for you the pictures that are
+only seen beyond beaten tracks. Ruskin has said, “The greatest thing
+the human soul ever does in this world is to _see_ something, and tell
+what it _saw_ in a plain way. Hundreds of people can talk for one who
+can think, but thousands can think for one who can see. To see clearly
+is poetry, prophecy, and religion all in one.” If thousands can think
+for one who can see, surely there must be still thousands who see and
+cannot tell “in a plain way” what they saw. There are millions whose
+eyes are to them only what animals’ eyes are--aids to the gratification
+of appetite. There are thousands more who do see and appreciate, yet
+cannot put what they have seen into words; cannot communicate their own
+feelings, cannot help another to share, even a little, in the joy that
+has come to them through greater opportunities. I have often wondered
+why people who have seen the most interesting places on earth, have
+been present perhaps on memorable occasions, and have met the most
+famous people of their time, showed, in their conversation, no sign
+of these advantages, and, if questioned, could only give the most
+disappointing, uninteresting description of any personal experiences.
+Then there are the very few who have seen, and can help others to see
+again, through their eyes; but they seldom do it, because they have
+found that, with rare exceptions, the relation of their experiences is
+but little appreciated. Ruskin himself is one of the few who can see
+and can describe, but others may hesitate to string the plain words,
+knowing how little worthy they will be of what the eyes have seen.
+
+Some of this I may have been thinking, as I slowly made my way back
+to Jaipur; but, when I reached the house of my sojourn, almost the
+first thing I noticed was that the tiny vase which had carried my
+spray of stephanotis was empty of all but water. Of course I sent for
+everybody, and made minute inquiries, and, of course, every one had
+seen the flower, and no one had touched it, and I was left to draw any
+conclusion I pleased.
+
+I drew none. There are no data on which to come to a conclusion; but
+the facts remind me of a story I will tell you.
+
+I have an Italian friend. He is a very uncommon type, and worthy of far
+more attention than I will give him now, because, for the moment, I am
+concerned rather with his story than with him. He was in Egypt, and
+whilst there he discovered a buried city. Carefully and wisely he kept
+his knowledge to himself, till, owing to an absence of some months, he
+lost all trace of the place, and never found it again. A sand-storm had
+buried it once more.
+
+The original discovery was purely the result of accident, and his
+first researches had to be conducted in secrecy, without assistance,
+otherwise the _trouvaille_ would have become public property. His
+explorations led him to a building that he believed was a tomb;
+and having, by laborious efforts, gained an entrance, he had the
+satisfaction of proving that his surmise was correct, and also the
+reward of finding in the chamber a single sarcophagus, containing a
+mummified girl, or woman, in wonderful preservation. He knew the common
+superstition that disaster would befall any one who disturbed a mummy;
+but he thought little of the tale, and did not mean to be deterred from
+removing the body when he should have the means to do so. Meanwhile he
+had to be content with what he could carry, and that consisted of a
+few coins, and a necklace which he unfastened from the lady’s poor
+shrivelled neck, or rather from the cere-cloths in which it was swathed.
+
+Perhaps you have never seen one of these mummy necklaces; they are
+rather curious, and, from my friend’s account of it, the one he
+found nearly resembled others which I have seen myself. The material
+seemed to be some kind of pottery, or opaque glass made into rough
+beads, and short lengths of small glazed piping, strung together in
+a quaint pattern. The prevailing colour was a sort of turquoise with
+an extra dash of green, and every bit of piping was so tinted; but,
+alternately with these blue lengths, were strung groups of round beads,
+in bunches of two to six or eight, or even more. By far the majority of
+the beads were turquoise-blue, but some were yellow, others brown, and
+a few almost black, and the arrangement was such that it could easily
+have been made to represent a string of words. The effect of the chain
+was _bizarre_ but attractive, and it somewhat resembled the rosaries
+worn by devout Arabs. The intrinsic worth of the thing was _nil_, but
+sometimes one has a friend who will accept and value _un rien_ like
+this, for the sake of the giver, when jewels would be declined. My
+Italian had such a friend, and the bauble found a new home on her neck.
+
+Not long after she had begun to wear the quaint little chain which
+had lain for so many centuries round the throat of the dead Egyptian,
+its new owner was distressed and alarmed by a persistent form of
+nightmare, which gradually induced a feeling that she was haunted by
+the wraith of a dark-skinned girl, of a type of feature unlike any
+known to her, but clad in raiment such as she fancied had been worn
+by Egyptians in the days of the Pharaohs. The apparition was always
+clothed in the same manner, and though she wore a number of strangely
+fashioned ornaments, her neck was left completely bare. The girl seemed
+to be ever present in her dreams, and her face always wore a look of
+extreme distress, as of one who grieved for the loss of some dearly
+beloved friend or possession. The curious part of it was, that the
+dream-girl seemed always to come to the sleeper as to one from whom
+she could get relief; and while, in her earlier appearances, she had
+the expression and the manner of a supplicant, the dreamer fancied
+that latterly there had been a change, and the dark face looked both
+agonised and threatening.
+
+These visitations, which could not be ascribed to any reasonable cause,
+had so got on the lady’s nerves that she had gone for change to a
+villa on the coast of Normandy. The change of scene brought no relief.
+The haunting form of the Egyptian girl, though not a nightly visitor,
+was so constantly present, that the dread of seeing her deprived sleep
+of all power of giving rest, and the poor lady was not only becoming
+seriously ill, but she was so affected by her uncanny infliction, that
+she even sometimes imagined she caught glimpses of her tormentor when
+she herself was wide awake.
+
+One afternoon, the lady was lying in a darkened room, the _persiennes_
+closed to keep out the hot and penetrating rays of a summer sun. She
+felt very weary and despondent, the result of many broken nights and
+the prolonged strain on her nerves, and, though she held a book in
+her hand she was all the time wondering how much longer she could
+bear this oppression, and what she had done to deserve such a weirdly
+horrible fate. In a dull sort of way she supposed she must be going
+mad, and felt with grim cynicism that the border-land between sanity
+and insanity was so narrow that she would hardly realise the moment
+when she crossed it. There was absolute silence everywhere, except for
+the faint soothing whisper of the sea, rippling over the sand beneath
+the wooded bluff on which the villa stood. The air was warm and heavy
+with summer perfumes; the room was darkening slowly as the sun dipped
+towards the placid waters of La Manche; the woman was deadly weary, and
+she slept.
+
+At first her sleep must have been sound; but, after a time, her eyes
+opened to that other consciousness which is of the world of dreams,
+and once again she saw her now dreaded companion, the dark-eyed,
+dark-skinned girl from the land of the Pharaohs. The girl seemed to
+plead in impassioned terms for something, but the dreamer could not
+understand the strange words, and racked her brain, as dreamers will,
+to try to imagine their meaning. The girl burst into a storm of tears,
+sinking to the ground in her grief and despair, and burying her face
+on a pile of cushions. Still the dreamer, suffering torture herself,
+was helpless to relieve the other. Then suddenly the girl sprang
+up, and, dashing the tears from her eyes, which now seemed to blaze
+with murderous resolve, she sprang upon the white woman, enlaced her
+throat with supple brown fingers, pressed and pressed, tighter and
+tighter--ah, God! the horror and the suffocating pain of it--and all
+the while the sleeper’s hands seemed tied to her side. Then with a
+scream the dreamer awoke. She felt her eyes must be starting from her
+head, and instinctively raised her hands to her throat, only to realise
+that her vivid sensation of strangulation was merely a nightmare, but
+that the chain--the string of turquoise beads which she had never
+unfastened from the day she first put it on--was gone.
+
+There was now little light in the room, only enough to see things
+vaguely, yet the lady declares that in that first moment of waking she
+distinctly saw a figure, exactly like that of the girl of her dreams,
+glide swiftly away from her and pass out through a _portière_ into the
+verandah. For some time she was too frightened and unnerved to move,
+but when at last she summoned her people they had seen no one.
+
+The only thing that was real was that she had lost the necklace, and
+never saw it again. As some compensation she also lost for ever the
+society of her dream-visitor, and completely recovered her own health.
+
+Now who took my stephanotis?
+
+
+
+
+XXX
+
+SCANDAL AND BANGLES
+
+
+For years I have not been so angry as I am at this minute; I have
+very nearly lost my temper, and the reason is really ridiculous. Why
+I should choose this as a favourable opportunity for writing to you I
+cannot tell, but my tormentor had no sooner left the room than I seized
+the pen, which is nearly always ready to my hand, and you are the
+victim. The cause of this unusual and unseemly frame of mind is a girl,
+quite a pretty girl, who walked in here, _sans cérémonie_, and, after
+a few minutes’ desultory conversation, told me a preposterous piece of
+gossip about myself, a fantastic story in which there was not a grain
+of truth.
+
+“Who says that?” I asked.
+
+“Everybody says so.”
+
+“Then everybody is mistaken.”
+
+“Of course you deny it; but it is true, all the same.”
+
+“It is not in the least true, and I am prepared to swear that in any
+form of oath.”
+
+“I dare say you are, but no one will believe you.”
+
+“Very well. Now what does your story rest upon?”
+
+“The evidence of people’s senses. Every one has seen you.”
+
+“I cannot deal with ‘every one,’ it is too indefinite. You say I
+went to some one’s house,--not that it would matter the least if I
+did,--but who saw me?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“You did! I never was in the house in my life.”
+
+“Try to remember. I have seen you go in and also seen you come out of
+it.”
+
+“If it were not so stupid, one might almost get angry. I repeat that I
+have never been in the house, nor spoken to the owner.”
+
+“And I, having seen with my own eyes, maintain that you have.”
+
+“You have mistaken some one else for me, or drawn on your imagination,
+for what you say is absolutely untrue. But, as you seem to have
+constructed a fantastic story on that insecure foundation, I have a
+good mind to charge you with defaming me.”
+
+“By all means, and I will go into court and say what I know and you
+know to be true.”
+
+Now, what can you do with a person like that? If I were the judge,
+trying my own cause and knowing there is not a semblance of a particle
+of truth in this absurd tale, I believe that if a witness appeared and
+gave evidence against me with this sublime assurance, I would decide
+the case against myself.
+
+The wasp has still a sting left; she says, “You sent your carriage to a
+lady, that she might drive in it?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“And she sent it back.”
+
+“She did.”
+
+“She would not use it because of what I have told you, and she does not
+want to see or speak to you again!”
+
+I said I should not die of the affront, nor commit any rash act if the
+lady adhered to her determination; but I admit that, though I laughed,
+I was beginning to lose my temper, and I told my tormentor that if
+I could whip her it would be a satisfaction! She also laughed, but
+as I had seen that she was brimful of merriment all along, that was
+nothing. By-and-by she disclosed that she wanted me to do something for
+her, and, when I had heaped coals of fire on her head by doing what she
+wished, she went away asking me if I had any message for the lady who
+had refused my carriage! I heard her laughing all the way downstairs,
+and, as she insisted on walking through the grounds to her carriage, I
+fancy I can hear her giggling still.
+
+I think I remarked once before that the train of another’s thoughts
+are not easy to divine, but explanations are boring, so I leave you to
+supply the connection between what I have just written and what now
+occurs to me to tell you. It is not only fowls and curses that come
+home to roost.
+
+Once upon a time there was a very beautiful and attractive lady, the
+wife of a high official in India. She was of those who have but one
+admirer at a time, and that one very devoted. Women of her type cannot
+share with any one else the attentions of their cavaliers; they insist
+upon a service that is complete and unquestioning, dog-like in devotion
+and obedience; and they do not seem to care if it is also dog-like
+in its inability to do more than gaze in rapture at the face of its
+mistress. I have known cases of the kind myself, and marvelled to see
+how the lady and her slave can stand, and sit, and walk together,
+with no one to disturb their confidences, and yet they never seem to
+speak. As far as I can understand, that was the case with the heroine
+of my tale and her _cavaliere servente_. They were on the hills or in
+the plains--it does not matter where--when a native Prince appeared
+upon the scene. He was a delightful and fascinating person, but
+wicked beyond the dreams of wickedness. He stayed several months in
+the station, and when about to return to his own native state, he
+called upon an English friend of his and said, “I am going away; I
+speak English very indifferently; I wish to say good-bye to some of my
+friends: will you come with me?” The Englishman at once said he would
+be delighted, and they set out on a round of calls, the Prince saying
+where he wished to go. Amongst other houses they visited that of the
+engaging lady, and after a few words explaining his early departure
+and regret, the Prince produced a number of beautiful gold bangles,
+and said he trusted the lady would accept them as a token of his
+respectful admiration. This was duly interpreted, and the lady replied
+that as her husband held a Government post she could not accept any
+present. The Prince said he trusted that she would not persist in this
+determination, because he was merely a visitor, and as the lady’s
+husband had no authority or influence in his territory, he could not
+believe that the ordinary rules would apply to a gift of such small
+value, which was merely an expression of his esteem and thanks for the
+kindness he had received. Meanwhile the bangles had been tendered to
+the lady; they had lain in her hand, and she appreciated their curious
+design and artistic excellence.
+
+“What shall I do?” said the lady, appealing to the Englishman.
+
+“What you please,” he replied.
+
+It is possible that it was out of consideration for the feelings of the
+donor that she then said--
+
+“My husband would never let me accept the bangles, but I should like to
+keep them if I knew that you would say nothing.”
+
+“Pray do not think of me,” said the friend; “I am an accident in the
+interview, and, when I leave the house, I shall have forgotten all
+about it.”
+
+“Then I shall keep them.”
+
+One evening, about a fortnight or three weeks later, the lady was
+dancing with the man who had interpreted, and he said, “Will you allow
+me to admire your bangles: they are not only beautiful in themselves
+but exceedingly becoming.”
+
+“Yes,” she replied, “but the unfortunate part of it is that my husband
+thinks they have been given to me by some one else, and I can’t
+enlighten him, for I dare not tell the truth!”
+
+_P.S._--The lady who refused to use my carriage has just sent me an
+invitation to dinner!
+
+
+
+
+XXXI
+
+THE REPREHENSIBLE HABIT OF MAKING COMPARISONS
+
+
+I am not given to the use of postscripts, but I indulged myself with
+one in the last letter I wrote to you. It reminds me of the only _bon
+mot_ to which I can lay claim. When I was about six years old, my
+mother and I were visiting an aunt of mine, and, one evening, my mother
+read aloud to my aunt a letter she had just received. It was lengthy,
+and no doubt interesting to the two ladies, while the contents were
+probably beyond my comprehension. “Little pigs have long ears,” and I
+noticed that, at the conclusion of the letter, my mother read “_P.S._,”
+and then some final sentences. Immediately afterwards I was ordered to
+bed, and, once there, my mother came to see me. My small mind was full
+of this new idea, and I was thirsting for information as to the meaning
+of these mysterious letters. Therefore, when my mother had bid me good
+night and was going away, I said, “Mother, what does _P.S._ mean; is
+it Parting Subject?” She smiled and said, “No, the letters stand for
+_post scriptum_, but the meaning is not very different.” She afterwards
+helped me to wrestle with the Latin grammar, and in time I arrived at
+the exact translation of _post scriptum_, but my childish rendering
+of _P.S._ would do just as well. I was made to bitterly regret having
+ever suggested it; for, when my proud mother told the story, my various
+brothers and sisters, separately and collectively, insisted that some
+one had told me to say it, and I am not sure that they did not, each in
+turn, give me a thrashing to impress upon me the vice of “trying to be
+sharp.” When children have brothers and sisters, their schooling begins
+early and lasts a long time--fortunately for themselves and the world
+at large.
+
+That, however, has nothing to do with the matter I was going to write
+about. I suppose you sometimes look through those galleries of garments
+which begin and end ladies’ journals, just as I occasionally glance at
+the advertisements of new books, which I find at the end of a modern
+novel. The other day I was idly turning over the pages of such a series
+of advertisements (each page devoted to one book, and quotations from
+the newspaper reviews of it), and I could not help noticing how, in the
+case of every book, if not in every _critique_, the author was compared
+with some well-known writer--Dickens, Thackeray, George Meredith, Zola,
+Ibsen, De Maupassant--it does not seem to matter who it is, so long
+as it is some one. As for Mr. Rudyard Kipling, a writer who mentions
+India, China, Japan, Siam, the French or Dutch Indies, or any place
+within two or three thousand miles of them, is certain to find himself
+compared with the astonishingly talented author of “Soldiers Three,”
+“The Drums of the Fore and Aft,” and a dozen other tales that had made
+Mr. Kipling famous in India years before his name had been heard in the
+West.
+
+I know that whenever we visit a new place, we have a ridiculous desire
+to compare it with some totally different spot that is familiar to us;
+and I suppose we make the comparison, either because we want to show
+that we have been somewhere and seen something, or because we are so
+devoid of ideas or language to express them, that this comparison is
+our only means of description. Like London, only bigger; Petersburg in
+winter, but not so cold; bluer than the Mediterranean, and so on. It
+seems to imply poverty of resource; but if to help readers to realise
+the appearance of a spot in New Zealand, that place is compared with
+the Carse of Stirling, the information is not of much use to those who
+do not know their Scotland.
+
+Is it the same with literary critics? Hardly, I fancy; because even
+though they write easily of Lake Toba, the Thibetan highlands, or more
+or less known writers, it can’t give them any real satisfaction, for
+their own names are but seldom disclosed.
+
+Enlightened people who attend places of Christian worship, often wish
+that the occupant of the pulpit would read a sermon by some great
+divine, rather than stumble through an original discourse, which
+possibly arouses only the scorn, the resentment, or the pity of his
+hearers. The preacher who is conscious of his own want of eloquence, or
+realises that the spring of his ideas trickles in the thinnest and most
+uncertain of streams, may seek to improve his language, or replenish
+his own exhausted stock of subjects, by studying the sermons of abler
+men. I doubt if he is greatly to be blamed. Some illustrious writers
+have won renown after a diligent study of the works of dead authors,
+and a suggestion of the style of a famous master may be observable in
+the work of his admirer; just as a modern painter may, consciously or
+unconsciously, follow the methods, the composition, or the colour
+schemes of a genius who has given his name to a school of imitators. It
+would, however, be a little unreasonable to compare all play-writers
+with Shakespeare, all essayists with Macaulay. If there is nothing new
+under the sun, two or more men or women, contemporaries, may have the
+same ideas on a given subject without either being open to a charge
+of plagiarism. They may express the same ideas differently, or put
+different ideas in somewhat the same style of language: both may have
+drawn inspiration from a more or less original source, not generally
+known or quoted--in all these cases comparisons may be, and often
+are, simply inept. Some subjects are not yet entirely exhausted, and
+while it is interesting to compare the different views of recognised
+authorities, it is annoying to both writers and readers to find that
+the highest flight of criticism of a new work seems often to consist in
+mentioning the names of other writers on the same subject--as though
+it were, in a sense, their personal property, or they had some vested
+interest in it, by reason of discovery or continual harping on that
+particular theme. I suppose reviewers, except in a few instances,
+have no time to really read the books they criticise, and judge them
+on their merits; but, if they could, it would be more satisfactory
+to possible readers, who, as things are, can form very little opinion
+of what a book contains, its relative value or worthlessness, from
+statements like this, which purports to be an extract from a review in
+a leading London paper:--
+
+    “The opening chapters have a savour of Dickens; the climax is
+    almost Zolaesque.”
+
+Or this:--
+
+    “The knowledge of character revealed reminds us of George
+    Eliot’s ‘Scenes of Clerical Life.’”
+
+You will think that one who wanders from an infantile legend about the
+word _postscript_ to a growl anent newspaper reviews, is indifferently
+qualified to criticise any one or anything. As a letter-writer I
+acknowledge that I am inconsequent. I do not even seek to be otherwise.
+
+
+
+
+XXXII
+
+A CHALLENGE
+
+
+Oh! Oh! Oh! What a storm! But are you not a little unreasonable?
+
+You are not a circulating library, you say, nor a railway book-stall;
+you don’t want to hear tales of forest and flood which have
+no personal interest for you or me; and you cannot carry on a
+correspondence with a phrase-book, a thing that has no existence as a
+human being, and, when not lecturing you, or taking advantage of your
+good-nature to air boring platitudes, is doling out little stories to
+you, as though you were a child in a Sunday School.
+
+My dear lady, I hope that you feel better after that tirade; but as you
+have attacked me with violence, and at all points at once, I claim the
+right to defend myself, and again I say you are unreasonable. We were
+never strangers to each other, or so it seems to me, but circumstances
+and a certain mental attraction drew us into friendship. In the
+delight of your society I realised what it would be to me if, through
+that friendship, I might win your affection. I even dreamed that I
+might compel the impossible, and attain to an earthly paradise of sweet
+alliance whence no mortal promises and no inspired writings could ever
+win me.
+
+Whilst we dream of life’s big possibilities, its little duties drive
+us where they will. We were parted, and, if I do not now remind you
+of that time, it is because I know that there are few things a woman
+hates more than to be told she once, by word or deed, showed any tender
+feeling for a man who no longer holds the same place in her regard. You
+went and I stayed; you spoke and I believed; and what I did not say was
+only what you told me not to repeat, lest parting should seem over-hard
+to bear. Then I wrote and you wrote, and, at first, your letters were
+so fine a gift that they almost consoled me for your absence, and, in
+my great gratitude, I wrote some of the thoughts of my inmost heart. My
+fervour seemed to frighten you, and the chill of your surroundings came
+through your letters to me. It may have been the fault of those about
+you; it may have been that you were tried beyond endurance, possibly
+even that I, in some indirect way, was a cause of your distress. But
+you never said so; you never took me into your confidence and frankly
+told me you were in any trouble; only your letters went through those
+phases which I, once, cynically suggested were the common fate of those
+whose friendship could not survive a real separation. I was too slow
+to at once trim my sails to the varying breeze, nor could I call back
+letters which were already on their way. Therefore I fell under your
+displeasure, and you ordered me to write only of “the daily round, the
+common task.” I obeyed you, as nearly as I was able. When you asked
+me to tell you of what I saw, of what I was doing, I attempted to do
+so, and to make the telling as little personal as I could. To weary
+you with the trivialities of my daily life, to describe to you the
+wearisome people I met, the _banalités_ they uttered--that was beyond
+me. Therefore, to try and interest you, I gave you the best of what had
+interested me, and even that was only done with some sacrifice, for
+you know my time is not all my own. Naturally those letters were empty
+of personal reference. To have written of myself would have been to
+write of you, and that might have brought down on my head another storm
+of invective. I am in the position of the burnt child: I dread the
+fire. Even now I dare not accept your invitation. I might write, and,
+before the letter could reach you, receive from you another missive,
+telling me your present letter was written under an impulse you regret
+but cannot explain, and that of course it meant nothing. You would add
+that you delight in the discussion of abstract questions, and queer
+little stories are, to you, as rain to dry land. Then I can imagine the
+sternly traced characters of that other destroying scroll, in which
+you would sum up the tale of my sins, after reading such a letter
+as I might send in answer to your present message of discontent and
+provocation. So, I warn you. I shall give you time to think; in spite
+of your scoffing, I shall continue to write to you as I have done in
+these latter days; and then--and then--your blood be on your own head.
+If the outward cold of damp and fog, of weeks of sunless gloom and
+surroundings of rain-drenched rows of hideous dwellings, muddy roads,
+sullen skies, and leaden seas produce what you no doubt think is a
+virtuous frame of mind, when the state of the crops and the troubles of
+the farmers are the only matters with which a conscience-burdened woman
+can occupy her mind, I shall pander to your appetite, and write to you
+of famine and plague, the prospects of the poppy (the opium poppy,
+you understand) and I will even stretch a point to discuss the silver
+question and the fate of the rupee. If, on the other hand, you throw
+discretion to the winds; if in that atmosphere where you say you are
+always frozen, “outside and in,” you pine for a glimpse of sunlight;
+if you like to watch a conflagration when at a safe distance from the
+flames, or even if the contortions of the cockchafer, when impaled by
+the pin, excite your amusement;--then also I will help you to realise
+these very reasonable wishes. Yes, then I will write you a love-letter
+that will be but a poor substitute for the impassioned words that
+should stir your heart, were once my lips within reach of yours.
+
+Even from here I see you smile; even now I hear you say, “Well,
+write--after all vivisection has benefited the race, and the
+contortions of the cockchafer will perhaps distract one’s attention
+for a moment from the eternal monotony of the narrow life.”
+
+
+
+
+XXXIII
+
+IN EXILE
+
+
+In order that I may keep on perfectly safe ground, and successfully
+resist the temptation to depart from my resolve, I will tell you a
+story of my visit to Burmah, where, wandering aimlessly, I found an old
+friend in a distinguished Indian civilian, who invited me to accompany
+him on a tour of inspection. I gladly accepted his invitation, and
+we had been travelling for some time, driving, riding, walking, and,
+finally, after rafting over a magnificent series of rapids, had been
+some days paddling down the river in house-boats, when we reached a
+remote inland station called Phatmah. I caught my first view of the
+place as our boat swung round a bend in the great river, disclosing a
+reach of brown water, enclosed between high, jungle-covered banks, and
+shut in, at the end, by a green hill, crowned by a plank bungalow with
+a mat roof.
+
+The boat was soon alongside the rough landing-stage, where a young
+civilian, introduced as Basset, was waiting to receive his chief. We
+climbed the steep hill, and Basset conducted us to the house devoted to
+our shelter for the couple of days we were to spend at Phatmah.
+
+In my two days’ stay there, I had ample opportunities of seeing the
+place, and realising its few attractions and its many drawbacks. There
+was a tiny native village on the bank of one of the two streams that
+here united in one great river, and flowed in stately, ever-widening
+progress for over two hundred miles before it reached the sea: two
+hundred miles of virgin forest, save for the native villages and
+clearings that lined the banks at uncertain intervals. A few jungle
+tracks leading to distant mines were the only apology for roads; the
+river was the real highway, and the sole means of transport were native
+boats. Comfortable enough, these boats, for men used to jungle travel;
+flat and wide, with a palm-leaf roof, the fore-part occupied by the
+crew, the after-part by passengers. There was a deck of boards or split
+bamboos, and you could only move about it by crawling on your hands and
+knees. Entrance and exit were accomplished by the same means. A door,
+at the back of the enclosed after-deck, led on to a bamboo frame over
+the rudder; the steersman sat on the palm-leaf awning, and the only
+privacy was obtained by hanging a screen between crew and passengers.
+There was room for two mattresses on the after-deck, and there the
+passengers sat or lay through the blazing heat of the tropical day and
+the star-lit stillness of the Burmese night.
+
+At this station there dwelt, besides Basset, an officer of police,
+another concerned with public works, and an apothecary in charge of
+a hospital. That was all. Their quarters were dotted about on the
+high land behind Basset’s bungalow. For the rest, the eye was met
+by jungle--near and far--endless jungle, and the river-reach. Silent
+and placid the waters, moving along in brown eddies, when, as now,
+the river was in flood; clear and shallow, disclosing groups of rocks
+dotted about the bed, in what was called the dry season.
+
+At the time of our visit it was spring, and the jungle, especially in
+certain parts of the mountainous country, was a truly marvellous sight.
+The forest had put on its wedding garment, and the new leaves of many,
+even of most of the trees, were dazzling in the brilliance of their
+colouring. The prevailing hues were red and yellow; but then there were
+shades of red and of yellow that one never seemed to have dreamed of,
+such quantity, such intensity that the eyes almost ached with gazing at
+the glory of it all.
+
+One is struck, especially in the East, by the wonder of flowering
+trees, or the striking creepers that cling to the tops of forest
+giants; but imagine these same trees in all their height, their wealth
+of foliage, and beauty of form, one mass of colour! There were trees of
+delicate lemon, of brilliant cadmium, of deepest orange; trees of such
+crimson that every leaf looked as though it were dripping with fresh
+blood; trees of copper and pale pink, of terra-cotta and scarlet--all
+these in one pure colour, or intermingled with every shade of green
+from palest apple, through varying tones of emerald, to the shining
+dark leaves that seemed all but black. Dotted about, here and there,
+stood trees of some shade of brown, or graceful forms clothed in darker
+or paler heliotrope. The virgin Eastern forest is a sight to see, but
+the glory of the jungle in the first freshness of spring leafage is a
+revelation.
+
+That jungle was one of the attractions of Phatmah;--not monopolised by
+Phatmah, only shared, and not to so large an extent as by a thousand
+other places nearer the great hills.
+
+Then there was the river reach, where all day long the shadows crept
+gradually closer under one bank as they were projected from the other;
+while now and then a native boat passed up or down the river, and,
+for a few minutes, broke the melancholy of that changeless stretch of
+water. The sunsets made the last, and perhaps the greatest attraction
+of Phatmah. Then, in the after-glow, great beams of light would rise,
+fan-like, from east and west, almost meeting in the zenith, and leave,
+between their rays, sharply-defined, heavenly roads of deepest blue;
+while the soft white clouds, riding through the sky, took shades of
+gold and rose and pearly-grey, until the stars shone out and set all
+the cicadas shrilling a chorus to waken every other denizen of the
+jungle.
+
+Sunsets cannot be commanded; they are intermittent, and, though they
+are comforting--in a way--they do not always come when they are most
+wanted. In Phatmah it would rain in torrents on the evening that you
+had set your heart upon seeing a gorgeous sunset, and, when it did not
+rain, it was hotter than in almost any other spot in Burmah, and that
+is saying a great deal. Moreover, it was as dull probably as any place
+on earth, except to the three white men who lived there and had their
+work to do, or whose business took them, weekly, or at least monthly,
+into some other more or less desolate part of the district.
+
+I noted these things in that first day I was at Phatmah, while my
+friend and Basset were talking about roads to be made and buildings
+constructed, natives to be encouraged or sat upon, dacoits harried,
+and all the things that make the life of the exiled English officer in
+the outermost parts of the Empire. I also observed Basset. I knew he
+had a wife, a girl whom he had just married, when at home on leave in
+England, and who was now in that house, across the grass, a hundred
+yards away. I had not seen Basset’s wife, but I had heard of her from
+some who had met her, before she left the last confines of civilisation
+and started for what must in future be her home. What I had heard made
+it seem unlikely that Mrs. Basset would reconcile herself to jungle
+life, and, when I understood Phatmah, I thought it would be very
+surprising if such a miracle could be wrought for the sake of Basset.
+
+Basset was a most excellent fellow, a good officer, good to look at,
+lithe and well-made, a man who had found favour with his seniors and
+was likely to do well. He was young, but that was a fault for which he
+was not responsible, and one that every day was curing. And yet, when
+I saw Phatmah, I thought Basset had been unwise, and when I saw his
+wife, as I did the next day, I felt certain of it.
+
+I had been told she was very young in years and child-like at that,
+nervous to the last degree, selfish, unreasonable, full of fancies,
+and rather pretty--but the one or two ladies who were my informants
+differed as to this last important particular.
+
+What I saw for myself, when I went to call upon “the only lady in
+Phatmah,” was this: a glory of fair waving hair framing a young, but
+not very youthful face; a pallid complexion, and features where nothing
+specially appealed for admiration; a voice that was not more than
+pleasant, and a figure that, while very _petite_, seemed well enough
+shapen, as far as could be seen under the garment of silk and lace that
+must have been the first of its kind to visit Phatmah. The house did
+not strike me as showing more than the evidences of a young man’s
+anxiety to make it what he would call “fit for a lady”; but then the
+resources of Phatmah were strictly limited, the Bassets had only just,
+so to speak, arrived, and things entrusted to the tender mercies of
+river transport were often months upon the way. On the whole there was
+nothing about Mrs. Basset to excite either sympathy or interest, if
+you had met her in any civilised place; but as the only white woman
+in Phatmah, come here to gain her first real experiences of life,
+scared by frogs and lizards, and terrified by the many insects that fly
+straight at you and stick on your hair, your face, your clothes, one
+could not help feeling that the experiment, if not a cruel one to her,
+was at least thoughtless, and, if persisted in, might end in disaster.
+
+My friend and I exerted ourselves that afternoon and evening (for
+the Bassets dined with us) to put as good a complexion as we could
+on Burmah in general and Phatmah in particular; and though, to the
+ordinary spectator, we might have appeared to succeed fairly well, I
+carried away with me vague suspicions, born of my own observation and
+the conversation I had had with the lady as we sat and looked over
+that jungle-shrouded river-reach, while the path to the stars grew an
+ever-deepening blue, and she told me somewhat of herself and her life.
+There was no doubt that she not only _looked_ dissatisfied, but felt
+it, and said it, and took credit for her candour. Then she complained
+that Phatmah offered no opportunities for “getting into mischief,” but
+that was probably merely another way of saying that she was utterly
+bored; and, in truth, when she asked if I could conceive a greater
+dulness, the trite reply that she had her husband stuck in my throat,
+and I admitted that it was immeasurably dull, but talked cheerfully
+of what it would be when communication with the outside world was
+easier, and then fell to asking her if she read, or played, or sang,
+or sketched, as Phatmah seemed to be the very place for study, or the
+practice of accomplishments. She pleaded that she was too lately from
+school to hanker after study, but became almost enthusiastic on the
+subject of music.
+
+Then our _tête-à-tête_ was interrupted, and in the evening the only
+thing that struck me was that, for a girl so lately from school,
+our guest drank rather more in quantity and variety than was usual,
+and whenever in the after-days my thoughts went back to Phatmah, I
+remembered this with an uncomfortable feeling of the awful loneliness
+of that reach of brown river, the boundless forest, and the girl, left
+for days to her own devices, and the possibility of “getting into
+mischief” by drowning a craving, not for excitement so much as for the
+companionship of her kind.
+
+A hundred miles below Phatmah the river wound through the plains
+in long reaches, six or seven miles in length; the country was more
+open, and the banks were occasionally fringed with palms and orchards
+surrounding the huts of a native hamlet. The moon was waxing to the
+full, and, sitting at the stern of my boat, looking back up the long
+stretch of water bathed in mellow light, till the wide band of silver
+narrowed to a point that vanished in grey mist, I could not help
+thinking that, even here, the sense of loneliness, of monotony, and
+banishment, was less acute than in Phatmah’s forest-bound clearing.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Years passed, and I was again in Burmah, this time with an object. I
+had forgotten all about the Bassets: one does not remember people who
+live in the East, only the places that are striking, and the things
+seen or heard of that may become profitable in one way or another.
+I thought of my friend, because he might be able to help me, but he
+was away in another part of the province and I had to journey alone.
+Officials are useful on their own ground, and even when they are not
+personal friends, they are, in the East at any rate, ready enough to
+be hospitable. The advantage of “entertaining angels unawares” is,
+however, all on their side, and guests so soon recognise this fact,
+that they feel under no obligation to their hosts, and seldom wish
+to remember them if they meet them in Europe. This is specially the
+case with English notabilities, who seem to think that they have a
+prescriptive right, not only to waste a man’s time, but also to use
+his house, stables, and servants, as at an hotel where the visitor
+exercises every privilege except that of making payment. Unfortunately
+for me, I had to go beyond the region of even occasional civilians,
+those isolated exiles whose houses the stranger occupies, whether the
+master is present or absent, and for some days I had to put up with the
+Dâk Bungalow and the chicken of happy despatch.
+
+It was the very hottest time of the morning when I arrived at such a
+bungalow in a small mining village. I had been riding since dawn, and
+was glad enough to turn into that weedy compound and get off my pony.
+Whew! the heat of it! The two or three sinewy hens, which by-and-by
+would be slaughtered to make the traveller’s holiday, were sitting
+half-buried and wallowing in the dust, with their wings spread out
+and their mouths open, gasping for breath. It was a day when solids
+liquefy, when inanimate objects develop an extraordinary faculty for
+sticking to each other, and when water no longer feels wet. There
+was not a sign of any human being anywhere, and I went round to the
+back premises to try and find the caretaker. After a diligent search I
+discovered him, fast asleep of course, and, while he went to prepare
+a room, I unsaddled the pony and put it in the stable. Then I went
+into the house and told the servant to get me some food while I had a
+bath. The process of catching the hen and cooking her was a long one,
+and I was sleeping in a chair when the man came to tell me the feast
+was ready. I had an idea that I was not alone in the house, and, when
+I questioned the caretaker, he said that there was a lady who had
+arrived the night before and had not appeared that morning. Our means
+of conversation was limited to a few words, and I could not make out
+who the lady was, or even whether he knew her; but it seemed to me a
+curious thing that a white woman should be there, and I supposed she
+came from one of the big ruby mines; but even then it was strange that
+she should be alone. I made further inquiries about the neighbourhood,
+and learned that I was not more than a day’s journey from Phatmah.
+I knew it was somewhere about, but had not thought it so near; it was
+not on the line of my objective, and I was not interested in its
+exact position. Then some of my bearers arrived with luggage, and I
+deliberately settled myself for a siesta.
+
+It was late afternoon when I awoke, and I determined to push on to
+another small place, which I could just reach before darkness made
+further progress impossible. Even a short stage by night would be
+preferable to the frightful heat and the oppressive atmosphere of this
+lonely house, in its neglected and overgrown garden, where one lean
+chicken now scratched alone. Just then the caretaker came to me and
+asked my advice about the other guest. He had seen and heard nothing of
+her for the whole day, and was afraid there must be something amiss.
+That, I felt, was extremely likely, especially when he told me he had
+knocked at the door of her room and received no answer. I did not at
+all like the mission, but there was nothing for it but to go and see
+what was the matter. A few steps took us to the door of the lady’s
+room, and I knocked, first gently, then loudly, but no sound broke
+the ominous silence. Then I turned the handle, only to find that the
+door was locked. As I could not force it open without making a great
+clatter, I went outside to try the windows. There were two of these
+some height from the ground, and it was difficult to get at them. The
+first was fast, and from my insecure footing I could not force it; but
+with the second I was more fortunate, and as a half-shutter sprang
+open, and a stream of light poured into the dark room, I saw the form
+of a girl, or woman, lying on the bed, in an attitude that somehow did
+not suggest sleep. I shouted at her, but she never moved, and then
+I climbed into the room. I noticed instantly that there was hardly
+anything lying about the ill-furnished room, but, on a small table
+near the bed, was an almost empty brandy bottle and a glass. The woman
+was dressed in a blouse and skirt, the only things she had taken off
+being apparently her hat and shoes. She had her back towards me, and
+the sunlight centred on a mass of fair hair and gave it a deeper tinge.
+Before I put my hand on her cold fingers I felt certain she was dead,
+and as I gently turned her head and recognised in the now grey features
+the face of the only white woman in Phatmah, I don’t think I was very
+much surprised, though I was terribly shocked. Held tightly in her
+other hand was a small empty bottle that had once held chloral, and the
+faint sickly smell of it hung in the heavy stifling atmosphere of that
+bare and comfortless room. Poor lonely child, she had managed to “get
+into mischief” after all.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIV
+
+OF LOVE--NOT IN FICTION
+
+
+You have sent me the answer which I expected. Now tell me how to write
+a love-letter that shall speak no word of love--a letter as full of
+the passion, the boundless adoration, and the faith of love, as the
+Chaurapanchâsika, those fifty distichs of Chauras that proclaimed
+his forbidden worship of the lovely daughter of King Sundava. The
+Brahman’s lament won the king’s heart and saved the poet’s life;
+and I would learn of you how to win a heart, and perhaps save more
+than one life from shipwreck. After all, our civilisation may, in its
+comparative refinement, be more cruel than the unfettered caprice of an
+Eastern king nineteen centuries ago. Tell me, tell me, you who know,
+how can pen and ink be made to speak with the force and persuasion of
+spoken words, when half the world divides the writer from the reader of
+poor halting sentences that must, of necessity, leave unsaid all that
+the heart yearns to utter?
+
+When eye can look into eye, when the stretched-out hand meets a
+responsive touch,--timid and uncertain, or confident with the knowledge
+of passionate love passionately returned,--the words that are spoken
+may be feeble, but the influence of a loved presence will carry
+conviction, and one voice awaken in one heart the music of the spheres.
+Then the dullest day is bright, the lovers’ feet tread on air, day
+is a joy and night a gladness, or at least a dream of delight. Then
+life is divided between anticipation and reality. No wonder the hours
+fly on wings; no wonder the thoughts suggested by brief absences are
+forgotten in the wonder and delight of briefer meetings, till the dread
+moment of separation comes, and aching hearts too late realise the
+appalling suddenness of the actual parting and the ceaseless regret
+for opportunities lost. You understand that my thoughts are not of the
+devout lover who is going through a short apprenticeship before signing
+a bond of perpetual servitude or partnership, as the case may be. That
+is a phase which, if it occasionally deserves sympathy, seldom receives
+it; indeed, it hardly awakens interest, except in those who wish to
+see the preliminaries concluded, that their interest in the principals
+may either cease, and give themselves more freedom, or begin, and bring
+them some profit. I appeal to you to tell me how to keep alive the
+divine flame when oceans and continents divide two loving hearts; how
+to tell of longing and bitter regret, of faith and love and worship,
+when such words may not be written; how to make personal influence
+felt across five seas and through many weary months; how to kill doubt
+and keep strong and faithful a priceless love, against which the stars
+in their courses may seem ready to fight; how, above all, to help one
+who needs help, and warm sympathy, and wise advice, so that, if it
+be possible, she may escape some of life’s misery and win some of
+life’s joy.
+
+Journeying through this weary old world, who has not met the poor
+struggling mortal, man or woman, old or young, for whom the weal or
+woe of life hangs in the balance, to turn one way or the other, when
+the slightest weight is cast into either scale? Who has not been asked
+for sympathy or advice, or simply to lend an ear to the voice of a
+hopeless complaint? Some feel the iron in their souls far more keenly
+than others. While the strong fight, the weak succumb, and the shallow
+do not greatly mind, after they have gone through a short torture of
+what seems to them profound emotion. But in their case sympathy is
+rather wasted, for, however violent their grief, their tears are soon
+dried, and it must have been written for them that “joy cometh with the
+morning.”
+
+You know what it is when the heart seems to struggle for more freedom,
+because it is choking with a love it may not, or will not, express;
+when, in the absence of one face, all other companionship is irksome,
+all conversation stale and unprofitable; when daylight wearies and
+night is cruelly welcome, because the struggle to play a part, and
+pretend an interest one does not feel, is over, and one stretches out
+one’s arms to the darkness, and whispers, “Come to me,” to ears that
+cannot hear. What strange unnatural creatures we are, for we stifle the
+voices of our souls, and seem to delight in torturing ourselves for the
+sake of some idea born of a tradition, the value of which we dare not
+even submit to the test of argument. If in response to your heart’s
+cry there came the one whose presence you desire, you would instantly
+torture yourself rather than confess your message. Whatever it cost
+you, you would not only pretend that the sudden appearance of the
+greatly beloved was the last thing you wished for, but you might even
+send him away with the impression that he had deeply offended you. And
+yet--Ah well! this artificial fortress we take such pains to build, and
+to keep in repair, is not proof against every assault. There are crises
+of life--an imminent danger, the presence or appearance of death, a
+sudden and irresistible wave of passionate feeling, or a separation
+that has no promise of reunion--before these the carefully constructed
+rampart of convention and outward seeming goes down like a house of
+cards.
+
+    “When a beloved hand is laid in ours,
+     When, jaded by the rush and glare
+     Of the interminable hours,
+     Our eyes within another’s eyes see clear;
+     When one world-deafened ear
+     Is by the tones of a loved voice caressed,
+     A bolt is shot back somewhere in the heart,
+     And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again;
+     The eye sinks inward and the heart lies plain,
+     And what we mean we say,
+     And what we would we know.”
+
+There was a day which, to me, will ever be my day of days--halcyon
+hours of joy and gladness, coloured by a setting of wondrous beauty,
+and burdened by the fateful shadow of an inevitable parting that would,
+in all human probability, be the point where two lives, which had
+grown strangely and sweetly close, must divide, without any hope of
+re-uniting. You remember how in that early dawn we drove through the
+dewy grass, covered with the fairies’ dainty white gossamer kerchiefs,
+lace cobwebs spread out to dry in the morning sun; and, as we left the
+town and made for the distant mountains, the dark red road wound up and
+down hills, through orchards and grass-land and forest, till we gained
+a little village, where the road forked, and a clear, rain-swollen
+stream slipped swiftly past the picturesque brown cottages. Whilst the
+horses were being changed, we strolled a little way down the road, and
+watched a group of laughing urchins, playing in that lilied stream
+like water-babies. How they screamed with delight as their small
+glistening bodies emerged from the shining water to struggle up a crazy
+ladder that led from the back of a hut down into the winding stream;
+and how the sun shone! lighting the snow-white plumage of a brood of
+solemn-looking ducks, sailing majestically round the sedge-girt edges
+of a tiny pool beneath the bridge. In that pool was mirrored a patch
+of clear blue sky, and across it fell the shadows cast by a great
+forest tree. That was “a day in spring, a day with thee and pleasure!”
+Then, as we drove on, there were heavenly glimpses of sapphire hills,
+seen down long vistas through the forest. For the last few miles, the
+road followed the bank of a deep and rapid river, whose clear waters
+reflected the graceful overhanging trees, while the banks were buried
+in a thick maze of ferns and grasses, and great shining patches of
+buttercups and marigolds.
+
+Were you sorry when the drive was over, and our sweet converse perforce
+ended? I wonder would you have enjoyed it better had that exquisite
+spot, in the depths of the forest, been ours alone for that one day?
+One day is so little in a lifetime, and yet what was ours was good! Do
+you remember how, in that far-off place, we met on the road one whom
+you recognised, but whose face and manner gave no clue to the romantic
+story of his life, a story that would have brought him great renown
+in the days when valour was accounted of the highest worth? You have
+not forgotten that, nor yet the return drive, when, as we crested the
+last hill, and began the steep and tortuous descent into the plain, the
+lurid rays of the setting sun threw crimson stains across dark pools of
+lotus-bearing water, half-hidden by overhanging grasses and the dank
+leaves of white-blossomed lilies. Beneath us lay a wide stretch of
+swamp-land, the very picture of abandonment, desolation, and solitude;
+heaps of up-turned earth, green with rank vegetation, and pools of
+dead water, whose dark shadows reflected the lambent fires of the
+western horizon. A broken line of black trees stood clear against the
+rapidly-darkening sky, but, as we reached the foot of the hill, heaven
+and earth were wrapped in the shadows of night. And then my day was
+done. Doubt was buried, and the “big word” bound our hearts in the joy
+of that priceless sympathy which carries human aspirations beyond the
+storm and stress of human life to a knowledge of the Divine. We said
+little; when hearts are at one, few words are needed, for either knows
+the other’s thoughts. But you were slow to unbend, making a brave
+fight against fate, and keeping true to your creed, though seven days
+would bring the end. To me, the light of that one brilliant day had
+been intensified by the rapidly approaching shadow of the inevitable
+parting. I wonder--now that the bitterness of separation has come,
+now that I vaguely ask myself what has happened to Time since I lost
+you--whether, if we could have that day again, you would again be so
+merciless in your determination to hold love in leash, and give no sign
+of either the passion or the pain that was tearing your heart. I think
+it was a hard fight, for, though you concealed your thoughts, you could
+not hide the physical effects of the struggle. Did you know how your
+weariness distressed me, and what I would have given to have the right
+to try to comfort you?
+
+I have a confused memory of those other days. Brief meetings and
+partings; insane desires to make any excuse to write to you, or hear
+from you, though I had but just left your presence; a hopeless and
+helpless feeling that I had a thousand things to say to you, and yet
+that I never could say one of them, because the time was so short
+that every idea was swallowed up in the ever-present dread of your
+departure, and the ceaseless repetition of your cry, “I cannot bear it,
+I cannot bear it.” From out that vague background shine two stars, two
+brilliant memories to light the darkness of the weary months until I
+see your face again--a blissful memory and a sign. All the rest seems
+swallowed up in the bitterness of that parting, which comes back like
+some horrible nightmare.
+
+Only black water under a heavy overcast sky; only the knowledge that
+the end had come; that what should be said must be said then, with
+the instant realisation that the pain of the moment, the feeling of
+impotent rebellion against fate, destroyed all power of reflection, and
+the impulse to recklessness was only choked back by the cold words of
+a publicly spoken farewell. Then rapid motion, and in one minute the
+envious darkness had taken everything but the horrible sense of loss
+and inconsolable regret. Whatever my suffering, it was worse for you; I
+at least was alone, alone with a voice which ever murmured in my ears
+that despairing cry, “I cannot bear it, I cannot bear it.”
+
+When two who have been brought together, so close together that they
+have said the “big word” without faltering, are suddenly swept asunder
+by the receding wave of adverse circumstances, there must ever arise
+in their hearts that evil question, “How is it now? Is it the same?
+Or have time, and distance, and a thousand other enemies, so filled
+the space between us that the memory of either is growing dim, and
+the influence of the other waning, waning till the absence of all
+binding tie begins to feel like a very bond. Will the vision simply
+fade gradually out of sight?” For us there is no promise, no tie,
+no protestations of fealty; only knowledge, and that forced upon us
+rather than sought. You give or you don’t give, that is all; if
+you also take away, you are within your right. There may be reasons
+and reasons, I understand them all; and I have only one desire, that
+whatever prevails may secure you happiness. What you can give seems
+to me so unlike what others ever have to give, so infinitely beyond
+price, that, where I might gain, it is not right that I should speak.
+Therefore I cannot urge, I dare not even plead, a cause that has less
+to recommend it than the forlornest hope.
+
+
+
+
+XXXV
+
+OF OBSESSION
+
+
+If that is irrevocable--why, then, no more. You can only decide, and
+while I would not have you consider me, I do ask you to think of
+yourself. I have no title to be considered, not the remotest; if I had,
+it might be different. Possibly, even, I had better not write now, and
+yet I must, though you say “Don’t.” It cannot matter for this once,
+and after--well, there may be no after. We are curiously inconsistent
+and very hard to understand; even when we think we know each other
+well, we speak to conceal our thoughts; and, when we write (and it is
+often easier to write what we mean than to say it) I wonder whether
+it occurs to us how marvellously contradictory we can be, and what
+difficult riddles we can frame, in two or three pages of a letter that
+comes straight from the heart and cries to be understood. Verily we
+are the slaves of circumstance; but whilst we accept that position,
+whilst we make sacrifices that can be absolutely heroic, and dumbly
+suffer the crucifixion of a lifetime, we want one other heart to know
+and understand. There are few things harder to bear than to stifle
+every strongest inclination, every dearest hope, to shut the gate
+of life, to lock it and throw away the key, with a determination to
+accept existence and make the best of it. God knows how bitter is that
+renunciation, but, if it be for another, and that other misunderstands,
+then the cruelty of it all seems almost beyond endurance.
+
+If I may write no more to you, you may never understand. If I saw you,
+later, under other circumstances, I could not speak; so there can be
+no explanation for me. I do not plead, I may not. Not once, but often
+you have heard my profession of faith--a gift is good, because it is
+given freely. The greatest good, the most priceless gift, is love. It
+is valuable because it is free. You cannot buy it or compel it; even
+when given, you cannot lock it up, or chain it down, and say, “It is
+mine for ever.” It comes, and it is the joy of life; it goes, and it
+is pity, misery, despair. It is as useless to rave against the loss,
+as to shake one’s fist at Zeus and his thunderbolts. If I ever had,
+then I was thrice-blessed. If I have no longer, the fault is probably
+mine, and I have still the knowledge of what was. Not God Himself can
+deprive me of that. I would have liked that you should know all I yearn
+to say, but because you are not here to tell me, “Say it, say it all,”
+therefore I must keep silence. Perhaps I do not read aright all you
+mean; but some at least I know, and that is what you would have me
+understand without any shadow of doubt. That I realise, down to the
+very lowest depths of the suffering which is dumb for sheer pain; and
+I can say nothing, absolutely nothing, because I have no right; nay,
+more, you tell me to be silent. Surely you know, you know, what I would
+say? You remember how one evening we rode out by the rocks, and we
+talked of a story of faith and high resolve, and you said you did not
+think I was capable of a like devotion. That was a fairy tale; but what
+I said then, I repeat, with greater confidence, now; with hope, yes, I
+could stand and wait--with none, perhaps not.
+
+That is all of me. What your letters have been you know, or at least
+you can guess, for I have answered them, and in those answers you
+could read all I might not say. “There must be an end, and it is not
+because of the trouble, but it is because of the pleasure.” You could
+not tell me that and think, because you bid me, I would not answer?
+Nor does one forget--fortunately--though if to forget be fortunate,
+I suppose to remember must be unfortunate, only it does not seem so
+to me. “Silence is a great barrier”--yes, death is silence, and the
+greatest barrier of all, and the silence of the living is, in a way,
+harder to bear, for it seems so needlessly unkind. Silence, determined,
+unbroken silence, will, I think, kill all feeling. I will not accept
+that as your last word, not yet; but if, when you receive this, you
+make that the beginning of silence, then I shall know, and I will not
+break it. Only I beg of you not to do so hard a thing as this, for
+I will gladly accept any less cruel sentence if you will not make
+yourself as dead to me. I have not done anything that need drive you to
+issue such an edict. Will not some less hopeless judgment, something
+short of eternal silence, serve until I bring on myself this ghastly
+doom? You are thinking that it was I who said, “All or nothing,” I who
+said friendship was too hard a road to tread. That was before--before I
+had tried; before I knew all I know now. You hid your heart far out of
+sight, and I never dared to guess--I do not now. But you went, and I,
+remembering how you went, catch at straws; for, as the Eastern says, I
+am drowning in the deepest sea. Do not think that is extravagant; it is
+because I have learned to count the unattainable at its true value that
+I also realise the immensity of the loss. We stood on either side of a
+wall, and because the wall was near to me I looked over it and almost
+forgot its existence. You, standing farther off, saw always the wall,
+and it shut me out. Then I, thinking it could be nothing to you, tried
+to get across the intervening space, and so fell, hurting myself, as
+those who fall must do. It was not a caprice, not an impulse that took
+me, it was the victory of the uncontrollable. So, doubting me, and to
+do right for both, you said, “I will build a wall too, stronger and
+higher, and then we can sometimes look over and talk to each other,
+and everything will be well.” But it is not well. Only you have vowed
+yourself to the work, and, if it seems hard, you say that all things
+are hard, and this must be good because it costs so much. To suffer
+is bad enough; to give suffering where you would strain every nerve
+to give only joy is so hard that, to help the other, seems worth any
+conceivable pain to oneself. What can it matter how it affects me,
+if I can do some little good for you; something that may save you a
+little pain, win you a little joy? Believe me, I have no wish but this.
+Whatever my selfishness would suggest is not really me, for “Thy law is
+my delight”; nay more, it is my delight to try to anticipate your wish.
+I have no fear except that you should misunderstand me, that I should
+misunderstand you. I am my own to offer, yours to accept--equally if,
+by effacement, I can save you the smallest regret, help you for a few
+yards over the stony path of life by keeping silence, you will neither
+see nor hear from me again. I would you did not doubt, perhaps you do
+not now; at least you cannot distrust, and in this I shall not fail. I
+shall not say farewell. I will never say that; but through the silence,
+if so it must be, sometimes, on a day in spring, perhaps, will come
+the echo of a past that you can recall with nothing more than regret.
+And that is what I do not quite understand. You say, “In all the years
+to come I shall not regret.” Not regret what has been, what might
+have been, or what will be then? Therein lies all the difference, and
+therein lies the riddle, there and in those words, “I am sometimes--”
+How am I to supply the rest? It might be any one of so many things.
+Could it ever be that you are sometimes driven to wonder whether
+everything I could offer is worth anything you would give? “Many waters
+cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it; if a man would
+give all the substance of his house for love, it would be utterly
+contemned.” If that be true, and it has high authority, then in that
+one sentence is contained the conclusion of the whole matter. It tells
+you all that you can wish to know for yourself and myself and even for
+others. I have done; an accident drew from me an acknowledgment of my
+own hurt when it seemed unlikely that the fact should interest you. Now
+I am so unfortunate that, hurt myself, I have made you suffer as well.
+I have nothing to offer to help you, for all I had is yours already.
+And so the end: if so you deem it best. “_Si j’étais Dieu_,” I would
+use what power I had to spare you a moment’s pain and give you such
+happiness that you should forget the meaning of the word “suffering.”
+How utterly powerless we are, how impotent to save those we love, when
+no offer of the best we have, no devotion, no self-effacement, will
+secure the happiness of one other being, whose every pulse throbs in
+unison with ours, yet between whom and us there is fixed the great
+gulf of our own conventions. Is the end of all human hopes, all human
+sorrows, described in these two lines?--
+
+    “Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
+     There was, and then no more of Thee and Me.”
+
+“Let me say it whilst I have the courage.” Suppose you had the greater
+courage to write, “I will never say it.” Let me rather cry with Saul,
+“Farewell to others, but never we part.” And yet I know that we have
+already parted to meet no more.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVI
+
+OF PARADISE LOST
+
+
+By a dispensation of that Providence which, if seldom kind,
+is sometimes less than malignant, I received your two letters
+together--the poison and the antidote. I looked at the dates on the
+postmarks, and I took the poison first. It did not take long to read,
+and I am glad now that I can truly tell you that my impulse was to
+ignore your expressed wish, your command, and to at once tell you
+that I did not believe a single word of those lines, which, if meant
+to hurt, could not have been better conceived, for truly they were
+coldly cruel. Indeed, the note was hateful, and so absolutely unlike
+you, that it must have defeated its object, had that been really as
+you declared it. If you know me at all, you must have realised that,
+if I know the Kingdom of Heaven may not be taken by storm, I should
+never seek for the charity which is thrown to the importunate. But the
+other letter was there, and in it I found such measure of consolation
+as is vouchsafed to those who find that, if their path is difficult,
+they will not tread it alone, and it tends upward. It may not be all we
+desire--how should it be in a world which is full of
+
+                      “Infinite passion
+    And the pain of finite hearts that yearn”?
+
+Still, it is much; and, at the worst, it is death without its sting.
+
+Do I know? I think I do. You see, if the future contains nothing
+for me, I have still the past--and, in that past, I have learnt to
+implicitly trust you, and you have let me see enough of your very self
+to make me disregard even what comes from you, when it has nothing in
+common with your real character. But I shall not forget--I do not do
+that easily at any time--and, if all else faded, I could not forget
+our friendship. Do you think the first man and woman ever forgot that
+once they dwelt in Paradise? It was the recollection of all they had
+lost which was the beginning of mortal suffering. If that “pleasant
+place” is closed to me, I am not likely to forget that I have seen the
+gate, that I know where to find it, and that there is but one. Yes, I
+understand; and the proof is, that in my regret there is no bitterness
+now. I also remember what I said when we leant over the balustrade of
+a verandah and looked out into the silver sheen of a ravishing Eastern
+night, wherein the frail chalices of the moonflower shone like great,
+milk-white stars in their leafy sky, while from the trellis-work
+beneath us rose the faint, sweet scent of those strange blossoms. You
+have taught me how great the exception can be. The cynicism is only
+skin-deep, and I shall never swell the ranks of the Faithful--though
+I still think there is much to be said for the Faith. The creed, like
+other creeds, suffers by the perfunctory service of those who profess
+to be true believers. As for the way you have chosen, I think it is
+the right way, at least it is the best to follow now; and, to help you
+tread it well, I also say, “God be with you.” They need not be my last
+words to you, for, if ever my loyal service can further any wish of
+yours, our friendship is not so poor a thing that you would hesitate
+to give me the satisfaction of doing for you anything that lies in my
+power. That was in the bond we made long ago. If we cannot forget what
+came into our dream of mutual trust and intellectual companionship, is
+it not better to bravely accept the fiat of Destiny and make the past a
+link to bind us more closely to the terms of our bond? Even so we may
+still help each other, still cleave to the sympathy which we know will
+never fail us; and, if our paths divide, the earth is not wide enough
+to keep us asunder, should we ever try to say “Adieu.”
+
+
+
+
+XXXVII
+
+“TO MARY, IN HEAVEN”
+
+
+This is my last letter to you, _Carina_, and I am writing in the belief
+that you are in heaven. But are you really there, and, if you are, is
+all well with you? Have you everything you desire and no regrets? It
+seems such a very long way off, you have such small control over the
+means of transport, and so much depends on hearsay, that one may, I
+trust, be pardoned for entertaining doubt where all is so indefinite.
+Then the accounts of that blessed place that have come to different
+parts of the world, though always inspired, differ so materially.
+To mortals, immortality is a difficult conception. To finite minds,
+conscious of the grasp of a limited intelligence, but still very much
+alive to the evidence of the senses we possess, the idea of a heaven,
+somewhere beyond the reach of earthly imagination, is perhaps more
+difficult still. So many millions come into the world, and we realise
+fairly well how and why they come; they all, without exception, go,
+and none ever return, and some, we are told, are in heaven, and some
+elsewhere. The time here is so absurdly short, and the eternity there
+is so impossibly long, that, if our chances of spending the latter in
+joy, or sorrow, depend on what we do in the former, it is only natural
+that this one idea should occupy our thoughts to the exclusion of all
+others. Yet there, again, we are such frail things, that in this way
+lies what we call madness.
+
+If you have solved the great problem, can you not enlighten my
+darkness, my craving for exact knowledge? Write to me, _Carina_, write
+and tell me what it is all like. If I have wearied you with my feeble,
+little tales, my stupid questions, my pictures that must seem to you
+so flat and colourless in the glory of that better world, my vain
+imaginings and poor human longings, will you not take pity on me and
+gladden my weary eyes with a word-painted vision of the Heavenly City,
+the fields of Elysium, or at least the houris who are to be the portion
+of the Faithful? I do not know which paradise you are in. See, I wait
+with the pencil on the paper: will you not make it write?
+
+You do not heed. Perhaps, after all, you are not there; or is it
+possible that you have forgotten this small planet and those you left
+here, and that you find more congenial friends in the company of the
+angels? I dare say it is natural, and I do not upbraid you; but some
+day I may reach that desired haven, and I want you to remember that I
+have earned your consideration by my discretion, if you can spare me
+no more tender feeling. If, for instance, I had sent you these letters
+while you were still on earth, and you had incautiously left them about
+(as you would have been certain to do), quite a number of them would
+have compromised you in the opinion of the servant girl, and she is the
+origin of a vast deal of earthly gossip. I suppose you have no servant
+girls and no gossip where you are: the absence of effect depending
+on the want of cause. Happy heaven! and yet I believe that there are
+people on this earth who really enjoy being the subject of gossip. To
+them the suggestions of scandal are as the savour of salt, as danger
+is to the sportsman; the wilder the suggestion, the more amusing the
+game; and there are even those who, when tattle wanes and desire fails,
+say or insinuate, to their own detriment, the thing that is not, rather
+than disappear into obscurity. It is the same desire for notoriety and
+attention which prompted Martin to set fire to York Minster, and led
+the woman to complain to the vicar that her husband had ceased to beat
+her.
+
+Up in the serene atmosphere of those heavenly heights you have no
+cathedrals, no husbands, no wives, no work, no play, no food, no
+frocks--pardon me, that is a slip of the pen; of course you have
+frocks, but what else have you? Is it not sometimes just a little
+monotonous? If life is so short that it amounts to little more than the
+constant fear of coming death, are you not sometimes overawed by the
+contemplation of eternity? But, after all, the dwellers in heaven may
+never think. Never to remember, and so never to regret; never to think,
+and so never to desire--that is a possible scheme of existence where
+a thousand years might be as one day, and to the weary it would mean
+rest. But so would oblivion, and we are not altogether satisfied with
+the thought of oblivion.
+
+    “Oh, Threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
+     One thing is certain--_This_ Life flies;
+       One thing is certain, and the rest is Lies;
+     The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.”
+
+That is well enough, but it is not an inspired writing; it is a cry
+rather of despair than conviction, and oft repeated to make up for
+want of certainty. Of things mundane we have acquired a tolerable
+knowledge, however much there is yet to be learnt; but that in us which
+we call the Soul will never be satisfied till it learns something of
+the hereafter. Who will teach it? Do we know more now than they did
+when men fought with bows and arrows, or flint weapons, instead of
+hundred-ton guns fired by electricity?
+
+Standing alone in some vast solitude where man and his doings have
+no part, have made no mark and left no trace--where face to face
+with Nature, with mountain and plain, forest and sea and a limitless
+firmament, man’s somewhat puny efforts are forgotten, there comes an
+intense longing for something higher and nobler than the life we live.
+The soul of man cries out for light, for some goal towards which he may
+by effort and sacrifice attain; for he is not lacking in the qualities
+that have made heroes and martyrs throughout all the ages. If he cannot
+rend the veil and scale the heights of heaven, he can grasp the things
+within his reach; and, realising that there are problems beyond his
+intelligence, he can yet give his life to make easier the lot of his
+fellow-creatures, seeking humbly, but courageously, to follow, no
+matter how far behind, in the footsteps of his Great Exemplar. Nor need
+his efforts be less strenuous, his object less worthy, because this
+passionate cry of a voice, stilled centuries ago, strikes a sympathetic
+chord in his heart.
+
+    “Yet ah! that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
+      That Youth’s sweet-scented manuscript should close!
+        The Nightingale, that in the branches sang,
+      Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
+
+     Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
+      One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed reveal’d,
+        To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
+      As springs the trampled herbage of the field!
+
+     Would but some wingèd Angel, ere too late,
+      Arrest the yet-unfolded Roll of Fate,
+        And make the stern Recorder otherwise
+      Enregister, or quite obliterate!
+
+     Ah Love, could you and I with Him conspire
+      To grasp this sorry Scheme of things entire,
+        Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
+      Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!”
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+    Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
+    Edinburgh & London
+
+
+
+
+  _SECOND EDITION_
+
+  Malay Sketches
+
+  BY
+
+  FRANK ATHELSTANE SWETTENHAM
+
+  WITH TITLE-PAGE AND COVER DESIGNED BY
+
+  PATTEN WILSON
+
+  Crown 8vo, 6s.
+
+
+“Mr. Swettenham’s style is simple and direct and vigorous.
+Particularly good is his eye for colour, and he has a fine sense of
+the brilliant melancholy of the East. To few falls the good fortune of
+introducing us to a new people, and seldom have we the advantage of so
+admirable a guide.”--_Pall Mall Gazette._
+
+“Nothing approaching Mr. Swettenham’s intimate knowledge and
+illuminative analysis has yet seen the light about that fascinating
+country which he so well describes.”--_Daily Chronicle._
+
+“Its unconventional character is one of the most attractive points
+about this very attractive volume. Mr. Swettenham succeeds in making
+the life and character of the Malays real to us in a way that so far as
+we are aware no other writer has done.”--_Publishers’ Circular._
+
+“A pleasant simplicity of style, a total lack of affectation, and
+a comparatively unknown land and people for subject-matter, make
+‘Malay Sketches’ entirely delightful. They are always vivid, always
+convincing.”--_St. James’s Budget._
+
+“This is one of those books which exercise such a fascination upon the
+mind of the stay-at-home traveller. Stay-at-home though he may be, he
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+from the hasty and inexact impressions of the idle globe-trotter.
+‘Malay Sketches’ will be speedily recognised by him as belonging to the
+more reliable kind of his favourite literature.”--_Spectator._
+
+
+LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+    1898
+
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+      [_Second Edition._
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+    THE FIRST PUBLISHED PORTRAIT OF THIS AUTHOR,
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+
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+      [_Sixth Edition._
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+
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+
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+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE YELLOW BOOK
+
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+
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+
+
+       I. April 1894, 272 pp., 15 Illustrations.
+            [_Out of print._
+
+      II. July 1894, 364 pp., 23 Illustrations.
+
+     III. October 1894, 280 pp., 15 Illustrations.
+
+      IV. January 1895, 285 pp., 16 Illustrations.
+
+       V. April 1895, 317 pp., 14 Illustrations.
+
+      VI. July 1895, 335 pp., 16 Illustrations.
+
+     VII. October 1895, 320 pp., 20 Illustrations.
+
+    VIII. January 1896, 406 pp., 26 Illustrations.
+
+      IX. April 1896, 256 pp., 17 Illustrations.
+
+       X. July 1896, 340 pp., 13 Illustrations.
+
+      XI. October 1896, 342 pp., 12 Illustrations.
+
+     XII. January 1897, 350 pp., 14 Illustrations.
+
+    XIII. April 1897, 316 pp., 18 Illustrations.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+  Transcriber’s Note:
+
+  Quotations from other sources, and transliterated materials,
+  have been transcribed as they appear in this book.
+
+  The ordering of entries in the book catalogue has been retained.
+
+  Spelling, grammar, and variation in hyphenation and word usage
+  have been retained.
+
+  Punctuation has been changed occasionally where a clear predominance
+  of usage could be ascertained.
+
+  Typographical changes have been made as as follows:
+
+  p. 7:
+  si cœtera noscit
+    changed to
+  si cætera noscit
+
+  p. 124:
+  between the deep blue bills
+    changed to
+  between the deep blue hills
+
+  p. 157:
+  to regard the unknown quanity with philosophy
+    changed to
+  to regard the unknown quantity with philosophy
+
+  p. 165:
+  Persumably if the man thinks
+    changed to
+  Presumably if the man thinks
+
+  p. 254:
+  The wasp has still a sting left, she says; “You sent
+    changed to
+  The wasp has still a sting left; she says, “You sent
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Unaddressed Letters, by Anonymous
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 47420 ***
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-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Unaddressed Letters, by Anonymous
-
-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'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Unaddressed Letters
-
-Author: Anonymous
-
-Editor: Frank Athelstane Swettenham
-
-Release Date: November 22, 2014 [EBook #47420]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNADDRESSED LETTERS ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Clarity and the Online Distributed Proofreading
-Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
-images generously made available by The Internet
-Archive/American Libraries.)
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 504px;">
-  <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover_jj.jpg" width="504" height="796" alt="Book cover" />
-</div>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p>
-<h1>UNADDRESSED LETTERS</h1>
-
-<hr class="chap1" />
-<div class="page-break-before">
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p>
-
-<div class="book-box">
-<p class="center"><i>By the same Author</i></p>
-<p class="center smcap">Malay Sketches</p>
-<p class="center">Second Edition</p>
-<p class="center">Cr. 8vo, 6s.</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<hr class="chap1" />
-<div class="page-break-before">
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
-
-<div class="title-box">
-<p class="titlepage1">UNADDRESSED</p>
-<p class="titlepage1">LETTERS</p>
-<p class="titlepage3">EDITED BY</p>
-<p class="titlepage2"><i>FRANK ATHELSTANE</i></p>
-<p class="titlepage2"><i>SWETTENHAM, K.C.M.G.</i></p>
-
-<hr class="tb2" />
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 68px;">
-  <img src="images/leaftp1.jpg" width="68" height="60" alt="Title Page Decoration: Leaf" />
-</div>
-
-<hr class="tb3" />
-
-<p class="titlepage2">JOHN LANE</p>
-<p class="titlepage2">THE BODLEY HEAD</p>
-<p class="titlepage2">LONDON AND NEW YORK</p>
-<p class="titlepage2">MDCCCXCVIII</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<hr class="chap1" />
-<div class="page-break-before">
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="center mt3"><i>All rights reserved</i></p>
-<p class="center mt3">Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson &amp; Co.</span></p>
-<p class="center">At the Ballantyne Press</p>
-</div>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="page-break-before">
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><span class="line-height1"><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</span></h2>
-
-
-<p class="cap">“I HAD a friend who loved me;” but he has
-gone, and the “great gulf” is between us.</p>
-
-<p>After his death I received a packet of manuscript
-with these few words:&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>“What I have written may appeal to you because
-of our friendship, and because, when you come to
-read them, you will seek to grasp, in these apparent
-confidences, an inner meaning that to the end will
-elude you. If you think others, not the many but
-the few, might find here any answer to their unuttered
-questionings, any fellowship of sympathy in
-those experiences which are the milestones of our
-lives, then use the letters as you will, but without
-my name. I shall have gone, and the knowledge
-of my name would make no one either wiser or
-happier.”</p>
-
-<p>In the packet I found these letters. I cannot tell
-whether there is any special order in which they
-should be read&mdash;there was nothing to guide me
-on that point. I do not know whether they are to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span>
-real or imaginary people, whether they were ever sent
-or only written as an amusement, a relief to feeling,
-or with a purpose&mdash;the one to which they are now
-put, for instance. One thing is certain, namely, that,
-however taken, they are not all indited to the same
-person; of that there seems to be convincing
-internal evidence.</p>
-
-<p>The writer was, by trade, a diplomatist; by
-inclination, a sportsman with literary and artistic
-tastes; by force of circumstances he was a student
-of many characters, and in some sense a cynic.
-He was also a traveller&mdash;not a great traveller, but
-he knew a good deal of Europe, a little of America,
-much of India and the further East. He spent some
-time in this neighbourhood, and was much interested
-in the country and its people. There is an Eastern
-atmosphere about many of the letters, and he made
-no secret of the fact that he was fascinated by the
-glamour of the lands of sunshine. He died very
-suddenly by misadventure, and, even to me, his
-packet of letters came rather as a revelation.</p>
-
-<p>Before determining to publish the letters, I showed
-them to a friend on whose opinion I knew the writer
-had set store. He said, “The critic will declare
-there is too much scenery, too much sentiment.
-Very likely he will be right for those whose lives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span>
-are passed in the streets of London, and the letters
-will not interest so many readers as would stories
-of blood and murder. Yet leave them. Love is in
-the atmosphere day and night, and the scenery is
-in true proportion to our lives here, where, after all,
-sunsets are commoner than murders.” Therefore
-I have left them as they came to me, only using my
-discretion to omit some of the letters altogether.</p>
-
-<p class="right">F. A. S.</p>
-
-<p class="indent"><i>February 12, 1898.</i></p>
-</div>
-<hr class="chap1" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></p>
-<div class="epigraph-container">
-<div class="epigraph">
-<div>“Thus fare you well right hertely beloved</div>
-<div>frende ... and love me as you have ever</div>
-<div>done, for I love you better than ever I dyd.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-<hr class="chap1" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><span class="line-height1"><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</span></h2>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></p>
-
-<table class="toc" summary="Contents">
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">&nbsp;</td>
-<td class="tocchp">&nbsp;</td>
-<td class="tocpag">PAGE</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">I.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#I">THE HILL OF SOLITUDE</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">1</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">II.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#II">OF WORSHIP</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">6</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">III.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#III">WEST AND EAST</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">13</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">IV.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#IV">A CLEVER MONGOOSE</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">21</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">V.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#V">A BLUE DAY</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">33</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">VI.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#VI">OF LOVE, IN FICTION</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">42</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">VII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#VII">THE JINGLING COIN</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">48</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">VIII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#VIII">A STRANGE SUNSET</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">61</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">IX.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#IX">OF LETTER-WRITING</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">68</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">X.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#X">AT A FUNERAL</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">72</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XI.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XI">OF CHANGE AND DECAY</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">82</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XII">DAUGHTERS AND DESPOTISM</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">96</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XIII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XIII">HER FIANCÉ</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">107</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XIV.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XIV">BY THE SEA</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">115</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XV.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XV">AN ILLUMINATION</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">123</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XVI.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XVI">OF DEATH, IN FICTION</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">129</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XVII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XVII">A HAND AT ÉCARTÉ</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">138</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XVIII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XVIII">THE GENTLE ART OF VEERING WITH THE WIND</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">145</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XIX.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XIX">A REJOINDER</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">153</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XX.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XX">OF IMPORTUNITY</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">159</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXI.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXI">OF COINCIDENCES</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">168</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXII">OF A COUNTRY-HOUSE CUSTOM</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">175</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXIII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXIII">A MERE LIE</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">182</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXIV.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXIV">TIGERS AND CROCODILES</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">191</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXV.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXV">A ROSE AND A MOTH</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">203</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXVI.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXVI">A LOVE-PHILTRE</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">209</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXVII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXVII">MOONSTRUCK</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">220</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXVIII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXVIII">THE “DEVI”</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">229</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXIX.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXIX">THE DEATH-CHAIN</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">242</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXX.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXX">SCANDAL AND BANGLES</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">252</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXXI.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXI">THE REPREHENSIBLE HABIT OF MAKING COMPARISONS</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">259</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXXII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXII">A CHALLENGE</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">265</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXXIII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXIII">IN EXILE</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">270</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXXIV.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXIV">OF LOVE&mdash;NOT IN FICTION</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">284</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXXV.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXV">OF OBSESSION</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">295</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXXVI.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXVI">OF PARADISE LOST</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">303</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="tocnum">XXXVII.</td>
-<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXVII">“TO MARY, IN HEAVEN”</a></td>
-<td class="tocpag">307</td></tr>
-</table>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2 class="bigger">UNADDRESSED LETTERS</h2>
-
-<h2 class="no-break"><a name="I" id="I"></a><span class="line-height">I</span><br />
-THE HILL OF SOLITUDE</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">AN hour ago I climbed the narrow, winding
-path that circles the Hill of Solitude, and as
-I gained the summit and sat upon that narrow
-bench, facing the west, I may have fallen into a
-trance, for there appeared to me an ever-changing
-vision of unearthly beauty.</p>
-
-<p>The sun was sinking into the sea, directly in a
-line with the wide estuary that marks a distant
-river’s mouth. It was setting in a blaze of molten
-gold, while all above and to the northward, the
-background of sky glowed with that extraordinary,
-clear pale-blue blent with green, that makes one
-of the most striking features of the sunsets seen
-from this hill. The clouds were fewer to-night,
-the background wider and clearer, the colour more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
-intense, more transparent, as though the earnest
-gazer might even discern some greater glory,
-beyond and through the shining crystal of those
-heavenly windows.</p>
-
-<p>The calm surface of the sea beneath mirrored
-the lights above, till sea and sky vied with each
-other in a perfection of delicate translucent sheen.
-Northwards a few grey-gold clouds lay against this
-wondrous background, but in the south they were
-banked in heavy masses, far down the sky to the
-limits of vision.</p>
-
-<p>Out of a deep forest-clad valley, immediately
-behind the hill, a freshening breeze was driving
-volumes of white mist across the northern spur;
-driving it, at racing speed, in whirling, tangled
-wisps, across the water-holes that cluster around
-the foot of the great range; driving it over
-the wide plain, out towards the glittering coast-line.</p>
-
-<p>But in a moment, as though by magic, the thick
-banks of cloud in the south were barred with broad
-shafts of brilliant <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rose dorée</i>; the spaces of clear
-sky, which, an instant before, were pale silver-blue,
-became pale green, momentarily deepening in intensity
-of tone. Close around the setting sun
-the gold was turning to flame, and, as the glory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
-of magnificent colouring spread over all the south,
-the clouds took every rainbow hue, as though
-charged with a galaxy of living, palpitating radiance,
-grand yet fateful, a God-painted picture of battle
-and blazing cities, of routed hosts and desperate
-pursuit.</p>
-
-<p>Overhead, and filling the arc from zenith to the
-outer edge of sun-coloured cloud, the sky was a deep
-sapphire, half covered by soft, rounded clouds of
-deeper sapphire still, only their edges tinged with
-gleams of dull gold.</p>
-
-<p>Another sweep of the magic wand, and, as the
-patches of pale aquamarine deepened into emerald,
-the heavier clouds became heliotrope, and a thick
-heliotrope haze floated gently across the wide
-plain, seawards. The fires of crimson light blazed
-brighter in the gathering gloom of rising mist and
-lowering cloud, but the sea shone with ever-increasing
-clearness in the rapidly narrowing space
-of yet unhidden view.</p>
-
-<p>For a moment the mist disappeared, as suddenly
-as it came; the sapphire clouds took a deeper hue,
-heliotrope turned to purple, the crimson lights were
-softer but richer in colour, streaked with narrow
-bands of gold, and dark arrowlike shafts shot from
-the bow of Night.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Standing there, it was as though one were
-vouchsafed, for a moment, a vision of the Heavenly
-City which enshrines the glory of God. One
-caught one’s breath and shivered, as at the sound
-of violins quivering under inspired fingers, or the
-voices of boys singing in a cathedral choir.</p>
-
-<p>All this while a solitary, ragged-edged cloud-kite
-hung, almost motionless, in middle distance,
-over the glittering waters of the river mouth.
-This cloud gathered blackness and motion, spread
-itself out, like a dark thick veil, and, as the mist,
-now grey and cold, closed in, the last sparks
-of the dying sunset were extinguished in the distant
-sea.</p>
-
-<p>And then I was stumbling down the path in the
-darkness, my eyes blinded by the glory of the
-vision; and as I groped through the gloom, and
-heard the wail of the night-wind rushing from
-those far-away mountains, across this lonely peak,
-I began to wonder whether I had not been dreaming
-dreams conjured up by the sadly-sweet associations
-of the place.</p>
-
-<p>The darkness deepened, and, as I reached the
-dividing saddle and began to mount the opposite
-hill, I heard the faint jingle of a dangling coin
-striking metal, and I said to myself that such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
-associations, acting on the physical weariness resulting
-from days of intolerable strain, followed by
-nights of worse regret, were enough to account for
-far stranger journeys in the land which lies beyond
-the Gates of Ivory and Horn.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a><span class="line-height">II</span><br />
-OF WORSHIP</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">“THIS life&mdash;good as it can be&mdash;is horribly
-difficult and complicated. I feel as though
-I were walking in the dark, just stumbling along
-and groping my way&mdash;there seems to be no light to
-guide me&mdash;you are so far away, and there is ever
-that wall between us,&mdash;no higher than before, but
-quite as impenetrable&mdash;I wonder,&mdash;I wonder,&mdash;I
-wonder what the future will bring to you,&mdash;to
-me.”</p>
-
-<p>“I think of you up there, among the soft white
-clouds, watching the sun setting into the sea, while
-the great blue hills are melting through twilight
-into night. Oh! there’s nothing like that beauty
-here,&mdash;in the West,&mdash;and I am sick for the East
-and all her hot, passionate loveliness; all her
-colour and light; all her breadth and grandeur;
-for her magnificent storms and life,&mdash;life on a big
-scale. Here everything is so small, so petty, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
-trivial. I want,&mdash;I want,&mdash;I want,&mdash;that’s how I
-feel; I am lovesick and heartsick and sick for the
-sun. Well, this life is nearly done, and in the
-next I shall at least be worshipped.”</p>
-
-<p>That is well, and if you are worshipped you
-should not say “at least.” What more can you
-want? Especially since, having all other things
-and lacking worship, you would have nothing.
-They were not meant for this application, but these
-old Monkish lines are worth remembering:&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Qui Christum nescit, nil scit, si cætera noscit.</i></div>
-<div class="verse1"><i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Qui Christum noscit, sat scit, si cætera nescit.</i>”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>I hardly like to suggest it, but are you afraid
-of the “worship,” of its quality, or its lasting
-properties? Or, assured on these points, do you
-think worship alone will prove unsatisfying? I
-wonder.</p>
-
-<p>It is an attractive subject, and women disagree
-as to how it should be treated. The fact is, that
-they are seldom able to generalise; they do not
-take any great interest in generalities, and the
-answer to an impersonal question must have a
-personal application before it can be given. And
-not that alone, for where, as in this case, and,
-indeed, all those of greatest human interest, another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
-person, a special person, is concerned, then the
-answer depends largely on that other person as
-well. You can, perhaps, in your own mind, think
-of some one or more from whom you would rather
-have a little worship, than become an object of lifelong
-adoration to many others who have seemed
-anxious to offer it. And that is not because their
-all was less than the little of those with a larger
-capacity for the worship of human beings, nor even
-because their appreciation of your personal worth
-is in any degree limited, or smaller by comparison
-with that of others. Probably it is exactly the
-reverse. But I will ask you, of your sweetness
-and light, to give me knowledge. Would you
-rather have the absolute, unsought worship of a
-man, or would you win, perchance even from his
-unwillingness, a devotion that, if it was not thrown
-at you, was probably, when gained, not likely to
-burn itself out in a blaze of ardent protestations?
-You will, of course, say that it depends on the
-attitude assumed by the man, and I reply that it
-does not, because the same man would never be
-found ready to render his service in either of these&mdash;well&mdash;disguises,
-if you will. It would be in
-one or in the other. Therefore my question will
-admit of the personal application, and you can go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
-through your acquaintances, admirers, friends (I
-dare not say the other word), and tell me whether
-you would be most attracted by the man who fell
-at your feet and worshipped, giving of his ample
-store without effort and without stint, or by the
-man who, if he were a woman, would be called
-<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">difficile</i>. This problem will give you no trouble
-if, as I said before, you can work it out as a personal
-equation, and it is therefore only necessary
-that you should have amongst your friends two
-men of the required types.</p>
-
-<p>In return for your anticipated answer, I will
-give you this. There are many men who pay
-their court to women, if not all in one breath, or
-at one sitting, at least the phase is limited by a
-definite period. That period is usually shorter or
-longer in the inverse ratio of the violence of the
-attack. The operations result in a decisive action,
-where the man is either worsted or victorious. If
-he gains his end, and persuades the lady to take
-him for whatever he is worth, the ordinary type
-of Englishman will very often consider that his
-obligation towards her as an idolater, a lover,&mdash;whatever
-name you call the part by,&mdash;is over when
-the curtain comes down on the procession to the
-altar or to the office of the Registrar, or, at any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
-rate, when the honeymoon has set and the duty-moon
-rises to wax and wane for evermore. That
-is the man to avoid; and if the womanly instinct,
-which is so useful and so little understanded of
-men (until they learn to fear its unerring accuracy),
-is only called upon in time, it will not mislead its
-owner.</p>
-
-<p>You know all this, you will say; very likely,
-but it is extraordinary how many thousands of
-women, especially English women, there are who
-are now eating out their hearts, because they
-neglected either to ask this question of their instincts
-or disregarded the answer. Probably it is
-very seldom asked; for a girl is hardly likely to
-suppose that, after feeding her on love for a few
-weeks, or months, the man will starve her of the
-one thing needful, until death does at last part
-them. He says he has not time for love-making,
-and he acts as though he had not the inclination
-either, though probably, somewhere in his system
-he keeps the forces that once stirred him to expressions
-of affection that now seem as needless as
-it would be to ask his servants for permission to
-eat the dinner which he has paid for, and which
-he can take or neglect, praise or find fault with, at
-his own will and pleasure.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>That is a very long homily, but it has grown
-out of the point of the pen, possibly because I am
-sitting here alone, “up in the soft white clouds,”
-as you say, or rather in the softer moonlight; and
-some of the littlenesses of life loom large, but not
-over-large, considering their bearing on the lifelong
-happiness, or misery, of men and women.</p>
-
-<p>Yes, I am sitting exactly where you imagined.
-It was on that sofa that you used to lie in the
-evenings, when you were too feeble to sit up, and I
-read to you out of a book of knowledge. But that
-was years and years ago, and now you wonder.
-Well, I too wonder, and&mdash;there, it has just struck
-1 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>&mdash;I will wonder no more, but look out at
-the surpassing loveliness of this white night, and
-then&mdash;rest.</p>
-
-<p>It is so strange, I have come back to tell you.
-The soft white clouds are actually there&mdash;motionless&mdash;they
-cover everything, sea and plain and
-valley, everything but the loftiest ridges of this
-mountain. The moon rides high, turning to silver
-the tops of the great billowy clouds, while it shines
-full on this house and garden, casting deep shadows
-from the fern-trees across the gravel, and, from
-the eaves and pillars of the house, across the
-verandah. The air is perfectly still now, though,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
-some hours ago, it was blowing a gale and the
-wind wailed as though mourning its own lost
-soul.</p>
-
-<p>It seemed then, as it tore round the corner of
-the house, to be crying, “I come from the rice
-swamps which have no dividing banks, from the
-waters which contain no fish, where the apes cry
-by night and the baboons drink as they hang from
-the boughs; a place where the <i>chinchîli</i> resorts to
-bathe, and where man’s food is the <i>kĕmahang</i> fern.”
-Some day I will tell you more about that place.</p>
-
-<p>And the spirits of the storm that have passed
-and left this death-like stillness, where are they
-now? They went seaward, westward, to you-ward,
-but they will never reach you, and you will
-not hear their message.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a><span class="line-height">III</span><br />
-WEST AND EAST</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">ONE night, in the early months of this year, I
-sat at dinner next to a comparatively young
-married woman, of the type that is superlatively
-blonde in colour and somewhat over-ample in
-figure. She was indifferently dressed, not very
-well informed, but apparently anxious, by dint of
-much questioning, to improve her knowledge where
-possible. She was, I believe, a journalist.</p>
-
-<p>Some one must have told her that I had been
-in the East, and she, like most stay-at-home people,
-evidently thought that those who go beyond the
-shores of England can only be interested in, or
-have an acquaintance with, the foreign country
-wherein they have sojourned. Therefore the lady
-fired at me a volley of questions, about the manners
-and habits of the Malay people, whom she always
-referred to as “savages.” I ventured to say that
-she must have a mistaken, or at any rate incomplete,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
-knowledge of the race to speak of Malays as
-savages, but she assured me that people who were
-black, and not Christians, could only be as she
-described them. I declined to accept that definition,
-and added that Malays are not black. I fancy
-she did not believe me; but she said it did not
-matter, as they were not white and wore no clothes.
-I am afraid I began to be almost irritated, for the
-long waits between the courses deprived me of all
-shelter from the rain of questions and inconsequent
-remarks.</p>
-
-<p>At last, I said, “It may surprise you to hear
-that these savages would think, if they saw you
-now, that you are very insufficiently clad;” and I
-added, to try and take the edge off a speech that
-I felt was inexcusably rude, “they consider the
-ordinary costume of white <em>men</em> so immodest as to
-be almost indecent.” “Indeed,” said the lady, who
-only seemed to hear the last statement, “I have
-often thought so too, but I am surprised that
-savages, for I must call them savages, should mind
-about such things.” It was hopeless, and I asked
-how soon the great American people might be expected
-to send a force to occupy London.</p>
-
-<p>I have just been reminded of this conversation.
-A few days ago, I wrote to a friend of mine, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
-Malay Sultan, whom I have not seen for some
-months, a letter inquiring how he was, and saying
-I hoped soon to be able to visit him. Now comes
-his answer; and you, who are in sympathy with the
-East, will be able to appreciate the missive of this
-truculent savage.</p>
-
-<p>In the cover there were three enclosures: a
-formal letter of extreme politeness, written by a
-scribe, the Arabic characters formed as precisely
-and clearly as though they had been printed.
-Secondly, a letter written in my friend’s own hand,
-also in the Arabic character, but the handwriting
-is very difficult to decipher. And thirdly there is
-another paper, headed “Hidden Secrets,” written
-also in the Sultan’s own hand. The following is
-a translation of the beginning of the second letter.
-At the top of the first page is written, “Our friendship
-is sealed in the inmost recesses of my heart.”
-Then this: “I send this letter to my honoured and
-renowned friend” (here follow my name, designation,
-and some conventional compliments). The
-letter then continues: “You, my dear friend, are
-never out of my thoughts, and they are always
-wishing you well. I hear that you are coming to
-see me, and for that reason my heart is exceeding
-glad, as though the moon had fallen into my lap,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
-or I had been given a cluster of flowers grown
-in the garden called <i>Bĕnjerâna Sri</i>, wide-opening
-under the influence of the sun’s warm rays. May
-God the Most Mighty hasten our meeting, so that
-I may assuage the thirst of longing in the happy
-realisation of my affectionate and changeless regard.
-At the moment of writing, by God’s grace, and
-thanks to your prayers, I and my family are in
-good health, and this district is in the enjoyment
-of peace; but the river is in flood, and has risen
-so high that I fear for the safety of the bridge.”</p>
-
-<p>There is more, but what I have quoted is
-enough to show you the style. When the savage
-has turned from his savagery he will write “Dear
-sir,” and “Yours truly”; his correspondence will
-be type-written, in English, and the flaxen-haired
-lady will remark with approval that the writer is
-a business man and a Christian, and hardly black
-at all.</p>
-
-<p>Whilst the Malays are still in my mind, it may
-interest you to know that they have a somewhat
-original form of verse in four-line stanzas, each
-stanza usually complete in itself, the second and
-fourth lines rhyming. The last two lines convey
-the sense, while the first two are only introduced
-to get the rhythm, and often mean nothing at all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
-Here are some specimens which may give you an
-idea of these <i>pantun</i>, as they are called, though
-in translating them I have made no attempt to
-give the necessary “jingle.”</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">“A climbing bean will gain the roof;</div>
-<div class="verse3">The red <i>hibiscus</i> has no scent.</div>
-<div class="verse1">All eyes can see a house on fire;</div>
-<div class="verse3">No smoke the burning heart betrays.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1">Hark! the flutter of the death’s-head moth;</div>
-<div class="verse3">It flies behind the headman’s house.</div>
-<div class="verse1">Before the Almighty created Adam,</div>
-<div class="verse3">Our destinies were already united.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1">This is the twenty-first night of the moon,</div>
-<div class="verse3">The night when women die in child-birth.</div>
-<div class="verse1">I am but as a captive song-bird,</div>
-<div class="verse3">A captive bird in the hand of the fowler.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1">If you must travel far up river,</div>
-<div class="verse3">Search for me in every village;</div>
-<div class="verse1">If you must die, while I yet linger,</div>
-<div class="verse3">Wait for me at the Gate of Heaven.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>One of the fascinations of letter-writing is that
-one can wander at will from one subject to another,
-as the butterflies flutter from flower to flower; but
-I suppose there is nearly always something that
-suggests to the writer the sequence of thought,
-though it might be difficult to explain exactly what
-that something is. I think the reference in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
-above stanzas to Adam and the Gate of Heaven,&mdash;or
-Paradise,&mdash;have suggested to me the snake,</p>
-
-<p>“And even in Paradise devise the snake,”</p>
-
-<p>which reminds me that, last night, I said to the
-ancient and worthy person to whom is entrusted
-the care of this house&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>“Leave the drawing-room doors open while I
-am at dinner: the room gets overheated.”</p>
-
-<p>Then he, “I not like leave open the doors, because
-plenty snakes.”</p>
-
-<p>“Snakes: where?”</p>
-
-<p>“Outside, plenty snakes, leave doors open come
-inside.”</p>
-
-<p>“What sort of snakes?”</p>
-
-<p>“Long snakes” (stretching out his arm to show
-the length), “short snakes” (measuring off about
-a foot with the other hand).</p>
-
-<p>“Have you seen them?”</p>
-
-<p>“Yes, plenty.”</p>
-
-<p>This is cheerful news, and I inquire: “Where?”</p>
-
-<p>“In bedrooms.”</p>
-
-<p>“When?”</p>
-
-<p>“Sometimes daytime, sometimes night-time.”</p>
-
-<p>An even pleasanter prospect,&mdash;but I am still
-full of unbelief.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>“Have you seen them yourself?”</p>
-
-<p>“Yes, I kill.”</p>
-
-<p>“But when and how was it?”</p>
-
-<p>“One time master not here, lady staying here;
-daytime I kill one long snake, here, this room&mdash;night-time
-lady call me, I kill one short snake in
-bedroom.”</p>
-
-<p>“Which bedroom?”</p>
-
-<p>“Master’s bedroom.”</p>
-
-<p>That is not exactly reassuring, especially when
-you like to leave your doors and windows open,
-and sleep in the dark. I thank him, and he goes
-away, having entirely destroyed my peace of mind.
-The wicked old man! I wish I could have seen
-his face as he went out. Now I go delicately,
-both “daytime” and “night-time,” above all at
-night-time, and I am haunted by the dread of the
-“plenty long snake, plenty short snake.” In one’s
-bedroom too, it is a gruesome idea. If I had gone
-on questioning him, I dare say he would have told
-me he killed a “plenty long snake” inside the bed,
-trying to warm itself under the bed-clothes in this
-absurdly cold place. I always thought this a
-paradise, but without the snake. Alas! how easily
-one’s cherished beliefs are destroyed.</p>
-
-<p>It is past midnight; the moon is full, and looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
-down, resplendent in all her majesty, bathes
-everything in a silver radiance. I love to go and
-stand in it; but the verandahs are full of ferns,
-roses and honeysuckle twine round the pillars, the
-shadows are as dark as the lights are bright, and
-everywhere there is excellent cover for the “long
-snake” and the “short snake.” Perhaps bed is
-the safest place after all, and to-morrow&mdash;well,
-to-morrow I can send for a mongoose.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a><span class="line-height">IV</span><br />
-A CLEVER MONGOOSE</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">IN my last letter I told you how the ancient
-who guards this Eden had complained of the
-prevalence of snakes, and I, with an experience
-which Adam does not appear to have possessed,
-determined to send for a mongoose to deal with
-the matter. Well, I saw nothing of the serpent,
-did not even dream about him, and forgot all about
-the mongoose. It is the thought of what I last
-wrote to you that reminds me of an excellent story,
-and a curious trick which I once witnessed, both
-having to do with the mongoose.</p>
-
-<p>First the story. A boy of twenty got into a
-train one day, and found, already seated in the
-carriage, a man of middle age, who had beside
-him, on the floor, a closed basket. The train
-started, and by-and-by the boy, feeling dull, looked
-at his companion, and, to break the ice, said&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>“Is that your basket, sir?”</p>
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>
-<p>To which the stranger, who did not at all relish
-the idea of being dragged into a conversation with
-a strange youth, replied, “Yes, it is,” slightly
-stammering as he said it.</p>
-
-<p>A pause,&mdash;then the boy, “I beg your pardon,
-but is there some beast in it?”</p>
-
-<p>The man, annoyed, “Ye&mdash;es, there’s a m&mdash;mongoose
-in it.”</p>
-
-<p>The boy had no idea what a mongoose was, but
-he had the curiosity of youth and was unabashed,
-so he said, “May I ask what the mongoose is
-for?”</p>
-
-<p>The man, decidedly irritated, and wishing to
-silence his companion, “G&mdash;got a f&mdash;friend that
-sees snakes, t&mdash;taking the m&mdash;mongoose to catch
-’em.”</p>
-
-<p>The boy concluded the stranger was mad, and
-wishing to pacify him, said&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>“Yes, but the snakes are not really there, are
-they?”</p>
-
-<p>The man, “No, n&mdash;neither is the m&mdash;mongoose.”</p>
-
-<p>Now as to my experience. Some years ago
-I was in Calcutta, and, walking in the street one
-day, I was accosted by a man carrying a bag and
-leading a mongoose by a string. He said, “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
-Madras man, master want to see plenty trick, I
-very good conjurer,” and he produced a sheaf of
-more or less grimy credentials, in which it was
-stated, by a number of reputable people, that he
-was a conjurer of unusual skill. When I had
-looked at some of the papers, he said, “I come
-master’s house, do trick, this very clever mongoose,
-I bring him show master.”</p>
-
-<p>I was quite willing, so I gave him my address
-and told him to come whenever he liked.</p>
-
-<p>Some days later the conjurer was announced,
-and there happened to be in my rooms at the time
-a German dealer in Japanese curios, who had seen
-rather more than usual during a sixteen years’ residence
-in Japan and the Farthest East. He was
-an extremely amusing old person, and glad of the
-opportunity of seeing the conjurer, who was duly
-admitted to our presence with his bag of properties.
-The very clever mongoose came in last,
-at the end of his string.</p>
-
-<p>The conjurer certainly justified his reputation,
-and performed some extremely clever tricks, while
-the mongoose sat by with a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">blasé</i> expression, taking
-very little interest in the proceedings. When the
-conjurer had come to the end of his programme,
-or thought he had done enough, he offered to sell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
-the secret of any trick I liked to buy, and, taking
-him at his word, I was shown several tricks, the
-extreme simplicity of the deceit, when once you
-knew it, being rather aggravating.</p>
-
-<p>In the interest of watching the performance and
-the subsequent explanations, I had forgotten the
-mongoose, and the conjurer was already pushing
-his paraphernalia into the sack, when I said, “But
-the mongoose, the clever mongoose, where is his
-trick?”</p>
-
-<p>The conjurer sat down again, pulled the mongoose
-towards him, and tied the end of his string
-to a chair leg, giving the little beast plenty of rope
-on which to play. Then the man pushed round in
-front of him an earthenware <i>chatty</i> or water-vessel,
-which had hitherto stood on the floor, a piece of
-dirty cloth being tied over its mouth. Next the
-conjurer thrust his hand into the sack, and pulled
-out one of the trumpet-mouthed pipes on which
-Indians play weird and discordant airs.</p>
-
-<p>Now I want you to remember that this was my
-room, that the man’s stock-in-trade was contained
-in the sack which he had pushed on one side, that
-the pieces in the game were the mongoose, the
-<i>chatty</i> (or what it contained), and the pipe, while
-the lynx-eyed curio-dealer and I sat as close as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
-we pleased to see fair play. I am obliged to tell
-you that; of what happened I attempt no explanation,
-I only relate exactly what I saw.</p>
-
-<p>The stage being arranged as I have described,
-the conjurer drew the <i>chatty</i> towards him, and
-said, “Got here one very good snake, catch him
-in field this morning;” at the same time he untied
-the cloth, and with a jerk threw on the floor an
-exceedingly lively snake, about three feet long.
-From the look of it, I should say it was not
-venomous. The conjurer had thrown the snake
-close to the mongoose, who jumped out of its way
-with surprising agility, while the conjurer kept
-driving it towards the little beast. Neither snake
-nor mongoose seemed to relish the situation, and
-to force the game the conjurer seized the snake by
-the tail, and, swinging it thereby, tried, two or
-three times, to hit the mongoose with it. This
-seemed to rouse both beast and reptile, and the
-mongoose, making a lightning-like movement, seized
-the snake by the head, shook it for a second or
-two, dragging it over the matting, and then dropped
-it on the floor. The instant the snake showed
-fight the conjurer had let it go, and the mongoose
-did the rest.</p>
-
-<p>Where the snake had been dragged, the floor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
-was smeared with blood, and now the creature lay,
-giving a few spasmodic twitches of its body, and
-then was still. The conjurer pulled it towards
-him, held it up by the tail, and said laconically,
-“Snake dead.” The mongoose meanwhile sat
-quietly licking its paw as though nothing particular
-had happened.</p>
-
-<p>As the man held it up I looked very carefully at
-the snake; one eye was bulging out, by reason of
-a bite just over it; the head and neck were covered
-with blood, and as far as my judgment went, the
-thing was dead as Herod. The conjurer dropped
-the snake on the floor, where it fell limply, as any
-dead thing would, then he put it on its back and
-coiled it up, head inwards, saying again, “You see,
-snake dead.”</p>
-
-<p>He left the thing lying there, and searched in
-his sack till he found what appeared to be a very
-small piece of wood, it was, in fact, exactly like a
-wooden match. The sack, all this time, was at
-his side, but not close to him, while the snake was
-straight in front of him, under our noses. Breaking
-off a very small piece of the wood, he gave it
-to the mongoose, which began to eat it, apparently
-as a matter of duty. At the same time the conjurer
-took an even smaller bit of the same stuff,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
-and opening the snake’s mouth, pushed the stick,
-or whatever it was, inside, and then shut the mouth
-again. This transaction would, I think, have convinced
-any one who saw it that there was no life
-in the snake.</p>
-
-<p>The conjurer now took up his pipe, and made it
-squeal some high discordant notes. Then taking
-it from his lips, he said in Hindustani, as he touched
-the snake’s tail with the pipe, “Put out your
-tail,” and the creature’s tail moved slowly outwards,
-a little way from the rest of the coiled body. The
-conjurer skirled another stave on his pipe, and as
-he lowered the instrument with his left hand, he
-exclaimed, “Snake all right now,” and stretched
-out his right hand at the same instant, to seize
-the reptile by the tail. Either as he touched it,
-or just before, the snake with one movement was
-up, wriggling and twisting, apparently more alive
-than when first taken out of the <i>chatty</i>. While the
-conjurer thrust it back into the vessel there was
-plenty of time to remark that, miraculous as the
-resurrection appeared to be, the creature’s eye still
-protruded through the blood which oozed from the
-hole in its head.</p>
-
-<p>As he tied the rag over the top of the <i>chatty</i>,
-the conjurer said, with a smile, “Very clever mongoose,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
-gathered up his sack, took the string of his
-clever assistant in his left hand, raised his right to
-his forehead, and with a low bow, and a respectful
-“Salâam, Sahib,” had left the room before I had
-quite grasped the situation.</p>
-
-<p>I looked at the dealer in curios, and, as with Bill
-Nye, “he gazed upon me,” but in our few minutes’
-conversation, before he left, he could throw no light
-on the mystery, and we agreed that our philosophy
-was distinctly at fault.</p>
-
-<p>That evening I related what had taken place to
-half-a-dozen men, all of whom had lived in India
-for some years, and I asked if any of them had
-seen and could explain the phenomenon.</p>
-
-<p>No one had seen it, some had heard of it, all
-plainly doubted my story. One suggested that a
-new snake had been substituted for that killed by
-the mongoose, and another thought that there was
-no real snake at all, only a wooden make-believe.
-That rather exasperated me, and I said I was well
-enough acquainted with snakes to be able to distinguish
-them from chair-legs. As the company was
-decidedly sceptical, and inclined to be facetious at
-my expense, I said I would send for the man again,
-and they could tell me how the thing was done
-when they had seen it.</p>
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
-<p>I sent, and it so happened that the conjurer
-came on a Sunday, when I was sitting in the hall,
-on the ground-floor of the house where I was staying.
-The conjurer was already squatted on the
-white marble flags, with his sack and his <i>chatty</i>
-(the mongoose’s string held under his foot), when
-my friends, the unbelievers, or some of them, returned
-from church, and joined me to watch the
-proceedings. I will not weary you by going
-through it all again. What took place then was
-an exact repetition of what occurred in my room,
-except that this time the man had a larger <i>chatty</i>,
-which contained several snakes, and when he had
-taken out one, and the mongoose had consented to
-lay hold of it, he worried the creature as a terrier
-does a rat, and, pulling his string away from under
-his master’s foot, he carried the snake into the
-corner of the room, whither the conjurer pursued
-him and deprived him of his prey. The result of
-the encounter was that the marble was smeared
-with streaks of blood that effectually disposed of
-the wooden-snake theory. That little incident was
-certainly not planned by the conjurer; but when
-the victim had been duly coiled on the floor and
-the bit of stick placed (like the coin with which to
-fee Charon) within its mouth, then, to my surprise,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
-the conjurer re-opened the <i>chatty</i>, took out <em>another</em>
-snake, which in its turn was apparently killed by
-the mongoose, and this one was coiled up and laid
-on the floor beside the first victim. Then, whilst
-the first corpse was duly resuscitated, according to
-the approved methods I have already described, the
-second lay on the floor, without a sign of life, and
-it was only when No. 1 had been “resurrectioned,”
-and put back in the vessel, that the conjurer took
-up the case of No. 2, and, with him, repeated the
-miracle.</p>
-
-<p>This time I was so entertained by the manifest
-and expressed astonishment of the whilom scoffers,
-that again the conjurer had gone before I had an
-opportunity of buying this secret, if indeed he would
-have sold it. I never saw the man again.</p>
-
-<p>There is the story, and, even as it stands, I think
-you will admit that the explanation is not exactly
-apparent on the surface. I can assure you, however,
-that wherever the deception (and I diligently,
-but unsuccessfully, sought to find it), the performance
-was the most remarkable I have ever witnessed
-in any country. To see a creature, full of
-life,&mdash;and a snake, at close quarters, is apt to
-impress you with its vitality,&mdash;to see it killed, just
-under your eyes, to watch its last convulsive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
-struggles, to feel it in your hands, and gaze at
-it as it lies, limp and dead, for a space of minutes;
-then heigh, presto! and the thing is wriggling
-about as lively as ever. It is a very curious trick&mdash;if
-trick it is.</p>
-
-<p>That, however, is not quite all.</p>
-
-<p>A month or two later I was sitting in the verandah
-of an hotel in Agra. A number of American
-globe-trotters occupied most of the other chairs, or
-stood about the porch, where I noticed there was a
-little knot of people gathered together. I was
-idly staring into the street when the words, “Very
-clever little mongoose,” suddenly attracted my
-attention, and I realised that two Indian conjurers
-were amusing the party in the porch. I went at
-once to the spot, and found the mongoose-snake
-trick was just beginning. I watched it with great
-attention, and I noticed that the mongoose only
-seemed to give the snake one single nip, and there
-was very little blood drawn. The business proceeded
-merrily, and in all respects in accordance
-with what I had already seen, until, at the conclusion
-of the sort of Salvation-Army resurrection-march,
-the juggler declared that the snake was
-quite alive and well&mdash;but he was not, he was
-dead, dead as Bahram the Great Hunter. No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
-piping or tickling or pulling of his tail could
-awaken the very faintest response from that limp
-carcass, and the conjurers shuffled their things
-together with downcast faces, and departed in
-what the spectators called “a frost.” To them, no
-doubt, the game was absolutely meaningless; to
-me it seemed that the mongoose had “exceeded
-his instructions.”</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a><span class="line-height">V</span><br />
-A BLUE DAY</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">“THERE is a green hill,” you know it well; it
-is not very “far away,” perhaps a little over
-a mile, but then that mile is not quite like other
-miles. For one thing it takes you up 500 feet,
-and as that is the last pull to reach the highest
-point of this range (the summit of a mountain
-over 5000 feet in height), the climb is steep.
-Indeed, one begins by going down some rough
-stone steps, between two immense granite boulders;
-then you make a half-circuit of the hill by a path
-cut on the level, and thence descend for at least
-250 feet, till you are on the narrow saddle which
-joins this peak to the rest of the range. Really,
-therefore, in a distance of little over half a mile
-there is an ascent of 750 feet.</p>
-
-<p>And what a path it is that brings you here!
-For I am now on the summit, though several times
-on the way I was sorely tempted to sit down and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
-put on paper the picture of that road as it lay
-before my eyes. It is a narrow jungle track,
-originally made by the rhinoceros, the bison, and
-the elephant, and now simply kept clear of falling
-trees. It is exceeding steep, as I have said, and
-you may remember. It begins by following the
-stony bed of a mountain stream, dry in fine
-weather, but full of water after half-an-hour’s
-tropical rain. Where the path is not covered by
-roots or stones, it is of a chocolate colour; but, in
-the main, it is overspread by a network of gnarled
-and knotted tree-roots, which, in the lapse of ages,
-have become so interlaced that they hide the soil.
-These roots, the stones round which they are often
-twined, and the banks on either side, are covered
-by mosses in infinite variety, so that when you
-look upwards the path stands like a moss-grown
-cleft in the wood.</p>
-
-<p>The forest through which this track leads is
-a mass of dwarfed trees, of palms, shrubs, and
-creepers. Every tree, without exception, is clothed
-with moss, wherever there is room to cling on
-branch or stem, while often there are great fat
-tufts of it growing in and round the forks, or at
-any other place with convenient holding. The
-trees are moss-grown, but that is only where the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
-innumerable creepers, ferns, and orchids leave any
-space to cover. The way in which these things
-climb up, embrace, and hang to every tree or stick
-that will give them a footing is simply marvellous.
-Even the great granite boulders are hidden by this
-wealth of irresistible vegetation. Through the
-green foliage blaze vivid patches of scarlet, marking
-the dazzling blossoms of a rhododendron that may
-be seen in all directions, but usually perched high
-on some convenient tree. Then there is the
-wonderful magnolia with its creamy petals; the
-jungle apple-blossom, whose white flowers are now
-turning to crimson berries; the forest lilac, graceful
-in form, and a warm heliotrope in colour. These
-first catch the eye, but, by-and-by, one realises
-that there are orchids everywhere, and that, if the
-blossoms are not great in size or wonderful in
-colour, they are still charming in form, and painted
-in delicate soft tones of lilac and brown, orange
-and lemon, while one, with strings of large, pale,
-apple-green blossoms, is as lovely as it is <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bizarre</i>.</p>
-
-<p>As for palms, the forest is full of them, in every
-size, colour, and shape; and wherever the sunlight
-can break through the foliage will be found the
-graceful fronds of the giant tree-fern. Lastly, the
-ground is carpeted with an extravagant luxuriance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
-of ferns and flowers and “creeping things innumerable,
-both small and great.” The wasteful abundance
-of it all is what first strikes one, and then
-you begin to see the beauty of the details. Masses
-of <i>lycopodium</i>, ringing all the changes through
-wonderful metallic-blue to dark and light green,
-and then to russet brown; there are Malay primroses,
-yellow and blue, and a most delightful little
-pale-violet trumpet, with crinkled lip, gazing towards
-the light from the highest point of its delicate stem.
-On either side of this path one sees a dozen jungle
-flowers in different shades of blue or lilac; it seems
-to be the prevailing colour for the small flowers,
-as scarlet and yellow are for the great masses of
-more striking blossom. And then there are birds&mdash;oh
-yes, there are birds, but they are strange, like
-their surroundings. At the foot of this hill I came
-suddenly on a great black-and-white hornbill, which,
-seeing me, slowly got up and flew away with the
-noise of a train passing at a distance. High up
-the path was a collection of small birds, flitting and
-twittering amongst the leaves. There were hardly
-two of the same plumage, but most of them carried
-their tails spread out like fans, and many had pronounced
-tufts of feathers on their heads. The
-birds at this height are usually silent, and, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
-they make any sound at all, they do not seem to
-sing but to call; and from the jungle all round, far
-and near, loud and faint, will be heard similar
-answering calls. I was surprised to hear, suddenly,
-some bars of song, close by me, and I waited for
-a long time, peering earnestly into the tree from
-which the sound came; but I saw nothing and
-heard nothing beyond the perpetual double note
-(short and long, with the accent on the latter) of
-a bird that must be the bore and outcast of the
-forest.</p>
-
-<p>Coming out into the clearing which crowns the
-hill, I passed several kinds of graceful grasses, ten
-or twelve feet high, and the flight of steps which
-leads to the actual summit is cut through a mass
-of bracken, over and through which hang the
-strange, delicately painted cups of the <i>nepenthes</i>,
-the stems of the bracken rising from a bed made
-rosy by the countless blossoms of a three-pointed
-pale-pink starwort.</p>
-
-<p>In the jungle one could only see the things
-within reach, but, once on the peak, one has only
-eyes for the grandeur and magnificence of an unequalled
-spectacle.</p>
-
-<p>The view seems limitless, it is complete in every
-direction, unbarred by any obstruction, natural or
-artificial. First I look eastwards to those great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
-ranges of unexplored mountains, rising tier after
-tier, their outlines clear as cut cameos against the
-grey-blue sky. Betwixt them and my point of
-sight flows a great river, and though it is ten or
-twelve miles distant as the crow flies, I can see
-that it is brown with flood-water, and, in some
-places, overflowing its banks. Nearer lie the
-green rice-fields and orchards, and, nearer still,
-the spurs of the great range on whose highest
-point I stand.</p>
-
-<p>Then northward, that is the view that is usually
-shut out from me. It is only hill and dale, river
-and plain, but it is grand by reason of its extent,
-beautiful in colour and form, intensely attractive
-in the vastness of those miles of mysterious jungle,
-untrodden, save by the feet of wild beasts; endless
-successions of mountain and valley, peak and spur,
-immovable and eternal. You know there are grey
-days and golden days; as there are crimson and
-heliotrope evenings, white, and, alas! also black
-nights&mdash;well, this is a blue day. There is sunlight,
-but it is not in your eyes, it only gives light
-without shedding its own colour on the landscape.
-The atmosphere seems to be blue; the sky is blue,
-except on the horizon, where it pales into a clear
-grey. Blue forest-clad hills rise, in the middle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
-distance, from an azure plain, and the distant
-mountains are sapphire, deep sapphire. The effect
-is strange and uncommon, but supremely beautiful.</p>
-
-<p>Westward, a deep valley runs down from this
-range into the flat, forest-covered plains, till, nearing
-the coast, great patches of light mark fields of
-sugar-canes and thousands upon thousands of acres
-of rice. Then the sea, the sea dotted by distant
-islands, the nearest thirty miles away, the farthest
-perhaps fifty. The morning heat is drawing a veil
-of haze across the distance; on a clear evening a
-great island, eighty miles away to the northward,
-is clearly visible.</p>
-
-<p>I turn to the south, and straight before me rises
-the grand blue peak of a mountain, 6000 feet high,
-and not more than six miles away. It is the
-highest point of a gigantic mass of hill that seems
-to fill the great space between the flooded river and
-the bright calm sea. Looking across the eastern
-shoulder of the mountain, the eye wanders over a
-wide plain, lost far away to the south in cloud-wrapt
-distance. Beyond the western slopes lies
-the calm mirror of a summer sea, whereon many
-islands seem to float. The coast-line is broken,
-picturesque and beautiful, by reason of its many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
-indentations and the line of bold hills which, rising
-sheer out of the water, seem to guard the shore.</p>
-
-<p>Due west I see across the deep valley into my
-friend’s house, where it crowns the ridge, and then
-beyond to that vast plain which, in its miles and
-miles of forest-covered flatness, broken by great
-river-mouths, long vistas of deep lagoons, and a
-group of shining pools scattered over its surface,
-forms one of the strangest features in this matchless
-panorama of mountain, river and plain, sea,
-sky, and ever-changing cloud-effects.</p>
-
-<p>There is an empty one-roomed hut of brown
-palm-leaves on this most lonely peak. One pushes
-the mat window upwards and supports it on a
-stick,&mdash;beneath the window is a primitive seat or
-couch. That is where I have been sitting, a cool
-breeze blowing softly through the wide open
-windows. I could not stay there any longer, the
-place seemed full of memories of another day,
-when there was no need, and no inclination, to look
-outside to see the beauty of the world and the
-divine perfection of the Creator’s genius. And then
-I heard something, it must have been fancy, but
-there was a faint but distinct jingle of metal.</p>
-
-<p>It is better out here, sitting on a moss-grown
-boulder in the pleasant warmth of the sun. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
-swifts are circling the hill, and they flash past me
-with the hiss of a sword cleaving the air. I look
-down on the tops of all these stunted trees, heavy
-with their burden of creepers and mosses straining
-towards the light. A great bunch of pitcher-plants
-is hanging in front of me, pitcher-plants a foot
-long, scarlet and yellow, green and purple, in all
-the stages of their growth, their lids standing
-tilted upwards, leaving the pitcher open to be
-filled by any passing shower. But my eyes travel
-across all the intervening miles to rest upon the
-sea, the sea which is now of a quite indescribable
-blue, basking under a sky of the same colour.
-Out there, westward, if I could only pierce the
-distance, I should see&mdash;&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>Ah! the great white clouds are rising and warning
-me to go. Good-bye! good-bye! for you the
-missing words are as plain as these.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a><span class="line-height">VI</span><br />
-OF LOVE, IN FICTION</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">I HAVE been reading “Casa Braccio,” and I must
-talk to you about it. Of course I do not know
-whether you have read it or not, so if I bore you
-forgive me. I was much interested in Part I.,
-rather disappointed with Part II., and it struck me
-that Mr. Crawford showed signs in Part III. of
-weariness with the characters of his own creation.
-There are nine people who play important parts in
-the story, and the author kills six of them. The
-first, an abbess, dies naturally but conveniently;
-the second, an innkeeper’s daughter, dies suddenly,
-by misadventure; the third, a nun, dies, one is
-not told how, when, or where&mdash;but she dies. This
-is disappointing, because she promised to be a very
-interesting character. Then the fourth, daughter
-of No. 3, commits suicide, because, having run
-away from her husband, and got tired of the other
-man, the husband declines to have her back. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
-fifth, a most uninteresting and weak-kneed individual,
-is an artist, husband of No. 4, and he dies,
-apparently to make himself disagreeable; while
-the sixth, the original cause of all the trouble, is
-murdered by the innkeeper, who has been hunting
-him, like a good Christian, for twenty years, determined
-to kill him when found, under the mistaken
-impression that he eloped with, and disposed of,
-his daughter, No. 2.</p>
-
-<p>No one can deny that the author has dealt out
-destruction with impartiality, and it is rather
-strange, for Mr. Crawford often likes to use his
-characters for two or even three books; that is
-why, I think, he got a little tired with these particular
-people, and determined to bury them. Out
-of this lot he has kept only three for future vivisection
-and ultimate extinction.</p>
-
-<p>I trust that, if you have not read the book
-already, you will be induced, by what I have told
-you, to get “Casa Braccio,” for you will find many
-interesting human problems discussed in it, and
-many others suggested for the consideration of the
-reader. Here, for instance, is a text which may
-well give you pause, “The widowhood of the unsatisfied
-is hell, compared with the bereavement
-of complete possession.”</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>Now what do you say to that? For I am sure
-the somewhat bald, if not positively repellent, look
-and sound of the words, will not deter you from
-considering the truth or falseness of the statement.
-I do not altogether like the theory; and one may
-even be permitted to differ from the conclusion contained
-in the text. But the reason why this sentence
-arrested my attention is because you quote,
-“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">L’absence ni le temps ne sont rien quand on aime</i>,”
-and later, you appeal to the East as a place of
-broader views, of deeper feeling, of longer, wider
-experience than the West. You appeal to the
-East, and this is what a Persian poet says:&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“All that is by nature twain,</div>
-<div class="verse1">Fears and suffers by the pain</div>
-<div class="verse1">Of separation&mdash;Love is only perfect,</div>
-<div class="verse1">When itself transcends itself,</div>
-<div class="verse1">And one with that it loves</div>
-<div class="verse1">In Undivided Being blends.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>Now, how do you reconcile the Western with the
-Eastern statement, and will either support the “Casa
-Braccio” theory? You tell me that time and
-absence count for nothing as between lovers; the
-Persian says that separation, under these circumstances,
-is the one calamity most to be dreaded,
-and that love cannot be perfect without union.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
-The French writer evidently believed that “Absence
-makes the heart grow fonder,” while the Eastern,
-without saying, “Out of sight, out of mind,” clearly
-thought that love in absence is a very poor substitute
-for the passion which sees, hears, and touches
-the object of its adoration. Undoubtedly the Eastern
-expressed the feeling, not only of his own countrymen,
-but of all other Orientals, and probably of
-Western lovers as well; but if the separation is a
-matter of necessity, then the Western character, the
-feeling of loyalty towards and faith in the object
-of our love, helps us to the belief that “Partings
-and tears and absence” none need fear, provided
-the regard is mutual. It is a good creed, and the
-only one to uphold, but we are not so blind that we
-cannot see how often it fails to secure even fidelity;
-while who would deny the Persian’s contention
-that the bond cannot be perfect in absence?</p>
-
-<p>“The widowhood of the unsatisfied is hell, compared
-with the bereavement of complete possession.”</p>
-
-<p>No, certainly, it does not look well. It is hardly
-worth while to inquire into the bereavement of a
-complete possession that was not only satisfied
-but satiated; therefore the comparison must be between
-perfect love realised, and love that is only not
-perfected because unrealised. If that is so, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
-the text appears to be false in theory, for, inasmuch
-as nothing earthly can be more perfect than
-that realisation of mutual affection which the same
-Persian describes as&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“She and I no more,</div>
-<div class="verse1">But in one Undivided Being blended,”&mdash;</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>so the severance of that union by death must be
-the greatest of human ills.</p>
-
-<p>“The widowhood of the unsatisfied” admits of
-so many special constructions, each of which would
-accentuate the despair of the unsatisfied, that it
-makes the consideration rather difficult, but, in any
-case, the magnitude of the loss must be imaginative.
-It is only, therefore, by supposing that no
-realisation could be so perfect as to equal the ideal
-of imagination, that the theory of the text could be
-established. If that be granted, and it were also
-admitted that the widowhood of this unsatisfied
-imagination were as hell, compared with “the
-bereavement of complete possession,” that would
-merely show that “complete possession” is worth
-very little, and no one need grieve because their
-longings after a purely imaginary heaven had been
-widowed before being wedded to the hell of such a
-disappointing possession.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>In any case, I think one is forced to the conclusion
-that the man (and one must assume it to be
-a man, in spite of the word “widowhood”) who
-should thus express his feelings would never agree
-that “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">L’absence ni le temps ne sont rien quand on
-aime</i>;” that is, of course, supposing he has not got
-beyond the protesting and unsatisfied stage. Once
-arrived, he would doubtless subscribe to the phrase
-with virtuous stolidity. Personally I think, as you
-probably do, that these words of De Musset give
-a most charming description of the best form of
-that true friendship which time cannot weaken nor
-absence change. For friends it is admirable, for
-lovers, no.</p>
-
-<p>I have not sought out this riddle for the purpose
-of airing my own views, but to draw from you an
-expression of yours. You say my letters are the
-most tantalising in the world, as I never tell you
-anything you want to know; just leading up to
-what most interests you, and then breaking off to
-something else. If there is nothing in this letter
-to interest you, at least I have kept to one subject,
-and I have discussed it as though I were expressing
-a real opinion! One can hardly do more than
-that. You see, if I gave you no opportunity of
-scolding me, you might never write!</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a><span class="line-height">VII</span><br />
-THE JINGLING COIN</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">YOU ask me the meaning of the jingling coin.
-It was a tale I heard that impressed me, and
-sometimes comes back with a strange fascination.
-Did I never tell you? Well, here it is.</p>
-
-<p>I was in India, staying at a hill station, no
-matter where. I met there a man who for years
-had spent his holidays in the place, and, walking
-with him one day up a narrow mountain-path to
-the top of a hill, whence there was a magnificent
-view of the Himalayan snows, we passed a
-small stone slab on which was cut a date. The
-stone was at a spot where, from the path, was a
-sheer fall of several hundreds of feet, and as we
-passed it my companion said&mdash;“Look at that. I
-will tell you what it means when we get to the
-top.”</p>
-
-<p>As we lay on the grass and feasted our eyes
-upon the incomparable spectacle, before which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
-earthly lives and troubles seemed so insignificant,
-my companion told his tale. I now repeat it, as
-nearly as I can remember, in his own words.</p>
-
-<p>“If I tell you this story,” he said, “you must
-not ask me how I know the details, or seek for
-any particulars beyond what I give you.</p>
-
-<p>“During one of my many visits to this place, I
-met a man whom I had seen before and heard a
-good deal about, for he was one of those people
-who concern themselves with no one’s business
-but their own, and, therefore, their affairs seem to
-have a special attraction for the Philistine. He
-knew that rumour was busy with his name, but
-beyond the fact that he became more reserved than
-nature had already made him, the gossip, which
-was always founded on imagination, sometimes on
-jealousy, and even malice, seemed to make no
-impression whatever. That may have been the
-result of a strong character, but partly, no doubt,
-it was due to the fact that all his public life had
-been lived under the fierce light of a criticism that
-was, in a way, the measure of his success. His
-friends (and he was fortunate in the possession of
-particularly loyal friends of both sexes) realised
-that if, even to them, this man showed little of his
-real self, he sometimes writhed under calumnies of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
-which no one knew the authorship, and the existence
-of which only reached him rarely, through his
-most intimate friends. For his own reasons he
-kept his own counsel, and I doubt whether any
-one knew as much of the real man as I did. A few
-months before the time I speak of he had made
-the acquaintance of a girl, or, perhaps I ought to
-say, a woman, for she was married, who was, with
-her mother, visiting India. When first the man
-met this girl he was amazed, and, to some extent,
-carried away by her extraordinary beauty. But
-his work took him elsewhere, and, beyond that first
-impression, which had so powerfully affected him,
-there was neither time nor opportunity to ascertain
-whether the lovely exterior was the casket to a
-priceless jewel, or only the beautiful form harbouring
-a mindless, soulless, disappointment. She had
-heard of the man, and while unwilling to be prejudiced
-by gossip, she was on her guard, and
-rather afraid of a cynicism which her quick intelligence
-had noted at their first meeting. Otherwise
-she was,&mdash;womanlike and generous,&mdash;curious to
-see, and to judge for herself, what manner of man
-this was, against whom more than one indiscreet
-acquaintance had already warned her.</p>
-
-<p>“Some time elapsed, and then these two found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
-themselves staying in the same house. The man
-realised the attractions of the woman’s glorious
-beauty, and he honestly determined that he would
-neither think, nor look, nor utter any feeling beyond
-that of ordinary friendship. This resolve he as
-honestly kept, and, though accident threw in his
-way every kind of opportunity, and he was constantly
-alone with the girl, he made no attempt to
-read her character, to seek her confidence, or to
-obtain her friendship;&mdash;indeed, he charged himself
-with having been somewhat neglectful in those
-attentions which make the courtesy of man to
-woman,&mdash;and, when they parted, he questioned
-whether any man had ever been so much in this
-woman’s society without saying a word that might
-not have been shouted in the market-place. Somehow
-the man had an intuitive feeling that gossip
-had supplied the girl with a not too friendly sketch
-of him, and he, for once, abandoned the cynicism
-that, had he cared less, might have prompted him
-to convey any impression of himself, so long as
-it should not be the true one. To her this visit
-said nothing beyond the fact that the man, as
-she found him, was quite unlike his picture, as
-painted by professed friends, and that the reality
-interested her.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>“The three Fateful Sisters, who weave the
-destinies of men and women into such strange
-tangles, threw these two across each other’s paths,
-until the man, at least, sought to aid Fortune,
-in providing opportunities for meeting one whose
-attractive personality appealed so greatly to his
-artistic sense. Chance helped him, and, again
-catching together the threads of these lives, Destiny
-twisted them into a single strand. One brief day,
-or less, is enough to make a bond that only death
-can sever, and for this man and woman there were
-days and days when, in spite of resistance, their
-lives were gradually drawn so close together that
-at last the rivets were as strong as they were
-invisible.</p>
-
-<p>“The triumphant beauty of the woman, rare and
-disturbing though it was, would not alone have
-overcome him, but, as the days went by, and they
-were brought more and more into each other’s
-society, she gradually let him see the greater
-beauty of her soul; and small wonder if he found
-the combined attractions irresistible. She was so
-young that I have called her a girl, and yet she
-had seen as much of life as many women twice her
-age. Her beauty and charm of manner had brought
-her hosts of admirers, but still she was completely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
-unspoilt, and devoid of either coquetry or self-consciousness.
-A lovely face, lighted by the winning
-expression of an intelligent mind and a warm,
-loving nature; a graceful, willowy figure, whose
-lissom movements showed a quite uncommon
-strength and power of endurance; these outward
-attractions, united to quick discernment, absolute
-honesty of speech and intention, a bright energy,
-perfectly unaffected manners, and a courage of the
-highest order, moral as well as physical, fascinated
-a man, the business of whose life had been to
-study his fellow-creatures. He felt certain that
-he saw here&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">La main qui ne trahit, la bouche qui ne ment.</i>’</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>“His experience had given him a horror of
-weakness in every form, and here, he realised,
-was a woman who was only capable of great
-thoughts and great deeds, obeying the dictates of
-her own heart and mind, not the suggestions of
-the weaker brethren. If she fell, it would be as
-an angel might fall, through love of one of the
-sons of men.</p>
-
-<p>“Her shy reserve slowly gave way to confidence,
-and, in the sympathy of closer friendship, she let
-him see beauties of soul of which he would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
-deemed it sacrilege to speak to another. What
-drew her to him I cannot tell; perhaps his profound
-reverence for, and admiration of, her sex, his
-complete understanding of herself, or perhaps some
-quality of his own. I had not her confidence, so
-cannot say; but there were men who recognised
-his fascination, due in part, no doubt, to his compelling
-will. Perhaps she was simply carried away
-by the man’s overpowering love, which at last
-declared itself. They realised the hopelessness of
-the position, and yet they both took comfort from
-their mutual love and trust in each other’s unchanging
-faith. That was all they had to look forward
-to,&mdash;that and Fate.</p>
-
-<p>“With that poor prospect before them he gave
-her, on a day, a gold coin, ‘for luck,’ he said&mdash;an
-ancient Indian coin of some forgotten dynasty, and
-she hung it on a bangle and said laughingly, that
-if ever she were likely to forget him the jingle of
-the coin would be a ceaseless reminder of the giver.
-And so the thing lived there day and night, and,
-when she moved, it made little musical sounds,
-singing its story to her willing ears, as it struck
-against the bangle from which it hung.</p>
-
-<p>“Then they came here, he to his work, she to
-see the snows and some friends, before leaving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
-India for Japan, or California, or some other stage
-of the voyage which brings no rest to the troubled
-soul. One day they had ridden up here, and were
-returning down the hill. It was afternoon, and
-she was riding in front, he behind, the syces
-following. The path is narrow, as you saw,
-and very steep. She dropped something, stopped,
-and called a syce to pick it up. Her horse was
-impatient, got his head round, and, as the syce
-approached, backed over the edge of the road.
-The thing was done in an instant, the horse was
-over the side, down on his belly, terror-struck and
-struggling in the loose earth. The man had only
-time to shout, ‘Get off! get off!’ but she could
-not get off, the horse had fallen on his off side,
-and, as the man threw himself on the road, her
-horse rolled slowly right over her, with a horrible
-crunching noise,&mdash;then faster, over her again, and
-then horse and rider disappeared, and, crashing
-through the undergrowth, banging against great
-granite boulders, fell with a horrible thud, far down
-the height.</p>
-
-<p>“He had never seen her face; she had her
-back towards him, and she never uttered a
-sound.</p>
-
-<p>“The road makes a long détour, and then comes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
-back, several hundred feet lower down, to a spot
-almost directly underneath the point where the
-accident happened. A little way in from there
-the man saw the horse lying perfectly still, with
-its neck broken. Higher up the bank he found
-the woman, moaning a little, but quite unconscious,
-crushed and torn,&mdash;you have seen the place and
-you can guess. She only lived a few minutes.</p>
-
-<p>“When at last the man awoke out of his stupor,
-to lift her up and carry her down to the path, he
-noticed that the bangle and the coin had both
-gone, wrenched off in that wild plunge through
-trees and stones into eternity&mdash;or oblivion.</p>
-
-<p>“The man waited there, while one of the syces
-went for help and a litter, and it was only after
-they had carried her home that I saw him. I
-could hardly recognise him. There were times
-when I had thought him the saddest-looking man I
-had ever seen, but this was different. There was
-a grey, drawn setness on his face, and something
-in his eyes I did not care to look at. He and I
-were living in the same house, and in the evening
-he told me briefly what had happened, and several
-times, both while he spoke and afterwards, I saw
-him throw up his head and listen intently. I
-asked him what it was, and he said, ‘Nothing, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
-thought I heard something.’ Later, he started
-suddenly, and said&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>“‘Did you hear that?’</p>
-
-<p>“‘Hear what?’ I asked.</p>
-
-<p>“‘A faint jingling noise,’ he replied. ‘You must
-have heard it; did you do it?’</p>
-
-<p>“But I had heard nothing, and I said so.</p>
-
-<p>“He got up and looked about to see if any one
-was moving, and then came back and sat down
-again. I tried to make him go to bed, but he
-would not, and I left him there at last.</p>
-
-<p>“They buried her the next evening, and all the
-English in the station were there. The man and
-I stood on the outskirts of the people, and we
-lingered till they had gone, and then watched the
-grave-diggers finish the filling of the grave, put
-on the sods, and finally leave the place. As they
-built up the earth, and shaped it into the form of
-a roof to cover that narrow dwelling, the man
-winced under every blow of the spades, as though
-he were receiving them on his own body. There
-was nothing to say, and we said nothing, but more
-than once I noticed the man in that listening attitude,
-and I began to be alarmed about him. I got
-him home, and except for that look, which had
-not left his face, and the intentness with which I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
-sometimes caught him listening, there was nothing
-strange in his manner; only he hardly spoke at all.
-On subsequent evenings for the next fortnight he
-talked more than usual about himself, and as I
-knew that he often spent a good deal of time in,
-or looking on to, the cemetery, I was not surprised
-to hear him say that he thought it a particularly
-attractive graveyard, and one where it would be
-pleasant to lie, if one had to be put away somewhere.
-It is on the hill, you know, by the church,
-and one can see the eternal snows across that blue
-valley which divides us from the highlands of
-Sikkim. He was insistent, and made me remark
-that, as far as he was concerned, there could be
-no better place to lie than in this God’s Acre.</p>
-
-<p>“Once or twice, again, he asked me if I did not
-hear a jingle, and constantly, especially in the quiet
-of evening, I saw him start and listen, till sometimes
-I really began to think I heard the noise he
-described.</p>
-
-<p>“A few evenings later, but less than a month
-after the accident, I went to bed, leaving him
-cleaning a revolver which he thought a deal of,
-and certainly he could shoot very straight with it.
-I was sitting half-undressed, when I heard a loud
-report, and you may imagine the feelings with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
-which I ran to the room where I had left him.
-He was sitting at the table, with his left hand
-raised, as though to reach his heart, and his right
-straight down by his side, the revolver on the floor
-beneath it. He was dead, shot through the heart;
-but his head was slightly thrown back, his eyes
-wide open, and in them that look of listening
-expectancy I had seen so often of late. At the
-corners of his mouth there seemed to be the
-shadow of the faintest smile.</p>
-
-<p>“At the inquest I explained that I left him
-cleaning the pistol, and that, as it had a hair-trigger,
-no doubt it had gone off by misadventure.
-When each of the jurors had, in turn, raised the
-hammer, and found it was hardly necessary to
-touch the trigger in order to fire the weapon,
-they unanimously returned a verdict of ‘accidental
-death.’”</p>
-
-<p>“It is curious,” concluded my companion, “but
-I sometimes think <em>I</em> hear the jingle of that coin,
-especially if I am alone on this hill, or sitting by
-myself at night in the house where that sad accident
-happened.” He put a slight stress on the
-word “accident,” that was not lost on me.</p>
-
-<p>As we passed the stone, on our way down the
-hill, I seemed to see that horse blunder backwards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
-over the edge of the path, to hear the slow,
-crunching roll, and then the crash and ghastly
-thud, far down below; and, as an involuntary
-shudder crept slowly down my back, I thought <em>I</em>
-heard the faint jingle of that ill-omened piece of
-gold.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a><span class="line-height">VIII</span><br />
-A STRANGE SUNSET</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">YOU will think I am eternally babbling of
-sunsets, but no one, with a spark of feeling,
-could be here and not be moved to the depths of
-his nature by the matchless, the ever-changing
-beauty of the wonderful pictures that are so constantly
-before his eyes. People who are utterly
-commonplace, whose instincts seem, in some respects,
-to approach those of the beasts, when they
-come here are amazed into new sensations, and,
-in unaccustomed words, voice the expression of
-their admiration. If I weary you, pardon me, and
-remember that you are the only victim of my
-exaltation.</p>
-
-<p>One looks for a sunset in the west, does one
-not? and that is the direction in which to find it
-here as elsewhere; but to-night the marvellous
-effects of the setting sun were, for a time, confined
-almost entirely to the east, or, to be strictly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
-accurate, rather to the south of east. Facing that
-direction one looks across a remarkable ridge,
-entirely covered by giant forest trees. The ridge
-dips in a sort of crescent from about 4500 feet in
-height at one extremity to 3000 feet at the other,
-and extends for a distance of perhaps two miles
-between the horns. Beyond and below the ridge
-lies a great, fertile valley, watered by a stately
-river, along the opposite bank of which runs a
-range of hills, varying in height from 2000 to
-3000 feet. Behind these hills there is another
-valley, another range, and then a succession of
-ever-loftier mountains, forming the main chain.</p>
-
-<p>The sun had disappeared behind a thick bank
-of grey clouds, and the only evidence of his presence
-was in the lambent edges of these clouds,
-which here and there glittered like molten metal.
-The western sky was, except for this bank, extraordinarily
-clear and cloudless, of a pale translucent
-blue, flecked here and there by tiny cloud-boats,
-airy and delicate, moving very slowly across the
-empyrean. I noticed this because what I saw in
-the east was so remarkable that I noted every
-detail.</p>
-
-<p>Against a background the colour of a hedge-sparrow’s
-egg in the south, and blue without the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
-green in the east, stood one white cloud, like a
-huge plume, with its base resting on the many
-ranges across the river, while it seemed to lean
-towards me, the top of the plume being almost
-over my head. At first the plume shone, from
-base to top, with a golden effulgence; but this
-gradually gave place to that lovely tint which I
-can only describe as <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rose dorée</i>, the warm colour
-momentarily intensifying in tone until it suffused
-the entire cloud with such a roseate blush that
-all the hills beneath, and all the fast-darkening
-plain, blushed in response.</p>
-
-<p>For twenty minutes that glowing plume of
-softly rounded, feathery cloud stood framed against
-its wondrous blue-green background, the rosy
-colour of the cloud deepening as the land beneath
-it gathered blackness. Then, almost imperceptibly,
-the glow flickered and died, leaving only
-an immense grey-white cloud hanging over the
-night-shrouded plain.</p>
-
-<p>The sun, I knew, had long sunk beneath the
-horizon. Though I could see nothing behind that
-thick curtain of cloud, I waited, for the after-glow,
-seen from this height, is often more wonderful
-than the actual sunset. Five minutes of dull
-greyness, and then the whole western sky, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
-a space above the horizon, was overspread with
-pale gold, while countless shafts of brighter light
-radiated, as from the hub of the Sun-God’s chariot-wheel,
-across the gilded space, into the blue
-heights above. In the midst of this pale golden
-sheen there appeared, almost due west, and low
-down in the sky, a silver crescent, fine as a
-thread, curved upwards like the lip of a cup of
-which bowl and stem were invisible. It was the
-new-born moon.</p>
-
-<p>Gradually all sunlight failed, and close above
-the long, narrow bank of dark clouds, clearly
-etched against their grey background, hung a now
-golden crescent, into which seemed to be falling a
-solitary star of surpassing brilliance.</p>
-
-<p>To stand alone here in the presence of Nature,
-to witness the marvels of sunrise or sunset, the
-strange influence of nights of ravishing moonlight
-and days of quickening heat, impresses one with
-the conviction that if Oriental language is couched
-in terms that sound extravagant to Western ears,
-the reason is not far to seek. Nature revels
-here; one can really see things grow, where the
-sun shines every day as it never shines in lands
-of cold and fog. Natural phenomena are on a
-grander scale; the lightning is more vivid, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
-thunder more deafening, the rain a deluge against
-which the feeble artifices of man offer no protection.
-The moonlight is brighter, the shadows
-deeper, the darkness blacker than in northern
-climes. So the vegetation covers the earth, climbs
-on to the rocks, and disputes possession even with
-the waters of the sea. The blossoms are as
-brilliant in colour as they are profuse in quantity,
-and two men will stagger under the weight of a
-single fruit. As for thorns, they are long as nails,
-stiff as steel, and sharp as needles. The beasts
-of the forest are mighty, the birds of the air are
-of wonderful plumage, the denizens of the deep
-are many, and huge, and strange. In the lower
-forms of life it is just the same; the lizards, the
-beetles, the ants, the moths and butterflies, the
-frogs and the snakes,&mdash;they are great in size and
-legion in number. Even the insects, however
-small, are in myriads.</p>
-
-<p>Only man stagnates, propagates feebly, loses his
-arts, falls a prey to pestilence, to new diseases, to
-imported vices, dies,&mdash;while every creature and
-every plant around him is struggling in the ceaseless
-renewal of life. Man dies, possibly because
-exultant nature leaves him so little to do to support
-his own existence; but it is not strange that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
-when he goes beyond the ordinary avocations of
-daily life, and takes himself at all seriously, his
-language should partake somewhat of the colour
-of his surroundings. Nor, perhaps, is it altogether
-surprising that, living with the tiger and the crocodile,
-the cobra and the stinging-ray, the scorpion
-and the centipede, he should have acquired some
-of their bloodthirstiness and venom, rather than
-have sought an example in the gentleness of the
-dove, a bird much fancied by Eastern peoples for
-the sweetness of its note and the excellence of
-its fighting qualities.</p>
-
-<p>I suppose it is the appalling difficulties of
-making a passage through the jungle that have
-given the elephant and rhinoceros their strength
-and courage; but for the people, who are never
-really cold, and seldom hungry, there is little
-inducement to exertion. They can lie under the
-fruit trees, and idly watch the grey, gossamer-winged
-butterflies floating dreamily across a sunlit
-glade; they drowse and sleep to the music of the
-waters, as the whispering river slips gently towards
-a summer sea.</p>
-
-<p>And it is all so comfortable. There is Death,
-but that is predestined, the one thing certain in
-so much that is too hard for the finite mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
-There is also Hell, but of all those who speak so
-glibly of it, none ever believes that the same
-Power which created him, to live for a moment
-in trouble on the earth, will condemn him to an
-eternity of awful punishment. It is Paradise for
-which each man, in his own mind, is destined; a
-Paradise where he will be rewarded for all his
-earthly disappointments by some such pleasant
-material advantages as he can picture to himself,
-while he lies on the river bank and gradually
-sinks into a delightful slumber, lulled by the restful
-rippling of the passing stream. And he will
-dream&mdash;dream of that Celestial Being of whom
-it is related that “his face shone golden, like
-that of a god, so that many lizards fell, dazzled,
-from the walls, and the cockroaches in the thatch
-fought to bask in the light of his countenance.”</p>
-
-<p>Oriental imagery,&mdash;but a quaintly pretty idea,
-the creatures struggling to sit in the light shed by
-that radiant face.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a><span class="line-height">IX</span><br />
-OF LETTER-WRITING</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">SO you prefer the unaddressed letters, such
-as you have seen, to those which you receive
-from me in a cover, whereon are duly inscribed
-your name, style, and titles, and you ask me
-whether some of the letters are not really written
-to you. They are written to “Mary, in heaven,”
-or to you, if you please, or to any one to whom
-they appeal. The reason why you prefer them to
-the epistles I address to you is because they are
-unconstrained (too much so, you might think, if
-you saw them all), while, in writing to you, I am
-under constraint, and, directly I feel it, I have to
-be careful what I say, and beat about for some
-safe subject; and, as I abhor gossip and cannot
-write about my neighbour’s cat, I become unnatural,
-stilted, stupid, boring. With Mary it is different,
-for she is in heaven, where there are no marriages,
-and, therefore, I imagine, no husbands. As for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
-lovers, I do not mind them, for they have no
-special privileges; at any rate, they have no right
-to interfere with me. The idea that what I write
-for your eye may be read by some one for whom
-it was not intended, hampers the pen and takes
-away more than half the pleasure of writing.</p>
-
-<p>If you answer, “You ought not to want to write
-anything to me that may not be read by the
-master over my shoulder, or by the maid in the
-kitchen,” I say that I do not wish to interfere
-with the circulation of the <cite>Family Herald</cite>; and, for
-the rest, when you honour me with a letter, is it
-to be shown to any one who wishes to know what
-a really charming and interesting letter is like?
-I am blessed with some really delightful correspondents,
-of whom I would say you are the chief,
-did I not fear to offend some others; but I cannot
-help noticing, sometimes with amusement and sometimes
-with painful regret, that the character of their
-letters has a way of changing that, between first
-and last, may be compared to looking at the landscape
-through one end of a telescope and then
-through the other. When I see the field of vision
-narrowing to something like vanishing-point, until,
-in fact, the features of interest are no longer visible,
-I feel that I too must put on a minifying-glass,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
-before I attempt to describe to you my surroundings,
-my thoughts, my hopes and fears. Worst
-of all, I can no longer ask you freely how life is
-treating you; for if I do, I get no answer, or you
-tell me that the winter has been one of unexampled
-severity, or the political party in power seems to
-be losing ground and missing its opportunities.
-Individuals and parties have been losing opportunities
-since the days when Joseph lost his coat;
-always regretting them and always doing it again,
-because every party and every individual scorns to
-profit by the experience of another. That, you will
-tell me, is a platitude beneath a child’s notice. I
-agree with you, and I only mention it in support of
-my contention that it is better to write what you
-see, or hear, or imagine, or believe, to no one at
-all, than to write “delicately,” with the knowledge
-that there is a possible Samuel waiting somewhere
-about, if not to hew you in pieces, to put inconvenient
-questions to your friends, and give them
-the trouble of making explanations which are none
-the less aggravating because they are needless.
-As a man, I may say that the effort to avoid
-writing to women everything that can, by a suspicious
-mind, be twisted into something mildly
-compromising, is more than I am capable of. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
-thought that one may innocently get a friend into
-trouble is not amusing, so pray dismiss from your
-mind the idea that any of these letters are written
-to you. They are not; and if they ever recall
-scenes, or suggest situations that seem familiar,
-that is merely an accident. Pure, undiluted fable
-is, I fancy, very rare indeed; but travellers are
-supposed to be responsible for the most of it, and
-I am a traveller. On the other hand, almost all
-fiction is founded on fact, but you know how small
-a divergence from the latter is sufficient to make the
-former. If my fiction looks like fact, I am gratified;
-if, at the same time, it has awakened your
-interest (and you say it has), that is more than I
-ever hoped to achieve. A wanderer’s life in often
-beautiful, sometimes strange, surroundings; a near
-insight into the fortunes of men and women of
-widely differing race, colour, and creed; and the
-difficulty of writing freely and fearlessly to those
-who, like yourself, would give me their sympathy and
-kindly interest&mdash;these are mainly responsible for
-the Letters. As to the other contributing causes,
-it will amuse you more to exercise your imagination
-in lively speculations than to hear the dull
-truth from me. Besides, if I told you the truth it
-would only mislead, for you would not believe it.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a><span class="line-height">X</span><br />
-AT A FUNERAL</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">DO you remember how Matthew Arnold, in his
-Essay on “Pagan and Mediæval Religious
-Sentiment,” translates a scene from the fifteenth
-Idyll of Theocritus, giving the experiences of two
-Syracusan visitors at the feast of Adonis at Alexandria,
-about three hundred years before the Christian
-era? The description is wonderfully fresh
-and realistic, and it came back to me with strange
-insistence last night when my host detailed to me
-his experiences at a Malay funeral. I fear the
-effect will all be lost when I try to repeat what I
-heard&mdash;but you are indulgent, and you will pardon
-my clumsy periods for the sake of my desire to
-interest you. My only chance of conveying any
-idea of the impression made on me is to assume
-the rôle of narrator at first hand, and to try, as
-far as I may, to speak in my host’s words.</p>
-
-<p>“I was travelling,” he said, “and on the point<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
-of starting for a place where lived a Malay raja
-who was a great friend of mine, when I heard
-accidentally that his son had just died. That
-evening I reached the station where my friend
-lived. I saw him, and learned that his son, a
-mere lad, would be buried the next day. It is
-needless to say why he died, it is not a pretty
-tale. He had visited, perhaps eighteen months
-earlier, a British possession where the screams of
-Exeter Hall had drowned the curses of the people
-of the land, and this wretched boy returned to
-his country to suffer eighteen months of torture,&mdash;agonising,
-loathsome corruption,&mdash;in comparison
-with which death on the cross would be a joyous
-festival. That is nothing, he was dead; and,
-while his and many another life cry to deaf ears,
-the momentary concern of his family and his
-friends was to bury him decently. My arrival was
-regarded as a fortuitous circumstance, and I was
-bidden to take part in the function.</p>
-
-<p>“It was early afternoon when I found myself,
-with the father, standing at the window of a long
-room, full of women, watching till the body should
-be carried to a great catafalque that stood at the
-door to receive it. As we waited there, the man
-beside me,&mdash;a man of unusually tender feeling,&mdash;showed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
-no emotion. He simply said, ‘I am not
-sorry; it is better to die than to live like that; he
-has peace at last.’</p>
-
-<p>“There was a sound of heavy feet staggering
-over the grass under the weight of a great load,
-and the coffin was borne past our window towards
-the door. As we walked down the room a multitude
-of women and children pressed after us, and
-while a crowd of men lifted the body into its place
-on the catafalque, a girl close by us burst into a
-perfect passion of weeping, intermingled with despairing
-cries, and expressions of affection for
-the dead, whom she would never see again. The
-raja pulled me by the sleeve, saying, ‘Come outside,
-I cannot bear this,’ and I saw the tears were
-slowly coursing down his face as we passed the
-heart-broken child, who, in the abandonment of
-her grief, had thrown herself into the arms of
-another girl, and was weeping hysterically on
-her breast. The mourner was the dead boy’s only
-sister.</p>
-
-<p>“Meanwhile, the coffin had been placed on the
-huge wooden bier, and this was now being raised
-on the shoulders of a hundred men, with at least
-another hundred crowded round to take turns in
-carrying it to the place of burial. At this moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
-the procession moved off, and anything more unlike
-a funeral, as you and I know it, would be hard to
-imagine. A band of musicians, Spanish <i>mestizos</i>,
-in military uniforms, headed the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cortège</i>, playing a
-wild Spanish lament, that seemed to sob and wail
-and proclaim, by every trick of sound, the passing
-of the dead. Immediately behind them followed
-a company of stalwart Indian soldiers with arms
-reversed. Then a posse of priests and holy men
-chanting prayers. Next we came, and behind us
-a row of boys carrying their dead master’s clothes,
-a very pathetic spectacle. After them the great
-bier, vast in size, curious in form, and gay with
-colour, but so unwieldy that it seemed to take
-its own direction and make straight for the
-place of burial, regardless of roads and ditches,
-shrubs and flowers, or the shouts and cries of
-its bearers and those who were attempting to
-direct their steps. Last of all, a crowd of men
-and boys,&mdash;friends, retainers, chiefs, sightseers,
-idlers, gossips and beggars, a very heterogeneous
-throng.</p>
-
-<p>“The road to the burial-ground wound down
-one hill and up another, and the band, the escort,
-the priests, and the mourners followed it. But the
-catafalque pursued its own devious course in its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
-own blundering fashion, and, by-and-by, was set
-down on a high bluff, o’erlooking a great shining
-river, with palm-clad banks, backed by a space of
-level ground shut in by lofty blue hills. The coffin
-was then lifted from out the bier and placed upon
-the ground.</p>
-
-<p>“I stood by the ready-dug grave and waited;
-while the father of the dead boy moved away a
-few yards, and an aged chief called out, ‘Now, all
-you praying people, come and pray.’</p>
-
-<p>“The raja, the priests, and the holy men
-gathered round the body, and after several had
-been invited to take up the word and modestly
-declined in favour of some better qualified speaker,
-a voice began to intone, while, from time to time,
-the rest of the company said ‘Amîn.’</p>
-
-<p>“Just then it began to rain a little, and those
-who had no umbrellas ran for protection to the
-catafalque and sheltered themselves under its overhanging
-eaves, while a lively interchange of badinage
-passed between those who, for the moment,
-had nothing to do. This was the sort of conversation
-that reached my ears.</p>
-
-<p>“‘Now, then, all you people, come and pray.’</p>
-
-<p>“‘Why don’t you pray yourself?’</p>
-
-<p>“‘We did all our praying yesterday; I do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>n’t
-believe you have done any. Now is the time,
-with all these holy men here.’</p>
-
-<p>“‘I dare say; but you don’t suppose I’m going
-out into the rain to pray: I’m not a priest.’</p>
-
-<p>“‘No one thought you were; but that is no
-reason why you should not pray.’</p>
-
-<p>“‘Never mind about me, tell these other people;
-but you need not bother now, for they’ve got it
-over.’</p>
-
-<p>“And all the time the monotonous voice of
-the priest muttered the guttural Arabic words, as
-though these frivolous talkers were a mile off,
-instead of within a few feet of him and those who
-stood round the coffin.</p>
-
-<p>“No one could have helped being struck by the
-curious incongruity of the scene at that moment.
-I stood in a place of graves, with an open sepulchre
-at my feet. The stage was one of extraordinary
-beauty, the players singularly picturesque. That
-high bluff, above the glistening river, circled by
-forest-clad hills of varying height, one needle-like
-point rising to at least 6000 feet. Many old
-graves lay beneath the shadow of graceful, wide-spreading
-trees, which carried a perfect blaze of
-crimson blossoms, lying in huge masses over dark
-green leaves, as though spread there for effect.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
-Groups of brown men, clad in garments of bright
-but harmoniously toned colours, stood all about
-the hill. On the very edge of the bluff, towards
-the river, was the gaily caparisoned, quaintly constructed
-catafalque, a number of men and boys
-sitting in it and round its edge, smoking, laughing,
-and talking. Within a dozen feet of them, the
-closely packed crowd of priests and holy men praying
-round the coffin. The band and the guard
-had been told to march off, and they were wending
-their way round a hillside in middle distance;
-while the strains of a quick step, the monotone of
-rapidly uttered prayer, the conversation and laughter
-of the idlers, crossed and re-crossed each other in
-a manner that to me was distinctly <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bizarre</i>. Seen
-against that background and lighted by the fiery
-rays of a dying Eastern sun, the scarlet uniforms
-of the bandsmen, the dark blue of the escort, the
-long white coats of the priests, and the many-coloured
-garments of the two or three hundred
-spectators scattered about the graves, completed a
-picture not easily forgotten.</p>
-
-<p>“Just then a move was made to the sepulchre,
-and two ropes were stretched across it, while some
-men began to lift the coffin.</p>
-
-<p>“‘What are you doing?’ said the uncle of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
-dead boy. ‘If you put him in like that how will
-his head lie?’</p>
-
-<p>“The bearers immediately let the coffin down,
-and another man in authority said, ‘Well, after
-all, how should his head lie?’</p>
-
-<p>“‘Towards the west,’ said the uncle.</p>
-
-<p>“‘No, it should not,’ replied the other; ‘it
-should be to the north, and then he looks towards
-the west.’</p>
-
-<p>“Several people here joined in the argument,
-and it was eventually decided that the head must
-be towards the north; and then, as the body was
-lying on its right side, the face would look towards
-Mecca.</p>
-
-<p>“‘Well, who knows at which end of the box
-his head is?’</p>
-
-<p>“Various guesses were hazarded, but the uncle
-said that would never do, and he would see for
-himself. So the wreaths and garlands of ‘blue
-chempaka,’ the flower of death, the gorgeous silks
-and cloths of gold, were all thrown off, the heavy
-cover was lifted up, and the uncle began to feel
-about in the white grave-clothes for the head of
-the corpse.</p>
-
-<p>“‘Ha! here it is,’ he said; ‘if we had put him
-in without looking, it would have been all wrong,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
-and we should have had a nice job to get him out
-again.’</p>
-
-<p>“‘Well, you know all about it now,’ said a
-bystander, ‘so we may as well get on.’</p>
-
-<p>“The cover was accordingly replaced, the box
-turned with the head to the north, and then, with
-a deal of talk and superabundance of advice, from
-near and from far, the poor body was at last
-lowered into the grave. Once there the corpse
-lies on the earth, for the coffin has no bottom.
-The reason is obvious.</p>
-
-<p>“You have probably never been to a funeral,
-and if so, you do not know the horrible sound of
-the first spadesful of earth as they fall, with dull
-blows, on that which is past feeling and resistance.
-The friends who stand round the grave shudder
-as each clod strikes the wood under which lies
-their beloved dead. Here it was different, for
-two men got into the grave and held up a grass
-mat, against which the earth was shovelled while
-the coffin was protected. There was hardly any
-sound, and, as the earth accumulated, the men
-spread it with their hands to right and left, and
-finally over the top of the coffin, and then the
-rest of the work was done rapidly and quietly.
-When filled in, two wooden pegs, each covered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
-with a piece of new white cloth, were placed at
-the head and foot of the grave. These are eventually
-replaced by stones.</p>
-
-<p>“Then, as the officers of the raja’s household
-began to distribute funeral gifts amongst the
-priests, the holy men, and the poor, my friend
-and I slowly retraced our steps, and, with much
-quiet dignity, the father thanked me for joining
-him in performing the last offices to his dead son.</p>
-
-<p>“‘His sufferings were unbearable,’ he said;
-‘they are over now, and why should I regret?’</p>
-
-<p>“Truly death was best, I could not gainsay it;
-but that young life, so horribly and prematurely
-ended, seemed to have fallen into the snare of a
-civilisation that cannot be wholly appreciated by
-primitive people. They do not understand why
-the burning moral principles of a section of an
-alien race should be applied to communities that
-have no sympathy with the principles, or their
-application to different conditions of society.”</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a><span class="line-height">XI</span><br />
-OF CHANGE AND DECAY</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">THERE is a subject which has an abiding
-interest for all men and women who are
-not too old to love; it is Constancy. I suppose
-there are few questions on which any half-dozen
-intelligent people will express such different
-opinions, and it is doubtful whether any of the
-six (unless there be amongst them one who is
-very young and inexperienced) will divulge his,
-or her, true thoughts thereanent. Almost all
-women, and most men, seem to think they are
-morally bound to declare themselves to be very
-mirrors of constancy, and each is prepared to
-shower scorn and indignation on the erring mortal
-convicted of change of feeling. The only feeling
-I here refer to is the declared love of man for
-woman, of woman for man.</p>
-
-<p>The other day a friend, writing to me, said,
-with admirable candour, “Do not think my heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
-is so small that it can only contain love for one
-man,” and I know that she means one man at a
-time. The maze surrounding this suggestion is
-attractive; let us wander in it for awhile, and if
-we become bewildered in its devious turns, if we
-lose ourselves in the intricacies of vague phrases,
-we may yet win our way back to reason by the
-road of hard, practical fact.</p>
-
-<p>In the spring of life, when the fancies of the
-young man and the girl “lightly turn to thoughts
-of love,” I suppose the average lover honestly
-believes in the doctrine of eternal constancy, for
-himself and the object of his affections, and words
-will almost fail him and her to describe their contempt
-for the frail creature who has admitted a
-change of mind; worse still, if the change includes
-a confession of love for a new object. Coquette,
-jilt, faithless deceiver, breaker of hearts, ruthless
-destroyer of peace of mind,&mdash;words of opprobrium
-are not sufficient in quantity, or poisonous enough
-in quality, to satisfy those from whose lips they
-flow with the violence and destructive force of a
-river in flood.</p>
-
-<p>Now, suppose this heaven-mated couple proceeds
-to extremities&mdash;that is, to marriage. And
-suppose that, after quite a short time, so short<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
-that no false note has ever been heard to mar
-the perfect harmony of their duet of mutual praise
-and rapture, one of them dies, or goes mad, or
-gets lost, or is put into prison for a long term of
-years;&mdash;will not the other find a new affinity? It
-happens so often that I think it must be admitted
-as a very likely possibility. When convention
-permits of an outward and visible application, and
-plaster is put over the wound, most of the very
-virtuous say, “and an excellent thing, too.”</p>
-
-<p>There, then, we arrive at once at the possibility
-of change; the possibility of A, who once swore
-deathless love and fealty to B, swearing the same
-deathless love and fealty to X. It happens, and
-it has high approval.</p>
-
-<p>Now go a little step further, and suppose that
-the excellent couple of whom I first spoke perpetrate
-matrimony, and neither of them dies, or
-goes mad, or gets into prison. Only, after a
-longer or shorter time, they become utterly bored
-with each other; or one finds the other out; or,
-what is most common, one, and that one usually
-the woman, for divers reasons, comes to loathe
-the married state, all it implies and all it exacts.
-Just then Satan supplies another and a quite
-different man, who falls naturally into his place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
-in the situation, and the play runs merrily along.
-B’s deathless love and fealty for A are thrown
-out of the window, and what remains is pledged,
-up to the very hilt, to that spawn of the Evil One,
-the wrecker of happy homes, Z. It can hardly be
-denied that this also happens.</p>
-
-<p>I come, then, to the case of the affianced but
-unmarried lovers, where one, or both, perceives in
-time that the other is not quite all that fancy
-painted; realises that there is a lover, “for
-showy,” and a disagreeable companion and master
-“for blowy”: a helpful daughter, a charming
-sweetheart one day, and a very selfish, not to
-say grasping, spit-fire on another. Or, across
-the distant horizon, there sails into the quiet
-waters of this love-locked sea a privateer, with
-attractions not possessed by the ordinary merchant
-vessel, and, when the privateer spreads its sails
-again, it carries with it a willing prize, leaving
-behind a possibly better-found and more seaworthy
-craft to indulge its wooden frame with a
-burst of impotent fury and despair. B’s deathless
-love has been transplanted to a more congenial
-soil, and, after a space, A will find another
-and a better helpmate, and both will be satisfied,&mdash;for
-a time.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>If one may love, and marry, and lose, and love
-again; if one may love, and promise to marry,
-but, seeing the promise means disaster, withdraw
-it, to love elsewhere; if one may love and the
-love be choked to death, or frozen to entire
-absence of feeling, and then revive under the
-warmth of new sympathy to live and feel again&mdash;if
-all these things may be, and those to whom
-the experience comes are held to be no more
-criminal than their fellows, surely there may be
-love, real love, honestly given with both hands,
-as honestly clasped and held, and yet&mdash;and yet&mdash;a
-time may come when, for one of a thousand
-reasons, or for two or three, that love will wane
-and wane until, from illumining the whole firmament
-of those within its radiance, it disappears
-and leaves nothing but black, moonless night.
-But, by-and-by, a new moon of love may rise,
-may wax to equal splendour, making as glorious
-as before everything on which it shines; and the
-heart, forgetting none of the past, rejoices again
-in the present, and says, “Life is good; let me
-live it as it comes.” If that be possible, the
-alternate day and night of love and loss may
-succeed each other more than twice or thrice, and
-yet no charge, even of fickleness, may fairly lie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
-at the door of him or her to whom this fate may
-come unsought.</p>
-
-<p>To love, as some can love, and be loved as well
-in return; to trust in the unswerving faith, the
-unassailable loyalty, the unbounded devotion of
-another, as one trusts in God, in the simple laws
-of nature, in anything that is absolutely certain;
-and then to find that our deity has feet of clay,
-that our perfect gem has, after all, a flaw, is a very
-bad experience. Worse than all, to lose, absolutely
-and for ever, and yet without death, a love that
-seemed more firmly rooted and grounded in us
-than any sacred principle, more surely ours than
-any possession secured by bolt and bar&mdash;that is a
-pain that passeth the understanding of those who
-have not felt it. Add to this the knowledge that
-this curse has come upon us as the result of our
-own work&mdash;folly, blind, senseless, reckless confidence,
-or worse&mdash;that is the very acme of human
-suffering. It is not a thing to dwell upon. On the
-grave of a love that has surpassed, in the perfection
-of its reality, all the dreams of imagination, and
-every ideal conjured out of depths of passionate
-romance, grow weeds which poison the air and
-madden the brain with grisly spectres. It is well
-to “let the dead bury their dead”&mdash;if we only can.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>There, I am at the end; or is it only the close
-of a chapter? I suppose it must be the latter, for
-I have but now come to my friend’s proposition,
-namely, that of love distributed amongst a number
-of objects; all perhaps different, yet all in their
-way, let us hope, equally worthy. I know how
-she explains it. She says she loves one man
-because he appeals to her in one way, another in
-another; and as there are many means of approach
-to her heart, so there are many who, by one road
-or another, find their way to it. After all, she is
-probably more candid than singular in the distribution
-of her affection. How many worldlings who
-have reached the age of thirty can say that they
-have not had a varied experience in the elasticity of
-their affections, in the variety of shrines at which
-they have worshipped? Aphrodite and Athene
-and Artemis for the men; Phœbus and Ares and
-Hermes for the women; and a host of minor
-deities for either. Minor chords, delicate harmonies,
-charming pages of melody between the tragic
-scenes, the carefully scored numbers, the studied
-effects, which introduce the distinguishing <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">motifs</i>
-of the leading characters, in that strange conception
-wherein is written all the music of their
-lives.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>We are told that the sons of God took unto
-themselves wives from the daughters of men. Do
-you believe they left no wives, no broken faith, in
-heaven, before they came to earth to seek what
-they could not find above the spheres? What
-form of marriage ceremony do you suppose they
-went through with those daughters of men? Was
-it binding until death, and did that last trifling
-incident only open the door to an eternity of
-wedded bliss in the heaven from which earthly
-love had been able to seduce these sons of God?
-I fear there is proof of inconstancy somewhere.
-There is clear evidence of a desire for change, and
-that is usually taken to be a synonym for inconstancy,
-as between the sexes. The daughters of
-men have something to answer for, much to be
-proud of; but I hardly see why either they, or
-their menkind, who never drew any loving souls
-down from the safe heights of heaven to be wives
-to them, should be expected to make a choice of a
-partner early in life and never waver in devotion
-to that one, until death has put them beyond the
-possibility of temptation. It does happen sometimes;
-it is beautiful, enviable, and worthy of all
-praise. But when the heart of man or woman,
-following that most universal law of nature, change,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
-goes through the whole gamut of feeling, from
-indifference to passionate love, and later retraces its
-steps, going back over only a few of them, or to a
-place, beyond indifference, where dislike is reached,
-there seems no good reason why that disappointed,
-disillusioned soul should be made the object of
-reproach, or the mark for stones, cast by others
-who have already gone through the same experience
-or have yet to learn it.</p>
-
-<p>If we claim immortality, I think we must admit
-our mutability. Perhaps the fault is not all ours.
-It is written:&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Alas for those who, having tasted once</div>
-<div class="verse1">Of that forbidden vintage of the lips</div>
-<div class="verse1">That, press’d and pressing, from each other draw</div>
-<div class="verse1">The draught that so intoxicates them both,</div>
-<div class="verse1">That, while upon the wings of Day and Night</div>
-<div class="verse1">Time rustles on, and Moons do wax and wane,</div>
-<div class="verse1">As from the very Well of Life they drink,</div>
-<div class="verse1">And, drinking, fancy they shall never drain.</div>
-<div class="verse1">But rolling Heaven from His ambush whispers,</div>
-<div class="verse1">So in my licence is it not set down:</div>
-<div class="verse1">Ah for the sweet societies I make</div>
-<div class="verse1">At Morning, and before the Nightfall break;</div>
-<div class="verse1">Ah for the bliss that coming Night fills up,</div>
-<div class="verse1">And Morn looks in to find an empty Cup!”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>I do not seek to persuade you; it is a subject
-we often discuss, on which we never agree. I
-only state the facts as I know them, and I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
-for the truth!&mdash;even though I wish it were not
-true&mdash;rather than for a well-sounding pretence,
-which usually covers a lie. I have believed; I
-have seen what, with my life, I would have maintained
-was perfect, changeless love; and I have
-seen that love bestowed, in apparently equal
-measure, on another; while, sometimes, the first
-affection has died utterly, or, at others, it has
-never died at all, and the wavering heart, divided
-in allegiance, has suffered agonies of remorse,
-and at last begged one object of its devotion to
-shun it for ever, and so help it “to be true to
-some one.”</p>
-
-<p>There you find a result almost the same as that
-so candidly confessed by my friend; but the phases
-through which either will pass to arrive at it are
-utterly different. Fate and circumstances, the
-prolonged absence of the lover, misunderstandings,
-silence, and the ceaseless, wearing efforts of another
-to take the place of the absent&mdash;the absent, who
-is always wrong;&mdash;these things will loosen the
-tightest bond, when once the enemy at the gate has
-established a feeling of sympathy between himself
-and the beleaguered city. If at last there is
-a capitulation, it is only when the besieged is <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">au
-bout de ressources</i>; only made in extreme distress,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
-only perhaps under a belief of abandonment by
-one on whom the city relied for assistance in its
-dire need.</p>
-
-<p>My candid friend has no regrets, passes through
-no phases of feeling, sees no harm, means none,
-and for herself is probably safe. Only her heart
-is large and warm; she desires sympathy, intellectual
-companionship, amusement, passionate
-adoration. She gets these things, but not all
-from the same man, and she is prepared to give
-love in return for each, but it is love with a wise
-reservation. Sometimes she cannot understand
-why the objects of her catholic affections are not
-equally satisfied with the arrangement, and she
-thinks their discontent is unreasonable. She will
-learn. Possibly, as she acquires knowledge, she
-may change. Nothing is more certain than that
-there is, if not always, very very often, the widest
-difference in the world between the girl of twenty
-and the woman of thirty. It is a development,
-an evolution,&mdash;often a startling one,&mdash;and if
-men more often realised what is likely to come,
-waited for it, and understood it when it arrived,
-there would be a deal less unhappiness in the
-world.</p>
-
-<p>That, however, is another question, about which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
-I should like to talk to you on another day, for it
-has interest.</p>
-
-<p>Of love, and change in the object of love, I think
-you will not deny the possibility. If you have
-never known such change, you are the exception, and
-out of your strength you can afford to deal gently
-with those weaker vessels whose feelings have gone
-through several experiences. But has your faith
-never wavered? Have your affections been set on
-one man, and one only; and are they there to-day,
-as strong, as single-hearted, as true and as contented
-as ever? I wonder; pardon me if I also doubt!</p>
-
-<p>I have spoken only of those cases where the
-love that was has ceased to be; ceased altogether
-and gone elsewhere, or so changed from what it
-was, that it no longer knits together those it once
-held to the exclusion of all others. But I might
-remind you that there are many other phases, all
-of which imply change, or at least such difference
-as must be counted faithlessness. Your quick
-intelligence can supply a multitude of instances
-from the unfortunate experiences of your friends,
-and I will only cite one that is not altogether
-unheard of. It is this; when two people are
-bound by the ties of mutual love, and fate divides
-them by time and distance, it sometimes happens<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
-that one will prove faithless in heart, while remaining
-firmly constant in deed. That is usually
-the woman. The other may be faithless in deed;
-but he says to himself (and, if he has to confess
-his backsliding, he will swear the same to his
-lady) that his affections have never wavered. He
-often does not realise that this statement, the
-truth of which he takes such trouble to impress
-upon his outraged goddess, adds to the baseness
-of his deed. It is curious, but it is true, that the
-woman, if she believes, will pardon that offence,
-while she would not forgive the heart-faithlessness
-of which she is herself guilty. He is not likely
-to learn that her fealty has wandered; he takes a
-good deal for granted, and he does not easily
-believe that such things are possible where he is
-concerned; but, should he suspect it, should she
-even admit that another has aroused in her feelings
-akin to those she had hitherto only felt for him, he
-will hold that aberration from the path of faith
-rather lightly, though neither tears nor blood could
-atone for a faithless deed, such as that of which
-he stands convicted.</p>
-
-<p>Woman realises that if man’s lower nature takes
-him into the gutter, or even less unclean places, he
-will not hanker after whatever it was that attracted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
-him when once his temptation is out of sight.
-She despises, but she estimates the disloyalty at
-its right value in a creature for whose want of
-refinement she learns to feel a certain contempt.
-Man, busy about many other things, treats as
-trivial a lapse which implies no smirch on his
-honour; and he, knowing himself and judging
-thereby, says, “Out of sight, out of mind.” It
-seldom occurs to him that, where the woman’s
-heart has been given away from him, he has
-already lost at least as much as his utmost dread;
-and even that is more likely to follow, than he to
-return to one who has never aroused in him any
-feeling of which he cares to think. Therefore, he is
-inclined rather to be amused than distressed; and,
-still mindful of his own experiences, he dismisses
-the matter from his thoughts with almost a sense
-of satisfaction. But he is wrong: is he not?</p>
-
-<p>Of course I am not thinking of the jealous men.
-They are impossible people whom no one pities.
-They never see that, while they make themselves
-hateful to every one who is unhappily thrown into
-contact with them, they only secure their own
-misery. I believe there are men who are jealous
-of the door-mat. These are beyond the help of
-prayer.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a><span class="line-height">XII</span><br />
-DAUGHTERS AND DESPOTISM</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">I AGREE with you that few things are more
-astonishing than the want of sympathy between
-parents and their daughters. Many fathers and
-mothers seem to be absolutely insensible to the
-thoughts, the desires, and the aspirations of those
-for whom they usually profess, and probably feel,
-a very great affection. There are two principal
-causes for this very common state of matters.
-One is the difference in age between parents and
-children. The fathers and mothers are losing, or
-have already lost, their interest in many of those
-things which are just beginning to most keenly
-interest their children. The children are very
-quick to see this, and the confidence they will
-give to a comparative stranger they withhold from
-parents, to whom they are too shy to confess
-themselves, because they dread ridicule, coldness,
-displeasure. The other cause of estrangement is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
-the fact that parents will insist upon regarding
-their daughters as children until they marry, and
-sometimes even afterwards; and they are so
-accustomed to ordering and being obeyed, that
-they cannot understand independence of thought.
-Their children are always children to them; they
-must do exactly what they are told without
-question; they ought not to have any ideas of
-their own, and, if they are really good Christian
-children, well brought up and a credit to their
-parents, they must, before all things, be obedient
-and have no likes and dislikes, no opinions that
-are not those of their parents. As with crows,
-they must be feathered like the old birds and
-caw, always and only caw, if they wish to be
-heard at all.</p>
-
-<p>It sounds, and it seems, unreasonable, and yet
-one sees it every day, and the amused or enraged
-spectator, with no fledglings of his own, is lost
-in wonderment at the crass stupidity of otherwise
-sensible people, who, while they do these things
-themselves, and glory in their own shame, will
-invite attention to the mote in their neighbour’s
-eye, which ought to be invisible to them by
-reason of the great beam in their own. I suppose
-it never occurs to them that they are all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
-the time committing hateful and unpardonable
-crimes; that their want of intelligent appreciation
-is driving their children to resort to all kinds of
-concealment, subterfuge, and deceit; while home
-becomes often so hateful to a girl that she seizes
-the first opportunity of leaving it, and makes her
-life a long misery or something worse.</p>
-
-<p>If the spectator dared, or cared, to speak the
-naked truth to a parent, I can imagine that dignified
-individual choking with respectable rage at
-the bare suggestion that he was in any sense
-responsible for his daughter’s regrettable conduct.
-Yet surely the father and the mother are blameworthy,
-if they decline to treat their grown-up
-daughters as intelligent creatures, with the instincts,
-the yearnings, the passions for which
-they are less responsible than their parents.
-“You must do this, because I was made to do
-it; and you must not do that, because I was
-never allowed to do it. You must never question
-my directions, because they are for your good;
-because you are younger than I am, and cannot
-therefore know as well as I do; because I am
-your mother and you are my daughter; and, in my
-day, daughters never questioned their mothers.”
-All this, and a great deal more, may be admirable;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
-but it does not seem so. It may even answer
-sometimes; but that is rather cause for surprise
-than congratulation. It does fail, often and badly;
-but the parents are the last to realise the fact, and
-probably nothing would ever persuade them that
-the failure is due to their methods. If ever it
-comes home to parents that their revolted children
-have grown to hate them, they call them
-“unnatural,” and almost expect the earth to open
-and swallow them up, as happened to Korah and
-all his company.</p>
-
-<p>To onlookers the position often seems intolerable,
-and they avoid it, lest they should be tempted
-to interfere and so make matters worse. Nowadays,
-intelligent opinion is not surprised when tyranny is
-followed by rebellion. The world is getting even
-beyond that phase. Both men and women demand
-that their opinions should be heard; and
-where, amongst English-speaking people, they can
-be shown to be in accordance with common-sense,
-with freedom of thought, and with what are
-called the Rights of Man, they usually prevail.
-Children do not often complain of tyranny, and
-they seldom revolt; but they bitterly resent being
-treated as if they were ten years old when they
-are twenty, when their intelligence, their education,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
-and even their knowledge of the world entitle
-them to hold and express opinions. Nay, more,
-they are conscious of what is due to their own
-self-esteem, their family, and their order; and
-there are better ways of keeping them true to high
-purposes and lofty ideals than by treating them
-as children, whose intentions must always be suspected,
-because prone to naughtiness. The finer
-feelings are often strongest in youth; life and its
-experiences blunt them. While they are there,
-it is well to encourage them. Sympathy from
-an equal can easily do that; but, unless equality
-in speech be granted, the being who is held
-in bondage will be shy to express thoughts and
-aspirations that may be ridiculed, and will also
-resent the position of inferiority to which he or
-she is relegated for reasonless reasons.</p>
-
-<p>In the relations between parents and children,
-perhaps the most surprising point is the absolute
-disregard of the pitiless vengeance of heredity.
-Men and women seem to forget that some of their
-ancestors’ least attractive attributes may appear in
-their descendants, after sparing a child or skipping
-a generation. The guiding traits (whether for
-good or evil) in most characters can be traced
-with unerring accuracy to an ancestor, where there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
-is any record of family history. One child is predestined
-to be a musician, another a soldier, and a
-third a commonplace or remarkable sinner. Identical
-methods of education and treatment may not
-suit all equally well. Because a parent has lived
-only one life, the half-dozen children for whom he
-is responsible may not, even in the natural course
-of events, turn out to be exact replicas of their
-father, nor thrive on the food which reared him to
-perfection.</p>
-
-<p>I do not pretend that there are not many exceptions;
-but the daughters who are the victims
-of parental zeal, or parental repression, are so
-numerous that, in England at any rate, they probably
-form the majority of their kind. Of those
-who marry, the greater number may be entirely
-well-mated. Every one must hope that it is so.
-Some there are who are not so fortunate; and
-some, again, begin well but end in disaster,&mdash;due
-to their own mistakes and defects, to those of
-their husbands, or to unkind circumstances. With
-the daughters who are favoured by Fortune we
-have no concern. For the others, there is only
-one aspect of their case with which I will bore
-you, and that because it seems to me to be to
-some extent a corollary to my last letter. If a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
-girl has ideas and intelligence beyond those of
-her parents; if she has felt constraint and resented
-it; if she has exercised self-repression, while she
-longed for sympathy, for expansion, for a measure
-of freedom&mdash;such an experience, especially if it
-has lasted for any time, is not the best preparation
-for marriage. Married life&mdash;where man and
-woman are in complete sympathy, where mutual
-affection and admiration make self-sacrifice a joy,
-and trouble taken for the other a real satisfaction&mdash;is
-not altogether an easy path to tread, with
-sure and willing feet, from the altar to the grave.
-Many would give much to be able to turn back:
-but there is no return. So some faint and others
-die; some never cease from quarrelling; some
-accept the inevitable and lose all interest in life;
-while a few get off the road, over the barriers, break
-their necks or their hearts, or simply disappear out
-of the ken, beyond the vision, of their kind.</p>
-
-<p>I think much of the unhappiness that comes to
-be a millstone round the necks of married people
-is due, primarily, to the deep ignorance of womankind
-so commonly displayed by mankind. It is a
-subject that is not taught, probably because no
-man would be found conceited enough to profess
-more than the most superficial knowledge of it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
-Some Eastern writers have gone into the question,
-but their point of view differs from ours, as
-do their climate, their religion, their temperament,
-habits, and moral code. Their teachings are difficult
-to obtain; they are written in languages not
-commonly understood, and they deal with races
-and societies that have little in common with
-Europeans. Michelet has, however, produced a
-book that may be read with advantage by all
-those who wish to acquire a few grains of knowledge
-on a subject that has such an enthralling
-interest at some period of most men’s lives. It
-is not exactly easy to indicate other aids to an
-adequate conception of the feminine gender, but
-they will not be found in the streets and gutters
-of great cities.</p>
-
-<p>The school-boy shuns girls. He is parlously
-ignorant of all that concerns them, except that
-they cannot compete with him in strength and
-endurance. He first despises them for their comparative
-physical weakness; then, as he grows a
-little older, a certain shyness of the other sex
-seizes him; but this usually disappears with the
-coming of real manhood, when his instincts prompt
-him to seek women’s society. What he learns
-then, unless he is very fortunate, will not help<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
-him to understand and fully appreciate the girl
-who somewhat later becomes his wife&mdash;indeed, it
-is more likely to mislead him and contribute to her
-unhappiness. Unite this inexperienced, or over-experienced,
-youth with the girl who is ready to
-accept almost any one who will take her from an
-uncongenial home, and it says a good deal for the
-Western world that the extraordinary difficulties
-of the position should, in so large a proportion of
-cases, be overcome as well as they are.</p>
-
-<p>In the rage for higher education, why does not
-some philanthropic lady, some many-times-married
-man, open a seminary for the instruction of
-inexperienced men who wish to take into their
-homes, for life and death, companions, of whose
-sex generally, their refined instincts, tender feelings,
-reckless impulses, strange cravings, changeful
-moods, overpowering curiosity, attitudes of mind,
-methods of attack and defence, signals of determined
-resistance or speedy capitulation, they know,
-perhaps, as little as of the Grand Llama. What
-an opportunity such a school would afford to the
-latest development of woman to impress her own
-views upon the rising generation of men! How
-easily she might mould them to her fancy, or, at
-least, plant in them seeds of repentance, appreciation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
-and constancy, to grow up under the care
-of wives for whose society the Benedictentiary
-would have somewhat fitted them.</p>
-
-<p>It is really an excellent idea, this combination
-of Reformatory of the old man and Education of
-the new. Can you not see all the newspapers full
-of advertisements like this:&mdash;</p>
-
-<h3 class="mt2"><span class="smcap">Preparation of Gentlemen for
-Matrimony</span></h3>
-
-<div class="blockquot">
-
-<p>The great success which has attended all those who
-have gone through the course of study at the Benedictentiary
-of Mesdames &mdash;&mdash; has led the proprietors to
-add another wing to this popular institution. The
-buildings are situated in park-like grounds, far from
-any disturbing influences. The lecturers are ladies of
-personal attraction with wide experience, and the discipline
-of the establishment is of the severest kind
-compatible with comfort. A special feature of this
-institution is the means afforded for healthy recreation
-of all kinds, the object being to make the students
-attractive in every sense. Gentlemen over fifty years
-of age are only admitted on terms which can be learnt
-by application to the Principal. These terms will vary
-according to the character of the applicant. During
-the last season twenty-five of Mesdames &mdash;&mdash; pupils
-made brilliant marriages, and the most flattering testimonials
-are constantly being received from the wives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
-of former students. There are only a few vacancies,
-and application should be made at once to the Principal.</p>
-</div>
-<hr class="tb1" />
-<p>That is the sort of thing. Do you know
-any experienced lady in want of a vocation that
-might combine profit with highly interesting employment?
-You can give her this suggestion,
-but advise her to be careful in her choice of lecturers,
-and let the ladies combine the wisdom of
-the serpent with the gentle cooing of the dove;
-otherwise, some possible husbands might be spoilt
-in the making.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a><span class="line-height">XIII</span><br />
-HER FIANCÉ</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">YOU say that my opinions are very unorthodox,
-that my views on human constancy are
-cynical, and that it is wicked to sympathise with
-children who oppose their inclinations to the behests
-of their parents.</p>
-
-<p>Do you forget that I said we should not agree,
-and will you be angry if I venture to suggest that
-you have not read my letters very carefully, or
-that your sense of justice is temporarily obscured?
-If I dared, I would ask you to look again at the
-letters, and then tell me exactly wherein I have
-sinned. I maintained that all are not gifted with
-that perfect constancy which distinguished Helen
-and Guinevere, and a few other noble ladies whose
-names occur to me. I notice that, as regards
-yourself, you disdain to answer my question, and
-we might safely discuss the subject without reference
-to personal considerations.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>My regrets over the strained relations which
-sometimes exist between parents and children
-could hardly be construed into an incitement to
-rebellion. They did not amount to more than
-a statement of lamentable facts, and a diagnosis
-of the causes of the trouble. When you add that
-truth is often disagreeable and better left unspoken,
-I will subscribe to the general principle,
-but fail to see its application here. Nor can I
-agree with you that problems of this sort are
-lacking in interest. To be able to construct a
-geometrical figure, and prove that the method
-is correct, does not sound very interesting; but
-architects, who have knowledge of this kind, have
-achieved results that appeal to those who look at
-the finished work, without thought of the means
-by which the end was gained.</p>
-
-<p>With your permission, I will move the inquiry
-to new ground; and do not think I am wavering
-in my allegiance, or that my loyalty is open to
-doubt, if I say one word on behalf of man, whose
-unstable affections are so widely recognised that
-no sensible person would seek to dispute the
-verdict of all the ages. He is represented as
-loving a sex rather than an individual; is likened
-to the bee which sucks where sweetness can be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
-found and only whilst it lasts; he shares with
-the butterfly the habit of never resting long on
-any flower, and, like it, he is drawn by brilliant
-colouring and less clean attractions. Virtuous
-affection and plain solid worth do not appeal to
-him.</p>
-
-<p>These are articles of popular belief, and must
-not be questioned; but I may say to you, that
-they do the poor man somewhat less than justice.
-As a bachelor, he has few opportunities of
-examining virtuous affection, on his own account;
-the experiences of his friends are not always
-encouraging; and, if he has to work, other things
-absorb most of his attention at this stage of his
-existence. If he marries, especially if he marries
-young, he is often enthusiastic, and usually hopelessly
-ignorant of feminine methods, inclinations,
-and fastidious hesitation. He feels an honest,
-blundering, but real and passionate affection. He
-shows it, and that is not seldom an offence. He
-looks for a reciprocation of his passion, and when,
-as often happens, he fully realises that his transports
-awaken no responsive feeling, but rather a
-scarcely veiled disgust, his enthusiasm wanes, he
-cultivates self-repression, and assumes a chilly indifference
-that, in time, becomes the true expression<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
-of his changed feelings. From this keen
-disappointment, this sense of his own failure in
-his own home, the transition to a state of callousness,
-and thence, to one of deep interest in another
-object where his advances are met in a different
-spirit, is not very difficult.</p>
-
-<p>You see, I am taking for granted that the
-popular conception of his shortcomings in regard
-to the affections is correct, and I only want to
-suggest some of the reasons which have earned
-for him such a bad reputation. First, it is the
-fault of his nature, for which he is not altogether
-responsible; it is different to yours. In this
-respect he starts somewhat unfairly handicapped,
-if his running is tried by the same standard as
-that fixed for the gentler sex. Then his education,
-not so much in the acquirement of book-knowledge
-as in the ways of the world, is also
-different. His physical robustness is thought to
-qualify him, when still a boy, to go anywhere,
-to see everything at close quarters, and without
-a chaperone. He is thrown into the maelstrom
-of life, and there he is practically left to sink or
-swim; and whether he drown or survive, he must
-pass through the deep water where only his own
-efforts will save him. A few disappear altogether,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
-and, while all get wet, some come out covered
-with mud, and others are maimed, or their constitutions
-permanently injured by the immersion.</p>
-
-<p>That is the beginning, and I think you will
-admit that, except in a few very peculiar cases,
-the boy’s early life is more calculated to smirch
-than to preserve his original innocence.</p>
-
-<p>Then he settles down to work for a living or
-for ambition, and, in either case, he is left but
-little time to study the very complex complement
-of his life, woman. If he does not incontinently
-fall in love with what appeals to his eye, he
-deliberately looks about for some one who may
-make him a good, a useful, and, if possible, an
-ornamental wife. In the first case he is really to
-be pitied; but his condition only excites amusement.
-The man is treated as temporarily insane,
-and every one looks to the consummation of the
-marriage as the only means to restore him to his
-right mind. That, indeed, is generally the result,
-but not for the reason to which the cure is popularly
-ascribed. The swain is very much in love,
-whereas the lady of his choice is entering into
-the contract for a multitude of reasons, where
-passionate affection, very probably, plays quite an
-inferior part. The man’s ardour destroys any discretion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
-he may have. He digs a pit for himself
-and falls into it, and, unless he has great experience,
-unusual sympathy, or consummate tact,
-he misunderstands the signs, draws false conclusions,
-and nurses the seeds of discontent which will
-sooner or later come up and bear bitter fruit.</p>
-
-<p>If, on the other hand, he deliberately enters the
-matrimonial market and makes his choice with calm
-calculation, as he would enter the mart to supply
-any other need, he may run less risk of disappointment.
-But the other party to the bargain will,
-in due time, come to regret the part she has undertaken
-to play, and feel that what the man wanted
-was less a wife than a housekeeper, a hostess, a
-useful ally, or an assistant in the preservation of
-a family name. Very few women would fail to
-discover the truth in such a case, and probably
-none would neglect to mention it. Neither the
-fact, the discovery, nor the mention of it will help
-to make a happy home.</p>
-
-<p>With husbands and wives, if neither have any
-need to work, it ought to be easy to avoid boredom
-(the most gruesome of all maladies), and to
-accommodate themselves to each other’s wishes.
-They, however, constitute a very small proportion
-of society. A man usually has to work all day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
-and, if he is strong and healthy, it is hardly reasonable
-to suppose that his only thought, when his
-work is over, should be how he can best amuse
-his wife. If he sets that single object before him
-as his duty or his pleasure, and his wife accepts
-the sacrifice, the man’s health is almost certain to
-suffer, unless there is some form of exercise which
-they can enjoy together.</p>
-
-<p>Husbands and wives take a good deal for
-granted, and it is more curious that lovers, who
-are bound by no such tie, often meet with shipwreck
-on exactly the same sort of dangers. To
-be too exacting is probably, of all causes, the
-most fertile in parting devoted lovers.</p>
-
-<p>But enough of speculation. Pardon my homily,
-and let me answer your question. You ask me
-what has become of the man we used to see so
-constantly, sitting in the Park with a married lady
-who evidently enjoyed his society. I will tell you,
-and you will then understand why it is that you
-have not seen him since that summer when we
-too found great satisfaction in each other’s company.
-He was generally “about the town,” and
-when not there seemed rather to haunt the river.
-Small blame to him for that; there is none with
-perceptions so dead that the river, on a hot July<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
-day, will not appeal to them. I cannot tell how
-long afterwards it was, but the man became engaged
-to a girl who was schooling or travelling
-in France. She was the sister of the woman
-we used to see in the Park. <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Un bel giorno</i> the
-man and his future sister-in-law started for the
-Continent, to see his <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fiancée</i>. Arrived at Dover,
-the weather looked threatening, or the lady wanted
-rest, or it was part of the arrangement&mdash;details of
-this kind are immaterial&mdash;anyhow, they decided to
-stay the night in an hotel and cross the following
-morning. In the grey light which steals through
-darkness and recoils from day, some wanderer
-or stolid constable saw a white bundle lying on
-the pavement by the wall of the hotel. A closer
-examination showed this to be the huddled and
-shattered body of a man in his night-dress; a very
-ghastly sight, for he was dead. It was the man
-we used to see in the Park, and several storeys
-above the spot where he was found were the
-windows, not of his room, but of another. I do
-not know whether the lady continued her journey;
-but, if she did, her interview with her sister must
-have been a bad experience.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a><span class="line-height">XIV</span><br />
-BY THE SEA</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">YOU asked me to paint you a picture&mdash;a
-picture of a wonderful strand half-circling
-a space of sunlit sea; an island-studded bay, girt,
-landwards, by a chain of low blue hills, whose
-vesture of rich foliage is, through all the years,
-mirrored in the dazzling waters that bathe those
-rocky feet. The bay is enclosed between two
-headlands, both lofty, both rising sheer out of
-the sea, but that on the north juts out only a
-little, while the southern promontory is much
-bolder, and terminates a long strip of land running
-at right angles to the shore out into very deep
-water.</p>
-
-<p>The beach between these headlands forms an
-arc of a circle, and the cord joining its extremities
-would be about seven miles in length, while following
-the shore the distance is nearly ten miles.</p>
-
-<p>One might search east or west, the Old World<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
-or the New, and find in them few places so attractive
-as this little-known and sparsely inhabited
-dent in a far Eastern coast.</p>
-
-<p>Here the sky is nearly always bright; a day
-which, in its thirteen hours of light, does not give
-at least half of brilliant, perhaps too brilliant
-sunshine, is almost unknown. Then it is the
-sunshine of endless summer, not for a month or
-a season, but for ever.</p>
-
-<p>Except on rare occasions, the winds from the
-sea are softest zephyrs, the land breezes are cool
-and fragrant, sufficient only to stir the leaves of
-trees and gently ruffle the placid surface of the
-bay.</p>
-
-<p>The waters of the bay are green&mdash;green like
-a yellow emerald&mdash;but in some few places, near
-the shore, this changes into a warm brown. The
-beach is a wide stretch of sand broken by rocks
-of dark umber or Indian red. The sand is, in
-some places, so startlingly white that the eye can
-hardly bear the glare of it, while in others it is
-mixed with fine-broken grains of the ironstone
-called laterite, and this gives a burnt-sienna colour
-to the beach. When the tide is high, the great
-stretches of hard, clean sand are covered with
-water to a depth of between five and ten feet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
-and, owing to the absence of mud, mangroves, and
-mankind, the waters of the bay are of an extraordinary
-limpidity. The beach in many places
-dips steeply, so that, at high tide, there are six
-feet of water within two or three yards of the
-trees, shrubs, ferns, and creepers that clothe the
-shore in an abandonment of wild and graceful
-luxuriance. The sand shines beneath the waters
-of the sea like powdered diamonds, and all the
-myriads of pebbles and shells glisten and scintillate,
-with a fire and life and colour which they
-lose when the tide falls and leaves the sands dry,
-but for the little pools that fill the depressions
-of a generally even surface.</p>
-
-<p>Then, however, is the time to see strange shells
-moving slowly about, and crabs, of marvellous
-colour and unexpected instincts, scampering in
-hundreds over the purple rocks, that here and
-there make such a striking contrast to the brilliant
-orange and red, or the startling whiteness of the
-sand in which they lie half-embedded.</p>
-
-<p>And how positively delightful it is to paddle
-with bare feet between and over these rounded
-stones, while the tireless waters make continents
-and oceans in miniature, and the strange denizens
-of this life-charged summer sea destroy each other,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
-in the ceaseless struggle to preserve an existence
-for which they are no more responsible than we
-are. Here is an army of scarlet-backed crabs,
-hunting in battalions for something smaller and
-weaker than its own tiny, fragile units. The
-spider-like legion, alarmed by the approach of
-your naked feet, scuttles hurriedly towards a new
-Red Sea, and, dashing recklessly into the two
-inches of water, which are running between banks
-of sandy desert, disappears as completely as
-Pharaoh and his host. Unlike the Egyptian
-king, however, the crabs, which have only burrowed
-into the sand, will presently reappear on
-the other shore and scour the desert for a morning
-meal.</p>
-
-<p>And then you are standing amongst the rocks,
-on a point of a bay within the bay; and, as the
-rippling wavelets wash over your feet, you peer
-down into the deeper eddies and pools in search
-of a sea-anemone. Again, you exclaim in childish
-admiration of the marvellous colouring of a jelly-fish
-and his puzzling fashion of locomotion, or
-your grown-up experience allows you an almost
-pleasurable little shudder when you think of the
-poisonous possibilities of this tenderly-tinted,
-gauzily-gowned digestive system.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>The land is not less rich in life than the sea.
-Nature has fringed the waters with a garden
-of graceful trees, flowering shrubs, brilliantly
-blossomed creepers, and slender ferns, far more
-beautiful in their untrained luxuriance than any
-effort of human ingenuity could have made them.
-There are magnolias, sweeping the waters with
-their magnificent creamy blossoms, made more
-conspicuous by their background of great, dark
-green leaves. There are gorgeous yellow alamanders,
-each blossom as large as a hand; soft
-pale pink myrtles, star-flowered jasmines, and the
-delicate wax-plant with its clusters of red or white
-blossoms. These and a multitude of others, only
-known by barbarous botanical names, nestle into
-each other’s arms, interlace their branches, and
-form arbours of perfumed shade. Close behind
-stand almond and cashew trees, tree-ferns, coconuts,
-and sago palms, and then the low hills,
-clothed with the giants of a virgin forest, that
-shut out any distant view.</p>
-
-<p>Groups of sandpipers paddle in the little wavelets
-that lovingly caress the shore; birds of the
-most gorgeous plumage flit through the jungle
-with strange cries; and, night and morning, flocks
-of pigeons, plumed in green and yellow, in orange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
-and brown, flash meteor-like trails of colour, in
-their rapid flight from mainland to island and
-back again. The bay is studded with islets, some
-near, some far, tiny clusters of trees growing out
-of the water, or a mass of stone, clothed from
-base to summit with heavy jungle, except for a
-narrow band of red rocks above the water’s
-edge.</p>
-
-<p>Sailing in and out the islands, rounding the
-headlands, or standing across the bay, are boats
-with white or brown or crimson sails; boats of
-strange build, with mat or canvas sails of curious
-design, floating, like tired birds, upon the restful
-waters of this “changeless summer sea.”</p>
-
-<p>But you remember it all: how we sat under
-the great blossoms and shining leaves of the
-magnolias, and, within arm’s length, found treasures
-of opal-tinted pebbles, and infinite variety
-of tiny shells, coral-pink and green and heliotrope,&mdash;and
-everything seemed very good indeed.</p>
-
-<p>A mass of dark-red boulders, overlying a bed
-of umber rock, ran out into the water, closing,
-as with a protecting arm, one end of the little
-inlet, while the forest-clad hill, rising sheer from
-the point, shut out everything beyond. And then
-the road! bright <i>terra cotta</i>, winding round the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
-bluff through masses of foliage in every shade of
-green,&mdash;giant trees, a maze of undergrowth, and
-the dew-laden ferns and mosses, blazing with
-emerald fires under the vagrant shafts of sunlight;&mdash;<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">dies
-cretâ notanda</i>.</p>
-
-<p>Do you remember how, when the sun had
-gone, and the soft, fragrant, Eastern night brought
-an almost tangible darkness, lighted only by the
-stars, we returned across the bay in a little boat,
-with two quaintly coloured paper lanterns making
-a bright spot of colour high above the bow?
-The only sound to break the measured cadence
-of the oars was the gentle whisper of the land-wind
-through the distant palm leaves, and the
-sighing of the tide as it wooed the passive
-beach.</p>
-
-<p>And then, as we glided slowly through the
-starlit darkness, you, by that strange gift of
-sympathetic intuition, answered my unspoken
-thought, and sang the <cite lang="de" xml:lang="de">Allerseelen</cite>, sang it under
-your breath, “soft and low,” as though it might
-not reach any ears but ours&mdash;yes, that was All
-Souls’ Day.</p>
-
-<p>There was only the sea and the sky and the
-stars, only the perfection of aloneness, “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Le rêve
-de rester ensemble sans dessein</i>.”</p>
-
-<p>And then, all too soon, we came to a space<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
-of lesser darkness, visible through the belt of
-trees which lined the shore; far down that water-lane
-twinkled a light, the beacon of our landing-place.
-Do you remember?&mdash;&mdash;</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a><span class="line-height">XV</span><br />
-AN ILLUMINATION</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">AFTER an absence which cannot be measured
-by days&mdash;not at least days of twenty-four
-hours, but rather by spaces of longing and regret,&mdash;I
-am back again in a house where everything
-suggests your presence so vividly that I hardly
-yet realise that I cannot find you, and already,
-several times, hearing, or fancying I heard, some
-sound, I have looked up expecting to see you. It
-is rather pitiful that, waking or sleeping, our senses
-should let us be so cruelly fooled.</p>
-
-<p>It seems years ago, but, sitting in this room to-night,
-memory carries me back to another evening
-when you were also here. It had rained heavily,
-and the sun had almost set when we started to
-ride down the hill, across the river, and out into
-the fast-darkening road that strikes through the
-grass-covered plain, and leads to the distant hills.
-The strangely fascinating transformation of day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
-into night, as commonly seen from that road,
-cannot fail to arrest the attention and awaken
-the admiration of the most casual observer; but
-for us, I think, it possessed the special charm
-which comes from the contemplation of nature in
-harmony with the mood of the spectator,&mdash;or
-seen, as with one sight, by two persons in absolute
-sympathy of body and soul. Then nothing
-is lost&mdash;no incident, no change of colour, no
-momentary effect of light or shade; the scene is
-absorbed through the eyes, and when the sensation
-caused finds expression through the voice
-of one, the heart of the other responds without
-the need of words.</p>
-
-<p>I see the picture now; a string of waggons,
-the patient oxen standing waiting for their drivers,
-picturesquely grouped before a wayside booth; a
-quaintly fashioned temple, with its faint altar-light
-shining like a star from out the deep gloom within
-the portal; tall, feathery palms, whose stems cast
-long, sharp shadows across the dark-red road; on
-either side a grass-covered, undulating plain, disappearing
-into narrow valleys between the deep
-blue hills; behind all, the grey, mist-enshrouded
-mountains, half hidden in the deepening twilight.</p>
-
-<p>The last gleams of colour were dying out of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
-sky as we left the main road, and, turning sharp
-to the left, urged our horses through the gathering
-darkness. At last we were obliged to pull
-up, uncertain of our bearings, and even doubtful,
-in the now absolute blackness of tropical night,
-whether we were in the right way. Carefully
-avoiding the deep ditches, more by the instinct of
-the horses than any guidance of ours, we struck
-into another road and set our faces homewards.
-It was still intensely dark, but growing clearer as
-the stars shone out, and we gradually became more
-accustomed to the gloom; dark yet delightful, and
-we agreed that this was the time of all others to
-really enjoy the East, with a good horse under you
-and a sympathetic companion to share the fascination
-of the hour.</p>
-
-<p>Riding through the groves of trees that lined
-both sides of the road, we caught occasional
-glimpses of illuminated buildings, crowning the
-steep hill which forms one side of the valley.
-Traversing the outskirts of the town, we crossed
-a river and came out on a narrow plain, above
-which rose the hill. I shall never forget the
-vision which then rose before us. How we exclaimed
-with delight! and yet there was such an
-air of glamour about the scene, such unrealness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
-such a savour of magic and enchantment as tied
-our tongues for a while.</p>
-
-<p>The heights rose in a succession of terraces
-till they seemed to almost pierce the clouds, each
-terrace a maze of brilliantly illuminated buildings
-to which the commanding position, the environment,
-the style of architecture, and the soft, hazy
-atmosphere lent an imposing grandeur.</p>
-
-<p>The buildings which crowned the summit of the
-spur, lined the terraces, and seemed to be connected
-by a long flight of picturesque stone steps,
-were all of a dazzling whiteness. Low-reaching
-eaves, supported on white pillars, formed wide
-verandahs, whose outer edges were bordered by
-heavy balustrades. Every principal feature of
-every building, each door and window, each
-verandah, balustrade, and step, was outlined by
-innumerable yellow lights that shone like great
-stars against the soft dark background of sky
-and hill. It is impossible to imagine the beauty
-of the general effect: this succession of snow-white
-walls, rising from foot to summit of a
-mist-enveloped hill, suggested the palace-crowned
-heights of Futtepur Síkri, illuminated for some
-brilliant festival. The effect of splendour and
-enchantment was intensified by the graceful but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
-indistinct outlines of a vast building, standing in
-unrelieved darkness by the bank of the river we
-had just crossed. In the gloom it was only
-possible to note the immense size of this nearer
-palace, and to realise its towers and domes, its
-pillars and arches, and the consistently Moorish
-style of its architecture.</p>
-
-<p>As we approached the lowest of the series of
-illuminated buildings that, step by step, rose to
-the summit of the heights, we beheld a sheet of
-water beneath us on our right, and in this water
-were reflected the innumerable lights of a long,
-low temple, standing fifty feet above the opposite
-bank of the lake. Fronds of the feathery bamboo
-rose from the bank, and, bending forwards in graceful
-curves, cast deep shadows over the waters of
-this little lake, from the depths of which blazed
-the fires of countless lights.</p>
-
-<p>We stood there and drank in the scene, graving
-it on the tablets of our memories as something never
-to be forgotten. Then slowly our horses passed
-into the darkness of the road, which, winding round
-the hillside, led up into the open country, a place
-of grass-land and wood, lying grey and silent
-under a starlit sky.</p>
-
-<p>And, when we had gained the house, it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
-here you sat, in this old-world seat, with its
-covering of faded brocade. I can see you now,
-in the semi-darkness of a room where the only
-lamp centres its softened light on you&mdash;an incomparable
-picture in a charming setting. You
-do not speak; you are holding in your hand a
-small white card, and you slowly tear it in two,
-and then again and again. There is something
-in your face, some strange glory that is not of
-any outward light, nor yet inspired by that enchanted
-vision so lately seen. It is a transfiguration,
-a light from within, like the blush that dyes
-the clouds above a waveless sea, at the dawn of
-an Eastern morning. Still you speak no word,
-but the tiny fragments of that card are now so
-small that you can no longer divide them, and
-some drop from your hands upon the floor.</p>
-
-<p>I picked them up&mdash;afterwards&mdash;did I not?</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a><span class="line-height">XVI</span><br />
-OF DEATH, IN FICTION</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">IT is delightful to have some one to talk to
-with whom it is not necessary to think always
-before one speaks, to choose every word, to explain
-every thought&mdash;some one, in fact, who has sympathy
-enough not to be bored with the discussion
-of a subject that deals neither with gossip nor
-garments, and intelligence enough to understand
-what is implied as well as what is said. I have
-done a good deal of desultory reading lately,
-mostly modern English and French fiction, and I
-cannot help being struck by the awkward manner
-in which authors bring their stories to a conclusion.
-It so very often happens that a book begins
-well, possibly improves as the plot develops, becomes
-even powerful as it nears the climax, and
-then&mdash;then the poor puppets, having played their
-several parts and done all that was required of
-them, must be got rid of, in order to round off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
-the tale, to give finality, and satisfy the ordinary
-reader’s craving for “full particulars.” This varnishing
-and framing and hanging of the picture is
-usually arrived at by marrying or slaying some
-principal character; the first is a life, and the
-last a death, sentence. Thus the reader is satisfied,
-and often the story is ruined; that is, if
-skilful drafting and true perspective are as necessary
-to a good picture as artistic colouring and the
-correct disposition of light and shade. But is the
-reader satisfied? Usually, yes; occasionally, no.
-In the latter case the book is closed with a strong
-sense of disappointment, and a conviction that the
-writer has realised the necessity of bringing down
-the curtain on a scene that finishes the play, and
-leaves nothing to the imagination; so, to secure
-that end, he has abandoned truth, and even probability,
-and has clumsily introduced the priest or
-the hangman, the “cup of cold poison,” or the
-ever-ready revolver. The effect of the charming
-scenery, the pretty frocks, the artistic furniture, and
-“the crisp and sparkling dialogue,” is thus spoilt
-by the unreal and unconvincing <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">dénouement</i>.</p>
-
-<p>It seems to me&mdash;“to my stupid comprehension,”
-as the polite Eastern constantly insists&mdash;that this
-failure is due to two causes. First, most fiction is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
-founded on fact, and the writer has, in history, in
-the newspapers, in his own experience or that of
-his friends, met with some record or paragraph,
-some adventure or incident, that has served for
-the foundation of his story; but, unless purely
-historical, he has been obliged to supply the last
-scene himself, because in reality there was none,
-or, if there was, he could not use it. In our own
-experience, in that of every one who has seen a
-little of the world, have we not become acquainted
-with quite a number of dramatic, or even tragic
-incidents, that have scarred our own or others’ lives,
-and would make stories of deep interest in the
-hands of a skilful writer? But the action does
-not cease. The altar is oftener the fateful beginning
-than the happy ending of the drama; and,
-when the complications fall thick upon each other,
-there is no such easy way out of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">impasse</i> as
-that provided by a little prussic acid or a bullet.
-They are ready to hand, I grant you, but they
-are not so often used in life as in fiction. I have
-known a man walk about, with a revolver in his
-pocket, for three days, looking for a suitable opportunity
-to use it upon himself, and then he has put
-it away against the coming of a burglar. When
-it is not yourself, but some one else, you desire to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
-get rid of, the prospect is, strange to say, even
-less inviting. Thus it happens that, in real life,
-we suffer and we endure, the drama is played and
-the tragedy is in our hearts, but it does not take
-outward and visible form. So the fiction&mdash;whilst
-it is true to life&mdash;holds our interest, and the
-skill of the artist excites our admiration; but the
-impossible climax appeals to us, no more than a
-five-legged cow. It is a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">lusus naturæ</i>, that is all.
-They happen, these monstrosities, but they never
-live long, and it were best to stifle them at birth.</p>
-
-<p>Pardon! you say there is genius. Yes, but it
-is rare, and I have not the courage to even discuss
-genius; it is like Delhi and the planets, a long way
-off. We can only see it with the help of a powerful
-glass, if indeed then it is visible. There is
-only one writer who openly lays claim to it, and
-the claim seems to be based chiefly on her lofty
-disdain for adverse criticism. That is, perhaps,
-a sign, but not a complete proof, of the existence
-of the divine fire.</p>
-
-<p>But to return to the humbler minds. It does
-happen that real lives are suddenly and violently
-ended by accident, murder, or suicide, and there
-seems no special reason why fictitious lives should
-be superior to such chances. Indeed, to some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
-authors, there would be no more pleasure in
-writing novels, without the tragic element as the
-main feature, than there is for some great billiard
-exponents to play the game with the spot-stroke
-barred. I would only plead, in this case, that
-the accident or the suicide, to be life-like, need
-not be very far-fetched. In murder, as one knows,
-the utmost licence is not only permissible but
-laudable, for the wildest freaks of imagination
-will hardly exceed the refinements, the devilish
-invention, and the cold-blooded execution of actual
-crimes. I remember you once spoke scornfully
-of using a common form of accident as a means
-of getting rid of a character in fiction; but surely
-that is not altogether inartistic, for the accidents
-that occur most commonly are those to which the
-people of romance will naturally be as liable as
-you or I. It is difficult to imagine that you
-should be destroyed by an explosion in a coal-mine,
-or that I should disappear in a balloon;
-but we might either of us be drowned, or killed
-in a railway accident, under any one of a variety
-of probable circumstances. Again, in suicide, the
-simplest method is, for purposes of fiction, in all
-likelihood the best. Men usually shoot themselves,
-and women, especially when they cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
-swim, seek the water. Those who prefer poison
-are probably the swimmers. It is a common
-practice in fiction to make the noble-minded man
-who loves the lady, but finds himself in the way
-of what he believes to be her happiness (that is,
-of course, some other man), determine to destroy
-himself; and he does it with admirable resolution,
-considering how cordially he dislikes the rôle
-for which he has been cast, and how greatly he
-yearns for the affection which no effort of his
-can possibly secure. I cannot, however, remember
-any hero of fiction who has completed the sacrifice
-of his life in a thoroughly satisfactory manner,
-for he invariably leaves his body lying about,
-where it is sure to attract attention, and cause
-great distress to the lady he designs to oblige.
-That is thoughtless; and those who really mean
-to prove their self-denial should arrange, not only
-to extinguish their lives, but to get rid of their
-bodies, so that there may be as little scandal and
-trouble to their friends as possible. I have always
-felt the sincerest admiration for the man who,
-having made up his mind to destroy himself, and
-purchased a revolver with which to do the deed,
-settled his affairs, moved into lodgings quite close
-to a cemetery, wrote letters to the coroner, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
-doctor, and the undertaker, giving them in each
-case the exact hour at which they should call on
-their several errands, paid all his debts, left something
-to indemnify his landlady, and more than
-enough for funeral expenses, and then shot himself.
-That, however, was not a character in
-fiction, but a common mortal, and there was no
-lady in the case.</p>
-
-<p>I am sure there are many people who would
-be greatly obliged to me for inviting attention to
-these matters, if only they could get it in print,
-to lie about on the table with the page turned
-down at the proper place. Nothing is more
-common than the determined suicides who live
-to a green old age for want of a book of instructions.
-These people weary their friends and
-acquaintances by eternally reiterated threats that
-they will destroy themselves, and yet, however
-desirable that course may be, they never take it.
-This novel and brilliant idea first comes to them
-in some fit of pique, and they declare that they
-will make an end of themselves, “and then perhaps
-you will be sorry.” They are so pleased
-with the effect caused by this statement, that, on
-the next favourable opportunity, they repeat it;
-and then they go on and on, dragging in their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
-wretched threat on every possible and impossible
-occasion, especially in the presence of strangers
-and the aged relatives of themselves or the person
-they want to get at, until mere acquaintances wish
-they would fulfil their self-imposed task and cease
-from troubling. It is almost amusing to hear
-how these <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">suicides déterminés</i> vary, from day to day
-or week to week, the methods which they have
-selected for their own destruction&mdash;poison, pistols,
-drowning, throwing themselves out of window or
-under a train&mdash;nothing comes amiss; but, when
-they wish to be really effective, and carry terror
-into the hearts of their hearers, they usually
-declare either, that they will blow their brains
-out, or cut their throats. The vision of either of
-these processes of self-extinction, even though
-remote and unsubstantial, is well calculated to
-curdle the blood. That, as a rule, is all that is
-meant; and, when you understand it, the amusement
-is harmless if it is not exactly kind. “Vain
-repetitions” are distinctly wearying, even when
-they come from husbands and wives, parents or
-children; the impassioned lover, too, is not altogether
-free from the threat of suicide and the
-repetition of it. In all these cases it would be
-a kindness to those who appear weary of life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
-and who weary others by threatening to put an
-end to it, if they could be persuaded, either to
-follow the example of the man who, without disclosing
-his intentions, took a room by the gate
-of the cemetery, or, if they don’t really mean it,
-to say nothing more about it. Therefore, if ever
-you are over-tried in this way, leave this letter
-where it will be read. The weak point about
-the prescription is that it is more likely to cure
-than to kill. However, I must leave that to you,
-for a good deal depends on how the remedy is
-applied. The size of the dose, the form of application,
-whether external or internal, will make
-all the difference in the world. I do not prescribe
-for a patient, but for a disease; the rest may safely
-be left to your admirable discretion; but you will
-not forget that a dose which can safely and advisedly
-be administered to an adult may kill a
-child.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a><span class="line-height">XVII</span><br />
-A HAND AT ÉCARTÉ</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">I WROTE to you of death in fiction, and, if I
-now write of death in fact, it is partly to see
-how far you agree with an opinion that was lately
-expressed to me by a man who is himself literary,
-and whose business it is to know the public taste
-in works of fiction. We were discussing a book of
-short stories, and he spoke of the author’s success,
-and said he hoped we might have a further instalment
-of similar tales. I ventured to suggest that the
-public must be rather nauseated with horrors, with
-stories of blood and crime, even though they carried
-their readers into new surroundings, and introduced
-them to interesting and little-described societies.
-My companion said, “No, there need be no such
-fear; we like gore. A craving for horrors pervades
-all classes, and is not easily satisfied. Those who
-cannot gloat over the contemplation of carcasses and
-blood, revel in the sanguinary details which make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
-them almost spectators in the real or imaginary
-tragedies of life. The newspapers give one, and
-some writers of fiction the other; there is a large
-demand for both, especially now that the circle of
-readers is so rapidly widening amongst a class that
-cannot appreciate refinements of style, and neither
-understands nor desires the discussion of abstract
-questions. Therefore give us,&mdash;not Light, but&mdash;Blood.”</p>
-
-<p>I wonder what you think. If I felt you had a
-craving for horrors I could paint the pages scarlet;
-for I have been in places where human life was
-held so cheap that death by violence attracted little
-notice, where tragedies were of daily occurrence,
-and hundreds of crimes, conceived with fiendish ingenuity
-and carried out with every detail calculated
-to thrill the nerves and tickle the jaded palate of
-the most determined consumer of “atrocities,” lie
-hidden in the records of Courts of Justice and
-Police Offices. Any one who compares the feelings
-with which he throws aside the daily paper, as he
-leaves the Underground Railway, or even those
-with which he closes the shilling shocker in more
-favourable surroundings, with the sense of exaltation,
-of keen, pulse-quickening joy that comes to
-him after reading one page in the book of Nature&mdash;after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
-a long look at one of its myriad pictures&mdash;would,
-I think, hesitate to confess to a great hankering
-for a perpetual diet of blood. It is not the
-dread of appearing to be dissipated, but the certainty
-that there is better health, and a far more
-intense pleasure, in the clear atmosphere of woods
-and hills, of river and sea, than in the shambles.</p>
-
-<p>Sewers are a product of civilisation in cities, but
-they are not pretty to look at, and I cannot appreciate
-a desire to explore their darksome nastiness
-while we may, if we choose, remain in the light
-and air of heaven. London slums are daily and
-nightly the scenes of nameless horrors, but it may
-be doubted whether a faithful and minute description
-of them, in the form of cheap literature, does
-more good than harm.</p>
-
-<p>That is by way of preface. What I am going
-to tell you struck me, because I question whether
-a tragedy in real life was ever acted with details
-that sound so fictional, so imaginary, and yet there
-was no straining after effect. It was the way the
-thing had to be worked out; and like the puzzles
-you buy, and waste hours attempting to solve, I
-suppose the pieces would only fit when arranged
-in the places for which they were designed by their
-Maker.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>A long time ago there lived, in one of the principal
-cities of Italy, a certain marchese, married to
-a woman of great beauty and distinguished family.
-She had a lover, a captain of cavalry, who had
-made himself an Italian reputation for his success
-in love-affairs, and also in the duels which had been
-forced upon him by those who believed themselves
-to have been wronged. The soldier was a very
-accomplished swordsman and equally skilful with
-a pistol, and that is possibly the reason why the
-husband of the marchesa was blind to a state of
-affairs which at last became the scandal of local
-society. The marchesa had a brother, a leading
-member of the legal profession; and when he had
-unsuccessfully indicated to his brother-in-law the
-line of his manifest duty, he determined to himself
-defend his sister’s name, for the honour of an
-ancient and noble family. The brother was neither
-a swordsman nor a pistol-shot, and when he undertook
-to vindicate his sister’s reputation he realised
-exactly what it might cost him. The position was
-unbearable; the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cafés</i> were ringing with the tale;
-and, if her husband shirked the encounter, some
-man of her own family must bring the offender to
-book and satisfy the demands of public opinion.</p>
-
-<p>Having made up his mind as to the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">modus
-operandi</i>, the brother sought his foe in a crowded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
-<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">café</i>, and in the most public manner insulted him
-by striking him across the face with his glove.
-A challenge naturally followed, and the choice of
-weapons was left with the assailant. He demanded
-pistols, and, knowing his own absolute
-inferiority, stipulated for special conditions, which
-were, that the combatants should stand at a distance
-of one pace only, that they should toss, or
-play a game of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">écarté</i> for the first shot, and that
-if the loser survived it, he should go as close to
-his adversary as he pleased before discharging his
-own weapon. Under the circumstances, the soldier
-thought he could hardly decline any conditions
-which gave neither party an advantage, but no one
-could be found to undertake the duties of second
-in a duel on such terms. Two friends of the
-principals agreed, however, to stand by with rifles,
-to see that the compact was not violated; and it
-was understood that they would at once fire on
-the man who should attempt foul play.</p>
-
-<p>It was, of course, imperative that the proceedings
-should be conducted with secrecy, and the
-meeting was arranged to take place on the outskirts
-of a distant town, to which it was necessary
-to make a long night journey by rail. In the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
-early dawn of a cold morning in March, the four
-men met in the cemetery of a famous monastery,
-that stands perched on a crag, overlooking the
-neighbouring city, and a wide vale stretching away
-for miles towards the distant hills. A pack of
-cards was produced, and, with a tombstone as a
-table, the adversaries played one hand at <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">écarté</i>.
-The game went evenly enough, and rather slowly,
-till the brother marked four against his opponent’s
-three. It was then the latter’s deal; he turned
-up the king and made the point, winning the
-game. A line was drawn, the distance measured,
-the pistols placed in the duellists’ hands, and the
-two friends retired a few yards, holding their
-loaded rifles ready for use. The word was given,
-and the brother stood calmly awaiting his fate.
-The soldier slowly raised his pistol to a point in
-line with the other’s head, and, from a distance
-of a few inches, put a bullet through his brain, the
-unfortunate man falling dead without uttering a
-sound or making a movement.</p>
-
-<p>The officer obtained a month’s leave and fled
-across the border into Switzerland, but, before the
-month was up, public excitement over the affair
-had waned, and the gossips were busy with a new
-scandal. Their outraged sense of propriety had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
-been appeased by the sacrifice of the dead, and
-the novel and piquant circumstances which accompanied
-it. As for the intrigue which had led to
-the duel, that, of course, went on the same as
-ever, only rather more so.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a><span class="line-height">XVIII</span><br />
-THE GENTLE ART OF VEERING WITH THE WIND</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">TO-DAY I received a letter from you. I have
-read it twice, and, though it contains eight
-pages of closely written lines, there is not one
-word in it that would show that I am any more
-to you than the merest acquaintance. For weeks
-I have anxiously awaited this letter; plans, of
-the utmost importance to me, depended upon the
-answer you would give to a question I had put;
-and my whole future, at least that future which
-deals with a man’s ambitions, would, in all probability,
-be influenced by your reply. I asked you&mdash;well,
-never mind what&mdash;and you, being entirely
-free to write what you mean and what you wish,
-say that it is a point on which you cannot offer
-advice; but you tell me that you have given up
-reading and taken to gardening, as you find it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
-better for you! Have you ever read the story of
-Zadig? If you have, you will perhaps remember
-how his wife, Azora, railed against the newly
-made widow whom she found gardening. I have
-no prejudices of that kind, and, in my case, no one’s
-nose is in danger of the razor; but still I think
-I may not unreasonably feel somewhat aggrieved.</p>
-
-<p>Do not believe that I could ever wish to remind
-you of what you have forgotten, or wish to
-forget. I only want to know what is real and what
-is counterfeit, and you alone can tell me. I may
-ask this, may I not? It is not that I may presume
-to judge you, or from any wish to gratify
-an impertinent curiosity, but that I may be saved
-from imagining what is not, and, while torturing
-myself, possibly even distress you. I find it hard
-to reconcile this letter of yours with others I have
-received, and if that sounds to you but a confession
-of my stupidity, I would rather admit my want of
-intelligence and crave your indulgence, than stand
-convicted of putting two and two together and
-making of them twenty-two. If you tell me there
-is no question of indulgence, but that quite regular
-verbs have different moods, that present and past
-tenses are irreconcilable, and, of the future, no man
-knoweth&mdash;I shall have my answer.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>You do not write under the influence of winter.
-I cannot charge myself with any offence against
-you. Nay, God knows that all my thoughts and
-all my efforts are but to do you honour. If I
-have misread your earlier letters, if I have been
-unduly elated by such kind words as you have
-sent me, it is the simplest thing in the world to
-undeceive me and show me the error of my ways.
-Are you only <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">souffrante</i>, and may I disregard the
-chilling atmosphere of your present missive, remembering
-the tender sympathy of voice, of eye,
-of hand, in the rapturous days of a cherished
-past?</p>
-
-<p>It seems as natural to some people to love
-to-day, and to be almost strangers to-morrow, as
-that we should revel in a flood of light when
-the moon is full, and grope in darkness when
-the goddess of night is no longer visible. The
-temperament that makes this possible is fortunately
-rare, so much so that it creates an interest
-in the observer. I have never seen it in man,
-but I have in woman; and one realises that then
-it is better to be a spectator than an actor in
-what is never a farce, and may easily develop
-into tragedy. Imagine such a woman of very
-unusual personal attractions: great beauty of face<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
-and figure united to a high intelligence and
-extreme charm of manner; witty, ambitious,
-courageous, full of high thoughts and endowed
-with all the advantages that wealth can add to
-personal gifts. Deep in a nature that is strangely
-complex, and capable of the most opposite extremes,
-suppose there is implanted, amongst many
-other feelings, a passionate yearning to be understood,
-and to be loved with a love that would
-shrink from nothing to prove the greatness of its
-devotion. Here you have a being capable of what
-seem the strangest contradictions, and not the least
-startling of these may be a rare, but absolute and
-passionate, self-abandonment, under the influence
-of certain circumstances which strongly appeal to
-the senses. Overcome by intoxication of sound,
-colour, and magnetism, every moral and conventional
-muscle suddenly relaxes, and, the violence
-of the forces released, is wild and uncontrolled,
-because of the firm determination by which they
-are habitually bound. To-morrow, in the cold
-grey light of day, the slow-working mind of man
-is absolutely bewildered by what he sees and
-hears. He comes, dominated by an exalted
-passion, enthralled by a vision of ecstasy through
-which he sees, imperfectly, the people about him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
-only “men as trees walking”; reserving his
-thoughts and perceptions of surrounding objects
-till he shall again gaze upon that face which
-seems to him to have opened the door of life
-with the key of a boundless love. Still dazed
-by the memories of last night, he enters the
-presence of his beloved, and experiences a shock,
-such as a swimmer might feel, if floating, half-entranced,
-in some tropic sea, he suddenly hit
-against an iceberg.</p>
-
-<p>Sometimes, even, influenced by surroundings,
-maddened by the whisperings of a southern night,
-passed in a place where she breathes an atmosphere
-impregnated with the romance of centuries,
-the lonely soul of the woman, hungering for sympathy
-and communion, will seize a pen and write,
-“Come to me; I want you, for you understand;
-come, and I will give you happiness.” Before
-the letter has been gone one day, on a journey
-that may take it to the ends of the earth, the
-writer’s mood has changed, and she has forgotten
-her summons as completely as though it had
-never been written. When the missive reaches
-its destination, the recipient will be wise to curb
-his impetuosity, and realise that his opportunity
-is long since dead and buried.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>The bewildering phases of such a nature as I
-have here imagined are nothing to us. To you
-it may even seem inexcusable that I should allude
-to a character with which you have no sympathy,
-an abnormal growth which sounds rather fantastic
-than real. It is the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">argumentum ad absurdum</i>,
-and has its value. This strange perversity which,
-by reason of its startling contradictions, seems
-almost inhuman, and if, in rare instances, met
-with, can only excite feelings of curiosity or repugnance&mdash;this
-is the extreme case. The application
-of the moral will come nearer home to us,
-if we make the changes from passionate love to
-cold indifference a little less marked, the intervals
-between the moods a little longer. It is well to
-know one’s own mind, not because wavering and
-change hurt the fickle, but because some stupid
-person may suffer by the purchase of experience;
-may take it to heart, and may do himself an injury.
-It is well to know one’s own heart, and what it
-can give; lest another put too high a value on
-the prize and lose all in trying to win it. It is
-well to know our own weakness, and at once
-recognise that we shall be guided by it; lest
-another think it is strength, and make, for our
-sakes, sacrifices that only frighten and perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
-even annoy us, especially when they are made in
-the absurd belief that they will please us.</p>
-
-<p>If you can give the extreme of happiness, do
-not forget that you can also cause an infinity of
-pain. No one can blame you for declining to
-accord favours; and if that refusal gives pain,
-there is no help for it. There can be little
-sympathy for those who seek the battle and then
-complain of their wounds. Such hurts do not
-rankle, and quickly heal. But it is different when
-a woman gives love of her own free will, uninfluenced
-by any consideration beyond her inclination,
-and then takes it back, also without
-other cause than caprice. It is difficult to use
-any other word&mdash;either it was a caprice to say
-she gave what never was given, or it is a caprice
-to take it back. A confession of thoughtlessness
-in estimating the character of her own feelings,
-or of weakness and inability to resist any opposing
-influence, is a poor pretext for a sudden
-withering of the tendrils of affection. Such a
-confession is an indifferent consolation to the
-heart which realises its loss, but cannot appreciate
-the situation. Do not mistake me; it is so hard
-to be absolutely candid and fair in considering
-our own cases. We are not less likely to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
-mistakes in matters of sentiment than in the
-purely practical affairs of life. If we think we
-love, and then become certain that we have
-made a mistake, the only safe and kind course
-is to confess the error; but if we deliberately
-seek love and give it, much protesting and much
-exacting, how shall we then deny it? Would
-one say, “If you asked me, I would go down
-into hell with you, now,” and then, ere twelve
-months had passed, for no crime but enforced
-absence, speak or write, to that other, almost as
-a stranger?</p>
-
-<p>There was Peter, I know; but even he was
-not altogether satisfied with himself, and, besides
-denying his Lord, he stands convicted of physical
-cowardice.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a><span class="line-height">XIX</span><br />
-A REJOINDER</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">THANK you. Before my last letter could
-reach you, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vous m’aviez donné affreusement à
-penser</i>, and this is what occurs to me:&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Of all the lover’s sorrows, next to that</div>
-<div class="verse1">Of Love by Love forbidden, is the voice</div>
-<div class="verse1">Of Friendship turning harsh in Love’s reproof,</div>
-<div class="verse1">And overmuch of counsel&mdash;whereby Love</div>
-<div class="verse1">Grows stubborn, and recoiling unsupprest</div>
-<div class="verse1">Within, devours the heart within the breast.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>I dare say it is as well. I am beginning to
-recognise the real attractions of what I may call
-a “surprise letter.” I have had several lately.
-It is perhaps the irony of fate that, just after
-I had mildly hinted to you that the phases of
-the moods of the feminine mind were sometimes
-rather bewildering, you should write to
-me the sort of letter which, had it been sent
-by me to a man I called my friend, I should
-richly deserve death at his hands. There are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
-certainly few things more thoroughly enjoyable
-than to take up a letter that you see comes from&mdash;well,
-let us say from a very dear friend&mdash;to
-dally a little over the opening, in the mingled desire
-and hesitation to read the contents; feverish
-desire to know that all is well, to hear some word
-of affectionate regard&mdash;hesitation lest the news
-be bad, the letter cold; and then to find such a
-missive as you have sent to me.</p>
-
-<p>To begin with, there is a page and a half on
-which you have poured out the vials of your
-wrath. I was quite hot before I had read half of
-it, and my ears even were burning before I came
-to a page in which you told me how greatly you
-were enjoying yourself. And then, at the end,
-there was another page and a half, every word of
-which seemed to strike me in the face like a blow.
-I suppose you introduced the middle section
-that I might meditate on the difference between
-your circumstances and mine, and duly appreciate
-the full weight of your displeasure. Well,
-yes, I have done so; and, as God only knows
-when I shall see you again, I must write one or
-two of the many words it is in my heart to say
-to you.</p>
-
-<p>I am a very unworthy person; I have deeply<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
-offended you; and you have felt it necessary to
-tell me gently how ill my conduct looks to you.
-You leave me to infer that there are offences
-which cannot be tolerated, and that it would not
-be difficult to dispense with my acquaintance. I
-humbly accept this verdict, and as it is absolutely
-just and right that the prisoner should first be
-condemned without hearing, and then suffered to
-state his case, and say anything he pleases in
-mitigation of sentence, I will try not to weary you
-by any reference to ancient history, but simply
-confine myself to the charge.</p>
-
-<p>Now, what is my crime? You asked me a
-question; I am sure you have long ago forgotten
-what it was, and I need not remind you; but I,
-like an idiot, thought you really wanted an answer,
-and that it was my bounden duty to find a means
-of sending it. The question gave me infinite
-pleasure, and, again like an idiot, I thought the
-answer I longed to send would be welcome. I
-could not send it in the ordinary way, as you will
-admit, and, a sudden thought striking me that there
-was a safe and easy means of transmission, I acted
-on it, and your letter is the result. You tell me
-your pride is wounded, your trust in my word gone,
-and your conscience scandalised. It is useless for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
-me now to express regret. I have been convicted,
-and I am only pleading in mitigation of sentence.
-Well, mine was a deliberate sin. I had to decide
-whether I would answer you or not, and, though I
-disliked the means, I thought the end would justify
-them. To me they did not then, and do not now,
-seem very objectionable; and it certainly did not
-occur to me that I could thereby wound the most
-sensitive feelings. Of course I was an imbecile, and
-ought to have realised that a question like that was
-only a phrase, with no serious meaning. I gave a
-promise, you say, and have broken it. It is a pity.
-I had rather have sinned in any other way, for I
-have my pride too, and it asserts itself chiefly in
-the keeping of promises, rather than the gift of
-them. As to the conscience, I deeply sympathise.
-An offended conscience must be a very inconvenient,
-not to say unpleasant, companion. But
-you were greatly enjoying yourself (you impress
-that upon me, so you will not be offended if I
-mention it), therefore I conclude your conscience
-was satisfied by the uncompromising expression of
-your sense of my misdeeds. Might I ask which
-way your conscience was looking when you wrote
-this letter to me, or does it feel no call to speak on
-my behalf? I would rather my hand were palsied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
-than write such a letter to any one, and you know
-that I have forfeited your favour in trying to do
-your will. I think your quarrel was rather with
-your conscience than with me; but it is well to
-keep friends with those of one’s own household.</p>
-
-<p>Truly it is an evil thing to stake one’s happiness
-upon the value of <i>x</i> in an indeterminate equation.
-It is possible to regard the unknown quantity with
-philosophy; it is like the unattainable. The
-mischief all comes with what looks like solution,
-but proves in the end to be drawn from false
-premises. Lines can be straight, and figures may
-be square, but sentient beings are less reliable, and
-therefore more interesting&mdash;as studies. The pity
-is that we sometimes get too close, in our desire
-to examine minutely what looks most beautiful
-and most attractive. Then proximity destroys the
-powers of critical judgment, and, from appearances,
-we draw conclusions which are utterly unreliable,
-because our own intelligence is obscured by the
-interference of our senses. We have to count
-with quantities that not only have no original
-fixed value, but vary from day to day, and even
-from hour to hour.</p>
-
-<p>You will say that if I can liken you to an algebraic
-sign, speak of you as a “quantity” and “an indeterminate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
-equation,” it cannot matter much whether
-you write to me in terms of hate or love. If, however,
-you consider where you are and where I am,
-and if, when this lies in your hand, you are on
-good terms with your pride and your conscience,
-you may be able to spare, from the abundance
-you lavish on them, a grain of sympathy for me
-in my loneliness. Is it a crime for the humble
-worshipper to seek to assure the deity of his unaltered
-devotion? It used not to be so; and
-though the temple has infinite attractions for me,
-the tavern none, I could say with the Persian&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“And this I know: whether the one True Light</div>
-<div class="verse1">Kindle to love, or Wrath-consume me quite,</div>
-<div class="verse3">One Flash of It within the Tavern caught</div>
-<div class="verse1">Better than in the Temple lost outright.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>Life is too short, and too full of storm and stress,
-to induce any one to stake it on a proved uncertainty,
-however attractive. It is better never to
-take ship at all than to be constantly meeting
-disaster on the shoals and rocks of the loveliest
-summer sea. Of the end of such a venture there
-is no uncertainty. The bravest craft that ever
-left port will be reduced to a few rotting timbers,
-while the sea smiles anew on what is but a
-picturesque effect.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a><span class="line-height">XX</span><br />
-OF IMPORTUNITY</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">I MUST unburden myself to you, because I may
-do so without offence, without shocking you
-beyond forgiveness; for I feel that if my letter
-were to another, I should either have to use such
-self-control that I should gain no relief for my
-injured feelings, or else the other would think I
-had gone mad, and blot my name out of the book
-of her correspondents&mdash;two r’s, please. You see
-I am in an evil mood, the bad tense of the evil
-mood; so I may as well begin in the green leaf
-what is sure to come in the brown. Besides, you
-are partly to blame! Is not that like a man?
-You supplied me with the fruit of this knowledge
-which has set my teeth on edge, but it is also
-true that you gave it in furtherance of my request
-and to oblige me. I fancy that was the case with
-Eve. Adam probably sent her up a tree (the
-expression has lasted to our own time), looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
-the other way, and pretended he had forgotten
-all about it when the obliging lady came down and
-tendered the result of her painful efforts. It is
-bad enough to climb with your clothes on, as
-I saw the other day, when I induced a friend to
-swarm up a fern-tree by telling him I did not
-believe he could do it. But this is all beside the
-mark;&mdash;what has roused my ire is a parcel of
-new books, kindly selected by you to cheer my
-solitude. As they came direct from the bookseller,
-I do not know whether you have read them, but
-they are very new indeed, and, from what you say,
-I think you must at least have wrestled with some
-of them. Very recent publications, like many of
-these, are rather a rarity here, and, as I was
-particularly busy, I lent some of them to friends
-who are always hungering for new literature. Now
-I am rather sorry, though I washed my hands of
-the transaction by saying that I would not take
-the responsibility of recommending anything, but
-they were at liberty to take what they liked. In
-due time the volumes were returned, without comment,
-but with the pages cut. I did not think
-anything of that at the time, the realities of the
-moment interested me a great deal more than any
-book could; but now I have read some of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
-batch, and I am suffering from an earnest desire
-to meet the authors and “have it out with them.”
-As however, that is not in my power, I am going
-to victimise you. There is one story, of a kind
-that is now common enough, that is specially
-aggravating. If you have read it you will know
-which I refer to; if not, I won’t tell you. It is
-written by a woman, and discourses in a very
-peculiar fashion on the ways of men. That is of
-no particular moment, for the writer has either a
-very indifferent knowledge of men, or she is not
-to be congratulated on her male friends, or she
-has had some very unfortunate personal experiences,
-and judges the species by some repulsive
-individuals. It was a man who said that women
-do not possess the sentiment of justice, and he
-might, if he had wished to be fair, have added
-that it is comparatively rare in men. Men have
-written many unkind and untrue things about
-women as a sex, but they cannot have harmed
-them much, since their influence over the beings,
-derisively styled “Lords of Creation” is certainly
-on the increase, especially in new countries like
-America.</p>
-
-<p>What, however, is rather strange is that, in
-the book I speak of, there are two women&mdash;joint-heroines,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
-as it were&mdash;held up for the reader’s
-admiration, but described as perfectly odious creatures.
-The story, however, is practically confined
-to the life and character of one of these ladies,
-and the exact position of the other, in relation to
-her friend, is not altogether clear, nor of any concern
-as regards my point. Let me then speak of
-the one woman as the heroine; it is to her I wish
-to apply the epithet odious. The writer, I take
-it, is very pleased and satisfied with the lady of
-her creation, and, whilst she never loses an opportunity
-of enlarging on the very objectionable characteristics
-of all men of birth and education, she
-evidently means the reader to understand that she
-has drawn and coloured the picture of a very perfect
-and altogether captivating woman. A young,
-beautiful, intelligent, highly educated, perfectly
-dressed woman, surrounded by every luxury that
-great wealth and good taste can secure, may easily
-be captivating, and it might be counted something
-less than a crime that a number of admirers
-should be anxious to marry her. When it comes
-to character it is different; and even though the
-spectacle of a woman with fewer attractions than
-I have named, and a disposition that left something
-to be desired, enslaving men of renown, is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
-not unknown to history, it seems a little unusual
-to design a heroine as the very embodiment of
-selfishness, and then exhibit her as the perfect
-woman. The life that is shown to us is chiefly
-that of a girl,&mdash;old enough, and independent and
-intelligent enough, to know perfectly what she
-was doing,&mdash;constantly allowing, or alluring, men
-to make love to her; and then, when they wished
-to marry her, telling them in language which, if
-not considerate, was certainly plain, how deeply
-insulted she felt. If they wasted years and years,
-or lost their useless, sinful lives altogether, over
-her, that was a matter of such absolute indifference
-that it never gave her a second thought or
-a moment of regret. She did not avoid men altogether;
-on the contrary, she seemed rather fond of
-their society, as she had only one woman friend,
-and is described as giving them all ample opportunities
-of declaring their passionate admiration
-for her beauty and intelligence. The lovers
-were many and varied; coming from the peerage,
-the squirearchy, the army, the Church, and other
-sources; but they all met with the same fate, and
-each in turn received a special lecture on the vice
-and amazing effrontery of his proposal.</p>
-
-<p>I suppose it is a book with a purpose, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
-unlike a Scotch sermon, it is divided into only
-two heads. As to one, I could imagine the reply
-might be in the form of another book styled “Her
-Lord the Eunuch.” Biblical history deals with the
-species. It is less common now, but if a demand
-again arises, no doubt there will be a supply to
-meet it. That is the head I cannot discuss, even
-in these days of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fin de siècle</i> literature, wherein it
-is a favourite subject, and would have fewer difficulties
-than the case of a nineteenth-century Virgin
-Mary, which formed the text of one volume in
-the parcel. The other consideration seems to
-rest on safe ground, with no treacherous bogs or
-dangerous quicksands, and therefore I venture to
-ask you what you think of this paragon of all the
-virtues. Is she the type of a woman’s woman?
-One sometimes, but very, very rarely, meets a
-woman like this, in England at any rate; and
-though the lady’s girdle is certain to be decorated
-with a collection of male scalps of all ages
-and many colours, very few of her own sex will be
-found in the number of her friends or admirers.
-Her charity is generally a form of perversity; for
-if she occasionally lavishes it on some animal or
-human being, it is a caprice that costs her little,
-and to the horse or dog which fails in instant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
-obedience, to the beggar or relative who importunes,
-she is passionately or coldly cruel. Yet
-her fascination is real enough, but it seldom endures.
-There is no need to sympathise with the
-would-be lovers, who are rejected yet still importunate.
-When, as sometimes happens in a world
-of change, there has been mutual love between
-man and woman, and one has ceased to love, it is
-natural enough that the other should desire to retain
-what may still be, to him or her, the only thing
-worth living for. But to importune a woman to
-give herself, her body and soul, her whole destiny
-till death, when she does not wish it, is to ask
-for something that it were better not to precisely
-define. Presumably if the man thinks he is in
-love, it is the woman’s love he wants. She says
-she does not love him, and he is a fool, or worse,
-to take anything less, even when she is willing to
-sacrifice or sell herself for any conceivable reason.
-Surely, if the man had any real regard for her,
-he would think first of her happiness, and refuse
-to take advantage of her weakness or necessities.
-Besides, her misery could not be his advantage,
-and the worn-out sophism of parents or other interested
-persons, that “she did not know her own
-mind, and would get to like him,” is too hazardous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
-a chance on which to stake the welfare of two lives.
-Of course men plague women to marry them after
-they have been refused. The world is full of
-people who want what is not for them, and are
-not too particular as to the means, if they can
-secure the end. But I wonder what a man would
-say if some woman he did not care about worried
-his life out to marry her. Man is easily flattered,
-the sensation is with him comparatively rare, and
-he is very susceptible to the agreeable fumes of
-that incense; but only the very weakest would be
-lured to the altar, and the after-life of the lady
-who took him there would not be an altogether
-happy one. Man and his descendants have had
-a grudge against the first woman for thousands
-of years, for an alleged proposal of hers that is
-said to have interfered with his prospects. It is
-not chivalrous for a man to press a woman to
-“let him love her, if she can’t love him;” it is
-not a very nice proposition, if he will take it
-home and work it out quietly; it is something
-very like an insult to her, and it is certainly not
-likely to be anything but a curse to him. That
-is when she is endowed with those charming
-qualities common to most women. When, however,
-as in the case I have referred to, she has a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
-special aversion to men generally, and him in
-particular, and prides herself on the possession of
-characteristics that he could not admire in his own
-mother, to still insist upon forcing the lady into
-a union with him is to be vindictively silly. It
-is hardly necessary to go as far as this to prove
-his determination and his title to a sort of spurious
-constancy.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a><span class="line-height">XXI</span><br />
-OF COINCIDENCES</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">IN spite of the testimony of many worthy and
-some unworthy people, I have not yet been
-able to accept spiritual manifestations and the reappearance
-of the dead as even remotely probable.
-I think most of the current ghost stories are
-capable of a simple explanation, if one could only
-get an unvarnished statement of real facts from
-the witnesses. Usually, however, those on whose
-authority these stories rest, are constitutionally of
-such a nervous organisation that they are physically
-incapable of describing with exact accuracy
-what they saw or heard. When, as not infrequently
-happens, those who have seen visions
-admit to having felt that extremity of fear which
-bathes them in a cold perspiration, or makes their
-hair rise up straight on their heads (this last is
-not, I think, alleged by women), then there is
-all the more reason to doubt their testimony.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
-Undoubtedly curious things happen which do not
-admit of easy explanation, but they are not necessarily
-supernatural, or connected in any way with
-the return of the dead to the sight of the living.
-Dreams, again, are sometimes very curious, and it
-might be difficult to offer a reasonable explanation
-of some dream-experiences, especially those which
-lead to the backing of winning horses or the purchase
-of prize-tickets in a lottery. A really reliable
-dreamer of this kind would be a valuable
-investment; but, unfortunately, there is a want of
-certainty about even those who have, once in a
-lifetime, brought off a successful <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">coup</i>. Still, it
-has happened. I myself have heard a dreamer&mdash;who
-was also a dream-talker&mdash;place accurately
-the three first horses in a coming race; but I
-had not sufficient confidence in the “tip” to take
-advantage of it. In that case, too, the winner
-was a very pronounced favourite. Many people
-say they have dreamt of strange places, and <em>afterwards</em>
-seen those places in reality, and even been
-able to find their way about in them. It may be
-so. For myself, I cannot say I have ever had
-such an experience, but I believe (I say it doubtfully,
-because one may be deceived about journeys
-in dreamland) that I have often seen the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
-places in different dreams, dreamed after intervals
-of years, so that, while dreaming, I have at once
-recognised the place as a familiar scene in my
-dreamland. But those places I have never beheld
-on earth. In my early youth, scared by tales of
-the bottomless pit and the lake of brimstone, I
-used to dream, almost nightly, of those places of
-torment; but it is a long time ago, and I have
-quite forgotten what they were like. I have no
-ambition to renew my acquaintance, or to be
-given the opportunity of comparing the reality
-with the nightmare of my childish imagination
-and a cramped position. Apart from these more
-or less vain considerations, I have known some
-very curious coincidences, and I will tell you the
-story of one of them.</p>
-
-<p>I was journeying in a strange, a distant, and
-an almost unknown land. More than this, I was
-the guest of the only white man in a remote
-district of that country. It was a particularly
-lovely spot, and, being an idler for the moment,
-I asked my host, after a few days, what there
-was of interest that I could go and see. He
-said he would send a servant with me to show
-me a cemetery, where were buried a number of
-Englishmen who, some few years before, had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
-killed or died in the neighbourhood, during the
-progress of one of England’s successful little military
-expeditions. That afternoon I was led to the
-cemetery in question. I have seldom seen a more
-glorious succession of pictures than were presented
-by the view from that lovely spot; and never in
-any country have I beheld a more ideal resting-place
-for the honoured dead. It did not surprise
-me that my host told me he had already selected
-his own corner, and repeatedly made it the objective
-of his afternoon walks. Within a fenced
-enclosure, partly surrounded by graceful, ever-green
-trees, lay the small plot of carefully kept grass
-which formed the burial-ground. It occupied the
-summit of a rising ground commanding a magnificent
-view of the surrounding country. From the
-gate the ground sloped steeply down to a road,
-and then dropped sheer forty or fifty feet to the
-waters of a great, wide, crystal-clear river, flowing
-over a bed of golden sand. Under this steep and
-lofty bank, the base all rock, the river swirled
-deep and green; but it rapidly shallowed towards
-the centre, and the opposite shore, seven hundred
-feet distant, was a wide expanse of sand, half-circled
-by great groves of palms, and backed by
-steep, forest-clad hills. The river made a wide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
-sweep here, so that, looking down on it from
-such a height gave it rather the appearance of
-a huge lake narrowing into the distant hills.
-Picturesque villages lined both banks of the river,
-the houses showing splashes of colour between
-the trees. Boats of quaint build&mdash;sailing, poling,
-paddling, rowing&mdash;passed up and down the broad
-stream, giving life to the scene; while at distances
-varying from three miles to thirty or more, the
-valley was shut in by lofty mountains, green
-near by, with their garment of unbroken forest,
-but, in the distance, blue as an Italian sky. I
-drank this in, felt it all as a feeling, this and
-much more with which I will not weary you, and
-then I turned to look at the grass-covered mounds
-and wooden crosses that marked the graves of the
-exiled dead. I was standing in front of a somewhat
-more pretentious headstone, which marked
-the resting-place of an officer killed a few miles
-from this spot, when, through the wicket, came a
-messenger bearing a letter for me. The cover
-bore many post-marks, signs of a long chase, and
-here at last it had caught me in my wanderings.
-I did not recognise the handwriting, but when I
-had opened the letter and looked at the signature,
-I realised that it was that of an old lady who was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
-but an acquaintance, and one of whom I had not
-heard for years. I read the letter, and I may
-confess to some little astonishment. It told me
-that, hearing that I was leaving England for a
-long journey, and that I should eventually arrive
-at somewhere in the East, the writer wished to
-tell me that her daughter (whom I hardly remembered)
-had married a certain soldier, that he had
-been killed some time before, and was buried in
-some place (which she tried indifferently to name)
-where there were no Europeans. If I should ever
-be in the neighbourhood, would I try to find his
-grave, and tell them something about it; for they
-were in great grief, and no one could relieve their
-anxiety on the subject of their loved one’s last home.</p>
-
-<p>It seemed to me a somewhat remarkable coincidence
-that I should, at that moment, be standing
-in front of the stone which told me that, underneath
-that emerald turf, lay all that was left
-of the poor lady’s son-in-law, the grief-stricken
-daughter’s husband. The situation appealed to
-my artistic instincts. I sat down, there and
-then, and, with a pencil and a bit of paper, I
-made a rough sketch of the soldier’s grave; carefully
-drawing the headstone, and inscribing on it,
-in very plain and very black print, the legend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
-that I saw in front of me. Then I went home,
-and, while the situation was hot upon me, I
-wrote, not to the mother, but to the widow, a
-little account of what had occurred, using the
-most appropriate and touching language I could
-think of, to describe the scene and my deep
-sympathy. Finally I enclosed the little picture,
-which I had drawn with such a compelling sense
-of my responsibilities, and the unique character
-of the opportunity, to show that I was a man
-of rather uncommon feeling. Much pleased with
-the result of my efforts, I entrusted the letter to
-my friend (there was no such thing as a post-office),
-and we became almost sentimental over
-the chastened tears with which my letter would
-be read by the two poor ladies.</p>
-
-<p>The mother’s letter to me had wandered about for
-two or three months before it came to my hands;
-but I learned,&mdash;ages afterwards,&mdash;that my letter
-to the daughter was a far longer time in transit;
-not the fault of my friend, but simply of the general
-unhingedness of things in those wild places.</p>
-
-<p>The letter did at last arrive, and was handed to
-the widow on the day she was married to a new
-husband. That is why I believe in the quaintness
-of coincidences.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a><span class="line-height">XXII</span><br />
-OF A COUNTRY-HOUSE CUSTOM</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">I WENT one morning to a hotel in London
-to call upon a celebrated writer of fiction, a
-lady, and she told me that, as a protest against
-ideas which she despised, she always locked her
-door when she was talking to a man. I stayed
-there about two hours, but I don’t remember
-whether the door was locked or not, probably
-not; no one, however, tried it, and my reputation
-survived the ordeal. The practice is unconventional,
-though innocent enough. It is much more
-common to find yourself in a lady’s room, at
-night, in a country-house in England, and there
-you may talk to a friend, perhaps to two, and
-even, on occasions, smoke a cigarette, while the
-door is seldom locked. Do you see any harm
-in it? The thing itself is so pleasant that I do
-not mean to discuss with you the fors and
-againsts; I am satisfied that it is often done, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
-that I sometimes profit by the arrangement. A
-century ago, or rather more, it was common
-enough, if not in England, certainly on the
-Continent, and the guest was sometimes present
-while the lady lay in bed, or made her toilette.
-It is conceivable that this custom deserved to
-be discouraged, and it seems to have gone out of
-fashion, no doubt for sufficiently good reasons.</p>
-
-<p>I was once a guest in a delightful country-house
-in the heart of England, a house where nothing
-was lacking that could contribute to comfort, and
-where the hostess was attraction sufficient to draw
-visitors from the uttermost parts of the earth, and
-keep them with her as long as she desired their
-presence. She was wayward (an added charm),
-and the company came and went, and some came
-again, but none remained long enough to become
-overpoweringly tedious or compromisingly <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">épris</i>. It
-was winter, the hard earth was full of “bone,” the
-waters icebound, and the face of the country white
-with a thick covering of frozen snow. There were
-but few of us in the house, and we had been skating
-on the ornamental water in a neighbour’s park,
-miles away. That was the only form of exercise
-open to us, and we had enjoyed it. The long walk
-over the crisp snow and the uneven cart tracks of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
-a country road, the intoxicating ease and rapidity
-of motion over the glassy ice, the ring of steel on
-that hard, smooth surface, how distinctly they all
-come back! And then the trudge home in the
-gathering dusk, between the woods whose snow-laden
-trees looked the very picture of winter,&mdash;it
-was all delightful and exhilarating, and, if our
-dinner-party was small, it was certainly a merry
-one. When we parted on the stairs it was close
-on midnight, and I was standing enjoying the blaze
-of my fire and the intense cosiness of my room,
-when there came a knock, and what I had thought
-was a cupboard-door opened to admit the head of
-our charming chatelaine, with an inquiry as to my
-comfort and contentment, and an invitation to put
-on a smoking-jacket and have a cigarette in her
-snuggery. I very eagerly and gratefully accepted
-that offer, and a few minutes later found myself in
-the most delightfully warm, cosy, and withal artistically
-beautiful room the heart and mind of woman
-could desire or design. This boudoir faced the front
-of the house, and looking over the lawn and terraces
-were three French windows, through which streamed
-bright rays of moonlight, for the shutters were not
-closed. Within, a great wood fire blazed on a wide
-hearth of olive-green tiles. Two lamps, with shades<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
-of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vieille rose</i>, shed a soft glow over inviting-looking
-chairs, thick carpet, tables littered with books and
-papers, lovely bits of porcelain and bronze, treasures
-in burnished silver and dull red gold. Every chair
-looked as if it were made for comfort, and the whole
-room said unmistakably, “This is where I live.”
-I should have noted the general effect at a glance,
-but I had time to appreciate the details, for, when
-I entered, I found the room unoccupied. In a few
-minutes my hostess appeared from her room, which
-opened out of this fascinating retreat, and said&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>“Well, how do you like my snuggery; is it not
-cosy?”</p>
-
-<p>I said it was charming and delightful, and everything
-that good taste and an appreciation of real
-comfort could make it.</p>
-
-<p>“I am so glad,” she said; “will you smoke one
-of my cigarettes?”</p>
-
-<p>“Thank you, yes.”</p>
-
-<p>“Shall I light it for you?”</p>
-
-<p>“That would be most kind.”</p>
-
-<p>“There; now we can make ourselves quite
-comfortable and have a real good chat, and no
-one will come to disturb us. What have you
-been doing with yourself all this time? What
-new friends have you made? What books have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
-you been reading? Tell me all about everything.
-I think you would be more comfortable over there;
-don’t worry about me, this is my favourite seat,
-but I change about and never sit very long in
-one place. You can imagine I am your Father
-Confessor, so don’t keep me waiting; tell it all, and
-keep back nothing; you know I shall be sure to
-find you out if you try to deceive me.”</p>
-
-<p>I found a seat&mdash;not exactly where I had first
-wished to place myself, but where I was put&mdash;and
-our chat was so mutually interesting that I
-was surprised to find it was 2 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> when my
-hostess told me I must go to bed. I must have
-smoked a good many cigarettes, and I have a
-vague recollection that there were glasses with
-spiritual comfort as well; it is probable, for
-nothing that any reasonable human being could
-want was ever lacking there. I know that I
-lingered, and the white light through the curtains
-drew us both to the window. Never shall I
-forget the incomparable picture of that snow-covered
-landscape;&mdash;glittering, scintillating under
-the silver radiance of a full winter moon, riding
-high in a clear, grey, frosty sky. The absolute
-stillness of it; not a sign of life; the bare trees
-throwing sharp shadows on the dazzling whiteness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
-of a prospect broken only by the evergreens of
-the garden, the cleared stone steps of the terraces,
-and beyond, a small stream winding through the
-narrow valley, and forming a little lake of as yet
-unfrozen water, its ever rippling surface showing
-black and sombre under the shadow of a high
-bank which shut out the moonlight. The contrast
-between that outside,&mdash;the coldness, the whiteness,
-the sense of far-into-the-nightness, which
-somehow struck one instantly; and the inside,&mdash;the
-warmth, the comfort, the subtle sympathy
-of companionship with a most fascinating, most
-beautiful, perfectly-garmented woman: it was too
-striking to be ever forgotten. The picture has
-risen unbidden before my eyes on many a night
-since then, under other skies and widely different
-circumstances.</p>
-
-<p>Turning away from the window, I could see
-through an open door into my companion’s room,
-and I said, “How did you get into my room?”
-“Very easily,” she answered; “there is a cupboard
-in the thickness of the wall between your
-room and mine; it opens into both rooms, but is
-at present full of my gowns, as you would have
-seen had you had the curiosity to look in, and
-the door happened to be unlocked.”</p>
-
-<p>I said I had abundant curiosity, and would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
-gratify it when I got back.</p>
-
-<p>My hostess smiled and said, “There is nothing
-to find out now; I have told you all there is to
-tell. Good night.”</p>
-
-<p>“But,” I said, “why should I go all the way
-round, through cold passages, when I can walk
-straight through to my room by this way?” and
-I pointed to the open door.</p>
-
-<p>“That is very ingenious of you,” she answered;
-“and you are not wanting either in the quick
-grasp of a situation, or the assurance to make the
-most of it. You do not deserve that I should
-pay you such a pretty compliment! It is too late
-for banter; I am getting sleepy. Good night.”</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a><span class="line-height">XXIII</span><br />
-A MERE LIE</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">AS the tale I am going to tell you is only a lie,
-you will understand that it is not of my
-making; I cannot even pretend to have heard it
-at first hand. The author was a scientist who
-lied in the intervals between his researches. It
-was a relief, I suppose, after too close contact
-with the eternal truths of Nature. His mental
-fingers seemed to wander over the keys of an
-instrument of romance, striking strange chords
-and producing unsuspected effects in an accompaniment
-to which he sang a perpetual solo.</p>
-
-<p>Amongst the most eccentric of his class the
-Professor would still have been a remarkable character.
-No one seemed to know to what nationality
-he belonged, and it was useless to ask him for any
-information, because of the doubt which clouded any
-statement that he made. Indeed, to put it shortly,
-he lied like a tombstone. When I met him his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
-only companion was a Papuan boy, so black that
-a bit of coal would have made a white mark on
-him; and the Professor would affectionately stroke
-the child’s head, and say that when he had grown
-bigger, when his skull was fully developed, he
-meant to take it, and was looking forward to the
-day when he could examine it carefully, inside
-and out, and compare it with the skulls of certain
-wild tribes which, he felt certain, he should thus
-be able to prove were of true Melanesian origin.
-He would then sometimes relate how, during a
-visit to Cadiz, he took a great fancy to the head
-of a Spaniard whom he met there. He thought
-the man was in failing health; but as he could
-not waste time in the Peninsula, he looked about
-for some means of hastening the possibly slow progress
-of disease. The Professor soon found that
-the owner of the head had a reckless and profligate
-nephew, with whom he scraped acquaintance. To
-him the Professor said that he had observed his
-uncle, and thought him looking far from well,
-indeed, he did not fancy he could last long, and,
-explaining that he was himself an anthropologist,
-concerned in scientific studies for the benefit of
-humanity, he arranged with the nephew that, <em>when
-his uncle died</em>, the Professor should pay a sum of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
-£30 and be allowed to take the uncle’s head. The
-uncle died shortly afterwards, and the money was
-paid, but the nephew, a man without principle,
-buried his relative in defiance of his bargain with
-the Professor.</p>
-
-<p>The means by which the man of science secured
-full value for his investment made one of his best
-stories; and some day I may tell it to you, but,
-when I began this letter, I had quite a different
-adventure in my mind, and I will take the liberty of
-asking you to suppose that the collector of skulls
-is telling you his own tale in his own way.</p>
-
-<p>“I was in Australia, where I had already met
-with some strange experiences, the last of them a
-disastrous expedition into the desert, where, when
-I was quite alone and a thousand miles from the
-nearest habitation, I fell over two precipices, first
-breaking my right and then immediately afterwards
-my left leg. I got back to civilisation with some
-difficulty, as I had to crawl on my hands most of
-the way, dragging my broken legs behind me; but
-what really made the journey seem long was the
-fact that I had to forage for my own sustenance
-as well. I was somewhat exhausted by these
-hardships, and was giving myself a short holiday
-for rest, when Australia was moved to a pitch of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
-the greatest excitement and indignation by the
-exploits of a daring bushranger, who set the Police
-and the Government at defiance, and established
-such a panic in the land that a party of Volunteers
-was formed, sworn to track the outlaw down and
-bring him in alive or dead. I do not say that I
-had any ultimate designs on the man’s head, but
-still the skull of a person of that type could not
-fail to be interesting. So, partly as a relaxation,
-but mainly in the cause of science, I joined the
-expedition.</p>
-
-<p>“It would not interest you to describe our
-failures&mdash;how the man outwitted us; how, just
-when we thought we had him, he would slip
-through our fingers, partly by his own skill, his
-knowledge of the bush, and the excellence of his
-horses, but mainly, I think, by the help of sympathisers,
-who always gave warning of our movements
-and most secret plans. I will pass over all
-that and take you to the final scene in the drama.</p>
-
-<p>“When we were not actually in the bush we
-were following our quarry from one country-place
-to another, as the information we received gave
-us a clue to his whereabouts. It seldom happened
-that we passed a night in a town, and, when not
-camping out, we were billeted on the people of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
-the district, the wealthiest and most important of
-them being too glad to place their houses at our
-disposal. One evening, after a hot pursuit, feeling
-sure we were close upon the trail of our man, we
-reached a great house where a number of guests
-were already being entertained. In spite of our
-numbers we were welcomed with effusion, and,
-after dinner, the ladies of the party took advantage
-of the sudden arrival of a number of young fellows
-ready for anything to get up an impromptu dance.
-I am not a dancing man&mdash;my time has been spent
-in communion with Nature, in reading in the open
-book of Truth&mdash;therefore I left the revellers and
-went to bed.</p>
-
-<p>“We had had a long and a hard day in the
-saddle, and I was weary, and must have fallen
-asleep almost as soon as I lay down.</p>
-
-<p>“Now I must tell you what I afterwards heard
-from others of my party. It was a little after
-midnight, and the dancing was going on with
-great spirit, when I&mdash;this, of course, is what they
-tell me&mdash;suddenly appeared at a door of the ball-room
-in my night-dress, with a rifle in my hand,
-and, without hesitation, I walked through the
-room and out into a verandah that led towards
-the back of the house. My head was thrown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
-somewhat back, my eyes were wide open and
-seemed fixed on some distant object, while I
-was evidently unconscious of my immediate surroundings.</p>
-
-<p>“I fear my sudden entry into the dancing-room
-in such a very unconventional dress was rather a
-shock to some of the ladies. I am told that several
-screamed, and one or more of the older ones
-fainted; but for myself I knew none of this till
-afterwards. It appears that, what with astonishment
-at my appearance, and the necessary attentions
-to the ladies whose nerves were upset, a little
-time elapsed before any one thought of following
-me. Then some one fancied he heard the sound
-of a horse’s feet, and the men of my party pulled
-themselves together and made for the stables, as
-that was the direction I seemed to have taken.</p>
-
-<p>“I was nowhere to be seen; but a stable door
-was open, and my horse, saddle, and bridle had
-gone. Then the matter began to look serious, and,
-as my friends saddled their horses and started to
-look for me, riding they hardly knew where, there
-were rather dismal forebodings of the probable fate
-of even a fully-clad man luckless enough to be lost
-in the Australian bush. It was a lovely starlight
-night with a young moon, and, under other circumstances,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
-the ride might have been pleasant enough;
-but the aimlessness of the whole business was becoming
-painfully evident to the searchers, when the
-sound of a rifle-shot was distinctly heard at no
-great distance. The horses’ heads were turned
-towards the direction from which the sound came,
-and the troop pushed on at a brisk pace. Almost
-immediately, a faint column of smoke was perceived,
-and as the horsemen approached the spot,
-the embers of a dying fire shed a slight ruddy glow
-in the darkness. The word was passed to proceed
-with caution, but the party was already so close
-that they could see my white night-dress, as I
-stood with naked feet by the side of my horse,
-regarding, with a half-dazed expression, the smoking
-rifle which I held in my hand. Sixty yards
-off was the thin column of smoke rising from the
-dying fire.</p>
-
-<p>“I was surrounded by my friends, who all
-spoke at once, and fired a perfect volley of questions
-at me. I said, ‘Softly, gentlemen, softly,
-and I will tell you all I know about it, for indeed
-the situation seems strange enough. As you
-know I went to bed. I slept and I dreamed.
-I suppose I was over-wrought, and my mind was
-full of the bushranger, for I thought I was again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
-on his track, out in the bush, on horseback and
-alone. It was night, but I seemed to be riding
-with a purpose, or my horse knew where he was
-going, for by-and-by I was drawn towards a
-thin column of white smoke, the smoke of a wood
-fire, and then, as I got nearer, I caught the flickering
-glow of dying embers. I <em>felt</em> the object of
-our search was there, and I moved forward with
-extreme caution, till I had got within a hundred
-yards, and then I distinctly saw the outlaw lying
-perfectly straight on the ground, his feet towards
-the fire, and his horse hobbled hard by. I say
-I saw the outlaw, but I was dreaming, and in
-my dream I <em>knew</em> it was the man, though I could
-not see his face. I dismounted, and, leading my
-horse, I got to within sixty yards of the sleeper.
-Then, fearing that if I went nearer he might wake
-and escape me, I took a steady aim, pulled the
-trigger, and&mdash;the next instant I was wide awake
-standing here in my night-dress.’</p>
-
-<p>“Almost before I had finished I saw men looking
-towards the fire, which was no dream, and we
-all of us now distinctly made out the form of a
-man, lying on his side, almost on his face, with
-his feet towards the embers and his head by the
-bush. Moreover, we could both see and hear a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
-horse, that was evidently hobbled not very far
-from the sleeper. It did not take long to surround
-the spot where the man lay; but, as we
-rapidly closed in on the sleeper, he never stirred.
-A moment more and we were beside him. A
-dark stream, on which the glow from the fire
-seemed to shed some of its own red light, was
-oozing slowly from beneath the man’s chest; and,
-as several hands turned his face up to the stars
-and the pale moonlight, it was too evident that
-he was dead, and that his life had gone out with
-that crimson stream which flowed from a bullet
-wound in his heart.</p>
-
-<p>“I did not know the man myself, but several
-of our party recognised him. It was the bushranger,
-and, as I expected, his skull was not without
-features of special interest to science.”</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a><span class="line-height">XXIV</span><br />
-TIGERS AND CROCODILES</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">WHEN I first came, a visitor, to the Malay
-Peninsula, I was struck by the fact that
-wherever I went I heard stories of tigers. If, in
-the course of a day’s ride, I stopped at a village
-to eat my luncheon, the people who pressed round
-to watch me and have a chat would always tell
-me a tiger story of local and comparatively recent
-occurrence. Wherever I encamped for the night,
-I should be sure of at least one tale of successful
-attack or successful resistance, where a tiger had
-filled the principal rôle. When once I understood
-the little peculiarity, I took it as a matter of course,
-and at talking time I used to say, “Now tell me
-about the tiger: what was it he did?” It may
-have been accident, but it is no exaggeration to
-say that my question nearly always drew forth a
-more or less ghastly story.</p>
-
-<p>Now that my visit is nearly over, it occurs to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
-me that, though I have accumulated an almost
-endless series of more or less interesting tales of
-the “low, crouching horror with the cruel fangs,”
-I have not retailed any of them to you. In a
-certain number of cases I was myself near enough
-to be able to verify details, and in others I had
-means of proving main facts. One is almost
-bound to say that, because tiger-stories, which
-are worth repeating, are almost always listened
-to with incredulity, or, what is worse, with that
-banter which often means, in plain words, “What
-I have not seen myself I decline to believe.” That
-is the attitude of England to the Orient in the
-presence of a tiger-story with which the auditors
-can claim no connection. I said that the prevalence
-of these tales struck me on my first
-arrival. I soon became <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">blasé</i>, and for a long time
-I have had no curiosity on the subject; but I will
-tell you of two tiger incidents that I personally
-verified, as far as I was able, and I will make no
-attempt to paint in the background with local
-colour, in order to supply you with finished
-pictures.</p>
-
-<p>There is an island by the western shore of the
-Straits of Malacca. You would never guess it to
-be an island, for it is simply a block of mangrove-covered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
-mud, with one side towards the sea, and
-the other three sides separated from the mainland
-by deep but narrow lagoons of tidal water. The
-only inhabitants are a few wood-cutters, Malays
-and Chinese, who live in huts of mat or bark with
-palm-leaf roofs, while they are employed cutting
-mangroves and a hard-wood palm called <i>Nîbong</i>.
-The huts of the Chinese are on the ground, but the
-Malay dwellings are invariably raised a few feet
-above the damp soil, and to them entry is obtained
-by means of a ladder. These hovels are very
-carelessly built; they are of flimsy materials, only
-intended to last for a few months, when they are
-abandoned and rapidly fall to pieces. They serve
-their purpose. The occupants are out from dawn
-till afternoon, when they return to cook, eat, and
-sleep; and so, from day to day, till the job on
-which they are engaged is completed, and they can
-return, in the case of the Malays, to their families,
-while the Chinese are probably moved to another
-scene of similar labour.</p>
-
-<p>I was obliged to tell you this; you would not
-understand the story otherwise.</p>
-
-<p>The island covers an area of several thousand
-acres, but except for the few wood-cutters it
-was, at the time I write of, uninhabited. At<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
-one spot there was a hut containing two Chinese,
-near it a Malay house with eight or ten men
-in it, and at no great distance a large shed
-with nearly a score of Chinese. One dark night,
-about 11 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span>, the two Chinese who lived together
-were awakened by a noise in that part of the
-hut where they kept their food. One of the two
-got up, struck a light, and went into the back
-room. Immediately there was a dull thud, as of
-a man knocked heavily down, and the poor wretch
-screamed, “Help me, it is a tiger!” His comrade
-at once got out of his mosquito-curtain, and sprang
-to his friend’s assistance. Seizing him by the
-arm, he tried to free him from the clutches of the
-tiger, who already had a firm hold of the doomed
-man’s leg. The tug of life and death did not last
-long, for the tiger pulled the would-be rescuer
-down on his face, and, the light having been extinguished
-in the struggle, the man’s courage went out
-with it, and, in a paroxysm of fear, he climbed on
-to the roof. There he remained till daylight, while,
-close beneath him, within the narrow limits of the
-hut, the tiger dragged his victim hither and thither,
-snarling and growling, tearing the flesh and crunching
-the bones of the man, whose agonies were
-mercifully hidden. In the grey light which heralds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
-dawn, the watcher, clinging to the roof-ridge, saw
-the tiger drag out of the house and into the forest
-the shapeless remains of his late companion. When
-once the sun was fairly up, the survivor slid down,
-and without daring to look inside the hut, made
-his way to the nearest Police Station, and reported
-what had occurred. An examination of the premises
-fully bore out his statement.</p>
-
-<p>A week passed. The Malays, whose hut was
-nearest to that visited by the tiger, were careful to
-bar their door after hearing what had happened;
-but in this case the precaution proved useless.
-Easterns, especially those engaged in severe manual
-labour, sleep exceedingly heavily, and the men of
-this household were aroused by a smothered cry
-from one of their number; the noise of a heavy
-body falling through the thatch having passed
-practically unnoticed. One of the party got up,
-lighted a torch, and was at once knocked down
-by a tiger springing upon him. In a moment
-every man had seized his heavy chopping-knife,
-and the whole party fell upon the man-eater,
-and, by the light of the fallen torch, hit so hard
-and straight that the beast suddenly sprang
-through the roof and disappeared. It was then,
-for the first time, discovered that this was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
-means by which the tiger had effected its entrance,
-and it left by the hole which it had made
-on entering the hut. The first man attacked was
-dead; the second was taken to hospital, and there
-died of his wounds.</p>
-
-<p>There was a fourth victim. I am not certain of
-the facts in that case, but he was severely injured
-and was sent to hospital, where, I believe, he recovered
-with the entire loss of his scalp. That
-filled up the cup of crime. Almost directly afterwards
-the murderer killed a bullock; the carcass
-was poisoned, and the next day the body of a
-tigress was found close by that of her victim. She
-was not very large, eight feet from nose to the tip
-of the tail; she was in splendid condition&mdash;teeth
-perfect and coat glossy&mdash;but her legs and feet
-were disproportionately large to the size of her
-body. On her head there was a deep clean cut,
-and one of her fore-legs was gashed, evidently by
-a Malay chopper. The most curious feature was
-that in certainly two out of the three cases the
-tigress, who always attacked by night, the only
-time when the huts were occupied, effected her
-entrance by springing on the roof and forcing her
-way through the thin palm thatching.</p>
-
-<p>There is another tiger story that I can tell you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
-in two words. It is curious, it sounds highly
-improbable; but, after hearing it on the spot from
-the two men concerned, I believe it.</p>
-
-<p>Quite recently it was the fruit season here, and,
-as is customary, two men were watching an
-orchard situated on the side of a main cart-road.
-The orchard was not enclosed in any way, and
-the fruit trees on one side actually overhung the
-road. The road was divided from the orchard
-by a rather wide but quite shallow ditch, that
-was always dry except during rain. Fifteen or
-twenty feet on the inside of this ditch was a tiny
-lean-to under the trees. The shelter consisted of
-a raised floor of split bamboos, covered by a palm-thatch
-roof, and a narrow sort of bench, also under
-the roof, but level with the floor. The bench was
-next to the high road.</p>
-
-<p>On the night of which I write, one man was
-sleeping on the bench, the other on the floor of the
-shelter. It was fine, with a young, early-setting
-moon; the scattered houses of a considerable village
-were all round, and there was nothing to fear.</p>
-
-<p>I said before that natives sleep soundly, and
-you must believe it, or you will never credit my
-story. About 1 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> the man sleeping on the
-floor of the shelter heard his friend shouting for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
-help. The voice came from the ditch by the road,
-and thither the man ran, shouting “What is the
-matter?” “Thieves!” promptly replied the other,
-but a moment’s conversation dispelled the idea born
-of his partially-awakened intelligence, and led them
-to the true interpretation of the riddle. The man
-in the ditch said then, and says now, that he was
-asleep, and knew nothing till he suddenly found
-himself thrown in the ditch, when he awoke and
-shouted, “Help, thieves!” But, all the same,
-when he tried to get up, and his friend helped
-him to the shelter and got a light, it was seen
-that he had a deep gash in the shoulder, which
-kept him in hospital for nearly three weeks. The
-light also showed the track of a tiger up to the
-bench, thence to the spot in the ditch where the
-man was lying, and straight across the high road
-into another orchard. One other thing it showed,
-and that was a patch of earth on the top of the
-wounded man’s head.</p>
-
-<p>The friend’s theory, shared by all the neighbours,
-is this. He points to the exact position
-in which the sleeper was lying, and how a post,
-from ground to roof, completely protected the back
-of his neck, so that the tiger could not seize him
-as he must have wished to do. Owing to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
-man’s position, and the way the post of the house
-and the rails of the bench (for it had a sort of
-back) ran, the tiger had to take a very awkward
-grip of his prey, catching him by the shoulder,
-and therefore carrying him with his head almost
-on the ground. Three or four steps, a second or
-two in time, would bring him to the shallow, dry
-ditch. It was so shallow that he would not jump
-it, but the in-and-out of a tiger with a kill would
-be the equivalent of a jump. In he would go easily
-enough, but the cut slope of the ditch and the
-slight rise into the road on the other side just
-saved the man’s life, for the top of his head hit
-against the edge of the ditch, and, awkwardly held
-as he was, knocked him out of the tiger’s mouth.</p>
-
-<p>Once dropped, the beast would not return to
-pick his prey up again, especially with one man
-shouting and the noise of the other coming to his
-assistance.</p>
-
-<p>The tiger is the scourge of the land, the crocodile
-of the water. They seem to be complement
-and supplement&mdash;each of the other: the “golden
-terror with the ebon bars,” the very embodiment
-of vitality, sinew, and muscle&mdash;of life that is savage
-and instant to strike&mdash;and the stony-eyed, spiky-tailed
-monster, outwardly a lifeless, motionless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
-log; but, once those pitiless jaws open, it is only
-a question of what tooth closes on the victim,
-whether it be “The last chance,” “Tear the
-shroud,” or “God save your soul.”</p>
-
-<p>I was starting for some hot springs in a remote
-spot, far in the interior, where I was certain of
-finding both elephant and rhinoceros, and the
-second night of my journey I spent at the junction
-of two large streams. Strolling back from a swim
-in the river, the local chief told me this pathetic
-story of fruitless heroism.</p>
-
-<p>The country hereabout is very sparsely peopled,
-only a few scattered huts breaking the monotony
-of the virgin forest, Malays and wild tribes the
-sole inhabitants. Every house is on the bank of
-a river, and beyond the produce of their rice-fields
-and orchards the people rely mainly on the water
-to supply them with food. The Malay is exceedingly
-cunning in devising various means for catching
-fish, but what he likes best is to go out in
-the evening, just at sundown, with a casting-net.
-Either he wades about by himself, or, with a boy
-to steer for him, he creeps along in a tiny dug-out,
-throws his net in the deep pools, and usually dives
-in after it, to free the meshes from the numerous
-snags on which they are sure to become entangled.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>One evening, a few days before my arrival, a
-Malay peasant was netting in the river accompanied
-by his son, a boy of twelve years old.
-They were wading, and, while the father moved
-along the edge of the deeper water under the
-bank, the boy walked in the shallows out in the
-stream. The short twilight passed, and the darkness
-of night was gathering over the waters of the
-wide river, when suddenly the father was startled
-by a cry from the boy, and, as he turned, he
-shuddered to hear the one word, “crocodile,”
-come in an agonised scream from the poor child.
-Dropping his net, the man swam and stumbled
-through the shallowing stream to the boy’s rescue.
-The child was down, but making frantic, though
-hopelessly ineffectual struggles to free himself
-from the grip of a crocodile which had him by
-the knee and thigh. The man was naked, except
-for a pair of short trousers; he had no weapon
-whatever, yet he threw himself, without hesitation,
-on the saurian, and with his hands alone began
-a struggle with the hideous reptile for the possession
-of the boy. The man was on the deep-water
-side of his foe, determined at all costs to prevent
-him from drowning the child; he had seized the
-creature from behind, so as to save himself from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
-its claws, and he tried to find, through darkness
-and water, the eye-sockets, by which alone
-he could hope to reach a vulnerable joint in
-its impenetrable harness. The father’s fury and
-despair guided his hands to the reptile’s eyes, and
-pressing his thumbs with all his might on these
-points of less resistance, he inflicted such pain
-that the creature gave a convulsive spring which
-threw the man backwards into the water. But
-the boy was released, and the saurian retired
-from the fight to sulk and blink over his defeat
-in some dark pool beneath the overhanging grasses
-of the river bank.</p>
-
-<p>The man carried the boy on shore, and thence
-to his home; but the poor child was so severely
-injured that, with no skilled surgeon to attend him,
-he died after three days of suffering.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a><span class="line-height">XXV</span><br />
-A ROSE AND A MOTH</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">WHEN I came again to this enchanted mountain,
-above the steaming plains, the first
-thing I did was to wander in the garden, amid the
-sweet-smelling blossoms and the bees and butterflies,
-and feast my eyes upon the ever-new loveliness
-of the changeless hills, the changeful sky
-and sea, that crowd the prospect with a thousand
-pictures of infinite beauty and inspiring grandeur.
-Then I saw a perfect rose, a rose of divine,
-deep colour&mdash;betwixt rubies and red wine&mdash;of the
-texture of finest velvet, and I gathered it. Once,
-long ago, at least so it seems, you gave me the
-fellow of this rose, plucked from the same tree.
-To me this flower will always suggest you, for,
-beyond the association, there are certain characteristics
-which you share with it, “dark and true
-and tender,” a rare sweetness of perfume and, in
-the heart of the rose, a slumbering passion, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
-like of which will some day wake you to the joy
-or the sorrow of life. I have treasured that
-sweet-scented blossom as long as it would stay
-with me; and now, when the petals are falling, I
-see that they are the counterpart of three rose-petals
-that had travelled from far over sea in a
-letter from you. They came the bearers of their
-own message, and now I seem to read it. Have
-I been very dense, or am I only fatuous now?
-Why can’t they speak, these things you have
-touched, or do they speak and I lack understanding?
-At least you sent them, and that is
-much from you. I am grateful, and if I am a
-prey to vain imaginings, you will forgive me, and
-understand that I did not, presumptuously and
-with indecent haste, set about the construction of
-a castle that, even now, has but my wish for its
-unsubstantial foundation.</p>
-
-<p>Last night, this morning rather, for it was between
-midnight and 1 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>, I was reading that
-very weird story about a phantom dog. I was
-deeply engrossed in the weirdest part of it, when
-I heard a buzzing noise, and in a dark corner
-behind the piano I saw a pair of very strange
-eyes approaching and receding. They were like
-small coals of fire, extraordinarily brilliant, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
-a pinkish flame, shedding light as well as containing
-it. I realised that they were the eyes of
-what looked like a very large moth, whose wings
-never ceased to move with marvellous rapidity.</p>
-
-<p>My chair was touching a table on which was a
-long vase of perfume-laden lilies, white lilies with
-yellow hearts, and by-and-by the moth flew to
-the flowers and stood, poised in air, before a lily-blossom.
-There were two very bright lights on
-the table, and the creature was within two feet
-of me, so I saw it plainly enough. The wings
-never for an instant stopped their vibration, and
-it was so rapid that I could not tell their form
-or colour. Once directly opposite the flower, the
-moth produced a delicate proboscis, which it inserted
-into the blossom, and then slowly pushed
-it right up the stamen, apparently in search of
-honey. When extended, this feeler was of quite
-abnormal length, at least two or three inches.
-What, however, surprised me was that, having
-withdrawn the probe (for that was what it looked
-like, a very fine steel or wire probe, such as
-dentists use), the instrument seemed to go back
-into the moth’s head, or wherever it came from,
-to be again extended to sound the depths of
-another blossom. There! it is past midnight,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
-and I hear the buzzing in the next room; here
-it comes; and I can examine the creature again.
-Alas! what a disappointment: this is a horned
-beetle. I thought it made over-much noise for my
-interesting friend. Now to continue my tale.</p>
-
-<p>I observed the moth had a large, dark, cigar-shaped
-body, with two longish <i>antennæ</i>, much
-stouter than the proboscis, and infinitely shorter.
-After pursuing its researches into the internal
-economy of several lilies, the thing flew into my
-face, and I ought to have caught and examined
-it, for then the feeler had disappeared; but I was
-surprised and rather alarmed, and I thought it
-would return to the flowers, and I could again
-watch, and, if necessary, catch it. It made, however,
-for a dark corner, and then buzzed about
-the wooden ceiling till it came to an iron hook
-from which hung a basket of ferns. I was carefully
-watching it all the time, and at the hook it
-disappeared, the buzzing ceased, and I concluded
-the creature had gone into a hole where it probably
-lived. To-day, in daylight, I examined the
-ceiling all round the hook, but there was no hole
-anywhere.</p>
-
-<p>Now is this the beginning of the dog business,
-and am I to be haunted by those fiery eyes, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
-the ceaseless clatter of those buzzing wings, and
-the long supple feeler that suggests the tortures
-of dentistry, and may probe deep into the recesses
-of my brain? It can’t, I think, be liver, for I
-have not yet learnt on which side of me that
-useful organ lies, and it is not drink. If it is
-only a moth of a rather uncommon kind, I suppose
-the fire in its eyes is to light it through the
-darkness; but I never before saw a moth going into
-raptures over flowers, and I can’t yet understand
-where it puts away that instrument of torture,
-unless it winds it round a bobbin, inside its head
-or its body, when not using it. It reminds me of
-a man I saw swallowing swords at the Aquarium.
-I was quite willing to admire and believe, until he
-took up a sword, the blade of which, by outside
-measurement, stretched from his mouth nearly to
-his knee, and swallowed it to the hilt at one gulp.
-Then I doubted; and the knotty sticks, umbrellas,
-and bayonets, which he afterwards disposed of
-with consummate ease, only increased my dislike
-for him. Still this proboscis is not an umbrella,
-and though it is about twice as long as the moth
-itself, and seems to come out of the end of its
-nose, I know so little of the internal arrangements
-of these creatures that I dare say this one can, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
-winding the instrument up like the spring of a
-watch, find room for it in its head. Why the
-thing won’t keep its wings still, and sit quietly
-on the petals of the flower while it thrusts that
-probe into the lily’s nerve-centres, I can’t imagine.
-Then one could examine it quietly, and not go to
-bed in fear of a deadly nightmare.</p>
-
-<p>Perhaps, after all, it is the result of reading
-about that “Thing too much,” that starving, murderous
-cur, at 1 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>; if it is, I had better go to
-bed now, for it has just struck the hour. Am I
-wrong about the message of the rose? You see
-how hard I try to do your bidding.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a><span class="line-height">XXVI</span><br />
-A LOVE-PHILTRE</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">THERE is, to me, something strangely attractive
-about Muhammadan prayers, especially
-those fixed for the hour of sunset. Time and
-again I have gone in with the Faithful, when the
-priest chants the <i>mu’azzin</i>, and I have sat by
-and been deeply impressed by the extraordinary
-reverence of the worshippers, while eye and ear
-have been captivated by the picturesque figures
-against their colourful background, the wonderfully
-musical intoning of the priest, and the not
-less harmonious responses. I do not pretend that
-this oft-repeated laudation of God’s name, this
-adoration by deep sonorous words and by every
-bodily attitude that can convey profound worship,
-would appeal to others as it does to me, even
-when I have to guess at the exact meaning of
-prayers whose general import needs no interpretation.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>The fifth hour of prayer follows closely on that
-fixed for sundown, and the interval is filled up
-by singing hymns of praise led by the priest, or
-by telling, and listening to, stories of olden times.
-Of Eastern places the Malay Peninsula had special
-attractions for me, and the few European travellers
-I met there, and who, like myself, were not bound
-to a programme, seemed equally fascinated. Most
-of them either prolonged their stay, or determined
-to return for a longer visit.</p>
-
-<p>It is difficult to say exactly wherein lies the
-spell, but there are beauties of scenery, the undoubted
-charm of the people (as distinguished
-from other Easterns), and the sense of mystery,
-of exclusiveness, of unspoilt nature and undescribed
-life, that arouse a new interest in the wearied
-children of the West. It is pleasant to get at
-something which is not to be found in any encyclopædia,
-and it is, above all, gratifying to obtain
-knowledge direct and at the fountain-head. This
-is why I often return, in thought, to the narrow
-land that lies between two storm-swept seas, itself
-more free from violent convulsions than almost any
-other. There, is perpetual summer; no volcanoes,
-no earthquakes, no cyclones. Even the violence of
-the monsoons, that lash the China Sea and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
-Indian Ocean into periodical fury, is largely spent
-before it reaches the unprotected seaboards of the
-richly dowered peninsula.</p>
-
-<p>Forgive this digression. I was sitting with the
-Faithful, and the first evening prayer was over.
-The brief twilight was fast deepening into night.
-The teacher excused himself, and the disciples
-pushed themselves across the floor till they could
-sit with their backs against the wall, leaving two
-rows of prayer-carpets to occupy the middle of
-the room. I had asked some question which, in a
-roundabout way, led to the telling of this tale.</p>
-
-<p>“I remember all about it,” said a man, sitting
-in the corner; “he was a stranger, a man of
-Sumatra, called Nakhôdah Ma’win, and he gave
-the girl a love-potion that drove her mad. He
-was a trader from Bâtu Bâra, and he had been
-selling the famous silks of his country in the
-villages up our river. Having exhausted his
-stock and collected his money, he embarked in
-his boat and made his way to the mouth of the
-river. Every boat going to sea had to take water
-on board, and there were two places where you
-could get it; one was at Teluk Bâtu on our coast,
-and the other was on an island hard by. But, in
-those days, the strait between the coast and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
-island was a favourite haunt of pirates, and
-Nakhôdah Ma’win made for Teluk Bâtu to get his
-supply of fresh water. He was in no hurry, a
-week or a month then made no difference; so he
-first called on the chief of the place, a man of
-importance, styled Toh Permâtang, and then he
-began to think about getting the water. Now it
-happened that Toh Permâtang had four daughters,
-and the youngest but one, a girl called Ra’ûnah,
-was very beautiful. When there is a girl of uncommon
-beauty in a place, people talk about it,
-and no doubt the Nakhôdah, idling about, heard the
-report and managed to get sight of Ra’ûnah. At
-once he fell in love with her, and set about thinking
-how he could win her, though she was already
-promised in marriage to another. These Sumatra
-people know other things besides making silks and
-daggers, and Nakhôdah Ma’win had a love-philtre
-of the most potent kind. It was made from the
-tears of the sea-woman whom we call <i>dûyong</i>. I
-know the creature. I have seen it. It is bigger
-than a man, and something like a porpoise. It
-comes out of the sea to eat grass, and, if you lie
-in wait for it, you can catch it and take the tears.
-Some people eat the flesh, it is red like the flesh
-of a buffalo; and the tears are red, and if you mix<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
-them with rice they make the rice red; at least,
-people say so. Anyhow, Nakhôdah Ma’win had the
-philtre, and he got an old woman to needle the way
-for him, as one always does, and she managed to
-mix the dûyong’s tears with Ra’ûnah’s rice, and,
-when the girl had eaten it, she was mad with love
-for the Nakhôdah. He stayed at Teluk Bâtu for a
-month, making excuses, but all to be with Ra’ûnah;
-and he saw her every day&mdash;with the help of the
-old woman, of course. You can’t go on like that for
-long without some one suspecting something, and,
-though I never heard for certain that there was anything
-really wrong, the girl was mad and reckless,
-and the Nakhôdah took fright. She was a chief’s
-daughter, while he was a trader and a stranger, and
-he knew they would kill him without an instant’s
-hesitation if Toh Permâtang so much as suspected
-what was going on. Therefore, having got the water
-on board, the Nakhôdah put to sea, saying nothing
-to any one. In a little place people talk of little
-things, and some one said, in the hearing of Ra’ûnah,
-that the Bâtu Bâra trader had sailed away. With
-a cry of agony the girl dashed from the house, her
-sisters after her; and seeing the boat sailing away,
-but still at no great distance, for there was little
-breeze, she rushed into the sea and made frantic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
-efforts to tear herself from the restraining arms
-of her sisters, who could barely prevent her from
-drowning herself. At the noise of all this uproar
-a number of men ran down to the shore, and,
-when they saw and heard what was the matter,
-they shouted to the Nakhôdah to put back again.
-He knew better than to thrust his neck into the
-noose, and, though they pursued his boat, they
-failed to catch him.</p>
-
-<p>“When Ra’ûnah saw that she could not get
-to her lover, and that each moment was carrying
-him farther away, she cried to him to return, and
-bursting into sobs, she bemoaned her abandonment,
-and told her tale of love in words of endearment
-and despair that passed into a song, which to this
-day is known as Ra’ûnah’s Lament.</p>
-
-<p>“Yes, I can remember the verses, and will
-repeat them if it does not weary you. The
-Nakhôdah never returned.</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">“‘Oh, shelter! my dear shelter! the palm stands in the plain.</div>
-<div class="verse1a">The fruit of the nutmeg falls to the ground and lies there.</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Thine is thy sister, small but comely,</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Thy diamond! the light of Permâtang Guntong.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! I hear the measured splash of the oars;</div>
-<div class="verse1a">I see the drift-weed caught in the rudder.</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Thou art above, my protecting shelter;</div>
-<div class="verse1a">I am beneath, in lowly worship.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! ’twas the hour of evening prayer when thou settest sail;</div>
-<div class="verse1a">The oars are straining and the boat reels along.</div>
-<div class="verse1a">God’s mercy is great, His promise sure;</div>
-<div class="verse1a">By His blessing we shall meet in the Garden of Paradise.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! the breeze is blowing in fitful gusts;</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Be careful not to pull the sail to the left.</div>
-<div class="verse1a">In three months and ten days,</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Thou wilt return, my brother!</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! make for the island, Sri Rama;</div>
-<div class="verse1a">For there are two marabouts and a fish-weir.</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Though thou leavest me, be not long absent;</div>
-<div class="verse1a">In two, at most in three, months, return again.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! the waters of the sea are calm,</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Yet do not hug the shore.</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Have no fear of my betrothed;</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Was not thy sword but lately sharpened?</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! thou camest to Teluk Bâtu,</div>
-<div class="verse1a">And the peace of my heart has gone.</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Satan delights in my undoing,</div>
-<div class="verse1a">For my heart cleaves to thine.</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! take good thought,</div>
-<div class="verse1a">The passions war with the soul.</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Do not waste the gold in thy hand,</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Lest scoffers have cause to mock thee.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1a">Oh, my Nakhôdah! when the mattress is spread, who will lie on it?</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Who shall be covered by the folded coverlet?</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Who will sit upon the embroidered mat,</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Or lean against the great round pillow?</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1a">Oh, my Nakhôdah! the feast is waiting, but who will eat it?</div>
-<div class="verse1a">The water is cool, but who will drink it?</div>
-<div class="verse1a">The napkin is there, whose mouth can it wipe?</div>
-<div class="verse1a">The sireh is ready, but who will use it?</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Thy Sister is cold, who will fondle her?</div>
-<div class="verse1a">Ah-hu! ah-hu! come death, deliver me.’</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>“And then she fell to weeping and moaning,
-struggling with her sisters, and trying to cast
-herself into the sea.</p>
-
-<p>“That is the tale of Ra’ûnah and Nakhôdah
-Ma’win, and every one knows it. Some tell it one
-way and some another, but that is how it came to
-me. The girl was mad, mad with love and regret
-for six months; and then her father married her
-to another man, and that cured her. I knew the
-man: he was a foreigner. She and two of her
-sisters died long ago, but the other is alive still.</p>
-
-<p>“How to get the dûyong’s tears? Oh, that
-is easy enough. You catch the sea-woman when
-she comes up the sand to eat the sweet grass on
-shore. I told you how to do it. You have to lie in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
-wait and she waddles up on two sort of fins that
-she uses like feet, helping with her tail. If she
-sees you, she tries to get back into the sea, but
-you stand between her and the water and so catch
-her. Then, if you want her tears, you make a
-palisade of sticks in the deeper water of the bay
-through which she came, and there you bind her
-in a sort of cage, at the surface of the water, so
-that she can’t move. It is like the thing they put
-elephants in when they are half-tamed. When
-she finds she is held fast there, and cannot get
-down into the deep water to her young, she weeps,
-and as the tears stream down her face you catch
-them, sweep them into a vessel, and you have the
-philtre.”</p>
-
-<p>There was a pause. Then a man said, “I hear
-they sell dûyong’s tears in Penang.”</p>
-
-<p>The teller of the story at once replied, “Very
-likely, I have heard it too; but it is probably only
-some make-believe stuff. You must try it before
-you buy it.”</p>
-
-<p>“How do you do that?”</p>
-
-<p>“Easily. Rub some of the philtre on a
-chicken’s beak; if it is really potent, the chicken
-will follow you wherever you go!”</p>
-
-<p>“Have you seen that yourself?”</p>
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p>
-<p>“No. I want no love-philtres. I manage
-well enough without them. I don’t care to play
-with a thing you can’t control. I might get into
-trouble, like Nakhôdah Ma’win. It is easy enough
-to give the potion, but I never heard what you
-do to stop it. Anyhow, if I wanted to buy the
-stuff, I should first try it on a chicken, and if it
-had no effect I should not believe in it, for every
-one knows that the story of Ra’ûnah and Ma’win
-is true, or they would not sing about it to this
-day. Hark! the teacher is calling to prayer.”</p>
-
-<p>A number of boys’ high-pitched voices were
-chanting&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="bihak-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“<i>Bihak-illah, rizal-l’ Allah!</i></div>
-<div class="verse1"><i>A’ain-nu na, bi-aun illah!</i>”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>and, across their chorus, came the sonorous, far-reaching
-tones of the priest&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="bihak-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“<i>Allah-hu akbar!</i></div>
-<div class="verse1"><i>Allah-hu akbar!</i></div>
-<div class="verse1"><i>Ashâd-du Allah, illah-ha il-Allah.</i>”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>When the little group of men had fallen into
-their places, and the only sound in the building
-was the musical intoning of the half-whispered
-prayers, I could not help musing on the extraordinarily
-happy expression, “he found an old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
-woman to <em>needle</em> the way for him.” Nothing
-could be more delightful than the symbol of the
-small, insinuating, finely tempered, horribly sharp
-bit of steel that goes so easily through things,
-and leaves no trace of its passage. And then
-there is nearly always a thread behind it, and
-that remains when the needle has gone!</p>
-
-<p>I have translated Ra’ûnah’s lament for you
-absolutely literally, except that the word which
-occurs so often, and which I have rendered
-“shelter,” means “umbrella.” The umbrella here,
-as in other countries, is an emblem of the highest
-distinction: a shelter from sun and rain, a shield
-and protection, “the shadow of a great rock in
-a dry land.” A yellow umbrella is a sign and
-token of sovereignty.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a><span class="line-height">XXVII</span><br />
-MOONSTRUCK</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">ONCE I suggested to you that the greatest
-facts of life are, in English, expressed by
-the smallest words, and, with that dainty, hesitating
-manner that is so captivating, you almost
-consented to agree. Look, for instance, at these
-words: God, sin, good, bad, day, night, sun,
-moon, light, dark, heat, cold, earth, sky, sea,
-world, peace, war, joy, pain, eat, drink, sleep,
-love, hate, birth, death. They cover a good deal
-of ground, and you can easily add to them. A
-philologist would tell you why the most profound
-conceptions, the most important abstract facts,
-are denoted by simple words, but the explanation
-might not interest you. The circle of my
-acquaintances does not include a philologist; my
-nearest approach to such dissipation is a friend
-who pretends to be a lexicographer. Now look
-at that word, it is long enough in all conscience,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
-but the idea which it represents only makes one
-tired.</p>
-
-<p>Whilst a good reason could be found for expressing
-original principles in monosyllables, I
-wonder if any one can say why that fantastic
-product of this century, the (so-called) educated
-Indian, revels in the use and misuse of all the
-longest words he can find to convey his, sometimes
-grotesque, but nearly always commonplace,
-thoughts, when he tries to put them in English.
-Curiously enough, this transcendental language,
-which is the peculiar pride of the Indian babu,
-leaves on the mind of the listener no concrete
-idea, no definite conception of what the speaker
-wants to say; but it does invariably conjure up a
-figure typical of the class which employs this barbarous
-tongue as a high-sounding medium in which
-to disguise its shallow thoughts. And then one
-feels sorry for the poor overthrown words, the
-maimed quotations, and the slaughtered sentences,
-so that one realises how happy is that description
-which speaks of the English conversation of East
-Indians as a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mêlée</i>, wherein the words lie about
-“like dead men on a battle-field.” There must
-be something in the Indian’s character to account
-for this; and, as a great stream of words pours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
-from the narrow channel of his mind, and gives
-expression to his turgid thoughts in an avalanche
-of sound, so you will see the same extravagance
-of outward display in the manner of his life, in
-his strange garments, his sham jewellery, and his
-pitiful and disastrous attempts to ape what he
-thinks is the riotous “fastness” of the quite white
-man. Behind this outward seeming, there is also,
-in many cases, nothing, and sometimes even less
-than that. Misapplied English education has a
-good deal to answer for, and, if the babu has a
-soul, it may demand a reckoning from those who
-gave it a speech in which to make known the
-impossible aspirations of a class that is as rich
-in wordy agitation as it is poor in the spirit and
-physique of a ruling race. Many babus cannot
-quench revolt. Perhaps the babu is the “thing
-too much” in India; they could do without him.
-And yet he and education, combined, make a growing
-danger that may yet have to be counted with.
-But enough of the babu; I cannot think how he
-got into my letter.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>My visit to this strange and beautiful country
-is over. For the last time a steamer is hurrying
-me down one of those great waterways which,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
-until recent times, have been the only means of
-getting into this mysterious land. The dying day
-supplied a feast of colour, of momentarily changing
-pictures that, however familiar, seem always new,
-always resplendent with amazing lights, delicate
-half-tints, and soft shadows, such as only a
-moisture-charged atmosphere and a fiery sun can
-produce. Does the thought of such an evening
-ever come back to you, or are you trying to
-accustom yourself to the greys and neutral tints
-of the life of resignation? Ah! The moon is
-just rising; the scene is quite enchanting, and I
-must try to tell you exactly what I see.</p>
-
-<p>The river is six or seven hundred yards wide.
-It is high tide, and, to the eye, the picture has but
-three component parts&mdash;sky, wood, and water.
-Sky and water are divided by a belt of wood
-which borders the river. The continuous belt of
-trees, of varying height, growing from out the
-river and up the bank, makes a deeply indented
-line of vegetation. This belt is unbroken, but
-it rises into plumes and graceful fronds, where
-some loftier palm or giant jungle-tree towers above
-its neighbours, and all its foliage shows clear as
-an etching against the grey-blue background.
-Again, the belt dips and leaves broken spaces of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
-sky, where the foliage suddenly dwarfs. The sky
-is dark grey just above the trees, but the grey
-changes to blue as the eye travels upward, and
-overhead the zenith is sapphire, cloudless sapphire
-spangled with stars. The water is like burnished
-gun-metal, and, under the shore, there is a shadow
-as dark and wide as the line of trees which throws
-it. The moon, a perfect circle of brilliant light,
-not silver nor gold, but the colour produced by
-silvering over a golden ground, has just risen, and
-rides a short space above the trees. In the deepest
-shadow, exactly where water and land meet, there
-is a narrow streak of amazingly bright light; then
-a space of darkness, covered by the shadow of the
-trees, and then a veritable column of gold, the
-width of the moon, and the length of the moon’s
-distance above the trees. The column is not still,
-it is moved by the shimmer of the water, and it
-dazzles the eyes. The effect is marvellous: this
-intense brilliance as of molten gold, this pillar of
-light with quivering but clearly-defined edges, playing
-on a mirror of dark burnished steel. Then
-that weird glint of yellow flame, appearing and
-disappearing, in the very centre of the blackest
-shadow, and, above all, the Queen of Night moves
-through the heavens in superb consciousness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
-her own transcendent beauty, calmly satisfied to
-recognise that the sapphire firmament, and all the
-world of stars, are but the background and the
-foils to her surpassing loveliness.</p>
-
-<p>As the moon rises, the reflection in the river
-lengthens, widens, breaks into ripples of amber,
-and shoots out arrows of paler light. Soon there
-is a broad pathway of glittering wavelets, which
-opens out into a great silvery road, and the light
-of the risen moon dispels the grey fog that hung
-over the belt of jungle, and tinges with silver the
-few fleecy clouds that emphasise the blueness of
-their background. Then a dark curtain gradually
-spreads itself across the sky, dims the moonlight,
-veils the stars, and throws a spell over the river,
-hiding its luminous highway, and casting upon
-the water the reflection of its own spectre-like
-form.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>The fog clung to the river, but when we reached
-the sea the moon reigned alone, paling the stars
-and filling the air with a flood of delicious light.
-I was leaning over the side of the ship, wondering
-where I could ever see such a sight again, when
-a man of the country came and stood by me. I
-said something to him of the beauty of the night,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
-and he answered, “Yes, there are flowers in the
-moon.”</p>
-
-<p>I asked him what he meant, and this is what
-he told me:&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>“It was a night like this, and I was going with
-my mother, my wife, and child to a neighbouring
-island to visit some relatives. We were travelling
-by a small steamer, and in the early hours of the
-morning were coasting along the shore of the
-island. The moon was then setting, but it was
-extraordinarily brilliant, and I tried to find a spot
-in the shadow where I could sleep. As I settled
-myself comfortably, I noticed that my mother was
-standing, looking over the bulwark. It might have
-been an hour later when I awoke, and, as we
-were near the port, I went to rouse my people
-and collect my luggage. I could not find my
-mother anywhere. The rest of my party and all
-the other passengers were asleep till I roused them,
-and no one had seen or heard anything unusual.
-We all of us searched the ship in every direction,
-but without success, and the only conclusion was
-that the poor old lady had somehow fallen overboard.
-By this time the vessel had reached the
-anchorage, and there was nothing to be done but
-to go ashore. I took my family to the house of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
-our friends, some miles from the landing-place, and
-then wondered what to do next. The village we
-had come to was on the shore, and not very far
-from the place where I had last seen my mother
-on board the ship. I determined, therefore, to
-drive to a spot as nearly opposite that place as I
-could get, and then to walk along the beach, and
-ask at the huts of the Chinese fishermen whether
-they had seen a body in the water. The first two
-or three cottages I came to were empty, but I
-made my way to a solitary hut which I saw
-standing in the centre of a tiny bay. In that
-hut, to my surprise and great joy, I found my
-mother and two Chinese fishermen. The men
-told me that they had gone out before daylight
-to set their nets, and in the light of the moon,
-then almost on the horizon, they saw a woman,
-as they described it, “standing in the water,” so
-that, though her head only was visible, she seemed
-to be upright, and they imagined she must be supported
-somehow, or resting her feet on an old
-fishing stake, for the water was fifteen or twenty
-feet deep there. She did not cry out or seem
-frightened, only rather dazed. They rowed to
-the spot and pulled her into the boat, and just
-then the moon sank out of sight. The old lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
-had lost her skirt, but otherwise seemed little the
-worse, and, as far as the fishermen could see, she
-was not resting on any support. When I asked
-her how she got into the sea, she said she could
-not tell, but she was looking at the moon, and
-she saw such lovely flowers in it that she felt she
-must try to get to them. Then she found herself
-in the water, but all the time she kept looking at
-the flowers till the fishermen pulled her into their
-boat and brought her on shore. I took her to
-the house where we were staying, and I have
-left her in the island ever since, because I dare
-not let her travel by sea again.”</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXVIII" id="XXVIII"></a><span class="line-height">XXVIII</span><br />
-THE “DEVI”</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">I AM in Agra. The Japanese say that if you
-have not been to Nikko you cannot say <em>kekko</em>.
-That is an insular conceit, meant, no doubt,
-originally for Japan and the Japanese only; but
-national pride&mdash;speaking as the frog spoke who
-lived under half a coconut-shell, and thought
-the limits of his vision comprised the universe&mdash;now
-declares that the Nikko temples are incomparable.
-I cannot claim to have seen all the
-great buildings in the world, but I have visited
-some of the most famous, and I say with confidence
-that the Tâj at Agra is the most perfect
-triumph of the architect’s and builder’s skill in
-existence. I visited this tomb first by daylight,
-and it is difficult to give you any idea of the
-extraordinary effect the first sight of it produced
-on me. I drove in a wretched two-horse gharry,
-along a dusty and uninteresting road, until the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>
-rickety vehicle was pulled up with a jerk in
-front of a great red stone portal, and I got out.
-Through that lofty Gothic arch, and framed
-by it, appeared a vision of white loveliness, an
-amazing structure of dazzling marble, shooting
-towers and minarets into a clear, blue, cloudless
-sky.</p>
-
-<p>The Tâj&mdash;the Crown of Kings&mdash;stands on a
-raised terrace; it is a considerable distance from
-the gate, and the eye is led to it by a wide,
-straight path, bisecting a garden, which, at the
-first glance, seems a mass of dark green foliage.
-The garden is extensive, and shut in by a high
-wall. Just outside this wall, to right and left of
-the Tâj, are a palace and a mosque of deep red
-sandstone. More than that you cannot see, but
-the river Jumna flows under the rear wall of the
-raised terrace on which the Tâj stands.</p>
-
-<p>The marble monument, which contains the tombs
-of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal, is an enormous
-building, and represents seventeen years’ work of
-a force of twenty thousand men. But the design
-is so faultless, the proportions so perfect, the whole
-effect so exquisitely graceful, that, until you are
-close to the wide steps leading up to the terrace,
-and realise that men standing by the walls look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
-almost like flies, you are not struck by any sense
-of extraordinary size.</p>
-
-<p>The building itself is superb. The conception is
-absolutely unique, and the harmony of every part
-a crowning triumph; the splendour of material, the
-purity of that dazzling, unbroken whiteness&mdash;these
-are a joy and a delight.</p>
-
-<p>But the surroundings, the setting in which this
-jewel stands, are so marvellously well calculated
-to exactly frame the picture, that the whole scene
-seems a vision, unearthly in its beauty. When
-once that sensation passes, when one has gazed,
-and blinked, and rubbed one’s eyes, and compassed
-the reality of it all, one is profoundly impressed
-by the genius that could raise such a heavenly
-edifice, and one is proudly thankful to have lived
-that hour of life, to have felt the soul stir, and to
-carry away an imperishable memory of one of the
-noblest of human achievements.</p>
-
-<p>The main entrance is by a great arched door,
-bordered by Arabic characters in black marble
-let into the white wall. Pierced marble windows
-admit a dim and softened light to a lofty chamber.
-In the comparative gloom one slowly discerns a
-marble wall surrounding the centre space. The
-wall is inlaid with precious stones&mdash;jasper and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
-onyx, sardius and topaz, amethyst, chrysobel,
-and sapphire, set in floral designs. Within this
-enclosure are the white marble tombs of Shah
-Jahan and his wife.</p>
-
-<p>Last night the moon was full, and, an hour
-before midnight, I went and sat in that dark stone
-palace, and revelled in the beauty of a spectacle
-that cannot be equalled on earth. It is said that
-the palace was built for Royal ladies, and was
-specially designed to give them the most perfect
-view of the Tâj. There is an open stone verandah,
-over which I leaned and gazed in ecstasy at the
-scene. The dark trees of the garden spread from
-under the walls of the palace over a wide space
-of ground, and from them rose the incomparable
-Tâj; minarets, walls, and windows, blazing with
-silver sheen under the direct rays of the moon,
-softened in the half shadows, darkening to deep
-tones of grey on the river face. Slightly to the
-left of the Tâj, and as far beyond it as the Tâj
-was from me, stood the mosque, a splendid foil
-to the glittering radiance of the tomb. In the
-shadow, cast by the great mass of marble, rippled
-the shallow waters of the wide river. The rear
-walls of the building are on the edge of the bank,
-and beyond the Tâj the river stretches away in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
-a silver ribbon towards the city. In a line to the
-right of the Tâj, and distant about three miles,
-rises a dark hill, crowned by the Palace and
-Citadel of Agra. The enclosing walls and battlements,
-built of the same red sandstone, were
-scarcely distinguishable from the hill; but the
-moonlight caught the white marble buildings
-within, and innumerable lights twinkled from walls
-and windows.</p>
-
-<p>I must have been a long time in my solitude,
-intoxicated by the wonder of the night and the
-splendour of the scene, when I heard the strains
-of a violin, played with extraordinary skill. The
-music seemed familiar (for I had heard the songs
-of many Eastern lands), and, moreover, I became
-certain that the instrument was being played somewhere
-in the great building wherein I chanced
-to be. The sounds ceased, but presently the
-musician began a Persian dance which I recognised;
-and as the wild air leaped from the strings
-in quickening waves of sound, the devilry of the
-mad nautch seemed to possess me, and it became
-impossible not to beat time to the rhythm of the
-music. Again there was silence, and I wondered
-greatly who could make a violin throb with such
-feeling, and where the minstrel could be. Whilst<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
-still absorbed by these thoughts, and anxiously
-listening for the faintest sound, my ear caught
-the strains of an Arab love-song that I knew
-well enough, but had never heard played like
-this before, nor yet under such circumstances.
-The air was in the minor key, and was, I knew,
-played only on three strings, but it seemed to
-wail and shiver from the instrument out into the
-night, through the trees, across the bright lights
-and deep shadows, to mingle with the crooning of
-the river, to fill the atmosphere and soar towards
-the empyrean. It was like the song of a lark at
-the dawn of a day in spring. The power of the
-musician was such that Tâj and city, mosque and
-river and garden faded away, and I distinctly saw
-a narrow street in an Arab town. Flat-roofed
-buildings, pierced by a few small iron-barred windows,
-lined either side of a street, which rose in
-a gentle ascent till it twisted out of sight round
-a distant corner. A brilliant moon, shining in a
-cloudless sky, threw into white light the roofs on
-one side the street. But the houses on the other
-side cast a deep shadow, and in that shadow a
-man, with his back to me, was standing playing
-the three-stringed Arab <i>gambus</i>, and singing&mdash;singing
-as though for his life, in a low, sweet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
-voice&mdash;up to a barred window whence issued a
-ray of yellow light. I thought I could even
-understand the words of the passionate <i>serenata</i>,
-though I know almost as little of the Arabic as
-of the Patagonian tongue. It was the music, the
-angelic skill of the violinist, which had bewitched
-me, and I stood enthralled by that soul-entrancing
-melody.</p>
-
-<p>Before you write me down an emotional ass,
-remember where I was, and try to imagine
-what I saw, what I heard. I cannot expect to
-impress you with any true idea of either scene
-or song.</p>
-
-<p>While those yearning, thrilling, imploring waves
-of sound cried to the exquisite beauty of the
-night, I was spell-bound. But, in the silence
-that followed, I reasoned that the music came
-from above me, probably from the roof, and that
-I might well seek the author of it. I passed
-through a maze of passages, where light and
-shadow alternated, and, as I groped about to find
-a staircase, I was guided to my object by the
-strains of the violin, and a gleam of light which,
-striking through a narrow window, disclosed a
-winding stair.</p>
-
-<p>As I expected, the stairs led up to the roof, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
-I was not a little surprised by what I saw there.
-The head of the staircase was in a corner of the
-great flat space forming the roof, and a parapet,
-about thirty inches high, completely enclosed it,
-except for a flight of outside steps leading down
-to another and lower roof. The cement floor and
-surrounding parapet were so brilliantly lighted by
-the moon, that every inch unshadowed was as
-bright as day. Four people occupied the space,
-and my eye was first caught by a white-robed,
-dark-complexioned boy, who, leaning against the
-parapet, played a violin with closed eyes, his face
-set in an expression of dreamy rapture. At a
-little distance from him, but nearer to me, were
-a woman and two girls. The woman sat upon a
-quantity of silks spread over the parapet, while
-she leaned against a pile of cushions placed against
-a round stone column. I should say she was
-hardly twenty. Her skin was very fair, her complexion
-wonderfully clear, her hair black and abundant,
-her eyes large, dark, and liquid, while long
-curling lashes threw a shadow far down her cheeks.
-The eyebrows were strongly marked and slightly
-arched, like the artificial spur of a game-cock.
-Her nose was straight and rather small; her
-scarlet lips made a perfect Cupid’s bow, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
-upper lip was so short that it disclosed teeth of
-extreme regularity with a whiteness and sheen
-as of pearls. The chin was round, the face oval;
-the ears, hands, and feet very small, but beautifully
-formed. This woman, or girl, was clothed
-in silk skirts of a dull red, heavy with gold thread;
-she wore a jacket of white satin, embroidered with
-small red and gold flowers, and fastened by three
-diamond brooches. On her head, falling in graceful
-folds over her shoulders, was a dark gossamer
-veil, studded with tiny gold stars, and bordered
-by a wide hem of shining gold lace. In one hand
-she listlessly held a long spray of stephanotis.
-She seemed absorbed by the music, and the wonder
-of that soft white light, which so enhanced her
-loveliness that I stared in wide-eyed admiration,
-forgetful of Eastern customs, of politeness, and all
-else, save only that fascinating figure. At her
-feet, on the roof, sat two girls, attendants, both
-clad in bright-coloured silk garments, and both wearing
-gold-embroidered gossamer veils.</p>
-
-<p>Not one of the group seemed to notice my
-presence, and I heard no words exchanged.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>It was long past midnight; the violinist had
-excelled himself in pulse-stirring dances, in passionate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
-love-songs and laments that sounded like
-the sobbing of despairing hearts. I had gradually
-moved forward, and was leaning over the parapet
-looking towards Agra, and feeling that no moment
-of a night like this could be missed or forgotten,
-when suddenly I heard a sharp cry, half of surprise,
-half of dread. I turned and saw my four
-companions all gazing with startled eyes at something
-beyond me, out past the parapet, towards the
-glistening river. I turned again, and I now saw
-a white marble bridge stretching in a single graceful
-arch&mdash;an arch like a strung bow&mdash;springing
-from the centre of the back wall of the Tâj across
-the river, till it rested on the farther bank. There
-rose another Tâj! the exact duplicate of the one
-standing on the hither side of the stream, as white,
-as graceful, as perfect in all respects as its fellow.</p>
-
-<p>The roadway of the bridge was enclosed in a
-sort of long gallery, the sides of marble fretwork,
-with windows at intervals opening on to the river.
-The roof was formed of marble slabs. One could
-see the shining water through the perforated walls
-of the gallery; occasionally, where two opposite
-windows were open, there were glimpses of the
-distant lights, the palace, and the hill. The beautiful
-flat arch of that bridge, its graceful lines, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
-the airy lightness of the structure are unforgetable.
-Think of that bridge, that pure white bow of
-glistening stone, spanning the river’s width, and
-tying Tâj to Tâj!</p>
-
-<p>As I feasted my eyes, in wonder and admiration,
-on this alluring vision, a mist rose from the
-river, gathered volume and density, shut out the
-distance, enveloped bridge and river, bank and
-building, and hung in a thick white cloud, the
-ends creeping rapidly to right and left across the
-level plain. I looked upward; the moon was
-slowly sinking towards the west; it had a faint
-bluish tinge, a common effect at very late hours
-of the night, when it seems to shine with even
-greater brilliance.</p>
-
-<p>I turned to look for my companions, but found
-I was alone. There was not a sign of lady, or
-maid, or minstrel. They had disappeared, vanished
-without a sound; and, of their late presence, there
-was no sign&mdash;except the spray of stephanotis. It
-was strange, I thought, as I walked to the spot
-where the flower lay and picked it up, but one
-cannot be astonished at anything in the East.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>I felt a chill puff of wind, and I glanced back
-towards Agra. The mist was moving, rising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
-rapidly in wisps; it was thin and transparent, and
-I could indistinctly see the background through
-it. The marble bridge, the other Tâj&mdash;that second
-tomb Shah Jahan <em>meant</em> to build&mdash;were gone.
-Clearly my imagination, a mirage, or the mist
-had played me a trick. And then the girl, the
-violinist: were they also the phantoms of my
-brain? Surely that was impossible. Why, I
-can see the girl now; I could tell you every detail
-of her face, her figure, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pose</i>, and dress. The
-violinist could have been no spirit; though he
-played like an angel, his music was earthly, and
-perfectly familiar to me.</p>
-
-<p>I gave it up and went away, wondering; but
-I took the stephanotis, and it stands in front of
-me now in a tiny vase of water.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>To-day, in daylight, when the sun was high, and
-I had eaten and bandied commonplaces, and knew
-that I was sane, I went to find the old creature
-who keeps the gate of the garden of the Tâj. I
-asked him who was in the Red Palace late last
-night, and he said that not having been there himself
-he could not tell; moreover, that he did not
-turn night into day, but slept, like other respectable
-people. I felt snubbed but still curious, so I said&mdash;</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>“The boy who plays the violin, who is he?”</p>
-
-<p>“What boy? Where? How should I know?”
-he said, but he began to look rather startled.</p>
-
-<p>“On the roof of the Red Palace, over there,”
-I replied, pointing to the corner of the building
-visible from where we stood. “And the lady, the
-young lady in the beautiful clothes, who is she?”</p>
-
-<p>But the old man had started, and at mention
-of the girl he dropped the stick on which he
-leaned; and as he slowly and painfully recovered
-himself from the effort of picking it up, I heard
-him say, in an awe-struck whisper, “The <i>Devi!</i>”</p>
-
-<p>My attempts to extract anything further from
-this old fossil were futile. He hobbled off to his
-den, muttering to himself, and evidently anxious
-to be rid of my society.</p>
-
-<p>After this rebuff I hesitate to make further
-inquiries from others, because I know no one
-here; because the white people never concern
-themselves with native matters, and are mainly
-interested in gossip; and because I am conscious
-that my story invites doubt, and must rest on my
-word alone. It is not the personal ridicule I am
-afraid of, but I don’t like the idea of jest at the
-expense of the girl whom I saw on that parapet,
-the <i>Devi</i> whose stephanotis perfumes my room.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXIX" id="XXIX"></a><span class="line-height">XXIX</span><br />
-THE DEATH-CHAIN</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">WHEN last I wrote and told you about the
-<i>Devi</i>, I had a vague hope that my stephanotis
-would, indirectly, prove that the lovely girl,
-from whose hand it had fallen, gathered it in some
-heavenly garden, beyond mortal ken, where Death
-and Time are unknown.</p>
-
-<p>I did not like to say so, but I meant to keep the
-flower, and, if I had seen it fade and die, I should
-have been disappointed, perhaps even rather surprised.
-You will say such fantastic ideas can only
-come to people whose minds have been warped by
-contact with Oriental mysticism; and, while you
-are probably right, I reply that when you have a
-Tâj, when you have an atmosphere of sunshine unsoiled
-by coal-smoke, when, in fine, any really big
-miracle is wrought in your Western world, then <em>you</em>
-may see a <i>Devi</i> sitting in the moonlight, <em>you</em> may
-hear angelic music played by a boy unknown to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
-critics, and <em>you</em> may even weave romances round
-a spray of stephanotis.</p>
-
-<p>I guarded my flower carefully, and, for five days,
-I could not see that it showed any sign of fading.
-True I kept it in water, even when I was travelling;
-and, if it came from a heavenly garden, I
-dare say that care was altogether needless; but we
-are creatures of habit, and my Faith was not very
-robust, and leaned somewhat heavily on Hope. I
-had to leave Agra and journey through Rajputana.
-On the fifth day from that night, which I had
-almost said “was worth, of other nights, a hundred
-thousand million years,” I was in Jaipur, and
-from there I visited the glorious Palace of Amber.
-I restrain myself with difficulty from going into
-raptures over that ancient castle, which, for so
-many centuries, has stood on that distant hillside
-and watched its many masters come and go, while
-the ladies loved, and gossiped, and hated, in the
-Hall of a Thousand Delights, and the horsemen
-and spearmen went down from the gates to the
-dusty road, the seething plains, whence many of
-them never returned.</p>
-
-<p>I will spare you. You are long-suffering, but
-there must be a limit even to your patience. I
-know that <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">qui s’excuse s’accuse</i>, and I offer no excuse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
-for trying to draw for you the pictures that are
-only seen beyond beaten tracks. Ruskin has said,
-“The greatest thing the human soul ever does in
-this world is to <em>see</em> something, and tell what it <em>saw</em>
-in a plain way. Hundreds of people can talk for
-one who can think, but thousands can think for
-one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy,
-and religion all in one.” If thousands can
-think for one who can see, surely there must be
-still thousands who see and cannot tell “in a plain
-way” what they saw. There are millions whose
-eyes are to them only what animals’ eyes are&mdash;aids
-to the gratification of appetite. There are
-thousands more who do see and appreciate, yet
-cannot put what they have seen into words; cannot
-communicate their own feelings, cannot help another
-to share, even a little, in the joy that has come to
-them through greater opportunities. I have often
-wondered why people who have seen the most
-interesting places on earth, have been present perhaps
-on memorable occasions, and have met the
-most famous people of their time, showed, in their
-conversation, no sign of these advantages, and, if
-questioned, could only give the most disappointing,
-uninteresting description of any personal experiences.
-Then there are the very few who have seen, and can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
-help others to see again, through their eyes; but
-they seldom do it, because they have found that,
-with rare exceptions, the relation of their experiences
-is but little appreciated. Ruskin himself is
-one of the few who can see and can describe,
-but others may hesitate to string the plain words,
-knowing how little worthy they will be of what
-the eyes have seen.</p>
-
-<p>Some of this I may have been thinking, as I
-slowly made my way back to Jaipur; but, when I
-reached the house of my sojourn, almost the first
-thing I noticed was that the tiny vase which had
-carried my spray of stephanotis was empty of all
-but water. Of course I sent for everybody, and
-made minute inquiries, and, of course, every one
-had seen the flower, and no one had touched it,
-and I was left to draw any conclusion I pleased.</p>
-
-<p>I drew none. There are no data on which to
-come to a conclusion; but the facts remind me of
-a story I will tell you.</p>
-
-<p>I have an Italian friend. He is a very uncommon
-type, and worthy of far more attention
-than I will give him now, because, for the moment,
-I am concerned rather with his story than with
-him. He was in Egypt, and whilst there he discovered
-a buried city. Carefully and wisely he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
-kept his knowledge to himself, till, owing to an
-absence of some months, he lost all trace of the
-place, and never found it again. A sand-storm had
-buried it once more.</p>
-
-<p>The original discovery was purely the result of
-accident, and his first researches had to be conducted
-in secrecy, without assistance, otherwise
-the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">trouvaille</i> would have become public property.
-His explorations led him to a building that he
-believed was a tomb; and having, by laborious
-efforts, gained an entrance, he had the satisfaction
-of proving that his surmise was correct, and also
-the reward of finding in the chamber a single sarcophagus,
-containing a mummified girl, or woman, in
-wonderful preservation. He knew the common
-superstition that disaster would befall any one who
-disturbed a mummy; but he thought little of the
-tale, and did not mean to be deterred from removing
-the body when he should have the means to do so.
-Meanwhile he had to be content with what he could
-carry, and that consisted of a few coins, and a
-necklace which he unfastened from the lady’s poor
-shrivelled neck, or rather from the cere-cloths in
-which it was swathed.</p>
-
-<p>Perhaps you have never seen one of these mummy
-necklaces; they are rather curious, and, from my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
-friend’s account of it, the one he found nearly resembled
-others which I have seen myself. The
-material seemed to be some kind of pottery, or
-opaque glass made into rough beads, and short
-lengths of small glazed piping, strung together in a
-quaint pattern. The prevailing colour was a sort
-of turquoise with an extra dash of green, and every
-bit of piping was so tinted; but, alternately with
-these blue lengths, were strung groups of round
-beads, in bunches of two to six or eight, or even
-more. By far the majority of the beads were
-turquoise-blue, but some were yellow, others brown,
-and a few almost black, and the arrangement was
-such that it could easily have been made to represent
-a string of words. The effect of the chain was
-<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bizarre</i> but attractive, and it somewhat resembled
-the rosaries worn by devout Arabs. The intrinsic
-worth of the thing was <i>nil</i>, but sometimes one has
-a friend who will accept and value <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">un rien</i> like this,
-for the sake of the giver, when jewels would be
-declined. My Italian had such a friend, and the
-bauble found a new home on her neck.</p>
-
-<p>Not long after she had begun to wear the quaint
-little chain which had lain for so many centuries
-round the throat of the dead Egyptian, its new
-owner was distressed and alarmed by a persistent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
-form of nightmare, which gradually induced a feeling
-that she was haunted by the wraith of a dark-skinned
-girl, of a type of feature unlike any known
-to her, but clad in raiment such as she fancied
-had been worn by Egyptians in the days of the
-Pharaohs. The apparition was always clothed in
-the same manner, and though she wore a number
-of strangely fashioned ornaments, her neck was
-left completely bare. The girl seemed to be ever
-present in her dreams, and her face always wore a
-look of extreme distress, as of one who grieved for
-the loss of some dearly beloved friend or possession.
-The curious part of it was, that the dream-girl
-seemed always to come to the sleeper as to one
-from whom she could get relief; and while, in her
-earlier appearances, she had the expression and
-the manner of a supplicant, the dreamer fancied
-that latterly there had been a change, and the dark
-face looked both agonised and threatening.</p>
-
-<p>These visitations, which could not be ascribed
-to any reasonable cause, had so got on the lady’s
-nerves that she had gone for change to a villa on
-the coast of Normandy. The change of scene
-brought no relief. The haunting form of the
-Egyptian girl, though not a nightly visitor, was
-so constantly present, that the dread of seeing her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
-deprived sleep of all power of giving rest, and the
-poor lady was not only becoming seriously ill, but
-she was so affected by her uncanny infliction, that
-she even sometimes imagined she caught glimpses
-of her tormentor when she herself was wide awake.</p>
-
-<p>One afternoon, the lady was lying in a darkened
-room, the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">persiennes</i> closed to keep out the hot
-and penetrating rays of a summer sun. She felt
-very weary and despondent, the result of many
-broken nights and the prolonged strain on her
-nerves, and, though she held a book in her hand
-she was all the time wondering how much longer
-she could bear this oppression, and what she had
-done to deserve such a weirdly horrible fate. In a
-dull sort of way she supposed she must be going
-mad, and felt with grim cynicism that the border-land
-between sanity and insanity was so narrow
-that she would hardly realise the moment when she
-crossed it. There was absolute silence everywhere,
-except for the faint soothing whisper of the sea,
-rippling over the sand beneath the wooded bluff on
-which the villa stood. The air was warm and heavy
-with summer perfumes; the room was darkening
-slowly as the sun dipped towards the placid waters
-of La Manche; the woman was deadly weary, and
-she slept.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p>
-
-<p>At first her sleep must have been sound; but,
-after a time, her eyes opened to that other consciousness
-which is of the world of dreams, and
-once again she saw her now dreaded companion,
-the dark-eyed, dark-skinned girl from the land of
-the Pharaohs. The girl seemed to plead in impassioned
-terms for something, but the dreamer
-could not understand the strange words, and racked
-her brain, as dreamers will, to try to imagine their
-meaning. The girl burst into a storm of tears,
-sinking to the ground in her grief and despair, and
-burying her face on a pile of cushions. Still the
-dreamer, suffering torture herself, was helpless to
-relieve the other. Then suddenly the girl sprang up,
-and, dashing the tears from her eyes, which now
-seemed to blaze with murderous resolve, she sprang
-upon the white woman, enlaced her throat with
-supple brown fingers, pressed and pressed, tighter
-and tighter&mdash;ah, God! the horror and the suffocating
-pain of it&mdash;and all the while the sleeper’s hands
-seemed tied to her side. Then with a scream the
-dreamer awoke. She felt her eyes must be starting
-from her head, and instinctively raised her hands
-to her throat, only to realise that her vivid sensation
-of strangulation was merely a nightmare, but that
-the chain&mdash;the string of turquoise beads which she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
-had never unfastened from the day she first put it
-on&mdash;was gone.</p>
-
-<p>There was now little light in the room, only
-enough to see things vaguely, yet the lady declares
-that in that first moment of waking she distinctly
-saw a figure, exactly like that of the girl of her
-dreams, glide swiftly away from her and pass out
-through a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">portière</i> into the verandah. For some
-time she was too frightened and unnerved to move,
-but when at last she summoned her people they
-had seen no one.</p>
-
-<p>The only thing that was real was that she had
-lost the necklace, and never saw it again. As some
-compensation she also lost for ever the society of
-her dream-visitor, and completely recovered her own
-health.</p>
-
-<p>Now who took my stephanotis?</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXX" id="XXX"></a><span class="line-height">XXX</span><br />
-SCANDAL AND BANGLES</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">FOR years I have not been so angry as I am
-at this minute; I have very nearly lost my
-temper, and the reason is really ridiculous. Why
-I should choose this as a favourable opportunity
-for writing to you I cannot tell, but my tormentor
-had no sooner left the room than I seized the pen,
-which is nearly always ready to my hand, and you
-are the victim. The cause of this unusual and unseemly
-frame of mind is a girl, quite a pretty girl,
-who walked in here, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">sans cérémonie</i>, and, after a
-few minutes’ desultory conversation, told me a preposterous
-piece of gossip about myself, a fantastic
-story in which there was not a grain of truth.</p>
-
-<p>“Who says that?” I asked.</p>
-
-<p>“Everybody says so.”</p>
-
-<p>“Then everybody is mistaken.”</p>
-
-<p>“Of course you deny it; but it is true, all the
-same.”</p>
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p>
-<p>“It is not in the least true, and I am prepared
-to swear that in any form of oath.”</p>
-
-<p>“I dare say you are, but no one will believe
-you.”</p>
-
-<p>“Very well. Now what does your story rest
-upon?”</p>
-
-<p>“The evidence of people’s senses. Every one
-has seen you.”</p>
-
-<p>“I cannot deal with ‘every one,’ it is too indefinite.
-You say I went to some one’s house,&mdash;not
-that it would matter the least if I did,&mdash;but
-who saw me?”</p>
-
-<p>“I did.”</p>
-
-<p>“You did! I never was in the house in my
-life.”</p>
-
-<p>“Try to remember. I have seen you go in and
-also seen you come out of it.”</p>
-
-<p>“If it were not so stupid, one might almost get
-angry. I repeat that I have never been in the
-house, nor spoken to the owner.”</p>
-
-<p>“And I, having seen with my own eyes, maintain
-that you have.”</p>
-
-<p>“You have mistaken some one else for me, or
-drawn on your imagination, for what you say is
-absolutely untrue. But, as you seem to have constructed
-a fantastic story on that insecure foundation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>
-I have a good mind to charge you with
-defaming me.”</p>
-
-<p>“By all means, and I will go into court and say
-what I know and you know to be true.”</p>
-
-<p>Now, what can you do with a person like that?
-If I were the judge, trying my own cause and
-knowing there is not a semblance of a particle of
-truth in this absurd tale, I believe that if a witness
-appeared and gave evidence against me with this
-sublime assurance, I would decide the case against
-myself.</p>
-
-<p>The wasp has still a sting left; she says, “You
-sent your carriage to a lady, that she might drive
-in it?”</p>
-
-<p>“I did.”</p>
-
-<p>“And she sent it back.”</p>
-
-<p>“She did.”</p>
-
-<p>“She would not use it because of what I have
-told you, and she does not want to see or speak to
-you again!”</p>
-
-<p>I said I should not die of the affront, nor commit
-any rash act if the lady adhered to her determination;
-but I admit that, though I laughed, I was
-beginning to lose my temper, and I told my tormentor
-that if I could whip her it would be a satisfaction!
-She also laughed, but as I had seen that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
-she was brimful of merriment all along, that was
-nothing. By-and-by she disclosed that she wanted
-me to do something for her, and, when I had heaped
-coals of fire on her head by doing what she wished,
-she went away asking me if I had any message for
-the lady who had refused my carriage! I heard
-her laughing all the way downstairs, and, as she
-insisted on walking through the grounds to her
-carriage, I fancy I can hear her giggling still.</p>
-
-<p>I think I remarked once before that the train of
-another’s thoughts are not easy to divine, but explanations
-are boring, so I leave you to supply the
-connection between what I have just written and
-what now occurs to me to tell you. It is not only
-fowls and curses that come home to roost.</p>
-
-<p>Once upon a time there was a very beautiful and
-attractive lady, the wife of a high official in India.
-She was of those who have but one admirer at a
-time, and that one very devoted. Women of her
-type cannot share with any one else the attentions
-of their cavaliers; they insist upon a service that
-is complete and unquestioning, dog-like in devotion
-and obedience; and they do not seem to care if it is
-also dog-like in its inability to do more than gaze in
-rapture at the face of its mistress. I have known
-cases of the kind myself, and marvelled to see how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
-the lady and her slave can stand, and sit, and walk
-together, with no one to disturb their confidences,
-and yet they never seem to speak. As far as I can
-understand, that was the case with the heroine of my
-tale and her <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">cavaliere servente</i>. They were on the
-hills or in the plains&mdash;it does not matter where&mdash;when
-a native Prince appeared upon the scene. He
-was a delightful and fascinating person, but wicked
-beyond the dreams of wickedness. He stayed
-several months in the station, and when about to
-return to his own native state, he called upon an
-English friend of his and said, “I am going away;
-I speak English very indifferently; I wish to say
-good-bye to some of my friends: will you come with
-me?” The Englishman at once said he would be
-delighted, and they set out on a round of calls, the
-Prince saying where he wished to go. Amongst
-other houses they visited that of the engaging lady,
-and after a few words explaining his early departure
-and regret, the Prince produced a number of beautiful
-gold bangles, and said he trusted the lady
-would accept them as a token of his respectful
-admiration. This was duly interpreted, and the
-lady replied that as her husband held a Government
-post she could not accept any present. The Prince
-said he trusted that she would not persist in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>
-determination, because he was merely a visitor, and
-as the lady’s husband had no authority or influence
-in his territory, he could not believe that the
-ordinary rules would apply to a gift of such small
-value, which was merely an expression of his
-esteem and thanks for the kindness he had received.
-Meanwhile the bangles had been tendered to the
-lady; they had lain in her hand, and she appreciated
-their curious design and artistic excellence.</p>
-
-<p>“What shall I do?” said the lady, appealing to
-the Englishman.</p>
-
-<p>“What you please,” he replied.</p>
-
-<p>It is possible that it was out of consideration for
-the feelings of the donor that she then said&mdash;</p>
-
-<p>“My husband would never let me accept the
-bangles, but I should like to keep them if I knew
-that you would say nothing.”</p>
-
-<p>“Pray do not think of me,” said the friend; “I
-am an accident in the interview, and, when I leave
-the house, I shall have forgotten all about it.”</p>
-
-<p>“Then I shall keep them.”</p>
-
-<p>One evening, about a fortnight or three weeks
-later, the lady was dancing with the man who had
-interpreted, and he said, “Will you allow me to
-admire your bangles: they are not only beautiful in
-themselves but exceedingly becoming.”</p>
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p>
-<p>“Yes,” she replied, “but the unfortunate part
-of it is that my husband thinks they have been
-given to me by some one else, and I can’t enlighten
-him, for I dare not tell the truth!”</p>
-
-<p><i>P.S.</i>&mdash;The lady who refused to use my carriage
-has just sent me an invitation to dinner!</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXXI" id="XXXI"></a><span class="line-height">XXXI</span><br />
-THE REPREHENSIBLE HABIT OF MAKING COMPARISONS</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">I AM not given to the use of postscripts, but I
-indulged myself with one in the last letter I
-wrote to you. It reminds me of the only <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon mot</i>
-to which I can lay claim. When I was about six
-years old, my mother and I were visiting an aunt
-of mine, and, one evening, my mother read aloud
-to my aunt a letter she had just received. It was
-lengthy, and no doubt interesting to the two ladies,
-while the contents were probably beyond my comprehension.
-“Little pigs have long ears,” and I
-noticed that, at the conclusion of the letter, my
-mother read “<em>P.S.</em>,” and then some final sentences.
-Immediately afterwards I was ordered to bed, and,
-once there, my mother came to see me. My small
-mind was full of this new idea, and I was thirsting
-for information as to the meaning of these mysterious
-letters. Therefore, when my mother had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
-bid me good night and was going away, I said,
-“Mother, what does <em>P.S.</em> mean; is it Parting Subject?”
-She smiled and said, “No, the letters
-stand for <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">post scriptum</i>, but the meaning is not very
-different.” She afterwards helped me to wrestle
-with the Latin grammar, and in time I arrived at
-the exact translation of <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">post scriptum</i>, but my
-childish rendering of <em>P.S.</em> would do just as well. I
-was made to bitterly regret having ever suggested
-it; for, when my proud mother told the story, my
-various brothers and sisters, separately and collectively,
-insisted that some one had told me to say
-it, and I am not sure that they did not, each in
-turn, give me a thrashing to impress upon me
-the vice of “trying to be sharp.” When children
-have brothers and sisters, their schooling begins
-early and lasts a long time&mdash;fortunately for themselves
-and the world at large.</p>
-
-<p>That, however, has nothing to do with the matter
-I was going to write about. I suppose you sometimes
-look through those galleries of garments
-which begin and end ladies’ journals, just as I
-occasionally glance at the advertisements of new
-books, which I find at the end of a modern novel.
-The other day I was idly turning over the pages of
-such a series of advertisements (each page devoted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
-to one book, and quotations from the newspaper
-reviews of it), and I could not help noticing how, in
-the case of every book, if not in every <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">critique</i>, the
-author was compared with some well-known writer&mdash;Dickens,
-Thackeray, George Meredith, Zola, Ibsen,
-De Maupassant&mdash;it does not seem to matter who it
-is, so long as it is some one. As for Mr. Rudyard
-Kipling, a writer who mentions India, China, Japan,
-Siam, the French or Dutch Indies, or any place
-within two or three thousand miles of them, is
-certain to find himself compared with the astonishingly
-talented author of “Soldiers Three,” “The
-Drums of the Fore and Aft,” and a dozen other tales
-that had made Mr. Kipling famous in India years
-before his name had been heard in the West.</p>
-
-<p>I know that whenever we visit a new place, we
-have a ridiculous desire to compare it with some
-totally different spot that is familiar to us; and I
-suppose we make the comparison, either because
-we want to show that we have been somewhere and
-seen something, or because we are so devoid of
-ideas or language to express them, that this comparison
-is our only means of description. Like
-London, only bigger; Petersburg in winter, but not
-so cold; bluer than the Mediterranean, and so on.
-It seems to imply poverty of resource; but if to help<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>
-readers to realise the appearance of a spot in New
-Zealand, that place is compared with the Carse of
-Stirling, the information is not of much use to those
-who do not know their Scotland.</p>
-
-<p>Is it the same with literary critics? Hardly, I
-fancy; because even though they write easily of
-Lake Toba, the Thibetan highlands, or more or less
-known writers, it can’t give them any real satisfaction,
-for their own names are but seldom disclosed.</p>
-
-<p>Enlightened people who attend places of Christian
-worship, often wish that the occupant of the pulpit
-would read a sermon by some great divine, rather
-than stumble through an original discourse, which
-possibly arouses only the scorn, the resentment, or
-the pity of his hearers. The preacher who is conscious
-of his own want of eloquence, or realises that
-the spring of his ideas trickles in the thinnest and
-most uncertain of streams, may seek to improve his
-language, or replenish his own exhausted stock of
-subjects, by studying the sermons of abler men. I
-doubt if he is greatly to be blamed. Some illustrious
-writers have won renown after a diligent study of
-the works of dead authors, and a suggestion of the
-style of a famous master may be observable in the
-work of his admirer; just as a modern painter may,
-consciously or unconsciously, follow the methods,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
-the composition, or the colour schemes of a genius
-who has given his name to a school of imitators.
-It would, however, be a little unreasonable to compare
-all play-writers with Shakespeare, all essayists
-with Macaulay. If there is nothing new under the
-sun, two or more men or women, contemporaries,
-may have the same ideas on a given subject without
-either being open to a charge of plagiarism. They
-may express the same ideas differently, or put
-different ideas in somewhat the same style of language:
-both may have drawn inspiration from a
-more or less original source, not generally known
-or quoted&mdash;in all these cases comparisons may be,
-and often are, simply inept. Some subjects are not
-yet entirely exhausted, and while it is interesting to
-compare the different views of recognised authorities,
-it is annoying to both writers and readers to find
-that the highest flight of criticism of a new work
-seems often to consist in mentioning the names of
-other writers on the same subject&mdash;as though it
-were, in a sense, their personal property, or they
-had some vested interest in it, by reason of discovery
-or continual harping on that particular theme. I
-suppose reviewers, except in a few instances, have
-no time to really read the books they criticise, and
-judge them on their merits; but, if they could, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
-would be more satisfactory to possible readers, who,
-as things are, can form very little opinion of what
-a book contains, its relative value or worthlessness,
-from statements like this, which purports to be an
-extract from a review in a leading London paper:&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="blockquot">
-
-<p>“The opening chapters have a savour of Dickens; the
-climax is almost Zolaesque.”</p></div>
-
-<p>Or this:&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="blockquot">
-
-<p>“The knowledge of character revealed reminds us of
-George Eliot’s ‘Scenes of Clerical Life.’”</p></div>
-
-<p>You will think that one who wanders from an
-infantile legend about the word <em>postscript</em> to a growl
-anent newspaper reviews, is indifferently qualified
-to criticise any one or anything. As a letter-writer
-I acknowledge that I am inconsequent. I do not
-even seek to be otherwise.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXXII" id="XXXII"></a><span class="line-height">XXXII</span><br />
-A CHALLENGE</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">OH! Oh! Oh! What a storm! But are
-you not a little unreasonable?</p>
-
-<p>You are not a circulating library, you say, nor
-a railway book-stall; you don’t want to hear tales
-of forest and flood which have no personal interest
-for you or me; and you cannot carry on a correspondence
-with a phrase-book, a thing that has no
-existence as a human being, and, when not lecturing
-you, or taking advantage of your good-nature
-to air boring platitudes, is doling out little stories
-to you, as though you were a child in a Sunday
-School.</p>
-
-<p>My dear lady, I hope that you feel better after
-that tirade; but as you have attacked me with
-violence, and at all points at once, I claim the right
-to defend myself, and again I say you are unreasonable.
-We were never strangers to each other, or
-so it seems to me, but circumstances and a certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>
-mental attraction drew us into friendship. In the
-delight of your society I realised what it would be
-to me if, through that friendship, I might win your
-affection. I even dreamed that I might compel the
-impossible, and attain to an earthly paradise of sweet
-alliance whence no mortal promises and no inspired
-writings could ever win me.</p>
-
-<p>Whilst we dream of life’s big possibilities, its
-little duties drive us where they will. We were
-parted, and, if I do not now remind you of that
-time, it is because I know that there are few things
-a woman hates more than to be told she once, by
-word or deed, showed any tender feeling for a man
-who no longer holds the same place in her regard.
-You went and I stayed; you spoke and I believed;
-and what I did not say was only what you told me
-not to repeat, lest parting should seem over-hard
-to bear. Then I wrote and you wrote, and, at first,
-your letters were so fine a gift that they almost
-consoled me for your absence, and, in my great
-gratitude, I wrote some of the thoughts of my
-inmost heart. My fervour seemed to frighten you,
-and the chill of your surroundings came through
-your letters to me. It may have been the fault of
-those about you; it may have been that you were
-tried beyond endurance, possibly even that I, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>
-some indirect way, was a cause of your distress.
-But you never said so; you never took me into
-your confidence and frankly told me you were in
-any trouble; only your letters went through those
-phases which I, once, cynically suggested were the
-common fate of those whose friendship could not
-survive a real separation. I was too slow to at
-once trim my sails to the varying breeze, nor could
-I call back letters which were already on their way.
-Therefore I fell under your displeasure, and you
-ordered me to write only of “the daily round, the
-common task.” I obeyed you, as nearly as I was
-able. When you asked me to tell you of what I
-saw, of what I was doing, I attempted to do so, and
-to make the telling as little personal as I could.
-To weary you with the trivialities of my daily life,
-to describe to you the wearisome people I met,
-the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">banalités</i> they uttered&mdash;that was beyond me.
-Therefore, to try and interest you, I gave you the
-best of what had interested me, and even that was
-only done with some sacrifice, for you know my
-time is not all my own. Naturally those letters
-were empty of personal reference. To have written
-of myself would have been to write of you, and
-that might have brought down on my head another
-storm of invective. I am in the position of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
-burnt child: I dread the fire. Even now I dare not
-accept your invitation. I might write, and, before
-the letter could reach you, receive from you another
-missive, telling me your present letter was written
-under an impulse you regret but cannot explain,
-and that of course it meant nothing. You would
-add that you delight in the discussion of abstract
-questions, and queer little stories are, to you, as
-rain to dry land. Then I can imagine the sternly
-traced characters of that other destroying scroll,
-in which you would sum up the tale of my sins,
-after reading such a letter as I might send in answer
-to your present message of discontent and provocation.
-So, I warn you. I shall give you time to
-think; in spite of your scoffing, I shall continue to
-write to you as I have done in these latter days;
-and then&mdash;and then&mdash;your blood be on your own
-head. If the outward cold of damp and fog, of
-weeks of sunless gloom and surroundings of rain-drenched
-rows of hideous dwellings, muddy roads,
-sullen skies, and leaden seas produce what you no
-doubt think is a virtuous frame of mind, when the
-state of the crops and the troubles of the farmers
-are the only matters with which a conscience-burdened
-woman can occupy her mind, I shall
-pander to your appetite, and write to you of famine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
-and plague, the prospects of the poppy (the opium
-poppy, you understand) and I will even stretch a
-point to discuss the silver question and the fate of
-the rupee. If, on the other hand, you throw discretion
-to the winds; if in that atmosphere where you
-say you are always frozen, “outside and in,” you
-pine for a glimpse of sunlight; if you like to watch
-a conflagration when at a safe distance from the
-flames, or even if the contortions of the cockchafer,
-when impaled by the pin, excite your amusement;&mdash;then
-also I will help you to realise these very
-reasonable wishes. Yes, then I will write you a
-love-letter that will be but a poor substitute for
-the impassioned words that should stir your heart,
-were once my lips within reach of yours.</p>
-
-<p>Even from here I see you smile; even now I
-hear you say, “Well, write&mdash;after all vivisection
-has benefited the race, and the contortions of the
-cockchafer will perhaps distract one’s attention for
-a moment from the eternal monotony of the narrow
-life.”</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXXIII" id="XXXIII"></a><span class="line-height">XXXIII</span><br />
-IN EXILE</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">IN order that I may keep on perfectly safe ground,
-and successfully resist the temptation to depart
-from my resolve, I will tell you a story of my visit
-to Burmah, where, wandering aimlessly, I found
-an old friend in a distinguished Indian civilian, who
-invited me to accompany him on a tour of inspection.
-I gladly accepted his invitation, and we had
-been travelling for some time, driving, riding, walking,
-and, finally, after rafting over a magnificent
-series of rapids, had been some days paddling down
-the river in house-boats, when we reached a remote
-inland station called Phatmah. I caught my first
-view of the place as our boat swung round a bend in
-the great river, disclosing a reach of brown water,
-enclosed between high, jungle-covered banks, and
-shut in, at the end, by a green hill, crowned by a
-plank bungalow with a mat roof.</p>
-
-<p>The boat was soon alongside the rough landing-stage,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
-where a young civilian, introduced as Basset,
-was waiting to receive his chief. We climbed the
-steep hill, and Basset conducted us to the house
-devoted to our shelter for the couple of days we
-were to spend at Phatmah.</p>
-
-<p>In my two days’ stay there, I had ample opportunities
-of seeing the place, and realising its few
-attractions and its many drawbacks. There was
-a tiny native village on the bank of one of the
-two streams that here united in one great river, and
-flowed in stately, ever-widening progress for over
-two hundred miles before it reached the sea: two
-hundred miles of virgin forest, save for the native
-villages and clearings that lined the banks at uncertain
-intervals. A few jungle tracks leading to
-distant mines were the only apology for roads; the
-river was the real highway, and the sole means of
-transport were native boats. Comfortable enough,
-these boats, for men used to jungle travel; flat
-and wide, with a palm-leaf roof, the fore-part occupied
-by the crew, the after-part by passengers.
-There was a deck of boards or split bamboos, and
-you could only move about it by crawling on your
-hands and knees. Entrance and exit were accomplished
-by the same means. A door, at the back
-of the enclosed after-deck, led on to a bamboo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
-frame over the rudder; the steersman sat on the
-palm-leaf awning, and the only privacy was obtained
-by hanging a screen between crew and
-passengers. There was room for two mattresses
-on the after-deck, and there the passengers sat or
-lay through the blazing heat of the tropical day
-and the star-lit stillness of the Burmese night.</p>
-
-<p>At this station there dwelt, besides Basset, an
-officer of police, another concerned with public
-works, and an apothecary in charge of a hospital.
-That was all. Their quarters were dotted about
-on the high land behind Basset’s bungalow. For
-the rest, the eye was met by jungle&mdash;near and far&mdash;endless
-jungle, and the river-reach. Silent and
-placid the waters, moving along in brown eddies,
-when, as now, the river was in flood; clear and
-shallow, disclosing groups of rocks dotted about the
-bed, in what was called the dry season.</p>
-
-<p>At the time of our visit it was spring, and the
-jungle, especially in certain parts of the mountainous
-country, was a truly marvellous sight. The forest
-had put on its wedding garment, and the new leaves
-of many, even of most of the trees, were dazzling
-in the brilliance of their colouring. The prevailing
-hues were red and yellow; but then there were
-shades of red and of yellow that one never seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
-to have dreamed of, such quantity, such intensity
-that the eyes almost ached with gazing at the glory
-of it all.</p>
-
-<p>One is struck, especially in the East, by the wonder
-of flowering trees, or the striking creepers that cling
-to the tops of forest giants; but imagine these
-same trees in all their height, their wealth of foliage,
-and beauty of form, one mass of colour! There
-were trees of delicate lemon, of brilliant cadmium,
-of deepest orange; trees of such crimson that every
-leaf looked as though it were dripping with fresh
-blood; trees of copper and pale pink, of terra-cotta
-and scarlet&mdash;all these in one pure colour, or intermingled
-with every shade of green from palest apple,
-through varying tones of emerald, to the shining
-dark leaves that seemed all but black. Dotted
-about, here and there, stood trees of some shade of
-brown, or graceful forms clothed in darker or paler
-heliotrope. The virgin Eastern forest is a sight to
-see, but the glory of the jungle in the first freshness
-of spring leafage is a revelation.</p>
-
-<p>That jungle was one of the attractions of Phatmah;&mdash;not
-monopolised by Phatmah, only shared, and
-not to so large an extent as by a thousand other
-places nearer the great hills.</p>
-
-<p>Then there was the river reach, where all day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
-long the shadows crept gradually closer under one
-bank as they were projected from the other; while
-now and then a native boat passed up or down
-the river, and, for a few minutes, broke the melancholy
-of that changeless stretch of water. The
-sunsets made the last, and perhaps the greatest
-attraction of Phatmah. Then, in the after-glow,
-great beams of light would rise, fan-like, from east
-and west, almost meeting in the zenith, and leave,
-between their rays, sharply-defined, heavenly roads
-of deepest blue; while the soft white clouds, riding
-through the sky, took shades of gold and rose and
-pearly-grey, until the stars shone out and set all
-the cicadas shrilling a chorus to waken every other
-denizen of the jungle.</p>
-
-<p>Sunsets cannot be commanded; they are intermittent,
-and, though they are comforting&mdash;in a
-way&mdash;they do not always come when they are most
-wanted. In Phatmah it would rain in torrents on
-the evening that you had set your heart upon seeing
-a gorgeous sunset, and, when it did not rain, it
-was hotter than in almost any other spot in Burmah,
-and that is saying a great deal. Moreover, it was as
-dull probably as any place on earth, except to the
-three white men who lived there and had their work
-to do, or whose business took them, weekly, or at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
-least monthly, into some other more or less desolate
-part of the district.</p>
-
-<p>I noted these things in that first day I was at
-Phatmah, while my friend and Basset were talking
-about roads to be made and buildings constructed,
-natives to be encouraged or sat upon, dacoits harried,
-and all the things that make the life of the exiled
-English officer in the outermost parts of the Empire.
-I also observed Basset. I knew he had a wife, a girl
-whom he had just married, when at home on leave
-in England, and who was now in that house, across
-the grass, a hundred yards away. I had not seen
-Basset’s wife, but I had heard of her from some
-who had met her, before she left the last confines
-of civilisation and started for what must in future
-be her home. What I had heard made it seem
-unlikely that Mrs. Basset would reconcile herself
-to jungle life, and, when I understood Phatmah,
-I thought it would be very surprising if such
-a miracle could be wrought for the sake of
-Basset.</p>
-
-<p>Basset was a most excellent fellow, a good officer,
-good to look at, lithe and well-made, a man who
-had found favour with his seniors and was likely
-to do well. He was young, but that was a fault for
-which he was not responsible, and one that every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>
-day was curing. And yet, when I saw Phatmah,
-I thought Basset had been unwise, and when I
-saw his wife, as I did the next day, I felt certain
-of it.</p>
-
-<p>I had been told she was very young in years and
-child-like at that, nervous to the last degree, selfish,
-unreasonable, full of fancies, and rather pretty&mdash;but
-the one or two ladies who were my informants
-differed as to this last important particular.</p>
-
-<p>What I saw for myself, when I went to call upon
-“the only lady in Phatmah,” was this: a glory
-of fair waving hair framing a young, but not very
-youthful face; a pallid complexion, and features
-where nothing specially appealed for admiration; a
-voice that was not more than pleasant, and a figure
-that, while very <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petite</i>, seemed well enough shapen,
-as far as could be seen under the garment of silk
-and lace that must have been the first of its kind
-to visit Phatmah. The house did not strike me as
-showing more than the evidences of a young man’s
-anxiety to make it what he would call “fit for a
-lady”; but then the resources of Phatmah were
-strictly limited, the Bassets had only just, so to
-speak, arrived, and things entrusted to the tender
-mercies of river transport were often months upon
-the way. On the whole there was nothing about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
-Mrs. Basset to excite either sympathy or interest,
-if you had met her in any civilised place; but as
-the only white woman in Phatmah, come here to
-gain her first real experiences of life, scared by
-frogs and lizards, and terrified by the many insects
-that fly straight at you and stick on your hair, your
-face, your clothes, one could not help feeling that
-the experiment, if not a cruel one to her, was at
-least thoughtless, and, if persisted in, might end
-in disaster.</p>
-
-<p>My friend and I exerted ourselves that afternoon
-and evening (for the Bassets dined with us) to
-put as good a complexion as we could on Burmah
-in general and Phatmah in particular; and though,
-to the ordinary spectator, we might have appeared
-to succeed fairly well, I carried away with me
-vague suspicions, born of my own observation and
-the conversation I had had with the lady as we
-sat and looked over that jungle-shrouded river-reach,
-while the path to the stars grew an ever-deepening
-blue, and she told me somewhat of herself
-and her life. There was no doubt that she not
-only <em>looked</em> dissatisfied, but felt it, and said it,
-and took credit for her candour. Then she complained
-that Phatmah offered no opportunities for
-“getting into mischief,” but that was probably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
-merely another way of saying that she was utterly
-bored; and, in truth, when she asked if I could
-conceive a greater dulness, the trite reply that she
-had her husband stuck in my throat, and I admitted
-that it was immeasurably dull, but talked
-cheerfully of what it would be when communication
-with the outside world was easier, and then fell
-to asking her if she read, or played, or sang, or
-sketched, as Phatmah seemed to be the very place
-for study, or the practice of accomplishments. She
-pleaded that she was too lately from school to
-hanker after study, but became almost enthusiastic
-on the subject of music.</p>
-
-<p>Then our <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> was interrupted, and in the
-evening the only thing that struck me was that,
-for a girl so lately from school, our guest drank
-rather more in quantity and variety than was usual,
-and whenever in the after-days my thoughts went
-back to Phatmah, I remembered this with an uncomfortable
-feeling of the awful loneliness of that
-reach of brown river, the boundless forest, and the
-girl, left for days to her own devices, and the
-possibility of “getting into mischief” by drowning
-a craving, not for excitement so much as for the
-companionship of her kind.</p>
-
-<p>A hundred miles below Phatmah the river wound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
-through the plains in long reaches, six or seven
-miles in length; the country was more open, and
-the banks were occasionally fringed with palms and
-orchards surrounding the huts of a native hamlet.
-The moon was waxing to the full, and, sitting at
-the stern of my boat, looking back up the long
-stretch of water bathed in mellow light, till the wide
-band of silver narrowed to a point that vanished
-in grey mist, I could not help thinking that, even
-here, the sense of loneliness, of monotony, and
-banishment, was less acute than in Phatmah’s forest-bound
-clearing.</p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p>Years passed, and I was again in Burmah, this
-time with an object. I had forgotten all about the
-Bassets: one does not remember people who live
-in the East, only the places that are striking, and
-the things seen or heard of that may become profitable
-in one way or another. I thought of my
-friend, because he might be able to help me, but he
-was away in another part of the province and I had
-to journey alone. Officials are useful on their own
-ground, and even when they are not personal friends,
-they are, in the East at any rate, ready enough to
-be hospitable. The advantage of “entertaining
-angels unawares” is, however, all on their side, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
-guests so soon recognise this fact, that they feel
-under no obligation to their hosts, and seldom wish
-to remember them if they meet them in Europe.
-This is specially the case with English notabilities,
-who seem to think that they have a prescriptive
-right, not only to waste a man’s time, but also to
-use his house, stables, and servants, as at an hotel
-where the visitor exercises every privilege except
-that of making payment. Unfortunately for me, I
-had to go beyond the region of even occasional
-civilians, those isolated exiles whose houses the
-stranger occupies, whether the master is present or
-absent, and for some days I had to put up with the
-Dâk Bungalow and the chicken of happy despatch.</p>
-
-<p>It was the very hottest time of the morning when
-I arrived at such a bungalow in a small mining
-village. I had been riding since dawn, and was
-glad enough to turn into that weedy compound and
-get off my pony. Whew! the heat of it! The
-two or three sinewy hens, which by-and-by would
-be slaughtered to make the traveller’s holiday,
-were sitting half-buried and wallowing in the dust,
-with their wings spread out and their mouths open,
-gasping for breath. It was a day when solids
-liquefy, when inanimate objects develop an extraordinary
-faculty for sticking to each other, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
-when water no longer feels wet. There was not
-a sign of any human being anywhere, and I went
-round to the back premises to try and find the caretaker.
-After a diligent search I discovered him,
-fast asleep of course, and, while he went to prepare
-a room, I unsaddled the pony and put it in the
-stable. Then I went into the house and told the
-servant to get me some food while I had a bath.
-The process of catching the hen and cooking her
-was a long one, and I was sleeping in a chair when
-the man came to tell me the feast was ready. I
-had an idea that I was not alone in the house, and,
-when I questioned the caretaker, he said that there
-was a lady who had arrived the night before and
-had not appeared that morning. Our means of
-conversation was limited to a few words, and I
-could not make out who the lady was, or even
-whether he knew her; but it seemed to me a curious
-thing that a white woman should be there, and I
-supposed she came from one of the big ruby mines;
-but even then it was strange that she should be
-alone. I made further inquiries about the neighbourhood,
-and learned that I was not more than a
-day’s journey from Phatmah. I knew it was somewhere
-about, but had not thought it so near; it
-was not on the line of my objective, and I was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
-interested in its exact position. Then some of my
-bearers arrived with luggage, and I deliberately
-settled myself for a siesta.</p>
-
-<p>It was late afternoon when I awoke, and I determined
-to push on to another small place, which I
-could just reach before darkness made further progress
-impossible. Even a short stage by night
-would be preferable to the frightful heat and the
-oppressive atmosphere of this lonely house, in its
-neglected and overgrown garden, where one lean
-chicken now scratched alone. Just then the caretaker
-came to me and asked my advice about the
-other guest. He had seen and heard nothing of
-her for the whole day, and was afraid there must
-be something amiss. That, I felt, was extremely
-likely, especially when he told me he had knocked
-at the door of her room and received no answer. I
-did not at all like the mission, but there was nothing
-for it but to go and see what was the matter. A
-few steps took us to the door of the lady’s room, and
-I knocked, first gently, then loudly, but no sound
-broke the ominous silence. Then I turned the
-handle, only to find that the door was locked. As I
-could not force it open without making a great
-clatter, I went outside to try the windows. There
-were two of these some height from the ground, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>
-it was difficult to get at them. The first was fast,
-and from my insecure footing I could not force it;
-but with the second I was more fortunate, and as a
-half-shutter sprang open, and a stream of light
-poured into the dark room, I saw the form of a girl,
-or woman, lying on the bed, in an attitude that somehow
-did not suggest sleep. I shouted at her, but she
-never moved, and then I climbed into the room. I
-noticed instantly that there was hardly anything
-lying about the ill-furnished room, but, on a small
-table near the bed, was an almost empty brandy
-bottle and a glass. The woman was dressed in a
-blouse and skirt, the only things she had taken off
-being apparently her hat and shoes. She had her
-back towards me, and the sunlight centred on a mass
-of fair hair and gave it a deeper tinge. Before I put
-my hand on her cold fingers I felt certain she was
-dead, and as I gently turned her head and recognised
-in the now grey features the face of the only white
-woman in Phatmah, I don’t think I was very much
-surprised, though I was terribly shocked. Held
-tightly in her other hand was a small empty bottle
-that had once held chloral, and the faint sickly smell
-of it hung in the heavy stifling atmosphere of that
-bare and comfortless room. Poor lonely child, she
-had managed to “get into mischief” after all.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXXIV" id="XXXIV"></a><span class="line-height">XXXIV</span><br />
-OF LOVE&mdash;NOT IN FICTION</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">YOU have sent me the answer which I expected.
-Now tell me how to write a love-letter that
-shall speak no word of love&mdash;a letter as full of
-the passion, the boundless adoration, and the
-faith of love, as the Chaurapanchâsika, those fifty
-distichs of Chauras that proclaimed his forbidden
-worship of the lovely daughter of King Sundava.
-The Brahman’s lament won the king’s heart and
-saved the poet’s life; and I would learn of you
-how to win a heart, and perhaps save more than
-one life from shipwreck. After all, our civilisation
-may, in its comparative refinement, be more cruel
-than the unfettered caprice of an Eastern king
-nineteen centuries ago. Tell me, tell me, you who
-know, how can pen and ink be made to speak
-with the force and persuasion of spoken words,
-when half the world divides the writer from the
-reader of poor halting sentences that must, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
-necessity, leave unsaid all that the heart yearns
-to utter?</p>
-
-<p>When eye can look into eye, when the stretched-out
-hand meets a responsive touch,&mdash;timid and
-uncertain, or confident with the knowledge of
-passionate love passionately returned,&mdash;the words
-that are spoken may be feeble, but the influence
-of a loved presence will carry conviction, and
-one voice awaken in one heart the music of the
-spheres. Then the dullest day is bright, the
-lovers’ feet tread on air, day is a joy and night a
-gladness, or at least a dream of delight. Then
-life is divided between anticipation and reality.
-No wonder the hours fly on wings; no wonder the
-thoughts suggested by brief absences are forgotten
-in the wonder and delight of briefer meetings, till
-the dread moment of separation comes, and aching
-hearts too late realise the appalling suddenness of
-the actual parting and the ceaseless regret for opportunities
-lost. You understand that my thoughts
-are not of the devout lover who is going through a
-short apprenticeship before signing a bond of perpetual
-servitude or partnership, as the case may be.
-That is a phase which, if it occasionally deserves
-sympathy, seldom receives it; indeed, it hardly
-awakens interest, except in those who wish to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
-the preliminaries concluded, that their interest in the
-principals may either cease, and give themselves
-more freedom, or begin, and bring them some profit.
-I appeal to you to tell me how to keep alive the
-divine flame when oceans and continents divide two
-loving hearts; how to tell of longing and bitter
-regret, of faith and love and worship, when such
-words may not be written; how to make personal
-influence felt across five seas and through many
-weary months; how to kill doubt and keep strong
-and faithful a priceless love, against which the stars
-in their courses may seem ready to fight; how, above
-all, to help one who needs help, and warm sympathy,
-and wise advice, so that, if it be possible, she may
-escape some of life’s misery and win some of
-life’s joy.</p>
-
-<p>Journeying through this weary old world, who
-has not met the poor struggling mortal, man or
-woman, old or young, for whom the weal or woe of
-life hangs in the balance, to turn one way or the
-other, when the slightest weight is cast into either
-scale? Who has not been asked for sympathy or
-advice, or simply to lend an ear to the voice of a
-hopeless complaint? Some feel the iron in their
-souls far more keenly than others. While the strong
-fight, the weak succumb, and the shallow do not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
-greatly mind, after they have gone through a short
-torture of what seems to them profound emotion.
-But in their case sympathy is rather wasted, for,
-however violent their grief, their tears are soon
-dried, and it must have been written for them that
-“joy cometh with the morning.”</p>
-
-<p>You know what it is when the heart seems to
-struggle for more freedom, because it is choking
-with a love it may not, or will not, express; when,
-in the absence of one face, all other companionship
-is irksome, all conversation stale and unprofitable;
-when daylight wearies and night is cruelly welcome,
-because the struggle to play a part, and
-pretend an interest one does not feel, is over,
-and one stretches out one’s arms to the darkness,
-and whispers, “Come to me,” to ears that cannot
-hear. What strange unnatural creatures we are,
-for we stifle the voices of our souls, and seem to
-delight in torturing ourselves for the sake of some
-idea born of a tradition, the value of which we
-dare not even submit to the test of argument. If
-in response to your heart’s cry there came the one
-whose presence you desire, you would instantly
-torture yourself rather than confess your message.
-Whatever it cost you, you would not only pretend
-that the sudden appearance of the greatly beloved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>
-was the last thing you wished for, but you might
-even send him away with the impression that he
-had deeply offended you. And yet&mdash;Ah well! this
-artificial fortress we take such pains to build, and to
-keep in repair, is not proof against every assault.
-There are crises of life&mdash;an imminent danger, the
-presence or appearance of death, a sudden and
-irresistible wave of passionate feeling, or a separation
-that has no promise of reunion&mdash;before these
-the carefully constructed rampart of convention and
-outward seeming goes down like a house of cards.</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“When a beloved hand is laid in ours,</div>
-<div class="verse1">When, jaded by the rush and glare</div>
-<div class="verse1">Of the interminable hours,</div>
-<div class="verse1">Our eyes within another’s eyes see clear;</div>
-<div class="verse1">When one world-deafened ear</div>
-<div class="verse1">Is by the tones of a loved voice caressed,</div>
-<div class="verse1">A bolt is shot back somewhere in the heart,</div>
-<div class="verse1">And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again;</div>
-<div class="verse1">The eye sinks inward and the heart lies plain,</div>
-<div class="verse1">And what we mean we say,</div>
-<div class="verse1">And what we would we know.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>There was a day which, to me, will ever be my
-day of days&mdash;halcyon hours of joy and gladness,
-coloured by a setting of wondrous beauty, and
-burdened by the fateful shadow of an inevitable
-parting that would, in all human probability, be the
-point where two lives, which had grown strangely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
-and sweetly close, must divide, without any hope
-of re-uniting. You remember how in that early
-dawn we drove through the dewy grass, covered
-with the fairies’ dainty white gossamer kerchiefs,
-lace cobwebs spread out to dry in the morning sun;
-and, as we left the town and made for the distant
-mountains, the dark red road wound up and down
-hills, through orchards and grass-land and forest,
-till we gained a little village, where the road forked,
-and a clear, rain-swollen stream slipped swiftly
-past the picturesque brown cottages. Whilst the
-horses were being changed, we strolled a little way
-down the road, and watched a group of laughing
-urchins, playing in that lilied stream like water-babies.
-How they screamed with delight as their
-small glistening bodies emerged from the shining
-water to struggle up a crazy ladder that led from
-the back of a hut down into the winding stream;
-and how the sun shone! lighting the snow-white
-plumage of a brood of solemn-looking ducks, sailing
-majestically round the sedge-girt edges of a tiny
-pool beneath the bridge. In that pool was mirrored
-a patch of clear blue sky, and across it fell the
-shadows cast by a great forest tree. That was “a
-day in spring, a day with thee and pleasure!”
-Then, as we drove on, there were heavenly glimpses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>
-of sapphire hills, seen down long vistas through the
-forest. For the last few miles, the road followed
-the bank of a deep and rapid river, whose clear
-waters reflected the graceful overhanging trees,
-while the banks were buried in a thick maze of
-ferns and grasses, and great shining patches of
-buttercups and marigolds.</p>
-
-<p>Were you sorry when the drive was over, and
-our sweet converse perforce ended? I wonder
-would you have enjoyed it better had that exquisite
-spot, in the depths of the forest, been ours alone
-for that one day? One day is so little in a lifetime,
-and yet what was ours was good! Do you
-remember how, in that far-off place, we met on the
-road one whom you recognised, but whose face and
-manner gave no clue to the romantic story of his
-life, a story that would have brought him great
-renown in the days when valour was accounted of
-the highest worth? You have not forgotten that,
-nor yet the return drive, when, as we crested the
-last hill, and began the steep and tortuous descent
-into the plain, the lurid rays of the setting sun
-threw crimson stains across dark pools of lotus-bearing
-water, half-hidden by overhanging grasses
-and the dank leaves of white-blossomed lilies.
-Beneath us lay a wide stretch of swamp-land, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>
-very picture of abandonment, desolation, and solitude;
-heaps of up-turned earth, green with rank
-vegetation, and pools of dead water, whose dark
-shadows reflected the lambent fires of the western
-horizon. A broken line of black trees stood clear
-against the rapidly-darkening sky, but, as we reached
-the foot of the hill, heaven and earth were wrapped
-in the shadows of night. And then my day was
-done. Doubt was buried, and the “big word”
-bound our hearts in the joy of that priceless sympathy
-which carries human aspirations beyond
-the storm and stress of human life to a knowledge
-of the Divine. We said little; when hearts are at
-one, few words are needed, for either knows the
-other’s thoughts. But you were slow to unbend,
-making a brave fight against fate, and keeping
-true to your creed, though seven days would bring
-the end. To me, the light of that one brilliant
-day had been intensified by the rapidly approaching
-shadow of the inevitable parting. I wonder&mdash;now
-that the bitterness of separation has come, now that
-I vaguely ask myself what has happened to Time
-since I lost you&mdash;whether, if we could have that
-day again, you would again be so merciless in your
-determination to hold love in leash, and give no
-sign of either the passion or the pain that was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>
-tearing your heart. I think it was a hard fight,
-for, though you concealed your thoughts, you could
-not hide the physical effects of the struggle. Did
-you know how your weariness distressed me, and
-what I would have given to have the right to try
-to comfort you?</p>
-
-<p>I have a confused memory of those other days.
-Brief meetings and partings; insane desires to
-make any excuse to write to you, or hear from
-you, though I had but just left your presence; a
-hopeless and helpless feeling that I had a thousand
-things to say to you, and yet that I never could
-say one of them, because the time was so short
-that every idea was swallowed up in the ever-present
-dread of your departure, and the ceaseless
-repetition of your cry, “I cannot bear it, I cannot
-bear it.” From out that vague background shine
-two stars, two brilliant memories to light the darkness
-of the weary months until I see your face
-again&mdash;a blissful memory and a sign. All the
-rest seems swallowed up in the bitterness of
-that parting, which comes back like some horrible
-nightmare.</p>
-
-<p>Only black water under a heavy overcast sky;
-only the knowledge that the end had come; that
-what should be said must be said then, with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>
-instant realisation that the pain of the moment,
-the feeling of impotent rebellion against fate, destroyed
-all power of reflection, and the impulse
-to recklessness was only choked back by the cold
-words of a publicly spoken farewell. Then rapid
-motion, and in one minute the envious darkness
-had taken everything but the horrible sense of loss
-and inconsolable regret. Whatever my suffering,
-it was worse for you; I at least was alone, alone
-with a voice which ever murmured in my ears
-that despairing cry, “I cannot bear it, I cannot
-bear it.”</p>
-
-<p>When two who have been brought together, so
-close together that they have said the “big word”
-without faltering, are suddenly swept asunder by
-the receding wave of adverse circumstances, there
-must ever arise in their hearts that evil question,
-“How is it now? Is it the same? Or have time,
-and distance, and a thousand other enemies, so
-filled the space between us that the memory of
-either is growing dim, and the influence of the
-other waning, waning till the absence of all binding
-tie begins to feel like a very bond. Will the vision
-simply fade gradually out of sight?” For us there
-is no promise, no tie, no protestations of fealty;
-only knowledge, and that forced upon us rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>
-than sought. You give or you don’t give, that is
-all; if you also take away, you are within your
-right. There may be reasons and reasons, I understand
-them all; and I have only one desire, that
-whatever prevails may secure you happiness. What
-you can give seems to me so unlike what others
-ever have to give, so infinitely beyond price, that,
-where I might gain, it is not right that I should
-speak. Therefore I cannot urge, I dare not even
-plead, a cause that has less to recommend it than
-the forlornest hope.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXXV" id="XXXV"></a><span class="line-height">XXXV</span><br />
-OF OBSESSION</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">IF that is irrevocable&mdash;why, then, no more. You
-can only decide, and while I would not have
-you consider me, I do ask you to think of yourself.
-I have no title to be considered, not the
-remotest; if I had, it might be different. Possibly,
-even, I had better not write now, and yet I must,
-though you say “Don’t.” It cannot matter for
-this once, and after&mdash;well, there may be no after.
-We are curiously inconsistent and very hard to
-understand; even when we think we know each
-other well, we speak to conceal our thoughts; and,
-when we write (and it is often easier to write what
-we mean than to say it) I wonder whether it occurs
-to us how marvellously contradictory we can be,
-and what difficult riddles we can frame, in two or
-three pages of a letter that comes straight from the
-heart and cries to be understood. Verily we are
-the slaves of circumstance; but whilst we accept<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>
-that position, whilst we make sacrifices that can
-be absolutely heroic, and dumbly suffer the crucifixion
-of a lifetime, we want one other heart to
-know and understand. There are few things harder
-to bear than to stifle every strongest inclination,
-every dearest hope, to shut the gate of life, to lock
-it and throw away the key, with a determination
-to accept existence and make the best of it.
-God knows how bitter is that renunciation, but, if
-it be for another, and that other misunderstands,
-then the cruelty of it all seems almost beyond
-endurance.</p>
-
-<p>If I may write no more to you, you may never
-understand. If I saw you, later, under other
-circumstances, I could not speak; so there can be
-no explanation for me. I do not plead, I may not.
-Not once, but often you have heard my profession
-of faith&mdash;a gift is good, because it is given freely.
-The greatest good, the most priceless gift, is love.
-It is valuable because it is free. You cannot buy
-it or compel it; even when given, you cannot lock
-it up, or chain it down, and say, “It is mine for
-ever.” It comes, and it is the joy of life; it goes,
-and it is pity, misery, despair. It is as useless
-to rave against the loss, as to shake one’s fist at
-Zeus and his thunderbolts. If I ever had, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>
-I was thrice-blessed. If I have no longer, the fault
-is probably mine, and I have still the knowledge of
-what was. Not God Himself can deprive me of
-that. I would have liked that you should know all
-I yearn to say, but because you are not here to
-tell me, “Say it, say it all,” therefore I must keep
-silence. Perhaps I do not read aright all you
-mean; but some at least I know, and that is what
-you would have me understand without any shadow
-of doubt. That I realise, down to the very lowest
-depths of the suffering which is dumb for sheer
-pain; and I can say nothing, absolutely nothing,
-because I have no right; nay, more, you tell me
-to be silent. Surely you know, you know, what
-I would say? You remember how one evening
-we rode out by the rocks, and we talked of a
-story of faith and high resolve, and you said you
-did not think I was capable of a like devotion.
-That was a fairy tale; but what I said then, I
-repeat, with greater confidence, now; with hope,
-yes, I could stand and wait&mdash;with none, perhaps
-not.</p>
-
-<p>That is all of me. What your letters have been
-you know, or at least you can guess, for I have
-answered them, and in those answers you could
-read all I might not say. “There must be an end,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>
-and it is not because of the trouble, but it is because
-of the pleasure.” You could not tell me that and
-think, because you bid me, I would not answer?
-Nor does one forget&mdash;fortunately&mdash;though if to
-forget be fortunate, I suppose to remember must
-be unfortunate, only it does not seem so to me.
-“Silence is a great barrier”&mdash;yes, death is silence,
-and the greatest barrier of all, and the silence of
-the living is, in a way, harder to bear, for it seems
-so needlessly unkind. Silence, determined, unbroken
-silence, will, I think, kill all feeling. I will
-not accept that as your last word, not yet; but if,
-when you receive this, you make that the beginning
-of silence, then I shall know, and I will not break
-it. Only I beg of you not to do so hard a thing as
-this, for I will gladly accept any less cruel sentence
-if you will not make yourself as dead to me. I
-have not done anything that need drive you to issue
-such an edict. Will not some less hopeless judgment,
-something short of eternal silence, serve until
-I bring on myself this ghastly doom? You are
-thinking that it was I who said, “All or nothing,”
-I who said friendship was too hard a road to tread.
-That was before&mdash;before I had tried; before I
-knew all I know now. You hid your heart far out
-of sight, and I never dared to guess&mdash;I do not now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>
-But you went, and I, remembering how you went,
-catch at straws; for, as the Eastern says, I am
-drowning in the deepest sea. Do not think that is
-extravagant; it is because I have learned to count
-the unattainable at its true value that I also realise
-the immensity of the loss. We stood on either side
-of a wall, and because the wall was near to me I
-looked over it and almost forgot its existence.
-You, standing farther off, saw always the wall,
-and it shut me out. Then I, thinking it could
-be nothing to you, tried to get across the intervening
-space, and so fell, hurting myself, as
-those who fall must do. It was not a caprice, not
-an impulse that took me, it was the victory of the
-uncontrollable. So, doubting me, and to do right
-for both, you said, “I will build a wall too, stronger
-and higher, and then we can sometimes look over
-and talk to each other, and everything will be well.”
-But it is not well. Only you have vowed yourself
-to the work, and, if it seems hard, you say that all
-things are hard, and this must be good because it
-costs so much. To suffer is bad enough; to give
-suffering where you would strain every nerve to
-give only joy is so hard that, to help the other,
-seems worth any conceivable pain to oneself. What
-can it matter how it affects me, if I can do some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span>
-little good for you; something that may save you
-a little pain, win you a little joy? Believe me, I
-have no wish but this. Whatever my selfishness
-would suggest is not really me, for “Thy law is
-my delight”; nay more, it is my delight to try
-to anticipate your wish. I have no fear except
-that you should misunderstand me, that I should
-misunderstand you. I am my own to offer, yours
-to accept&mdash;equally if, by effacement, I can save
-you the smallest regret, help you for a few
-yards over the stony path of life by keeping
-silence, you will neither see nor hear from me
-again. I would you did not doubt, perhaps you
-do not now; at least you cannot distrust, and in
-this I shall not fail. I shall not say farewell.
-I will never say that; but through the silence,
-if so it must be, sometimes, on a day in spring,
-perhaps, will come the echo of a past that you
-can recall with nothing more than regret. And
-that is what I do not quite understand. You say,
-“In all the years to come I shall not regret.” Not
-regret what has been, what might have been, or
-what will be then? Therein lies all the difference,
-and therein lies the riddle, there and in those words,
-“I am sometimes&mdash;” How am I to supply the
-rest? It might be any one of so many things.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>
-Could it ever be that you are sometimes driven to
-wonder whether everything I could offer is worth
-anything you would give? “Many waters cannot
-quench love, neither can the floods drown it; if a man
-would give all the substance of his house for love, it
-would be utterly contemned.” If that be true, and
-it has high authority, then in that one sentence
-is contained the conclusion of the whole matter.
-It tells you all that you can wish to know for yourself
-and myself and even for others. I have done;
-an accident drew from me an acknowledgment of
-my own hurt when it seemed unlikely that the fact
-should interest you. Now I am so unfortunate that,
-hurt myself, I have made you suffer as well. I have
-nothing to offer to help you, for all I had is yours
-already. And so the end: if so you deem it best.
-“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Si j’étais Dieu</i>,” I would use what power I had
-to spare you a moment’s pain and give you such
-happiness that you should forget the meaning of
-the word “suffering.” How utterly powerless we
-are, how impotent to save those we love, when no
-offer of the best we have, no devotion, no self-effacement,
-will secure the happiness of one other
-being, whose every pulse throbs in unison with ours,
-yet between whom and us there is fixed the great
-gulf of our own conventions. Is the end of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>
-human hopes, all human sorrows, described in these
-two lines?&mdash;</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee</div>
-<div class="verse1">There was, and then no more of Thee and Me.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>“Let me say it whilst I have the courage.”
-Suppose you had the greater courage to write, “I
-will never say it.” Let me rather cry with Saul,
-“Farewell to others, but never we part.” And
-yet I know that we have already parted to meet
-no more.</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXXVI" id="XXXVI"></a><span class="line-height">XXXVI</span><br />
-OF PARADISE LOST</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">BY a dispensation of that Providence which, if
-seldom kind, is sometimes less than malignant,
-I received your two letters together&mdash;the poison
-and the antidote. I looked at the dates on the
-postmarks, and I took the poison first. It did not
-take long to read, and I am glad now that I can
-truly tell you that my impulse was to ignore your
-expressed wish, your command, and to at once tell
-you that I did not believe a single word of those
-lines, which, if meant to hurt, could not have been
-better conceived, for truly they were coldly cruel.
-Indeed, the note was hateful, and so absolutely
-unlike you, that it must have defeated its object,
-had that been really as you declared it. If you
-know me at all, you must have realised that, if I
-know the Kingdom of Heaven may not be taken
-by storm, I should never seek for the charity which
-is thrown to the importunate. But the other letter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>
-was there, and in it I found such measure of consolation
-as is vouchsafed to those who find that,
-if their path is difficult, they will not tread it alone,
-and it tends upward. It may not be all we desire&mdash;how
-should it be in a world which is full of</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 7em;">“Infinite passion</span></div>
-<div class="verse">And the pain of finite hearts that yearn”?</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>Still, it is much; and, at the worst, it is death
-without its sting.</p>
-
-<p>Do I know? I think I do. You see, if the future
-contains nothing for me, I have still the past&mdash;and,
-in that past, I have learnt to implicitly trust you,
-and you have let me see enough of your very self to
-make me disregard even what comes from you, when
-it has nothing in common with your real character.
-But I shall not forget&mdash;I do not do that easily at
-any time&mdash;and, if all else faded, I could not forget
-our friendship. Do you think the first man and
-woman ever forgot that once they dwelt in Paradise?
-It was the recollection of all they had lost which was
-the beginning of mortal suffering. If that “pleasant
-place” is closed to me, I am not likely to forget that
-I have seen the gate, that I know where to find it,
-and that there is but one. Yes, I understand; and
-the proof is, that in my regret there is no bitterness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>
-now. I also remember what I said when we leant
-over the balustrade of a verandah and looked out
-into the silver sheen of a ravishing Eastern night,
-wherein the frail chalices of the moonflower shone
-like great, milk-white stars in their leafy sky, while
-from the trellis-work beneath us rose the faint, sweet
-scent of those strange blossoms. You have taught
-me how great the exception can be. The cynicism
-is only skin-deep, and I shall never swell the ranks
-of the Faithful&mdash;though I still think there is much
-to be said for the Faith. The creed, like other
-creeds, suffers by the perfunctory service of those
-who profess to be true believers. As for the way
-you have chosen, I think it is the right way, at
-least it is the best to follow now; and, to help you
-tread it well, I also say, “God be with you.” They
-need not be my last words to you, for, if ever my
-loyal service can further any wish of yours, our
-friendship is not so poor a thing that you would
-hesitate to give me the satisfaction of doing for you
-anything that lies in my power. That was in the
-bond we made long ago. If we cannot forget what
-came into our dream of mutual trust and intellectual
-companionship, is it not better to bravely accept the
-fiat of Destiny and make the past a link to bind us
-more closely to the terms of our bond? Even so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>
-we may still help each other, still cleave to the
-sympathy which we know will never fail us; and,
-if our paths divide, the earth is not wide enough
-to keep us asunder, should we ever try to say
-“Adieu.”</p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p>
-
-<h2><a name="XXXVII" id="XXXVII"></a><span class="line-height">XXXVII</span><br />
-“TO MARY, IN HEAVEN”</h2>
-
-<p class="cap">THIS is my last letter to you, <i>Carina</i>, and
-I am writing in the belief that you are in
-heaven. But are you really there, and, if you are,
-is all well with you? Have you everything you
-desire and no regrets? It seems such a very long
-way off, you have such small control over the
-means of transport, and so much depends on hearsay,
-that one may, I trust, be pardoned for entertaining
-doubt where all is so indefinite. Then the
-accounts of that blessed place that have come to
-different parts of the world, though always inspired,
-differ so materially. To mortals, immortality is a
-difficult conception. To finite minds, conscious of
-the grasp of a limited intelligence, but still very
-much alive to the evidence of the senses we possess,
-the idea of a heaven, somewhere beyond the reach
-of earthly imagination, is perhaps more difficult still.
-So many millions come into the world, and we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>
-realise fairly well how and why they come; they
-all, without exception, go, and none ever return,
-and some, we are told, are in heaven, and some
-elsewhere. The time here is so absurdly short,
-and the eternity there is so impossibly long, that,
-if our chances of spending the latter in joy, or
-sorrow, depend on what we do in the former, it
-is only natural that this one idea should occupy
-our thoughts to the exclusion of all others. Yet
-there, again, we are such frail things, that in this
-way lies what we call madness.</p>
-
-<p>If you have solved the great problem, can you
-not enlighten my darkness, my craving for exact
-knowledge? Write to me, <i>Carina</i>, write and tell
-me what it is all like. If I have wearied you with
-my feeble, little tales, my stupid questions, my
-pictures that must seem to you so flat and colourless
-in the glory of that better world, my vain
-imaginings and poor human longings, will you not
-take pity on me and gladden my weary eyes with
-a word-painted vision of the Heavenly City, the
-fields of Elysium, or at least the houris who are
-to be the portion of the Faithful? I do not know
-which paradise you are in. See, I wait with the
-pencil on the paper: will you not make it write?</p>
-
-<p>You do not heed. Perhaps, after all, you are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>
-not there; or is it possible that you have forgotten
-this small planet and those you left here, and that
-you find more congenial friends in the company of
-the angels? I dare say it is natural, and I do not
-upbraid you; but some day I may reach that desired
-haven, and I want you to remember that I have
-earned your consideration by my discretion, if you
-can spare me no more tender feeling. If, for instance,
-I had sent you these letters while you were
-still on earth, and you had incautiously left them
-about (as you would have been certain to do),
-quite a number of them would have compromised
-you in the opinion of the servant girl, and she is
-the origin of a vast deal of earthly gossip. I suppose
-you have no servant girls and no gossip where
-you are: the absence of effect depending on the
-want of cause. Happy heaven! and yet I believe
-that there are people on this earth who really enjoy
-being the subject of gossip. To them the suggestions
-of scandal are as the savour of salt, as danger
-is to the sportsman; the wilder the suggestion, the
-more amusing the game; and there are even those
-who, when tattle wanes and desire fails, say or
-insinuate, to their own detriment, the thing that is
-not, rather than disappear into obscurity. It is
-the same desire for notoriety and attention which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>
-prompted Martin to set fire to York Minster, and
-led the woman to complain to the vicar that her
-husband had ceased to beat her.</p>
-
-<p>Up in the serene atmosphere of those heavenly
-heights you have no cathedrals, no husbands, no
-wives, no work, no play, no food, no frocks&mdash;pardon
-me, that is a slip of the pen; of course you have
-frocks, but what else have you? Is it not sometimes
-just a little monotonous? If life is so short
-that it amounts to little more than the constant fear
-of coming death, are you not sometimes overawed
-by the contemplation of eternity? But, after all,
-the dwellers in heaven may never think. Never to
-remember, and so never to regret; never to think,
-and so never to desire&mdash;that is a possible scheme
-of existence where a thousand years might be as
-one day, and to the weary it would mean rest. But
-so would oblivion, and we are not altogether satisfied
-with the thought of oblivion.</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="verse">“Oh, Threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!</div>
-<div class="verse1">One thing is certain&mdash;<em>This</em> Life flies;</div>
-<div class="verse3">One thing is certain, and the rest is Lies;</div>
-<div class="verse1">The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p>That is well enough, but it is not an inspired
-writing; it is a cry rather of despair than conviction,
-and oft repeated to make up for want of certainty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>
-Of things mundane we have acquired a tolerable
-knowledge, however much there is yet to be learnt;
-but that in us which we call the Soul will never
-be satisfied till it learns something of the hereafter.
-Who will teach it? Do we know more now than
-they did when men fought with bows and arrows,
-or flint weapons, instead of hundred-ton guns fired
-by electricity?</p>
-
-<p>Standing alone in some vast solitude where man
-and his doings have no part, have made no mark
-and left no trace&mdash;where face to face with Nature,
-with mountain and plain, forest and sea and a limitless
-firmament, man’s somewhat puny efforts are
-forgotten, there comes an intense longing for something
-higher and nobler than the life we live. The
-soul of man cries out for light, for some goal towards
-which he may by effort and sacrifice attain;
-for he is not lacking in the qualities that have made
-heroes and martyrs throughout all the ages. If he
-cannot rend the veil and scale the heights of heaven,
-he can grasp the things within his reach; and, realising
-that there are problems beyond his intelligence,
-he can yet give his life to make easier the lot of his
-fellow-creatures, seeking humbly, but courageously,
-to follow, no matter how far behind, in the footsteps
-of his Great Exemplar. Nor need his efforts be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>
-less strenuous, his object less worthy, because this
-passionate cry of a voice, stilled centuries ago, strikes
-a sympathetic chord in his heart.</p>
-
-<div class="poetry-container">
-<div class="poetry">
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse">“Yet ah! that Spring should vanish with the Rose!</div>
-<div class="verse3">That Youth’s sweet-scented manuscript should close!</div>
-<div class="verse4">The Nightingale, that in the branches sang,</div>
-<div class="verse3">Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1">Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield</div>
-<div class="verse3">One glimpse&mdash;if dimly, yet indeed reveal’d,</div>
-<div class="verse4">To which the fainting Traveller might spring,</div>
-<div class="verse3">As springs the trampled herbage of the field!</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1">Would but some wingèd Angel, ere too late,</div>
-<div class="verse3">Arrest the yet-unfolded Roll of Fate,</div>
-<div class="verse4">And make the stern Recorder otherwise</div>
-<div class="verse3">Enregister, or quite obliterate!</div>
-</div>
-<div class="stanza">
-<div class="verse1">Ah Love, could you and I with Him conspire</div>
-<div class="verse3">To grasp this sorry Scheme of things entire,</div>
-<div class="verse4">Would not we shatter it to bits&mdash;and then</div>
-<div class="verse3">Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!”</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<p class="center mt3">THE END</p>
-
-
-<p class="center mt3"><small>Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson &amp; Co.</span></small></p>
-<p class="center"><small>Edinburgh &amp; London</small></p>
-
-<hr class="chap" />
-<div class="page-break-before">
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="catpage2 u"><i>SECOND EDITION</i></p>
-<p class="catpage1">Malay Sketches</p>
-<p class="catpage4">BY</p>
-<p class="catpage2">FRANK ATHELSTANE SWETTENHAM</p>
-<p class="catpage3">WITH TITLE-PAGE AND COVER DESIGNED BY</p>
-<p class="catpage2">PATTEN WILSON</p>
-<p class="catpage3">Crown 8vo, 6s.</p>
-
-<p>“Mr. Swettenham’s style is simple and direct and vigorous.
-Particularly good is his eye for colour, and he has a fine sense
-of the brilliant melancholy of the East. To few falls the good
-fortune of introducing us to a new people, and seldom have we
-the advantage of so admirable a guide.”&mdash;<cite>Pall Mall Gazette.</cite></p>
-
-<p>“Nothing approaching Mr. Swettenham’s intimate knowledge
-and illuminative analysis has yet seen the light about that fascinating
-country which he so well describes.”&mdash;<cite>Daily Chronicle.</cite></p>
-
-<p>“Its unconventional character is one of the most attractive points
-about this very attractive volume. Mr. Swettenham succeeds in
-making the life and character of the Malays real to us in a way that
-so far as we are aware no other writer has done.”&mdash;<cite>Publishers’
-Circular.</cite></p>
-
-<p>“A pleasant simplicity of style, a total lack of affectation, and a
-comparatively unknown land and people for subject-matter, make
-‘Malay Sketches’ entirely delightful. They are always vivid,
-always convincing.”&mdash;<cite>St. James’s Budget.</cite></p>
-
-<p>“This is one of those books which exercise such a fascination upon
-the mind of the stay-at-home traveller. Stay-at-home though he
-may be, he has no difficulty in distinguishing the work of a genuine
-authority from the hasty and inexact impressions of the idle globe-trotter.
-‘Malay Sketches’ will be speedily recognised by him as
-belonging to the more reliable kind of his favourite literature.”&mdash;<cite>Spectator.</cite></p>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-<p class="catpage2"><span class="smcap">London: JOHN LANE, The Bodley Head</span></p>
-
-<hr class="chap1" />
-</div>
-<div class="page-break-before">
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1_cat" id="Page_1_cat">[1]</a></span></p>
-
-<div class="figcenter" style="width: 485px;">
-  <img src="images/catalogue1.jpg" width="485" height="700" alt="Book Catalogue" />
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="page-break-before">
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2_cat" id="Page_2_cat">[2]</a></span><br />
-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3_cat" id="Page_3_cat">[3]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="catpage3 mt3">1898</p>
-<p class="catpage2">List of Books</p>
-<p class="catpage4">IN</p>
-<p class="catpage2"><i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">BELLES LETTRES</i></p>
-<p class="catpage1">Published by John Lane</p>
-<p class="oldenglish">The Bodley Head</p>
-<p class="catpage3">VIGO STREET, LONDON, W.</p>
-</div>
-<div class="catalogue">
-<div class="catalogue-width">
-
-<p class="authors">Adams (Francis).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Essays in Modernity.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Shortly.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Child of the Age.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">A. E.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Homeward: Songs by the Way.</span>
-Sq. 16mo, wrappers, 1s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Earth Breath, and other
-Poems.</span> Sq. 16mo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Aldrich (T. B.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Later Lyrics.</span> Sm. fcap. 8vo.
-2s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Allen (Grant).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Lower Slopes</span>: A Volume of
-Verse. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Woman Who Did.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Twenty-third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The British Barbarians.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Atherton (Gertrude).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Patience Sparhawk and her
-Times.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Californians.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Shortly.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Bailey (John C.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">English Elegies.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Balfour (Marie Clothilde).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Maris Stella.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Songs from a Corner of France.</span></p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Beeching (Rev. H. C.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In a Garden</span>: Poems. Crown 8vo.
-5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">St. Augustine at Ostia.</span> Crown
-8vo, wrappers, 1s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Beerbohm (Max).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Works of Max Beerbohm.</span>
-With a Bibliography by <span class="smcap">John
-Lane</span>. Sq. 16mo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Happy Hypocrite.</span> Sq. 16mo.
-1s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Bennett (E. A.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Man from the North.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Journalism for Women</span>: A Practical
-Guide. Sq. 16mo. 2s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Benson (Arthur Christopher).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Lyrics.</span> Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 5s.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Lord Vyet and other Poems.</span>
-Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Bridges (Robert).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Suppressed Chapters and other
-Bookishness.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Brotherton (Mary).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Rosemary for Remembrance.</span>
-Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Brown (Vincent).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">My Brother.</span> Sq. 16mo. 2s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ordeal by Compassion.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Two in Captivity.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Bourne (George).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Year’s Exile.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4_cat" id="Page_4_cat">[4]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Buchan (John).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Scholar Gipsies.</span> With 7 full-page
-Etchings by <span class="smcap">D. Y. Cameron</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Musa Piscatrix.</span> With 6 Etchings
-by <span class="smcap">E. Philip Pimlott</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Grey Weather.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">John Burnet of Barns.</span> A
-Romance. Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Campbell (Gerald).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Joneses and the Asterisks.</span>
-A Story in Monologue. 6 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">
-F. H. Townsend</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Case (Robert H.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">English Epithalamies.</span> Crown
-8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Castle (Mrs. Egerton).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">My Little Lady Anne.</span> Sq. 16mo.
-2s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Chapman (Elizabeth Rachel).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Marriage Questions in Modern
-Fiction.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Charles (Joseph F.).</p>
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Duke of Linden.</span> Crown 8vo.
-5s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Cobb (Thomas).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Carpet Courtship.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Mr. Passingham.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Coleridge (Ernest Hartley).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Corvo (Baron).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Stories Toto Told Me.</span> Square
-16mo. 1s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Crane (Walter).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Toy Books.</span> Re-issue of.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">This Little Pig’s Picture Book</span>,
-containing:</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-<div class="catalogue-width">
-<ol>
-<li><span class="smcap">I. This Little Pig.</span></li>
-<li><span class="smcap">II. The Fairy Ship.</span></li>
-<li><span class="smcap">III. King Luckieboy’s Party.</span></li>
-</ol>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Mother Hubbard’s Picture Book</span>,
-containing:</p>
-
-<ol>
-<li><span class="smcap">IV. Mother Hubbard.</span></li>
-<li><span class="smcap">V. The Three Bears.</span></li>
-<li><span class="smcap">VI. The Absurd A. B. C.</span></li>
-</ol>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Cinderella’s Picture Book</span>,
-containing:</p>
-
-<ol>
-<li><span class="smcap">VII. Cinderella.</span></li>
-<li><span class="smcap">VIII. Puss in Boots.</span></li>
-<li><span class="smcap">IX. Valentine and Orson.</span></li>
-</ol>
-
-</div>
-<div class="catalogue">
-<div class="catalogue-width">
-<p class="indent">Each Picture-Book containing three
-Toy Books, complete with end papers
-and covers, together with collective
-titles, end-papers, decorative cloth
-cover, and newly written Preface by
-<span class="smcap">Walter Crane</span>, 4s. 6d. The Nine
-Parts as above may be had separately
-at 1s. each.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Crackanthorpe (Hubert).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Vignettes.</span> A Miniature Journal
-of Whim and Sentiment. Fcap. 8vo, boards. 2s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Craig (R. Manifold).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Sacrifice of Fools.</span> Crown
-8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Crosse (Victoria).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Woman who Didn’t.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Custance (Olive).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Opals</span>: Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Croskey (Julian).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Max.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Dalmon (C. W.).</p>
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Song Favours.</span> Sq. 16mo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">D’Arcy (Ella).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Monochromes.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Bishop’s Dilemma.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Modern Instances.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Dawe (W. Carlton).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Yellow and White.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Kakemonos.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Dawson (A. J.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Mere Sentiment.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Middle Greyness.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Davidson (John).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Plays</span>: An Unhistorical Pastoral;
-A Romantic Farce; Bruce, a Chronicle Play; Smith, a Tragic Farce;
-Scaramouch in Naxos, a Pantomime. Small 4to. 7s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5_cat" id="Page_5_cat">[5]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Fleet Street Eclogues.</span> Fcap.
-8vo, buckram. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Fleet Street Eclogues.</span> 2nd
-Series. Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Random Itinerary.</span> Fcap. 8vo.
-5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballads and Songs.</span> Fcap. 8vo.
-5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">New Ballads.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Godfrida.</span> A Play. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">De Lyrienne (Richard).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Quest of the Gilt-Edged
-Girl.</span> Sq. 16mo. 1s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">De Tabley (Lord).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical.</span>
-By <span class="smcap">John Leicester Warren</span>
-(Lord de Tabley). Five Illustrations and Cover by
-<span class="smcap">C. S. Ricketts</span>. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical.</span>
-Second Series. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Devereux (Roy).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Ascent of Woman.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Dick (Chas. Hill).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">English Satires.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Dix (Gertrude).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Girl from the Farm.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Dostoievsky (F.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poor Folk.</span> Translated from the
-Russian by <span class="smcap">Lena Milman</span>. With a Preface by
-<span class="smcap">George Moore</span>. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Dowie (Menie Muriel).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Some Whims of Fate.</span> Post 8vo.
-2s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Duer (Caroline, and Alice).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Egerton (George).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Keynotes.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Eighth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Discords.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Symphonies.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Fantasias.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Hazard of the Ill.</span> Crown
-8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Eglinton (John).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Two Essays on the Remnant.</span>
-Post 8vo, wrappers. 1s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Farr (Florence).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Dancing Faun.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Fea (Allan).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Flight of the King</span>: A full,
-true, and particular account of the escape of His Most Sacred Majesty
-King Charles II. after the Battle of Worcester, with Sixteen Portraits
-in Photogravure and over 100 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 21s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Field (Eugene).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac.</span>
-Post 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Lullaby Land</span>: Songs of Childhood.
-Edited, with Introduction, by <span class="smcap">Kenneth Grahame</span>.
-With 200 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Chas. Robinson</span>.
-Uncut or gilt edges. Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Firth (George).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Adventures of a Martyr’s
-Bible.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Fleming (George).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">For Plain Women Only.</span> Fcap.
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Flowerdew (Herbert).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Celibate’s Wife.</span> Crown 8vo.
-6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Fletcher (J. S.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Wonderful Wapentake.</span>
-By “<span class="smcap">A Son of the Soil</span>.” With
-18 Full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">J. A.
-Symington</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Life in Arcadia.</span> With 20 Illustrations
-by <span class="smcap">Patten Wilson</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">God’s Failures.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballads of Revolt.</span> Sq. 32mo.
-2s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Making of Matthias.</span> With
-40 Illustrations and Decorations
-by <span class="smcap">Lucy Kemp-Welch</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Ford (James L.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Literary Shop, and Other
-Tales.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6_cat" id="Page_6_cat">[6]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Frederic (Harold).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">March Hares.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Albert Grundy: Observations
-in Philistia.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Fuller (H. B.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Puppet Booth.</span> Twelve Plays.
-Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Gale (Norman).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Orchard Songs.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Garnett (Richard).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Dante</span>, <span class="smcap">Petrarch</span>,
-<span class="smcap">Camoens</span>, cxxiv Sonnets, rendered in English.
-Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Geary (Sir Nevill).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Lawyer’s Wife.</span> Crown 8vo.
-6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Gibson (Charles Dana).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Drawings</span>: Eighty-Five Large Cartoons.
-Oblong Folio. 20s.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Pictures of People.</span> Eighty-Five
-Large Cartoons. Oblong folio. 20s.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">London: As Seen by C. D. Gibson.</span>
-Text and Illustrations. Large
-folio, 12 × 18 inches. 20s.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The People of Dickens.</span> Six
-Large Photogravures. Proof Impressions from Plates, in a Portfolio.
-20s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Gilbert (Henry).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Of Necessity.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Gilliat-Smith (E.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Songs from Prudentius.</span> Pott
-4to. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Gleig (Charles).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">When all Men Starve.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Edge of Honesty.</span> Crown
-8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Gosse (Edmund).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Letters of Thomas Lovell
-Beddoes.</span> Now first edited. Pott 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Grahame (Kenneth).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Pagan Papers.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Golden Age.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Eighth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A New Volume of Essays.</span></p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Eugene Field’s Lullaby Land</span>.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Greene (G. A.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Italian Lyrists of To-day.</span>
-Translations in the original metres from about thirty-five living Italian
-poets, with bibliographical and biographical notes. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Greenwood (Frederick).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Imagination in Dreams.</span> Crown
-8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Grimshaw (Beatrice Ethel).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Broken Away.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Hake (T. Gordon).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Selection from his Poems.</span>
-Edited by Mrs. <span class="smcap">Meynell</span>. With
-a Portrait after <span class="smcap">D. G. Rossetti</span>.
-Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Hansson (Laura M.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Modern Women.</span> An English
-rendering of “<span class="smcap"><span lang="de" xml:lang="de">Das Buch der Frauen</span></span>” by
-<span class="smcap">Hermione Ramsden</span>. Subjects: Sonia Kovalevsky,
-George Egerton, Eleanora Duse, Amalie Skram, Marie Bashkirtseff,
-A. Ch. Edgren Leffler. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Hansson (Ola).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Young Ofeg’s Ditties.</span> A Translation
-from the Swedish. By <span class="smcap">George Egerton</span>. Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Harland (Henry).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Grey Roses.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Comedies and Errors.</span> Crown
-8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Hay (Colonel John).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems including “The Pike County
-Ballads”</span> (Author’s Edition), with Portrait of the
-Author. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Castilian Days.</span> Crown 8vo.
-4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Speech at the Unveiling of the
-Bust of Sir Walter Scott in Westminster Abbey.</span> With a
-Drawing of the Bust. Sq. 16mo. 1s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Hayes (Alfred).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Vale of Arden and Other
-Poems.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7_cat" id="Page_7_cat">[7]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Hazlitt (William).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap"><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Liber Amoris</span>; or, The New
-Pygmalion.</span> Edited, with an Introduction,
-by <span class="smcap">Richard Le Gallienne</span>. To which
-is added an exact transcript of the original MS.,
-Mrs. Hazlitt’s Diary in Scotland, and letters never before published.
-Portrait after <span class="smcap">Bewick</span>, and facsimile
-letters. 400 Copies only. 4to, 364 pp., buckram. 21s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Heinemann (William).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The First Step</span>; A Dramatic
-Moment. Small 4to. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Summer Moths</span>: A Play. Sm.
-4to. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Henniker (Florence).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In Scarlet and Grey.</span> (With
-<span class="smcap">The Spectre of the Real</span> by
-<span class="smcap">Florence Henniker</span> and
-<span class="smcap">Thomas Hardy</span>.) Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Hickson (Mrs. Murray).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Shadows of Life.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Hopper (Nora).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballads in Prose.</span> Sm. 4to. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Under Quicken Boughs.</span> Crown
-8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Housman (Clemence).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Were Wolf.</span> With 6 Illustrations
-by <span class="smcap">Laurence Housman</span>.
-Sq. 16mo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Housman (Laurence).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Green Arras</span>: Poems. With 6
-Illustrations, Title-page, Cover Design, and End Papers by the
-Author. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Gods and their Makers.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Irving (Laurence).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Godefroi and Yolande</span>: A Play.
-Sm. 4to. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Jalland (G. H.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Sporting Adventures Of
-Mr. Popple.</span> Coloured Plates.
-Oblong 4to, 14 × 10 inches. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">James (W. P.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Romantic Professions</span>: A Volume
-of Essays. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Johnson (Lionel).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Art of Thomas Hardy</span>: Six
-Essays. With Etched Portrait by
-<span class="smcap">Wm. Strang</span>, and Bibliography
-by <span class="smcap">John Lane</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Johnson (Pauline).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">White Wampum</span>: Poems. Crown
-8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Johnstone (C. E.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballads of Boy and Beak.</span> Sq.
-32mo. 2s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Kemble (E. W.)</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Kemble’s Coons.</span> 30 Drawings of
-Coloured Children and Southern Scenes. Oblong 4to. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">King (K. Douglas).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Child who will Never Grow
-Old.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">King (Maud Egerton).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Round about a Brighton Coach
-Office.</span> With over 30 Illustrations
-by <span class="smcap">Lucy Kemp-Welch</span>.
-Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Lander (Harry).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Weighed in the Balance.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">The Lark.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Book the First.</span> Containing
-Nos. 1 to 12.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Book the Second.</span> Containing
-Nos. 13 to 24. With numerous
-Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gelett Burgess</span>
-and Others. Small 4to. 25s. net, the set.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>All published.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Leather (R. K.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Verses.</span> 250 copies. Fcap. 8vo.
-3s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Lefroy (Edward Cracroft).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> With a Memoir by
-<span class="smcap">W. A. Gill</span>, and a reprint of
-Mr. <span class="smcap">J. A. Symonds</span>’ Critical Essay on
-“Echoes from Theocritus.” Cr. 8vo. Photogravure Portrait. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Le Gallienne (Richard).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Prose Fancies.</span> With Portrait of
-the Author by <span class="smcap">Wilson Steer</span>.
-Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Book Bills of Narcissus.</span>
-An Account rendered by <span class="smcap">Richard
-le Gallienne</span>. With a Frontispiece.
-Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8_cat" id="Page_8_cat">[8]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson, an
-Elegy, and Other Poems, mainly Personal.</span> Crown 8vo.
-4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">English Poems.</span> Crown 8vo.
-4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition, revised.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">George Meredith</span>: Some Characteristics.
-With a Bibliography (much enlarged) by
-<span class="smcap">John Lane</span>, portrait, &amp;c. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Religion of a Literary
-Man.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Thousand.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Retrospective Reviews, A Literary
-Log, 1891-1895.</span> 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 9s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Prose Fancies.</span> (Second Series).
-Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Quest of the Golden Girl.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Romance of Zion Chapel.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Love in London</span>: Poems. Crown
-8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><i>See also</i> <span class="smcap">Hazlitt</span>,
-<span class="smcap">Walton</span> and
-<span class="smcap">Cotton</span>.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Legge (A. E. J.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Mutineers.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Linden (Annie).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Gold.</span> A Dutch Indian story.
-Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Lipsett (Caldwell).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Where the Atlantic Meets
-the Land.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Locke (W. J.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Derelicts.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Lowry (H. D.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Make Believe.</span> Illustrated by
-<span class="smcap">Charles Robinson</span>. Crown 8vo,
-gilt edges or uncut. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Women’s Tragedies.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Happy Exile.</span> With 6 Etchings
-by <span class="smcap">E. Philip Pimlott</span>. Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Lucas (Winifred).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Units</span>: Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Lynch (Hannah).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Great Galeoto and Folly
-or Saintliness.</span> Two Plays, from the Spanish of
-<span class="smcap"><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">José Echegaray</span></span>,
-with an Introduction. Small 4to. 5s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">McChesney (Dora Greenwell).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Beatrix Infelix.</span> A Summer
-Tragedy in Rome. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Macgregor (Barrington).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">King Longbeard.</span> With over 100
-Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Charles Robinson</span>.
-Small 4to. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Machen (Arthur).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Great God Pan and the
-Inmost Light.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Three Impostors.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Macleod (Fiona).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Mountain Lovers.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Makower (Stanley V.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Mirror of Music.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Cecilia.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Mangan (James Clarence).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Selected Poems.</span> With a
-Biographical and Critical Preface by
-<span class="smcap">Louise Imogen Guiney</span>. Crown
-8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Mathew (Frank).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Wood of the Brambles.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Child in the Temple.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Spanish Wine.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">At the Rising of the Moon.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Marzials (Theo.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Gallery of Pigeons and
-Other Poems.</span> Post 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Meredith (George).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The First Published Portrait
-of this Author</span>, engraved on the
-wood by <span class="smcap">W. Biscombe Gardner</span>,
-after the painting by <span class="smcap">G. F. Watts</span>.
-Proof copies on Japanese vellum, signed by painter and engraver.
-£1 1s. net.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9_cat" id="Page_9_cat">[9]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Meynell (Mrs.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Sixth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Rhythm of Life and Other
-Essays.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Sixth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Colour of Life and Other
-Essays.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Children.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Miller (Joaquin).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Building of the City Beautiful.</span>
-Fcap. 8vo. With a Decorated Cover. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Milman (Helen).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In the Garden of Peace.</span> With
-24 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Edmund H. New</span>.
-Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Money-Coutts (F. B.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Revelation of St. Love the
-Divine.</span> Sq. 16mo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Monkhouse (Allan).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Books and Plays</span>: A Volume of
-Essays on Meredith, Borrow, Ibsen, and others. Crown 8vo.
-5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Deliverance.</span> Crown 8vo.
-5s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Nesbit (E.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Pomander of Verse.</span> Crown
-8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In Homespun.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Nettleship (J. T.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Robert Browning</span>: Essays and
-Thoughts. Portrait. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Nicholson (Claud).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ugly Idol.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Noble (Jas. Ashcroft).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Sonnet in England and
-Other Essays.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Oppenheim (M.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A History of the Administration
-of the Royal Navy</span>, and of Merchant Shipping in relation
-to the Navy from MDIX to MDCLX, with an introduction treating of
-the earlier period. With Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 15s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Orred (Meta).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Glamour.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">O’Shaughnessy (Arthur).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">His Life and His Work.</span> With
-Selections from his Poems. By
-<span class="smcap">Louise Chandler Moulton</span>.
-Portrait and Cover Design. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Oxford Characters.</p>
-
-<p class="hang">A series of lithographed portraits by
-<span class="smcap">Will Rothenstein</span>, with text
-by <span class="smcap">F. York Powell</span> and others.
-200 copies only, folio. £3 3s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Pain (Barry).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Tompkins Verses.</span> Edited
-by <span class="smcap">Barry Pain</span>, with an introduction.
-Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-
-<p class="authors">Pennell (Elizabeth Robins).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Feasts of Autolycus: The
-Diary of a Greedy Woman.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-
-<p class="authors">Peters (Wm. Theodore).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Posies out of Rings.</span> Sq. 16mo.
-2s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-
-<p class="authors">Phillips (Stephen).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> With which is incorporated
-“<span class="smcap">Christ in Hades</span>.”
-Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Pinkerton (T. A.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Sun Beetles.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Plarr (Victor).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In the Dorian Mood</span>: Poems.
-Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Posters in Miniature:</p>
-<p class="hang">over 250 reproductions of French, English and American Posters, with
-Introduction by <span class="smcap">Edward Penfield</span>. Large crown 8vo.
-5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Price (A. T. G.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Simplicity.</span> Sq. 16mo. 2s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Radford (Dollie).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Songs and other Verses.</span> Fcap.
-8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Risley (R. V.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Sentimental Vikings.</span> Post
-8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Rhys (Ernest).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A London Rose and Other
-Rhymes.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10_cat" id="Page_10_cat">[10]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Robertson (John M.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">New Essays towards a Critical
-Method.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Russell (T. Baron).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Guardian of the Poor.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">St. Cyres (Lord).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Little Flowers of St.
-Francis</span>: A new rendering into
-English of the <span lang="it" xml:lang="it">Fioretti di San
-Francesco</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Seaman (Owen).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Battle of the Bays.</span> Fcap.
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Horace at Cambridge.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Sedgwick (Jane Minot).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Songs from the Greek.</span> Fcap.
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Setoun (Gabriel).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Child World</span>: Poems. With
-over 200 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Charles
-Robinson</span>. Crown 8vo, gilt edges or uncut. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Sharp (Evelyn).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Wymps</span>: Fairy Tales. With 8 Coloured
-Illustrations by Mrs. <span class="smcap">Percy
-Dearmer</span>. Small 4to, decorated cover. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">At the Relton Arms.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Making of a Prig.</span> Crown
-8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">All the Way to Fairy Land.</span>
-With 8 Coloured Illustrations by Mrs.
-<span class="smcap">Percy Dearmer</span>. Small 4to, decorated cover. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Shiel (M. P.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Prince Zaleski.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Shapes in the Fire.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Shore (Louisa).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> With an appreciation by
-<span class="smcap">Frederic Harrison</span> and a Portrait.
-Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Shorter (Mrs. Clement). (Dora Sigerson).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Fairy Changeling, and
-other Poems.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Smith (John).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Platonic Affections.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Stacpoole (H. de Vere).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Pierrot.</span> Sq. 16mo. 2s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Death, the Knight, and the
-Lady.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Stevenson (Robert Louis).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Prince Otto.</span> A Rendering in
-French by <span class="smcap">Egerton Castle</span>.
-Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Child’s Garden of Verses.</span>
-With over 150 Illustrations by
-<span class="smcap">Charles Robinson</span>. Crown 8vo.
-5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Stimson (F. J.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">King Noanett.</span> A Romance of
-Devonshire Settlers in New England. With 12 Illustrations by
-<span class="smcap">Henry Sandham</span>. Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Stoddart (Thos. Tod).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Death Wake.</span> With an
-Introduction by <span class="smcap">Andrew Lang</span>.
-Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Street (G. S.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Episodes.</span> Post 8vo. 3s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Miniatures and Moods.</span> Fcap.
-8vo. 3s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap"><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Quales Ego</span>: A few Remarks,
-in particular and at large.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Autobiography of a Boy.</span>
-Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Sixth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Wise and the Wayward.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Notes of a Struggling Genius.</span>
-Sq. 16mo, wrapper. 1s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Sudermann (H.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Regina: or, The Sins of the
-Fathers.</span> A Translation of <span class="smcap"><span lang="de" xml:lang="de">Der
-Katzensteg</span></span>. By <span class="smcap">Beatrice
-Marshall</span>. Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Swettenham (Sir F. A.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Malay Sketches.</span> Crown 8vo.
-6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Unaddressed Letters.</span> Crown
-8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Syrett (Netta).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Nobody’s Fault.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Tree of Life.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Tabb (John B.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> Sq. 32mo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Lyrics.</span> Sq. 32mo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Taylor (Una).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Nets for the Wind.</span> Crown 8vo.
-3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11_cat" id="Page_11_cat">[11]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Tennyson (Frederick).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems of the Day and Year.</span>
-Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Thimm (Carl A.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Complete Bibliography of
-Fencing and Duelling, as practised by all European Nations from
-the Middle Ages to the Present Day.</span>
-With a Classified Index, arranged Chronologically according to
-Languages. Illustrated with numerous Portraits of Ancient
-and Modern Masters of the Art. Title-pages and Frontispieces of
-some of the earliest works. Portrait of the Author by
-<span class="smcap">Wilson Steer</span>. 4to. 21s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Thompson (Francis).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> With Frontispiece by
-<span class="smcap">Laurence Housman</span>. Pott 4to. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Sister-Songs</span>: An Offering to
-Two Sisters. With Frontispiece by
-<span class="smcap">Laurence Housman</span>. Pott 4to. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Thoreau (Henry David).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems of Nature.</span> Selected and
-edited by <span class="smcap">Henry S. Salt</span> and
-<span class="smcap">Frank B. Sanborn</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Traill (H. D.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Barbarous Britishers</span>: A
-Tip-top Novel. Crown 8vo, wrapper. 1s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">From Cairo to the Soudan
-Frontier.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Tynan Hinkson (Katharine).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Cuckoo Songs.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 5s.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Miracle Plays. Our Lord’s
-Coming and Childhood.</span> With
-6 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Patten Wilson</span>.
-Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Wells (H. G.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Select Conversations with an
-Uncle, now Extinct.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Walton and Cotton.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Compleat Angler.</span> Edited
-by <span class="smcap">Richard Le Gallienne</span>.
-With over 250 Illustrations by
-<span class="smcap">Edmund H. New</span>. Fcap. 4to,
-decorated cover. 15s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang">Also to be had in thirteen 1s. parts.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Warden (Gertrude).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Sentimental Sex.</span> Crown
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Watson (H. B. Marriott).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">At the First Corner and Other
-Stories.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Galloping Dick.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Heart of Miranda.</span> Crown
-8vo. 6s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Watson (Rosamund Marriott).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Vespertilia and other Poems.</span>
-Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Summer Night and Other
-Poems.</span> New Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Watson (William).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Father of the Forest and
-other Poems.</span> With New Photogravure
-Portrait of the Author. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Thousand.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Odes and Other Poems.</span> Fcap.
-8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Eloping Angels</span>: A Caprice.
-Square 16mo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Excursions in Criticism</span>: being
-some Prose Recreations of a Rhymer. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Prince’s Quest and Other
-Poems.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Purple East</span>: A Series of
-Sonnets on England’s Desertion of Armenia. With a Frontispiece
-after <span class="smcap">G. F. Watts</span>, R.A. Fcap.
-8vo, wrappers. 1s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Year of Shame.</span> With an
-Introduction by the <span class="smcap">Bishop of
-Hereford</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12_cat" id="Page_12_cat">[12]</a></span></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Hope of the World, and
-Other Poems.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Watt (Francis).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Law’s Lumber Room.</span> Fcap.
-8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Law’s Lumber Room.</span> Second
-Series. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Watts-Dunton (Theodore).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Jubilee Greeting at Spithead
-to the Men of Greater Britain.</span> Crown 8vo. 1s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Coming of Love and other
-Poems.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Wenzell (A. B.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In Vanity Fair.</span> 70 Drawings.
-Oblong folio. 20s.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Wharton (H. T.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Sappho.</span> Memoir, Text, Selected
-Renderings, and a Literal Translation
-by <span class="smcap">Henry Thornton Wharton</span>. With 3 Illustrations
-in Photogravure, and a Cover designed by <span class="smcap">Aubrey
-Beardsley</span>. With a Memoir of Mr. Wharton. Fcap. 8vo. 6s. net.</p>
-
-<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
-
-<p class="authors">Wotton (Mabel E.).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Day Books.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
-net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Xenopoulos (Gregory).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Stepmother: A Tale of
-Modern Athens.</span> Translated
-by <span class="smcap">Mrs. Edmonds</span>. Crown 8vo.
-2s. 6d. net.</p>
-
-<p class="authors">Zola (Emile).</p>
-
-<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Four Letters to France&mdash;The
-Dreyfus Affair.</span> Fcap. 8vo, wrapper. 1s. net.</p>
-</div>
-</div>
-
-<hr class="tb" />
-<div class="page-break-before">
-<p class="catpage2">THE YELLOW BOOK</p>
-
-<p class="catpage3">An Illustrated Quarterly.</p>
-
-<p class="center"><i>Pott 4to. 5s. net.</i></p>
-
-
-<table class="ybook" summary="The Yellow Book">
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">I.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">April 1894, 272 pp., 15 Illustrations. [<i>Out of print.</i></td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">II.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">July 1894, 364 pp., 23 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">III.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">October 1894, 280 pp., 15 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">IV.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">January 1895, 285 pp., 16 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">V.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">April 1895, 317 pp., 14 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">VI.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">July 1895, 335 pp., 16 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">VII.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">October 1895, 320 pp., 20 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">VIII.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">January 1896, 406 pp., 26 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">IX.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">April 1896, 256 pp., 17 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">X.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">July 1896, 340 pp., 13 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">XI.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">October 1896, 342 pp., 12 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">XII.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">January 1897, 350 pp., 14 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-<tr>
-<td class="ybooknum">XIII.</td>
-<td class="ybooknam">April 1897, 316 pp., 18 Illustrations.</td></tr>
-</table>
-</div>
-<hr class="tb" />
-
-
-<div class="transnote">
-<p>Transcriber’s Note:</p>
-
-<p>Quotations from other sources, and transliterated materials,
-have been transcribed as they appear in this book.</p>
-
-<p>The ordering of entries in the book catalogue has been retained.</p>
-
-<p>Spelling, grammar, and variation in hyphenation and word usage
-have been retained.</p>
-
-<p>Punctuation has been changed occasionally where a clear
-predominance of usage could be ascertained.</p>
-
-Typographical changes have been made as as follows:
-
-<p class="transnote1 mt2">p. 7:</p>
-<p class="transnote1">si cœtera noscit</p>
-<p class="transnote2">changed to</p>
-<p class="transnote1">si cætera noscit</p>
-
-<p class="transnote1 mt2">p. 124:</p>
-<p class="transnote1">between the deep blue bills</p>
-<p class="transnote2">changed to</p>
-<p class="transnote1">between the deep blue hills</p>
-
-<p class="transnote1 mt2">p. 157:</p>
-<p class="transnote1">to regard the unknown quanity with philosophy</p>
-<p class="transnote2">changed to</p>
-<p class="transnote1">to regard the unknown quantity with philosophy</p>
-
-<p class="transnote1 mt2">p. 165:</p>
-<p class="transnote1">Persumably if the man thinks</p>
-<p class="transnote2">changed to</p>
-<p class="transnote1">Presumably if the man thinks</p>
-
-<p class="transnote1 mt2">p. 254:</p>
-<p class="transnote1">The wasp has still a sting left, she says; “You sent</p>
-<p class="transnote2">changed to</p>
-<p class="transnote1">The wasp has still a sting left; she says, “You sent</p>
-</div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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+  </head>
+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 47420 ***</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 504px;">
+  <img id="coverpage" src="images/cover_jj.jpg" width="504" height="796" alt="Book cover" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p>
+<h1>UNADDRESSED LETTERS</h1>
+
+<hr class="chap1" />
+<div class="page-break-before">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="book-box">
+<p class="center"><i>By the same Author</i></p>
+<p class="center smcap">Malay Sketches</p>
+<p class="center">Second Edition</p>
+<p class="center">Cr. 8vo, 6s.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap1" />
+<div class="page-break-before">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="title-box">
+<p class="titlepage1">UNADDRESSED</p>
+<p class="titlepage1">LETTERS</p>
+<p class="titlepage3">EDITED BY</p>
+<p class="titlepage2"><i>FRANK ATHELSTANE</i></p>
+<p class="titlepage2"><i>SWETTENHAM, K.C.M.G.</i></p>
+
+<hr class="tb2" />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 68px;">
+  <img src="images/leaftp1.jpg" width="68" height="60" alt="Title Page Decoration: Leaf" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="tb3" />
+
+<p class="titlepage2">JOHN LANE</p>
+<p class="titlepage2">THE BODLEY HEAD</p>
+<p class="titlepage2">LONDON AND NEW YORK</p>
+<p class="titlepage2">MDCCCXCVIII</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap1" />
+<div class="page-break-before">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="center mt3"><i>All rights reserved</i></p>
+<p class="center mt3">Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson &amp; Co.</span></p>
+<p class="center">At the Ballantyne Press</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="page-break-before">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><span class="line-height1"><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</span></h2>
+
+
+<p class="cap">“I HAD a friend who loved me;” but he has
+gone, and the “great gulf” is between us.</p>
+
+<p>After his death I received a packet of manuscript
+with these few words:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>“What I have written may appeal to you because
+of our friendship, and because, when you come to
+read them, you will seek to grasp, in these apparent
+confidences, an inner meaning that to the end will
+elude you. If you think others, not the many but
+the few, might find here any answer to their unuttered
+questionings, any fellowship of sympathy in
+those experiences which are the milestones of our
+lives, then use the letters as you will, but without
+my name. I shall have gone, and the knowledge
+of my name would make no one either wiser or
+happier.”</p>
+
+<p>In the packet I found these letters. I cannot tell
+whether there is any special order in which they
+should be read&mdash;there was nothing to guide me
+on that point. I do not know whether they are to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span>
+real or imaginary people, whether they were ever sent
+or only written as an amusement, a relief to feeling,
+or with a purpose&mdash;the one to which they are now
+put, for instance. One thing is certain, namely, that,
+however taken, they are not all indited to the same
+person; of that there seems to be convincing
+internal evidence.</p>
+
+<p>The writer was, by trade, a diplomatist; by
+inclination, a sportsman with literary and artistic
+tastes; by force of circumstances he was a student
+of many characters, and in some sense a cynic.
+He was also a traveller&mdash;not a great traveller, but
+he knew a good deal of Europe, a little of America,
+much of India and the further East. He spent some
+time in this neighbourhood, and was much interested
+in the country and its people. There is an Eastern
+atmosphere about many of the letters, and he made
+no secret of the fact that he was fascinated by the
+glamour of the lands of sunshine. He died very
+suddenly by misadventure, and, even to me, his
+packet of letters came rather as a revelation.</p>
+
+<p>Before determining to publish the letters, I showed
+them to a friend on whose opinion I knew the writer
+had set store. He said, “The critic will declare
+there is too much scenery, too much sentiment.
+Very likely he will be right for those whose lives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span>
+are passed in the streets of London, and the letters
+will not interest so many readers as would stories
+of blood and murder. Yet leave them. Love is in
+the atmosphere day and night, and the scenery is
+in true proportion to our lives here, where, after all,
+sunsets are commoner than murders.” Therefore
+I have left them as they came to me, only using my
+discretion to omit some of the letters altogether.</p>
+
+<p class="right">F. A. S.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><i>February 12, 1898.</i></p>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap1" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></p>
+<div class="epigraph-container">
+<div class="epigraph">
+<div>“Thus fare you well right hertely beloved</div>
+<div>frende ... and love me as you have ever</div>
+<div>done, for I love you better than ever I dyd.”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<hr class="chap1" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><span class="line-height1"><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</span></h2>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></p>
+
+<table class="toc" summary="Contents">
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tocchp">&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tocpag">PAGE</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">I.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#I">THE HILL OF SOLITUDE</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">1</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">II.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#II">OF WORSHIP</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">6</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">III.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#III">WEST AND EAST</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">13</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">IV.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#IV">A CLEVER MONGOOSE</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">21</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">V.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#V">A BLUE DAY</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">33</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">VI.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#VI">OF LOVE, IN FICTION</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">42</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">VII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#VII">THE JINGLING COIN</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">48</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">VIII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#VIII">A STRANGE SUNSET</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">61</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">IX.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#IX">OF LETTER-WRITING</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">68</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">X.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#X">AT A FUNERAL</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">72</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XI.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XI">OF CHANGE AND DECAY</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">82</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XII">DAUGHTERS AND DESPOTISM</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">96</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XIII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XIII">HER FIANCÉ</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">107</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XIV.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XIV">BY THE SEA</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">115</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XV.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XV">AN ILLUMINATION</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">123</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XVI.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XVI">OF DEATH, IN FICTION</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">129</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XVII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XVII">A HAND AT ÉCARTÉ</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">138</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XVIII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XVIII">THE GENTLE ART OF VEERING WITH THE WIND</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">145</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XIX.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XIX">A REJOINDER</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">153</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XX.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XX">OF IMPORTUNITY</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">159</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXI.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXI">OF COINCIDENCES</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">168</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXII">OF A COUNTRY-HOUSE CUSTOM</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">175</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXIII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXIII">A MERE LIE</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">182</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXIV.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXIV">TIGERS AND CROCODILES</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">191</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXV.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXV">A ROSE AND A MOTH</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">203</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXVI.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXVI">A LOVE-PHILTRE</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">209</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXVII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXVII">MOONSTRUCK</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">220</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXVIII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXVIII">THE “DEVI”</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">229</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXIX.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXIX">THE DEATH-CHAIN</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">242</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXX.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXX">SCANDAL AND BANGLES</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">252</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXXI.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXI">THE REPREHENSIBLE HABIT OF MAKING COMPARISONS</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">259</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXXII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXII">A CHALLENGE</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">265</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXXIII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXIII">IN EXILE</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">270</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXXIV.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXIV">OF LOVE&mdash;NOT IN FICTION</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">284</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXXV.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXV">OF OBSESSION</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">295</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXXVI.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXVI">OF PARADISE LOST</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">303</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tocnum">XXXVII.</td>
+<td class="tocchp"><a href="#XXXVII">“TO MARY, IN HEAVEN”</a></td>
+<td class="tocpag">307</td></tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2 class="bigger">UNADDRESSED LETTERS</h2>
+
+<h2 class="no-break"><a name="I" id="I"></a><span class="line-height">I</span><br />
+THE HILL OF SOLITUDE</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">AN hour ago I climbed the narrow, winding
+path that circles the Hill of Solitude, and as
+I gained the summit and sat upon that narrow
+bench, facing the west, I may have fallen into a
+trance, for there appeared to me an ever-changing
+vision of unearthly beauty.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was sinking into the sea, directly in a
+line with the wide estuary that marks a distant
+river’s mouth. It was setting in a blaze of molten
+gold, while all above and to the northward, the
+background of sky glowed with that extraordinary,
+clear pale-blue blent with green, that makes one
+of the most striking features of the sunsets seen
+from this hill. The clouds were fewer to-night,
+the background wider and clearer, the colour more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
+intense, more transparent, as though the earnest
+gazer might even discern some greater glory,
+beyond and through the shining crystal of those
+heavenly windows.</p>
+
+<p>The calm surface of the sea beneath mirrored
+the lights above, till sea and sky vied with each
+other in a perfection of delicate translucent sheen.
+Northwards a few grey-gold clouds lay against this
+wondrous background, but in the south they were
+banked in heavy masses, far down the sky to the
+limits of vision.</p>
+
+<p>Out of a deep forest-clad valley, immediately
+behind the hill, a freshening breeze was driving
+volumes of white mist across the northern spur;
+driving it, at racing speed, in whirling, tangled
+wisps, across the water-holes that cluster around
+the foot of the great range; driving it over
+the wide plain, out towards the glittering coast-line.</p>
+
+<p>But in a moment, as though by magic, the thick
+banks of cloud in the south were barred with broad
+shafts of brilliant <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rose dorée</i>; the spaces of clear
+sky, which, an instant before, were pale silver-blue,
+became pale green, momentarily deepening in intensity
+of tone. Close around the setting sun
+the gold was turning to flame, and, as the glory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
+of magnificent colouring spread over all the south,
+the clouds took every rainbow hue, as though
+charged with a galaxy of living, palpitating radiance,
+grand yet fateful, a God-painted picture of battle
+and blazing cities, of routed hosts and desperate
+pursuit.</p>
+
+<p>Overhead, and filling the arc from zenith to the
+outer edge of sun-coloured cloud, the sky was a deep
+sapphire, half covered by soft, rounded clouds of
+deeper sapphire still, only their edges tinged with
+gleams of dull gold.</p>
+
+<p>Another sweep of the magic wand, and, as the
+patches of pale aquamarine deepened into emerald,
+the heavier clouds became heliotrope, and a thick
+heliotrope haze floated gently across the wide
+plain, seawards. The fires of crimson light blazed
+brighter in the gathering gloom of rising mist and
+lowering cloud, but the sea shone with ever-increasing
+clearness in the rapidly narrowing space
+of yet unhidden view.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the mist disappeared, as suddenly
+as it came; the sapphire clouds took a deeper hue,
+heliotrope turned to purple, the crimson lights were
+softer but richer in colour, streaked with narrow
+bands of gold, and dark arrowlike shafts shot from
+the bow of Night.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Standing there, it was as though one were
+vouchsafed, for a moment, a vision of the Heavenly
+City which enshrines the glory of God. One
+caught one’s breath and shivered, as at the sound
+of violins quivering under inspired fingers, or the
+voices of boys singing in a cathedral choir.</p>
+
+<p>All this while a solitary, ragged-edged cloud-kite
+hung, almost motionless, in middle distance,
+over the glittering waters of the river mouth.
+This cloud gathered blackness and motion, spread
+itself out, like a dark thick veil, and, as the mist,
+now grey and cold, closed in, the last sparks
+of the dying sunset were extinguished in the distant
+sea.</p>
+
+<p>And then I was stumbling down the path in the
+darkness, my eyes blinded by the glory of the
+vision; and as I groped through the gloom, and
+heard the wail of the night-wind rushing from
+those far-away mountains, across this lonely peak,
+I began to wonder whether I had not been dreaming
+dreams conjured up by the sadly-sweet associations
+of the place.</p>
+
+<p>The darkness deepened, and, as I reached the
+dividing saddle and began to mount the opposite
+hill, I heard the faint jingle of a dangling coin
+striking metal, and I said to myself that such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
+associations, acting on the physical weariness resulting
+from days of intolerable strain, followed by
+nights of worse regret, were enough to account for
+far stranger journeys in the land which lies beyond
+the Gates of Ivory and Horn.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a><span class="line-height">II</span><br />
+OF WORSHIP</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">“THIS life&mdash;good as it can be&mdash;is horribly
+difficult and complicated. I feel as though
+I were walking in the dark, just stumbling along
+and groping my way&mdash;there seems to be no light to
+guide me&mdash;you are so far away, and there is ever
+that wall between us,&mdash;no higher than before, but
+quite as impenetrable&mdash;I wonder,&mdash;I wonder,&mdash;I
+wonder what the future will bring to you,&mdash;to
+me.”</p>
+
+<p>“I think of you up there, among the soft white
+clouds, watching the sun setting into the sea, while
+the great blue hills are melting through twilight
+into night. Oh! there’s nothing like that beauty
+here,&mdash;in the West,&mdash;and I am sick for the East
+and all her hot, passionate loveliness; all her
+colour and light; all her breadth and grandeur;
+for her magnificent storms and life,&mdash;life on a big
+scale. Here everything is so small, so petty, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
+trivial. I want,&mdash;I want,&mdash;I want,&mdash;that’s how I
+feel; I am lovesick and heartsick and sick for the
+sun. Well, this life is nearly done, and in the
+next I shall at least be worshipped.”</p>
+
+<p>That is well, and if you are worshipped you
+should not say “at least.” What more can you
+want? Especially since, having all other things
+and lacking worship, you would have nothing.
+They were not meant for this application, but these
+old Monkish lines are worth remembering:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Qui Christum nescit, nil scit, si cætera noscit.</i></div>
+<div class="verse1"><i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Qui Christum noscit, sat scit, si cætera nescit.</i>”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>I hardly like to suggest it, but are you afraid
+of the “worship,” of its quality, or its lasting
+properties? Or, assured on these points, do you
+think worship alone will prove unsatisfying? I
+wonder.</p>
+
+<p>It is an attractive subject, and women disagree
+as to how it should be treated. The fact is, that
+they are seldom able to generalise; they do not
+take any great interest in generalities, and the
+answer to an impersonal question must have a
+personal application before it can be given. And
+not that alone, for where, as in this case, and,
+indeed, all those of greatest human interest, another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
+person, a special person, is concerned, then the
+answer depends largely on that other person as
+well. You can, perhaps, in your own mind, think
+of some one or more from whom you would rather
+have a little worship, than become an object of lifelong
+adoration to many others who have seemed
+anxious to offer it. And that is not because their
+all was less than the little of those with a larger
+capacity for the worship of human beings, nor even
+because their appreciation of your personal worth
+is in any degree limited, or smaller by comparison
+with that of others. Probably it is exactly the
+reverse. But I will ask you, of your sweetness
+and light, to give me knowledge. Would you
+rather have the absolute, unsought worship of a
+man, or would you win, perchance even from his
+unwillingness, a devotion that, if it was not thrown
+at you, was probably, when gained, not likely to
+burn itself out in a blaze of ardent protestations?
+You will, of course, say that it depends on the
+attitude assumed by the man, and I reply that it
+does not, because the same man would never be
+found ready to render his service in either of these&mdash;well&mdash;disguises,
+if you will. It would be in
+one or in the other. Therefore my question will
+admit of the personal application, and you can go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
+through your acquaintances, admirers, friends (I
+dare not say the other word), and tell me whether
+you would be most attracted by the man who fell
+at your feet and worshipped, giving of his ample
+store without effort and without stint, or by the
+man who, if he were a woman, would be called
+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">difficile</i>. This problem will give you no trouble
+if, as I said before, you can work it out as a personal
+equation, and it is therefore only necessary
+that you should have amongst your friends two
+men of the required types.</p>
+
+<p>In return for your anticipated answer, I will
+give you this. There are many men who pay
+their court to women, if not all in one breath, or
+at one sitting, at least the phase is limited by a
+definite period. That period is usually shorter or
+longer in the inverse ratio of the violence of the
+attack. The operations result in a decisive action,
+where the man is either worsted or victorious. If
+he gains his end, and persuades the lady to take
+him for whatever he is worth, the ordinary type
+of Englishman will very often consider that his
+obligation towards her as an idolater, a lover,&mdash;whatever
+name you call the part by,&mdash;is over when
+the curtain comes down on the procession to the
+altar or to the office of the Registrar, or, at any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
+rate, when the honeymoon has set and the duty-moon
+rises to wax and wane for evermore. That
+is the man to avoid; and if the womanly instinct,
+which is so useful and so little understanded of
+men (until they learn to fear its unerring accuracy),
+is only called upon in time, it will not mislead its
+owner.</p>
+
+<p>You know all this, you will say; very likely,
+but it is extraordinary how many thousands of
+women, especially English women, there are who
+are now eating out their hearts, because they
+neglected either to ask this question of their instincts
+or disregarded the answer. Probably it is
+very seldom asked; for a girl is hardly likely to
+suppose that, after feeding her on love for a few
+weeks, or months, the man will starve her of the
+one thing needful, until death does at last part
+them. He says he has not time for love-making,
+and he acts as though he had not the inclination
+either, though probably, somewhere in his system
+he keeps the forces that once stirred him to expressions
+of affection that now seem as needless as
+it would be to ask his servants for permission to
+eat the dinner which he has paid for, and which
+he can take or neglect, praise or find fault with, at
+his own will and pleasure.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>That is a very long homily, but it has grown
+out of the point of the pen, possibly because I am
+sitting here alone, “up in the soft white clouds,”
+as you say, or rather in the softer moonlight; and
+some of the littlenesses of life loom large, but not
+over-large, considering their bearing on the lifelong
+happiness, or misery, of men and women.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, I am sitting exactly where you imagined.
+It was on that sofa that you used to lie in the
+evenings, when you were too feeble to sit up, and I
+read to you out of a book of knowledge. But that
+was years and years ago, and now you wonder.
+Well, I too wonder, and&mdash;there, it has just struck
+1 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>&mdash;I will wonder no more, but look out at
+the surpassing loveliness of this white night, and
+then&mdash;rest.</p>
+
+<p>It is so strange, I have come back to tell you.
+The soft white clouds are actually there&mdash;motionless&mdash;they
+cover everything, sea and plain and
+valley, everything but the loftiest ridges of this
+mountain. The moon rides high, turning to silver
+the tops of the great billowy clouds, while it shines
+full on this house and garden, casting deep shadows
+from the fern-trees across the gravel, and, from
+the eaves and pillars of the house, across the
+verandah. The air is perfectly still now, though,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
+some hours ago, it was blowing a gale and the
+wind wailed as though mourning its own lost
+soul.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed then, as it tore round the corner of
+the house, to be crying, “I come from the rice
+swamps which have no dividing banks, from the
+waters which contain no fish, where the apes cry
+by night and the baboons drink as they hang from
+the boughs; a place where the <i>chinchîli</i> resorts to
+bathe, and where man’s food is the <i>kĕmahang</i> fern.”
+Some day I will tell you more about that place.</p>
+
+<p>And the spirits of the storm that have passed
+and left this death-like stillness, where are they
+now? They went seaward, westward, to you-ward,
+but they will never reach you, and you will
+not hear their message.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a><span class="line-height">III</span><br />
+WEST AND EAST</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">ONE night, in the early months of this year, I
+sat at dinner next to a comparatively young
+married woman, of the type that is superlatively
+blonde in colour and somewhat over-ample in
+figure. She was indifferently dressed, not very
+well informed, but apparently anxious, by dint of
+much questioning, to improve her knowledge where
+possible. She was, I believe, a journalist.</p>
+
+<p>Some one must have told her that I had been
+in the East, and she, like most stay-at-home people,
+evidently thought that those who go beyond the
+shores of England can only be interested in, or
+have an acquaintance with, the foreign country
+wherein they have sojourned. Therefore the lady
+fired at me a volley of questions, about the manners
+and habits of the Malay people, whom she always
+referred to as “savages.” I ventured to say that
+she must have a mistaken, or at any rate incomplete,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
+knowledge of the race to speak of Malays as
+savages, but she assured me that people who were
+black, and not Christians, could only be as she
+described them. I declined to accept that definition,
+and added that Malays are not black. I fancy
+she did not believe me; but she said it did not
+matter, as they were not white and wore no clothes.
+I am afraid I began to be almost irritated, for the
+long waits between the courses deprived me of all
+shelter from the rain of questions and inconsequent
+remarks.</p>
+
+<p>At last, I said, “It may surprise you to hear
+that these savages would think, if they saw you
+now, that you are very insufficiently clad;” and I
+added, to try and take the edge off a speech that
+I felt was inexcusably rude, “they consider the
+ordinary costume of white <em>men</em> so immodest as to
+be almost indecent.” “Indeed,” said the lady, who
+only seemed to hear the last statement, “I have
+often thought so too, but I am surprised that
+savages, for I must call them savages, should mind
+about such things.” It was hopeless, and I asked
+how soon the great American people might be expected
+to send a force to occupy London.</p>
+
+<p>I have just been reminded of this conversation.
+A few days ago, I wrote to a friend of mine, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+Malay Sultan, whom I have not seen for some
+months, a letter inquiring how he was, and saying
+I hoped soon to be able to visit him. Now comes
+his answer; and you, who are in sympathy with the
+East, will be able to appreciate the missive of this
+truculent savage.</p>
+
+<p>In the cover there were three enclosures: a
+formal letter of extreme politeness, written by a
+scribe, the Arabic characters formed as precisely
+and clearly as though they had been printed.
+Secondly, a letter written in my friend’s own hand,
+also in the Arabic character, but the handwriting
+is very difficult to decipher. And thirdly there is
+another paper, headed “Hidden Secrets,” written
+also in the Sultan’s own hand. The following is
+a translation of the beginning of the second letter.
+At the top of the first page is written, “Our friendship
+is sealed in the inmost recesses of my heart.”
+Then this: “I send this letter to my honoured and
+renowned friend” (here follow my name, designation,
+and some conventional compliments). The
+letter then continues: “You, my dear friend, are
+never out of my thoughts, and they are always
+wishing you well. I hear that you are coming to
+see me, and for that reason my heart is exceeding
+glad, as though the moon had fallen into my lap,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
+or I had been given a cluster of flowers grown
+in the garden called <i>Bĕnjerâna Sri</i>, wide-opening
+under the influence of the sun’s warm rays. May
+God the Most Mighty hasten our meeting, so that
+I may assuage the thirst of longing in the happy
+realisation of my affectionate and changeless regard.
+At the moment of writing, by God’s grace, and
+thanks to your prayers, I and my family are in
+good health, and this district is in the enjoyment
+of peace; but the river is in flood, and has risen
+so high that I fear for the safety of the bridge.”</p>
+
+<p>There is more, but what I have quoted is
+enough to show you the style. When the savage
+has turned from his savagery he will write “Dear
+sir,” and “Yours truly”; his correspondence will
+be type-written, in English, and the flaxen-haired
+lady will remark with approval that the writer is
+a business man and a Christian, and hardly black
+at all.</p>
+
+<p>Whilst the Malays are still in my mind, it may
+interest you to know that they have a somewhat
+original form of verse in four-line stanzas, each
+stanza usually complete in itself, the second and
+fourth lines rhyming. The last two lines convey
+the sense, while the first two are only introduced
+to get the rhythm, and often mean nothing at all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
+Here are some specimens which may give you an
+idea of these <i>pantun</i>, as they are called, though
+in translating them I have made no attempt to
+give the necessary “jingle.”</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">“A climbing bean will gain the roof;</div>
+<div class="verse3">The red <i>hibiscus</i> has no scent.</div>
+<div class="verse1">All eyes can see a house on fire;</div>
+<div class="verse3">No smoke the burning heart betrays.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1">Hark! the flutter of the death’s-head moth;</div>
+<div class="verse3">It flies behind the headman’s house.</div>
+<div class="verse1">Before the Almighty created Adam,</div>
+<div class="verse3">Our destinies were already united.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1">This is the twenty-first night of the moon,</div>
+<div class="verse3">The night when women die in child-birth.</div>
+<div class="verse1">I am but as a captive song-bird,</div>
+<div class="verse3">A captive bird in the hand of the fowler.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1">If you must travel far up river,</div>
+<div class="verse3">Search for me in every village;</div>
+<div class="verse1">If you must die, while I yet linger,</div>
+<div class="verse3">Wait for me at the Gate of Heaven.”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>One of the fascinations of letter-writing is that
+one can wander at will from one subject to another,
+as the butterflies flutter from flower to flower; but
+I suppose there is nearly always something that
+suggests to the writer the sequence of thought,
+though it might be difficult to explain exactly what
+that something is. I think the reference in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
+above stanzas to Adam and the Gate of Heaven,&mdash;or
+Paradise,&mdash;have suggested to me the snake,</p>
+
+<p>“And even in Paradise devise the snake,”</p>
+
+<p>which reminds me that, last night, I said to the
+ancient and worthy person to whom is entrusted
+the care of this house&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>“Leave the drawing-room doors open while I
+am at dinner: the room gets overheated.”</p>
+
+<p>Then he, “I not like leave open the doors, because
+plenty snakes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Snakes: where?”</p>
+
+<p>“Outside, plenty snakes, leave doors open come
+inside.”</p>
+
+<p>“What sort of snakes?”</p>
+
+<p>“Long snakes” (stretching out his arm to show
+the length), “short snakes” (measuring off about
+a foot with the other hand).</p>
+
+<p>“Have you seen them?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, plenty.”</p>
+
+<p>This is cheerful news, and I inquire: “Where?”</p>
+
+<p>“In bedrooms.”</p>
+
+<p>“When?”</p>
+
+<p>“Sometimes daytime, sometimes night-time.”</p>
+
+<p>An even pleasanter prospect,&mdash;but I am still
+full of unbelief.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“Have you seen them yourself?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I kill.”</p>
+
+<p>“But when and how was it?”</p>
+
+<p>“One time master not here, lady staying here;
+daytime I kill one long snake, here, this room&mdash;night-time
+lady call me, I kill one short snake in
+bedroom.”</p>
+
+<p>“Which bedroom?”</p>
+
+<p>“Master’s bedroom.”</p>
+
+<p>That is not exactly reassuring, especially when
+you like to leave your doors and windows open,
+and sleep in the dark. I thank him, and he goes
+away, having entirely destroyed my peace of mind.
+The wicked old man! I wish I could have seen
+his face as he went out. Now I go delicately,
+both “daytime” and “night-time,” above all at
+night-time, and I am haunted by the dread of the
+“plenty long snake, plenty short snake.” In one’s
+bedroom too, it is a gruesome idea. If I had gone
+on questioning him, I dare say he would have told
+me he killed a “plenty long snake” inside the bed,
+trying to warm itself under the bed-clothes in this
+absurdly cold place. I always thought this a
+paradise, but without the snake. Alas! how easily
+one’s cherished beliefs are destroyed.</p>
+
+<p>It is past midnight; the moon is full, and looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+down, resplendent in all her majesty, bathes
+everything in a silver radiance. I love to go and
+stand in it; but the verandahs are full of ferns,
+roses and honeysuckle twine round the pillars, the
+shadows are as dark as the lights are bright, and
+everywhere there is excellent cover for the “long
+snake” and the “short snake.” Perhaps bed is
+the safest place after all, and to-morrow&mdash;well,
+to-morrow I can send for a mongoose.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a><span class="line-height">IV</span><br />
+A CLEVER MONGOOSE</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">IN my last letter I told you how the ancient
+who guards this Eden had complained of the
+prevalence of snakes, and I, with an experience
+which Adam does not appear to have possessed,
+determined to send for a mongoose to deal with
+the matter. Well, I saw nothing of the serpent,
+did not even dream about him, and forgot all about
+the mongoose. It is the thought of what I last
+wrote to you that reminds me of an excellent story,
+and a curious trick which I once witnessed, both
+having to do with the mongoose.</p>
+
+<p>First the story. A boy of twenty got into a
+train one day, and found, already seated in the
+carriage, a man of middle age, who had beside
+him, on the floor, a closed basket. The train
+started, and by-and-by the boy, feeling dull, looked
+at his companion, and, to break the ice, said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>“Is that your basket, sir?”</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>
+<p>To which the stranger, who did not at all relish
+the idea of being dragged into a conversation with
+a strange youth, replied, “Yes, it is,” slightly
+stammering as he said it.</p>
+
+<p>A pause,&mdash;then the boy, “I beg your pardon,
+but is there some beast in it?”</p>
+
+<p>The man, annoyed, “Ye&mdash;es, there’s a m&mdash;mongoose
+in it.”</p>
+
+<p>The boy had no idea what a mongoose was, but
+he had the curiosity of youth and was unabashed,
+so he said, “May I ask what the mongoose is
+for?”</p>
+
+<p>The man, decidedly irritated, and wishing to
+silence his companion, “G&mdash;got a f&mdash;friend that
+sees snakes, t&mdash;taking the m&mdash;mongoose to catch
+’em.”</p>
+
+<p>The boy concluded the stranger was mad, and
+wishing to pacify him, said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, but the snakes are not really there, are
+they?”</p>
+
+<p>The man, “No, n&mdash;neither is the m&mdash;mongoose.”</p>
+
+<p>Now as to my experience. Some years ago
+I was in Calcutta, and, walking in the street one
+day, I was accosted by a man carrying a bag and
+leading a mongoose by a string. He said, “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
+Madras man, master want to see plenty trick, I
+very good conjurer,” and he produced a sheaf of
+more or less grimy credentials, in which it was
+stated, by a number of reputable people, that he
+was a conjurer of unusual skill. When I had
+looked at some of the papers, he said, “I come
+master’s house, do trick, this very clever mongoose,
+I bring him show master.”</p>
+
+<p>I was quite willing, so I gave him my address
+and told him to come whenever he liked.</p>
+
+<p>Some days later the conjurer was announced,
+and there happened to be in my rooms at the time
+a German dealer in Japanese curios, who had seen
+rather more than usual during a sixteen years’ residence
+in Japan and the Farthest East. He was
+an extremely amusing old person, and glad of the
+opportunity of seeing the conjurer, who was duly
+admitted to our presence with his bag of properties.
+The very clever mongoose came in last,
+at the end of his string.</p>
+
+<p>The conjurer certainly justified his reputation,
+and performed some extremely clever tricks, while
+the mongoose sat by with a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">blasé</i> expression, taking
+very little interest in the proceedings. When the
+conjurer had come to the end of his programme,
+or thought he had done enough, he offered to sell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+the secret of any trick I liked to buy, and, taking
+him at his word, I was shown several tricks, the
+extreme simplicity of the deceit, when once you
+knew it, being rather aggravating.</p>
+
+<p>In the interest of watching the performance and
+the subsequent explanations, I had forgotten the
+mongoose, and the conjurer was already pushing
+his paraphernalia into the sack, when I said, “But
+the mongoose, the clever mongoose, where is his
+trick?”</p>
+
+<p>The conjurer sat down again, pulled the mongoose
+towards him, and tied the end of his string
+to a chair leg, giving the little beast plenty of rope
+on which to play. Then the man pushed round in
+front of him an earthenware <i>chatty</i> or water-vessel,
+which had hitherto stood on the floor, a piece of
+dirty cloth being tied over its mouth. Next the
+conjurer thrust his hand into the sack, and pulled
+out one of the trumpet-mouthed pipes on which
+Indians play weird and discordant airs.</p>
+
+<p>Now I want you to remember that this was my
+room, that the man’s stock-in-trade was contained
+in the sack which he had pushed on one side, that
+the pieces in the game were the mongoose, the
+<i>chatty</i> (or what it contained), and the pipe, while
+the lynx-eyed curio-dealer and I sat as close as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
+we pleased to see fair play. I am obliged to tell
+you that; of what happened I attempt no explanation,
+I only relate exactly what I saw.</p>
+
+<p>The stage being arranged as I have described,
+the conjurer drew the <i>chatty</i> towards him, and
+said, “Got here one very good snake, catch him
+in field this morning;” at the same time he untied
+the cloth, and with a jerk threw on the floor an
+exceedingly lively snake, about three feet long.
+From the look of it, I should say it was not
+venomous. The conjurer had thrown the snake
+close to the mongoose, who jumped out of its way
+with surprising agility, while the conjurer kept
+driving it towards the little beast. Neither snake
+nor mongoose seemed to relish the situation, and
+to force the game the conjurer seized the snake by
+the tail, and, swinging it thereby, tried, two or
+three times, to hit the mongoose with it. This
+seemed to rouse both beast and reptile, and the
+mongoose, making a lightning-like movement, seized
+the snake by the head, shook it for a second or
+two, dragging it over the matting, and then dropped
+it on the floor. The instant the snake showed
+fight the conjurer had let it go, and the mongoose
+did the rest.</p>
+
+<p>Where the snake had been dragged, the floor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+was smeared with blood, and now the creature lay,
+giving a few spasmodic twitches of its body, and
+then was still. The conjurer pulled it towards
+him, held it up by the tail, and said laconically,
+“Snake dead.” The mongoose meanwhile sat
+quietly licking its paw as though nothing particular
+had happened.</p>
+
+<p>As the man held it up I looked very carefully at
+the snake; one eye was bulging out, by reason of
+a bite just over it; the head and neck were covered
+with blood, and as far as my judgment went, the
+thing was dead as Herod. The conjurer dropped
+the snake on the floor, where it fell limply, as any
+dead thing would, then he put it on its back and
+coiled it up, head inwards, saying again, “You see,
+snake dead.”</p>
+
+<p>He left the thing lying there, and searched in
+his sack till he found what appeared to be a very
+small piece of wood, it was, in fact, exactly like a
+wooden match. The sack, all this time, was at
+his side, but not close to him, while the snake was
+straight in front of him, under our noses. Breaking
+off a very small piece of the wood, he gave it
+to the mongoose, which began to eat it, apparently
+as a matter of duty. At the same time the conjurer
+took an even smaller bit of the same stuff,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
+and opening the snake’s mouth, pushed the stick,
+or whatever it was, inside, and then shut the mouth
+again. This transaction would, I think, have convinced
+any one who saw it that there was no life
+in the snake.</p>
+
+<p>The conjurer now took up his pipe, and made it
+squeal some high discordant notes. Then taking
+it from his lips, he said in Hindustani, as he touched
+the snake’s tail with the pipe, “Put out your
+tail,” and the creature’s tail moved slowly outwards,
+a little way from the rest of the coiled body. The
+conjurer skirled another stave on his pipe, and as
+he lowered the instrument with his left hand, he
+exclaimed, “Snake all right now,” and stretched
+out his right hand at the same instant, to seize
+the reptile by the tail. Either as he touched it,
+or just before, the snake with one movement was
+up, wriggling and twisting, apparently more alive
+than when first taken out of the <i>chatty</i>. While the
+conjurer thrust it back into the vessel there was
+plenty of time to remark that, miraculous as the
+resurrection appeared to be, the creature’s eye still
+protruded through the blood which oozed from the
+hole in its head.</p>
+
+<p>As he tied the rag over the top of the <i>chatty</i>,
+the conjurer said, with a smile, “Very clever mongoose,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+gathered up his sack, took the string of his
+clever assistant in his left hand, raised his right to
+his forehead, and with a low bow, and a respectful
+“Salâam, Sahib,” had left the room before I had
+quite grasped the situation.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at the dealer in curios, and, as with Bill
+Nye, “he gazed upon me,” but in our few minutes’
+conversation, before he left, he could throw no light
+on the mystery, and we agreed that our philosophy
+was distinctly at fault.</p>
+
+<p>That evening I related what had taken place to
+half-a-dozen men, all of whom had lived in India
+for some years, and I asked if any of them had
+seen and could explain the phenomenon.</p>
+
+<p>No one had seen it, some had heard of it, all
+plainly doubted my story. One suggested that a
+new snake had been substituted for that killed by
+the mongoose, and another thought that there was
+no real snake at all, only a wooden make-believe.
+That rather exasperated me, and I said I was well
+enough acquainted with snakes to be able to distinguish
+them from chair-legs. As the company was
+decidedly sceptical, and inclined to be facetious at
+my expense, I said I would send for the man again,
+and they could tell me how the thing was done
+when they had seen it.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p>
+<p>I sent, and it so happened that the conjurer
+came on a Sunday, when I was sitting in the hall,
+on the ground-floor of the house where I was staying.
+The conjurer was already squatted on the
+white marble flags, with his sack and his <i>chatty</i>
+(the mongoose’s string held under his foot), when
+my friends, the unbelievers, or some of them, returned
+from church, and joined me to watch the
+proceedings. I will not weary you by going
+through it all again. What took place then was
+an exact repetition of what occurred in my room,
+except that this time the man had a larger <i>chatty</i>,
+which contained several snakes, and when he had
+taken out one, and the mongoose had consented to
+lay hold of it, he worried the creature as a terrier
+does a rat, and, pulling his string away from under
+his master’s foot, he carried the snake into the
+corner of the room, whither the conjurer pursued
+him and deprived him of his prey. The result of
+the encounter was that the marble was smeared
+with streaks of blood that effectually disposed of
+the wooden-snake theory. That little incident was
+certainly not planned by the conjurer; but when
+the victim had been duly coiled on the floor and
+the bit of stick placed (like the coin with which to
+fee Charon) within its mouth, then, to my surprise,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+the conjurer re-opened the <i>chatty</i>, took out <em>another</em>
+snake, which in its turn was apparently killed by
+the mongoose, and this one was coiled up and laid
+on the floor beside the first victim. Then, whilst
+the first corpse was duly resuscitated, according to
+the approved methods I have already described, the
+second lay on the floor, without a sign of life, and
+it was only when No. 1 had been “resurrectioned,”
+and put back in the vessel, that the conjurer took
+up the case of No. 2, and, with him, repeated the
+miracle.</p>
+
+<p>This time I was so entertained by the manifest
+and expressed astonishment of the whilom scoffers,
+that again the conjurer had gone before I had an
+opportunity of buying this secret, if indeed he would
+have sold it. I never saw the man again.</p>
+
+<p>There is the story, and, even as it stands, I think
+you will admit that the explanation is not exactly
+apparent on the surface. I can assure you, however,
+that wherever the deception (and I diligently,
+but unsuccessfully, sought to find it), the performance
+was the most remarkable I have ever witnessed
+in any country. To see a creature, full of
+life,&mdash;and a snake, at close quarters, is apt to
+impress you with its vitality,&mdash;to see it killed, just
+under your eyes, to watch its last convulsive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
+struggles, to feel it in your hands, and gaze at
+it as it lies, limp and dead, for a space of minutes;
+then heigh, presto! and the thing is wriggling
+about as lively as ever. It is a very curious trick&mdash;if
+trick it is.</p>
+
+<p>That, however, is not quite all.</p>
+
+<p>A month or two later I was sitting in the verandah
+of an hotel in Agra. A number of American
+globe-trotters occupied most of the other chairs, or
+stood about the porch, where I noticed there was a
+little knot of people gathered together. I was
+idly staring into the street when the words, “Very
+clever little mongoose,” suddenly attracted my
+attention, and I realised that two Indian conjurers
+were amusing the party in the porch. I went at
+once to the spot, and found the mongoose-snake
+trick was just beginning. I watched it with great
+attention, and I noticed that the mongoose only
+seemed to give the snake one single nip, and there
+was very little blood drawn. The business proceeded
+merrily, and in all respects in accordance
+with what I had already seen, until, at the conclusion
+of the sort of Salvation-Army resurrection-march,
+the juggler declared that the snake was
+quite alive and well&mdash;but he was not, he was
+dead, dead as Bahram the Great Hunter. No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
+piping or tickling or pulling of his tail could
+awaken the very faintest response from that limp
+carcass, and the conjurers shuffled their things
+together with downcast faces, and departed in
+what the spectators called “a frost.” To them, no
+doubt, the game was absolutely meaningless; to
+me it seemed that the mongoose had “exceeded
+his instructions.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a><span class="line-height">V</span><br />
+A BLUE DAY</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">“THERE is a green hill,” you know it well; it
+is not very “far away,” perhaps a little over
+a mile, but then that mile is not quite like other
+miles. For one thing it takes you up 500 feet,
+and as that is the last pull to reach the highest
+point of this range (the summit of a mountain
+over 5000 feet in height), the climb is steep.
+Indeed, one begins by going down some rough
+stone steps, between two immense granite boulders;
+then you make a half-circuit of the hill by a path
+cut on the level, and thence descend for at least
+250 feet, till you are on the narrow saddle which
+joins this peak to the rest of the range. Really,
+therefore, in a distance of little over half a mile
+there is an ascent of 750 feet.</p>
+
+<p>And what a path it is that brings you here!
+For I am now on the summit, though several times
+on the way I was sorely tempted to sit down and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+put on paper the picture of that road as it lay
+before my eyes. It is a narrow jungle track,
+originally made by the rhinoceros, the bison, and
+the elephant, and now simply kept clear of falling
+trees. It is exceeding steep, as I have said, and
+you may remember. It begins by following the
+stony bed of a mountain stream, dry in fine
+weather, but full of water after half-an-hour’s
+tropical rain. Where the path is not covered by
+roots or stones, it is of a chocolate colour; but, in
+the main, it is overspread by a network of gnarled
+and knotted tree-roots, which, in the lapse of ages,
+have become so interlaced that they hide the soil.
+These roots, the stones round which they are often
+twined, and the banks on either side, are covered
+by mosses in infinite variety, so that when you
+look upwards the path stands like a moss-grown
+cleft in the wood.</p>
+
+<p>The forest through which this track leads is
+a mass of dwarfed trees, of palms, shrubs, and
+creepers. Every tree, without exception, is clothed
+with moss, wherever there is room to cling on
+branch or stem, while often there are great fat
+tufts of it growing in and round the forks, or at
+any other place with convenient holding. The
+trees are moss-grown, but that is only where the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+innumerable creepers, ferns, and orchids leave any
+space to cover. The way in which these things
+climb up, embrace, and hang to every tree or stick
+that will give them a footing is simply marvellous.
+Even the great granite boulders are hidden by this
+wealth of irresistible vegetation. Through the
+green foliage blaze vivid patches of scarlet, marking
+the dazzling blossoms of a rhododendron that may
+be seen in all directions, but usually perched high
+on some convenient tree. Then there is the
+wonderful magnolia with its creamy petals; the
+jungle apple-blossom, whose white flowers are now
+turning to crimson berries; the forest lilac, graceful
+in form, and a warm heliotrope in colour. These
+first catch the eye, but, by-and-by, one realises
+that there are orchids everywhere, and that, if the
+blossoms are not great in size or wonderful in
+colour, they are still charming in form, and painted
+in delicate soft tones of lilac and brown, orange
+and lemon, while one, with strings of large, pale,
+apple-green blossoms, is as lovely as it is <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bizarre</i>.</p>
+
+<p>As for palms, the forest is full of them, in every
+size, colour, and shape; and wherever the sunlight
+can break through the foliage will be found the
+graceful fronds of the giant tree-fern. Lastly, the
+ground is carpeted with an extravagant luxuriance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
+of ferns and flowers and “creeping things innumerable,
+both small and great.” The wasteful abundance
+of it all is what first strikes one, and then
+you begin to see the beauty of the details. Masses
+of <i>lycopodium</i>, ringing all the changes through
+wonderful metallic-blue to dark and light green,
+and then to russet brown; there are Malay primroses,
+yellow and blue, and a most delightful little
+pale-violet trumpet, with crinkled lip, gazing towards
+the light from the highest point of its delicate stem.
+On either side of this path one sees a dozen jungle
+flowers in different shades of blue or lilac; it seems
+to be the prevailing colour for the small flowers,
+as scarlet and yellow are for the great masses of
+more striking blossom. And then there are birds&mdash;oh
+yes, there are birds, but they are strange, like
+their surroundings. At the foot of this hill I came
+suddenly on a great black-and-white hornbill, which,
+seeing me, slowly got up and flew away with the
+noise of a train passing at a distance. High up
+the path was a collection of small birds, flitting and
+twittering amongst the leaves. There were hardly
+two of the same plumage, but most of them carried
+their tails spread out like fans, and many had pronounced
+tufts of feathers on their heads. The
+birds at this height are usually silent, and, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+they make any sound at all, they do not seem to
+sing but to call; and from the jungle all round, far
+and near, loud and faint, will be heard similar
+answering calls. I was surprised to hear, suddenly,
+some bars of song, close by me, and I waited for
+a long time, peering earnestly into the tree from
+which the sound came; but I saw nothing and
+heard nothing beyond the perpetual double note
+(short and long, with the accent on the latter) of
+a bird that must be the bore and outcast of the
+forest.</p>
+
+<p>Coming out into the clearing which crowns the
+hill, I passed several kinds of graceful grasses, ten
+or twelve feet high, and the flight of steps which
+leads to the actual summit is cut through a mass
+of bracken, over and through which hang the
+strange, delicately painted cups of the <i>nepenthes</i>,
+the stems of the bracken rising from a bed made
+rosy by the countless blossoms of a three-pointed
+pale-pink starwort.</p>
+
+<p>In the jungle one could only see the things
+within reach, but, once on the peak, one has only
+eyes for the grandeur and magnificence of an unequalled
+spectacle.</p>
+
+<p>The view seems limitless, it is complete in every
+direction, unbarred by any obstruction, natural or
+artificial. First I look eastwards to those great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+ranges of unexplored mountains, rising tier after
+tier, their outlines clear as cut cameos against the
+grey-blue sky. Betwixt them and my point of
+sight flows a great river, and though it is ten or
+twelve miles distant as the crow flies, I can see
+that it is brown with flood-water, and, in some
+places, overflowing its banks. Nearer lie the
+green rice-fields and orchards, and, nearer still,
+the spurs of the great range on whose highest
+point I stand.</p>
+
+<p>Then northward, that is the view that is usually
+shut out from me. It is only hill and dale, river
+and plain, but it is grand by reason of its extent,
+beautiful in colour and form, intensely attractive
+in the vastness of those miles of mysterious jungle,
+untrodden, save by the feet of wild beasts; endless
+successions of mountain and valley, peak and spur,
+immovable and eternal. You know there are grey
+days and golden days; as there are crimson and
+heliotrope evenings, white, and, alas! also black
+nights&mdash;well, this is a blue day. There is sunlight,
+but it is not in your eyes, it only gives light
+without shedding its own colour on the landscape.
+The atmosphere seems to be blue; the sky is blue,
+except on the horizon, where it pales into a clear
+grey. Blue forest-clad hills rise, in the middle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
+distance, from an azure plain, and the distant
+mountains are sapphire, deep sapphire. The effect
+is strange and uncommon, but supremely beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>Westward, a deep valley runs down from this
+range into the flat, forest-covered plains, till, nearing
+the coast, great patches of light mark fields of
+sugar-canes and thousands upon thousands of acres
+of rice. Then the sea, the sea dotted by distant
+islands, the nearest thirty miles away, the farthest
+perhaps fifty. The morning heat is drawing a veil
+of haze across the distance; on a clear evening a
+great island, eighty miles away to the northward,
+is clearly visible.</p>
+
+<p>I turn to the south, and straight before me rises
+the grand blue peak of a mountain, 6000 feet high,
+and not more than six miles away. It is the
+highest point of a gigantic mass of hill that seems
+to fill the great space between the flooded river and
+the bright calm sea. Looking across the eastern
+shoulder of the mountain, the eye wanders over a
+wide plain, lost far away to the south in cloud-wrapt
+distance. Beyond the western slopes lies
+the calm mirror of a summer sea, whereon many
+islands seem to float. The coast-line is broken,
+picturesque and beautiful, by reason of its many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+indentations and the line of bold hills which, rising
+sheer out of the water, seem to guard the shore.</p>
+
+<p>Due west I see across the deep valley into my
+friend’s house, where it crowns the ridge, and then
+beyond to that vast plain which, in its miles and
+miles of forest-covered flatness, broken by great
+river-mouths, long vistas of deep lagoons, and a
+group of shining pools scattered over its surface,
+forms one of the strangest features in this matchless
+panorama of mountain, river and plain, sea,
+sky, and ever-changing cloud-effects.</p>
+
+<p>There is an empty one-roomed hut of brown
+palm-leaves on this most lonely peak. One pushes
+the mat window upwards and supports it on a
+stick,&mdash;beneath the window is a primitive seat or
+couch. That is where I have been sitting, a cool
+breeze blowing softly through the wide open
+windows. I could not stay there any longer, the
+place seemed full of memories of another day,
+when there was no need, and no inclination, to look
+outside to see the beauty of the world and the
+divine perfection of the Creator’s genius. And then
+I heard something, it must have been fancy, but
+there was a faint but distinct jingle of metal.</p>
+
+<p>It is better out here, sitting on a moss-grown
+boulder in the pleasant warmth of the sun. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+swifts are circling the hill, and they flash past me
+with the hiss of a sword cleaving the air. I look
+down on the tops of all these stunted trees, heavy
+with their burden of creepers and mosses straining
+towards the light. A great bunch of pitcher-plants
+is hanging in front of me, pitcher-plants a foot
+long, scarlet and yellow, green and purple, in all
+the stages of their growth, their lids standing
+tilted upwards, leaving the pitcher open to be
+filled by any passing shower. But my eyes travel
+across all the intervening miles to rest upon the
+sea, the sea which is now of a quite indescribable
+blue, basking under a sky of the same colour.
+Out there, westward, if I could only pierce the
+distance, I should see&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Ah! the great white clouds are rising and warning
+me to go. Good-bye! good-bye! for you the
+missing words are as plain as these.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a><span class="line-height">VI</span><br />
+OF LOVE, IN FICTION</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">I HAVE been reading “Casa Braccio,” and I must
+talk to you about it. Of course I do not know
+whether you have read it or not, so if I bore you
+forgive me. I was much interested in Part I.,
+rather disappointed with Part II., and it struck me
+that Mr. Crawford showed signs in Part III. of
+weariness with the characters of his own creation.
+There are nine people who play important parts in
+the story, and the author kills six of them. The
+first, an abbess, dies naturally but conveniently;
+the second, an innkeeper’s daughter, dies suddenly,
+by misadventure; the third, a nun, dies, one is
+not told how, when, or where&mdash;but she dies. This
+is disappointing, because she promised to be a very
+interesting character. Then the fourth, daughter
+of No. 3, commits suicide, because, having run
+away from her husband, and got tired of the other
+man, the husband declines to have her back. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
+fifth, a most uninteresting and weak-kneed individual,
+is an artist, husband of No. 4, and he dies,
+apparently to make himself disagreeable; while
+the sixth, the original cause of all the trouble, is
+murdered by the innkeeper, who has been hunting
+him, like a good Christian, for twenty years, determined
+to kill him when found, under the mistaken
+impression that he eloped with, and disposed of,
+his daughter, No. 2.</p>
+
+<p>No one can deny that the author has dealt out
+destruction with impartiality, and it is rather
+strange, for Mr. Crawford often likes to use his
+characters for two or even three books; that is
+why, I think, he got a little tired with these particular
+people, and determined to bury them. Out
+of this lot he has kept only three for future vivisection
+and ultimate extinction.</p>
+
+<p>I trust that, if you have not read the book
+already, you will be induced, by what I have told
+you, to get “Casa Braccio,” for you will find many
+interesting human problems discussed in it, and
+many others suggested for the consideration of the
+reader. Here, for instance, is a text which may
+well give you pause, “The widowhood of the unsatisfied
+is hell, compared with the bereavement
+of complete possession.”</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Now what do you say to that? For I am sure
+the somewhat bald, if not positively repellent, look
+and sound of the words, will not deter you from
+considering the truth or falseness of the statement.
+I do not altogether like the theory; and one may
+even be permitted to differ from the conclusion contained
+in the text. But the reason why this sentence
+arrested my attention is because you quote,
+“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">L’absence ni le temps ne sont rien quand on aime</i>,”
+and later, you appeal to the East as a place of
+broader views, of deeper feeling, of longer, wider
+experience than the West. You appeal to the
+East, and this is what a Persian poet says:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“All that is by nature twain,</div>
+<div class="verse1">Fears and suffers by the pain</div>
+<div class="verse1">Of separation&mdash;Love is only perfect,</div>
+<div class="verse1">When itself transcends itself,</div>
+<div class="verse1">And one with that it loves</div>
+<div class="verse1">In Undivided Being blends.”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Now, how do you reconcile the Western with the
+Eastern statement, and will either support the “Casa
+Braccio” theory? You tell me that time and
+absence count for nothing as between lovers; the
+Persian says that separation, under these circumstances,
+is the one calamity most to be dreaded,
+and that love cannot be perfect without union.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
+The French writer evidently believed that “Absence
+makes the heart grow fonder,” while the Eastern,
+without saying, “Out of sight, out of mind,” clearly
+thought that love in absence is a very poor substitute
+for the passion which sees, hears, and touches
+the object of its adoration. Undoubtedly the Eastern
+expressed the feeling, not only of his own countrymen,
+but of all other Orientals, and probably of
+Western lovers as well; but if the separation is a
+matter of necessity, then the Western character, the
+feeling of loyalty towards and faith in the object
+of our love, helps us to the belief that “Partings
+and tears and absence” none need fear, provided
+the regard is mutual. It is a good creed, and the
+only one to uphold, but we are not so blind that we
+cannot see how often it fails to secure even fidelity;
+while who would deny the Persian’s contention
+that the bond cannot be perfect in absence?</p>
+
+<p>“The widowhood of the unsatisfied is hell, compared
+with the bereavement of complete possession.”</p>
+
+<p>No, certainly, it does not look well. It is hardly
+worth while to inquire into the bereavement of a
+complete possession that was not only satisfied
+but satiated; therefore the comparison must be between
+perfect love realised, and love that is only not
+perfected because unrealised. If that is so, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
+the text appears to be false in theory, for, inasmuch
+as nothing earthly can be more perfect than
+that realisation of mutual affection which the same
+Persian describes as&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“She and I no more,</div>
+<div class="verse1">But in one Undivided Being blended,”&mdash;</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>so the severance of that union by death must be
+the greatest of human ills.</p>
+
+<p>“The widowhood of the unsatisfied” admits of
+so many special constructions, each of which would
+accentuate the despair of the unsatisfied, that it
+makes the consideration rather difficult, but, in any
+case, the magnitude of the loss must be imaginative.
+It is only, therefore, by supposing that no
+realisation could be so perfect as to equal the ideal
+of imagination, that the theory of the text could be
+established. If that be granted, and it were also
+admitted that the widowhood of this unsatisfied
+imagination were as hell, compared with “the
+bereavement of complete possession,” that would
+merely show that “complete possession” is worth
+very little, and no one need grieve because their
+longings after a purely imaginary heaven had been
+widowed before being wedded to the hell of such a
+disappointing possession.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>In any case, I think one is forced to the conclusion
+that the man (and one must assume it to be
+a man, in spite of the word “widowhood”) who
+should thus express his feelings would never agree
+that “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">L’absence ni le temps ne sont rien quand on
+aime</i>;” that is, of course, supposing he has not got
+beyond the protesting and unsatisfied stage. Once
+arrived, he would doubtless subscribe to the phrase
+with virtuous stolidity. Personally I think, as you
+probably do, that these words of De Musset give
+a most charming description of the best form of
+that true friendship which time cannot weaken nor
+absence change. For friends it is admirable, for
+lovers, no.</p>
+
+<p>I have not sought out this riddle for the purpose
+of airing my own views, but to draw from you an
+expression of yours. You say my letters are the
+most tantalising in the world, as I never tell you
+anything you want to know; just leading up to
+what most interests you, and then breaking off to
+something else. If there is nothing in this letter
+to interest you, at least I have kept to one subject,
+and I have discussed it as though I were expressing
+a real opinion! One can hardly do more than
+that. You see, if I gave you no opportunity of
+scolding me, you might never write!</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a><span class="line-height">VII</span><br />
+THE JINGLING COIN</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">YOU ask me the meaning of the jingling coin.
+It was a tale I heard that impressed me, and
+sometimes comes back with a strange fascination.
+Did I never tell you? Well, here it is.</p>
+
+<p>I was in India, staying at a hill station, no
+matter where. I met there a man who for years
+had spent his holidays in the place, and, walking
+with him one day up a narrow mountain-path to
+the top of a hill, whence there was a magnificent
+view of the Himalayan snows, we passed a
+small stone slab on which was cut a date. The
+stone was at a spot where, from the path, was a
+sheer fall of several hundreds of feet, and as we
+passed it my companion said&mdash;“Look at that. I
+will tell you what it means when we get to the
+top.”</p>
+
+<p>As we lay on the grass and feasted our eyes
+upon the incomparable spectacle, before which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
+earthly lives and troubles seemed so insignificant,
+my companion told his tale. I now repeat it, as
+nearly as I can remember, in his own words.</p>
+
+<p>“If I tell you this story,” he said, “you must
+not ask me how I know the details, or seek for
+any particulars beyond what I give you.</p>
+
+<p>“During one of my many visits to this place, I
+met a man whom I had seen before and heard a
+good deal about, for he was one of those people
+who concern themselves with no one’s business
+but their own, and, therefore, their affairs seem to
+have a special attraction for the Philistine. He
+knew that rumour was busy with his name, but
+beyond the fact that he became more reserved than
+nature had already made him, the gossip, which
+was always founded on imagination, sometimes on
+jealousy, and even malice, seemed to make no
+impression whatever. That may have been the
+result of a strong character, but partly, no doubt,
+it was due to the fact that all his public life had
+been lived under the fierce light of a criticism that
+was, in a way, the measure of his success. His
+friends (and he was fortunate in the possession of
+particularly loyal friends of both sexes) realised
+that if, even to them, this man showed little of his
+real self, he sometimes writhed under calumnies of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+which no one knew the authorship, and the existence
+of which only reached him rarely, through his
+most intimate friends. For his own reasons he
+kept his own counsel, and I doubt whether any
+one knew as much of the real man as I did. A few
+months before the time I speak of he had made
+the acquaintance of a girl, or, perhaps I ought to
+say, a woman, for she was married, who was, with
+her mother, visiting India. When first the man
+met this girl he was amazed, and, to some extent,
+carried away by her extraordinary beauty. But
+his work took him elsewhere, and, beyond that first
+impression, which had so powerfully affected him,
+there was neither time nor opportunity to ascertain
+whether the lovely exterior was the casket to a
+priceless jewel, or only the beautiful form harbouring
+a mindless, soulless, disappointment. She had
+heard of the man, and while unwilling to be prejudiced
+by gossip, she was on her guard, and
+rather afraid of a cynicism which her quick intelligence
+had noted at their first meeting. Otherwise
+she was,&mdash;womanlike and generous,&mdash;curious to
+see, and to judge for herself, what manner of man
+this was, against whom more than one indiscreet
+acquaintance had already warned her.</p>
+
+<p>“Some time elapsed, and then these two found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
+themselves staying in the same house. The man
+realised the attractions of the woman’s glorious
+beauty, and he honestly determined that he would
+neither think, nor look, nor utter any feeling beyond
+that of ordinary friendship. This resolve he as
+honestly kept, and, though accident threw in his
+way every kind of opportunity, and he was constantly
+alone with the girl, he made no attempt to
+read her character, to seek her confidence, or to
+obtain her friendship;&mdash;indeed, he charged himself
+with having been somewhat neglectful in those
+attentions which make the courtesy of man to
+woman,&mdash;and, when they parted, he questioned
+whether any man had ever been so much in this
+woman’s society without saying a word that might
+not have been shouted in the market-place. Somehow
+the man had an intuitive feeling that gossip
+had supplied the girl with a not too friendly sketch
+of him, and he, for once, abandoned the cynicism
+that, had he cared less, might have prompted him
+to convey any impression of himself, so long as
+it should not be the true one. To her this visit
+said nothing beyond the fact that the man, as
+she found him, was quite unlike his picture, as
+painted by professed friends, and that the reality
+interested her.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“The three Fateful Sisters, who weave the
+destinies of men and women into such strange
+tangles, threw these two across each other’s paths,
+until the man, at least, sought to aid Fortune,
+in providing opportunities for meeting one whose
+attractive personality appealed so greatly to his
+artistic sense. Chance helped him, and, again
+catching together the threads of these lives, Destiny
+twisted them into a single strand. One brief day,
+or less, is enough to make a bond that only death
+can sever, and for this man and woman there were
+days and days when, in spite of resistance, their
+lives were gradually drawn so close together that
+at last the rivets were as strong as they were
+invisible.</p>
+
+<p>“The triumphant beauty of the woman, rare and
+disturbing though it was, would not alone have
+overcome him, but, as the days went by, and they
+were brought more and more into each other’s
+society, she gradually let him see the greater
+beauty of her soul; and small wonder if he found
+the combined attractions irresistible. She was so
+young that I have called her a girl, and yet she
+had seen as much of life as many women twice her
+age. Her beauty and charm of manner had brought
+her hosts of admirers, but still she was completely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+unspoilt, and devoid of either coquetry or self-consciousness.
+A lovely face, lighted by the winning
+expression of an intelligent mind and a warm,
+loving nature; a graceful, willowy figure, whose
+lissom movements showed a quite uncommon
+strength and power of endurance; these outward
+attractions, united to quick discernment, absolute
+honesty of speech and intention, a bright energy,
+perfectly unaffected manners, and a courage of the
+highest order, moral as well as physical, fascinated
+a man, the business of whose life had been to
+study his fellow-creatures. He felt certain that
+he saw here&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">La main qui ne trahit, la bouche qui ne ment.</i>’</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>“His experience had given him a horror of
+weakness in every form, and here, he realised,
+was a woman who was only capable of great
+thoughts and great deeds, obeying the dictates of
+her own heart and mind, not the suggestions of
+the weaker brethren. If she fell, it would be as
+an angel might fall, through love of one of the
+sons of men.</p>
+
+<p>“Her shy reserve slowly gave way to confidence,
+and, in the sympathy of closer friendship, she let
+him see beauties of soul of which he would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
+deemed it sacrilege to speak to another. What
+drew her to him I cannot tell; perhaps his profound
+reverence for, and admiration of, her sex, his
+complete understanding of herself, or perhaps some
+quality of his own. I had not her confidence, so
+cannot say; but there were men who recognised
+his fascination, due in part, no doubt, to his compelling
+will. Perhaps she was simply carried away
+by the man’s overpowering love, which at last
+declared itself. They realised the hopelessness of
+the position, and yet they both took comfort from
+their mutual love and trust in each other’s unchanging
+faith. That was all they had to look forward
+to,&mdash;that and Fate.</p>
+
+<p>“With that poor prospect before them he gave
+her, on a day, a gold coin, ‘for luck,’ he said&mdash;an
+ancient Indian coin of some forgotten dynasty, and
+she hung it on a bangle and said laughingly, that
+if ever she were likely to forget him the jingle of
+the coin would be a ceaseless reminder of the giver.
+And so the thing lived there day and night, and,
+when she moved, it made little musical sounds,
+singing its story to her willing ears, as it struck
+against the bangle from which it hung.</p>
+
+<p>“Then they came here, he to his work, she to
+see the snows and some friends, before leaving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
+India for Japan, or California, or some other stage
+of the voyage which brings no rest to the troubled
+soul. One day they had ridden up here, and were
+returning down the hill. It was afternoon, and
+she was riding in front, he behind, the syces
+following. The path is narrow, as you saw,
+and very steep. She dropped something, stopped,
+and called a syce to pick it up. Her horse was
+impatient, got his head round, and, as the syce
+approached, backed over the edge of the road.
+The thing was done in an instant, the horse was
+over the side, down on his belly, terror-struck and
+struggling in the loose earth. The man had only
+time to shout, ‘Get off! get off!’ but she could
+not get off, the horse had fallen on his off side,
+and, as the man threw himself on the road, her
+horse rolled slowly right over her, with a horrible
+crunching noise,&mdash;then faster, over her again, and
+then horse and rider disappeared, and, crashing
+through the undergrowth, banging against great
+granite boulders, fell with a horrible thud, far down
+the height.</p>
+
+<p>“He had never seen her face; she had her
+back towards him, and she never uttered a
+sound.</p>
+
+<p>“The road makes a long détour, and then comes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
+back, several hundred feet lower down, to a spot
+almost directly underneath the point where the
+accident happened. A little way in from there
+the man saw the horse lying perfectly still, with
+its neck broken. Higher up the bank he found
+the woman, moaning a little, but quite unconscious,
+crushed and torn,&mdash;you have seen the place and
+you can guess. She only lived a few minutes.</p>
+
+<p>“When at last the man awoke out of his stupor,
+to lift her up and carry her down to the path, he
+noticed that the bangle and the coin had both
+gone, wrenched off in that wild plunge through
+trees and stones into eternity&mdash;or oblivion.</p>
+
+<p>“The man waited there, while one of the syces
+went for help and a litter, and it was only after
+they had carried her home that I saw him. I
+could hardly recognise him. There were times
+when I had thought him the saddest-looking man I
+had ever seen, but this was different. There was
+a grey, drawn setness on his face, and something
+in his eyes I did not care to look at. He and I
+were living in the same house, and in the evening
+he told me briefly what had happened, and several
+times, both while he spoke and afterwards, I saw
+him throw up his head and listen intently. I
+asked him what it was, and he said, ‘Nothing, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+thought I heard something.’ Later, he started
+suddenly, and said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>“‘Did you hear that?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Hear what?’ I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“‘A faint jingling noise,’ he replied. ‘You must
+have heard it; did you do it?’</p>
+
+<p>“But I had heard nothing, and I said so.</p>
+
+<p>“He got up and looked about to see if any one
+was moving, and then came back and sat down
+again. I tried to make him go to bed, but he
+would not, and I left him there at last.</p>
+
+<p>“They buried her the next evening, and all the
+English in the station were there. The man and
+I stood on the outskirts of the people, and we
+lingered till they had gone, and then watched the
+grave-diggers finish the filling of the grave, put
+on the sods, and finally leave the place. As they
+built up the earth, and shaped it into the form of
+a roof to cover that narrow dwelling, the man
+winced under every blow of the spades, as though
+he were receiving them on his own body. There
+was nothing to say, and we said nothing, but more
+than once I noticed the man in that listening attitude,
+and I began to be alarmed about him. I got
+him home, and except for that look, which had
+not left his face, and the intentness with which I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
+sometimes caught him listening, there was nothing
+strange in his manner; only he hardly spoke at all.
+On subsequent evenings for the next fortnight he
+talked more than usual about himself, and as I
+knew that he often spent a good deal of time in,
+or looking on to, the cemetery, I was not surprised
+to hear him say that he thought it a particularly
+attractive graveyard, and one where it would be
+pleasant to lie, if one had to be put away somewhere.
+It is on the hill, you know, by the church,
+and one can see the eternal snows across that blue
+valley which divides us from the highlands of
+Sikkim. He was insistent, and made me remark
+that, as far as he was concerned, there could be
+no better place to lie than in this God’s Acre.</p>
+
+<p>“Once or twice, again, he asked me if I did not
+hear a jingle, and constantly, especially in the quiet
+of evening, I saw him start and listen, till sometimes
+I really began to think I heard the noise he
+described.</p>
+
+<p>“A few evenings later, but less than a month
+after the accident, I went to bed, leaving him
+cleaning a revolver which he thought a deal of,
+and certainly he could shoot very straight with it.
+I was sitting half-undressed, when I heard a loud
+report, and you may imagine the feelings with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+which I ran to the room where I had left him.
+He was sitting at the table, with his left hand
+raised, as though to reach his heart, and his right
+straight down by his side, the revolver on the floor
+beneath it. He was dead, shot through the heart;
+but his head was slightly thrown back, his eyes
+wide open, and in them that look of listening
+expectancy I had seen so often of late. At the
+corners of his mouth there seemed to be the
+shadow of the faintest smile.</p>
+
+<p>“At the inquest I explained that I left him
+cleaning the pistol, and that, as it had a hair-trigger,
+no doubt it had gone off by misadventure.
+When each of the jurors had, in turn, raised the
+hammer, and found it was hardly necessary to
+touch the trigger in order to fire the weapon,
+they unanimously returned a verdict of ‘accidental
+death.’”</p>
+
+<p>“It is curious,” concluded my companion, “but
+I sometimes think <em>I</em> hear the jingle of that coin,
+especially if I am alone on this hill, or sitting by
+myself at night in the house where that sad accident
+happened.” He put a slight stress on the
+word “accident,” that was not lost on me.</p>
+
+<p>As we passed the stone, on our way down the
+hill, I seemed to see that horse blunder backwards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
+over the edge of the path, to hear the slow,
+crunching roll, and then the crash and ghastly
+thud, far down below; and, as an involuntary
+shudder crept slowly down my back, I thought <em>I</em>
+heard the faint jingle of that ill-omened piece of
+gold.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a><span class="line-height">VIII</span><br />
+A STRANGE SUNSET</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">YOU will think I am eternally babbling of
+sunsets, but no one, with a spark of feeling,
+could be here and not be moved to the depths of
+his nature by the matchless, the ever-changing
+beauty of the wonderful pictures that are so constantly
+before his eyes. People who are utterly
+commonplace, whose instincts seem, in some respects,
+to approach those of the beasts, when they
+come here are amazed into new sensations, and,
+in unaccustomed words, voice the expression of
+their admiration. If I weary you, pardon me, and
+remember that you are the only victim of my
+exaltation.</p>
+
+<p>One looks for a sunset in the west, does one
+not? and that is the direction in which to find it
+here as elsewhere; but to-night the marvellous
+effects of the setting sun were, for a time, confined
+almost entirely to the east, or, to be strictly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
+accurate, rather to the south of east. Facing that
+direction one looks across a remarkable ridge,
+entirely covered by giant forest trees. The ridge
+dips in a sort of crescent from about 4500 feet in
+height at one extremity to 3000 feet at the other,
+and extends for a distance of perhaps two miles
+between the horns. Beyond and below the ridge
+lies a great, fertile valley, watered by a stately
+river, along the opposite bank of which runs a
+range of hills, varying in height from 2000 to
+3000 feet. Behind these hills there is another
+valley, another range, and then a succession of
+ever-loftier mountains, forming the main chain.</p>
+
+<p>The sun had disappeared behind a thick bank
+of grey clouds, and the only evidence of his presence
+was in the lambent edges of these clouds,
+which here and there glittered like molten metal.
+The western sky was, except for this bank, extraordinarily
+clear and cloudless, of a pale translucent
+blue, flecked here and there by tiny cloud-boats,
+airy and delicate, moving very slowly across the
+empyrean. I noticed this because what I saw in
+the east was so remarkable that I noted every
+detail.</p>
+
+<p>Against a background the colour of a hedge-sparrow’s
+egg in the south, and blue without the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
+green in the east, stood one white cloud, like a
+huge plume, with its base resting on the many
+ranges across the river, while it seemed to lean
+towards me, the top of the plume being almost
+over my head. At first the plume shone, from
+base to top, with a golden effulgence; but this
+gradually gave place to that lovely tint which I
+can only describe as <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">rose dorée</i>, the warm colour
+momentarily intensifying in tone until it suffused
+the entire cloud with such a roseate blush that
+all the hills beneath, and all the fast-darkening
+plain, blushed in response.</p>
+
+<p>For twenty minutes that glowing plume of
+softly rounded, feathery cloud stood framed against
+its wondrous blue-green background, the rosy
+colour of the cloud deepening as the land beneath
+it gathered blackness. Then, almost imperceptibly,
+the glow flickered and died, leaving only
+an immense grey-white cloud hanging over the
+night-shrouded plain.</p>
+
+<p>The sun, I knew, had long sunk beneath the
+horizon. Though I could see nothing behind that
+thick curtain of cloud, I waited, for the after-glow,
+seen from this height, is often more wonderful
+than the actual sunset. Five minutes of dull
+greyness, and then the whole western sky, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
+a space above the horizon, was overspread with
+pale gold, while countless shafts of brighter light
+radiated, as from the hub of the Sun-God’s chariot-wheel,
+across the gilded space, into the blue
+heights above. In the midst of this pale golden
+sheen there appeared, almost due west, and low
+down in the sky, a silver crescent, fine as a
+thread, curved upwards like the lip of a cup of
+which bowl and stem were invisible. It was the
+new-born moon.</p>
+
+<p>Gradually all sunlight failed, and close above
+the long, narrow bank of dark clouds, clearly
+etched against their grey background, hung a now
+golden crescent, into which seemed to be falling a
+solitary star of surpassing brilliance.</p>
+
+<p>To stand alone here in the presence of Nature,
+to witness the marvels of sunrise or sunset, the
+strange influence of nights of ravishing moonlight
+and days of quickening heat, impresses one with
+the conviction that if Oriental language is couched
+in terms that sound extravagant to Western ears,
+the reason is not far to seek. Nature revels
+here; one can really see things grow, where the
+sun shines every day as it never shines in lands
+of cold and fog. Natural phenomena are on a
+grander scale; the lightning is more vivid, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
+thunder more deafening, the rain a deluge against
+which the feeble artifices of man offer no protection.
+The moonlight is brighter, the shadows
+deeper, the darkness blacker than in northern
+climes. So the vegetation covers the earth, climbs
+on to the rocks, and disputes possession even with
+the waters of the sea. The blossoms are as
+brilliant in colour as they are profuse in quantity,
+and two men will stagger under the weight of a
+single fruit. As for thorns, they are long as nails,
+stiff as steel, and sharp as needles. The beasts
+of the forest are mighty, the birds of the air are
+of wonderful plumage, the denizens of the deep
+are many, and huge, and strange. In the lower
+forms of life it is just the same; the lizards, the
+beetles, the ants, the moths and butterflies, the
+frogs and the snakes,&mdash;they are great in size and
+legion in number. Even the insects, however
+small, are in myriads.</p>
+
+<p>Only man stagnates, propagates feebly, loses his
+arts, falls a prey to pestilence, to new diseases, to
+imported vices, dies,&mdash;while every creature and
+every plant around him is struggling in the ceaseless
+renewal of life. Man dies, possibly because
+exultant nature leaves him so little to do to support
+his own existence; but it is not strange that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
+when he goes beyond the ordinary avocations of
+daily life, and takes himself at all seriously, his
+language should partake somewhat of the colour
+of his surroundings. Nor, perhaps, is it altogether
+surprising that, living with the tiger and the crocodile,
+the cobra and the stinging-ray, the scorpion
+and the centipede, he should have acquired some
+of their bloodthirstiness and venom, rather than
+have sought an example in the gentleness of the
+dove, a bird much fancied by Eastern peoples for
+the sweetness of its note and the excellence of
+its fighting qualities.</p>
+
+<p>I suppose it is the appalling difficulties of
+making a passage through the jungle that have
+given the elephant and rhinoceros their strength
+and courage; but for the people, who are never
+really cold, and seldom hungry, there is little
+inducement to exertion. They can lie under the
+fruit trees, and idly watch the grey, gossamer-winged
+butterflies floating dreamily across a sunlit
+glade; they drowse and sleep to the music of the
+waters, as the whispering river slips gently towards
+a summer sea.</p>
+
+<p>And it is all so comfortable. There is Death,
+but that is predestined, the one thing certain in
+so much that is too hard for the finite mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+There is also Hell, but of all those who speak so
+glibly of it, none ever believes that the same
+Power which created him, to live for a moment
+in trouble on the earth, will condemn him to an
+eternity of awful punishment. It is Paradise for
+which each man, in his own mind, is destined; a
+Paradise where he will be rewarded for all his
+earthly disappointments by some such pleasant
+material advantages as he can picture to himself,
+while he lies on the river bank and gradually
+sinks into a delightful slumber, lulled by the restful
+rippling of the passing stream. And he will
+dream&mdash;dream of that Celestial Being of whom
+it is related that “his face shone golden, like
+that of a god, so that many lizards fell, dazzled,
+from the walls, and the cockroaches in the thatch
+fought to bask in the light of his countenance.”</p>
+
+<p>Oriental imagery,&mdash;but a quaintly pretty idea,
+the creatures struggling to sit in the light shed by
+that radiant face.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a><span class="line-height">IX</span><br />
+OF LETTER-WRITING</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">SO you prefer the unaddressed letters, such
+as you have seen, to those which you receive
+from me in a cover, whereon are duly inscribed
+your name, style, and titles, and you ask me
+whether some of the letters are not really written
+to you. They are written to “Mary, in heaven,”
+or to you, if you please, or to any one to whom
+they appeal. The reason why you prefer them to
+the epistles I address to you is because they are
+unconstrained (too much so, you might think, if
+you saw them all), while, in writing to you, I am
+under constraint, and, directly I feel it, I have to
+be careful what I say, and beat about for some
+safe subject; and, as I abhor gossip and cannot
+write about my neighbour’s cat, I become unnatural,
+stilted, stupid, boring. With Mary it is different,
+for she is in heaven, where there are no marriages,
+and, therefore, I imagine, no husbands. As for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
+lovers, I do not mind them, for they have no
+special privileges; at any rate, they have no right
+to interfere with me. The idea that what I write
+for your eye may be read by some one for whom
+it was not intended, hampers the pen and takes
+away more than half the pleasure of writing.</p>
+
+<p>If you answer, “You ought not to want to write
+anything to me that may not be read by the
+master over my shoulder, or by the maid in the
+kitchen,” I say that I do not wish to interfere
+with the circulation of the <cite>Family Herald</cite>; and, for
+the rest, when you honour me with a letter, is it
+to be shown to any one who wishes to know what
+a really charming and interesting letter is like?
+I am blessed with some really delightful correspondents,
+of whom I would say you are the chief,
+did I not fear to offend some others; but I cannot
+help noticing, sometimes with amusement and sometimes
+with painful regret, that the character of their
+letters has a way of changing that, between first
+and last, may be compared to looking at the landscape
+through one end of a telescope and then
+through the other. When I see the field of vision
+narrowing to something like vanishing-point, until,
+in fact, the features of interest are no longer visible,
+I feel that I too must put on a minifying-glass,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
+before I attempt to describe to you my surroundings,
+my thoughts, my hopes and fears. Worst
+of all, I can no longer ask you freely how life is
+treating you; for if I do, I get no answer, or you
+tell me that the winter has been one of unexampled
+severity, or the political party in power seems to
+be losing ground and missing its opportunities.
+Individuals and parties have been losing opportunities
+since the days when Joseph lost his coat;
+always regretting them and always doing it again,
+because every party and every individual scorns to
+profit by the experience of another. That, you will
+tell me, is a platitude beneath a child’s notice. I
+agree with you, and I only mention it in support of
+my contention that it is better to write what you
+see, or hear, or imagine, or believe, to no one at
+all, than to write “delicately,” with the knowledge
+that there is a possible Samuel waiting somewhere
+about, if not to hew you in pieces, to put inconvenient
+questions to your friends, and give them
+the trouble of making explanations which are none
+the less aggravating because they are needless.
+As a man, I may say that the effort to avoid
+writing to women everything that can, by a suspicious
+mind, be twisted into something mildly
+compromising, is more than I am capable of. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
+thought that one may innocently get a friend into
+trouble is not amusing, so pray dismiss from your
+mind the idea that any of these letters are written
+to you. They are not; and if they ever recall
+scenes, or suggest situations that seem familiar,
+that is merely an accident. Pure, undiluted fable
+is, I fancy, very rare indeed; but travellers are
+supposed to be responsible for the most of it, and
+I am a traveller. On the other hand, almost all
+fiction is founded on fact, but you know how small
+a divergence from the latter is sufficient to make the
+former. If my fiction looks like fact, I am gratified;
+if, at the same time, it has awakened your
+interest (and you say it has), that is more than I
+ever hoped to achieve. A wanderer’s life in often
+beautiful, sometimes strange, surroundings; a near
+insight into the fortunes of men and women of
+widely differing race, colour, and creed; and the
+difficulty of writing freely and fearlessly to those
+who, like yourself, would give me their sympathy and
+kindly interest&mdash;these are mainly responsible for
+the Letters. As to the other contributing causes,
+it will amuse you more to exercise your imagination
+in lively speculations than to hear the dull
+truth from me. Besides, if I told you the truth it
+would only mislead, for you would not believe it.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a><span class="line-height">X</span><br />
+AT A FUNERAL</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">DO you remember how Matthew Arnold, in his
+Essay on “Pagan and Mediæval Religious
+Sentiment,” translates a scene from the fifteenth
+Idyll of Theocritus, giving the experiences of two
+Syracusan visitors at the feast of Adonis at Alexandria,
+about three hundred years before the Christian
+era? The description is wonderfully fresh
+and realistic, and it came back to me with strange
+insistence last night when my host detailed to me
+his experiences at a Malay funeral. I fear the
+effect will all be lost when I try to repeat what I
+heard&mdash;but you are indulgent, and you will pardon
+my clumsy periods for the sake of my desire to
+interest you. My only chance of conveying any
+idea of the impression made on me is to assume
+the rôle of narrator at first hand, and to try, as
+far as I may, to speak in my host’s words.</p>
+
+<p>“I was travelling,” he said, “and on the point<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
+of starting for a place where lived a Malay raja
+who was a great friend of mine, when I heard
+accidentally that his son had just died. That
+evening I reached the station where my friend
+lived. I saw him, and learned that his son, a
+mere lad, would be buried the next day. It is
+needless to say why he died, it is not a pretty
+tale. He had visited, perhaps eighteen months
+earlier, a British possession where the screams of
+Exeter Hall had drowned the curses of the people
+of the land, and this wretched boy returned to
+his country to suffer eighteen months of torture,&mdash;agonising,
+loathsome corruption,&mdash;in comparison
+with which death on the cross would be a joyous
+festival. That is nothing, he was dead; and,
+while his and many another life cry to deaf ears,
+the momentary concern of his family and his
+friends was to bury him decently. My arrival was
+regarded as a fortuitous circumstance, and I was
+bidden to take part in the function.</p>
+
+<p>“It was early afternoon when I found myself,
+with the father, standing at the window of a long
+room, full of women, watching till the body should
+be carried to a great catafalque that stood at the
+door to receive it. As we waited there, the man
+beside me,&mdash;a man of unusually tender feeling,&mdash;showed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
+no emotion. He simply said, ‘I am not
+sorry; it is better to die than to live like that; he
+has peace at last.’</p>
+
+<p>“There was a sound of heavy feet staggering
+over the grass under the weight of a great load,
+and the coffin was borne past our window towards
+the door. As we walked down the room a multitude
+of women and children pressed after us, and
+while a crowd of men lifted the body into its place
+on the catafalque, a girl close by us burst into a
+perfect passion of weeping, intermingled with despairing
+cries, and expressions of affection for
+the dead, whom she would never see again. The
+raja pulled me by the sleeve, saying, ‘Come outside,
+I cannot bear this,’ and I saw the tears were
+slowly coursing down his face as we passed the
+heart-broken child, who, in the abandonment of
+her grief, had thrown herself into the arms of
+another girl, and was weeping hysterically on
+her breast. The mourner was the dead boy’s only
+sister.</p>
+
+<p>“Meanwhile, the coffin had been placed on the
+huge wooden bier, and this was now being raised
+on the shoulders of a hundred men, with at least
+another hundred crowded round to take turns in
+carrying it to the place of burial. At this moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
+the procession moved off, and anything more unlike
+a funeral, as you and I know it, would be hard to
+imagine. A band of musicians, Spanish <i>mestizos</i>,
+in military uniforms, headed the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cortège</i>, playing a
+wild Spanish lament, that seemed to sob and wail
+and proclaim, by every trick of sound, the passing
+of the dead. Immediately behind them followed
+a company of stalwart Indian soldiers with arms
+reversed. Then a posse of priests and holy men
+chanting prayers. Next we came, and behind us
+a row of boys carrying their dead master’s clothes,
+a very pathetic spectacle. After them the great
+bier, vast in size, curious in form, and gay with
+colour, but so unwieldy that it seemed to take
+its own direction and make straight for the
+place of burial, regardless of roads and ditches,
+shrubs and flowers, or the shouts and cries of
+its bearers and those who were attempting to
+direct their steps. Last of all, a crowd of men
+and boys,&mdash;friends, retainers, chiefs, sightseers,
+idlers, gossips and beggars, a very heterogeneous
+throng.</p>
+
+<p>“The road to the burial-ground wound down
+one hill and up another, and the band, the escort,
+the priests, and the mourners followed it. But the
+catafalque pursued its own devious course in its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
+own blundering fashion, and, by-and-by, was set
+down on a high bluff, o’erlooking a great shining
+river, with palm-clad banks, backed by a space of
+level ground shut in by lofty blue hills. The coffin
+was then lifted from out the bier and placed upon
+the ground.</p>
+
+<p>“I stood by the ready-dug grave and waited;
+while the father of the dead boy moved away a
+few yards, and an aged chief called out, ‘Now, all
+you praying people, come and pray.’</p>
+
+<p>“The raja, the priests, and the holy men
+gathered round the body, and after several had
+been invited to take up the word and modestly
+declined in favour of some better qualified speaker,
+a voice began to intone, while, from time to time,
+the rest of the company said ‘Amîn.’</p>
+
+<p>“Just then it began to rain a little, and those
+who had no umbrellas ran for protection to the
+catafalque and sheltered themselves under its overhanging
+eaves, while a lively interchange of badinage
+passed between those who, for the moment,
+had nothing to do. This was the sort of conversation
+that reached my ears.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Now, then, all you people, come and pray.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Why don’t you pray yourself?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘We did all our praying yesterday; I do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>n’t
+believe you have done any. Now is the time,
+with all these holy men here.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘I dare say; but you don’t suppose I’m going
+out into the rain to pray: I’m not a priest.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘No one thought you were; but that is no
+reason why you should not pray.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Never mind about me, tell these other people;
+but you need not bother now, for they’ve got it
+over.’</p>
+
+<p>“And all the time the monotonous voice of
+the priest muttered the guttural Arabic words, as
+though these frivolous talkers were a mile off,
+instead of within a few feet of him and those who
+stood round the coffin.</p>
+
+<p>“No one could have helped being struck by the
+curious incongruity of the scene at that moment.
+I stood in a place of graves, with an open sepulchre
+at my feet. The stage was one of extraordinary
+beauty, the players singularly picturesque. That
+high bluff, above the glistening river, circled by
+forest-clad hills of varying height, one needle-like
+point rising to at least 6000 feet. Many old
+graves lay beneath the shadow of graceful, wide-spreading
+trees, which carried a perfect blaze of
+crimson blossoms, lying in huge masses over dark
+green leaves, as though spread there for effect.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
+Groups of brown men, clad in garments of bright
+but harmoniously toned colours, stood all about
+the hill. On the very edge of the bluff, towards
+the river, was the gaily caparisoned, quaintly constructed
+catafalque, a number of men and boys
+sitting in it and round its edge, smoking, laughing,
+and talking. Within a dozen feet of them, the
+closely packed crowd of priests and holy men praying
+round the coffin. The band and the guard
+had been told to march off, and they were wending
+their way round a hillside in middle distance;
+while the strains of a quick step, the monotone of
+rapidly uttered prayer, the conversation and laughter
+of the idlers, crossed and re-crossed each other in
+a manner that to me was distinctly <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bizarre</i>. Seen
+against that background and lighted by the fiery
+rays of a dying Eastern sun, the scarlet uniforms
+of the bandsmen, the dark blue of the escort, the
+long white coats of the priests, and the many-coloured
+garments of the two or three hundred
+spectators scattered about the graves, completed a
+picture not easily forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>“Just then a move was made to the sepulchre,
+and two ropes were stretched across it, while some
+men began to lift the coffin.</p>
+
+<p>“‘What are you doing?’ said the uncle of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+dead boy. ‘If you put him in like that how will
+his head lie?’</p>
+
+<p>“The bearers immediately let the coffin down,
+and another man in authority said, ‘Well, after
+all, how should his head lie?’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Towards the west,’ said the uncle.</p>
+
+<p>“‘No, it should not,’ replied the other; ‘it
+should be to the north, and then he looks towards
+the west.’</p>
+
+<p>“Several people here joined in the argument,
+and it was eventually decided that the head must
+be towards the north; and then, as the body was
+lying on its right side, the face would look towards
+Mecca.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Well, who knows at which end of the box
+his head is?’</p>
+
+<p>“Various guesses were hazarded, but the uncle
+said that would never do, and he would see for
+himself. So the wreaths and garlands of ‘blue
+chempaka,’ the flower of death, the gorgeous silks
+and cloths of gold, were all thrown off, the heavy
+cover was lifted up, and the uncle began to feel
+about in the white grave-clothes for the head of
+the corpse.</p>
+
+<p>“‘Ha! here it is,’ he said; ‘if we had put him
+in without looking, it would have been all wrong,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
+and we should have had a nice job to get him out
+again.’</p>
+
+<p>“‘Well, you know all about it now,’ said a
+bystander, ‘so we may as well get on.’</p>
+
+<p>“The cover was accordingly replaced, the box
+turned with the head to the north, and then, with
+a deal of talk and superabundance of advice, from
+near and from far, the poor body was at last
+lowered into the grave. Once there the corpse
+lies on the earth, for the coffin has no bottom.
+The reason is obvious.</p>
+
+<p>“You have probably never been to a funeral,
+and if so, you do not know the horrible sound of
+the first spadesful of earth as they fall, with dull
+blows, on that which is past feeling and resistance.
+The friends who stand round the grave shudder
+as each clod strikes the wood under which lies
+their beloved dead. Here it was different, for
+two men got into the grave and held up a grass
+mat, against which the earth was shovelled while
+the coffin was protected. There was hardly any
+sound, and, as the earth accumulated, the men
+spread it with their hands to right and left, and
+finally over the top of the coffin, and then the
+rest of the work was done rapidly and quietly.
+When filled in, two wooden pegs, each covered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
+with a piece of new white cloth, were placed at
+the head and foot of the grave. These are eventually
+replaced by stones.</p>
+
+<p>“Then, as the officers of the raja’s household
+began to distribute funeral gifts amongst the
+priests, the holy men, and the poor, my friend
+and I slowly retraced our steps, and, with much
+quiet dignity, the father thanked me for joining
+him in performing the last offices to his dead son.</p>
+
+<p>“‘His sufferings were unbearable,’ he said;
+‘they are over now, and why should I regret?’</p>
+
+<p>“Truly death was best, I could not gainsay it;
+but that young life, so horribly and prematurely
+ended, seemed to have fallen into the snare of a
+civilisation that cannot be wholly appreciated by
+primitive people. They do not understand why
+the burning moral principles of a section of an
+alien race should be applied to communities that
+have no sympathy with the principles, or their
+application to different conditions of society.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a><span class="line-height">XI</span><br />
+OF CHANGE AND DECAY</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">THERE is a subject which has an abiding
+interest for all men and women who are
+not too old to love; it is Constancy. I suppose
+there are few questions on which any half-dozen
+intelligent people will express such different
+opinions, and it is doubtful whether any of the
+six (unless there be amongst them one who is
+very young and inexperienced) will divulge his,
+or her, true thoughts thereanent. Almost all
+women, and most men, seem to think they are
+morally bound to declare themselves to be very
+mirrors of constancy, and each is prepared to
+shower scorn and indignation on the erring mortal
+convicted of change of feeling. The only feeling
+I here refer to is the declared love of man for
+woman, of woman for man.</p>
+
+<p>The other day a friend, writing to me, said,
+with admirable candour, “Do not think my heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
+is so small that it can only contain love for one
+man,” and I know that she means one man at a
+time. The maze surrounding this suggestion is
+attractive; let us wander in it for awhile, and if
+we become bewildered in its devious turns, if we
+lose ourselves in the intricacies of vague phrases,
+we may yet win our way back to reason by the
+road of hard, practical fact.</p>
+
+<p>In the spring of life, when the fancies of the
+young man and the girl “lightly turn to thoughts
+of love,” I suppose the average lover honestly
+believes in the doctrine of eternal constancy, for
+himself and the object of his affections, and words
+will almost fail him and her to describe their contempt
+for the frail creature who has admitted a
+change of mind; worse still, if the change includes
+a confession of love for a new object. Coquette,
+jilt, faithless deceiver, breaker of hearts, ruthless
+destroyer of peace of mind,&mdash;words of opprobrium
+are not sufficient in quantity, or poisonous enough
+in quality, to satisfy those from whose lips they
+flow with the violence and destructive force of a
+river in flood.</p>
+
+<p>Now, suppose this heaven-mated couple proceeds
+to extremities&mdash;that is, to marriage. And
+suppose that, after quite a short time, so short<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+that no false note has ever been heard to mar
+the perfect harmony of their duet of mutual praise
+and rapture, one of them dies, or goes mad, or
+gets lost, or is put into prison for a long term of
+years;&mdash;will not the other find a new affinity? It
+happens so often that I think it must be admitted
+as a very likely possibility. When convention
+permits of an outward and visible application, and
+plaster is put over the wound, most of the very
+virtuous say, “and an excellent thing, too.”</p>
+
+<p>There, then, we arrive at once at the possibility
+of change; the possibility of A, who once swore
+deathless love and fealty to B, swearing the same
+deathless love and fealty to X. It happens, and
+it has high approval.</p>
+
+<p>Now go a little step further, and suppose that
+the excellent couple of whom I first spoke perpetrate
+matrimony, and neither of them dies, or
+goes mad, or gets into prison. Only, after a
+longer or shorter time, they become utterly bored
+with each other; or one finds the other out; or,
+what is most common, one, and that one usually
+the woman, for divers reasons, comes to loathe
+the married state, all it implies and all it exacts.
+Just then Satan supplies another and a quite
+different man, who falls naturally into his place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
+in the situation, and the play runs merrily along.
+B’s deathless love and fealty for A are thrown
+out of the window, and what remains is pledged,
+up to the very hilt, to that spawn of the Evil One,
+the wrecker of happy homes, Z. It can hardly be
+denied that this also happens.</p>
+
+<p>I come, then, to the case of the affianced but
+unmarried lovers, where one, or both, perceives in
+time that the other is not quite all that fancy
+painted; realises that there is a lover, “for
+showy,” and a disagreeable companion and master
+“for blowy”: a helpful daughter, a charming
+sweetheart one day, and a very selfish, not to
+say grasping, spit-fire on another. Or, across
+the distant horizon, there sails into the quiet
+waters of this love-locked sea a privateer, with
+attractions not possessed by the ordinary merchant
+vessel, and, when the privateer spreads its sails
+again, it carries with it a willing prize, leaving
+behind a possibly better-found and more seaworthy
+craft to indulge its wooden frame with a
+burst of impotent fury and despair. B’s deathless
+love has been transplanted to a more congenial
+soil, and, after a space, A will find another
+and a better helpmate, and both will be satisfied,&mdash;for
+a time.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>If one may love, and marry, and lose, and love
+again; if one may love, and promise to marry,
+but, seeing the promise means disaster, withdraw
+it, to love elsewhere; if one may love and the
+love be choked to death, or frozen to entire
+absence of feeling, and then revive under the
+warmth of new sympathy to live and feel again&mdash;if
+all these things may be, and those to whom
+the experience comes are held to be no more
+criminal than their fellows, surely there may be
+love, real love, honestly given with both hands,
+as honestly clasped and held, and yet&mdash;and yet&mdash;a
+time may come when, for one of a thousand
+reasons, or for two or three, that love will wane
+and wane until, from illumining the whole firmament
+of those within its radiance, it disappears
+and leaves nothing but black, moonless night.
+But, by-and-by, a new moon of love may rise,
+may wax to equal splendour, making as glorious
+as before everything on which it shines; and the
+heart, forgetting none of the past, rejoices again
+in the present, and says, “Life is good; let me
+live it as it comes.” If that be possible, the
+alternate day and night of love and loss may
+succeed each other more than twice or thrice, and
+yet no charge, even of fickleness, may fairly lie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+at the door of him or her to whom this fate may
+come unsought.</p>
+
+<p>To love, as some can love, and be loved as well
+in return; to trust in the unswerving faith, the
+unassailable loyalty, the unbounded devotion of
+another, as one trusts in God, in the simple laws
+of nature, in anything that is absolutely certain;
+and then to find that our deity has feet of clay,
+that our perfect gem has, after all, a flaw, is a very
+bad experience. Worse than all, to lose, absolutely
+and for ever, and yet without death, a love that
+seemed more firmly rooted and grounded in us
+than any sacred principle, more surely ours than
+any possession secured by bolt and bar&mdash;that is a
+pain that passeth the understanding of those who
+have not felt it. Add to this the knowledge that
+this curse has come upon us as the result of our
+own work&mdash;folly, blind, senseless, reckless confidence,
+or worse&mdash;that is the very acme of human
+suffering. It is not a thing to dwell upon. On the
+grave of a love that has surpassed, in the perfection
+of its reality, all the dreams of imagination, and
+every ideal conjured out of depths of passionate
+romance, grow weeds which poison the air and
+madden the brain with grisly spectres. It is well
+to “let the dead bury their dead”&mdash;if we only can.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There, I am at the end; or is it only the close
+of a chapter? I suppose it must be the latter, for
+I have but now come to my friend’s proposition,
+namely, that of love distributed amongst a number
+of objects; all perhaps different, yet all in their
+way, let us hope, equally worthy. I know how
+she explains it. She says she loves one man
+because he appeals to her in one way, another in
+another; and as there are many means of approach
+to her heart, so there are many who, by one road
+or another, find their way to it. After all, she is
+probably more candid than singular in the distribution
+of her affection. How many worldlings who
+have reached the age of thirty can say that they
+have not had a varied experience in the elasticity of
+their affections, in the variety of shrines at which
+they have worshipped? Aphrodite and Athene
+and Artemis for the men; Phœbus and Ares and
+Hermes for the women; and a host of minor
+deities for either. Minor chords, delicate harmonies,
+charming pages of melody between the tragic
+scenes, the carefully scored numbers, the studied
+effects, which introduce the distinguishing <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">motifs</i>
+of the leading characters, in that strange conception
+wherein is written all the music of their
+lives.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>We are told that the sons of God took unto
+themselves wives from the daughters of men. Do
+you believe they left no wives, no broken faith, in
+heaven, before they came to earth to seek what
+they could not find above the spheres? What
+form of marriage ceremony do you suppose they
+went through with those daughters of men? Was
+it binding until death, and did that last trifling
+incident only open the door to an eternity of
+wedded bliss in the heaven from which earthly
+love had been able to seduce these sons of God?
+I fear there is proof of inconstancy somewhere.
+There is clear evidence of a desire for change, and
+that is usually taken to be a synonym for inconstancy,
+as between the sexes. The daughters of
+men have something to answer for, much to be
+proud of; but I hardly see why either they, or
+their menkind, who never drew any loving souls
+down from the safe heights of heaven to be wives
+to them, should be expected to make a choice of a
+partner early in life and never waver in devotion
+to that one, until death has put them beyond the
+possibility of temptation. It does happen sometimes;
+it is beautiful, enviable, and worthy of all
+praise. But when the heart of man or woman,
+following that most universal law of nature, change,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
+goes through the whole gamut of feeling, from
+indifference to passionate love, and later retraces its
+steps, going back over only a few of them, or to a
+place, beyond indifference, where dislike is reached,
+there seems no good reason why that disappointed,
+disillusioned soul should be made the object of
+reproach, or the mark for stones, cast by others
+who have already gone through the same experience
+or have yet to learn it.</p>
+
+<p>If we claim immortality, I think we must admit
+our mutability. Perhaps the fault is not all ours.
+It is written:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“Alas for those who, having tasted once</div>
+<div class="verse1">Of that forbidden vintage of the lips</div>
+<div class="verse1">That, press’d and pressing, from each other draw</div>
+<div class="verse1">The draught that so intoxicates them both,</div>
+<div class="verse1">That, while upon the wings of Day and Night</div>
+<div class="verse1">Time rustles on, and Moons do wax and wane,</div>
+<div class="verse1">As from the very Well of Life they drink,</div>
+<div class="verse1">And, drinking, fancy they shall never drain.</div>
+<div class="verse1">But rolling Heaven from His ambush whispers,</div>
+<div class="verse1">So in my licence is it not set down:</div>
+<div class="verse1">Ah for the sweet societies I make</div>
+<div class="verse1">At Morning, and before the Nightfall break;</div>
+<div class="verse1">Ah for the bliss that coming Night fills up,</div>
+<div class="verse1">And Morn looks in to find an empty Cup!”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>I do not seek to persuade you; it is a subject
+we often discuss, on which we never agree. I
+only state the facts as I know them, and I am<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
+for the truth!&mdash;even though I wish it were not
+true&mdash;rather than for a well-sounding pretence,
+which usually covers a lie. I have believed; I
+have seen what, with my life, I would have maintained
+was perfect, changeless love; and I have
+seen that love bestowed, in apparently equal
+measure, on another; while, sometimes, the first
+affection has died utterly, or, at others, it has
+never died at all, and the wavering heart, divided
+in allegiance, has suffered agonies of remorse,
+and at last begged one object of its devotion to
+shun it for ever, and so help it “to be true to
+some one.”</p>
+
+<p>There you find a result almost the same as that
+so candidly confessed by my friend; but the phases
+through which either will pass to arrive at it are
+utterly different. Fate and circumstances, the
+prolonged absence of the lover, misunderstandings,
+silence, and the ceaseless, wearing efforts of another
+to take the place of the absent&mdash;the absent, who
+is always wrong;&mdash;these things will loosen the
+tightest bond, when once the enemy at the gate has
+established a feeling of sympathy between himself
+and the beleaguered city. If at last there is
+a capitulation, it is only when the besieged is <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">au
+bout de ressources</i>; only made in extreme distress,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
+only perhaps under a belief of abandonment by
+one on whom the city relied for assistance in its
+dire need.</p>
+
+<p>My candid friend has no regrets, passes through
+no phases of feeling, sees no harm, means none,
+and for herself is probably safe. Only her heart
+is large and warm; she desires sympathy, intellectual
+companionship, amusement, passionate
+adoration. She gets these things, but not all
+from the same man, and she is prepared to give
+love in return for each, but it is love with a wise
+reservation. Sometimes she cannot understand
+why the objects of her catholic affections are not
+equally satisfied with the arrangement, and she
+thinks their discontent is unreasonable. She will
+learn. Possibly, as she acquires knowledge, she
+may change. Nothing is more certain than that
+there is, if not always, very very often, the widest
+difference in the world between the girl of twenty
+and the woman of thirty. It is a development,
+an evolution,&mdash;often a startling one,&mdash;and if
+men more often realised what is likely to come,
+waited for it, and understood it when it arrived,
+there would be a deal less unhappiness in the
+world.</p>
+
+<p>That, however, is another question, about which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
+I should like to talk to you on another day, for it
+has interest.</p>
+
+<p>Of love, and change in the object of love, I think
+you will not deny the possibility. If you have
+never known such change, you are the exception, and
+out of your strength you can afford to deal gently
+with those weaker vessels whose feelings have gone
+through several experiences. But has your faith
+never wavered? Have your affections been set on
+one man, and one only; and are they there to-day,
+as strong, as single-hearted, as true and as contented
+as ever? I wonder; pardon me if I also doubt!</p>
+
+<p>I have spoken only of those cases where the
+love that was has ceased to be; ceased altogether
+and gone elsewhere, or so changed from what it
+was, that it no longer knits together those it once
+held to the exclusion of all others. But I might
+remind you that there are many other phases, all
+of which imply change, or at least such difference
+as must be counted faithlessness. Your quick
+intelligence can supply a multitude of instances
+from the unfortunate experiences of your friends,
+and I will only cite one that is not altogether
+unheard of. It is this; when two people are
+bound by the ties of mutual love, and fate divides
+them by time and distance, it sometimes happens<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
+that one will prove faithless in heart, while remaining
+firmly constant in deed. That is usually
+the woman. The other may be faithless in deed;
+but he says to himself (and, if he has to confess
+his backsliding, he will swear the same to his
+lady) that his affections have never wavered. He
+often does not realise that this statement, the
+truth of which he takes such trouble to impress
+upon his outraged goddess, adds to the baseness
+of his deed. It is curious, but it is true, that the
+woman, if she believes, will pardon that offence,
+while she would not forgive the heart-faithlessness
+of which she is herself guilty. He is not likely
+to learn that her fealty has wandered; he takes a
+good deal for granted, and he does not easily
+believe that such things are possible where he is
+concerned; but, should he suspect it, should she
+even admit that another has aroused in her feelings
+akin to those she had hitherto only felt for him, he
+will hold that aberration from the path of faith
+rather lightly, though neither tears nor blood could
+atone for a faithless deed, such as that of which
+he stands convicted.</p>
+
+<p>Woman realises that if man’s lower nature takes
+him into the gutter, or even less unclean places, he
+will not hanker after whatever it was that attracted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
+him when once his temptation is out of sight.
+She despises, but she estimates the disloyalty at
+its right value in a creature for whose want of
+refinement she learns to feel a certain contempt.
+Man, busy about many other things, treats as
+trivial a lapse which implies no smirch on his
+honour; and he, knowing himself and judging
+thereby, says, “Out of sight, out of mind.” It
+seldom occurs to him that, where the woman’s
+heart has been given away from him, he has
+already lost at least as much as his utmost dread;
+and even that is more likely to follow, than he to
+return to one who has never aroused in him any
+feeling of which he cares to think. Therefore, he is
+inclined rather to be amused than distressed; and,
+still mindful of his own experiences, he dismisses
+the matter from his thoughts with almost a sense
+of satisfaction. But he is wrong: is he not?</p>
+
+<p>Of course I am not thinking of the jealous men.
+They are impossible people whom no one pities.
+They never see that, while they make themselves
+hateful to every one who is unhappily thrown into
+contact with them, they only secure their own
+misery. I believe there are men who are jealous
+of the door-mat. These are beyond the help of
+prayer.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a><span class="line-height">XII</span><br />
+DAUGHTERS AND DESPOTISM</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">I AGREE with you that few things are more
+astonishing than the want of sympathy between
+parents and their daughters. Many fathers and
+mothers seem to be absolutely insensible to the
+thoughts, the desires, and the aspirations of those
+for whom they usually profess, and probably feel,
+a very great affection. There are two principal
+causes for this very common state of matters.
+One is the difference in age between parents and
+children. The fathers and mothers are losing, or
+have already lost, their interest in many of those
+things which are just beginning to most keenly
+interest their children. The children are very
+quick to see this, and the confidence they will
+give to a comparative stranger they withhold from
+parents, to whom they are too shy to confess
+themselves, because they dread ridicule, coldness,
+displeasure. The other cause of estrangement is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
+the fact that parents will insist upon regarding
+their daughters as children until they marry, and
+sometimes even afterwards; and they are so
+accustomed to ordering and being obeyed, that
+they cannot understand independence of thought.
+Their children are always children to them; they
+must do exactly what they are told without
+question; they ought not to have any ideas of
+their own, and, if they are really good Christian
+children, well brought up and a credit to their
+parents, they must, before all things, be obedient
+and have no likes and dislikes, no opinions that
+are not those of their parents. As with crows,
+they must be feathered like the old birds and
+caw, always and only caw, if they wish to be
+heard at all.</p>
+
+<p>It sounds, and it seems, unreasonable, and yet
+one sees it every day, and the amused or enraged
+spectator, with no fledglings of his own, is lost
+in wonderment at the crass stupidity of otherwise
+sensible people, who, while they do these things
+themselves, and glory in their own shame, will
+invite attention to the mote in their neighbour’s
+eye, which ought to be invisible to them by
+reason of the great beam in their own. I suppose
+it never occurs to them that they are all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+the time committing hateful and unpardonable
+crimes; that their want of intelligent appreciation
+is driving their children to resort to all kinds of
+concealment, subterfuge, and deceit; while home
+becomes often so hateful to a girl that she seizes
+the first opportunity of leaving it, and makes her
+life a long misery or something worse.</p>
+
+<p>If the spectator dared, or cared, to speak the
+naked truth to a parent, I can imagine that dignified
+individual choking with respectable rage at
+the bare suggestion that he was in any sense
+responsible for his daughter’s regrettable conduct.
+Yet surely the father and the mother are blameworthy,
+if they decline to treat their grown-up
+daughters as intelligent creatures, with the instincts,
+the yearnings, the passions for which
+they are less responsible than their parents.
+“You must do this, because I was made to do
+it; and you must not do that, because I was
+never allowed to do it. You must never question
+my directions, because they are for your good;
+because you are younger than I am, and cannot
+therefore know as well as I do; because I am
+your mother and you are my daughter; and, in my
+day, daughters never questioned their mothers.”
+All this, and a great deal more, may be admirable;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
+but it does not seem so. It may even answer
+sometimes; but that is rather cause for surprise
+than congratulation. It does fail, often and badly;
+but the parents are the last to realise the fact, and
+probably nothing would ever persuade them that
+the failure is due to their methods. If ever it
+comes home to parents that their revolted children
+have grown to hate them, they call them
+“unnatural,” and almost expect the earth to open
+and swallow them up, as happened to Korah and
+all his company.</p>
+
+<p>To onlookers the position often seems intolerable,
+and they avoid it, lest they should be tempted
+to interfere and so make matters worse. Nowadays,
+intelligent opinion is not surprised when tyranny is
+followed by rebellion. The world is getting even
+beyond that phase. Both men and women demand
+that their opinions should be heard; and
+where, amongst English-speaking people, they can
+be shown to be in accordance with common-sense,
+with freedom of thought, and with what are
+called the Rights of Man, they usually prevail.
+Children do not often complain of tyranny, and
+they seldom revolt; but they bitterly resent being
+treated as if they were ten years old when they
+are twenty, when their intelligence, their education,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
+and even their knowledge of the world entitle
+them to hold and express opinions. Nay, more,
+they are conscious of what is due to their own
+self-esteem, their family, and their order; and
+there are better ways of keeping them true to high
+purposes and lofty ideals than by treating them
+as children, whose intentions must always be suspected,
+because prone to naughtiness. The finer
+feelings are often strongest in youth; life and its
+experiences blunt them. While they are there,
+it is well to encourage them. Sympathy from
+an equal can easily do that; but, unless equality
+in speech be granted, the being who is held
+in bondage will be shy to express thoughts and
+aspirations that may be ridiculed, and will also
+resent the position of inferiority to which he or
+she is relegated for reasonless reasons.</p>
+
+<p>In the relations between parents and children,
+perhaps the most surprising point is the absolute
+disregard of the pitiless vengeance of heredity.
+Men and women seem to forget that some of their
+ancestors’ least attractive attributes may appear in
+their descendants, after sparing a child or skipping
+a generation. The guiding traits (whether for
+good or evil) in most characters can be traced
+with unerring accuracy to an ancestor, where there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
+is any record of family history. One child is predestined
+to be a musician, another a soldier, and a
+third a commonplace or remarkable sinner. Identical
+methods of education and treatment may not
+suit all equally well. Because a parent has lived
+only one life, the half-dozen children for whom he
+is responsible may not, even in the natural course
+of events, turn out to be exact replicas of their
+father, nor thrive on the food which reared him to
+perfection.</p>
+
+<p>I do not pretend that there are not many exceptions;
+but the daughters who are the victims
+of parental zeal, or parental repression, are so
+numerous that, in England at any rate, they probably
+form the majority of their kind. Of those
+who marry, the greater number may be entirely
+well-mated. Every one must hope that it is so.
+Some there are who are not so fortunate; and
+some, again, begin well but end in disaster,&mdash;due
+to their own mistakes and defects, to those of
+their husbands, or to unkind circumstances. With
+the daughters who are favoured by Fortune we
+have no concern. For the others, there is only
+one aspect of their case with which I will bore
+you, and that because it seems to me to be to
+some extent a corollary to my last letter. If a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
+girl has ideas and intelligence beyond those of
+her parents; if she has felt constraint and resented
+it; if she has exercised self-repression, while she
+longed for sympathy, for expansion, for a measure
+of freedom&mdash;such an experience, especially if it
+has lasted for any time, is not the best preparation
+for marriage. Married life&mdash;where man and
+woman are in complete sympathy, where mutual
+affection and admiration make self-sacrifice a joy,
+and trouble taken for the other a real satisfaction&mdash;is
+not altogether an easy path to tread, with
+sure and willing feet, from the altar to the grave.
+Many would give much to be able to turn back:
+but there is no return. So some faint and others
+die; some never cease from quarrelling; some
+accept the inevitable and lose all interest in life;
+while a few get off the road, over the barriers, break
+their necks or their hearts, or simply disappear out
+of the ken, beyond the vision, of their kind.</p>
+
+<p>I think much of the unhappiness that comes to
+be a millstone round the necks of married people
+is due, primarily, to the deep ignorance of womankind
+so commonly displayed by mankind. It is a
+subject that is not taught, probably because no
+man would be found conceited enough to profess
+more than the most superficial knowledge of it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
+Some Eastern writers have gone into the question,
+but their point of view differs from ours, as
+do their climate, their religion, their temperament,
+habits, and moral code. Their teachings are difficult
+to obtain; they are written in languages not
+commonly understood, and they deal with races
+and societies that have little in common with
+Europeans. Michelet has, however, produced a
+book that may be read with advantage by all
+those who wish to acquire a few grains of knowledge
+on a subject that has such an enthralling
+interest at some period of most men’s lives. It
+is not exactly easy to indicate other aids to an
+adequate conception of the feminine gender, but
+they will not be found in the streets and gutters
+of great cities.</p>
+
+<p>The school-boy shuns girls. He is parlously
+ignorant of all that concerns them, except that
+they cannot compete with him in strength and
+endurance. He first despises them for their comparative
+physical weakness; then, as he grows a
+little older, a certain shyness of the other sex
+seizes him; but this usually disappears with the
+coming of real manhood, when his instincts prompt
+him to seek women’s society. What he learns
+then, unless he is very fortunate, will not help<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
+him to understand and fully appreciate the girl
+who somewhat later becomes his wife&mdash;indeed, it
+is more likely to mislead him and contribute to her
+unhappiness. Unite this inexperienced, or over-experienced,
+youth with the girl who is ready to
+accept almost any one who will take her from an
+uncongenial home, and it says a good deal for the
+Western world that the extraordinary difficulties
+of the position should, in so large a proportion of
+cases, be overcome as well as they are.</p>
+
+<p>In the rage for higher education, why does not
+some philanthropic lady, some many-times-married
+man, open a seminary for the instruction of
+inexperienced men who wish to take into their
+homes, for life and death, companions, of whose
+sex generally, their refined instincts, tender feelings,
+reckless impulses, strange cravings, changeful
+moods, overpowering curiosity, attitudes of mind,
+methods of attack and defence, signals of determined
+resistance or speedy capitulation, they know,
+perhaps, as little as of the Grand Llama. What
+an opportunity such a school would afford to the
+latest development of woman to impress her own
+views upon the rising generation of men! How
+easily she might mould them to her fancy, or, at
+least, plant in them seeds of repentance, appreciation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+and constancy, to grow up under the care
+of wives for whose society the Benedictentiary
+would have somewhat fitted them.</p>
+
+<p>It is really an excellent idea, this combination
+of Reformatory of the old man and Education of
+the new. Can you not see all the newspapers full
+of advertisements like this:&mdash;</p>
+
+<h3 class="mt2"><span class="smcap">Preparation of Gentlemen for
+Matrimony</span></h3>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>The great success which has attended all those who
+have gone through the course of study at the Benedictentiary
+of Mesdames &mdash;&mdash; has led the proprietors to
+add another wing to this popular institution. The
+buildings are situated in park-like grounds, far from
+any disturbing influences. The lecturers are ladies of
+personal attraction with wide experience, and the discipline
+of the establishment is of the severest kind
+compatible with comfort. A special feature of this
+institution is the means afforded for healthy recreation
+of all kinds, the object being to make the students
+attractive in every sense. Gentlemen over fifty years
+of age are only admitted on terms which can be learnt
+by application to the Principal. These terms will vary
+according to the character of the applicant. During
+the last season twenty-five of Mesdames &mdash;&mdash; pupils
+made brilliant marriages, and the most flattering testimonials
+are constantly being received from the wives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
+of former students. There are only a few vacancies,
+and application should be made at once to the Principal.</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="tb1" />
+<p>That is the sort of thing. Do you know
+any experienced lady in want of a vocation that
+might combine profit with highly interesting employment?
+You can give her this suggestion,
+but advise her to be careful in her choice of lecturers,
+and let the ladies combine the wisdom of
+the serpent with the gentle cooing of the dove;
+otherwise, some possible husbands might be spoilt
+in the making.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a><span class="line-height">XIII</span><br />
+HER FIANCÉ</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">YOU say that my opinions are very unorthodox,
+that my views on human constancy are
+cynical, and that it is wicked to sympathise with
+children who oppose their inclinations to the behests
+of their parents.</p>
+
+<p>Do you forget that I said we should not agree,
+and will you be angry if I venture to suggest that
+you have not read my letters very carefully, or
+that your sense of justice is temporarily obscured?
+If I dared, I would ask you to look again at the
+letters, and then tell me exactly wherein I have
+sinned. I maintained that all are not gifted with
+that perfect constancy which distinguished Helen
+and Guinevere, and a few other noble ladies whose
+names occur to me. I notice that, as regards
+yourself, you disdain to answer my question, and
+we might safely discuss the subject without reference
+to personal considerations.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>My regrets over the strained relations which
+sometimes exist between parents and children
+could hardly be construed into an incitement to
+rebellion. They did not amount to more than
+a statement of lamentable facts, and a diagnosis
+of the causes of the trouble. When you add that
+truth is often disagreeable and better left unspoken,
+I will subscribe to the general principle,
+but fail to see its application here. Nor can I
+agree with you that problems of this sort are
+lacking in interest. To be able to construct a
+geometrical figure, and prove that the method
+is correct, does not sound very interesting; but
+architects, who have knowledge of this kind, have
+achieved results that appeal to those who look at
+the finished work, without thought of the means
+by which the end was gained.</p>
+
+<p>With your permission, I will move the inquiry
+to new ground; and do not think I am wavering
+in my allegiance, or that my loyalty is open to
+doubt, if I say one word on behalf of man, whose
+unstable affections are so widely recognised that
+no sensible person would seek to dispute the
+verdict of all the ages. He is represented as
+loving a sex rather than an individual; is likened
+to the bee which sucks where sweetness can be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
+found and only whilst it lasts; he shares with
+the butterfly the habit of never resting long on
+any flower, and, like it, he is drawn by brilliant
+colouring and less clean attractions. Virtuous
+affection and plain solid worth do not appeal to
+him.</p>
+
+<p>These are articles of popular belief, and must
+not be questioned; but I may say to you, that
+they do the poor man somewhat less than justice.
+As a bachelor, he has few opportunities of
+examining virtuous affection, on his own account;
+the experiences of his friends are not always
+encouraging; and, if he has to work, other things
+absorb most of his attention at this stage of his
+existence. If he marries, especially if he marries
+young, he is often enthusiastic, and usually hopelessly
+ignorant of feminine methods, inclinations,
+and fastidious hesitation. He feels an honest,
+blundering, but real and passionate affection. He
+shows it, and that is not seldom an offence. He
+looks for a reciprocation of his passion, and when,
+as often happens, he fully realises that his transports
+awaken no responsive feeling, but rather a
+scarcely veiled disgust, his enthusiasm wanes, he
+cultivates self-repression, and assumes a chilly indifference
+that, in time, becomes the true expression<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
+of his changed feelings. From this keen
+disappointment, this sense of his own failure in
+his own home, the transition to a state of callousness,
+and thence, to one of deep interest in another
+object where his advances are met in a different
+spirit, is not very difficult.</p>
+
+<p>You see, I am taking for granted that the
+popular conception of his shortcomings in regard
+to the affections is correct, and I only want to
+suggest some of the reasons which have earned
+for him such a bad reputation. First, it is the
+fault of his nature, for which he is not altogether
+responsible; it is different to yours. In this
+respect he starts somewhat unfairly handicapped,
+if his running is tried by the same standard as
+that fixed for the gentler sex. Then his education,
+not so much in the acquirement of book-knowledge
+as in the ways of the world, is also
+different. His physical robustness is thought to
+qualify him, when still a boy, to go anywhere,
+to see everything at close quarters, and without
+a chaperone. He is thrown into the maelstrom
+of life, and there he is practically left to sink or
+swim; and whether he drown or survive, he must
+pass through the deep water where only his own
+efforts will save him. A few disappear altogether,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+and, while all get wet, some come out covered
+with mud, and others are maimed, or their constitutions
+permanently injured by the immersion.</p>
+
+<p>That is the beginning, and I think you will
+admit that, except in a few very peculiar cases,
+the boy’s early life is more calculated to smirch
+than to preserve his original innocence.</p>
+
+<p>Then he settles down to work for a living or
+for ambition, and, in either case, he is left but
+little time to study the very complex complement
+of his life, woman. If he does not incontinently
+fall in love with what appeals to his eye, he
+deliberately looks about for some one who may
+make him a good, a useful, and, if possible, an
+ornamental wife. In the first case he is really to
+be pitied; but his condition only excites amusement.
+The man is treated as temporarily insane,
+and every one looks to the consummation of the
+marriage as the only means to restore him to his
+right mind. That, indeed, is generally the result,
+but not for the reason to which the cure is popularly
+ascribed. The swain is very much in love,
+whereas the lady of his choice is entering into
+the contract for a multitude of reasons, where
+passionate affection, very probably, plays quite an
+inferior part. The man’s ardour destroys any discretion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
+he may have. He digs a pit for himself
+and falls into it, and, unless he has great experience,
+unusual sympathy, or consummate tact,
+he misunderstands the signs, draws false conclusions,
+and nurses the seeds of discontent which will
+sooner or later come up and bear bitter fruit.</p>
+
+<p>If, on the other hand, he deliberately enters the
+matrimonial market and makes his choice with calm
+calculation, as he would enter the mart to supply
+any other need, he may run less risk of disappointment.
+But the other party to the bargain will,
+in due time, come to regret the part she has undertaken
+to play, and feel that what the man wanted
+was less a wife than a housekeeper, a hostess, a
+useful ally, or an assistant in the preservation of
+a family name. Very few women would fail to
+discover the truth in such a case, and probably
+none would neglect to mention it. Neither the
+fact, the discovery, nor the mention of it will help
+to make a happy home.</p>
+
+<p>With husbands and wives, if neither have any
+need to work, it ought to be easy to avoid boredom
+(the most gruesome of all maladies), and to
+accommodate themselves to each other’s wishes.
+They, however, constitute a very small proportion
+of society. A man usually has to work all day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
+and, if he is strong and healthy, it is hardly reasonable
+to suppose that his only thought, when his
+work is over, should be how he can best amuse
+his wife. If he sets that single object before him
+as his duty or his pleasure, and his wife accepts
+the sacrifice, the man’s health is almost certain to
+suffer, unless there is some form of exercise which
+they can enjoy together.</p>
+
+<p>Husbands and wives take a good deal for
+granted, and it is more curious that lovers, who
+are bound by no such tie, often meet with shipwreck
+on exactly the same sort of dangers. To
+be too exacting is probably, of all causes, the
+most fertile in parting devoted lovers.</p>
+
+<p>But enough of speculation. Pardon my homily,
+and let me answer your question. You ask me
+what has become of the man we used to see so
+constantly, sitting in the Park with a married lady
+who evidently enjoyed his society. I will tell you,
+and you will then understand why it is that you
+have not seen him since that summer when we
+too found great satisfaction in each other’s company.
+He was generally “about the town,” and
+when not there seemed rather to haunt the river.
+Small blame to him for that; there is none with
+perceptions so dead that the river, on a hot July<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
+day, will not appeal to them. I cannot tell how
+long afterwards it was, but the man became engaged
+to a girl who was schooling or travelling
+in France. She was the sister of the woman
+we used to see in the Park. <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Un bel giorno</i> the
+man and his future sister-in-law started for the
+Continent, to see his <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fiancée</i>. Arrived at Dover,
+the weather looked threatening, or the lady wanted
+rest, or it was part of the arrangement&mdash;details of
+this kind are immaterial&mdash;anyhow, they decided to
+stay the night in an hotel and cross the following
+morning. In the grey light which steals through
+darkness and recoils from day, some wanderer
+or stolid constable saw a white bundle lying on
+the pavement by the wall of the hotel. A closer
+examination showed this to be the huddled and
+shattered body of a man in his night-dress; a very
+ghastly sight, for he was dead. It was the man
+we used to see in the Park, and several storeys
+above the spot where he was found were the
+windows, not of his room, but of another. I do
+not know whether the lady continued her journey;
+but, if she did, her interview with her sister must
+have been a bad experience.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a><span class="line-height">XIV</span><br />
+BY THE SEA</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">YOU asked me to paint you a picture&mdash;a
+picture of a wonderful strand half-circling
+a space of sunlit sea; an island-studded bay, girt,
+landwards, by a chain of low blue hills, whose
+vesture of rich foliage is, through all the years,
+mirrored in the dazzling waters that bathe those
+rocky feet. The bay is enclosed between two
+headlands, both lofty, both rising sheer out of
+the sea, but that on the north juts out only a
+little, while the southern promontory is much
+bolder, and terminates a long strip of land running
+at right angles to the shore out into very deep
+water.</p>
+
+<p>The beach between these headlands forms an
+arc of a circle, and the cord joining its extremities
+would be about seven miles in length, while following
+the shore the distance is nearly ten miles.</p>
+
+<p>One might search east or west, the Old World<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
+or the New, and find in them few places so attractive
+as this little-known and sparsely inhabited
+dent in a far Eastern coast.</p>
+
+<p>Here the sky is nearly always bright; a day
+which, in its thirteen hours of light, does not give
+at least half of brilliant, perhaps too brilliant
+sunshine, is almost unknown. Then it is the
+sunshine of endless summer, not for a month or
+a season, but for ever.</p>
+
+<p>Except on rare occasions, the winds from the
+sea are softest zephyrs, the land breezes are cool
+and fragrant, sufficient only to stir the leaves of
+trees and gently ruffle the placid surface of the
+bay.</p>
+
+<p>The waters of the bay are green&mdash;green like
+a yellow emerald&mdash;but in some few places, near
+the shore, this changes into a warm brown. The
+beach is a wide stretch of sand broken by rocks
+of dark umber or Indian red. The sand is, in
+some places, so startlingly white that the eye can
+hardly bear the glare of it, while in others it is
+mixed with fine-broken grains of the ironstone
+called laterite, and this gives a burnt-sienna colour
+to the beach. When the tide is high, the great
+stretches of hard, clean sand are covered with
+water to a depth of between five and ten feet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
+and, owing to the absence of mud, mangroves, and
+mankind, the waters of the bay are of an extraordinary
+limpidity. The beach in many places
+dips steeply, so that, at high tide, there are six
+feet of water within two or three yards of the
+trees, shrubs, ferns, and creepers that clothe the
+shore in an abandonment of wild and graceful
+luxuriance. The sand shines beneath the waters
+of the sea like powdered diamonds, and all the
+myriads of pebbles and shells glisten and scintillate,
+with a fire and life and colour which they
+lose when the tide falls and leaves the sands dry,
+but for the little pools that fill the depressions
+of a generally even surface.</p>
+
+<p>Then, however, is the time to see strange shells
+moving slowly about, and crabs, of marvellous
+colour and unexpected instincts, scampering in
+hundreds over the purple rocks, that here and
+there make such a striking contrast to the brilliant
+orange and red, or the startling whiteness of the
+sand in which they lie half-embedded.</p>
+
+<p>And how positively delightful it is to paddle
+with bare feet between and over these rounded
+stones, while the tireless waters make continents
+and oceans in miniature, and the strange denizens
+of this life-charged summer sea destroy each other,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
+in the ceaseless struggle to preserve an existence
+for which they are no more responsible than we
+are. Here is an army of scarlet-backed crabs,
+hunting in battalions for something smaller and
+weaker than its own tiny, fragile units. The
+spider-like legion, alarmed by the approach of
+your naked feet, scuttles hurriedly towards a new
+Red Sea, and, dashing recklessly into the two
+inches of water, which are running between banks
+of sandy desert, disappears as completely as
+Pharaoh and his host. Unlike the Egyptian
+king, however, the crabs, which have only burrowed
+into the sand, will presently reappear on
+the other shore and scour the desert for a morning
+meal.</p>
+
+<p>And then you are standing amongst the rocks,
+on a point of a bay within the bay; and, as the
+rippling wavelets wash over your feet, you peer
+down into the deeper eddies and pools in search
+of a sea-anemone. Again, you exclaim in childish
+admiration of the marvellous colouring of a jelly-fish
+and his puzzling fashion of locomotion, or
+your grown-up experience allows you an almost
+pleasurable little shudder when you think of the
+poisonous possibilities of this tenderly-tinted,
+gauzily-gowned digestive system.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The land is not less rich in life than the sea.
+Nature has fringed the waters with a garden
+of graceful trees, flowering shrubs, brilliantly
+blossomed creepers, and slender ferns, far more
+beautiful in their untrained luxuriance than any
+effort of human ingenuity could have made them.
+There are magnolias, sweeping the waters with
+their magnificent creamy blossoms, made more
+conspicuous by their background of great, dark
+green leaves. There are gorgeous yellow alamanders,
+each blossom as large as a hand; soft
+pale pink myrtles, star-flowered jasmines, and the
+delicate wax-plant with its clusters of red or white
+blossoms. These and a multitude of others, only
+known by barbarous botanical names, nestle into
+each other’s arms, interlace their branches, and
+form arbours of perfumed shade. Close behind
+stand almond and cashew trees, tree-ferns, coconuts,
+and sago palms, and then the low hills,
+clothed with the giants of a virgin forest, that
+shut out any distant view.</p>
+
+<p>Groups of sandpipers paddle in the little wavelets
+that lovingly caress the shore; birds of the
+most gorgeous plumage flit through the jungle
+with strange cries; and, night and morning, flocks
+of pigeons, plumed in green and yellow, in orange<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+and brown, flash meteor-like trails of colour, in
+their rapid flight from mainland to island and
+back again. The bay is studded with islets, some
+near, some far, tiny clusters of trees growing out
+of the water, or a mass of stone, clothed from
+base to summit with heavy jungle, except for a
+narrow band of red rocks above the water’s
+edge.</p>
+
+<p>Sailing in and out the islands, rounding the
+headlands, or standing across the bay, are boats
+with white or brown or crimson sails; boats of
+strange build, with mat or canvas sails of curious
+design, floating, like tired birds, upon the restful
+waters of this “changeless summer sea.”</p>
+
+<p>But you remember it all: how we sat under
+the great blossoms and shining leaves of the
+magnolias, and, within arm’s length, found treasures
+of opal-tinted pebbles, and infinite variety
+of tiny shells, coral-pink and green and heliotrope,&mdash;and
+everything seemed very good indeed.</p>
+
+<p>A mass of dark-red boulders, overlying a bed
+of umber rock, ran out into the water, closing,
+as with a protecting arm, one end of the little
+inlet, while the forest-clad hill, rising sheer from
+the point, shut out everything beyond. And then
+the road! bright <i>terra cotta</i>, winding round the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
+bluff through masses of foliage in every shade of
+green,&mdash;giant trees, a maze of undergrowth, and
+the dew-laden ferns and mosses, blazing with
+emerald fires under the vagrant shafts of sunlight;&mdash;<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">dies
+cretâ notanda</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Do you remember how, when the sun had
+gone, and the soft, fragrant, Eastern night brought
+an almost tangible darkness, lighted only by the
+stars, we returned across the bay in a little boat,
+with two quaintly coloured paper lanterns making
+a bright spot of colour high above the bow?
+The only sound to break the measured cadence
+of the oars was the gentle whisper of the land-wind
+through the distant palm leaves, and the
+sighing of the tide as it wooed the passive
+beach.</p>
+
+<p>And then, as we glided slowly through the
+starlit darkness, you, by that strange gift of
+sympathetic intuition, answered my unspoken
+thought, and sang the <cite lang="de" xml:lang="de">Allerseelen</cite>, sang it under
+your breath, “soft and low,” as though it might
+not reach any ears but ours&mdash;yes, that was All
+Souls’ Day.</p>
+
+<p>There was only the sea and the sky and the
+stars, only the perfection of aloneness, “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Le rêve
+de rester ensemble sans dessein</i>.”</p>
+
+<p>And then, all too soon, we came to a space<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
+of lesser darkness, visible through the belt of
+trees which lined the shore; far down that water-lane
+twinkled a light, the beacon of our landing-place.
+Do you remember?&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a><span class="line-height">XV</span><br />
+AN ILLUMINATION</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">AFTER an absence which cannot be measured
+by days&mdash;not at least days of twenty-four
+hours, but rather by spaces of longing and regret,&mdash;I
+am back again in a house where everything
+suggests your presence so vividly that I hardly
+yet realise that I cannot find you, and already,
+several times, hearing, or fancying I heard, some
+sound, I have looked up expecting to see you. It
+is rather pitiful that, waking or sleeping, our senses
+should let us be so cruelly fooled.</p>
+
+<p>It seems years ago, but, sitting in this room to-night,
+memory carries me back to another evening
+when you were also here. It had rained heavily,
+and the sun had almost set when we started to
+ride down the hill, across the river, and out into
+the fast-darkening road that strikes through the
+grass-covered plain, and leads to the distant hills.
+The strangely fascinating transformation of day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
+into night, as commonly seen from that road,
+cannot fail to arrest the attention and awaken
+the admiration of the most casual observer; but
+for us, I think, it possessed the special charm
+which comes from the contemplation of nature in
+harmony with the mood of the spectator,&mdash;or
+seen, as with one sight, by two persons in absolute
+sympathy of body and soul. Then nothing
+is lost&mdash;no incident, no change of colour, no
+momentary effect of light or shade; the scene is
+absorbed through the eyes, and when the sensation
+caused finds expression through the voice
+of one, the heart of the other responds without
+the need of words.</p>
+
+<p>I see the picture now; a string of waggons,
+the patient oxen standing waiting for their drivers,
+picturesquely grouped before a wayside booth; a
+quaintly fashioned temple, with its faint altar-light
+shining like a star from out the deep gloom within
+the portal; tall, feathery palms, whose stems cast
+long, sharp shadows across the dark-red road; on
+either side a grass-covered, undulating plain, disappearing
+into narrow valleys between the deep
+blue hills; behind all, the grey, mist-enshrouded
+mountains, half hidden in the deepening twilight.</p>
+
+<p>The last gleams of colour were dying out of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
+sky as we left the main road, and, turning sharp
+to the left, urged our horses through the gathering
+darkness. At last we were obliged to pull
+up, uncertain of our bearings, and even doubtful,
+in the now absolute blackness of tropical night,
+whether we were in the right way. Carefully
+avoiding the deep ditches, more by the instinct of
+the horses than any guidance of ours, we struck
+into another road and set our faces homewards.
+It was still intensely dark, but growing clearer as
+the stars shone out, and we gradually became more
+accustomed to the gloom; dark yet delightful, and
+we agreed that this was the time of all others to
+really enjoy the East, with a good horse under you
+and a sympathetic companion to share the fascination
+of the hour.</p>
+
+<p>Riding through the groves of trees that lined
+both sides of the road, we caught occasional
+glimpses of illuminated buildings, crowning the
+steep hill which forms one side of the valley.
+Traversing the outskirts of the town, we crossed
+a river and came out on a narrow plain, above
+which rose the hill. I shall never forget the
+vision which then rose before us. How we exclaimed
+with delight! and yet there was such an
+air of glamour about the scene, such unrealness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
+such a savour of magic and enchantment as tied
+our tongues for a while.</p>
+
+<p>The heights rose in a succession of terraces
+till they seemed to almost pierce the clouds, each
+terrace a maze of brilliantly illuminated buildings
+to which the commanding position, the environment,
+the style of architecture, and the soft, hazy
+atmosphere lent an imposing grandeur.</p>
+
+<p>The buildings which crowned the summit of the
+spur, lined the terraces, and seemed to be connected
+by a long flight of picturesque stone steps,
+were all of a dazzling whiteness. Low-reaching
+eaves, supported on white pillars, formed wide
+verandahs, whose outer edges were bordered by
+heavy balustrades. Every principal feature of
+every building, each door and window, each
+verandah, balustrade, and step, was outlined by
+innumerable yellow lights that shone like great
+stars against the soft dark background of sky
+and hill. It is impossible to imagine the beauty
+of the general effect: this succession of snow-white
+walls, rising from foot to summit of a
+mist-enveloped hill, suggested the palace-crowned
+heights of Futtepur Síkri, illuminated for some
+brilliant festival. The effect of splendour and
+enchantment was intensified by the graceful but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
+indistinct outlines of a vast building, standing in
+unrelieved darkness by the bank of the river we
+had just crossed. In the gloom it was only
+possible to note the immense size of this nearer
+palace, and to realise its towers and domes, its
+pillars and arches, and the consistently Moorish
+style of its architecture.</p>
+
+<p>As we approached the lowest of the series of
+illuminated buildings that, step by step, rose to
+the summit of the heights, we beheld a sheet of
+water beneath us on our right, and in this water
+were reflected the innumerable lights of a long,
+low temple, standing fifty feet above the opposite
+bank of the lake. Fronds of the feathery bamboo
+rose from the bank, and, bending forwards in graceful
+curves, cast deep shadows over the waters of
+this little lake, from the depths of which blazed
+the fires of countless lights.</p>
+
+<p>We stood there and drank in the scene, graving
+it on the tablets of our memories as something never
+to be forgotten. Then slowly our horses passed
+into the darkness of the road, which, winding round
+the hillside, led up into the open country, a place
+of grass-land and wood, lying grey and silent
+under a starlit sky.</p>
+
+<p>And, when we had gained the house, it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
+here you sat, in this old-world seat, with its
+covering of faded brocade. I can see you now,
+in the semi-darkness of a room where the only
+lamp centres its softened light on you&mdash;an incomparable
+picture in a charming setting. You
+do not speak; you are holding in your hand a
+small white card, and you slowly tear it in two,
+and then again and again. There is something
+in your face, some strange glory that is not of
+any outward light, nor yet inspired by that enchanted
+vision so lately seen. It is a transfiguration,
+a light from within, like the blush that dyes
+the clouds above a waveless sea, at the dawn of
+an Eastern morning. Still you speak no word,
+but the tiny fragments of that card are now so
+small that you can no longer divide them, and
+some drop from your hands upon the floor.</p>
+
+<p>I picked them up&mdash;afterwards&mdash;did I not?</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a><span class="line-height">XVI</span><br />
+OF DEATH, IN FICTION</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">IT is delightful to have some one to talk to
+with whom it is not necessary to think always
+before one speaks, to choose every word, to explain
+every thought&mdash;some one, in fact, who has sympathy
+enough not to be bored with the discussion
+of a subject that deals neither with gossip nor
+garments, and intelligence enough to understand
+what is implied as well as what is said. I have
+done a good deal of desultory reading lately,
+mostly modern English and French fiction, and I
+cannot help being struck by the awkward manner
+in which authors bring their stories to a conclusion.
+It so very often happens that a book begins
+well, possibly improves as the plot develops, becomes
+even powerful as it nears the climax, and
+then&mdash;then the poor puppets, having played their
+several parts and done all that was required of
+them, must be got rid of, in order to round off<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
+the tale, to give finality, and satisfy the ordinary
+reader’s craving for “full particulars.” This varnishing
+and framing and hanging of the picture is
+usually arrived at by marrying or slaying some
+principal character; the first is a life, and the
+last a death, sentence. Thus the reader is satisfied,
+and often the story is ruined; that is, if
+skilful drafting and true perspective are as necessary
+to a good picture as artistic colouring and the
+correct disposition of light and shade. But is the
+reader satisfied? Usually, yes; occasionally, no.
+In the latter case the book is closed with a strong
+sense of disappointment, and a conviction that the
+writer has realised the necessity of bringing down
+the curtain on a scene that finishes the play, and
+leaves nothing to the imagination; so, to secure
+that end, he has abandoned truth, and even probability,
+and has clumsily introduced the priest or
+the hangman, the “cup of cold poison,” or the
+ever-ready revolver. The effect of the charming
+scenery, the pretty frocks, the artistic furniture, and
+“the crisp and sparkling dialogue,” is thus spoilt
+by the unreal and unconvincing <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">dénouement</i>.</p>
+
+<p>It seems to me&mdash;“to my stupid comprehension,”
+as the polite Eastern constantly insists&mdash;that this
+failure is due to two causes. First, most fiction is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
+founded on fact, and the writer has, in history, in
+the newspapers, in his own experience or that of
+his friends, met with some record or paragraph,
+some adventure or incident, that has served for
+the foundation of his story; but, unless purely
+historical, he has been obliged to supply the last
+scene himself, because in reality there was none,
+or, if there was, he could not use it. In our own
+experience, in that of every one who has seen a
+little of the world, have we not become acquainted
+with quite a number of dramatic, or even tragic
+incidents, that have scarred our own or others’ lives,
+and would make stories of deep interest in the
+hands of a skilful writer? But the action does
+not cease. The altar is oftener the fateful beginning
+than the happy ending of the drama; and,
+when the complications fall thick upon each other,
+there is no such easy way out of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">impasse</i> as
+that provided by a little prussic acid or a bullet.
+They are ready to hand, I grant you, but they
+are not so often used in life as in fiction. I have
+known a man walk about, with a revolver in his
+pocket, for three days, looking for a suitable opportunity
+to use it upon himself, and then he has put
+it away against the coming of a burglar. When
+it is not yourself, but some one else, you desire to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
+get rid of, the prospect is, strange to say, even
+less inviting. Thus it happens that, in real life,
+we suffer and we endure, the drama is played and
+the tragedy is in our hearts, but it does not take
+outward and visible form. So the fiction&mdash;whilst
+it is true to life&mdash;holds our interest, and the
+skill of the artist excites our admiration; but the
+impossible climax appeals to us, no more than a
+five-legged cow. It is a <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">lusus naturæ</i>, that is all.
+They happen, these monstrosities, but they never
+live long, and it were best to stifle them at birth.</p>
+
+<p>Pardon! you say there is genius. Yes, but it
+is rare, and I have not the courage to even discuss
+genius; it is like Delhi and the planets, a long way
+off. We can only see it with the help of a powerful
+glass, if indeed then it is visible. There is
+only one writer who openly lays claim to it, and
+the claim seems to be based chiefly on her lofty
+disdain for adverse criticism. That is, perhaps,
+a sign, but not a complete proof, of the existence
+of the divine fire.</p>
+
+<p>But to return to the humbler minds. It does
+happen that real lives are suddenly and violently
+ended by accident, murder, or suicide, and there
+seems no special reason why fictitious lives should
+be superior to such chances. Indeed, to some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
+authors, there would be no more pleasure in
+writing novels, without the tragic element as the
+main feature, than there is for some great billiard
+exponents to play the game with the spot-stroke
+barred. I would only plead, in this case, that
+the accident or the suicide, to be life-like, need
+not be very far-fetched. In murder, as one knows,
+the utmost licence is not only permissible but
+laudable, for the wildest freaks of imagination
+will hardly exceed the refinements, the devilish
+invention, and the cold-blooded execution of actual
+crimes. I remember you once spoke scornfully
+of using a common form of accident as a means
+of getting rid of a character in fiction; but surely
+that is not altogether inartistic, for the accidents
+that occur most commonly are those to which the
+people of romance will naturally be as liable as
+you or I. It is difficult to imagine that you
+should be destroyed by an explosion in a coal-mine,
+or that I should disappear in a balloon;
+but we might either of us be drowned, or killed
+in a railway accident, under any one of a variety
+of probable circumstances. Again, in suicide, the
+simplest method is, for purposes of fiction, in all
+likelihood the best. Men usually shoot themselves,
+and women, especially when they cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
+swim, seek the water. Those who prefer poison
+are probably the swimmers. It is a common
+practice in fiction to make the noble-minded man
+who loves the lady, but finds himself in the way
+of what he believes to be her happiness (that is,
+of course, some other man), determine to destroy
+himself; and he does it with admirable resolution,
+considering how cordially he dislikes the rôle
+for which he has been cast, and how greatly he
+yearns for the affection which no effort of his
+can possibly secure. I cannot, however, remember
+any hero of fiction who has completed the sacrifice
+of his life in a thoroughly satisfactory manner,
+for he invariably leaves his body lying about,
+where it is sure to attract attention, and cause
+great distress to the lady he designs to oblige.
+That is thoughtless; and those who really mean
+to prove their self-denial should arrange, not only
+to extinguish their lives, but to get rid of their
+bodies, so that there may be as little scandal and
+trouble to their friends as possible. I have always
+felt the sincerest admiration for the man who,
+having made up his mind to destroy himself, and
+purchased a revolver with which to do the deed,
+settled his affairs, moved into lodgings quite close
+to a cemetery, wrote letters to the coroner, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
+doctor, and the undertaker, giving them in each
+case the exact hour at which they should call on
+their several errands, paid all his debts, left something
+to indemnify his landlady, and more than
+enough for funeral expenses, and then shot himself.
+That, however, was not a character in
+fiction, but a common mortal, and there was no
+lady in the case.</p>
+
+<p>I am sure there are many people who would
+be greatly obliged to me for inviting attention to
+these matters, if only they could get it in print,
+to lie about on the table with the page turned
+down at the proper place. Nothing is more
+common than the determined suicides who live
+to a green old age for want of a book of instructions.
+These people weary their friends and
+acquaintances by eternally reiterated threats that
+they will destroy themselves, and yet, however
+desirable that course may be, they never take it.
+This novel and brilliant idea first comes to them
+in some fit of pique, and they declare that they
+will make an end of themselves, “and then perhaps
+you will be sorry.” They are so pleased
+with the effect caused by this statement, that, on
+the next favourable opportunity, they repeat it;
+and then they go on and on, dragging in their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
+wretched threat on every possible and impossible
+occasion, especially in the presence of strangers
+and the aged relatives of themselves or the person
+they want to get at, until mere acquaintances wish
+they would fulfil their self-imposed task and cease
+from troubling. It is almost amusing to hear
+how these <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">suicides déterminés</i> vary, from day to day
+or week to week, the methods which they have
+selected for their own destruction&mdash;poison, pistols,
+drowning, throwing themselves out of window or
+under a train&mdash;nothing comes amiss; but, when
+they wish to be really effective, and carry terror
+into the hearts of their hearers, they usually
+declare either, that they will blow their brains
+out, or cut their throats. The vision of either of
+these processes of self-extinction, even though
+remote and unsubstantial, is well calculated to
+curdle the blood. That, as a rule, is all that is
+meant; and, when you understand it, the amusement
+is harmless if it is not exactly kind. “Vain
+repetitions” are distinctly wearying, even when
+they come from husbands and wives, parents or
+children; the impassioned lover, too, is not altogether
+free from the threat of suicide and the
+repetition of it. In all these cases it would be
+a kindness to those who appear weary of life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
+and who weary others by threatening to put an
+end to it, if they could be persuaded, either to
+follow the example of the man who, without disclosing
+his intentions, took a room by the gate
+of the cemetery, or, if they don’t really mean it,
+to say nothing more about it. Therefore, if ever
+you are over-tried in this way, leave this letter
+where it will be read. The weak point about
+the prescription is that it is more likely to cure
+than to kill. However, I must leave that to you,
+for a good deal depends on how the remedy is
+applied. The size of the dose, the form of application,
+whether external or internal, will make
+all the difference in the world. I do not prescribe
+for a patient, but for a disease; the rest may safely
+be left to your admirable discretion; but you will
+not forget that a dose which can safely and advisedly
+be administered to an adult may kill a
+child.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a><span class="line-height">XVII</span><br />
+A HAND AT ÉCARTÉ</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">I WROTE to you of death in fiction, and, if I
+now write of death in fact, it is partly to see
+how far you agree with an opinion that was lately
+expressed to me by a man who is himself literary,
+and whose business it is to know the public taste
+in works of fiction. We were discussing a book of
+short stories, and he spoke of the author’s success,
+and said he hoped we might have a further instalment
+of similar tales. I ventured to suggest that the
+public must be rather nauseated with horrors, with
+stories of blood and crime, even though they carried
+their readers into new surroundings, and introduced
+them to interesting and little-described societies.
+My companion said, “No, there need be no such
+fear; we like gore. A craving for horrors pervades
+all classes, and is not easily satisfied. Those who
+cannot gloat over the contemplation of carcasses and
+blood, revel in the sanguinary details which make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
+them almost spectators in the real or imaginary
+tragedies of life. The newspapers give one, and
+some writers of fiction the other; there is a large
+demand for both, especially now that the circle of
+readers is so rapidly widening amongst a class that
+cannot appreciate refinements of style, and neither
+understands nor desires the discussion of abstract
+questions. Therefore give us,&mdash;not Light, but&mdash;Blood.”</p>
+
+<p>I wonder what you think. If I felt you had a
+craving for horrors I could paint the pages scarlet;
+for I have been in places where human life was
+held so cheap that death by violence attracted little
+notice, where tragedies were of daily occurrence,
+and hundreds of crimes, conceived with fiendish ingenuity
+and carried out with every detail calculated
+to thrill the nerves and tickle the jaded palate of
+the most determined consumer of “atrocities,” lie
+hidden in the records of Courts of Justice and
+Police Offices. Any one who compares the feelings
+with which he throws aside the daily paper, as he
+leaves the Underground Railway, or even those
+with which he closes the shilling shocker in more
+favourable surroundings, with the sense of exaltation,
+of keen, pulse-quickening joy that comes to
+him after reading one page in the book of Nature&mdash;after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
+a long look at one of its myriad pictures&mdash;would,
+I think, hesitate to confess to a great hankering
+for a perpetual diet of blood. It is not the
+dread of appearing to be dissipated, but the certainty
+that there is better health, and a far more
+intense pleasure, in the clear atmosphere of woods
+and hills, of river and sea, than in the shambles.</p>
+
+<p>Sewers are a product of civilisation in cities, but
+they are not pretty to look at, and I cannot appreciate
+a desire to explore their darksome nastiness
+while we may, if we choose, remain in the light
+and air of heaven. London slums are daily and
+nightly the scenes of nameless horrors, but it may
+be doubted whether a faithful and minute description
+of them, in the form of cheap literature, does
+more good than harm.</p>
+
+<p>That is by way of preface. What I am going
+to tell you struck me, because I question whether
+a tragedy in real life was ever acted with details
+that sound so fictional, so imaginary, and yet there
+was no straining after effect. It was the way the
+thing had to be worked out; and like the puzzles
+you buy, and waste hours attempting to solve, I
+suppose the pieces would only fit when arranged
+in the places for which they were designed by their
+Maker.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>A long time ago there lived, in one of the principal
+cities of Italy, a certain marchese, married to
+a woman of great beauty and distinguished family.
+She had a lover, a captain of cavalry, who had
+made himself an Italian reputation for his success
+in love-affairs, and also in the duels which had been
+forced upon him by those who believed themselves
+to have been wronged. The soldier was a very
+accomplished swordsman and equally skilful with
+a pistol, and that is possibly the reason why the
+husband of the marchesa was blind to a state of
+affairs which at last became the scandal of local
+society. The marchesa had a brother, a leading
+member of the legal profession; and when he had
+unsuccessfully indicated to his brother-in-law the
+line of his manifest duty, he determined to himself
+defend his sister’s name, for the honour of an
+ancient and noble family. The brother was neither
+a swordsman nor a pistol-shot, and when he undertook
+to vindicate his sister’s reputation he realised
+exactly what it might cost him. The position was
+unbearable; the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">cafés</i> were ringing with the tale;
+and, if her husband shirked the encounter, some
+man of her own family must bring the offender to
+book and satisfy the demands of public opinion.</p>
+
+<p>Having made up his mind as to the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">modus
+operandi</i>, the brother sought his foe in a crowded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">café</i>, and in the most public manner insulted him
+by striking him across the face with his glove.
+A challenge naturally followed, and the choice of
+weapons was left with the assailant. He demanded
+pistols, and, knowing his own absolute
+inferiority, stipulated for special conditions, which
+were, that the combatants should stand at a distance
+of one pace only, that they should toss, or
+play a game of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">écarté</i> for the first shot, and that
+if the loser survived it, he should go as close to
+his adversary as he pleased before discharging his
+own weapon. Under the circumstances, the soldier
+thought he could hardly decline any conditions
+which gave neither party an advantage, but no one
+could be found to undertake the duties of second
+in a duel on such terms. Two friends of the
+principals agreed, however, to stand by with rifles,
+to see that the compact was not violated; and it
+was understood that they would at once fire on
+the man who should attempt foul play.</p>
+
+<p>It was, of course, imperative that the proceedings
+should be conducted with secrecy, and the
+meeting was arranged to take place on the outskirts
+of a distant town, to which it was necessary
+to make a long night journey by rail. In the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
+early dawn of a cold morning in March, the four
+men met in the cemetery of a famous monastery,
+that stands perched on a crag, overlooking the
+neighbouring city, and a wide vale stretching away
+for miles towards the distant hills. A pack of
+cards was produced, and, with a tombstone as a
+table, the adversaries played one hand at <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">écarté</i>.
+The game went evenly enough, and rather slowly,
+till the brother marked four against his opponent’s
+three. It was then the latter’s deal; he turned
+up the king and made the point, winning the
+game. A line was drawn, the distance measured,
+the pistols placed in the duellists’ hands, and the
+two friends retired a few yards, holding their
+loaded rifles ready for use. The word was given,
+and the brother stood calmly awaiting his fate.
+The soldier slowly raised his pistol to a point in
+line with the other’s head, and, from a distance
+of a few inches, put a bullet through his brain, the
+unfortunate man falling dead without uttering a
+sound or making a movement.</p>
+
+<p>The officer obtained a month’s leave and fled
+across the border into Switzerland, but, before the
+month was up, public excitement over the affair
+had waned, and the gossips were busy with a new
+scandal. Their outraged sense of propriety had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
+been appeased by the sacrifice of the dead, and
+the novel and piquant circumstances which accompanied
+it. As for the intrigue which had led to
+the duel, that, of course, went on the same as
+ever, only rather more so.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a><span class="line-height">XVIII</span><br />
+THE GENTLE ART OF VEERING WITH THE WIND</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">TO-DAY I received a letter from you. I have
+read it twice, and, though it contains eight
+pages of closely written lines, there is not one
+word in it that would show that I am any more
+to you than the merest acquaintance. For weeks
+I have anxiously awaited this letter; plans, of
+the utmost importance to me, depended upon the
+answer you would give to a question I had put;
+and my whole future, at least that future which
+deals with a man’s ambitions, would, in all probability,
+be influenced by your reply. I asked you&mdash;well,
+never mind what&mdash;and you, being entirely
+free to write what you mean and what you wish,
+say that it is a point on which you cannot offer
+advice; but you tell me that you have given up
+reading and taken to gardening, as you find it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
+better for you! Have you ever read the story of
+Zadig? If you have, you will perhaps remember
+how his wife, Azora, railed against the newly
+made widow whom she found gardening. I have
+no prejudices of that kind, and, in my case, no one’s
+nose is in danger of the razor; but still I think
+I may not unreasonably feel somewhat aggrieved.</p>
+
+<p>Do not believe that I could ever wish to remind
+you of what you have forgotten, or wish to
+forget. I only want to know what is real and what
+is counterfeit, and you alone can tell me. I may
+ask this, may I not? It is not that I may presume
+to judge you, or from any wish to gratify
+an impertinent curiosity, but that I may be saved
+from imagining what is not, and, while torturing
+myself, possibly even distress you. I find it hard
+to reconcile this letter of yours with others I have
+received, and if that sounds to you but a confession
+of my stupidity, I would rather admit my want of
+intelligence and crave your indulgence, than stand
+convicted of putting two and two together and
+making of them twenty-two. If you tell me there
+is no question of indulgence, but that quite regular
+verbs have different moods, that present and past
+tenses are irreconcilable, and, of the future, no man
+knoweth&mdash;I shall have my answer.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>You do not write under the influence of winter.
+I cannot charge myself with any offence against
+you. Nay, God knows that all my thoughts and
+all my efforts are but to do you honour. If I
+have misread your earlier letters, if I have been
+unduly elated by such kind words as you have
+sent me, it is the simplest thing in the world to
+undeceive me and show me the error of my ways.
+Are you only <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">souffrante</i>, and may I disregard the
+chilling atmosphere of your present missive, remembering
+the tender sympathy of voice, of eye,
+of hand, in the rapturous days of a cherished
+past?</p>
+
+<p>It seems as natural to some people to love
+to-day, and to be almost strangers to-morrow, as
+that we should revel in a flood of light when
+the moon is full, and grope in darkness when
+the goddess of night is no longer visible. The
+temperament that makes this possible is fortunately
+rare, so much so that it creates an interest
+in the observer. I have never seen it in man,
+but I have in woman; and one realises that then
+it is better to be a spectator than an actor in
+what is never a farce, and may easily develop
+into tragedy. Imagine such a woman of very
+unusual personal attractions: great beauty of face<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
+and figure united to a high intelligence and
+extreme charm of manner; witty, ambitious,
+courageous, full of high thoughts and endowed
+with all the advantages that wealth can add to
+personal gifts. Deep in a nature that is strangely
+complex, and capable of the most opposite extremes,
+suppose there is implanted, amongst many
+other feelings, a passionate yearning to be understood,
+and to be loved with a love that would
+shrink from nothing to prove the greatness of its
+devotion. Here you have a being capable of what
+seem the strangest contradictions, and not the least
+startling of these may be a rare, but absolute and
+passionate, self-abandonment, under the influence
+of certain circumstances which strongly appeal to
+the senses. Overcome by intoxication of sound,
+colour, and magnetism, every moral and conventional
+muscle suddenly relaxes, and, the violence
+of the forces released, is wild and uncontrolled,
+because of the firm determination by which they
+are habitually bound. To-morrow, in the cold
+grey light of day, the slow-working mind of man
+is absolutely bewildered by what he sees and
+hears. He comes, dominated by an exalted
+passion, enthralled by a vision of ecstasy through
+which he sees, imperfectly, the people about him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
+only “men as trees walking”; reserving his
+thoughts and perceptions of surrounding objects
+till he shall again gaze upon that face which
+seems to him to have opened the door of life
+with the key of a boundless love. Still dazed
+by the memories of last night, he enters the
+presence of his beloved, and experiences a shock,
+such as a swimmer might feel, if floating, half-entranced,
+in some tropic sea, he suddenly hit
+against an iceberg.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes, even, influenced by surroundings,
+maddened by the whisperings of a southern night,
+passed in a place where she breathes an atmosphere
+impregnated with the romance of centuries,
+the lonely soul of the woman, hungering for sympathy
+and communion, will seize a pen and write,
+“Come to me; I want you, for you understand;
+come, and I will give you happiness.” Before
+the letter has been gone one day, on a journey
+that may take it to the ends of the earth, the
+writer’s mood has changed, and she has forgotten
+her summons as completely as though it had
+never been written. When the missive reaches
+its destination, the recipient will be wise to curb
+his impetuosity, and realise that his opportunity
+is long since dead and buried.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The bewildering phases of such a nature as I
+have here imagined are nothing to us. To you
+it may even seem inexcusable that I should allude
+to a character with which you have no sympathy,
+an abnormal growth which sounds rather fantastic
+than real. It is the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">argumentum ad absurdum</i>,
+and has its value. This strange perversity which,
+by reason of its startling contradictions, seems
+almost inhuman, and if, in rare instances, met
+with, can only excite feelings of curiosity or repugnance&mdash;this
+is the extreme case. The application
+of the moral will come nearer home to us,
+if we make the changes from passionate love to
+cold indifference a little less marked, the intervals
+between the moods a little longer. It is well to
+know one’s own mind, not because wavering and
+change hurt the fickle, but because some stupid
+person may suffer by the purchase of experience;
+may take it to heart, and may do himself an injury.
+It is well to know one’s own heart, and what it
+can give; lest another put too high a value on
+the prize and lose all in trying to win it. It is
+well to know our own weakness, and at once
+recognise that we shall be guided by it; lest
+another think it is strength, and make, for our
+sakes, sacrifices that only frighten and perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
+even annoy us, especially when they are made in
+the absurd belief that they will please us.</p>
+
+<p>If you can give the extreme of happiness, do
+not forget that you can also cause an infinity of
+pain. No one can blame you for declining to
+accord favours; and if that refusal gives pain,
+there is no help for it. There can be little
+sympathy for those who seek the battle and then
+complain of their wounds. Such hurts do not
+rankle, and quickly heal. But it is different when
+a woman gives love of her own free will, uninfluenced
+by any consideration beyond her inclination,
+and then takes it back, also without
+other cause than caprice. It is difficult to use
+any other word&mdash;either it was a caprice to say
+she gave what never was given, or it is a caprice
+to take it back. A confession of thoughtlessness
+in estimating the character of her own feelings,
+or of weakness and inability to resist any opposing
+influence, is a poor pretext for a sudden
+withering of the tendrils of affection. Such a
+confession is an indifferent consolation to the
+heart which realises its loss, but cannot appreciate
+the situation. Do not mistake me; it is so hard
+to be absolutely candid and fair in considering
+our own cases. We are not less likely to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
+mistakes in matters of sentiment than in the
+purely practical affairs of life. If we think we
+love, and then become certain that we have
+made a mistake, the only safe and kind course
+is to confess the error; but if we deliberately
+seek love and give it, much protesting and much
+exacting, how shall we then deny it? Would
+one say, “If you asked me, I would go down
+into hell with you, now,” and then, ere twelve
+months had passed, for no crime but enforced
+absence, speak or write, to that other, almost as
+a stranger?</p>
+
+<p>There was Peter, I know; but even he was
+not altogether satisfied with himself, and, besides
+denying his Lord, he stands convicted of physical
+cowardice.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a><span class="line-height">XIX</span><br />
+A REJOINDER</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">THANK you. Before my last letter could
+reach you, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vous m’aviez donné affreusement à
+penser</i>, and this is what occurs to me:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“Of all the lover’s sorrows, next to that</div>
+<div class="verse1">Of Love by Love forbidden, is the voice</div>
+<div class="verse1">Of Friendship turning harsh in Love’s reproof,</div>
+<div class="verse1">And overmuch of counsel&mdash;whereby Love</div>
+<div class="verse1">Grows stubborn, and recoiling unsupprest</div>
+<div class="verse1">Within, devours the heart within the breast.”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>I dare say it is as well. I am beginning to
+recognise the real attractions of what I may call
+a “surprise letter.” I have had several lately.
+It is perhaps the irony of fate that, just after
+I had mildly hinted to you that the phases of
+the moods of the feminine mind were sometimes
+rather bewildering, you should write to
+me the sort of letter which, had it been sent
+by me to a man I called my friend, I should
+richly deserve death at his hands. There are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
+certainly few things more thoroughly enjoyable
+than to take up a letter that you see comes from&mdash;well,
+let us say from a very dear friend&mdash;to
+dally a little over the opening, in the mingled desire
+and hesitation to read the contents; feverish
+desire to know that all is well, to hear some word
+of affectionate regard&mdash;hesitation lest the news
+be bad, the letter cold; and then to find such a
+missive as you have sent to me.</p>
+
+<p>To begin with, there is a page and a half on
+which you have poured out the vials of your
+wrath. I was quite hot before I had read half of
+it, and my ears even were burning before I came
+to a page in which you told me how greatly you
+were enjoying yourself. And then, at the end,
+there was another page and a half, every word of
+which seemed to strike me in the face like a blow.
+I suppose you introduced the middle section
+that I might meditate on the difference between
+your circumstances and mine, and duly appreciate
+the full weight of your displeasure. Well,
+yes, I have done so; and, as God only knows
+when I shall see you again, I must write one or
+two of the many words it is in my heart to say
+to you.</p>
+
+<p>I am a very unworthy person; I have deeply<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
+offended you; and you have felt it necessary to
+tell me gently how ill my conduct looks to you.
+You leave me to infer that there are offences
+which cannot be tolerated, and that it would not
+be difficult to dispense with my acquaintance. I
+humbly accept this verdict, and as it is absolutely
+just and right that the prisoner should first be
+condemned without hearing, and then suffered to
+state his case, and say anything he pleases in
+mitigation of sentence, I will try not to weary you
+by any reference to ancient history, but simply
+confine myself to the charge.</p>
+
+<p>Now, what is my crime? You asked me a
+question; I am sure you have long ago forgotten
+what it was, and I need not remind you; but I,
+like an idiot, thought you really wanted an answer,
+and that it was my bounden duty to find a means
+of sending it. The question gave me infinite
+pleasure, and, again like an idiot, I thought the
+answer I longed to send would be welcome. I
+could not send it in the ordinary way, as you will
+admit, and, a sudden thought striking me that there
+was a safe and easy means of transmission, I acted
+on it, and your letter is the result. You tell me
+your pride is wounded, your trust in my word gone,
+and your conscience scandalised. It is useless for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
+me now to express regret. I have been convicted,
+and I am only pleading in mitigation of sentence.
+Well, mine was a deliberate sin. I had to decide
+whether I would answer you or not, and, though I
+disliked the means, I thought the end would justify
+them. To me they did not then, and do not now,
+seem very objectionable; and it certainly did not
+occur to me that I could thereby wound the most
+sensitive feelings. Of course I was an imbecile, and
+ought to have realised that a question like that was
+only a phrase, with no serious meaning. I gave a
+promise, you say, and have broken it. It is a pity.
+I had rather have sinned in any other way, for I
+have my pride too, and it asserts itself chiefly in
+the keeping of promises, rather than the gift of
+them. As to the conscience, I deeply sympathise.
+An offended conscience must be a very inconvenient,
+not to say unpleasant, companion. But
+you were greatly enjoying yourself (you impress
+that upon me, so you will not be offended if I
+mention it), therefore I conclude your conscience
+was satisfied by the uncompromising expression of
+your sense of my misdeeds. Might I ask which
+way your conscience was looking when you wrote
+this letter to me, or does it feel no call to speak on
+my behalf? I would rather my hand were palsied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
+than write such a letter to any one, and you know
+that I have forfeited your favour in trying to do
+your will. I think your quarrel was rather with
+your conscience than with me; but it is well to
+keep friends with those of one’s own household.</p>
+
+<p>Truly it is an evil thing to stake one’s happiness
+upon the value of <i>x</i> in an indeterminate equation.
+It is possible to regard the unknown quantity with
+philosophy; it is like the unattainable. The
+mischief all comes with what looks like solution,
+but proves in the end to be drawn from false
+premises. Lines can be straight, and figures may
+be square, but sentient beings are less reliable, and
+therefore more interesting&mdash;as studies. The pity
+is that we sometimes get too close, in our desire
+to examine minutely what looks most beautiful
+and most attractive. Then proximity destroys the
+powers of critical judgment, and, from appearances,
+we draw conclusions which are utterly unreliable,
+because our own intelligence is obscured by the
+interference of our senses. We have to count
+with quantities that not only have no original
+fixed value, but vary from day to day, and even
+from hour to hour.</p>
+
+<p>You will say that if I can liken you to an algebraic
+sign, speak of you as a “quantity” and “an indeterminate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
+equation,” it cannot matter much whether
+you write to me in terms of hate or love. If, however,
+you consider where you are and where I am,
+and if, when this lies in your hand, you are on
+good terms with your pride and your conscience,
+you may be able to spare, from the abundance
+you lavish on them, a grain of sympathy for me
+in my loneliness. Is it a crime for the humble
+worshipper to seek to assure the deity of his unaltered
+devotion? It used not to be so; and
+though the temple has infinite attractions for me,
+the tavern none, I could say with the Persian&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“And this I know: whether the one True Light</div>
+<div class="verse1">Kindle to love, or Wrath-consume me quite,</div>
+<div class="verse3">One Flash of It within the Tavern caught</div>
+<div class="verse1">Better than in the Temple lost outright.”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Life is too short, and too full of storm and stress,
+to induce any one to stake it on a proved uncertainty,
+however attractive. It is better never to
+take ship at all than to be constantly meeting
+disaster on the shoals and rocks of the loveliest
+summer sea. Of the end of such a venture there
+is no uncertainty. The bravest craft that ever
+left port will be reduced to a few rotting timbers,
+while the sea smiles anew on what is but a
+picturesque effect.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a><span class="line-height">XX</span><br />
+OF IMPORTUNITY</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">I MUST unburden myself to you, because I may
+do so without offence, without shocking you
+beyond forgiveness; for I feel that if my letter
+were to another, I should either have to use such
+self-control that I should gain no relief for my
+injured feelings, or else the other would think I
+had gone mad, and blot my name out of the book
+of her correspondents&mdash;two r’s, please. You see
+I am in an evil mood, the bad tense of the evil
+mood; so I may as well begin in the green leaf
+what is sure to come in the brown. Besides, you
+are partly to blame! Is not that like a man?
+You supplied me with the fruit of this knowledge
+which has set my teeth on edge, but it is also
+true that you gave it in furtherance of my request
+and to oblige me. I fancy that was the case with
+Eve. Adam probably sent her up a tree (the
+expression has lasted to our own time), looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
+the other way, and pretended he had forgotten
+all about it when the obliging lady came down and
+tendered the result of her painful efforts. It is
+bad enough to climb with your clothes on, as
+I saw the other day, when I induced a friend to
+swarm up a fern-tree by telling him I did not
+believe he could do it. But this is all beside the
+mark;&mdash;what has roused my ire is a parcel of
+new books, kindly selected by you to cheer my
+solitude. As they came direct from the bookseller,
+I do not know whether you have read them, but
+they are very new indeed, and, from what you say,
+I think you must at least have wrestled with some
+of them. Very recent publications, like many of
+these, are rather a rarity here, and, as I was
+particularly busy, I lent some of them to friends
+who are always hungering for new literature. Now
+I am rather sorry, though I washed my hands of
+the transaction by saying that I would not take
+the responsibility of recommending anything, but
+they were at liberty to take what they liked. In
+due time the volumes were returned, without comment,
+but with the pages cut. I did not think
+anything of that at the time, the realities of the
+moment interested me a great deal more than any
+book could; but now I have read some of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
+batch, and I am suffering from an earnest desire
+to meet the authors and “have it out with them.”
+As however, that is not in my power, I am going
+to victimise you. There is one story, of a kind
+that is now common enough, that is specially
+aggravating. If you have read it you will know
+which I refer to; if not, I won’t tell you. It is
+written by a woman, and discourses in a very
+peculiar fashion on the ways of men. That is of
+no particular moment, for the writer has either a
+very indifferent knowledge of men, or she is not
+to be congratulated on her male friends, or she
+has had some very unfortunate personal experiences,
+and judges the species by some repulsive
+individuals. It was a man who said that women
+do not possess the sentiment of justice, and he
+might, if he had wished to be fair, have added
+that it is comparatively rare in men. Men have
+written many unkind and untrue things about
+women as a sex, but they cannot have harmed
+them much, since their influence over the beings,
+derisively styled “Lords of Creation” is certainly
+on the increase, especially in new countries like
+America.</p>
+
+<p>What, however, is rather strange is that, in
+the book I speak of, there are two women&mdash;joint-heroines,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
+as it were&mdash;held up for the reader’s
+admiration, but described as perfectly odious creatures.
+The story, however, is practically confined
+to the life and character of one of these ladies,
+and the exact position of the other, in relation to
+her friend, is not altogether clear, nor of any concern
+as regards my point. Let me then speak of
+the one woman as the heroine; it is to her I wish
+to apply the epithet odious. The writer, I take
+it, is very pleased and satisfied with the lady of
+her creation, and, whilst she never loses an opportunity
+of enlarging on the very objectionable characteristics
+of all men of birth and education, she
+evidently means the reader to understand that she
+has drawn and coloured the picture of a very perfect
+and altogether captivating woman. A young,
+beautiful, intelligent, highly educated, perfectly
+dressed woman, surrounded by every luxury that
+great wealth and good taste can secure, may easily
+be captivating, and it might be counted something
+less than a crime that a number of admirers
+should be anxious to marry her. When it comes
+to character it is different; and even though the
+spectacle of a woman with fewer attractions than
+I have named, and a disposition that left something
+to be desired, enslaving men of renown, is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
+not unknown to history, it seems a little unusual
+to design a heroine as the very embodiment of
+selfishness, and then exhibit her as the perfect
+woman. The life that is shown to us is chiefly
+that of a girl,&mdash;old enough, and independent and
+intelligent enough, to know perfectly what she
+was doing,&mdash;constantly allowing, or alluring, men
+to make love to her; and then, when they wished
+to marry her, telling them in language which, if
+not considerate, was certainly plain, how deeply
+insulted she felt. If they wasted years and years,
+or lost their useless, sinful lives altogether, over
+her, that was a matter of such absolute indifference
+that it never gave her a second thought or
+a moment of regret. She did not avoid men altogether;
+on the contrary, she seemed rather fond of
+their society, as she had only one woman friend,
+and is described as giving them all ample opportunities
+of declaring their passionate admiration
+for her beauty and intelligence. The lovers
+were many and varied; coming from the peerage,
+the squirearchy, the army, the Church, and other
+sources; but they all met with the same fate, and
+each in turn received a special lecture on the vice
+and amazing effrontery of his proposal.</p>
+
+<p>I suppose it is a book with a purpose, and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
+unlike a Scotch sermon, it is divided into only
+two heads. As to one, I could imagine the reply
+might be in the form of another book styled “Her
+Lord the Eunuch.” Biblical history deals with the
+species. It is less common now, but if a demand
+again arises, no doubt there will be a supply to
+meet it. That is the head I cannot discuss, even
+in these days of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">fin de siècle</i> literature, wherein it
+is a favourite subject, and would have fewer difficulties
+than the case of a nineteenth-century Virgin
+Mary, which formed the text of one volume in
+the parcel. The other consideration seems to
+rest on safe ground, with no treacherous bogs or
+dangerous quicksands, and therefore I venture to
+ask you what you think of this paragon of all the
+virtues. Is she the type of a woman’s woman?
+One sometimes, but very, very rarely, meets a
+woman like this, in England at any rate; and
+though the lady’s girdle is certain to be decorated
+with a collection of male scalps of all ages
+and many colours, very few of her own sex will be
+found in the number of her friends or admirers.
+Her charity is generally a form of perversity; for
+if she occasionally lavishes it on some animal or
+human being, it is a caprice that costs her little,
+and to the horse or dog which fails in instant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
+obedience, to the beggar or relative who importunes,
+she is passionately or coldly cruel. Yet
+her fascination is real enough, but it seldom endures.
+There is no need to sympathise with the
+would-be lovers, who are rejected yet still importunate.
+When, as sometimes happens in a world
+of change, there has been mutual love between
+man and woman, and one has ceased to love, it is
+natural enough that the other should desire to retain
+what may still be, to him or her, the only thing
+worth living for. But to importune a woman to
+give herself, her body and soul, her whole destiny
+till death, when she does not wish it, is to ask
+for something that it were better not to precisely
+define. Presumably if the man thinks he is in
+love, it is the woman’s love he wants. She says
+she does not love him, and he is a fool, or worse,
+to take anything less, even when she is willing to
+sacrifice or sell herself for any conceivable reason.
+Surely, if the man had any real regard for her,
+he would think first of her happiness, and refuse
+to take advantage of her weakness or necessities.
+Besides, her misery could not be his advantage,
+and the worn-out sophism of parents or other interested
+persons, that “she did not know her own
+mind, and would get to like him,” is too hazardous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
+a chance on which to stake the welfare of two lives.
+Of course men plague women to marry them after
+they have been refused. The world is full of
+people who want what is not for them, and are
+not too particular as to the means, if they can
+secure the end. But I wonder what a man would
+say if some woman he did not care about worried
+his life out to marry her. Man is easily flattered,
+the sensation is with him comparatively rare, and
+he is very susceptible to the agreeable fumes of
+that incense; but only the very weakest would be
+lured to the altar, and the after-life of the lady
+who took him there would not be an altogether
+happy one. Man and his descendants have had
+a grudge against the first woman for thousands
+of years, for an alleged proposal of hers that is
+said to have interfered with his prospects. It is
+not chivalrous for a man to press a woman to
+“let him love her, if she can’t love him;” it is
+not a very nice proposition, if he will take it
+home and work it out quietly; it is something
+very like an insult to her, and it is certainly not
+likely to be anything but a curse to him. That
+is when she is endowed with those charming
+qualities common to most women. When, however,
+as in the case I have referred to, she has a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
+special aversion to men generally, and him in
+particular, and prides herself on the possession of
+characteristics that he could not admire in his own
+mother, to still insist upon forcing the lady into
+a union with him is to be vindictively silly. It
+is hardly necessary to go as far as this to prove
+his determination and his title to a sort of spurious
+constancy.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a><span class="line-height">XXI</span><br />
+OF COINCIDENCES</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">IN spite of the testimony of many worthy and
+some unworthy people, I have not yet been
+able to accept spiritual manifestations and the reappearance
+of the dead as even remotely probable.
+I think most of the current ghost stories are
+capable of a simple explanation, if one could only
+get an unvarnished statement of real facts from
+the witnesses. Usually, however, those on whose
+authority these stories rest, are constitutionally of
+such a nervous organisation that they are physically
+incapable of describing with exact accuracy
+what they saw or heard. When, as not infrequently
+happens, those who have seen visions
+admit to having felt that extremity of fear which
+bathes them in a cold perspiration, or makes their
+hair rise up straight on their heads (this last is
+not, I think, alleged by women), then there is
+all the more reason to doubt their testimony.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
+Undoubtedly curious things happen which do not
+admit of easy explanation, but they are not necessarily
+supernatural, or connected in any way with
+the return of the dead to the sight of the living.
+Dreams, again, are sometimes very curious, and it
+might be difficult to offer a reasonable explanation
+of some dream-experiences, especially those which
+lead to the backing of winning horses or the purchase
+of prize-tickets in a lottery. A really reliable
+dreamer of this kind would be a valuable
+investment; but, unfortunately, there is a want of
+certainty about even those who have, once in a
+lifetime, brought off a successful <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">coup</i>. Still, it
+has happened. I myself have heard a dreamer&mdash;who
+was also a dream-talker&mdash;place accurately
+the three first horses in a coming race; but I
+had not sufficient confidence in the “tip” to take
+advantage of it. In that case, too, the winner
+was a very pronounced favourite. Many people
+say they have dreamt of strange places, and <em>afterwards</em>
+seen those places in reality, and even been
+able to find their way about in them. It may be
+so. For myself, I cannot say I have ever had
+such an experience, but I believe (I say it doubtfully,
+because one may be deceived about journeys
+in dreamland) that I have often seen the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
+places in different dreams, dreamed after intervals
+of years, so that, while dreaming, I have at once
+recognised the place as a familiar scene in my
+dreamland. But those places I have never beheld
+on earth. In my early youth, scared by tales of
+the bottomless pit and the lake of brimstone, I
+used to dream, almost nightly, of those places of
+torment; but it is a long time ago, and I have
+quite forgotten what they were like. I have no
+ambition to renew my acquaintance, or to be
+given the opportunity of comparing the reality
+with the nightmare of my childish imagination
+and a cramped position. Apart from these more
+or less vain considerations, I have known some
+very curious coincidences, and I will tell you the
+story of one of them.</p>
+
+<p>I was journeying in a strange, a distant, and
+an almost unknown land. More than this, I was
+the guest of the only white man in a remote
+district of that country. It was a particularly
+lovely spot, and, being an idler for the moment,
+I asked my host, after a few days, what there
+was of interest that I could go and see. He
+said he would send a servant with me to show
+me a cemetery, where were buried a number of
+Englishmen who, some few years before, had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
+killed or died in the neighbourhood, during the
+progress of one of England’s successful little military
+expeditions. That afternoon I was led to the
+cemetery in question. I have seldom seen a more
+glorious succession of pictures than were presented
+by the view from that lovely spot; and never in
+any country have I beheld a more ideal resting-place
+for the honoured dead. It did not surprise
+me that my host told me he had already selected
+his own corner, and repeatedly made it the objective
+of his afternoon walks. Within a fenced
+enclosure, partly surrounded by graceful, ever-green
+trees, lay the small plot of carefully kept grass
+which formed the burial-ground. It occupied the
+summit of a rising ground commanding a magnificent
+view of the surrounding country. From the
+gate the ground sloped steeply down to a road,
+and then dropped sheer forty or fifty feet to the
+waters of a great, wide, crystal-clear river, flowing
+over a bed of golden sand. Under this steep and
+lofty bank, the base all rock, the river swirled
+deep and green; but it rapidly shallowed towards
+the centre, and the opposite shore, seven hundred
+feet distant, was a wide expanse of sand, half-circled
+by great groves of palms, and backed by
+steep, forest-clad hills. The river made a wide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
+sweep here, so that, looking down on it from
+such a height gave it rather the appearance of
+a huge lake narrowing into the distant hills.
+Picturesque villages lined both banks of the river,
+the houses showing splashes of colour between
+the trees. Boats of quaint build&mdash;sailing, poling,
+paddling, rowing&mdash;passed up and down the broad
+stream, giving life to the scene; while at distances
+varying from three miles to thirty or more, the
+valley was shut in by lofty mountains, green
+near by, with their garment of unbroken forest,
+but, in the distance, blue as an Italian sky. I
+drank this in, felt it all as a feeling, this and
+much more with which I will not weary you, and
+then I turned to look at the grass-covered mounds
+and wooden crosses that marked the graves of the
+exiled dead. I was standing in front of a somewhat
+more pretentious headstone, which marked
+the resting-place of an officer killed a few miles
+from this spot, when, through the wicket, came a
+messenger bearing a letter for me. The cover
+bore many post-marks, signs of a long chase, and
+here at last it had caught me in my wanderings.
+I did not recognise the handwriting, but when I
+had opened the letter and looked at the signature,
+I realised that it was that of an old lady who was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
+but an acquaintance, and one of whom I had not
+heard for years. I read the letter, and I may
+confess to some little astonishment. It told me
+that, hearing that I was leaving England for a
+long journey, and that I should eventually arrive
+at somewhere in the East, the writer wished to
+tell me that her daughter (whom I hardly remembered)
+had married a certain soldier, that he had
+been killed some time before, and was buried in
+some place (which she tried indifferently to name)
+where there were no Europeans. If I should ever
+be in the neighbourhood, would I try to find his
+grave, and tell them something about it; for they
+were in great grief, and no one could relieve their
+anxiety on the subject of their loved one’s last home.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to me a somewhat remarkable coincidence
+that I should, at that moment, be standing
+in front of the stone which told me that, underneath
+that emerald turf, lay all that was left
+of the poor lady’s son-in-law, the grief-stricken
+daughter’s husband. The situation appealed to
+my artistic instincts. I sat down, there and
+then, and, with a pencil and a bit of paper, I
+made a rough sketch of the soldier’s grave; carefully
+drawing the headstone, and inscribing on it,
+in very plain and very black print, the legend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
+that I saw in front of me. Then I went home,
+and, while the situation was hot upon me, I
+wrote, not to the mother, but to the widow, a
+little account of what had occurred, using the
+most appropriate and touching language I could
+think of, to describe the scene and my deep
+sympathy. Finally I enclosed the little picture,
+which I had drawn with such a compelling sense
+of my responsibilities, and the unique character
+of the opportunity, to show that I was a man
+of rather uncommon feeling. Much pleased with
+the result of my efforts, I entrusted the letter to
+my friend (there was no such thing as a post-office),
+and we became almost sentimental over
+the chastened tears with which my letter would
+be read by the two poor ladies.</p>
+
+<p>The mother’s letter to me had wandered about for
+two or three months before it came to my hands;
+but I learned,&mdash;ages afterwards,&mdash;that my letter
+to the daughter was a far longer time in transit;
+not the fault of my friend, but simply of the general
+unhingedness of things in those wild places.</p>
+
+<p>The letter did at last arrive, and was handed to
+the widow on the day she was married to a new
+husband. That is why I believe in the quaintness
+of coincidences.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXII" id="XXII"></a><span class="line-height">XXII</span><br />
+OF A COUNTRY-HOUSE CUSTOM</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">I WENT one morning to a hotel in London
+to call upon a celebrated writer of fiction, a
+lady, and she told me that, as a protest against
+ideas which she despised, she always locked her
+door when she was talking to a man. I stayed
+there about two hours, but I don’t remember
+whether the door was locked or not, probably
+not; no one, however, tried it, and my reputation
+survived the ordeal. The practice is unconventional,
+though innocent enough. It is much more
+common to find yourself in a lady’s room, at
+night, in a country-house in England, and there
+you may talk to a friend, perhaps to two, and
+even, on occasions, smoke a cigarette, while the
+door is seldom locked. Do you see any harm
+in it? The thing itself is so pleasant that I do
+not mean to discuss with you the fors and
+againsts; I am satisfied that it is often done, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
+that I sometimes profit by the arrangement. A
+century ago, or rather more, it was common
+enough, if not in England, certainly on the
+Continent, and the guest was sometimes present
+while the lady lay in bed, or made her toilette.
+It is conceivable that this custom deserved to
+be discouraged, and it seems to have gone out of
+fashion, no doubt for sufficiently good reasons.</p>
+
+<p>I was once a guest in a delightful country-house
+in the heart of England, a house where nothing
+was lacking that could contribute to comfort, and
+where the hostess was attraction sufficient to draw
+visitors from the uttermost parts of the earth, and
+keep them with her as long as she desired their
+presence. She was wayward (an added charm),
+and the company came and went, and some came
+again, but none remained long enough to become
+overpoweringly tedious or compromisingly <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">épris</i>. It
+was winter, the hard earth was full of “bone,” the
+waters icebound, and the face of the country white
+with a thick covering of frozen snow. There were
+but few of us in the house, and we had been skating
+on the ornamental water in a neighbour’s park,
+miles away. That was the only form of exercise
+open to us, and we had enjoyed it. The long walk
+over the crisp snow and the uneven cart tracks of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
+a country road, the intoxicating ease and rapidity
+of motion over the glassy ice, the ring of steel on
+that hard, smooth surface, how distinctly they all
+come back! And then the trudge home in the
+gathering dusk, between the woods whose snow-laden
+trees looked the very picture of winter,&mdash;it
+was all delightful and exhilarating, and, if our
+dinner-party was small, it was certainly a merry
+one. When we parted on the stairs it was close
+on midnight, and I was standing enjoying the blaze
+of my fire and the intense cosiness of my room,
+when there came a knock, and what I had thought
+was a cupboard-door opened to admit the head of
+our charming chatelaine, with an inquiry as to my
+comfort and contentment, and an invitation to put
+on a smoking-jacket and have a cigarette in her
+snuggery. I very eagerly and gratefully accepted
+that offer, and a few minutes later found myself in
+the most delightfully warm, cosy, and withal artistically
+beautiful room the heart and mind of woman
+could desire or design. This boudoir faced the front
+of the house, and looking over the lawn and terraces
+were three French windows, through which streamed
+bright rays of moonlight, for the shutters were not
+closed. Within, a great wood fire blazed on a wide
+hearth of olive-green tiles. Two lamps, with shades<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
+of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">vieille rose</i>, shed a soft glow over inviting-looking
+chairs, thick carpet, tables littered with books and
+papers, lovely bits of porcelain and bronze, treasures
+in burnished silver and dull red gold. Every chair
+looked as if it were made for comfort, and the whole
+room said unmistakably, “This is where I live.”
+I should have noted the general effect at a glance,
+but I had time to appreciate the details, for, when
+I entered, I found the room unoccupied. In a few
+minutes my hostess appeared from her room, which
+opened out of this fascinating retreat, and said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>“Well, how do you like my snuggery; is it not
+cosy?”</p>
+
+<p>I said it was charming and delightful, and everything
+that good taste and an appreciation of real
+comfort could make it.</p>
+
+<p>“I am so glad,” she said; “will you smoke one
+of my cigarettes?”</p>
+
+<p>“Thank you, yes.”</p>
+
+<p>“Shall I light it for you?”</p>
+
+<p>“That would be most kind.”</p>
+
+<p>“There; now we can make ourselves quite
+comfortable and have a real good chat, and no
+one will come to disturb us. What have you
+been doing with yourself all this time? What
+new friends have you made? What books have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
+you been reading? Tell me all about everything.
+I think you would be more comfortable over there;
+don’t worry about me, this is my favourite seat,
+but I change about and never sit very long in
+one place. You can imagine I am your Father
+Confessor, so don’t keep me waiting; tell it all, and
+keep back nothing; you know I shall be sure to
+find you out if you try to deceive me.”</p>
+
+<p>I found a seat&mdash;not exactly where I had first
+wished to place myself, but where I was put&mdash;and
+our chat was so mutually interesting that I
+was surprised to find it was 2 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> when my
+hostess told me I must go to bed. I must have
+smoked a good many cigarettes, and I have a
+vague recollection that there were glasses with
+spiritual comfort as well; it is probable, for
+nothing that any reasonable human being could
+want was ever lacking there. I know that I
+lingered, and the white light through the curtains
+drew us both to the window. Never shall I
+forget the incomparable picture of that snow-covered
+landscape;&mdash;glittering, scintillating under
+the silver radiance of a full winter moon, riding
+high in a clear, grey, frosty sky. The absolute
+stillness of it; not a sign of life; the bare trees
+throwing sharp shadows on the dazzling whiteness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
+of a prospect broken only by the evergreens of
+the garden, the cleared stone steps of the terraces,
+and beyond, a small stream winding through the
+narrow valley, and forming a little lake of as yet
+unfrozen water, its ever rippling surface showing
+black and sombre under the shadow of a high
+bank which shut out the moonlight. The contrast
+between that outside,&mdash;the coldness, the whiteness,
+the sense of far-into-the-nightness, which
+somehow struck one instantly; and the inside,&mdash;the
+warmth, the comfort, the subtle sympathy
+of companionship with a most fascinating, most
+beautiful, perfectly-garmented woman: it was too
+striking to be ever forgotten. The picture has
+risen unbidden before my eyes on many a night
+since then, under other skies and widely different
+circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>Turning away from the window, I could see
+through an open door into my companion’s room,
+and I said, “How did you get into my room?”
+“Very easily,” she answered; “there is a cupboard
+in the thickness of the wall between your
+room and mine; it opens into both rooms, but is
+at present full of my gowns, as you would have
+seen had you had the curiosity to look in, and
+the door happened to be unlocked.”</p>
+
+<p>I said I had abundant curiosity, and would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
+gratify it when I got back.</p>
+
+<p>My hostess smiled and said, “There is nothing
+to find out now; I have told you all there is to
+tell. Good night.”</p>
+
+<p>“But,” I said, “why should I go all the way
+round, through cold passages, when I can walk
+straight through to my room by this way?” and
+I pointed to the open door.</p>
+
+<p>“That is very ingenious of you,” she answered;
+“and you are not wanting either in the quick
+grasp of a situation, or the assurance to make the
+most of it. You do not deserve that I should
+pay you such a pretty compliment! It is too late
+for banter; I am getting sleepy. Good night.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXIII" id="XXIII"></a><span class="line-height">XXIII</span><br />
+A MERE LIE</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">AS the tale I am going to tell you is only a lie,
+you will understand that it is not of my
+making; I cannot even pretend to have heard it
+at first hand. The author was a scientist who
+lied in the intervals between his researches. It
+was a relief, I suppose, after too close contact
+with the eternal truths of Nature. His mental
+fingers seemed to wander over the keys of an
+instrument of romance, striking strange chords
+and producing unsuspected effects in an accompaniment
+to which he sang a perpetual solo.</p>
+
+<p>Amongst the most eccentric of his class the
+Professor would still have been a remarkable character.
+No one seemed to know to what nationality
+he belonged, and it was useless to ask him for any
+information, because of the doubt which clouded any
+statement that he made. Indeed, to put it shortly,
+he lied like a tombstone. When I met him his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
+only companion was a Papuan boy, so black that
+a bit of coal would have made a white mark on
+him; and the Professor would affectionately stroke
+the child’s head, and say that when he had grown
+bigger, when his skull was fully developed, he
+meant to take it, and was looking forward to the
+day when he could examine it carefully, inside
+and out, and compare it with the skulls of certain
+wild tribes which, he felt certain, he should thus
+be able to prove were of true Melanesian origin.
+He would then sometimes relate how, during a
+visit to Cadiz, he took a great fancy to the head
+of a Spaniard whom he met there. He thought
+the man was in failing health; but as he could
+not waste time in the Peninsula, he looked about
+for some means of hastening the possibly slow progress
+of disease. The Professor soon found that
+the owner of the head had a reckless and profligate
+nephew, with whom he scraped acquaintance. To
+him the Professor said that he had observed his
+uncle, and thought him looking far from well,
+indeed, he did not fancy he could last long, and,
+explaining that he was himself an anthropologist,
+concerned in scientific studies for the benefit of
+humanity, he arranged with the nephew that, <em>when
+his uncle died</em>, the Professor should pay a sum of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
+£30 and be allowed to take the uncle’s head. The
+uncle died shortly afterwards, and the money was
+paid, but the nephew, a man without principle,
+buried his relative in defiance of his bargain with
+the Professor.</p>
+
+<p>The means by which the man of science secured
+full value for his investment made one of his best
+stories; and some day I may tell it to you, but,
+when I began this letter, I had quite a different
+adventure in my mind, and I will take the liberty of
+asking you to suppose that the collector of skulls
+is telling you his own tale in his own way.</p>
+
+<p>“I was in Australia, where I had already met
+with some strange experiences, the last of them a
+disastrous expedition into the desert, where, when
+I was quite alone and a thousand miles from the
+nearest habitation, I fell over two precipices, first
+breaking my right and then immediately afterwards
+my left leg. I got back to civilisation with some
+difficulty, as I had to crawl on my hands most of
+the way, dragging my broken legs behind me; but
+what really made the journey seem long was the
+fact that I had to forage for my own sustenance
+as well. I was somewhat exhausted by these
+hardships, and was giving myself a short holiday
+for rest, when Australia was moved to a pitch of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
+the greatest excitement and indignation by the
+exploits of a daring bushranger, who set the Police
+and the Government at defiance, and established
+such a panic in the land that a party of Volunteers
+was formed, sworn to track the outlaw down and
+bring him in alive or dead. I do not say that I
+had any ultimate designs on the man’s head, but
+still the skull of a person of that type could not
+fail to be interesting. So, partly as a relaxation,
+but mainly in the cause of science, I joined the
+expedition.</p>
+
+<p>“It would not interest you to describe our
+failures&mdash;how the man outwitted us; how, just
+when we thought we had him, he would slip
+through our fingers, partly by his own skill, his
+knowledge of the bush, and the excellence of his
+horses, but mainly, I think, by the help of sympathisers,
+who always gave warning of our movements
+and most secret plans. I will pass over all
+that and take you to the final scene in the drama.</p>
+
+<p>“When we were not actually in the bush we
+were following our quarry from one country-place
+to another, as the information we received gave
+us a clue to his whereabouts. It seldom happened
+that we passed a night in a town, and, when not
+camping out, we were billeted on the people of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
+the district, the wealthiest and most important of
+them being too glad to place their houses at our
+disposal. One evening, after a hot pursuit, feeling
+sure we were close upon the trail of our man, we
+reached a great house where a number of guests
+were already being entertained. In spite of our
+numbers we were welcomed with effusion, and,
+after dinner, the ladies of the party took advantage
+of the sudden arrival of a number of young fellows
+ready for anything to get up an impromptu dance.
+I am not a dancing man&mdash;my time has been spent
+in communion with Nature, in reading in the open
+book of Truth&mdash;therefore I left the revellers and
+went to bed.</p>
+
+<p>“We had had a long and a hard day in the
+saddle, and I was weary, and must have fallen
+asleep almost as soon as I lay down.</p>
+
+<p>“Now I must tell you what I afterwards heard
+from others of my party. It was a little after
+midnight, and the dancing was going on with
+great spirit, when I&mdash;this, of course, is what they
+tell me&mdash;suddenly appeared at a door of the ball-room
+in my night-dress, with a rifle in my hand,
+and, without hesitation, I walked through the
+room and out into a verandah that led towards
+the back of the house. My head was thrown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
+somewhat back, my eyes were wide open and
+seemed fixed on some distant object, while I
+was evidently unconscious of my immediate surroundings.</p>
+
+<p>“I fear my sudden entry into the dancing-room
+in such a very unconventional dress was rather a
+shock to some of the ladies. I am told that several
+screamed, and one or more of the older ones
+fainted; but for myself I knew none of this till
+afterwards. It appears that, what with astonishment
+at my appearance, and the necessary attentions
+to the ladies whose nerves were upset, a little
+time elapsed before any one thought of following
+me. Then some one fancied he heard the sound
+of a horse’s feet, and the men of my party pulled
+themselves together and made for the stables, as
+that was the direction I seemed to have taken.</p>
+
+<p>“I was nowhere to be seen; but a stable door
+was open, and my horse, saddle, and bridle had
+gone. Then the matter began to look serious, and,
+as my friends saddled their horses and started to
+look for me, riding they hardly knew where, there
+were rather dismal forebodings of the probable fate
+of even a fully-clad man luckless enough to be lost
+in the Australian bush. It was a lovely starlight
+night with a young moon, and, under other circumstances,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
+the ride might have been pleasant enough;
+but the aimlessness of the whole business was becoming
+painfully evident to the searchers, when the
+sound of a rifle-shot was distinctly heard at no
+great distance. The horses’ heads were turned
+towards the direction from which the sound came,
+and the troop pushed on at a brisk pace. Almost
+immediately, a faint column of smoke was perceived,
+and as the horsemen approached the spot,
+the embers of a dying fire shed a slight ruddy glow
+in the darkness. The word was passed to proceed
+with caution, but the party was already so close
+that they could see my white night-dress, as I
+stood with naked feet by the side of my horse,
+regarding, with a half-dazed expression, the smoking
+rifle which I held in my hand. Sixty yards
+off was the thin column of smoke rising from the
+dying fire.</p>
+
+<p>“I was surrounded by my friends, who all
+spoke at once, and fired a perfect volley of questions
+at me. I said, ‘Softly, gentlemen, softly,
+and I will tell you all I know about it, for indeed
+the situation seems strange enough. As you
+know I went to bed. I slept and I dreamed.
+I suppose I was over-wrought, and my mind was
+full of the bushranger, for I thought I was again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
+on his track, out in the bush, on horseback and
+alone. It was night, but I seemed to be riding
+with a purpose, or my horse knew where he was
+going, for by-and-by I was drawn towards a
+thin column of white smoke, the smoke of a wood
+fire, and then, as I got nearer, I caught the flickering
+glow of dying embers. I <em>felt</em> the object of
+our search was there, and I moved forward with
+extreme caution, till I had got within a hundred
+yards, and then I distinctly saw the outlaw lying
+perfectly straight on the ground, his feet towards
+the fire, and his horse hobbled hard by. I say
+I saw the outlaw, but I was dreaming, and in
+my dream I <em>knew</em> it was the man, though I could
+not see his face. I dismounted, and, leading my
+horse, I got to within sixty yards of the sleeper.
+Then, fearing that if I went nearer he might wake
+and escape me, I took a steady aim, pulled the
+trigger, and&mdash;the next instant I was wide awake
+standing here in my night-dress.’</p>
+
+<p>“Almost before I had finished I saw men looking
+towards the fire, which was no dream, and we
+all of us now distinctly made out the form of a
+man, lying on his side, almost on his face, with
+his feet towards the embers and his head by the
+bush. Moreover, we could both see and hear a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
+horse, that was evidently hobbled not very far
+from the sleeper. It did not take long to surround
+the spot where the man lay; but, as we
+rapidly closed in on the sleeper, he never stirred.
+A moment more and we were beside him. A
+dark stream, on which the glow from the fire
+seemed to shed some of its own red light, was
+oozing slowly from beneath the man’s chest; and,
+as several hands turned his face up to the stars
+and the pale moonlight, it was too evident that
+he was dead, and that his life had gone out with
+that crimson stream which flowed from a bullet
+wound in his heart.</p>
+
+<p>“I did not know the man myself, but several
+of our party recognised him. It was the bushranger,
+and, as I expected, his skull was not without
+features of special interest to science.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXIV" id="XXIV"></a><span class="line-height">XXIV</span><br />
+TIGERS AND CROCODILES</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">WHEN I first came, a visitor, to the Malay
+Peninsula, I was struck by the fact that
+wherever I went I heard stories of tigers. If, in
+the course of a day’s ride, I stopped at a village
+to eat my luncheon, the people who pressed round
+to watch me and have a chat would always tell
+me a tiger story of local and comparatively recent
+occurrence. Wherever I encamped for the night,
+I should be sure of at least one tale of successful
+attack or successful resistance, where a tiger had
+filled the principal rôle. When once I understood
+the little peculiarity, I took it as a matter of course,
+and at talking time I used to say, “Now tell me
+about the tiger: what was it he did?” It may
+have been accident, but it is no exaggeration to
+say that my question nearly always drew forth a
+more or less ghastly story.</p>
+
+<p>Now that my visit is nearly over, it occurs to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
+me that, though I have accumulated an almost
+endless series of more or less interesting tales of
+the “low, crouching horror with the cruel fangs,”
+I have not retailed any of them to you. In a
+certain number of cases I was myself near enough
+to be able to verify details, and in others I had
+means of proving main facts. One is almost
+bound to say that, because tiger-stories, which
+are worth repeating, are almost always listened
+to with incredulity, or, what is worse, with that
+banter which often means, in plain words, “What
+I have not seen myself I decline to believe.” That
+is the attitude of England to the Orient in the
+presence of a tiger-story with which the auditors
+can claim no connection. I said that the prevalence
+of these tales struck me on my first
+arrival. I soon became <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">blasé</i>, and for a long time
+I have had no curiosity on the subject; but I will
+tell you of two tiger incidents that I personally
+verified, as far as I was able, and I will make no
+attempt to paint in the background with local
+colour, in order to supply you with finished
+pictures.</p>
+
+<p>There is an island by the western shore of the
+Straits of Malacca. You would never guess it to
+be an island, for it is simply a block of mangrove-covered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
+mud, with one side towards the sea, and
+the other three sides separated from the mainland
+by deep but narrow lagoons of tidal water. The
+only inhabitants are a few wood-cutters, Malays
+and Chinese, who live in huts of mat or bark with
+palm-leaf roofs, while they are employed cutting
+mangroves and a hard-wood palm called <i>Nîbong</i>.
+The huts of the Chinese are on the ground, but the
+Malay dwellings are invariably raised a few feet
+above the damp soil, and to them entry is obtained
+by means of a ladder. These hovels are very
+carelessly built; they are of flimsy materials, only
+intended to last for a few months, when they are
+abandoned and rapidly fall to pieces. They serve
+their purpose. The occupants are out from dawn
+till afternoon, when they return to cook, eat, and
+sleep; and so, from day to day, till the job on
+which they are engaged is completed, and they can
+return, in the case of the Malays, to their families,
+while the Chinese are probably moved to another
+scene of similar labour.</p>
+
+<p>I was obliged to tell you this; you would not
+understand the story otherwise.</p>
+
+<p>The island covers an area of several thousand
+acres, but except for the few wood-cutters it
+was, at the time I write of, uninhabited. At<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
+one spot there was a hut containing two Chinese,
+near it a Malay house with eight or ten men
+in it, and at no great distance a large shed
+with nearly a score of Chinese. One dark night,
+about 11 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span>, the two Chinese who lived together
+were awakened by a noise in that part of the
+hut where they kept their food. One of the two
+got up, struck a light, and went into the back
+room. Immediately there was a dull thud, as of
+a man knocked heavily down, and the poor wretch
+screamed, “Help me, it is a tiger!” His comrade
+at once got out of his mosquito-curtain, and sprang
+to his friend’s assistance. Seizing him by the
+arm, he tried to free him from the clutches of the
+tiger, who already had a firm hold of the doomed
+man’s leg. The tug of life and death did not last
+long, for the tiger pulled the would-be rescuer
+down on his face, and, the light having been extinguished
+in the struggle, the man’s courage went out
+with it, and, in a paroxysm of fear, he climbed on
+to the roof. There he remained till daylight, while,
+close beneath him, within the narrow limits of the
+hut, the tiger dragged his victim hither and thither,
+snarling and growling, tearing the flesh and crunching
+the bones of the man, whose agonies were
+mercifully hidden. In the grey light which heralds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
+dawn, the watcher, clinging to the roof-ridge, saw
+the tiger drag out of the house and into the forest
+the shapeless remains of his late companion. When
+once the sun was fairly up, the survivor slid down,
+and without daring to look inside the hut, made
+his way to the nearest Police Station, and reported
+what had occurred. An examination of the premises
+fully bore out his statement.</p>
+
+<p>A week passed. The Malays, whose hut was
+nearest to that visited by the tiger, were careful to
+bar their door after hearing what had happened;
+but in this case the precaution proved useless.
+Easterns, especially those engaged in severe manual
+labour, sleep exceedingly heavily, and the men of
+this household were aroused by a smothered cry
+from one of their number; the noise of a heavy
+body falling through the thatch having passed
+practically unnoticed. One of the party got up,
+lighted a torch, and was at once knocked down
+by a tiger springing upon him. In a moment
+every man had seized his heavy chopping-knife,
+and the whole party fell upon the man-eater,
+and, by the light of the fallen torch, hit so hard
+and straight that the beast suddenly sprang
+through the roof and disappeared. It was then,
+for the first time, discovered that this was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
+means by which the tiger had effected its entrance,
+and it left by the hole which it had made
+on entering the hut. The first man attacked was
+dead; the second was taken to hospital, and there
+died of his wounds.</p>
+
+<p>There was a fourth victim. I am not certain of
+the facts in that case, but he was severely injured
+and was sent to hospital, where, I believe, he recovered
+with the entire loss of his scalp. That
+filled up the cup of crime. Almost directly afterwards
+the murderer killed a bullock; the carcass
+was poisoned, and the next day the body of a
+tigress was found close by that of her victim. She
+was not very large, eight feet from nose to the tip
+of the tail; she was in splendid condition&mdash;teeth
+perfect and coat glossy&mdash;but her legs and feet
+were disproportionately large to the size of her
+body. On her head there was a deep clean cut,
+and one of her fore-legs was gashed, evidently by
+a Malay chopper. The most curious feature was
+that in certainly two out of the three cases the
+tigress, who always attacked by night, the only
+time when the huts were occupied, effected her
+entrance by springing on the roof and forcing her
+way through the thin palm thatching.</p>
+
+<p>There is another tiger story that I can tell you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
+in two words. It is curious, it sounds highly
+improbable; but, after hearing it on the spot from
+the two men concerned, I believe it.</p>
+
+<p>Quite recently it was the fruit season here, and,
+as is customary, two men were watching an
+orchard situated on the side of a main cart-road.
+The orchard was not enclosed in any way, and
+the fruit trees on one side actually overhung the
+road. The road was divided from the orchard
+by a rather wide but quite shallow ditch, that
+was always dry except during rain. Fifteen or
+twenty feet on the inside of this ditch was a tiny
+lean-to under the trees. The shelter consisted of
+a raised floor of split bamboos, covered by a palm-thatch
+roof, and a narrow sort of bench, also under
+the roof, but level with the floor. The bench was
+next to the high road.</p>
+
+<p>On the night of which I write, one man was
+sleeping on the bench, the other on the floor of the
+shelter. It was fine, with a young, early-setting
+moon; the scattered houses of a considerable village
+were all round, and there was nothing to fear.</p>
+
+<p>I said before that natives sleep soundly, and
+you must believe it, or you will never credit my
+story. About 1 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> the man sleeping on the
+floor of the shelter heard his friend shouting for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
+help. The voice came from the ditch by the road,
+and thither the man ran, shouting “What is the
+matter?” “Thieves!” promptly replied the other,
+but a moment’s conversation dispelled the idea born
+of his partially-awakened intelligence, and led them
+to the true interpretation of the riddle. The man
+in the ditch said then, and says now, that he was
+asleep, and knew nothing till he suddenly found
+himself thrown in the ditch, when he awoke and
+shouted, “Help, thieves!” But, all the same,
+when he tried to get up, and his friend helped
+him to the shelter and got a light, it was seen
+that he had a deep gash in the shoulder, which
+kept him in hospital for nearly three weeks. The
+light also showed the track of a tiger up to the
+bench, thence to the spot in the ditch where the
+man was lying, and straight across the high road
+into another orchard. One other thing it showed,
+and that was a patch of earth on the top of the
+wounded man’s head.</p>
+
+<p>The friend’s theory, shared by all the neighbours,
+is this. He points to the exact position
+in which the sleeper was lying, and how a post,
+from ground to roof, completely protected the back
+of his neck, so that the tiger could not seize him
+as he must have wished to do. Owing to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
+man’s position, and the way the post of the house
+and the rails of the bench (for it had a sort of
+back) ran, the tiger had to take a very awkward
+grip of his prey, catching him by the shoulder,
+and therefore carrying him with his head almost
+on the ground. Three or four steps, a second or
+two in time, would bring him to the shallow, dry
+ditch. It was so shallow that he would not jump
+it, but the in-and-out of a tiger with a kill would
+be the equivalent of a jump. In he would go easily
+enough, but the cut slope of the ditch and the
+slight rise into the road on the other side just
+saved the man’s life, for the top of his head hit
+against the edge of the ditch, and, awkwardly held
+as he was, knocked him out of the tiger’s mouth.</p>
+
+<p>Once dropped, the beast would not return to
+pick his prey up again, especially with one man
+shouting and the noise of the other coming to his
+assistance.</p>
+
+<p>The tiger is the scourge of the land, the crocodile
+of the water. They seem to be complement
+and supplement&mdash;each of the other: the “golden
+terror with the ebon bars,” the very embodiment
+of vitality, sinew, and muscle&mdash;of life that is savage
+and instant to strike&mdash;and the stony-eyed, spiky-tailed
+monster, outwardly a lifeless, motionless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
+log; but, once those pitiless jaws open, it is only
+a question of what tooth closes on the victim,
+whether it be “The last chance,” “Tear the
+shroud,” or “God save your soul.”</p>
+
+<p>I was starting for some hot springs in a remote
+spot, far in the interior, where I was certain of
+finding both elephant and rhinoceros, and the
+second night of my journey I spent at the junction
+of two large streams. Strolling back from a swim
+in the river, the local chief told me this pathetic
+story of fruitless heroism.</p>
+
+<p>The country hereabout is very sparsely peopled,
+only a few scattered huts breaking the monotony
+of the virgin forest, Malays and wild tribes the
+sole inhabitants. Every house is on the bank of
+a river, and beyond the produce of their rice-fields
+and orchards the people rely mainly on the water
+to supply them with food. The Malay is exceedingly
+cunning in devising various means for catching
+fish, but what he likes best is to go out in
+the evening, just at sundown, with a casting-net.
+Either he wades about by himself, or, with a boy
+to steer for him, he creeps along in a tiny dug-out,
+throws his net in the deep pools, and usually dives
+in after it, to free the meshes from the numerous
+snags on which they are sure to become entangled.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>One evening, a few days before my arrival, a
+Malay peasant was netting in the river accompanied
+by his son, a boy of twelve years old.
+They were wading, and, while the father moved
+along the edge of the deeper water under the
+bank, the boy walked in the shallows out in the
+stream. The short twilight passed, and the darkness
+of night was gathering over the waters of the
+wide river, when suddenly the father was startled
+by a cry from the boy, and, as he turned, he
+shuddered to hear the one word, “crocodile,”
+come in an agonised scream from the poor child.
+Dropping his net, the man swam and stumbled
+through the shallowing stream to the boy’s rescue.
+The child was down, but making frantic, though
+hopelessly ineffectual struggles to free himself
+from the grip of a crocodile which had him by
+the knee and thigh. The man was naked, except
+for a pair of short trousers; he had no weapon
+whatever, yet he threw himself, without hesitation,
+on the saurian, and with his hands alone began
+a struggle with the hideous reptile for the possession
+of the boy. The man was on the deep-water
+side of his foe, determined at all costs to prevent
+him from drowning the child; he had seized the
+creature from behind, so as to save himself from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
+its claws, and he tried to find, through darkness
+and water, the eye-sockets, by which alone
+he could hope to reach a vulnerable joint in
+its impenetrable harness. The father’s fury and
+despair guided his hands to the reptile’s eyes, and
+pressing his thumbs with all his might on these
+points of less resistance, he inflicted such pain
+that the creature gave a convulsive spring which
+threw the man backwards into the water. But
+the boy was released, and the saurian retired
+from the fight to sulk and blink over his defeat
+in some dark pool beneath the overhanging grasses
+of the river bank.</p>
+
+<p>The man carried the boy on shore, and thence
+to his home; but the poor child was so severely
+injured that, with no skilled surgeon to attend him,
+he died after three days of suffering.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXV" id="XXV"></a><span class="line-height">XXV</span><br />
+A ROSE AND A MOTH</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">WHEN I came again to this enchanted mountain,
+above the steaming plains, the first
+thing I did was to wander in the garden, amid the
+sweet-smelling blossoms and the bees and butterflies,
+and feast my eyes upon the ever-new loveliness
+of the changeless hills, the changeful sky
+and sea, that crowd the prospect with a thousand
+pictures of infinite beauty and inspiring grandeur.
+Then I saw a perfect rose, a rose of divine,
+deep colour&mdash;betwixt rubies and red wine&mdash;of the
+texture of finest velvet, and I gathered it. Once,
+long ago, at least so it seems, you gave me the
+fellow of this rose, plucked from the same tree.
+To me this flower will always suggest you, for,
+beyond the association, there are certain characteristics
+which you share with it, “dark and true
+and tender,” a rare sweetness of perfume and, in
+the heart of the rose, a slumbering passion, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
+like of which will some day wake you to the joy
+or the sorrow of life. I have treasured that
+sweet-scented blossom as long as it would stay
+with me; and now, when the petals are falling, I
+see that they are the counterpart of three rose-petals
+that had travelled from far over sea in a
+letter from you. They came the bearers of their
+own message, and now I seem to read it. Have
+I been very dense, or am I only fatuous now?
+Why can’t they speak, these things you have
+touched, or do they speak and I lack understanding?
+At least you sent them, and that is
+much from you. I am grateful, and if I am a
+prey to vain imaginings, you will forgive me, and
+understand that I did not, presumptuously and
+with indecent haste, set about the construction of
+a castle that, even now, has but my wish for its
+unsubstantial foundation.</p>
+
+<p>Last night, this morning rather, for it was between
+midnight and 1 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>, I was reading that
+very weird story about a phantom dog. I was
+deeply engrossed in the weirdest part of it, when
+I heard a buzzing noise, and in a dark corner
+behind the piano I saw a pair of very strange
+eyes approaching and receding. They were like
+small coals of fire, extraordinarily brilliant, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
+a pinkish flame, shedding light as well as containing
+it. I realised that they were the eyes of
+what looked like a very large moth, whose wings
+never ceased to move with marvellous rapidity.</p>
+
+<p>My chair was touching a table on which was a
+long vase of perfume-laden lilies, white lilies with
+yellow hearts, and by-and-by the moth flew to
+the flowers and stood, poised in air, before a lily-blossom.
+There were two very bright lights on
+the table, and the creature was within two feet
+of me, so I saw it plainly enough. The wings
+never for an instant stopped their vibration, and
+it was so rapid that I could not tell their form
+or colour. Once directly opposite the flower, the
+moth produced a delicate proboscis, which it inserted
+into the blossom, and then slowly pushed
+it right up the stamen, apparently in search of
+honey. When extended, this feeler was of quite
+abnormal length, at least two or three inches.
+What, however, surprised me was that, having
+withdrawn the probe (for that was what it looked
+like, a very fine steel or wire probe, such as
+dentists use), the instrument seemed to go back
+into the moth’s head, or wherever it came from,
+to be again extended to sound the depths of
+another blossom. There! it is past midnight,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
+and I hear the buzzing in the next room; here
+it comes; and I can examine the creature again.
+Alas! what a disappointment: this is a horned
+beetle. I thought it made over-much noise for my
+interesting friend. Now to continue my tale.</p>
+
+<p>I observed the moth had a large, dark, cigar-shaped
+body, with two longish <i>antennæ</i>, much
+stouter than the proboscis, and infinitely shorter.
+After pursuing its researches into the internal
+economy of several lilies, the thing flew into my
+face, and I ought to have caught and examined
+it, for then the feeler had disappeared; but I was
+surprised and rather alarmed, and I thought it
+would return to the flowers, and I could again
+watch, and, if necessary, catch it. It made, however,
+for a dark corner, and then buzzed about
+the wooden ceiling till it came to an iron hook
+from which hung a basket of ferns. I was carefully
+watching it all the time, and at the hook it
+disappeared, the buzzing ceased, and I concluded
+the creature had gone into a hole where it probably
+lived. To-day, in daylight, I examined the
+ceiling all round the hook, but there was no hole
+anywhere.</p>
+
+<p>Now is this the beginning of the dog business,
+and am I to be haunted by those fiery eyes, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
+the ceaseless clatter of those buzzing wings, and
+the long supple feeler that suggests the tortures
+of dentistry, and may probe deep into the recesses
+of my brain? It can’t, I think, be liver, for I
+have not yet learnt on which side of me that
+useful organ lies, and it is not drink. If it is
+only a moth of a rather uncommon kind, I suppose
+the fire in its eyes is to light it through the
+darkness; but I never before saw a moth going into
+raptures over flowers, and I can’t yet understand
+where it puts away that instrument of torture,
+unless it winds it round a bobbin, inside its head
+or its body, when not using it. It reminds me of
+a man I saw swallowing swords at the Aquarium.
+I was quite willing to admire and believe, until he
+took up a sword, the blade of which, by outside
+measurement, stretched from his mouth nearly to
+his knee, and swallowed it to the hilt at one gulp.
+Then I doubted; and the knotty sticks, umbrellas,
+and bayonets, which he afterwards disposed of
+with consummate ease, only increased my dislike
+for him. Still this proboscis is not an umbrella,
+and though it is about twice as long as the moth
+itself, and seems to come out of the end of its
+nose, I know so little of the internal arrangements
+of these creatures that I dare say this one can, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
+winding the instrument up like the spring of a
+watch, find room for it in its head. Why the
+thing won’t keep its wings still, and sit quietly
+on the petals of the flower while it thrusts that
+probe into the lily’s nerve-centres, I can’t imagine.
+Then one could examine it quietly, and not go to
+bed in fear of a deadly nightmare.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps, after all, it is the result of reading
+about that “Thing too much,” that starving, murderous
+cur, at 1 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span>; if it is, I had better go to
+bed now, for it has just struck the hour. Am I
+wrong about the message of the rose? You see
+how hard I try to do your bidding.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXVI" id="XXVI"></a><span class="line-height">XXVI</span><br />
+A LOVE-PHILTRE</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">THERE is, to me, something strangely attractive
+about Muhammadan prayers, especially
+those fixed for the hour of sunset. Time and
+again I have gone in with the Faithful, when the
+priest chants the <i>mu’azzin</i>, and I have sat by
+and been deeply impressed by the extraordinary
+reverence of the worshippers, while eye and ear
+have been captivated by the picturesque figures
+against their colourful background, the wonderfully
+musical intoning of the priest, and the not
+less harmonious responses. I do not pretend that
+this oft-repeated laudation of God’s name, this
+adoration by deep sonorous words and by every
+bodily attitude that can convey profound worship,
+would appeal to others as it does to me, even
+when I have to guess at the exact meaning of
+prayers whose general import needs no interpretation.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The fifth hour of prayer follows closely on that
+fixed for sundown, and the interval is filled up
+by singing hymns of praise led by the priest, or
+by telling, and listening to, stories of olden times.
+Of Eastern places the Malay Peninsula had special
+attractions for me, and the few European travellers
+I met there, and who, like myself, were not bound
+to a programme, seemed equally fascinated. Most
+of them either prolonged their stay, or determined
+to return for a longer visit.</p>
+
+<p>It is difficult to say exactly wherein lies the
+spell, but there are beauties of scenery, the undoubted
+charm of the people (as distinguished
+from other Easterns), and the sense of mystery,
+of exclusiveness, of unspoilt nature and undescribed
+life, that arouse a new interest in the wearied
+children of the West. It is pleasant to get at
+something which is not to be found in any encyclopædia,
+and it is, above all, gratifying to obtain
+knowledge direct and at the fountain-head. This
+is why I often return, in thought, to the narrow
+land that lies between two storm-swept seas, itself
+more free from violent convulsions than almost any
+other. There, is perpetual summer; no volcanoes,
+no earthquakes, no cyclones. Even the violence of
+the monsoons, that lash the China Sea and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
+Indian Ocean into periodical fury, is largely spent
+before it reaches the unprotected seaboards of the
+richly dowered peninsula.</p>
+
+<p>Forgive this digression. I was sitting with the
+Faithful, and the first evening prayer was over.
+The brief twilight was fast deepening into night.
+The teacher excused himself, and the disciples
+pushed themselves across the floor till they could
+sit with their backs against the wall, leaving two
+rows of prayer-carpets to occupy the middle of
+the room. I had asked some question which, in a
+roundabout way, led to the telling of this tale.</p>
+
+<p>“I remember all about it,” said a man, sitting
+in the corner; “he was a stranger, a man of
+Sumatra, called Nakhôdah Ma’win, and he gave
+the girl a love-potion that drove her mad. He
+was a trader from Bâtu Bâra, and he had been
+selling the famous silks of his country in the
+villages up our river. Having exhausted his
+stock and collected his money, he embarked in
+his boat and made his way to the mouth of the
+river. Every boat going to sea had to take water
+on board, and there were two places where you
+could get it; one was at Teluk Bâtu on our coast,
+and the other was on an island hard by. But, in
+those days, the strait between the coast and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
+island was a favourite haunt of pirates, and
+Nakhôdah Ma’win made for Teluk Bâtu to get his
+supply of fresh water. He was in no hurry, a
+week or a month then made no difference; so he
+first called on the chief of the place, a man of
+importance, styled Toh Permâtang, and then he
+began to think about getting the water. Now it
+happened that Toh Permâtang had four daughters,
+and the youngest but one, a girl called Ra’ûnah,
+was very beautiful. When there is a girl of uncommon
+beauty in a place, people talk about it,
+and no doubt the Nakhôdah, idling about, heard the
+report and managed to get sight of Ra’ûnah. At
+once he fell in love with her, and set about thinking
+how he could win her, though she was already
+promised in marriage to another. These Sumatra
+people know other things besides making silks and
+daggers, and Nakhôdah Ma’win had a love-philtre
+of the most potent kind. It was made from the
+tears of the sea-woman whom we call <i>dûyong</i>. I
+know the creature. I have seen it. It is bigger
+than a man, and something like a porpoise. It
+comes out of the sea to eat grass, and, if you lie
+in wait for it, you can catch it and take the tears.
+Some people eat the flesh, it is red like the flesh
+of a buffalo; and the tears are red, and if you mix<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
+them with rice they make the rice red; at least,
+people say so. Anyhow, Nakhôdah Ma’win had the
+philtre, and he got an old woman to needle the way
+for him, as one always does, and she managed to
+mix the dûyong’s tears with Ra’ûnah’s rice, and,
+when the girl had eaten it, she was mad with love
+for the Nakhôdah. He stayed at Teluk Bâtu for a
+month, making excuses, but all to be with Ra’ûnah;
+and he saw her every day&mdash;with the help of the
+old woman, of course. You can’t go on like that for
+long without some one suspecting something, and,
+though I never heard for certain that there was anything
+really wrong, the girl was mad and reckless,
+and the Nakhôdah took fright. She was a chief’s
+daughter, while he was a trader and a stranger, and
+he knew they would kill him without an instant’s
+hesitation if Toh Permâtang so much as suspected
+what was going on. Therefore, having got the water
+on board, the Nakhôdah put to sea, saying nothing
+to any one. In a little place people talk of little
+things, and some one said, in the hearing of Ra’ûnah,
+that the Bâtu Bâra trader had sailed away. With
+a cry of agony the girl dashed from the house, her
+sisters after her; and seeing the boat sailing away,
+but still at no great distance, for there was little
+breeze, she rushed into the sea and made frantic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
+efforts to tear herself from the restraining arms
+of her sisters, who could barely prevent her from
+drowning herself. At the noise of all this uproar
+a number of men ran down to the shore, and,
+when they saw and heard what was the matter,
+they shouted to the Nakhôdah to put back again.
+He knew better than to thrust his neck into the
+noose, and, though they pursued his boat, they
+failed to catch him.</p>
+
+<p>“When Ra’ûnah saw that she could not get
+to her lover, and that each moment was carrying
+him farther away, she cried to him to return, and
+bursting into sobs, she bemoaned her abandonment,
+and told her tale of love in words of endearment
+and despair that passed into a song, which to this
+day is known as Ra’ûnah’s Lament.</p>
+
+<p>“Yes, I can remember the verses, and will
+repeat them if it does not weary you. The
+Nakhôdah never returned.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">“‘Oh, shelter! my dear shelter! the palm stands in the plain.</div>
+<div class="verse1a">The fruit of the nutmeg falls to the ground and lies there.</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Thine is thy sister, small but comely,</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Thy diamond! the light of Permâtang Guntong.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! I hear the measured splash of the oars;</div>
+<div class="verse1a">I see the drift-weed caught in the rudder.</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Thou art above, my protecting shelter;</div>
+<div class="verse1a">I am beneath, in lowly worship.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! ’twas the hour of evening prayer when thou settest sail;</div>
+<div class="verse1a">The oars are straining and the boat reels along.</div>
+<div class="verse1a">God’s mercy is great, His promise sure;</div>
+<div class="verse1a">By His blessing we shall meet in the Garden of Paradise.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! the breeze is blowing in fitful gusts;</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Be careful not to pull the sail to the left.</div>
+<div class="verse1a">In three months and ten days,</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Thou wilt return, my brother!</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! make for the island, Sri Rama;</div>
+<div class="verse1a">For there are two marabouts and a fish-weir.</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Though thou leavest me, be not long absent;</div>
+<div class="verse1a">In two, at most in three, months, return again.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! the waters of the sea are calm,</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Yet do not hug the shore.</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Have no fear of my betrothed;</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Was not thy sword but lately sharpened?</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! thou camest to Teluk Bâtu,</div>
+<div class="verse1a">And the peace of my heart has gone.</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Satan delights in my undoing,</div>
+<div class="verse1a">For my heart cleaves to thine.</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1a">Oh, my shelter! take good thought,</div>
+<div class="verse1a">The passions war with the soul.</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Do not waste the gold in thy hand,</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Lest scoffers have cause to mock thee.</div><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1a">Oh, my Nakhôdah! when the mattress is spread, who will lie on it?</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Who shall be covered by the folded coverlet?</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Who will sit upon the embroidered mat,</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Or lean against the great round pillow?</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1a">Oh, my Nakhôdah! the feast is waiting, but who will eat it?</div>
+<div class="verse1a">The water is cool, but who will drink it?</div>
+<div class="verse1a">The napkin is there, whose mouth can it wipe?</div>
+<div class="verse1a">The sireh is ready, but who will use it?</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Thy Sister is cold, who will fondle her?</div>
+<div class="verse1a">Ah-hu! ah-hu! come death, deliver me.’</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>“And then she fell to weeping and moaning,
+struggling with her sisters, and trying to cast
+herself into the sea.</p>
+
+<p>“That is the tale of Ra’ûnah and Nakhôdah
+Ma’win, and every one knows it. Some tell it one
+way and some another, but that is how it came to
+me. The girl was mad, mad with love and regret
+for six months; and then her father married her
+to another man, and that cured her. I knew the
+man: he was a foreigner. She and two of her
+sisters died long ago, but the other is alive still.</p>
+
+<p>“How to get the dûyong’s tears? Oh, that
+is easy enough. You catch the sea-woman when
+she comes up the sand to eat the sweet grass on
+shore. I told you how to do it. You have to lie in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
+wait and she waddles up on two sort of fins that
+she uses like feet, helping with her tail. If she
+sees you, she tries to get back into the sea, but
+you stand between her and the water and so catch
+her. Then, if you want her tears, you make a
+palisade of sticks in the deeper water of the bay
+through which she came, and there you bind her
+in a sort of cage, at the surface of the water, so
+that she can’t move. It is like the thing they put
+elephants in when they are half-tamed. When
+she finds she is held fast there, and cannot get
+down into the deep water to her young, she weeps,
+and as the tears stream down her face you catch
+them, sweep them into a vessel, and you have the
+philtre.”</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. Then a man said, “I hear
+they sell dûyong’s tears in Penang.”</p>
+
+<p>The teller of the story at once replied, “Very
+likely, I have heard it too; but it is probably only
+some make-believe stuff. You must try it before
+you buy it.”</p>
+
+<p>“How do you do that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Easily. Rub some of the philtre on a
+chicken’s beak; if it is really potent, the chicken
+will follow you wherever you go!”</p>
+
+<p>“Have you seen that yourself?”</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p>
+<p>“No. I want no love-philtres. I manage
+well enough without them. I don’t care to play
+with a thing you can’t control. I might get into
+trouble, like Nakhôdah Ma’win. It is easy enough
+to give the potion, but I never heard what you
+do to stop it. Anyhow, if I wanted to buy the
+stuff, I should first try it on a chicken, and if it
+had no effect I should not believe in it, for every
+one knows that the story of Ra’ûnah and Ma’win
+is true, or they would not sing about it to this
+day. Hark! the teacher is calling to prayer.”</p>
+
+<p>A number of boys’ high-pitched voices were
+chanting&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="bihak-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“<i>Bihak-illah, rizal-l’ Allah!</i></div>
+<div class="verse1"><i>A’ain-nu na, bi-aun illah!</i>”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>and, across their chorus, came the sonorous, far-reaching
+tones of the priest&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="bihak-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“<i>Allah-hu akbar!</i></div>
+<div class="verse1"><i>Allah-hu akbar!</i></div>
+<div class="verse1"><i>Ashâd-du Allah, illah-ha il-Allah.</i>”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>When the little group of men had fallen into
+their places, and the only sound in the building
+was the musical intoning of the half-whispered
+prayers, I could not help musing on the extraordinarily
+happy expression, “he found an old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
+woman to <em>needle</em> the way for him.” Nothing
+could be more delightful than the symbol of the
+small, insinuating, finely tempered, horribly sharp
+bit of steel that goes so easily through things,
+and leaves no trace of its passage. And then
+there is nearly always a thread behind it, and
+that remains when the needle has gone!</p>
+
+<p>I have translated Ra’ûnah’s lament for you
+absolutely literally, except that the word which
+occurs so often, and which I have rendered
+“shelter,” means “umbrella.” The umbrella here,
+as in other countries, is an emblem of the highest
+distinction: a shelter from sun and rain, a shield
+and protection, “the shadow of a great rock in
+a dry land.” A yellow umbrella is a sign and
+token of sovereignty.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXVII" id="XXVII"></a><span class="line-height">XXVII</span><br />
+MOONSTRUCK</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">ONCE I suggested to you that the greatest
+facts of life are, in English, expressed by
+the smallest words, and, with that dainty, hesitating
+manner that is so captivating, you almost
+consented to agree. Look, for instance, at these
+words: God, sin, good, bad, day, night, sun,
+moon, light, dark, heat, cold, earth, sky, sea,
+world, peace, war, joy, pain, eat, drink, sleep,
+love, hate, birth, death. They cover a good deal
+of ground, and you can easily add to them. A
+philologist would tell you why the most profound
+conceptions, the most important abstract facts,
+are denoted by simple words, but the explanation
+might not interest you. The circle of my
+acquaintances does not include a philologist; my
+nearest approach to such dissipation is a friend
+who pretends to be a lexicographer. Now look
+at that word, it is long enough in all conscience,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
+but the idea which it represents only makes one
+tired.</p>
+
+<p>Whilst a good reason could be found for expressing
+original principles in monosyllables, I
+wonder if any one can say why that fantastic
+product of this century, the (so-called) educated
+Indian, revels in the use and misuse of all the
+longest words he can find to convey his, sometimes
+grotesque, but nearly always commonplace,
+thoughts, when he tries to put them in English.
+Curiously enough, this transcendental language,
+which is the peculiar pride of the Indian babu,
+leaves on the mind of the listener no concrete
+idea, no definite conception of what the speaker
+wants to say; but it does invariably conjure up a
+figure typical of the class which employs this barbarous
+tongue as a high-sounding medium in which
+to disguise its shallow thoughts. And then one
+feels sorry for the poor overthrown words, the
+maimed quotations, and the slaughtered sentences,
+so that one realises how happy is that description
+which speaks of the English conversation of East
+Indians as a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mêlée</i>, wherein the words lie about
+“like dead men on a battle-field.” There must
+be something in the Indian’s character to account
+for this; and, as a great stream of words pours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
+from the narrow channel of his mind, and gives
+expression to his turgid thoughts in an avalanche
+of sound, so you will see the same extravagance
+of outward display in the manner of his life, in
+his strange garments, his sham jewellery, and his
+pitiful and disastrous attempts to ape what he
+thinks is the riotous “fastness” of the quite white
+man. Behind this outward seeming, there is also,
+in many cases, nothing, and sometimes even less
+than that. Misapplied English education has a
+good deal to answer for, and, if the babu has a
+soul, it may demand a reckoning from those who
+gave it a speech in which to make known the
+impossible aspirations of a class that is as rich
+in wordy agitation as it is poor in the spirit and
+physique of a ruling race. Many babus cannot
+quench revolt. Perhaps the babu is the “thing
+too much” in India; they could do without him.
+And yet he and education, combined, make a growing
+danger that may yet have to be counted with.
+But enough of the babu; I cannot think how he
+got into my letter.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>My visit to this strange and beautiful country
+is over. For the last time a steamer is hurrying
+me down one of those great waterways which,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
+until recent times, have been the only means of
+getting into this mysterious land. The dying day
+supplied a feast of colour, of momentarily changing
+pictures that, however familiar, seem always new,
+always resplendent with amazing lights, delicate
+half-tints, and soft shadows, such as only a
+moisture-charged atmosphere and a fiery sun can
+produce. Does the thought of such an evening
+ever come back to you, or are you trying to
+accustom yourself to the greys and neutral tints
+of the life of resignation? Ah! The moon is
+just rising; the scene is quite enchanting, and I
+must try to tell you exactly what I see.</p>
+
+<p>The river is six or seven hundred yards wide.
+It is high tide, and, to the eye, the picture has but
+three component parts&mdash;sky, wood, and water.
+Sky and water are divided by a belt of wood
+which borders the river. The continuous belt of
+trees, of varying height, growing from out the
+river and up the bank, makes a deeply indented
+line of vegetation. This belt is unbroken, but
+it rises into plumes and graceful fronds, where
+some loftier palm or giant jungle-tree towers above
+its neighbours, and all its foliage shows clear as
+an etching against the grey-blue background.
+Again, the belt dips and leaves broken spaces of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
+sky, where the foliage suddenly dwarfs. The sky
+is dark grey just above the trees, but the grey
+changes to blue as the eye travels upward, and
+overhead the zenith is sapphire, cloudless sapphire
+spangled with stars. The water is like burnished
+gun-metal, and, under the shore, there is a shadow
+as dark and wide as the line of trees which throws
+it. The moon, a perfect circle of brilliant light,
+not silver nor gold, but the colour produced by
+silvering over a golden ground, has just risen, and
+rides a short space above the trees. In the deepest
+shadow, exactly where water and land meet, there
+is a narrow streak of amazingly bright light; then
+a space of darkness, covered by the shadow of the
+trees, and then a veritable column of gold, the
+width of the moon, and the length of the moon’s
+distance above the trees. The column is not still,
+it is moved by the shimmer of the water, and it
+dazzles the eyes. The effect is marvellous: this
+intense brilliance as of molten gold, this pillar of
+light with quivering but clearly-defined edges, playing
+on a mirror of dark burnished steel. Then
+that weird glint of yellow flame, appearing and
+disappearing, in the very centre of the blackest
+shadow, and, above all, the Queen of Night moves
+through the heavens in superb consciousness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
+her own transcendent beauty, calmly satisfied to
+recognise that the sapphire firmament, and all the
+world of stars, are but the background and the
+foils to her surpassing loveliness.</p>
+
+<p>As the moon rises, the reflection in the river
+lengthens, widens, breaks into ripples of amber,
+and shoots out arrows of paler light. Soon there
+is a broad pathway of glittering wavelets, which
+opens out into a great silvery road, and the light
+of the risen moon dispels the grey fog that hung
+over the belt of jungle, and tinges with silver the
+few fleecy clouds that emphasise the blueness of
+their background. Then a dark curtain gradually
+spreads itself across the sky, dims the moonlight,
+veils the stars, and throws a spell over the river,
+hiding its luminous highway, and casting upon
+the water the reflection of its own spectre-like
+form.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>The fog clung to the river, but when we reached
+the sea the moon reigned alone, paling the stars
+and filling the air with a flood of delicious light.
+I was leaning over the side of the ship, wondering
+where I could ever see such a sight again, when
+a man of the country came and stood by me. I
+said something to him of the beauty of the night,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
+and he answered, “Yes, there are flowers in the
+moon.”</p>
+
+<p>I asked him what he meant, and this is what
+he told me:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>“It was a night like this, and I was going with
+my mother, my wife, and child to a neighbouring
+island to visit some relatives. We were travelling
+by a small steamer, and in the early hours of the
+morning were coasting along the shore of the
+island. The moon was then setting, but it was
+extraordinarily brilliant, and I tried to find a spot
+in the shadow where I could sleep. As I settled
+myself comfortably, I noticed that my mother was
+standing, looking over the bulwark. It might have
+been an hour later when I awoke, and, as we
+were near the port, I went to rouse my people
+and collect my luggage. I could not find my
+mother anywhere. The rest of my party and all
+the other passengers were asleep till I roused them,
+and no one had seen or heard anything unusual.
+We all of us searched the ship in every direction,
+but without success, and the only conclusion was
+that the poor old lady had somehow fallen overboard.
+By this time the vessel had reached the
+anchorage, and there was nothing to be done but
+to go ashore. I took my family to the house of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
+our friends, some miles from the landing-place, and
+then wondered what to do next. The village we
+had come to was on the shore, and not very far
+from the place where I had last seen my mother
+on board the ship. I determined, therefore, to
+drive to a spot as nearly opposite that place as I
+could get, and then to walk along the beach, and
+ask at the huts of the Chinese fishermen whether
+they had seen a body in the water. The first two
+or three cottages I came to were empty, but I
+made my way to a solitary hut which I saw
+standing in the centre of a tiny bay. In that
+hut, to my surprise and great joy, I found my
+mother and two Chinese fishermen. The men
+told me that they had gone out before daylight
+to set their nets, and in the light of the moon,
+then almost on the horizon, they saw a woman,
+as they described it, “standing in the water,” so
+that, though her head only was visible, she seemed
+to be upright, and they imagined she must be supported
+somehow, or resting her feet on an old
+fishing stake, for the water was fifteen or twenty
+feet deep there. She did not cry out or seem
+frightened, only rather dazed. They rowed to
+the spot and pulled her into the boat, and just
+then the moon sank out of sight. The old lady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
+had lost her skirt, but otherwise seemed little the
+worse, and, as far as the fishermen could see, she
+was not resting on any support. When I asked
+her how she got into the sea, she said she could
+not tell, but she was looking at the moon, and
+she saw such lovely flowers in it that she felt she
+must try to get to them. Then she found herself
+in the water, but all the time she kept looking at
+the flowers till the fishermen pulled her into their
+boat and brought her on shore. I took her to
+the house where we were staying, and I have
+left her in the island ever since, because I dare
+not let her travel by sea again.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXVIII" id="XXVIII"></a><span class="line-height">XXVIII</span><br />
+THE “DEVI”</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">I AM in Agra. The Japanese say that if you
+have not been to Nikko you cannot say <em>kekko</em>.
+That is an insular conceit, meant, no doubt,
+originally for Japan and the Japanese only; but
+national pride&mdash;speaking as the frog spoke who
+lived under half a coconut-shell, and thought
+the limits of his vision comprised the universe&mdash;now
+declares that the Nikko temples are incomparable.
+I cannot claim to have seen all the
+great buildings in the world, but I have visited
+some of the most famous, and I say with confidence
+that the Tâj at Agra is the most perfect
+triumph of the architect’s and builder’s skill in
+existence. I visited this tomb first by daylight,
+and it is difficult to give you any idea of the
+extraordinary effect the first sight of it produced
+on me. I drove in a wretched two-horse gharry,
+along a dusty and uninteresting road, until the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>
+rickety vehicle was pulled up with a jerk in
+front of a great red stone portal, and I got out.
+Through that lofty Gothic arch, and framed
+by it, appeared a vision of white loveliness, an
+amazing structure of dazzling marble, shooting
+towers and minarets into a clear, blue, cloudless
+sky.</p>
+
+<p>The Tâj&mdash;the Crown of Kings&mdash;stands on a
+raised terrace; it is a considerable distance from
+the gate, and the eye is led to it by a wide,
+straight path, bisecting a garden, which, at the
+first glance, seems a mass of dark green foliage.
+The garden is extensive, and shut in by a high
+wall. Just outside this wall, to right and left of
+the Tâj, are a palace and a mosque of deep red
+sandstone. More than that you cannot see, but
+the river Jumna flows under the rear wall of the
+raised terrace on which the Tâj stands.</p>
+
+<p>The marble monument, which contains the tombs
+of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal, is an enormous
+building, and represents seventeen years’ work of
+a force of twenty thousand men. But the design
+is so faultless, the proportions so perfect, the whole
+effect so exquisitely graceful, that, until you are
+close to the wide steps leading up to the terrace,
+and realise that men standing by the walls look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
+almost like flies, you are not struck by any sense
+of extraordinary size.</p>
+
+<p>The building itself is superb. The conception is
+absolutely unique, and the harmony of every part
+a crowning triumph; the splendour of material, the
+purity of that dazzling, unbroken whiteness&mdash;these
+are a joy and a delight.</p>
+
+<p>But the surroundings, the setting in which this
+jewel stands, are so marvellously well calculated
+to exactly frame the picture, that the whole scene
+seems a vision, unearthly in its beauty. When
+once that sensation passes, when one has gazed,
+and blinked, and rubbed one’s eyes, and compassed
+the reality of it all, one is profoundly impressed
+by the genius that could raise such a heavenly
+edifice, and one is proudly thankful to have lived
+that hour of life, to have felt the soul stir, and to
+carry away an imperishable memory of one of the
+noblest of human achievements.</p>
+
+<p>The main entrance is by a great arched door,
+bordered by Arabic characters in black marble
+let into the white wall. Pierced marble windows
+admit a dim and softened light to a lofty chamber.
+In the comparative gloom one slowly discerns a
+marble wall surrounding the centre space. The
+wall is inlaid with precious stones&mdash;jasper and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
+onyx, sardius and topaz, amethyst, chrysobel,
+and sapphire, set in floral designs. Within this
+enclosure are the white marble tombs of Shah
+Jahan and his wife.</p>
+
+<p>Last night the moon was full, and, an hour
+before midnight, I went and sat in that dark stone
+palace, and revelled in the beauty of a spectacle
+that cannot be equalled on earth. It is said that
+the palace was built for Royal ladies, and was
+specially designed to give them the most perfect
+view of the Tâj. There is an open stone verandah,
+over which I leaned and gazed in ecstasy at the
+scene. The dark trees of the garden spread from
+under the walls of the palace over a wide space
+of ground, and from them rose the incomparable
+Tâj; minarets, walls, and windows, blazing with
+silver sheen under the direct rays of the moon,
+softened in the half shadows, darkening to deep
+tones of grey on the river face. Slightly to the
+left of the Tâj, and as far beyond it as the Tâj
+was from me, stood the mosque, a splendid foil
+to the glittering radiance of the tomb. In the
+shadow, cast by the great mass of marble, rippled
+the shallow waters of the wide river. The rear
+walls of the building are on the edge of the bank,
+and beyond the Tâj the river stretches away in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
+a silver ribbon towards the city. In a line to the
+right of the Tâj, and distant about three miles,
+rises a dark hill, crowned by the Palace and
+Citadel of Agra. The enclosing walls and battlements,
+built of the same red sandstone, were
+scarcely distinguishable from the hill; but the
+moonlight caught the white marble buildings
+within, and innumerable lights twinkled from walls
+and windows.</p>
+
+<p>I must have been a long time in my solitude,
+intoxicated by the wonder of the night and the
+splendour of the scene, when I heard the strains
+of a violin, played with extraordinary skill. The
+music seemed familiar (for I had heard the songs
+of many Eastern lands), and, moreover, I became
+certain that the instrument was being played somewhere
+in the great building wherein I chanced
+to be. The sounds ceased, but presently the
+musician began a Persian dance which I recognised;
+and as the wild air leaped from the strings
+in quickening waves of sound, the devilry of the
+mad nautch seemed to possess me, and it became
+impossible not to beat time to the rhythm of the
+music. Again there was silence, and I wondered
+greatly who could make a violin throb with such
+feeling, and where the minstrel could be. Whilst<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
+still absorbed by these thoughts, and anxiously
+listening for the faintest sound, my ear caught
+the strains of an Arab love-song that I knew
+well enough, but had never heard played like
+this before, nor yet under such circumstances.
+The air was in the minor key, and was, I knew,
+played only on three strings, but it seemed to
+wail and shiver from the instrument out into the
+night, through the trees, across the bright lights
+and deep shadows, to mingle with the crooning of
+the river, to fill the atmosphere and soar towards
+the empyrean. It was like the song of a lark at
+the dawn of a day in spring. The power of the
+musician was such that Tâj and city, mosque and
+river and garden faded away, and I distinctly saw
+a narrow street in an Arab town. Flat-roofed
+buildings, pierced by a few small iron-barred windows,
+lined either side of a street, which rose in
+a gentle ascent till it twisted out of sight round
+a distant corner. A brilliant moon, shining in a
+cloudless sky, threw into white light the roofs on
+one side the street. But the houses on the other
+side cast a deep shadow, and in that shadow a
+man, with his back to me, was standing playing
+the three-stringed Arab <i>gambus</i>, and singing&mdash;singing
+as though for his life, in a low, sweet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
+voice&mdash;up to a barred window whence issued a
+ray of yellow light. I thought I could even
+understand the words of the passionate <i>serenata</i>,
+though I know almost as little of the Arabic as
+of the Patagonian tongue. It was the music, the
+angelic skill of the violinist, which had bewitched
+me, and I stood enthralled by that soul-entrancing
+melody.</p>
+
+<p>Before you write me down an emotional ass,
+remember where I was, and try to imagine
+what I saw, what I heard. I cannot expect to
+impress you with any true idea of either scene
+or song.</p>
+
+<p>While those yearning, thrilling, imploring waves
+of sound cried to the exquisite beauty of the
+night, I was spell-bound. But, in the silence
+that followed, I reasoned that the music came
+from above me, probably from the roof, and that
+I might well seek the author of it. I passed
+through a maze of passages, where light and
+shadow alternated, and, as I groped about to find
+a staircase, I was guided to my object by the
+strains of the violin, and a gleam of light which,
+striking through a narrow window, disclosed a
+winding stair.</p>
+
+<p>As I expected, the stairs led up to the roof, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
+I was not a little surprised by what I saw there.
+The head of the staircase was in a corner of the
+great flat space forming the roof, and a parapet,
+about thirty inches high, completely enclosed it,
+except for a flight of outside steps leading down
+to another and lower roof. The cement floor and
+surrounding parapet were so brilliantly lighted by
+the moon, that every inch unshadowed was as
+bright as day. Four people occupied the space,
+and my eye was first caught by a white-robed,
+dark-complexioned boy, who, leaning against the
+parapet, played a violin with closed eyes, his face
+set in an expression of dreamy rapture. At a
+little distance from him, but nearer to me, were
+a woman and two girls. The woman sat upon a
+quantity of silks spread over the parapet, while
+she leaned against a pile of cushions placed against
+a round stone column. I should say she was
+hardly twenty. Her skin was very fair, her complexion
+wonderfully clear, her hair black and abundant,
+her eyes large, dark, and liquid, while long
+curling lashes threw a shadow far down her cheeks.
+The eyebrows were strongly marked and slightly
+arched, like the artificial spur of a game-cock.
+Her nose was straight and rather small; her
+scarlet lips made a perfect Cupid’s bow, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
+upper lip was so short that it disclosed teeth of
+extreme regularity with a whiteness and sheen
+as of pearls. The chin was round, the face oval;
+the ears, hands, and feet very small, but beautifully
+formed. This woman, or girl, was clothed
+in silk skirts of a dull red, heavy with gold thread;
+she wore a jacket of white satin, embroidered with
+small red and gold flowers, and fastened by three
+diamond brooches. On her head, falling in graceful
+folds over her shoulders, was a dark gossamer
+veil, studded with tiny gold stars, and bordered
+by a wide hem of shining gold lace. In one hand
+she listlessly held a long spray of stephanotis.
+She seemed absorbed by the music, and the wonder
+of that soft white light, which so enhanced her
+loveliness that I stared in wide-eyed admiration,
+forgetful of Eastern customs, of politeness, and all
+else, save only that fascinating figure. At her
+feet, on the roof, sat two girls, attendants, both
+clad in bright-coloured silk garments, and both wearing
+gold-embroidered gossamer veils.</p>
+
+<p>Not one of the group seemed to notice my
+presence, and I heard no words exchanged.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>It was long past midnight; the violinist had
+excelled himself in pulse-stirring dances, in passionate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
+love-songs and laments that sounded like
+the sobbing of despairing hearts. I had gradually
+moved forward, and was leaning over the parapet
+looking towards Agra, and feeling that no moment
+of a night like this could be missed or forgotten,
+when suddenly I heard a sharp cry, half of surprise,
+half of dread. I turned and saw my four
+companions all gazing with startled eyes at something
+beyond me, out past the parapet, towards the
+glistening river. I turned again, and I now saw
+a white marble bridge stretching in a single graceful
+arch&mdash;an arch like a strung bow&mdash;springing
+from the centre of the back wall of the Tâj across
+the river, till it rested on the farther bank. There
+rose another Tâj! the exact duplicate of the one
+standing on the hither side of the stream, as white,
+as graceful, as perfect in all respects as its fellow.</p>
+
+<p>The roadway of the bridge was enclosed in a
+sort of long gallery, the sides of marble fretwork,
+with windows at intervals opening on to the river.
+The roof was formed of marble slabs. One could
+see the shining water through the perforated walls
+of the gallery; occasionally, where two opposite
+windows were open, there were glimpses of the
+distant lights, the palace, and the hill. The beautiful
+flat arch of that bridge, its graceful lines, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
+the airy lightness of the structure are unforgetable.
+Think of that bridge, that pure white bow of
+glistening stone, spanning the river’s width, and
+tying Tâj to Tâj!</p>
+
+<p>As I feasted my eyes, in wonder and admiration,
+on this alluring vision, a mist rose from the
+river, gathered volume and density, shut out the
+distance, enveloped bridge and river, bank and
+building, and hung in a thick white cloud, the
+ends creeping rapidly to right and left across the
+level plain. I looked upward; the moon was
+slowly sinking towards the west; it had a faint
+bluish tinge, a common effect at very late hours
+of the night, when it seems to shine with even
+greater brilliance.</p>
+
+<p>I turned to look for my companions, but found
+I was alone. There was not a sign of lady, or
+maid, or minstrel. They had disappeared, vanished
+without a sound; and, of their late presence, there
+was no sign&mdash;except the spray of stephanotis. It
+was strange, I thought, as I walked to the spot
+where the flower lay and picked it up, but one
+cannot be astonished at anything in the East.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>I felt a chill puff of wind, and I glanced back
+towards Agra. The mist was moving, rising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
+rapidly in wisps; it was thin and transparent, and
+I could indistinctly see the background through
+it. The marble bridge, the other Tâj&mdash;that second
+tomb Shah Jahan <em>meant</em> to build&mdash;were gone.
+Clearly my imagination, a mirage, or the mist
+had played me a trick. And then the girl, the
+violinist: were they also the phantoms of my
+brain? Surely that was impossible. Why, I
+can see the girl now; I could tell you every detail
+of her face, her figure, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pose</i>, and dress. The
+violinist could have been no spirit; though he
+played like an angel, his music was earthly, and
+perfectly familiar to me.</p>
+
+<p>I gave it up and went away, wondering; but
+I took the stephanotis, and it stands in front of
+me now in a tiny vase of water.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>To-day, in daylight, when the sun was high, and
+I had eaten and bandied commonplaces, and knew
+that I was sane, I went to find the old creature
+who keeps the gate of the garden of the Tâj. I
+asked him who was in the Red Palace late last
+night, and he said that not having been there himself
+he could not tell; moreover, that he did not
+turn night into day, but slept, like other respectable
+people. I felt snubbed but still curious, so I said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>“The boy who plays the violin, who is he?”</p>
+
+<p>“What boy? Where? How should I know?”
+he said, but he began to look rather startled.</p>
+
+<p>“On the roof of the Red Palace, over there,”
+I replied, pointing to the corner of the building
+visible from where we stood. “And the lady, the
+young lady in the beautiful clothes, who is she?”</p>
+
+<p>But the old man had started, and at mention
+of the girl he dropped the stick on which he
+leaned; and as he slowly and painfully recovered
+himself from the effort of picking it up, I heard
+him say, in an awe-struck whisper, “The <i>Devi!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>My attempts to extract anything further from
+this old fossil were futile. He hobbled off to his
+den, muttering to himself, and evidently anxious
+to be rid of my society.</p>
+
+<p>After this rebuff I hesitate to make further
+inquiries from others, because I know no one
+here; because the white people never concern
+themselves with native matters, and are mainly
+interested in gossip; and because I am conscious
+that my story invites doubt, and must rest on my
+word alone. It is not the personal ridicule I am
+afraid of, but I don’t like the idea of jest at the
+expense of the girl whom I saw on that parapet,
+the <i>Devi</i> whose stephanotis perfumes my room.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXIX" id="XXIX"></a><span class="line-height">XXIX</span><br />
+THE DEATH-CHAIN</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">WHEN last I wrote and told you about the
+<i>Devi</i>, I had a vague hope that my stephanotis
+would, indirectly, prove that the lovely girl,
+from whose hand it had fallen, gathered it in some
+heavenly garden, beyond mortal ken, where Death
+and Time are unknown.</p>
+
+<p>I did not like to say so, but I meant to keep the
+flower, and, if I had seen it fade and die, I should
+have been disappointed, perhaps even rather surprised.
+You will say such fantastic ideas can only
+come to people whose minds have been warped by
+contact with Oriental mysticism; and, while you
+are probably right, I reply that when you have a
+Tâj, when you have an atmosphere of sunshine unsoiled
+by coal-smoke, when, in fine, any really big
+miracle is wrought in your Western world, then <em>you</em>
+may see a <i>Devi</i> sitting in the moonlight, <em>you</em> may
+hear angelic music played by a boy unknown to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
+critics, and <em>you</em> may even weave romances round
+a spray of stephanotis.</p>
+
+<p>I guarded my flower carefully, and, for five days,
+I could not see that it showed any sign of fading.
+True I kept it in water, even when I was travelling;
+and, if it came from a heavenly garden, I
+dare say that care was altogether needless; but we
+are creatures of habit, and my Faith was not very
+robust, and leaned somewhat heavily on Hope. I
+had to leave Agra and journey through Rajputana.
+On the fifth day from that night, which I had
+almost said “was worth, of other nights, a hundred
+thousand million years,” I was in Jaipur, and
+from there I visited the glorious Palace of Amber.
+I restrain myself with difficulty from going into
+raptures over that ancient castle, which, for so
+many centuries, has stood on that distant hillside
+and watched its many masters come and go, while
+the ladies loved, and gossiped, and hated, in the
+Hall of a Thousand Delights, and the horsemen
+and spearmen went down from the gates to the
+dusty road, the seething plains, whence many of
+them never returned.</p>
+
+<p>I will spare you. You are long-suffering, but
+there must be a limit even to your patience. I
+know that <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">qui s’excuse s’accuse</i>, and I offer no excuse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
+for trying to draw for you the pictures that are
+only seen beyond beaten tracks. Ruskin has said,
+“The greatest thing the human soul ever does in
+this world is to <em>see</em> something, and tell what it <em>saw</em>
+in a plain way. Hundreds of people can talk for
+one who can think, but thousands can think for
+one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy,
+and religion all in one.” If thousands can
+think for one who can see, surely there must be
+still thousands who see and cannot tell “in a plain
+way” what they saw. There are millions whose
+eyes are to them only what animals’ eyes are&mdash;aids
+to the gratification of appetite. There are
+thousands more who do see and appreciate, yet
+cannot put what they have seen into words; cannot
+communicate their own feelings, cannot help another
+to share, even a little, in the joy that has come to
+them through greater opportunities. I have often
+wondered why people who have seen the most
+interesting places on earth, have been present perhaps
+on memorable occasions, and have met the
+most famous people of their time, showed, in their
+conversation, no sign of these advantages, and, if
+questioned, could only give the most disappointing,
+uninteresting description of any personal experiences.
+Then there are the very few who have seen, and can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
+help others to see again, through their eyes; but
+they seldom do it, because they have found that,
+with rare exceptions, the relation of their experiences
+is but little appreciated. Ruskin himself is
+one of the few who can see and can describe,
+but others may hesitate to string the plain words,
+knowing how little worthy they will be of what
+the eyes have seen.</p>
+
+<p>Some of this I may have been thinking, as I
+slowly made my way back to Jaipur; but, when I
+reached the house of my sojourn, almost the first
+thing I noticed was that the tiny vase which had
+carried my spray of stephanotis was empty of all
+but water. Of course I sent for everybody, and
+made minute inquiries, and, of course, every one
+had seen the flower, and no one had touched it,
+and I was left to draw any conclusion I pleased.</p>
+
+<p>I drew none. There are no data on which to
+come to a conclusion; but the facts remind me of
+a story I will tell you.</p>
+
+<p>I have an Italian friend. He is a very uncommon
+type, and worthy of far more attention
+than I will give him now, because, for the moment,
+I am concerned rather with his story than with
+him. He was in Egypt, and whilst there he discovered
+a buried city. Carefully and wisely he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
+kept his knowledge to himself, till, owing to an
+absence of some months, he lost all trace of the
+place, and never found it again. A sand-storm had
+buried it once more.</p>
+
+<p>The original discovery was purely the result of
+accident, and his first researches had to be conducted
+in secrecy, without assistance, otherwise
+the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">trouvaille</i> would have become public property.
+His explorations led him to a building that he
+believed was a tomb; and having, by laborious
+efforts, gained an entrance, he had the satisfaction
+of proving that his surmise was correct, and also
+the reward of finding in the chamber a single sarcophagus,
+containing a mummified girl, or woman, in
+wonderful preservation. He knew the common
+superstition that disaster would befall any one who
+disturbed a mummy; but he thought little of the
+tale, and did not mean to be deterred from removing
+the body when he should have the means to do so.
+Meanwhile he had to be content with what he could
+carry, and that consisted of a few coins, and a
+necklace which he unfastened from the lady’s poor
+shrivelled neck, or rather from the cere-cloths in
+which it was swathed.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps you have never seen one of these mummy
+necklaces; they are rather curious, and, from my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
+friend’s account of it, the one he found nearly resembled
+others which I have seen myself. The
+material seemed to be some kind of pottery, or
+opaque glass made into rough beads, and short
+lengths of small glazed piping, strung together in a
+quaint pattern. The prevailing colour was a sort
+of turquoise with an extra dash of green, and every
+bit of piping was so tinted; but, alternately with
+these blue lengths, were strung groups of round
+beads, in bunches of two to six or eight, or even
+more. By far the majority of the beads were
+turquoise-blue, but some were yellow, others brown,
+and a few almost black, and the arrangement was
+such that it could easily have been made to represent
+a string of words. The effect of the chain was
+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bizarre</i> but attractive, and it somewhat resembled
+the rosaries worn by devout Arabs. The intrinsic
+worth of the thing was <i>nil</i>, but sometimes one has
+a friend who will accept and value <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">un rien</i> like this,
+for the sake of the giver, when jewels would be
+declined. My Italian had such a friend, and the
+bauble found a new home on her neck.</p>
+
+<p>Not long after she had begun to wear the quaint
+little chain which had lain for so many centuries
+round the throat of the dead Egyptian, its new
+owner was distressed and alarmed by a persistent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
+form of nightmare, which gradually induced a feeling
+that she was haunted by the wraith of a dark-skinned
+girl, of a type of feature unlike any known
+to her, but clad in raiment such as she fancied
+had been worn by Egyptians in the days of the
+Pharaohs. The apparition was always clothed in
+the same manner, and though she wore a number
+of strangely fashioned ornaments, her neck was
+left completely bare. The girl seemed to be ever
+present in her dreams, and her face always wore a
+look of extreme distress, as of one who grieved for
+the loss of some dearly beloved friend or possession.
+The curious part of it was, that the dream-girl
+seemed always to come to the sleeper as to one
+from whom she could get relief; and while, in her
+earlier appearances, she had the expression and
+the manner of a supplicant, the dreamer fancied
+that latterly there had been a change, and the dark
+face looked both agonised and threatening.</p>
+
+<p>These visitations, which could not be ascribed
+to any reasonable cause, had so got on the lady’s
+nerves that she had gone for change to a villa on
+the coast of Normandy. The change of scene
+brought no relief. The haunting form of the
+Egyptian girl, though not a nightly visitor, was
+so constantly present, that the dread of seeing her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
+deprived sleep of all power of giving rest, and the
+poor lady was not only becoming seriously ill, but
+she was so affected by her uncanny infliction, that
+she even sometimes imagined she caught glimpses
+of her tormentor when she herself was wide awake.</p>
+
+<p>One afternoon, the lady was lying in a darkened
+room, the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">persiennes</i> closed to keep out the hot
+and penetrating rays of a summer sun. She felt
+very weary and despondent, the result of many
+broken nights and the prolonged strain on her
+nerves, and, though she held a book in her hand
+she was all the time wondering how much longer
+she could bear this oppression, and what she had
+done to deserve such a weirdly horrible fate. In a
+dull sort of way she supposed she must be going
+mad, and felt with grim cynicism that the border-land
+between sanity and insanity was so narrow
+that she would hardly realise the moment when she
+crossed it. There was absolute silence everywhere,
+except for the faint soothing whisper of the sea,
+rippling over the sand beneath the wooded bluff on
+which the villa stood. The air was warm and heavy
+with summer perfumes; the room was darkening
+slowly as the sun dipped towards the placid waters
+of La Manche; the woman was deadly weary, and
+she slept.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At first her sleep must have been sound; but,
+after a time, her eyes opened to that other consciousness
+which is of the world of dreams, and
+once again she saw her now dreaded companion,
+the dark-eyed, dark-skinned girl from the land of
+the Pharaohs. The girl seemed to plead in impassioned
+terms for something, but the dreamer
+could not understand the strange words, and racked
+her brain, as dreamers will, to try to imagine their
+meaning. The girl burst into a storm of tears,
+sinking to the ground in her grief and despair, and
+burying her face on a pile of cushions. Still the
+dreamer, suffering torture herself, was helpless to
+relieve the other. Then suddenly the girl sprang up,
+and, dashing the tears from her eyes, which now
+seemed to blaze with murderous resolve, she sprang
+upon the white woman, enlaced her throat with
+supple brown fingers, pressed and pressed, tighter
+and tighter&mdash;ah, God! the horror and the suffocating
+pain of it&mdash;and all the while the sleeper’s hands
+seemed tied to her side. Then with a scream the
+dreamer awoke. She felt her eyes must be starting
+from her head, and instinctively raised her hands
+to her throat, only to realise that her vivid sensation
+of strangulation was merely a nightmare, but that
+the chain&mdash;the string of turquoise beads which she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
+had never unfastened from the day she first put it
+on&mdash;was gone.</p>
+
+<p>There was now little light in the room, only
+enough to see things vaguely, yet the lady declares
+that in that first moment of waking she distinctly
+saw a figure, exactly like that of the girl of her
+dreams, glide swiftly away from her and pass out
+through a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">portière</i> into the verandah. For some
+time she was too frightened and unnerved to move,
+but when at last she summoned her people they
+had seen no one.</p>
+
+<p>The only thing that was real was that she had
+lost the necklace, and never saw it again. As some
+compensation she also lost for ever the society of
+her dream-visitor, and completely recovered her own
+health.</p>
+
+<p>Now who took my stephanotis?</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXX" id="XXX"></a><span class="line-height">XXX</span><br />
+SCANDAL AND BANGLES</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">FOR years I have not been so angry as I am
+at this minute; I have very nearly lost my
+temper, and the reason is really ridiculous. Why
+I should choose this as a favourable opportunity
+for writing to you I cannot tell, but my tormentor
+had no sooner left the room than I seized the pen,
+which is nearly always ready to my hand, and you
+are the victim. The cause of this unusual and unseemly
+frame of mind is a girl, quite a pretty girl,
+who walked in here, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">sans cérémonie</i>, and, after a
+few minutes’ desultory conversation, told me a preposterous
+piece of gossip about myself, a fantastic
+story in which there was not a grain of truth.</p>
+
+<p>“Who says that?” I asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Everybody says so.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then everybody is mistaken.”</p>
+
+<p>“Of course you deny it; but it is true, all the
+same.”</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p>
+<p>“It is not in the least true, and I am prepared
+to swear that in any form of oath.”</p>
+
+<p>“I dare say you are, but no one will believe
+you.”</p>
+
+<p>“Very well. Now what does your story rest
+upon?”</p>
+
+<p>“The evidence of people’s senses. Every one
+has seen you.”</p>
+
+<p>“I cannot deal with ‘every one,’ it is too indefinite.
+You say I went to some one’s house,&mdash;not
+that it would matter the least if I did,&mdash;but
+who saw me?”</p>
+
+<p>“I did.”</p>
+
+<p>“You did! I never was in the house in my
+life.”</p>
+
+<p>“Try to remember. I have seen you go in and
+also seen you come out of it.”</p>
+
+<p>“If it were not so stupid, one might almost get
+angry. I repeat that I have never been in the
+house, nor spoken to the owner.”</p>
+
+<p>“And I, having seen with my own eyes, maintain
+that you have.”</p>
+
+<p>“You have mistaken some one else for me, or
+drawn on your imagination, for what you say is
+absolutely untrue. But, as you seem to have constructed
+a fantastic story on that insecure foundation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>
+I have a good mind to charge you with
+defaming me.”</p>
+
+<p>“By all means, and I will go into court and say
+what I know and you know to be true.”</p>
+
+<p>Now, what can you do with a person like that?
+If I were the judge, trying my own cause and
+knowing there is not a semblance of a particle of
+truth in this absurd tale, I believe that if a witness
+appeared and gave evidence against me with this
+sublime assurance, I would decide the case against
+myself.</p>
+
+<p>The wasp has still a sting left; she says, “You
+sent your carriage to a lady, that she might drive
+in it?”</p>
+
+<p>“I did.”</p>
+
+<p>“And she sent it back.”</p>
+
+<p>“She did.”</p>
+
+<p>“She would not use it because of what I have
+told you, and she does not want to see or speak to
+you again!”</p>
+
+<p>I said I should not die of the affront, nor commit
+any rash act if the lady adhered to her determination;
+but I admit that, though I laughed, I was
+beginning to lose my temper, and I told my tormentor
+that if I could whip her it would be a satisfaction!
+She also laughed, but as I had seen that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
+she was brimful of merriment all along, that was
+nothing. By-and-by she disclosed that she wanted
+me to do something for her, and, when I had heaped
+coals of fire on her head by doing what she wished,
+she went away asking me if I had any message for
+the lady who had refused my carriage! I heard
+her laughing all the way downstairs, and, as she
+insisted on walking through the grounds to her
+carriage, I fancy I can hear her giggling still.</p>
+
+<p>I think I remarked once before that the train of
+another’s thoughts are not easy to divine, but explanations
+are boring, so I leave you to supply the
+connection between what I have just written and
+what now occurs to me to tell you. It is not only
+fowls and curses that come home to roost.</p>
+
+<p>Once upon a time there was a very beautiful and
+attractive lady, the wife of a high official in India.
+She was of those who have but one admirer at a
+time, and that one very devoted. Women of her
+type cannot share with any one else the attentions
+of their cavaliers; they insist upon a service that
+is complete and unquestioning, dog-like in devotion
+and obedience; and they do not seem to care if it is
+also dog-like in its inability to do more than gaze in
+rapture at the face of its mistress. I have known
+cases of the kind myself, and marvelled to see how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
+the lady and her slave can stand, and sit, and walk
+together, with no one to disturb their confidences,
+and yet they never seem to speak. As far as I can
+understand, that was the case with the heroine of my
+tale and her <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">cavaliere servente</i>. They were on the
+hills or in the plains&mdash;it does not matter where&mdash;when
+a native Prince appeared upon the scene. He
+was a delightful and fascinating person, but wicked
+beyond the dreams of wickedness. He stayed
+several months in the station, and when about to
+return to his own native state, he called upon an
+English friend of his and said, “I am going away;
+I speak English very indifferently; I wish to say
+good-bye to some of my friends: will you come with
+me?” The Englishman at once said he would be
+delighted, and they set out on a round of calls, the
+Prince saying where he wished to go. Amongst
+other houses they visited that of the engaging lady,
+and after a few words explaining his early departure
+and regret, the Prince produced a number of beautiful
+gold bangles, and said he trusted the lady
+would accept them as a token of his respectful
+admiration. This was duly interpreted, and the
+lady replied that as her husband held a Government
+post she could not accept any present. The Prince
+said he trusted that she would not persist in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>
+determination, because he was merely a visitor, and
+as the lady’s husband had no authority or influence
+in his territory, he could not believe that the
+ordinary rules would apply to a gift of such small
+value, which was merely an expression of his
+esteem and thanks for the kindness he had received.
+Meanwhile the bangles had been tendered to the
+lady; they had lain in her hand, and she appreciated
+their curious design and artistic excellence.</p>
+
+<p>“What shall I do?” said the lady, appealing to
+the Englishman.</p>
+
+<p>“What you please,” he replied.</p>
+
+<p>It is possible that it was out of consideration for
+the feelings of the donor that she then said&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>“My husband would never let me accept the
+bangles, but I should like to keep them if I knew
+that you would say nothing.”</p>
+
+<p>“Pray do not think of me,” said the friend; “I
+am an accident in the interview, and, when I leave
+the house, I shall have forgotten all about it.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then I shall keep them.”</p>
+
+<p>One evening, about a fortnight or three weeks
+later, the lady was dancing with the man who had
+interpreted, and he said, “Will you allow me to
+admire your bangles: they are not only beautiful in
+themselves but exceedingly becoming.”</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p>
+<p>“Yes,” she replied, “but the unfortunate part
+of it is that my husband thinks they have been
+given to me by some one else, and I can’t enlighten
+him, for I dare not tell the truth!”</p>
+
+<p><i>P.S.</i>&mdash;The lady who refused to use my carriage
+has just sent me an invitation to dinner!</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXXI" id="XXXI"></a><span class="line-height">XXXI</span><br />
+THE REPREHENSIBLE HABIT OF MAKING COMPARISONS</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">I AM not given to the use of postscripts, but I
+indulged myself with one in the last letter I
+wrote to you. It reminds me of the only <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">bon mot</i>
+to which I can lay claim. When I was about six
+years old, my mother and I were visiting an aunt
+of mine, and, one evening, my mother read aloud
+to my aunt a letter she had just received. It was
+lengthy, and no doubt interesting to the two ladies,
+while the contents were probably beyond my comprehension.
+“Little pigs have long ears,” and I
+noticed that, at the conclusion of the letter, my
+mother read “<em>P.S.</em>,” and then some final sentences.
+Immediately afterwards I was ordered to bed, and,
+once there, my mother came to see me. My small
+mind was full of this new idea, and I was thirsting
+for information as to the meaning of these mysterious
+letters. Therefore, when my mother had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
+bid me good night and was going away, I said,
+“Mother, what does <em>P.S.</em> mean; is it Parting Subject?”
+She smiled and said, “No, the letters
+stand for <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">post scriptum</i>, but the meaning is not very
+different.” She afterwards helped me to wrestle
+with the Latin grammar, and in time I arrived at
+the exact translation of <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">post scriptum</i>, but my
+childish rendering of <em>P.S.</em> would do just as well. I
+was made to bitterly regret having ever suggested
+it; for, when my proud mother told the story, my
+various brothers and sisters, separately and collectively,
+insisted that some one had told me to say
+it, and I am not sure that they did not, each in
+turn, give me a thrashing to impress upon me
+the vice of “trying to be sharp.” When children
+have brothers and sisters, their schooling begins
+early and lasts a long time&mdash;fortunately for themselves
+and the world at large.</p>
+
+<p>That, however, has nothing to do with the matter
+I was going to write about. I suppose you sometimes
+look through those galleries of garments
+which begin and end ladies’ journals, just as I
+occasionally glance at the advertisements of new
+books, which I find at the end of a modern novel.
+The other day I was idly turning over the pages of
+such a series of advertisements (each page devoted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
+to one book, and quotations from the newspaper
+reviews of it), and I could not help noticing how, in
+the case of every book, if not in every <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">critique</i>, the
+author was compared with some well-known writer&mdash;Dickens,
+Thackeray, George Meredith, Zola, Ibsen,
+De Maupassant&mdash;it does not seem to matter who it
+is, so long as it is some one. As for Mr. Rudyard
+Kipling, a writer who mentions India, China, Japan,
+Siam, the French or Dutch Indies, or any place
+within two or three thousand miles of them, is
+certain to find himself compared with the astonishingly
+talented author of “Soldiers Three,” “The
+Drums of the Fore and Aft,” and a dozen other tales
+that had made Mr. Kipling famous in India years
+before his name had been heard in the West.</p>
+
+<p>I know that whenever we visit a new place, we
+have a ridiculous desire to compare it with some
+totally different spot that is familiar to us; and I
+suppose we make the comparison, either because
+we want to show that we have been somewhere and
+seen something, or because we are so devoid of
+ideas or language to express them, that this comparison
+is our only means of description. Like
+London, only bigger; Petersburg in winter, but not
+so cold; bluer than the Mediterranean, and so on.
+It seems to imply poverty of resource; but if to help<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>
+readers to realise the appearance of a spot in New
+Zealand, that place is compared with the Carse of
+Stirling, the information is not of much use to those
+who do not know their Scotland.</p>
+
+<p>Is it the same with literary critics? Hardly, I
+fancy; because even though they write easily of
+Lake Toba, the Thibetan highlands, or more or less
+known writers, it can’t give them any real satisfaction,
+for their own names are but seldom disclosed.</p>
+
+<p>Enlightened people who attend places of Christian
+worship, often wish that the occupant of the pulpit
+would read a sermon by some great divine, rather
+than stumble through an original discourse, which
+possibly arouses only the scorn, the resentment, or
+the pity of his hearers. The preacher who is conscious
+of his own want of eloquence, or realises that
+the spring of his ideas trickles in the thinnest and
+most uncertain of streams, may seek to improve his
+language, or replenish his own exhausted stock of
+subjects, by studying the sermons of abler men. I
+doubt if he is greatly to be blamed. Some illustrious
+writers have won renown after a diligent study of
+the works of dead authors, and a suggestion of the
+style of a famous master may be observable in the
+work of his admirer; just as a modern painter may,
+consciously or unconsciously, follow the methods,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
+the composition, or the colour schemes of a genius
+who has given his name to a school of imitators.
+It would, however, be a little unreasonable to compare
+all play-writers with Shakespeare, all essayists
+with Macaulay. If there is nothing new under the
+sun, two or more men or women, contemporaries,
+may have the same ideas on a given subject without
+either being open to a charge of plagiarism. They
+may express the same ideas differently, or put
+different ideas in somewhat the same style of language:
+both may have drawn inspiration from a
+more or less original source, not generally known
+or quoted&mdash;in all these cases comparisons may be,
+and often are, simply inept. Some subjects are not
+yet entirely exhausted, and while it is interesting to
+compare the different views of recognised authorities,
+it is annoying to both writers and readers to find
+that the highest flight of criticism of a new work
+seems often to consist in mentioning the names of
+other writers on the same subject&mdash;as though it
+were, in a sense, their personal property, or they
+had some vested interest in it, by reason of discovery
+or continual harping on that particular theme. I
+suppose reviewers, except in a few instances, have
+no time to really read the books they criticise, and
+judge them on their merits; but, if they could, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
+would be more satisfactory to possible readers, who,
+as things are, can form very little opinion of what
+a book contains, its relative value or worthlessness,
+from statements like this, which purports to be an
+extract from a review in a leading London paper:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>“The opening chapters have a savour of Dickens; the
+climax is almost Zolaesque.”</p></div>
+
+<p>Or this:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+
+<p>“The knowledge of character revealed reminds us of
+George Eliot’s ‘Scenes of Clerical Life.’”</p></div>
+
+<p>You will think that one who wanders from an
+infantile legend about the word <em>postscript</em> to a growl
+anent newspaper reviews, is indifferently qualified
+to criticise any one or anything. As a letter-writer
+I acknowledge that I am inconsequent. I do not
+even seek to be otherwise.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXXII" id="XXXII"></a><span class="line-height">XXXII</span><br />
+A CHALLENGE</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">OH! Oh! Oh! What a storm! But are
+you not a little unreasonable?</p>
+
+<p>You are not a circulating library, you say, nor
+a railway book-stall; you don’t want to hear tales
+of forest and flood which have no personal interest
+for you or me; and you cannot carry on a correspondence
+with a phrase-book, a thing that has no
+existence as a human being, and, when not lecturing
+you, or taking advantage of your good-nature
+to air boring platitudes, is doling out little stories
+to you, as though you were a child in a Sunday
+School.</p>
+
+<p>My dear lady, I hope that you feel better after
+that tirade; but as you have attacked me with
+violence, and at all points at once, I claim the right
+to defend myself, and again I say you are unreasonable.
+We were never strangers to each other, or
+so it seems to me, but circumstances and a certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>
+mental attraction drew us into friendship. In the
+delight of your society I realised what it would be
+to me if, through that friendship, I might win your
+affection. I even dreamed that I might compel the
+impossible, and attain to an earthly paradise of sweet
+alliance whence no mortal promises and no inspired
+writings could ever win me.</p>
+
+<p>Whilst we dream of life’s big possibilities, its
+little duties drive us where they will. We were
+parted, and, if I do not now remind you of that
+time, it is because I know that there are few things
+a woman hates more than to be told she once, by
+word or deed, showed any tender feeling for a man
+who no longer holds the same place in her regard.
+You went and I stayed; you spoke and I believed;
+and what I did not say was only what you told me
+not to repeat, lest parting should seem over-hard
+to bear. Then I wrote and you wrote, and, at first,
+your letters were so fine a gift that they almost
+consoled me for your absence, and, in my great
+gratitude, I wrote some of the thoughts of my
+inmost heart. My fervour seemed to frighten you,
+and the chill of your surroundings came through
+your letters to me. It may have been the fault of
+those about you; it may have been that you were
+tried beyond endurance, possibly even that I, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>
+some indirect way, was a cause of your distress.
+But you never said so; you never took me into
+your confidence and frankly told me you were in
+any trouble; only your letters went through those
+phases which I, once, cynically suggested were the
+common fate of those whose friendship could not
+survive a real separation. I was too slow to at
+once trim my sails to the varying breeze, nor could
+I call back letters which were already on their way.
+Therefore I fell under your displeasure, and you
+ordered me to write only of “the daily round, the
+common task.” I obeyed you, as nearly as I was
+able. When you asked me to tell you of what I
+saw, of what I was doing, I attempted to do so, and
+to make the telling as little personal as I could.
+To weary you with the trivialities of my daily life,
+to describe to you the wearisome people I met,
+the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">banalités</i> they uttered&mdash;that was beyond me.
+Therefore, to try and interest you, I gave you the
+best of what had interested me, and even that was
+only done with some sacrifice, for you know my
+time is not all my own. Naturally those letters
+were empty of personal reference. To have written
+of myself would have been to write of you, and
+that might have brought down on my head another
+storm of invective. I am in the position of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
+burnt child: I dread the fire. Even now I dare not
+accept your invitation. I might write, and, before
+the letter could reach you, receive from you another
+missive, telling me your present letter was written
+under an impulse you regret but cannot explain,
+and that of course it meant nothing. You would
+add that you delight in the discussion of abstract
+questions, and queer little stories are, to you, as
+rain to dry land. Then I can imagine the sternly
+traced characters of that other destroying scroll,
+in which you would sum up the tale of my sins,
+after reading such a letter as I might send in answer
+to your present message of discontent and provocation.
+So, I warn you. I shall give you time to
+think; in spite of your scoffing, I shall continue to
+write to you as I have done in these latter days;
+and then&mdash;and then&mdash;your blood be on your own
+head. If the outward cold of damp and fog, of
+weeks of sunless gloom and surroundings of rain-drenched
+rows of hideous dwellings, muddy roads,
+sullen skies, and leaden seas produce what you no
+doubt think is a virtuous frame of mind, when the
+state of the crops and the troubles of the farmers
+are the only matters with which a conscience-burdened
+woman can occupy her mind, I shall
+pander to your appetite, and write to you of famine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
+and plague, the prospects of the poppy (the opium
+poppy, you understand) and I will even stretch a
+point to discuss the silver question and the fate of
+the rupee. If, on the other hand, you throw discretion
+to the winds; if in that atmosphere where you
+say you are always frozen, “outside and in,” you
+pine for a glimpse of sunlight; if you like to watch
+a conflagration when at a safe distance from the
+flames, or even if the contortions of the cockchafer,
+when impaled by the pin, excite your amusement;&mdash;then
+also I will help you to realise these very
+reasonable wishes. Yes, then I will write you a
+love-letter that will be but a poor substitute for
+the impassioned words that should stir your heart,
+were once my lips within reach of yours.</p>
+
+<p>Even from here I see you smile; even now I
+hear you say, “Well, write&mdash;after all vivisection
+has benefited the race, and the contortions of the
+cockchafer will perhaps distract one’s attention for
+a moment from the eternal monotony of the narrow
+life.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXXIII" id="XXXIII"></a><span class="line-height">XXXIII</span><br />
+IN EXILE</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">IN order that I may keep on perfectly safe ground,
+and successfully resist the temptation to depart
+from my resolve, I will tell you a story of my visit
+to Burmah, where, wandering aimlessly, I found
+an old friend in a distinguished Indian civilian, who
+invited me to accompany him on a tour of inspection.
+I gladly accepted his invitation, and we had
+been travelling for some time, driving, riding, walking,
+and, finally, after rafting over a magnificent
+series of rapids, had been some days paddling down
+the river in house-boats, when we reached a remote
+inland station called Phatmah. I caught my first
+view of the place as our boat swung round a bend in
+the great river, disclosing a reach of brown water,
+enclosed between high, jungle-covered banks, and
+shut in, at the end, by a green hill, crowned by a
+plank bungalow with a mat roof.</p>
+
+<p>The boat was soon alongside the rough landing-stage,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
+where a young civilian, introduced as Basset,
+was waiting to receive his chief. We climbed the
+steep hill, and Basset conducted us to the house
+devoted to our shelter for the couple of days we
+were to spend at Phatmah.</p>
+
+<p>In my two days’ stay there, I had ample opportunities
+of seeing the place, and realising its few
+attractions and its many drawbacks. There was
+a tiny native village on the bank of one of the
+two streams that here united in one great river, and
+flowed in stately, ever-widening progress for over
+two hundred miles before it reached the sea: two
+hundred miles of virgin forest, save for the native
+villages and clearings that lined the banks at uncertain
+intervals. A few jungle tracks leading to
+distant mines were the only apology for roads; the
+river was the real highway, and the sole means of
+transport were native boats. Comfortable enough,
+these boats, for men used to jungle travel; flat
+and wide, with a palm-leaf roof, the fore-part occupied
+by the crew, the after-part by passengers.
+There was a deck of boards or split bamboos, and
+you could only move about it by crawling on your
+hands and knees. Entrance and exit were accomplished
+by the same means. A door, at the back
+of the enclosed after-deck, led on to a bamboo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
+frame over the rudder; the steersman sat on the
+palm-leaf awning, and the only privacy was obtained
+by hanging a screen between crew and
+passengers. There was room for two mattresses
+on the after-deck, and there the passengers sat or
+lay through the blazing heat of the tropical day
+and the star-lit stillness of the Burmese night.</p>
+
+<p>At this station there dwelt, besides Basset, an
+officer of police, another concerned with public
+works, and an apothecary in charge of a hospital.
+That was all. Their quarters were dotted about
+on the high land behind Basset’s bungalow. For
+the rest, the eye was met by jungle&mdash;near and far&mdash;endless
+jungle, and the river-reach. Silent and
+placid the waters, moving along in brown eddies,
+when, as now, the river was in flood; clear and
+shallow, disclosing groups of rocks dotted about the
+bed, in what was called the dry season.</p>
+
+<p>At the time of our visit it was spring, and the
+jungle, especially in certain parts of the mountainous
+country, was a truly marvellous sight. The forest
+had put on its wedding garment, and the new leaves
+of many, even of most of the trees, were dazzling
+in the brilliance of their colouring. The prevailing
+hues were red and yellow; but then there were
+shades of red and of yellow that one never seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
+to have dreamed of, such quantity, such intensity
+that the eyes almost ached with gazing at the glory
+of it all.</p>
+
+<p>One is struck, especially in the East, by the wonder
+of flowering trees, or the striking creepers that cling
+to the tops of forest giants; but imagine these
+same trees in all their height, their wealth of foliage,
+and beauty of form, one mass of colour! There
+were trees of delicate lemon, of brilliant cadmium,
+of deepest orange; trees of such crimson that every
+leaf looked as though it were dripping with fresh
+blood; trees of copper and pale pink, of terra-cotta
+and scarlet&mdash;all these in one pure colour, or intermingled
+with every shade of green from palest apple,
+through varying tones of emerald, to the shining
+dark leaves that seemed all but black. Dotted
+about, here and there, stood trees of some shade of
+brown, or graceful forms clothed in darker or paler
+heliotrope. The virgin Eastern forest is a sight to
+see, but the glory of the jungle in the first freshness
+of spring leafage is a revelation.</p>
+
+<p>That jungle was one of the attractions of Phatmah;&mdash;not
+monopolised by Phatmah, only shared, and
+not to so large an extent as by a thousand other
+places nearer the great hills.</p>
+
+<p>Then there was the river reach, where all day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
+long the shadows crept gradually closer under one
+bank as they were projected from the other; while
+now and then a native boat passed up or down
+the river, and, for a few minutes, broke the melancholy
+of that changeless stretch of water. The
+sunsets made the last, and perhaps the greatest
+attraction of Phatmah. Then, in the after-glow,
+great beams of light would rise, fan-like, from east
+and west, almost meeting in the zenith, and leave,
+between their rays, sharply-defined, heavenly roads
+of deepest blue; while the soft white clouds, riding
+through the sky, took shades of gold and rose and
+pearly-grey, until the stars shone out and set all
+the cicadas shrilling a chorus to waken every other
+denizen of the jungle.</p>
+
+<p>Sunsets cannot be commanded; they are intermittent,
+and, though they are comforting&mdash;in a
+way&mdash;they do not always come when they are most
+wanted. In Phatmah it would rain in torrents on
+the evening that you had set your heart upon seeing
+a gorgeous sunset, and, when it did not rain, it
+was hotter than in almost any other spot in Burmah,
+and that is saying a great deal. Moreover, it was as
+dull probably as any place on earth, except to the
+three white men who lived there and had their work
+to do, or whose business took them, weekly, or at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
+least monthly, into some other more or less desolate
+part of the district.</p>
+
+<p>I noted these things in that first day I was at
+Phatmah, while my friend and Basset were talking
+about roads to be made and buildings constructed,
+natives to be encouraged or sat upon, dacoits harried,
+and all the things that make the life of the exiled
+English officer in the outermost parts of the Empire.
+I also observed Basset. I knew he had a wife, a girl
+whom he had just married, when at home on leave
+in England, and who was now in that house, across
+the grass, a hundred yards away. I had not seen
+Basset’s wife, but I had heard of her from some
+who had met her, before she left the last confines
+of civilisation and started for what must in future
+be her home. What I had heard made it seem
+unlikely that Mrs. Basset would reconcile herself
+to jungle life, and, when I understood Phatmah,
+I thought it would be very surprising if such
+a miracle could be wrought for the sake of
+Basset.</p>
+
+<p>Basset was a most excellent fellow, a good officer,
+good to look at, lithe and well-made, a man who
+had found favour with his seniors and was likely
+to do well. He was young, but that was a fault for
+which he was not responsible, and one that every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>
+day was curing. And yet, when I saw Phatmah,
+I thought Basset had been unwise, and when I
+saw his wife, as I did the next day, I felt certain
+of it.</p>
+
+<p>I had been told she was very young in years and
+child-like at that, nervous to the last degree, selfish,
+unreasonable, full of fancies, and rather pretty&mdash;but
+the one or two ladies who were my informants
+differed as to this last important particular.</p>
+
+<p>What I saw for myself, when I went to call upon
+“the only lady in Phatmah,” was this: a glory
+of fair waving hair framing a young, but not very
+youthful face; a pallid complexion, and features
+where nothing specially appealed for admiration; a
+voice that was not more than pleasant, and a figure
+that, while very <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">petite</i>, seemed well enough shapen,
+as far as could be seen under the garment of silk
+and lace that must have been the first of its kind
+to visit Phatmah. The house did not strike me as
+showing more than the evidences of a young man’s
+anxiety to make it what he would call “fit for a
+lady”; but then the resources of Phatmah were
+strictly limited, the Bassets had only just, so to
+speak, arrived, and things entrusted to the tender
+mercies of river transport were often months upon
+the way. On the whole there was nothing about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
+Mrs. Basset to excite either sympathy or interest,
+if you had met her in any civilised place; but as
+the only white woman in Phatmah, come here to
+gain her first real experiences of life, scared by
+frogs and lizards, and terrified by the many insects
+that fly straight at you and stick on your hair, your
+face, your clothes, one could not help feeling that
+the experiment, if not a cruel one to her, was at
+least thoughtless, and, if persisted in, might end
+in disaster.</p>
+
+<p>My friend and I exerted ourselves that afternoon
+and evening (for the Bassets dined with us) to
+put as good a complexion as we could on Burmah
+in general and Phatmah in particular; and though,
+to the ordinary spectator, we might have appeared
+to succeed fairly well, I carried away with me
+vague suspicions, born of my own observation and
+the conversation I had had with the lady as we
+sat and looked over that jungle-shrouded river-reach,
+while the path to the stars grew an ever-deepening
+blue, and she told me somewhat of herself
+and her life. There was no doubt that she not
+only <em>looked</em> dissatisfied, but felt it, and said it,
+and took credit for her candour. Then she complained
+that Phatmah offered no opportunities for
+“getting into mischief,” but that was probably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
+merely another way of saying that she was utterly
+bored; and, in truth, when she asked if I could
+conceive a greater dulness, the trite reply that she
+had her husband stuck in my throat, and I admitted
+that it was immeasurably dull, but talked
+cheerfully of what it would be when communication
+with the outside world was easier, and then fell
+to asking her if she read, or played, or sang, or
+sketched, as Phatmah seemed to be the very place
+for study, or the practice of accomplishments. She
+pleaded that she was too lately from school to
+hanker after study, but became almost enthusiastic
+on the subject of music.</p>
+
+<p>Then our <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> was interrupted, and in the
+evening the only thing that struck me was that,
+for a girl so lately from school, our guest drank
+rather more in quantity and variety than was usual,
+and whenever in the after-days my thoughts went
+back to Phatmah, I remembered this with an uncomfortable
+feeling of the awful loneliness of that
+reach of brown river, the boundless forest, and the
+girl, left for days to her own devices, and the
+possibility of “getting into mischief” by drowning
+a craving, not for excitement so much as for the
+companionship of her kind.</p>
+
+<p>A hundred miles below Phatmah the river wound<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
+through the plains in long reaches, six or seven
+miles in length; the country was more open, and
+the banks were occasionally fringed with palms and
+orchards surrounding the huts of a native hamlet.
+The moon was waxing to the full, and, sitting at
+the stern of my boat, looking back up the long
+stretch of water bathed in mellow light, till the wide
+band of silver narrowed to a point that vanished
+in grey mist, I could not help thinking that, even
+here, the sense of loneliness, of monotony, and
+banishment, was less acute than in Phatmah’s forest-bound
+clearing.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p>Years passed, and I was again in Burmah, this
+time with an object. I had forgotten all about the
+Bassets: one does not remember people who live
+in the East, only the places that are striking, and
+the things seen or heard of that may become profitable
+in one way or another. I thought of my
+friend, because he might be able to help me, but he
+was away in another part of the province and I had
+to journey alone. Officials are useful on their own
+ground, and even when they are not personal friends,
+they are, in the East at any rate, ready enough to
+be hospitable. The advantage of “entertaining
+angels unawares” is, however, all on their side, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
+guests so soon recognise this fact, that they feel
+under no obligation to their hosts, and seldom wish
+to remember them if they meet them in Europe.
+This is specially the case with English notabilities,
+who seem to think that they have a prescriptive
+right, not only to waste a man’s time, but also to
+use his house, stables, and servants, as at an hotel
+where the visitor exercises every privilege except
+that of making payment. Unfortunately for me, I
+had to go beyond the region of even occasional
+civilians, those isolated exiles whose houses the
+stranger occupies, whether the master is present or
+absent, and for some days I had to put up with the
+Dâk Bungalow and the chicken of happy despatch.</p>
+
+<p>It was the very hottest time of the morning when
+I arrived at such a bungalow in a small mining
+village. I had been riding since dawn, and was
+glad enough to turn into that weedy compound and
+get off my pony. Whew! the heat of it! The
+two or three sinewy hens, which by-and-by would
+be slaughtered to make the traveller’s holiday,
+were sitting half-buried and wallowing in the dust,
+with their wings spread out and their mouths open,
+gasping for breath. It was a day when solids
+liquefy, when inanimate objects develop an extraordinary
+faculty for sticking to each other, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
+when water no longer feels wet. There was not
+a sign of any human being anywhere, and I went
+round to the back premises to try and find the caretaker.
+After a diligent search I discovered him,
+fast asleep of course, and, while he went to prepare
+a room, I unsaddled the pony and put it in the
+stable. Then I went into the house and told the
+servant to get me some food while I had a bath.
+The process of catching the hen and cooking her
+was a long one, and I was sleeping in a chair when
+the man came to tell me the feast was ready. I
+had an idea that I was not alone in the house, and,
+when I questioned the caretaker, he said that there
+was a lady who had arrived the night before and
+had not appeared that morning. Our means of
+conversation was limited to a few words, and I
+could not make out who the lady was, or even
+whether he knew her; but it seemed to me a curious
+thing that a white woman should be there, and I
+supposed she came from one of the big ruby mines;
+but even then it was strange that she should be
+alone. I made further inquiries about the neighbourhood,
+and learned that I was not more than a
+day’s journey from Phatmah. I knew it was somewhere
+about, but had not thought it so near; it
+was not on the line of my objective, and I was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
+interested in its exact position. Then some of my
+bearers arrived with luggage, and I deliberately
+settled myself for a siesta.</p>
+
+<p>It was late afternoon when I awoke, and I determined
+to push on to another small place, which I
+could just reach before darkness made further progress
+impossible. Even a short stage by night
+would be preferable to the frightful heat and the
+oppressive atmosphere of this lonely house, in its
+neglected and overgrown garden, where one lean
+chicken now scratched alone. Just then the caretaker
+came to me and asked my advice about the
+other guest. He had seen and heard nothing of
+her for the whole day, and was afraid there must
+be something amiss. That, I felt, was extremely
+likely, especially when he told me he had knocked
+at the door of her room and received no answer. I
+did not at all like the mission, but there was nothing
+for it but to go and see what was the matter. A
+few steps took us to the door of the lady’s room, and
+I knocked, first gently, then loudly, but no sound
+broke the ominous silence. Then I turned the
+handle, only to find that the door was locked. As I
+could not force it open without making a great
+clatter, I went outside to try the windows. There
+were two of these some height from the ground, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>
+it was difficult to get at them. The first was fast,
+and from my insecure footing I could not force it;
+but with the second I was more fortunate, and as a
+half-shutter sprang open, and a stream of light
+poured into the dark room, I saw the form of a girl,
+or woman, lying on the bed, in an attitude that somehow
+did not suggest sleep. I shouted at her, but she
+never moved, and then I climbed into the room. I
+noticed instantly that there was hardly anything
+lying about the ill-furnished room, but, on a small
+table near the bed, was an almost empty brandy
+bottle and a glass. The woman was dressed in a
+blouse and skirt, the only things she had taken off
+being apparently her hat and shoes. She had her
+back towards me, and the sunlight centred on a mass
+of fair hair and gave it a deeper tinge. Before I put
+my hand on her cold fingers I felt certain she was
+dead, and as I gently turned her head and recognised
+in the now grey features the face of the only white
+woman in Phatmah, I don’t think I was very much
+surprised, though I was terribly shocked. Held
+tightly in her other hand was a small empty bottle
+that had once held chloral, and the faint sickly smell
+of it hung in the heavy stifling atmosphere of that
+bare and comfortless room. Poor lonely child, she
+had managed to “get into mischief” after all.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXXIV" id="XXXIV"></a><span class="line-height">XXXIV</span><br />
+OF LOVE&mdash;NOT IN FICTION</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">YOU have sent me the answer which I expected.
+Now tell me how to write a love-letter that
+shall speak no word of love&mdash;a letter as full of
+the passion, the boundless adoration, and the
+faith of love, as the Chaurapanchâsika, those fifty
+distichs of Chauras that proclaimed his forbidden
+worship of the lovely daughter of King Sundava.
+The Brahman’s lament won the king’s heart and
+saved the poet’s life; and I would learn of you
+how to win a heart, and perhaps save more than
+one life from shipwreck. After all, our civilisation
+may, in its comparative refinement, be more cruel
+than the unfettered caprice of an Eastern king
+nineteen centuries ago. Tell me, tell me, you who
+know, how can pen and ink be made to speak
+with the force and persuasion of spoken words,
+when half the world divides the writer from the
+reader of poor halting sentences that must, of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
+necessity, leave unsaid all that the heart yearns
+to utter?</p>
+
+<p>When eye can look into eye, when the stretched-out
+hand meets a responsive touch,&mdash;timid and
+uncertain, or confident with the knowledge of
+passionate love passionately returned,&mdash;the words
+that are spoken may be feeble, but the influence
+of a loved presence will carry conviction, and
+one voice awaken in one heart the music of the
+spheres. Then the dullest day is bright, the
+lovers’ feet tread on air, day is a joy and night a
+gladness, or at least a dream of delight. Then
+life is divided between anticipation and reality.
+No wonder the hours fly on wings; no wonder the
+thoughts suggested by brief absences are forgotten
+in the wonder and delight of briefer meetings, till
+the dread moment of separation comes, and aching
+hearts too late realise the appalling suddenness of
+the actual parting and the ceaseless regret for opportunities
+lost. You understand that my thoughts
+are not of the devout lover who is going through a
+short apprenticeship before signing a bond of perpetual
+servitude or partnership, as the case may be.
+That is a phase which, if it occasionally deserves
+sympathy, seldom receives it; indeed, it hardly
+awakens interest, except in those who wish to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
+the preliminaries concluded, that their interest in the
+principals may either cease, and give themselves
+more freedom, or begin, and bring them some profit.
+I appeal to you to tell me how to keep alive the
+divine flame when oceans and continents divide two
+loving hearts; how to tell of longing and bitter
+regret, of faith and love and worship, when such
+words may not be written; how to make personal
+influence felt across five seas and through many
+weary months; how to kill doubt and keep strong
+and faithful a priceless love, against which the stars
+in their courses may seem ready to fight; how, above
+all, to help one who needs help, and warm sympathy,
+and wise advice, so that, if it be possible, she may
+escape some of life’s misery and win some of
+life’s joy.</p>
+
+<p>Journeying through this weary old world, who
+has not met the poor struggling mortal, man or
+woman, old or young, for whom the weal or woe of
+life hangs in the balance, to turn one way or the
+other, when the slightest weight is cast into either
+scale? Who has not been asked for sympathy or
+advice, or simply to lend an ear to the voice of a
+hopeless complaint? Some feel the iron in their
+souls far more keenly than others. While the strong
+fight, the weak succumb, and the shallow do not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
+greatly mind, after they have gone through a short
+torture of what seems to them profound emotion.
+But in their case sympathy is rather wasted, for,
+however violent their grief, their tears are soon
+dried, and it must have been written for them that
+“joy cometh with the morning.”</p>
+
+<p>You know what it is when the heart seems to
+struggle for more freedom, because it is choking
+with a love it may not, or will not, express; when,
+in the absence of one face, all other companionship
+is irksome, all conversation stale and unprofitable;
+when daylight wearies and night is cruelly welcome,
+because the struggle to play a part, and
+pretend an interest one does not feel, is over,
+and one stretches out one’s arms to the darkness,
+and whispers, “Come to me,” to ears that cannot
+hear. What strange unnatural creatures we are,
+for we stifle the voices of our souls, and seem to
+delight in torturing ourselves for the sake of some
+idea born of a tradition, the value of which we
+dare not even submit to the test of argument. If
+in response to your heart’s cry there came the one
+whose presence you desire, you would instantly
+torture yourself rather than confess your message.
+Whatever it cost you, you would not only pretend
+that the sudden appearance of the greatly beloved<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>
+was the last thing you wished for, but you might
+even send him away with the impression that he
+had deeply offended you. And yet&mdash;Ah well! this
+artificial fortress we take such pains to build, and to
+keep in repair, is not proof against every assault.
+There are crises of life&mdash;an imminent danger, the
+presence or appearance of death, a sudden and
+irresistible wave of passionate feeling, or a separation
+that has no promise of reunion&mdash;before these
+the carefully constructed rampart of convention and
+outward seeming goes down like a house of cards.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“When a beloved hand is laid in ours,</div>
+<div class="verse1">When, jaded by the rush and glare</div>
+<div class="verse1">Of the interminable hours,</div>
+<div class="verse1">Our eyes within another’s eyes see clear;</div>
+<div class="verse1">When one world-deafened ear</div>
+<div class="verse1">Is by the tones of a loved voice caressed,</div>
+<div class="verse1">A bolt is shot back somewhere in the heart,</div>
+<div class="verse1">And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again;</div>
+<div class="verse1">The eye sinks inward and the heart lies plain,</div>
+<div class="verse1">And what we mean we say,</div>
+<div class="verse1">And what we would we know.”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>There was a day which, to me, will ever be my
+day of days&mdash;halcyon hours of joy and gladness,
+coloured by a setting of wondrous beauty, and
+burdened by the fateful shadow of an inevitable
+parting that would, in all human probability, be the
+point where two lives, which had grown strangely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
+and sweetly close, must divide, without any hope
+of re-uniting. You remember how in that early
+dawn we drove through the dewy grass, covered
+with the fairies’ dainty white gossamer kerchiefs,
+lace cobwebs spread out to dry in the morning sun;
+and, as we left the town and made for the distant
+mountains, the dark red road wound up and down
+hills, through orchards and grass-land and forest,
+till we gained a little village, where the road forked,
+and a clear, rain-swollen stream slipped swiftly
+past the picturesque brown cottages. Whilst the
+horses were being changed, we strolled a little way
+down the road, and watched a group of laughing
+urchins, playing in that lilied stream like water-babies.
+How they screamed with delight as their
+small glistening bodies emerged from the shining
+water to struggle up a crazy ladder that led from
+the back of a hut down into the winding stream;
+and how the sun shone! lighting the snow-white
+plumage of a brood of solemn-looking ducks, sailing
+majestically round the sedge-girt edges of a tiny
+pool beneath the bridge. In that pool was mirrored
+a patch of clear blue sky, and across it fell the
+shadows cast by a great forest tree. That was “a
+day in spring, a day with thee and pleasure!”
+Then, as we drove on, there were heavenly glimpses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>
+of sapphire hills, seen down long vistas through the
+forest. For the last few miles, the road followed
+the bank of a deep and rapid river, whose clear
+waters reflected the graceful overhanging trees,
+while the banks were buried in a thick maze of
+ferns and grasses, and great shining patches of
+buttercups and marigolds.</p>
+
+<p>Were you sorry when the drive was over, and
+our sweet converse perforce ended? I wonder
+would you have enjoyed it better had that exquisite
+spot, in the depths of the forest, been ours alone
+for that one day? One day is so little in a lifetime,
+and yet what was ours was good! Do you
+remember how, in that far-off place, we met on the
+road one whom you recognised, but whose face and
+manner gave no clue to the romantic story of his
+life, a story that would have brought him great
+renown in the days when valour was accounted of
+the highest worth? You have not forgotten that,
+nor yet the return drive, when, as we crested the
+last hill, and began the steep and tortuous descent
+into the plain, the lurid rays of the setting sun
+threw crimson stains across dark pools of lotus-bearing
+water, half-hidden by overhanging grasses
+and the dank leaves of white-blossomed lilies.
+Beneath us lay a wide stretch of swamp-land, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>
+very picture of abandonment, desolation, and solitude;
+heaps of up-turned earth, green with rank
+vegetation, and pools of dead water, whose dark
+shadows reflected the lambent fires of the western
+horizon. A broken line of black trees stood clear
+against the rapidly-darkening sky, but, as we reached
+the foot of the hill, heaven and earth were wrapped
+in the shadows of night. And then my day was
+done. Doubt was buried, and the “big word”
+bound our hearts in the joy of that priceless sympathy
+which carries human aspirations beyond
+the storm and stress of human life to a knowledge
+of the Divine. We said little; when hearts are at
+one, few words are needed, for either knows the
+other’s thoughts. But you were slow to unbend,
+making a brave fight against fate, and keeping
+true to your creed, though seven days would bring
+the end. To me, the light of that one brilliant
+day had been intensified by the rapidly approaching
+shadow of the inevitable parting. I wonder&mdash;now
+that the bitterness of separation has come, now that
+I vaguely ask myself what has happened to Time
+since I lost you&mdash;whether, if we could have that
+day again, you would again be so merciless in your
+determination to hold love in leash, and give no
+sign of either the passion or the pain that was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>
+tearing your heart. I think it was a hard fight,
+for, though you concealed your thoughts, you could
+not hide the physical effects of the struggle. Did
+you know how your weariness distressed me, and
+what I would have given to have the right to try
+to comfort you?</p>
+
+<p>I have a confused memory of those other days.
+Brief meetings and partings; insane desires to
+make any excuse to write to you, or hear from
+you, though I had but just left your presence; a
+hopeless and helpless feeling that I had a thousand
+things to say to you, and yet that I never could
+say one of them, because the time was so short
+that every idea was swallowed up in the ever-present
+dread of your departure, and the ceaseless
+repetition of your cry, “I cannot bear it, I cannot
+bear it.” From out that vague background shine
+two stars, two brilliant memories to light the darkness
+of the weary months until I see your face
+again&mdash;a blissful memory and a sign. All the
+rest seems swallowed up in the bitterness of
+that parting, which comes back like some horrible
+nightmare.</p>
+
+<p>Only black water under a heavy overcast sky;
+only the knowledge that the end had come; that
+what should be said must be said then, with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>
+instant realisation that the pain of the moment,
+the feeling of impotent rebellion against fate, destroyed
+all power of reflection, and the impulse
+to recklessness was only choked back by the cold
+words of a publicly spoken farewell. Then rapid
+motion, and in one minute the envious darkness
+had taken everything but the horrible sense of loss
+and inconsolable regret. Whatever my suffering,
+it was worse for you; I at least was alone, alone
+with a voice which ever murmured in my ears
+that despairing cry, “I cannot bear it, I cannot
+bear it.”</p>
+
+<p>When two who have been brought together, so
+close together that they have said the “big word”
+without faltering, are suddenly swept asunder by
+the receding wave of adverse circumstances, there
+must ever arise in their hearts that evil question,
+“How is it now? Is it the same? Or have time,
+and distance, and a thousand other enemies, so
+filled the space between us that the memory of
+either is growing dim, and the influence of the
+other waning, waning till the absence of all binding
+tie begins to feel like a very bond. Will the vision
+simply fade gradually out of sight?” For us there
+is no promise, no tie, no protestations of fealty;
+only knowledge, and that forced upon us rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>
+than sought. You give or you don’t give, that is
+all; if you also take away, you are within your
+right. There may be reasons and reasons, I understand
+them all; and I have only one desire, that
+whatever prevails may secure you happiness. What
+you can give seems to me so unlike what others
+ever have to give, so infinitely beyond price, that,
+where I might gain, it is not right that I should
+speak. Therefore I cannot urge, I dare not even
+plead, a cause that has less to recommend it than
+the forlornest hope.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXXV" id="XXXV"></a><span class="line-height">XXXV</span><br />
+OF OBSESSION</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">IF that is irrevocable&mdash;why, then, no more. You
+can only decide, and while I would not have
+you consider me, I do ask you to think of yourself.
+I have no title to be considered, not the
+remotest; if I had, it might be different. Possibly,
+even, I had better not write now, and yet I must,
+though you say “Don’t.” It cannot matter for
+this once, and after&mdash;well, there may be no after.
+We are curiously inconsistent and very hard to
+understand; even when we think we know each
+other well, we speak to conceal our thoughts; and,
+when we write (and it is often easier to write what
+we mean than to say it) I wonder whether it occurs
+to us how marvellously contradictory we can be,
+and what difficult riddles we can frame, in two or
+three pages of a letter that comes straight from the
+heart and cries to be understood. Verily we are
+the slaves of circumstance; but whilst we accept<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>
+that position, whilst we make sacrifices that can
+be absolutely heroic, and dumbly suffer the crucifixion
+of a lifetime, we want one other heart to
+know and understand. There are few things harder
+to bear than to stifle every strongest inclination,
+every dearest hope, to shut the gate of life, to lock
+it and throw away the key, with a determination
+to accept existence and make the best of it.
+God knows how bitter is that renunciation, but, if
+it be for another, and that other misunderstands,
+then the cruelty of it all seems almost beyond
+endurance.</p>
+
+<p>If I may write no more to you, you may never
+understand. If I saw you, later, under other
+circumstances, I could not speak; so there can be
+no explanation for me. I do not plead, I may not.
+Not once, but often you have heard my profession
+of faith&mdash;a gift is good, because it is given freely.
+The greatest good, the most priceless gift, is love.
+It is valuable because it is free. You cannot buy
+it or compel it; even when given, you cannot lock
+it up, or chain it down, and say, “It is mine for
+ever.” It comes, and it is the joy of life; it goes,
+and it is pity, misery, despair. It is as useless
+to rave against the loss, as to shake one’s fist at
+Zeus and his thunderbolts. If I ever had, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>
+I was thrice-blessed. If I have no longer, the fault
+is probably mine, and I have still the knowledge of
+what was. Not God Himself can deprive me of
+that. I would have liked that you should know all
+I yearn to say, but because you are not here to
+tell me, “Say it, say it all,” therefore I must keep
+silence. Perhaps I do not read aright all you
+mean; but some at least I know, and that is what
+you would have me understand without any shadow
+of doubt. That I realise, down to the very lowest
+depths of the suffering which is dumb for sheer
+pain; and I can say nothing, absolutely nothing,
+because I have no right; nay, more, you tell me
+to be silent. Surely you know, you know, what
+I would say? You remember how one evening
+we rode out by the rocks, and we talked of a
+story of faith and high resolve, and you said you
+did not think I was capable of a like devotion.
+That was a fairy tale; but what I said then, I
+repeat, with greater confidence, now; with hope,
+yes, I could stand and wait&mdash;with none, perhaps
+not.</p>
+
+<p>That is all of me. What your letters have been
+you know, or at least you can guess, for I have
+answered them, and in those answers you could
+read all I might not say. “There must be an end,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>
+and it is not because of the trouble, but it is because
+of the pleasure.” You could not tell me that and
+think, because you bid me, I would not answer?
+Nor does one forget&mdash;fortunately&mdash;though if to
+forget be fortunate, I suppose to remember must
+be unfortunate, only it does not seem so to me.
+“Silence is a great barrier”&mdash;yes, death is silence,
+and the greatest barrier of all, and the silence of
+the living is, in a way, harder to bear, for it seems
+so needlessly unkind. Silence, determined, unbroken
+silence, will, I think, kill all feeling. I will
+not accept that as your last word, not yet; but if,
+when you receive this, you make that the beginning
+of silence, then I shall know, and I will not break
+it. Only I beg of you not to do so hard a thing as
+this, for I will gladly accept any less cruel sentence
+if you will not make yourself as dead to me. I
+have not done anything that need drive you to issue
+such an edict. Will not some less hopeless judgment,
+something short of eternal silence, serve until
+I bring on myself this ghastly doom? You are
+thinking that it was I who said, “All or nothing,”
+I who said friendship was too hard a road to tread.
+That was before&mdash;before I had tried; before I
+knew all I know now. You hid your heart far out
+of sight, and I never dared to guess&mdash;I do not now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>
+But you went, and I, remembering how you went,
+catch at straws; for, as the Eastern says, I am
+drowning in the deepest sea. Do not think that is
+extravagant; it is because I have learned to count
+the unattainable at its true value that I also realise
+the immensity of the loss. We stood on either side
+of a wall, and because the wall was near to me I
+looked over it and almost forgot its existence.
+You, standing farther off, saw always the wall,
+and it shut me out. Then I, thinking it could
+be nothing to you, tried to get across the intervening
+space, and so fell, hurting myself, as
+those who fall must do. It was not a caprice, not
+an impulse that took me, it was the victory of the
+uncontrollable. So, doubting me, and to do right
+for both, you said, “I will build a wall too, stronger
+and higher, and then we can sometimes look over
+and talk to each other, and everything will be well.”
+But it is not well. Only you have vowed yourself
+to the work, and, if it seems hard, you say that all
+things are hard, and this must be good because it
+costs so much. To suffer is bad enough; to give
+suffering where you would strain every nerve to
+give only joy is so hard that, to help the other,
+seems worth any conceivable pain to oneself. What
+can it matter how it affects me, if I can do some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span>
+little good for you; something that may save you
+a little pain, win you a little joy? Believe me, I
+have no wish but this. Whatever my selfishness
+would suggest is not really me, for “Thy law is
+my delight”; nay more, it is my delight to try
+to anticipate your wish. I have no fear except
+that you should misunderstand me, that I should
+misunderstand you. I am my own to offer, yours
+to accept&mdash;equally if, by effacement, I can save
+you the smallest regret, help you for a few
+yards over the stony path of life by keeping
+silence, you will neither see nor hear from me
+again. I would you did not doubt, perhaps you
+do not now; at least you cannot distrust, and in
+this I shall not fail. I shall not say farewell.
+I will never say that; but through the silence,
+if so it must be, sometimes, on a day in spring,
+perhaps, will come the echo of a past that you
+can recall with nothing more than regret. And
+that is what I do not quite understand. You say,
+“In all the years to come I shall not regret.” Not
+regret what has been, what might have been, or
+what will be then? Therein lies all the difference,
+and therein lies the riddle, there and in those words,
+“I am sometimes&mdash;” How am I to supply the
+rest? It might be any one of so many things.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>
+Could it ever be that you are sometimes driven to
+wonder whether everything I could offer is worth
+anything you would give? “Many waters cannot
+quench love, neither can the floods drown it; if a man
+would give all the substance of his house for love, it
+would be utterly contemned.” If that be true, and
+it has high authority, then in that one sentence
+is contained the conclusion of the whole matter.
+It tells you all that you can wish to know for yourself
+and myself and even for others. I have done;
+an accident drew from me an acknowledgment of
+my own hurt when it seemed unlikely that the fact
+should interest you. Now I am so unfortunate that,
+hurt myself, I have made you suffer as well. I have
+nothing to offer to help you, for all I had is yours
+already. And so the end: if so you deem it best.
+“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Si j’étais Dieu</i>,” I would use what power I had
+to spare you a moment’s pain and give you such
+happiness that you should forget the meaning of
+the word “suffering.” How utterly powerless we
+are, how impotent to save those we love, when no
+offer of the best we have, no devotion, no self-effacement,
+will secure the happiness of one other
+being, whose every pulse throbs in unison with ours,
+yet between whom and us there is fixed the great
+gulf of our own conventions. Is the end of all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>
+human hopes, all human sorrows, described in these
+two lines?&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee</div>
+<div class="verse1">There was, and then no more of Thee and Me.”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>“Let me say it whilst I have the courage.”
+Suppose you had the greater courage to write, “I
+will never say it.” Let me rather cry with Saul,
+“Farewell to others, but never we part.” And
+yet I know that we have already parted to meet
+no more.</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXXVI" id="XXXVI"></a><span class="line-height">XXXVI</span><br />
+OF PARADISE LOST</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">BY a dispensation of that Providence which, if
+seldom kind, is sometimes less than malignant,
+I received your two letters together&mdash;the poison
+and the antidote. I looked at the dates on the
+postmarks, and I took the poison first. It did not
+take long to read, and I am glad now that I can
+truly tell you that my impulse was to ignore your
+expressed wish, your command, and to at once tell
+you that I did not believe a single word of those
+lines, which, if meant to hurt, could not have been
+better conceived, for truly they were coldly cruel.
+Indeed, the note was hateful, and so absolutely
+unlike you, that it must have defeated its object,
+had that been really as you declared it. If you
+know me at all, you must have realised that, if I
+know the Kingdom of Heaven may not be taken
+by storm, I should never seek for the charity which
+is thrown to the importunate. But the other letter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>
+was there, and in it I found such measure of consolation
+as is vouchsafed to those who find that,
+if their path is difficult, they will not tread it alone,
+and it tends upward. It may not be all we desire&mdash;how
+should it be in a world which is full of</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse"><span style="margin-left: 7em;">“Infinite passion</span></div>
+<div class="verse">And the pain of finite hearts that yearn”?</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>Still, it is much; and, at the worst, it is death
+without its sting.</p>
+
+<p>Do I know? I think I do. You see, if the future
+contains nothing for me, I have still the past&mdash;and,
+in that past, I have learnt to implicitly trust you,
+and you have let me see enough of your very self to
+make me disregard even what comes from you, when
+it has nothing in common with your real character.
+But I shall not forget&mdash;I do not do that easily at
+any time&mdash;and, if all else faded, I could not forget
+our friendship. Do you think the first man and
+woman ever forgot that once they dwelt in Paradise?
+It was the recollection of all they had lost which was
+the beginning of mortal suffering. If that “pleasant
+place” is closed to me, I am not likely to forget that
+I have seen the gate, that I know where to find it,
+and that there is but one. Yes, I understand; and
+the proof is, that in my regret there is no bitterness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>
+now. I also remember what I said when we leant
+over the balustrade of a verandah and looked out
+into the silver sheen of a ravishing Eastern night,
+wherein the frail chalices of the moonflower shone
+like great, milk-white stars in their leafy sky, while
+from the trellis-work beneath us rose the faint, sweet
+scent of those strange blossoms. You have taught
+me how great the exception can be. The cynicism
+is only skin-deep, and I shall never swell the ranks
+of the Faithful&mdash;though I still think there is much
+to be said for the Faith. The creed, like other
+creeds, suffers by the perfunctory service of those
+who profess to be true believers. As for the way
+you have chosen, I think it is the right way, at
+least it is the best to follow now; and, to help you
+tread it well, I also say, “God be with you.” They
+need not be my last words to you, for, if ever my
+loyal service can further any wish of yours, our
+friendship is not so poor a thing that you would
+hesitate to give me the satisfaction of doing for you
+anything that lies in my power. That was in the
+bond we made long ago. If we cannot forget what
+came into our dream of mutual trust and intellectual
+companionship, is it not better to bravely accept the
+fiat of Destiny and make the past a link to bind us
+more closely to the terms of our bond? Even so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>
+we may still help each other, still cleave to the
+sympathy which we know will never fail us; and,
+if our paths divide, the earth is not wide enough
+to keep us asunder, should we ever try to say
+“Adieu.”</p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2><a name="XXXVII" id="XXXVII"></a><span class="line-height">XXXVII</span><br />
+“TO MARY, IN HEAVEN”</h2>
+
+<p class="cap">THIS is my last letter to you, <i>Carina</i>, and
+I am writing in the belief that you are in
+heaven. But are you really there, and, if you are,
+is all well with you? Have you everything you
+desire and no regrets? It seems such a very long
+way off, you have such small control over the
+means of transport, and so much depends on hearsay,
+that one may, I trust, be pardoned for entertaining
+doubt where all is so indefinite. Then the
+accounts of that blessed place that have come to
+different parts of the world, though always inspired,
+differ so materially. To mortals, immortality is a
+difficult conception. To finite minds, conscious of
+the grasp of a limited intelligence, but still very
+much alive to the evidence of the senses we possess,
+the idea of a heaven, somewhere beyond the reach
+of earthly imagination, is perhaps more difficult still.
+So many millions come into the world, and we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>
+realise fairly well how and why they come; they
+all, without exception, go, and none ever return,
+and some, we are told, are in heaven, and some
+elsewhere. The time here is so absurdly short,
+and the eternity there is so impossibly long, that,
+if our chances of spending the latter in joy, or
+sorrow, depend on what we do in the former, it
+is only natural that this one idea should occupy
+our thoughts to the exclusion of all others. Yet
+there, again, we are such frail things, that in this
+way lies what we call madness.</p>
+
+<p>If you have solved the great problem, can you
+not enlighten my darkness, my craving for exact
+knowledge? Write to me, <i>Carina</i>, write and tell
+me what it is all like. If I have wearied you with
+my feeble, little tales, my stupid questions, my
+pictures that must seem to you so flat and colourless
+in the glory of that better world, my vain
+imaginings and poor human longings, will you not
+take pity on me and gladden my weary eyes with
+a word-painted vision of the Heavenly City, the
+fields of Elysium, or at least the houris who are
+to be the portion of the Faithful? I do not know
+which paradise you are in. See, I wait with the
+pencil on the paper: will you not make it write?</p>
+
+<p>You do not heed. Perhaps, after all, you are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>
+not there; or is it possible that you have forgotten
+this small planet and those you left here, and that
+you find more congenial friends in the company of
+the angels? I dare say it is natural, and I do not
+upbraid you; but some day I may reach that desired
+haven, and I want you to remember that I have
+earned your consideration by my discretion, if you
+can spare me no more tender feeling. If, for instance,
+I had sent you these letters while you were
+still on earth, and you had incautiously left them
+about (as you would have been certain to do),
+quite a number of them would have compromised
+you in the opinion of the servant girl, and she is
+the origin of a vast deal of earthly gossip. I suppose
+you have no servant girls and no gossip where
+you are: the absence of effect depending on the
+want of cause. Happy heaven! and yet I believe
+that there are people on this earth who really enjoy
+being the subject of gossip. To them the suggestions
+of scandal are as the savour of salt, as danger
+is to the sportsman; the wilder the suggestion, the
+more amusing the game; and there are even those
+who, when tattle wanes and desire fails, say or
+insinuate, to their own detriment, the thing that is
+not, rather than disappear into obscurity. It is
+the same desire for notoriety and attention which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>
+prompted Martin to set fire to York Minster, and
+led the woman to complain to the vicar that her
+husband had ceased to beat her.</p>
+
+<p>Up in the serene atmosphere of those heavenly
+heights you have no cathedrals, no husbands, no
+wives, no work, no play, no food, no frocks&mdash;pardon
+me, that is a slip of the pen; of course you have
+frocks, but what else have you? Is it not sometimes
+just a little monotonous? If life is so short
+that it amounts to little more than the constant fear
+of coming death, are you not sometimes overawed
+by the contemplation of eternity? But, after all,
+the dwellers in heaven may never think. Never to
+remember, and so never to regret; never to think,
+and so never to desire&mdash;that is a possible scheme
+of existence where a thousand years might be as
+one day, and to the weary it would mean rest. But
+so would oblivion, and we are not altogether satisfied
+with the thought of oblivion.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="verse">“Oh, Threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!</div>
+<div class="verse1">One thing is certain&mdash;<em>This</em> Life flies;</div>
+<div class="verse3">One thing is certain, and the rest is Lies;</div>
+<div class="verse1">The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p>That is well enough, but it is not an inspired
+writing; it is a cry rather of despair than conviction,
+and oft repeated to make up for want of certainty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>
+Of things mundane we have acquired a tolerable
+knowledge, however much there is yet to be learnt;
+but that in us which we call the Soul will never
+be satisfied till it learns something of the hereafter.
+Who will teach it? Do we know more now than
+they did when men fought with bows and arrows,
+or flint weapons, instead of hundred-ton guns fired
+by electricity?</p>
+
+<p>Standing alone in some vast solitude where man
+and his doings have no part, have made no mark
+and left no trace&mdash;where face to face with Nature,
+with mountain and plain, forest and sea and a limitless
+firmament, man’s somewhat puny efforts are
+forgotten, there comes an intense longing for something
+higher and nobler than the life we live. The
+soul of man cries out for light, for some goal towards
+which he may by effort and sacrifice attain;
+for he is not lacking in the qualities that have made
+heroes and martyrs throughout all the ages. If he
+cannot rend the veil and scale the heights of heaven,
+he can grasp the things within his reach; and, realising
+that there are problems beyond his intelligence,
+he can yet give his life to make easier the lot of his
+fellow-creatures, seeking humbly, but courageously,
+to follow, no matter how far behind, in the footsteps
+of his Great Exemplar. Nor need his efforts be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>
+less strenuous, his object less worthy, because this
+passionate cry of a voice, stilled centuries ago, strikes
+a sympathetic chord in his heart.</p>
+
+<div class="poetry-container">
+<div class="poetry">
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse">“Yet ah! that Spring should vanish with the Rose!</div>
+<div class="verse3">That Youth’s sweet-scented manuscript should close!</div>
+<div class="verse4">The Nightingale, that in the branches sang,</div>
+<div class="verse3">Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows!</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1">Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield</div>
+<div class="verse3">One glimpse&mdash;if dimly, yet indeed reveal’d,</div>
+<div class="verse4">To which the fainting Traveller might spring,</div>
+<div class="verse3">As springs the trampled herbage of the field!</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1">Would but some wingèd Angel, ere too late,</div>
+<div class="verse3">Arrest the yet-unfolded Roll of Fate,</div>
+<div class="verse4">And make the stern Recorder otherwise</div>
+<div class="verse3">Enregister, or quite obliterate!</div>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<div class="verse1">Ah Love, could you and I with Him conspire</div>
+<div class="verse3">To grasp this sorry Scheme of things entire,</div>
+<div class="verse4">Would not we shatter it to bits&mdash;and then</div>
+<div class="verse3">Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!”</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<p class="center mt3">THE END</p>
+
+
+<p class="center mt3"><small>Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson &amp; Co.</span></small></p>
+<p class="center"><small>Edinburgh &amp; London</small></p>
+
+<hr class="chap" />
+<div class="page-break-before">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="catpage2 u"><i>SECOND EDITION</i></p>
+<p class="catpage1">Malay Sketches</p>
+<p class="catpage4">BY</p>
+<p class="catpage2">FRANK ATHELSTANE SWETTENHAM</p>
+<p class="catpage3">WITH TITLE-PAGE AND COVER DESIGNED BY</p>
+<p class="catpage2">PATTEN WILSON</p>
+<p class="catpage3">Crown 8vo, 6s.</p>
+
+<p>“Mr. Swettenham’s style is simple and direct and vigorous.
+Particularly good is his eye for colour, and he has a fine sense
+of the brilliant melancholy of the East. To few falls the good
+fortune of introducing us to a new people, and seldom have we
+the advantage of so admirable a guide.”&mdash;<cite>Pall Mall Gazette.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“Nothing approaching Mr. Swettenham’s intimate knowledge
+and illuminative analysis has yet seen the light about that fascinating
+country which he so well describes.”&mdash;<cite>Daily Chronicle.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“Its unconventional character is one of the most attractive points
+about this very attractive volume. Mr. Swettenham succeeds in
+making the life and character of the Malays real to us in a way that
+so far as we are aware no other writer has done.”&mdash;<cite>Publishers’
+Circular.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“A pleasant simplicity of style, a total lack of affectation, and a
+comparatively unknown land and people for subject-matter, make
+‘Malay Sketches’ entirely delightful. They are always vivid,
+always convincing.”&mdash;<cite>St. James’s Budget.</cite></p>
+
+<p>“This is one of those books which exercise such a fascination upon
+the mind of the stay-at-home traveller. Stay-at-home though he
+may be, he has no difficulty in distinguishing the work of a genuine
+authority from the hasty and inexact impressions of the idle globe-trotter.
+‘Malay Sketches’ will be speedily recognised by him as
+belonging to the more reliable kind of his favourite literature.”&mdash;<cite>Spectator.</cite></p>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+<p class="catpage2"><span class="smcap">London: JOHN LANE, The Bodley Head</span></p>
+
+<hr class="chap1" />
+</div>
+<div class="page-break-before">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1_cat" id="Page_1_cat">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 485px;">
+  <img src="images/catalogue1.jpg" width="485" height="700" alt="Book Catalogue" />
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="page-break-before">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2_cat" id="Page_2_cat">[2]</a></span><br />
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3_cat" id="Page_3_cat">[3]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="catpage3 mt3">1898</p>
+<p class="catpage2">List of Books</p>
+<p class="catpage4">IN</p>
+<p class="catpage2"><i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">BELLES LETTRES</i></p>
+<p class="catpage1">Published by John Lane</p>
+<p class="oldenglish">The Bodley Head</p>
+<p class="catpage3">VIGO STREET, LONDON, W.</p>
+</div>
+<div class="catalogue">
+<div class="catalogue-width">
+
+<p class="authors">Adams (Francis).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Essays in Modernity.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Shortly.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Child of the Age.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">A. E.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Homeward: Songs by the Way.</span>
+Sq. 16mo, wrappers, 1s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Earth Breath, and other
+Poems.</span> Sq. 16mo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Aldrich (T. B.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Later Lyrics.</span> Sm. fcap. 8vo.
+2s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Allen (Grant).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Lower Slopes</span>: A Volume of
+Verse. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Woman Who Did.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Twenty-third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The British Barbarians.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Atherton (Gertrude).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Patience Sparhawk and her
+Times.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Californians.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Shortly.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Bailey (John C.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">English Elegies.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Balfour (Marie Clothilde).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Maris Stella.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Songs from a Corner of France.</span></p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Beeching (Rev. H. C.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In a Garden</span>: Poems. Crown 8vo.
+5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">St. Augustine at Ostia.</span> Crown
+8vo, wrappers, 1s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Beerbohm (Max).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Works of Max Beerbohm.</span>
+With a Bibliography by <span class="smcap">John
+Lane</span>. Sq. 16mo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Happy Hypocrite.</span> Sq. 16mo.
+1s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Bennett (E. A.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Man from the North.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Journalism for Women</span>: A Practical
+Guide. Sq. 16mo. 2s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Benson (Arthur Christopher).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Lyrics.</span> Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 5s.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Lord Vyet and other Poems.</span>
+Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Bridges (Robert).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Suppressed Chapters and other
+Bookishness.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Brotherton (Mary).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Rosemary for Remembrance.</span>
+Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Brown (Vincent).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">My Brother.</span> Sq. 16mo. 2s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ordeal by Compassion.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Two in Captivity.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Bourne (George).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Year’s Exile.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4_cat" id="Page_4_cat">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Buchan (John).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Scholar Gipsies.</span> With 7 full-page
+Etchings by <span class="smcap">D. Y. Cameron</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Musa Piscatrix.</span> With 6 Etchings
+by <span class="smcap">E. Philip Pimlott</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Grey Weather.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">John Burnet of Barns.</span> A
+Romance. Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Campbell (Gerald).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Joneses and the Asterisks.</span>
+A Story in Monologue. 6 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">
+F. H. Townsend</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Case (Robert H.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">English Epithalamies.</span> Crown
+8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Castle (Mrs. Egerton).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">My Little Lady Anne.</span> Sq. 16mo.
+2s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Chapman (Elizabeth Rachel).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Marriage Questions in Modern
+Fiction.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Charles (Joseph F.).</p>
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Duke of Linden.</span> Crown 8vo.
+5s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Cobb (Thomas).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Carpet Courtship.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Mr. Passingham.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Coleridge (Ernest Hartley).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Corvo (Baron).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Stories Toto Told Me.</span> Square
+16mo. 1s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Crane (Walter).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Toy Books.</span> Re-issue of.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">This Little Pig’s Picture Book</span>,
+containing:</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="catalogue-width">
+<ol>
+<li><span class="smcap">I. This Little Pig.</span></li>
+<li><span class="smcap">II. The Fairy Ship.</span></li>
+<li><span class="smcap">III. King Luckieboy’s Party.</span></li>
+</ol>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Mother Hubbard’s Picture Book</span>,
+containing:</p>
+
+<ol>
+<li><span class="smcap">IV. Mother Hubbard.</span></li>
+<li><span class="smcap">V. The Three Bears.</span></li>
+<li><span class="smcap">VI. The Absurd A. B. C.</span></li>
+</ol>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Cinderella’s Picture Book</span>,
+containing:</p>
+
+<ol>
+<li><span class="smcap">VII. Cinderella.</span></li>
+<li><span class="smcap">VIII. Puss in Boots.</span></li>
+<li><span class="smcap">IX. Valentine and Orson.</span></li>
+</ol>
+
+</div>
+<div class="catalogue">
+<div class="catalogue-width">
+<p class="indent">Each Picture-Book containing three
+Toy Books, complete with end papers
+and covers, together with collective
+titles, end-papers, decorative cloth
+cover, and newly written Preface by
+<span class="smcap">Walter Crane</span>, 4s. 6d. The Nine
+Parts as above may be had separately
+at 1s. each.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Crackanthorpe (Hubert).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Vignettes.</span> A Miniature Journal
+of Whim and Sentiment. Fcap. 8vo, boards. 2s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Craig (R. Manifold).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Sacrifice of Fools.</span> Crown
+8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Crosse (Victoria).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Woman who Didn’t.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Custance (Olive).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Opals</span>: Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Croskey (Julian).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Max.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Dalmon (C. W.).</p>
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Song Favours.</span> Sq. 16mo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">D’Arcy (Ella).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Monochromes.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Bishop’s Dilemma.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Modern Instances.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Dawe (W. Carlton).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Yellow and White.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Kakemonos.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Dawson (A. J.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Mere Sentiment.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Middle Greyness.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Davidson (John).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Plays</span>: An Unhistorical Pastoral;
+A Romantic Farce; Bruce, a Chronicle Play; Smith, a Tragic Farce;
+Scaramouch in Naxos, a Pantomime. Small 4to. 7s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5_cat" id="Page_5_cat">[5]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Fleet Street Eclogues.</span> Fcap.
+8vo, buckram. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Fleet Street Eclogues.</span> 2nd
+Series. Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Random Itinerary.</span> Fcap. 8vo.
+5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballads and Songs.</span> Fcap. 8vo.
+5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">New Ballads.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Godfrida.</span> A Play. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">De Lyrienne (Richard).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Quest of the Gilt-Edged
+Girl.</span> Sq. 16mo. 1s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">De Tabley (Lord).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical.</span>
+By <span class="smcap">John Leicester Warren</span>
+(Lord de Tabley). Five Illustrations and Cover by
+<span class="smcap">C. S. Ricketts</span>. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical.</span>
+Second Series. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Devereux (Roy).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Ascent of Woman.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Dick (Chas. Hill).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">English Satires.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Dix (Gertrude).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Girl from the Farm.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Dostoievsky (F.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poor Folk.</span> Translated from the
+Russian by <span class="smcap">Lena Milman</span>. With a Preface by
+<span class="smcap">George Moore</span>. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Dowie (Menie Muriel).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Some Whims of Fate.</span> Post 8vo.
+2s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Duer (Caroline, and Alice).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Egerton (George).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Keynotes.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Eighth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Discords.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Symphonies.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Fantasias.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Hazard of the Ill.</span> Crown
+8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Eglinton (John).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Two Essays on the Remnant.</span>
+Post 8vo, wrappers. 1s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Farr (Florence).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Dancing Faun.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Fea (Allan).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Flight of the King</span>: A full,
+true, and particular account of the escape of His Most Sacred Majesty
+King Charles II. after the Battle of Worcester, with Sixteen Portraits
+in Photogravure and over 100 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 21s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Field (Eugene).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac.</span>
+Post 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Lullaby Land</span>: Songs of Childhood.
+Edited, with Introduction, by <span class="smcap">Kenneth Grahame</span>.
+With 200 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Chas. Robinson</span>.
+Uncut or gilt edges. Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Firth (George).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Adventures of a Martyr’s
+Bible.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Fleming (George).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">For Plain Women Only.</span> Fcap.
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Flowerdew (Herbert).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Celibate’s Wife.</span> Crown 8vo.
+6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Fletcher (J. S.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Wonderful Wapentake.</span>
+By “<span class="smcap">A Son of the Soil</span>.” With
+18 Full-page Illustrations by <span class="smcap">J. A.
+Symington</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Life in Arcadia.</span> With 20 Illustrations
+by <span class="smcap">Patten Wilson</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">God’s Failures.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballads of Revolt.</span> Sq. 32mo.
+2s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Making of Matthias.</span> With
+40 Illustrations and Decorations
+by <span class="smcap">Lucy Kemp-Welch</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Ford (James L.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Literary Shop, and Other
+Tales.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6_cat" id="Page_6_cat">[6]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Frederic (Harold).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">March Hares.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Albert Grundy: Observations
+in Philistia.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Fuller (H. B.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Puppet Booth.</span> Twelve Plays.
+Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Gale (Norman).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Orchard Songs.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Garnett (Richard).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Dante</span>, <span class="smcap">Petrarch</span>,
+<span class="smcap">Camoens</span>, cxxiv Sonnets, rendered in English.
+Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Geary (Sir Nevill).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Lawyer’s Wife.</span> Crown 8vo.
+6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Gibson (Charles Dana).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Drawings</span>: Eighty-Five Large Cartoons.
+Oblong Folio. 20s.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Pictures of People.</span> Eighty-Five
+Large Cartoons. Oblong folio. 20s.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">London: As Seen by C. D. Gibson.</span>
+Text and Illustrations. Large
+folio, 12 × 18 inches. 20s.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The People of Dickens.</span> Six
+Large Photogravures. Proof Impressions from Plates, in a Portfolio.
+20s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Gilbert (Henry).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Of Necessity.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Gilliat-Smith (E.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Songs from Prudentius.</span> Pott
+4to. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Gleig (Charles).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">When all Men Starve.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Edge of Honesty.</span> Crown
+8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Gosse (Edmund).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Letters of Thomas Lovell
+Beddoes.</span> Now first edited. Pott 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Grahame (Kenneth).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Pagan Papers.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Golden Age.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Eighth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A New Volume of Essays.</span></p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><i>See</i> <span class="smcap">Eugene Field’s Lullaby Land</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Greene (G. A.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Italian Lyrists of To-day.</span>
+Translations in the original metres from about thirty-five living Italian
+poets, with bibliographical and biographical notes. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Greenwood (Frederick).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Imagination in Dreams.</span> Crown
+8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Grimshaw (Beatrice Ethel).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Broken Away.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Hake (T. Gordon).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Selection from his Poems.</span>
+Edited by Mrs. <span class="smcap">Meynell</span>. With
+a Portrait after <span class="smcap">D. G. Rossetti</span>.
+Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Hansson (Laura M.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Modern Women.</span> An English
+rendering of “<span class="smcap"><span lang="de" xml:lang="de">Das Buch der Frauen</span></span>” by
+<span class="smcap">Hermione Ramsden</span>. Subjects: Sonia Kovalevsky,
+George Egerton, Eleanora Duse, Amalie Skram, Marie Bashkirtseff,
+A. Ch. Edgren Leffler. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Hansson (Ola).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Young Ofeg’s Ditties.</span> A Translation
+from the Swedish. By <span class="smcap">George Egerton</span>. Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Harland (Henry).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Grey Roses.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Comedies and Errors.</span> Crown
+8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Hay (Colonel John).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems including “The Pike County
+Ballads”</span> (Author’s Edition), with Portrait of the
+Author. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Castilian Days.</span> Crown 8vo.
+4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Speech at the Unveiling of the
+Bust of Sir Walter Scott in Westminster Abbey.</span> With a
+Drawing of the Bust. Sq. 16mo. 1s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Hayes (Alfred).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Vale of Arden and Other
+Poems.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7_cat" id="Page_7_cat">[7]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Hazlitt (William).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap"><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Liber Amoris</span>; or, The New
+Pygmalion.</span> Edited, with an Introduction,
+by <span class="smcap">Richard Le Gallienne</span>. To which
+is added an exact transcript of the original MS.,
+Mrs. Hazlitt’s Diary in Scotland, and letters never before published.
+Portrait after <span class="smcap">Bewick</span>, and facsimile
+letters. 400 Copies only. 4to, 364 pp., buckram. 21s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Heinemann (William).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The First Step</span>; A Dramatic
+Moment. Small 4to. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Summer Moths</span>: A Play. Sm.
+4to. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Henniker (Florence).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In Scarlet and Grey.</span> (With
+<span class="smcap">The Spectre of the Real</span> by
+<span class="smcap">Florence Henniker</span> and
+<span class="smcap">Thomas Hardy</span>.) Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Hickson (Mrs. Murray).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Shadows of Life.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Hopper (Nora).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballads in Prose.</span> Sm. 4to. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Under Quicken Boughs.</span> Crown
+8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Housman (Clemence).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Were Wolf.</span> With 6 Illustrations
+by <span class="smcap">Laurence Housman</span>.
+Sq. 16mo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Housman (Laurence).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Green Arras</span>: Poems. With 6
+Illustrations, Title-page, Cover Design, and End Papers by the
+Author. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Gods and their Makers.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Irving (Laurence).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Godefroi and Yolande</span>: A Play.
+Sm. 4to. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Jalland (G. H.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Sporting Adventures Of
+Mr. Popple.</span> Coloured Plates.
+Oblong 4to, 14 × 10 inches. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">James (W. P.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Romantic Professions</span>: A Volume
+of Essays. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Johnson (Lionel).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Art of Thomas Hardy</span>: Six
+Essays. With Etched Portrait by
+<span class="smcap">Wm. Strang</span>, and Bibliography
+by <span class="smcap">John Lane</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Johnson (Pauline).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">White Wampum</span>: Poems. Crown
+8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Johnstone (C. E.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballads of Boy and Beak.</span> Sq.
+32mo. 2s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Kemble (E. W.)</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Kemble’s Coons.</span> 30 Drawings of
+Coloured Children and Southern Scenes. Oblong 4to. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">King (K. Douglas).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Child who will Never Grow
+Old.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">King (Maud Egerton).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Round about a Brighton Coach
+Office.</span> With over 30 Illustrations
+by <span class="smcap">Lucy Kemp-Welch</span>.
+Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Lander (Harry).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Weighed in the Balance.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">The Lark.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Book the First.</span> Containing
+Nos. 1 to 12.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Book the Second.</span> Containing
+Nos. 13 to 24. With numerous
+Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Gelett Burgess</span>
+and Others. Small 4to. 25s. net, the set.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>All published.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Leather (R. K.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Verses.</span> 250 copies. Fcap. 8vo.
+3s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Lefroy (Edward Cracroft).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> With a Memoir by
+<span class="smcap">W. A. Gill</span>, and a reprint of
+Mr. <span class="smcap">J. A. Symonds</span>’ Critical Essay on
+“Echoes from Theocritus.” Cr. 8vo. Photogravure Portrait. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Le Gallienne (Richard).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Prose Fancies.</span> With Portrait of
+the Author by <span class="smcap">Wilson Steer</span>.
+Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Book Bills of Narcissus.</span>
+An Account rendered by <span class="smcap">Richard
+le Gallienne</span>. With a Frontispiece.
+Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8_cat" id="Page_8_cat">[8]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Robert Louis Stevenson, an
+Elegy, and Other Poems, mainly Personal.</span> Crown 8vo.
+4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">English Poems.</span> Crown 8vo.
+4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition, revised.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">George Meredith</span>: Some Characteristics.
+With a Bibliography (much enlarged) by
+<span class="smcap">John Lane</span>, portrait, &amp;c. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Religion of a Literary
+Man.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Thousand.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Retrospective Reviews, A Literary
+Log, 1891-1895.</span> 2 vols. Crown 8vo. 9s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Prose Fancies.</span> (Second Series).
+Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Quest of the Golden Girl.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Romance of Zion Chapel.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Love in London</span>: Poems. Crown
+8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><i>See also</i> <span class="smcap">Hazlitt</span>,
+<span class="smcap">Walton</span> and
+<span class="smcap">Cotton</span>.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Legge (A. E. J.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Mutineers.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Linden (Annie).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Gold.</span> A Dutch Indian story.
+Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Lipsett (Caldwell).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Where the Atlantic Meets
+the Land.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Locke (W. J.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Derelicts.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Lowry (H. D.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Make Believe.</span> Illustrated by
+<span class="smcap">Charles Robinson</span>. Crown 8vo,
+gilt edges or uncut. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Women’s Tragedies.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Happy Exile.</span> With 6 Etchings
+by <span class="smcap">E. Philip Pimlott</span>. Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Lucas (Winifred).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Units</span>: Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Lynch (Hannah).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Great Galeoto and Folly
+or Saintliness.</span> Two Plays, from the Spanish of
+<span class="smcap"><span lang="es" xml:lang="es">José Echegaray</span></span>,
+with an Introduction. Small 4to. 5s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">McChesney (Dora Greenwell).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Beatrix Infelix.</span> A Summer
+Tragedy in Rome. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Macgregor (Barrington).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">King Longbeard.</span> With over 100
+Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Charles Robinson</span>.
+Small 4to. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Machen (Arthur).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Great God Pan and the
+Inmost Light.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Three Impostors.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Macleod (Fiona).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Mountain Lovers.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Makower (Stanley V.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Mirror of Music.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Cecilia.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Mangan (James Clarence).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Selected Poems.</span> With a
+Biographical and Critical Preface by
+<span class="smcap">Louise Imogen Guiney</span>. Crown
+8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Mathew (Frank).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Wood of the Brambles.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Child in the Temple.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Spanish Wine.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">At the Rising of the Moon.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Marzials (Theo.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Gallery of Pigeons and
+Other Poems.</span> Post 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Meredith (George).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The First Published Portrait
+of this Author</span>, engraved on the
+wood by <span class="smcap">W. Biscombe Gardner</span>,
+after the painting by <span class="smcap">G. F. Watts</span>.
+Proof copies on Japanese vellum, signed by painter and engraver.
+£1 1s. net.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9_cat" id="Page_9_cat">[9]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Meynell (Mrs.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Sixth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Rhythm of Life and Other
+Essays.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Sixth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Colour of Life and Other
+Essays.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Children.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Miller (Joaquin).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Building of the City Beautiful.</span>
+Fcap. 8vo. With a Decorated Cover. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Milman (Helen).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In the Garden of Peace.</span> With
+24 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Edmund H. New</span>.
+Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Money-Coutts (F. B.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Revelation of St. Love the
+Divine.</span> Sq. 16mo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Monkhouse (Allan).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Books and Plays</span>: A Volume of
+Essays on Meredith, Borrow, Ibsen, and others. Crown 8vo.
+5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Deliverance.</span> Crown 8vo.
+5s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Nesbit (E.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Pomander of Verse.</span> Crown
+8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In Homespun.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Nettleship (J. T.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Robert Browning</span>: Essays and
+Thoughts. Portrait. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Nicholson (Claud).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ugly Idol.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Noble (Jas. Ashcroft).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Sonnet in England and
+Other Essays.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Oppenheim (M.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A History of the Administration
+of the Royal Navy</span>, and of Merchant Shipping in relation
+to the Navy from MDIX to MDCLX, with an introduction treating of
+the earlier period. With Illustrations. Demy 8vo. 15s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Orred (Meta).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Glamour.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">O’Shaughnessy (Arthur).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">His Life and His Work.</span> With
+Selections from his Poems. By
+<span class="smcap">Louise Chandler Moulton</span>.
+Portrait and Cover Design. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Oxford Characters.</p>
+
+<p class="hang">A series of lithographed portraits by
+<span class="smcap">Will Rothenstein</span>, with text
+by <span class="smcap">F. York Powell</span> and others.
+200 copies only, folio. £3 3s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Pain (Barry).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Tompkins Verses.</span> Edited
+by <span class="smcap">Barry Pain</span>, with an introduction.
+Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="authors">Pennell (Elizabeth Robins).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Feasts of Autolycus: The
+Diary of a Greedy Woman.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+
+<p class="authors">Peters (Wm. Theodore).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Posies out of Rings.</span> Sq. 16mo.
+2s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+
+<p class="authors">Phillips (Stephen).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> With which is incorporated
+“<span class="smcap">Christ in Hades</span>.”
+Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Pinkerton (T. A.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Sun Beetles.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Plarr (Victor).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In the Dorian Mood</span>: Poems.
+Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Posters in Miniature:</p>
+<p class="hang">over 250 reproductions of French, English and American Posters, with
+Introduction by <span class="smcap">Edward Penfield</span>. Large crown 8vo.
+5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Price (A. T. G.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Simplicity.</span> Sq. 16mo. 2s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Radford (Dollie).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Songs and other Verses.</span> Fcap.
+8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Risley (R. V.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Sentimental Vikings.</span> Post
+8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Rhys (Ernest).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A London Rose and Other
+Rhymes.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10_cat" id="Page_10_cat">[10]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Robertson (John M.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">New Essays towards a Critical
+Method.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Russell (T. Baron).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Guardian of the Poor.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">St. Cyres (Lord).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Little Flowers of St.
+Francis</span>: A new rendering into
+English of the <span lang="it" xml:lang="it">Fioretti di San
+Francesco</span>. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>In preparation.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Seaman (Owen).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Battle of the Bays.</span> Fcap.
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Horace at Cambridge.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Sedgwick (Jane Minot).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Songs from the Greek.</span> Fcap.
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Setoun (Gabriel).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Child World</span>: Poems. With
+over 200 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Charles
+Robinson</span>. Crown 8vo, gilt edges or uncut. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Sharp (Evelyn).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Wymps</span>: Fairy Tales. With 8 Coloured
+Illustrations by Mrs. <span class="smcap">Percy
+Dearmer</span>. Small 4to, decorated cover. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">At the Relton Arms.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Making of a Prig.</span> Crown
+8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">All the Way to Fairy Land.</span>
+With 8 Coloured Illustrations by Mrs.
+<span class="smcap">Percy Dearmer</span>. Small 4to, decorated cover. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Shiel (M. P.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Prince Zaleski.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Shapes in the Fire.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Shore (Louisa).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> With an appreciation by
+<span class="smcap">Frederic Harrison</span> and a Portrait.
+Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Shorter (Mrs. Clement). (Dora Sigerson).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Fairy Changeling, and
+other Poems.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Smith (John).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Platonic Affections.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Stacpoole (H. de Vere).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Pierrot.</span> Sq. 16mo. 2s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Death, the Knight, and the
+Lady.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Stevenson (Robert Louis).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Prince Otto.</span> A Rendering in
+French by <span class="smcap">Egerton Castle</span>.
+Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Child’s Garden of Verses.</span>
+With over 150 Illustrations by
+<span class="smcap">Charles Robinson</span>. Crown 8vo.
+5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Stimson (F. J.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">King Noanett.</span> A Romance of
+Devonshire Settlers in New England. With 12 Illustrations by
+<span class="smcap">Henry Sandham</span>. Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Stoddart (Thos. Tod).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Death Wake.</span> With an
+Introduction by <span class="smcap">Andrew Lang</span>.
+Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Street (G. S.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Episodes.</span> Post 8vo. 3s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Miniatures and Moods.</span> Fcap.
+8vo. 3s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap"><span lang="la" xml:lang="la">Quales Ego</span>: A few Remarks,
+in particular and at large.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Autobiography of a Boy.</span>
+Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Sixth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Wise and the Wayward.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Notes of a Struggling Genius.</span>
+Sq. 16mo, wrapper. 1s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Sudermann (H.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Regina: or, The Sins of the
+Fathers.</span> A Translation of <span class="smcap"><span lang="de" xml:lang="de">Der
+Katzensteg</span></span>. By <span class="smcap">Beatrice
+Marshall</span>. Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Swettenham (Sir F. A.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Malay Sketches.</span> Crown 8vo.
+6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Unaddressed Letters.</span> Crown
+8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Syrett (Netta).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Nobody’s Fault.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Tree of Life.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Tabb (John B.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> Sq. 32mo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Lyrics.</span> Sq. 32mo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Taylor (Una).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Nets for the Wind.</span> Crown 8vo.
+3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11_cat" id="Page_11_cat">[11]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Tennyson (Frederick).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems of the Day and Year.</span>
+Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Thimm (Carl A.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Complete Bibliography of
+Fencing and Duelling, as practised by all European Nations from
+the Middle Ages to the Present Day.</span>
+With a Classified Index, arranged Chronologically according to
+Languages. Illustrated with numerous Portraits of Ancient
+and Modern Masters of the Art. Title-pages and Frontispieces of
+some of the earliest works. Portrait of the Author by
+<span class="smcap">Wilson Steer</span>. 4to. 21s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Thompson (Francis).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems.</span> With Frontispiece by
+<span class="smcap">Laurence Housman</span>. Pott 4to. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Sister-Songs</span>: An Offering to
+Two Sisters. With Frontispiece by
+<span class="smcap">Laurence Housman</span>. Pott 4to. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Thoreau (Henry David).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Poems of Nature.</span> Selected and
+edited by <span class="smcap">Henry S. Salt</span> and
+<span class="smcap">Frank B. Sanborn</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Traill (H. D.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Barbarous Britishers</span>: A
+Tip-top Novel. Crown 8vo, wrapper. 1s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">From Cairo to the Soudan
+Frontier.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Tynan Hinkson (Katharine).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Cuckoo Songs.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 5s.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Miracle Plays. Our Lord’s
+Coming and Childhood.</span> With
+6 Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Patten Wilson</span>.
+Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Wells (H. G.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Select Conversations with an
+Uncle, now Extinct.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Walton and Cotton.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Compleat Angler.</span> Edited
+by <span class="smcap">Richard Le Gallienne</span>.
+With over 250 Illustrations by
+<span class="smcap">Edmund H. New</span>. Fcap. 4to,
+decorated cover. 15s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang">Also to be had in thirteen 1s. parts.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Warden (Gertrude).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Sentimental Sex.</span> Crown
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Watson (H. B. Marriott).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">At the First Corner and Other
+Stories.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Galloping Dick.</span> Crown 8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Heart of Miranda.</span> Crown
+8vo. 6s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Watson (Rosamund Marriott).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Vespertilia and other Poems.</span>
+Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Summer Night and Other
+Poems.</span> New Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Watson (William).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Father of the Forest and
+other Poems.</span> With New Photogravure
+Portrait of the Author. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Thousand.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Odes and Other Poems.</span> Fcap.
+8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fifth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Eloping Angels</span>: A Caprice.
+Square 16mo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Excursions in Criticism</span>: being
+some Prose Recreations of a Rhymer. Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Prince’s Quest and Other
+Poems.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Purple East</span>: A Series of
+Sonnets on England’s Desertion of Armenia. With a Frontispiece
+after <span class="smcap">G. F. Watts</span>, R.A. Fcap.
+8vo, wrappers. 1s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Year of Shame.</span> With an
+Introduction by the <span class="smcap">Bishop of
+Hereford</span>. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12_cat" id="Page_12_cat">[12]</a></span></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Hope of the World, and
+Other Poems.</span> Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Third Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Watt (Francis).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Law’s Lumber Room.</span> Fcap.
+8vo. 3s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Law’s Lumber Room.</span> Second
+Series. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Watts-Dunton (Theodore).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Jubilee Greeting at Spithead
+to the Men of Greater Britain.</span> Crown 8vo. 1s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Coming of Love and other
+Poems.</span> Crown 8vo. 5s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Second Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Wenzell (A. B.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">In Vanity Fair.</span> 70 Drawings.
+Oblong folio. 20s.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Wharton (H. T.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Sappho.</span> Memoir, Text, Selected
+Renderings, and a Literal Translation
+by <span class="smcap">Henry Thornton Wharton</span>. With 3 Illustrations
+in Photogravure, and a Cover designed by <span class="smcap">Aubrey
+Beardsley</span>. With a Memoir of Mr. Wharton. Fcap. 8vo. 6s. net.</p>
+
+<p class="align-right">[<i>Fourth Edition.</i></p>
+
+<p class="authors">Wotton (Mabel E.).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Day Books.</span> Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d.
+net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Xenopoulos (Gregory).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Stepmother: A Tale of
+Modern Athens.</span> Translated
+by <span class="smcap">Mrs. Edmonds</span>. Crown 8vo.
+2s. 6d. net.</p>
+
+<p class="authors">Zola (Emile).</p>
+
+<p class="hang"><span class="smcap">Four Letters to France&mdash;The
+Dreyfus Affair.</span> Fcap. 8vo, wrapper. 1s. net.</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="tb" />
+<div class="page-break-before">
+<p class="catpage2">THE YELLOW BOOK</p>
+
+<p class="catpage3">An Illustrated Quarterly.</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Pott 4to. 5s. net.</i></p>
+
+
+<table class="ybook" summary="The Yellow Book">
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">I.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">April 1894, 272 pp., 15 Illustrations. [<i>Out of print.</i></td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">II.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">July 1894, 364 pp., 23 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">III.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">October 1894, 280 pp., 15 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">IV.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">January 1895, 285 pp., 16 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">V.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">April 1895, 317 pp., 14 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">VI.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">July 1895, 335 pp., 16 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">VII.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">October 1895, 320 pp., 20 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">VIII.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">January 1896, 406 pp., 26 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">IX.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">April 1896, 256 pp., 17 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">X.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">July 1896, 340 pp., 13 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">XI.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">October 1896, 342 pp., 12 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">XII.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">January 1897, 350 pp., 14 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="ybooknum">XIII.</td>
+<td class="ybooknam">April 1897, 316 pp., 18 Illustrations.</td></tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<hr class="tb" />
+
+
+<div class="transnote">
+<p>Transcriber’s Note:</p>
+
+<p>Quotations from other sources, and transliterated materials,
+have been transcribed as they appear in this book.</p>
+
+<p>The ordering of entries in the book catalogue has been retained.</p>
+
+<p>Spelling, grammar, and variation in hyphenation and word usage
+have been retained.</p>
+
+<p>Punctuation has been changed occasionally where a clear
+predominance of usage could be ascertained.</p>
+
+Typographical changes have been made as as follows:
+
+<p class="transnote1 mt2">p. 7:</p>
+<p class="transnote1">si cœtera noscit</p>
+<p class="transnote2">changed to</p>
+<p class="transnote1">si cætera noscit</p>
+
+<p class="transnote1 mt2">p. 124:</p>
+<p class="transnote1">between the deep blue bills</p>
+<p class="transnote2">changed to</p>
+<p class="transnote1">between the deep blue hills</p>
+
+<p class="transnote1 mt2">p. 157:</p>
+<p class="transnote1">to regard the unknown quanity with philosophy</p>
+<p class="transnote2">changed to</p>
+<p class="transnote1">to regard the unknown quantity with philosophy</p>
+
+<p class="transnote1 mt2">p. 165:</p>
+<p class="transnote1">Persumably if the man thinks</p>
+<p class="transnote2">changed to</p>
+<p class="transnote1">Presumably if the man thinks</p>
+
+<p class="transnote1 mt2">p. 254:</p>
+<p class="transnote1">The wasp has still a sting left, she says; “You sent</p>
+<p class="transnote2">changed to</p>
+<p class="transnote1">The wasp has still a sting left; she says, “You sent</p>
+</div>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 47420 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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author	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-02-28 05:57:54 -0800
committer	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-02-28 05:57:54 -0800
commit	ac691a41ad70b3f6a3af51fb12e6f6ba5a42c816 (patch)
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