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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd33280 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66146 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66146) diff --git a/old/66146-0.txt b/old/66146-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ba59946..0000000 --- a/old/66146-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5883 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Cream of the Jest, by James Branch -Cabell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Cream of the Jest - A comedy of evasions - -Author: James Branch Cabell - -Release Date: August 26, 2021 [eBook #66146] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREAM OF THE JEST *** - - - - - THE - CREAM - OF THE - JEST - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - =BOOKS BY MR. CABELL= - - NOVELS: - THE CREAM OF THE JEST - THE SOUL OF MELICENT - THE RIVET IN GRANDFATHER’S NECK - THE CORDS OF VANITY - THE EAGLE’S SHADOW - - TALES: - THE CERTAIN HOUR - CHIVALRY - THE LINE OF LOVE - GALLANTRY - - VERSES: - FROM THE HIDDEN WAY - - GENEALOGIES: - BRANCH OF ABINGDON - BRANCHIANA - THE MAJORS AND THEIR MARRIAGES - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - THE - CREAM - OF THE - JEST - ═══════════════ - A Comedy of Evasions - ═══════════════ - BY - - JAMES BRANCH CABELL - - - -“_Le pays où je voulais aller, tu m’y as mené en songe, cette nuit, et -tu étais belle ... ah! que tu étais belle!... Mais, comme je n’ai aimé -que ton ombre, tu me dispenseras, chère tête, de remercier ta réalité._” - - - - NEW YORK - ROBERT M. McBRIDE & COMPANY - 1917 - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - +Copyright, 1917, by+ - ROBERT M. MCBRIDE & CO. - ───────── - - - - - ───────── - Published September, 1917 - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TO - - LOUISA NELSON - - “_At me ab amore tuo diducet - nulla senectus._” - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - Contents - - - BOOK FIRST - - I INTRODUCES THE AGELESS WOMAN 3 - - II WHEREIN A CLERK APPRAISES A 11 - FAIR COUNTRY - - III OF THE DOUBLE-DEALER’S TRAFFIC 15 - WITH A KNAVE - - IV HOW THE DOUBLE-DEALER WAS OF 19 - TWO MINDS - - V TREATS OF MAUGIS D’AIGREMONT’S 23 - POTTAGE - - VI JOURNEYS END: WITH THE 26 - CUSTOMARY UNMASKING - - - BOOK SECOND - - I OF A TRIFLE FOUND IN TWILIGHT 37 - - II BEYOND USE AND WONT FARES THE 40 - ROAD TO STORISENDE - - III OF IDLE SPECULATIONS IN A 49 - LIBRARY - - IV HOW THERE WAS A LIGHT IN THE 55 - FOG - - V OF PUBLISHING: WITH AN 61 - UNLIKELY APPENDIX - - VI SUGGESTING THEMES OF UNIVERSAL 72 - APPEAL - - VII PECULIAR CONDUCT OF A 80 - PERSONAGE - - VIII OF VAIN REGRET AND WONDER IN 93 - THE DARK - - - BOOK THIRD - - I THEY COME TO A HIGH PLACE 103 - - II OF THE SIGIL AND ONE USE OF IT 107 - - III TREATS OF A PRELATE AND, IN 110 - PART, OF PIGEONS - - IV LOCAL LAWS OF NEPHELOCOCCYGIA 118 - - V OF DIVERS FLESHLY RIDDLES 125 - - VI IN PURSUIT OF A WHISPER 130 - - VII OF TRUISMS: TREATED REASONABLY 136 - - - BOOK FOURTH - - I ECONOMIC CONSIDERATIONS OF 143 - PIETY - - II DEALS WITH PEN SCRATCHES 150 - - III BY-PRODUCTS OF RATIONAL 156 - ENDEAVOR - - IV “EPPER SI MUOVE” 163 - - V EVOLUTION OF A VESTRYMAN 172 - - - BOOK FIFTH - - I OF POETIC LOVE: TREATED WITH 195 - POETIC INEFFICIENCY - - II CROSS-PURPOSES IN SPACIOUS 210 - TIMES - - III HORVENDILE TO ETTARRE: AT 217 - WHITEHALL - - IV HORVENDILE TO ETTARRE: AT 222 - VAUX-LE-VICOMTE - - V HORVENDILE TO ETTARRE: IN THE 226 - CONCIERGERIE - - VI OF ONE ENIGMA THAT THREATENED 232 - TO PROVE ALLEGORICAL - - VII TREATS OF WITCHES, MIXED 239 - DRINKS, AND THE WEATHER - - - BOOK SIXTH - - I SUNDRY DISCLOSURES OF THE 249 - PRESS - - II CONSIDERATIONS TOWARD SUNSET 254 - - III ONE WAY OF ELUSION 258 - - IV PAST STORISENDE FARES THE ROAD 262 - OF USE AND WONT - - V WHICH MR. FLAHERTY DOES NOT 269 - QUITE EXPLAIN - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - Preface - - -MUCH has been written critically about Felix Kennaston since the -disappearance of his singular personality from the field of contemporary -writers; and Mr. Froser’s _Biography_ contains all it is necessary to -know as to the facts of Kennaston’s life. Yet most readers of the -_Biography_, I think, must have felt that the great change in Kennaston -no long while after he “came to forty year”—this sudden, almost -unparalleled, conversion of a talent for tolerable verse into the -full-fledged genius of _Men Who Loved Alison_—stays, after all, -unexplained.... - -Hereinafter you have Kennaston’s own explanation. I do not know but that -in hunting down one enigma it raises a bevy; but it, at worst, tells -from his standpoint honestly how this change came about. - -You are to remember that the tale is pieced together, in part from -social knowledge of the man, and in part from the notes I made as to -what Felix Kennaston in person told me, bit by bit, a year or two after -events the tale commemorates. I had known the Kennastons for some while, -with that continual shallow intimacy into which chance forces most -country people with their near neighbors, before Kennaston ever spoke -of—as he called the thing—the sigil. And, even then, it was as if with -negligence he spoke, telling of what happened—or had appeared to -happen—and answering my questions, with simply dumbfounding personal -unconcern. It all seemed indescribably indecent: and I marveled no -little, I can remember, as I took my notes.... - -Now I can understand it was just that his standard of values was no -longer ours nor really human. You see—it hardly matters through how -dependable an agency—Kennaston no longer thought of himself as a man of -flesh-and-blood moving about a world of his compeers. Or, at least, that -especial aspect of his existence was to him no longer a phase of any -particular importance. - -But to tell of his thoughts, is to anticipate. Hereinafter you have them -full measure and, such as it is, his story. You must permit that I begin -it in my own way, with what may to you at first seem dream-stuff. For I -commence at Storisende, in the world’s youth, when the fourth Count -Emmerick reigned in Poictesme, having not yet blundered into the -disfavor of his papal cousin Adrian VII.... With such roundabout gambits -alone can some of us approach—as one fancy begets another, if you -will—to proud assurance that life is not a blind and aimless business; -not all a hopeless waste and confusion; and that we ourselves may -(by-and-by) be strong and excellent and wise. - -Such, in any event, is the road that Kennaston took, and such the goal -to which he was conducted. So, with that goal in view, I also begin -where he began, and follow whither the dream led him. Meanwhile, I can -but entreat you to remember it is only by preserving faith in human -dreams that we may, after all, perhaps some day make them come true. - - RICHARD FENTNOR HARROWBY. - -_Montevideo 14 April 1917._ - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - _Book First_ - - - - - ══════════════════════ - - “Give place, fair ladies, and begone, - Ere pride hath had a fall! - For here at hand approacheth one - Whose grace doth stain you all. - - “Ettarre is well compared - Unto the Phœnix kind, - Whose like was never seen or heard, - That any man can find.” - - ══════════════════════ - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - Introduces the Ageless Woman - - -THE tale tells how Count Emmerick planned a notable marriage-feast for -his sister La Beale Ettarre and Sir Guiron des Rocques. The tale relates -that, in honor of this wedding, came from Nacumera, far oversea, Count -Emmerick’s elder sister Dame Melicent and her husband the Comte de la -Forêt, with an outlandish retinue of pagan slaves that caused great -wonder. All Poictesme took holiday. The tale narrates how from Naimes to -Lisuarte, and in the wild hill-country back of Perdigon, knights made -ready for the tournament, traveling toward Storisende in gay silken -garments such as were suited to these new times of peace. The highways -in those parts shone with warriors, riding in companies of six or eight, -wearing mantles worked in gold, and mounted upon valuable horses that -glittered with new bits and housings. And the tale tells, also, how they -came with horns sounding before them. - -Ettarre watched from the turrets of Storisende, pensively. Yet she was -happy in these days. “Indeed, there is now very little left this side of -heaven for you to desire, madame,” said Horvendile the clerk, who stood -beside her at his service. - -“No, there is nothing now which troubles me, Horvendile, save the -thought of Maugis d’Aigremont. I cannot ever be sure of happiness so -long as that man lives.” - -“So, so!” says Horvendile—“ah, yes, a master-villain, that! He is foiled -for the present, and in hiding, nobody knows where; but I, too, would -not wonder should he be contriving some new knavery. Say what you may, -madame, I cannot but commend his persistency, however base be his -motives; and in the forest of Bovion, where I rescued you from his -clutches, the miscreant spoke with a hellish gusto that I could have -found it in my heart to admire.” - -Ettarre had never any liking for this half-scoffing kind of talk, to -which the clerk was deplorably prone. “You speak very strangely at -times, Horvendile. Wickedness cannot ever be admirable; and to praise -it, even in jest, cannot but be displeasing to the Author of us all.” - -“Eh, madame, I am not so sure of that. Certainly, the Author of those -folk who have figured thus far in your history has not devoted His -talents to creating perfect people.” - -She wondered at him, and showed as much in the big blue eyes which had -troubled so many men’s sleep. “Since time began, there has lived no -nobler person or more constant lover than my lord Guiron.” - -“Oh, yes, Sir Guiron, I grant you, is very nearly immaculate,” said -Horvendile; and he yawned. - -“My friend, you have always served him faithfully. We two cannot ever -forget how much we have owed in the past to your quick wits and shrewd -devices. Yet now your manner troubles me.” - -Dame Ettarre spoke the truth, for, knowing the man to be unhappy—and -suspecting the reason of his unhappiness, too—she would have comforted -him; but Horvendile was not in a confiding mood. Whimsically he says: - -“Rather, it is I who am troubled, madame. For envy possesses me, and a -faint teasing weariness also possesses me, because I am not as Sir -Guiron, and never can be. Look you, they prepare your wedding-feast now, -your former sorrows are stingless; and to me, who have served you -through hard seasons of adversity, it is as if I had been reading some -romance, and had come now to the last page. Already you two grow -shadowy; and already I incline to rank Sir Guiron and you, madame, with -Arnaud and Fregonde, with Palmerin and Polinarda, with Gui and -Floripas—with that fair throng of noted lovers whose innocuous mishaps -we follow with pleasant agitation, and whom we dismiss to eternal -happiness, with smiling incredulity, as we turn back to a workaday -world. For it is necessary now that I return to my own country, and -there I shall not ever see you any more.” - -Ettarre, in common with the countryside, knew the man hopelessly loved -her; and she pitied him to-day beyond wording. Happiness is a famed -breeder of magnanimity. “My poor friend, we must get you a wife. Are -there no women in your country?” - -“Ah, but there is never any woman in one’s own country whom one can -love, madame,” replies Horvendile shrewdly. “For love, I take it, must -look toward something not quite accessible, something not quite -understood. Now, I have been so unfortunate as to find the women of my -country lacking in reticence. I know their opinions concerning -everything—touching God and God’s private intentions, and touching me, -and the people across the road—and how these women’s clothes are -adjusted, and what they eat for breakfast, and what men have kissed -them: there is no room for illusion anywhere. Nay, more: I am familiar -with the mothers of these women, and in them I see quite plainly what -these women will be some twenty years from this morning; there is not -even room for hope. Ah, no, madame; the women of my country are the -pleasantest of comrades, and the helpfullest of wives: but I cannot -conceal it from myself that, after all, they are only human beings; and -therefore it has never been possible for me to love any one of them.” - -“And am I not, then, a human being, poor Horvendile?” - -There was a tinge of mischief in the query; but beauty very often makes -for lightheadedness, both in her that has and in him that views it; nor -between Ind and Thule was there any lovelier maid than Ettarre. Smiling -she awaited his answer; the sunlight glorified each delicate clarity of -color in her fair face, and upon her breast gleamed the broken sigil of -Scoteia, that famed talisman which never left her person. “And am I not, -then, a human being?” says she. - -Gravely Horvendile answered: “Not in my eyes, madame. For you embody all -that I was ever able to conceive of beauty and fearlessness and strange -purity. Therefore it is evident I do not see in you merely Count -Emmerick’s third sister, but, instead, that ageless lovable and loving -woman long worshiped and sought everywhere in vain by all poets.” - -Horvendile meditated for a while. “Assuredly, it was you of whom blind -Homer dreamed, comforting endless night with visions of your beauty, as -you sat in a bright fragrant vaulted chamber weaving at a mighty loom, -and embroidering on tapestry the battles men were waging about Troy -because of your beauty; and very certainly it was to you that Hermes -came over fields of violets and parsley, where you sang magic rhymes, -sheltered by an island cavern, in which cedar and citron-wood were -burning—and, calling you Calypso, bade you release Odysseus from the -spell of your beauty. Sophocles, too, saw you bearing an ewer of bronze, -and treading gingerly among gashed lamentable corpses, lest your loved -dead be dishonored; and Sophocles called you Antigonê, praising your -valor and your beauty. And when men named you Bombyca, Theocritus also -sang of your grave drowsy voice and your feet carven of ivory, and of -your tender heart and all your honey-pale sweet beauty.” - -“I do not remember any of these troubadours you speak of, my poor -Horvendile; but I am very certain that if they were poets they, also, -must in their time have talked a great deal of nonsense.” - -“And as Mark’s Queen,” says Horvendile, intent on his conceit, “you -strayed with Tristran in the sunlit glades of Morois, that high forest, -where many birds sang full-throated in the new light of spring; as -Medeia you fled from Colchis; and as Esclairmonde you delivered Huon -from the sardonic close wiles of heathenry, which to you seemed -childish. All poets have had these fitful glimpses of you, Ettarre, and -of that perfect beauty which is full of troubling reticences, and so, is -somehow touched with something sinister. Now all these things I likewise -see in you, Ettarre; and therefore, for my own sanity’s sake, I dare not -concede that you are a human being.” - -The clerk was very much in earnest. Ettarre granted that, insane as his -talk seemed to her; and the patient yearning in his eyes was not -displeasing to Ettarre. Her hand touched his cheek, quickly and lightly, -like the brush of a bird’s wing. - -“My poor Horvendile, you are in love with fantasies. There was never any -lady such as you dream of.” Then she left him. - -But Horvendile remained at the parapet, peering out over broad rolling -uplands. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - Wherein a Clerk Appraises a Fair Country - -HORVENDILE peered out over broad rolling uplands.... He viewed a noble -country, good to live in, rich with grain and metal, embowered with tall -forests, and watered by pleasant streams. Walled cities it had, and -castles crowned its eminencies. Very far beneath Horvendile the leaded -roofs of these fortresses glittered in sunlight, for Storisende guards -the loftiest part of the province. - -And the people of this land—from its lords of the high, the low, and the -middle justice, to the sturdy whining beggars at its cathedral -doors—were not all unworthy of this fair realm. Undoubtedly, it was a -land, as Horvendile whimsically reflected, wherein human nature kept its -first dignity and strength; and wherein human passions were never in a -poor way to find expression with adequate speech and action. - -Now, from the field below, a lark rose singing joyously. Straight into -the air it rose, and was lost in the sun’s growing brilliance; but you -could hear its singing; and then, as suddenly, the bird dropped to -earth. No poet could resist embroidery on such a text. - -Began Horvendile straightway: “_Quan vey la laudeta mover_”—or in other -wording: - -“When I behold the skylark move in perfect joy toward its love the sun, -and, growing drunk with joy, forget the use of wings, so that it topples -from the height of heaven, I envy the bird’s fate. I, too, would taste -that ruinous mad moment of communion, there in heaven, and my heart -dissolves in longing. - -“Ailas! how little do I know of love!—I, who was once deluded by the -conceit that I was all-wise in love. For I am unable to put aside desire -for a woman whom I must always love in vain. She has bereft me of hope. -She has robbed me of my heart, of herself, and of all joy in the world, -and she has left me nothing save dreams and regrets. - -“Never have I been able to recover my full senses since that moment when -she first permitted me to see myself mirrored in her bright eyes. Hey, -fatal mirrors! which flattered me too much! for I have sighed ever since -I beheld my image in you. I have lost myself in you, like Narcissus in -his fountain.” - -Thus he lamented, standing alone among the turrets of Storisende. Now a -troop of jongleurs was approaching the castle—gay dolls, jerked by -invisible wires, the vagabonds seemed to be, from this height. - -“More merry-makers for the marriage-feast. We must spare no appropriate -ceremony. And yonder Count Emmerick is ordering the major-domo to -prepare peacocks stuffed with beccaficoes, and a pastry builded like a -palace. Hah, my beautiful fantastic little people, that I love and play -with, and dispose of just as I please, it is time your master shift -another puppet.” - -So Horvendile descended, still poetizing: “_Pus ab mi dons no m pot -valer_”—or in other wording: - -“Since nothing will avail to move my lady—not prayers or righteous -claims or mercy—and she desires my homage now no longer, I shall have -nothing more to say of love. I must renounce love, and abjure it -utterly. I must regard her whom I love as one no longer living. I must, -in fine, do that which I prepare to do; and afterward I must depart into -eternal exile.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - Of the Double-Dealer’s Traffic With a Knave - - -HORVENDILE left the fortress, and came presently to Maugis d’Aigremont. -Horvendile got speech with this brigand where he waited encamped in the -hill-country of Perdigon, loth to leave Storisende since it held Ettarre -whom he so much desired, but with too few adherents to venture an -attack. - -Maugis sprawled listless in his chair, wrapped in a mantle of soiled and -faded green stuff, as though he were cold. In his hand was a naked -sword, with which moodily he was prodding the torn papers scattered -about him. He did not move at all, but his somber eyes lifted. - -“What do you plan now, Horvendile?” - -“Treachery, messire.” - -“It is the only weapon of you scribblers. How will it serve me?” - -Then Horvendile spoke. Maugis sat listening. Above the swordhilt the -thumb of one hand was stroking the knuckles of the other carefully. His -lean and sallow face stayed changeless. - -Says Maugis: “It is a bold stroke—yes. But how do I know it is not some -trap for me?” - -Horvendile shrugged, and asked: “Have I not served you constantly in the -past, messire?” - -“You have suggested makeshifts very certainly. And to a pretty pass they -have brought me! Here I roost like a starved buzzard, with no recreation -save to watch the turrets of Storisende on clear afternoons.” - -“Where Ettarre prepares to marry Sir Guiron,” Horvendile prompted. - -“I think of that.... She is very beautiful, is she not, Horvendile? And -she loves this stately kindly fool who carries his fair head so high and -has no reason to hide anything from her. Yes, she is very beautiful, -being created perfect by divine malice that she might be the ruin of -men. So I loved her: and she did not love me, because I was not worthy -of her love. And Guiron is in all things worthy of her. I cannot ever -pardon him that, Horvendile.” - -“And I am pointing out a way, messire, by which you may reasonably hope -to deal with Sir Guiron—ho, and with the Counts Emmerick and Perion, and -with Ettarre also—precisely as you elect.” - -Then Maugis spoke wearily. “I must trust you, I suppose. But I have no -lively faith in my judgments nowadays. I have played fast and loose with -too many men, and the stench of their blood is in my nostrils, drugging -me. I move in a half-sleep, and people’s talking seems remote and -foolish. I can think clearly only when I think of how tender is the -flesh of Ettarre. Heh, a lovely flashing peril allures me, through these -days of fog, and I must trust you. Death is ugly, I know; but life is -ugly too, and all my deeds are strange to me.” - -The clerk was oddly moved. “Do you not know I love you as I never loved -Guiron?” - -“How can I tell? You are an outlander. Your ways are not our ways,” says -the brigand moodily. “And what have I to do with love?” - -“You will talk otherwise when you drink in the count’s seat, with -Ettarre upon your knee,” Horvendile considered. “Observe, I do not -promise you success! Yet I would have you remember it was by very much -this same device that Count Perion won the sister of Ettarre.” - -“Heh, if we fail,” replies Maugis, “I shall at least have done with -remembering....” Then they settled details of the business in hand. - -Thus Horvendile returned to Storisende before twilight had thickened -into nightfall. He came thus to a place different in all things from the -haggard outlaw’s camp, for Count Emmerick held that night a noble revel. -There was gay talk and jest and dancing, with all other mirth men could -devise. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV - - How the Double-Dealer Was of Two Minds - - -IT was deep silent night when Horvendile came into the room where -Ettarre slept. “Out, out!” cried Horvendile. “Let us have more light -here, so that men may see the beauty men die for!” He went with a torch -from lamp to lamp, kindling them all. - -Ettarre stood between the bed-curtains, which were green hangings worked -with birds and beasts of the field, each in his proper colors. The girl -was robed in white; and upon her breast gleamed the broken sigil of -Scoteia, that famed talisman which never left her person. She wore a -scarlet girdle about her middle, and her loosened yellow hair fell heavy -about her. Her fine proud face questioned the clerk in silence, without -any trace of fear. - -“We must wait now,” says Horvendile, “wait patiently for that which is -to follow. For while the folk of Storisende slept—while your fair, -favored lover slept, Ettarre, and your stout brothers Emmerick and -Perion slept, and all persons who are your servitors and well-wishers -slept—I, I, the puppet-shifter, have admitted Maugis d’Aigremont and his -men into this castle. They are at work now, hammer-and-tongs, to decide -who shall be master of Storisende and you.” - -Her first speech you would have found odd at such a time. “But, oh, it -was not you who betrayed us, Horvendile—not you whom Guiron loved!” - -“You forget,” he returned, “that I, who am without any hope to win you, -must attempt to view the squabbling of your other lovers without bias. -It is the custom of omnipotence to do that, Ettarre. I have given Maugis -d’Aigremont an equal chance with Sir Guiron. It is the custom of -omnipotence to do that also, Ettarre. You will remember the tale was -trite even in Job’s far time that the sweetmeats of life do not -invariably fall to immaculate people.” - -Then, as if on a sudden, Dame Ettarre seemed to understand that the -clerk’s brain had been turned through his hopeless love for her. She -wondered, dizzily, how she could have stayed blind to his insanity this -long, recollecting the inconsequence of his acts and speeches in the -past; but matters of heavier urgency were at hand. Here, with this -apparent madman, she was on perilous ground; but now had arisen a -hideous contention without; and the shrieks there, and the clash of -metal there, spoke with rude eloquence of a harborage even less -desirable. - -“Heaven will defend the right!” Ettarre said bravely. - -“I am not so sure that heaven has any finger in this pie. An arras hides -all. It will lift presently, and either Good or Evil, either Guiron or -Maugis, will come through that arras as your master. I am not certain as -yet which one I shall permit to enter; and the matter rests with me, -Ettarre.” - -“Heaven will defend the right!” Ettarre said bravely. - -And at that the arras quivered and heaved, so that its heavy -embroideries were converted into a welter of shimmering gold, bright in -the glare of many lamps, sparkling like the ocean’s waters at sunset; -and Horvendile and Ettarre saw nothing else there for a breathless -moment, which seemed to last for a great while. Then, parting, the arras -yielded up Maugis d’Aigremont. - -Horvendile chuckled. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V - - Treats of Maugis D’Aigremont’s Pottage - - -MAUGIS came forward, his eyes fixed hungrily upon Ettarre. “So a long -struggle ends,” he said, very quiet. “There is no virtue left, Ettarre, -save patience.” - -“While life remains I shall not cease to shriek out your villainy. O -God, men have let Guiron die!” she wailed. - -“I will cause you to forget that death is dreadful, Ettarre!” - -“I need no teacher now.... And so, Guiron is dead and I yet live! I had -not thought that would be possible.” She whispered this. “Give me your -sword, Maugis, for just a little while, and then I will not hate you any -longer.” - -The man said, with dreary patience: “Yes, you would die rather than -endure my touch. And through my desire of you I have been stripped of -wealth and joy and honor, and even of hope; through my desire of you I -have held much filthy traffic, with treachery and theft and murder, -traffic such as my soul loathed: and to no avail! Yes, I have been -guilty of many wickednesses, as men estimate these matters; and yet, I -swear to you, I seem to myself to be still that boy with whom you used -to play, when you too were a child, Ettarre, and did not hate me. Heh, -it is very strange how affairs fall out in this world of ours, so that a -man may discern no aim or purpose anywhere!” - -“Yet it is all foreplanned, Maugis.” Horvendile spoke thus. - -“And to what end have you ensnared me, Horvendile?” says Maugis, turning -wearily. “For the attack on Storisende has failed, and I am dying of -many wounds, Horvendile. See how I bleed! Guiron and Perion and Emmerick -and all their men are hunting me everywhere beyond that arras, and I am -frightened, Horvendile—even I, who was Maugis, am frightened!—lest any -of them find me here. For I desire now only to die untroubled. Oh, -Horvendile, in an ill hour I trusted you!” - -As knave and madman, Ettarre saw the double-dealer and his dupe confront -each other. In the haggard face of Maugis, no longer evil, showed only -puzzled lassitude. In the hand of Horvendile a dagger glittered; and his -face was pensive. - -“My poor Maugis, it is not yet time I make my dealings plain to you. It -suffices that you have served my turn, Maugis, and that of you I have no -need any longer. You must die now, Maugis.” - -Ettarre feared this frozen madman, she who was by ordinary fearless. -Ettarre turned away her face, so that she might not see the two men -grapple. Without, the uproar continued—for a long while, it seemed. When -she looked again it was, by some great wonder-working, to meet Guiron’s -eyes and Guiron’s lips. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VI - - Journeys End: With the Customary Unmasking - - -“MY love, Ettarre, they have not harmed you?” - -“None has harmed me, Guiron. Oh, and you?” - -“Maugis is dead,” he answered joyously. - -“See, here he lies, slain by brave Horvendile. And the rogues who -followed Maugis are all killed or fled. Our woes are at an end, dear -love.” - -Then Ettarre saw that Horvendile indeed waited beside the dead body of -Maugis d’Aigremont. And the clerk stayed motionless while she told -Guiron of Horvendile’s baleful work. - -Sir Guiron then said: “Is this true speech, Horvendile?” - -“It is quite true I have done all these things, messire,” Horvendile -answered quietly. - -“And with what purpose?” said Sir Guiron, very sadly; for to him too it -seemed certain that such senseless treachery could not spring from -anything but madness, and he had loved Horvendile. - -“I will tell you,” Horvendile replied, “though I much fear you will not -understand—” He meditated, shook his head, smiling. “Indeed, how is it -possible for me to make you understand? Well, I blurt out the truth. -There was once in a land very far away from this land—in my country—a -writer of romances. And once he constructed a romance which, after a -hackneyed custom of my country, purported to be translated from an old -manuscript written by an ancient clerk—called Horvendile. It told of -Horvendile’s part in the love-business between Sir Guiron des Rocques -and La Beale Ettarre. I am that writer of romance. This room, this -castle, all the broad rolling countryside without, is but a portion of -my dream, and these places have no existence save in my fancies. And -you, messire—and you also, madame—and dead Maugis here, and all the -others who seemed so real to me, are but the puppets I fashioned and -shifted, for a tale’s sake, in that romance which now draws to a close.” - -He paused; and Sir Guiron sighed. “My poor Horvendile!” was all he said. - -“It is not possible for you to believe me, of course. And it may be that -I, too, am only a figment of some greater dream, in just such case as -yours, and that I, too, cannot understand. It may be the very cream of -the jest that my country is no more real than Storisende. How could I -judge if I, too, were a puppet? It is a thought which often troubles -me....” - -Horvendile deliberated, then spoke more briskly. “At all events, I must -return now to my own country, which I do not love as I love this bright -fantastic tiny land that I created—or seemed to create—and wherein I -was—or seemed to be—omnipotent.” - -Horvendile drew a deep breath; and he looked downward at the corpse he -had bereft of pride and daring and agility. “Farewell, Maugis! It would -be indecorous, above all in omnipotence, to express anything save -abhorrence toward you: yet I delighted in you as you lived and moved; -and it was not because of displeasure with you that I brought you to -disaster. Hence, also, one might evolve a heady analogue....” - -Guiron was wondering what he might do in accord with honor and with -clemency. He did not stir as Horvendile came nearer. The clerk showed -very pitiful and mean beside this stately champion in full armor, all -shining metal, save for a surcoat of rose-colored stuff irregularly -worked with crescents of silver. - -“Farewell, Sir Guiron!” Horvendile then said. “There are no men like you -in my country. I have found you difficult to manage; and I may confess -now that I kept you so long imprisoned at Caer Idryn, and caused you to -spend so many chapters oversea in heathendom, mainly in order that I -might weave out my romance here untroubled by your disconcerting and -rather wooden perfection. But you are not the person to suspect ill of -your creator. You are all that I once meant to be, Guiron, all that I -have forgotten how to be; and for a dead boy’s sake I love you.” - -“Listen, poor wretch!” Sir Guiron answered, sternly; “you have this -night done horrible mischief, you have caused the death of many -estimable persons. Yet I have loved you, Horvendile, and I know that -heaven, through heaven’s inscrutable wisdom, has smitten you with -madness. That stair leads to the postern on the east side of the castle. -Go forth from Storisende as quickly as you may, whilst none save us -knows of your double-dealings. It may be that I am doing great wrong; -but I cannot forget I have twice owed my life to you. If I must err at -all hazards, I prefer to err upon the side of gratitude and mercy.” - -“That is said very like you,” Horvendile replied. “Eh, it was not for -nothing I endowed you with sky-towering magnanimity. Assuredly, I go, -messire. And so, farewell, Ettarre!” Long and long Horvendile gazed upon -the maiden. “There is no woman like you in my country, Ettarre. I can -find no woman anywhere resembling you whom dreams alone may win to. It -is a little thing to say that I have loved you; it is a bitter thing to -know that I must live among, and pursue, and win, those other women.” - -“My poor Horvendile,” she answered, very lovely in her compassion, “you -are in love with fantasies.” - -He held her hand, touching her for the last time; and he trembled. “Yes, -I am in love with my fantasies, Ettarre; and, none the less, I must -return into my own country and abide there always....” - -As he considered the future, in the man’s face showed only puzzled -lassitude; and you saw therein a quaint resemblance to Maugis -d’Aigremont. “I find my country an inadequate place in which to live,” -says Horvendile. “Oh, many persons live there happily enough! or, at -worst, they seem to find the prizes and the applause of my country worth -striving for whole-heartedly. But there is that in some of us which gets -no exercise there; and we struggle blindly, with impotent yearning, to -gain outlet for great powers which we know that we possess, even though -we do not know their names. And so, we dreamers wander at adventure to -Storisende—oh, and into more perilous realms sometimes!—in search of a -life that will find employment for every faculty we have. For life in my -country does not engross us utterly. We dreamers waste there at loose -ends, waste futilely. All which we can ever see and hear and touch -there, we dreamers dimly know, is at best but a portion of the truth, -and is possibly not true at all. Oh, yes! it may be that we are not -sane; could we be sure of that, it would be a comfort. But, as it is, we -dreamers only know that life in my country does not content us, and -never can content us. So we struggle, for a tiny dear-bought while, into -other and fairer-seeming lands in search of—we know not what! And, after -a little”—he relinquished the maiden’s hands, spread out his own hands, -shrugging—“after a little, we must go back into my country and live -there as best we may.” - -A whimsical wise smile now visited Ettarre’s lips. Her hands went to her -breast, and presently one half the broken sigil of Scoteia lay in -Horvendile’s hand. “You will not always abide in your own country, -Horvendile. Some day you will return to us at Storisende. The sign of -the Dark Goddess will prove your safe-conduct then if Guiron and I be -yet alive.” - -Horvendile raised to his mouth the talisman warmed by contact with her -sweet flesh. “It may be you will not live for a great while,” he says; -“but that will befall through no lack of loving pains on your creator’s -part.” - -Then Horvendile left them. In the dark passage-way he paused, looking -back at Guiron and Ettarre for a heart-beat. Guiron and Ettarre had -already forgotten his existence. Hand-in-hand they stood in the bright -room, young, beautiful and glad. Silently their lips met. - -Horvendile closed the door, and so left Storisende forever. Without he -came into a lonely quiet-colored world already expectant of dawn’s -occupancy. Already the tree-trunks eastward showed like the black bars -of a grate. Thus he walked in twilight, carrying half the sigil of -Scoteia.... - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - _Book Second_ - - - - - ══════════════════════ - - “Whate’er she be— - That inaccessible She - That doth command my heart and me: - - “Till that divine - Idea take a shrine - Of crystal flesh, through which to shine: - - “Let her full glory, - My fancies, fly before ye; - Be ye my fictions—but her story.” - - ══════════════════════ - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - Of a Trifle Found in Twilight - - -THUS he walked in twilight, regretful that he must return to his own -country, and live another life, and bear another name than that of -Horvendile.... It was droll that in his own country folk should call him -Felix, since Felix meant “happy”; and assuredly he was not pre-eminently -happy there. - -At least he had ended the love-business of Ettarre and Guiron happily, -however droll the necessitated makeshifts might have been.... He had -very certainly introduced the god in the car, against Horatian -admonition, had wound up affairs with a sort of transformation scene.... -It was, perhaps, at once too hackneyed and too odd an ending to be -æsthetically satisfactory, after all.... Why, beyond doubt it was. He -shrugged his impatience. - -“Yet—what a true ending it would be!” he reflected. He was still walking -in twilight—for the time was approaching sunset—in the gardens of -Alcluid. He must devise another ending for this high-hearted story of -Guiron and Ettarre. - -Felix Kennaston smiled a little over the thought of ending the romance -with such topsy-turvy anti-climaxes as his woolgathering wits had -blundered into; and, stooping, picked up a shining bit of metal that lay -beside the pathway. He was conscious of a vague notion he had just -dropped this bit of metal. - -“It is droll how all great geniuses instinctively plagiarize,” he -reflected. “I must have seen this a half-hour ago, when I was walking up -and down planning my final chapters. And so, I wove it into the tale as -a breast-ornament for Ettarre, without ever consciously seeing the thing -at all. Then, presto! I awake and find it growing dark, with me -lackadaisically roaming in twilight clasping this bauble, just as I -imagined Horvendile walking out of the castle of Storisende carrying -much such a bauble. Oh, yes, the processes of inspiration are as -irrational as if all poets took after their mothers.” - -This bit of metal, Kennaston afterward ascertained, was almost an exact -half of a disk, not quite three inches in diameter, which somehow had -been broken or cut in two. It was of burnished metal—lead, he -thought—about a sixteenth of an inch in thickness; and its single -notable feature was the tiny characters with which one surface was -inscribed. - -Later Felix Kennaston was destined to puzzle over his inability to -recollect what motive prompted him to slip this glittering trifle into -his pocket. A trifle was all that it seemed then. He always remembered -quite clearly how it sparkled in the abating glare of that day’s -portentous sunset; and how the tree-trunks westward showed like the -black bars of a grate, as he walked slowly through the gardens of -Alcluid. Alcluid, be it explained, was the queer name with which Felix -Kennaston’s progenitors had seen fit to christen their fine country home -near Lichfield. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - Beyond Use and Wont Fares the Road to Storisende - - -KENNASTON was to recall, also, that on this evening he dined alone with -his wife, sharing a taciturn meal. He and Kathleen talked of very -little, now, save the existent day’s small happenings, such as having -seen So-and-so, and of So-and-so’s having said this-or-that, as -Kennaston reflected in the solitude of the library. But soon he was -contentedly laboring upon the book he had always intended to write some -day. - -Off and on, in common with most high-school graduates, Felix Kennaston -had been an “intending contributor” to various magazines, -spasmodically bartering his postage-stamps for courteously-worded -rejection-slips. Then, too, in the old days before his marriage, when -Kennaston had come so near to capturing Margaret Hugonin and her big -fortune, the heiress had paid for the printing of _The King’s Quest_ -and its companion enterprises in rhyme, as well as the prose _Defence -of Ignorance_—wide-margined specimens of the far-fetched decadence -then in vogue, and the idol of Kennaston’s youth, when he had -seriously essayed the parlor-tricks of “stylists.” - -And it was once a familiar story how Marian Winwood got revenge on Felix -Kennaston, when he married Kathleen Saumarez, by publishing, in a -transparent guise of fiction, all the love-letters he had written Miss -Winwood; so that Kennaston might also have claimed to be generally -recognized as the actual author of her _Epistles of Ananias_, which -years ago created some literary stir. - - * * * * * - -But this book was to be different from any of his previous compositions. -To paraphrase Felix Kennaston’s own words (as recorded in the “Colophon” -to _Men Who Loved Alison_), he had determined in this story lovingly to -deal with an epoch and a society, and even a geography, whose comeliness -had escaped the wear-and-tear of ever actually existing. He had -attempted a jaunt into that “happy, harmless Fable-land” which is -bounded by Avalon and Phæacia and Sea-coast Bohemia, and the contiguous -forests of Arden and Broceliande, and on the west of course by the -Hesperides, because he believed this country to be the one possible -setting for a really satisfactory novel, even though its byways can -boast of little traffic nowadays. He was completing, in fine, _The Audit -at Storisende_—or, rather, _Men Who Loved Alison_, as the book came -afterward to be called. - -Competent critics in plenty have shrugged over Kennaston’s pretense -therein that the romance is translated from an ancient manuscript. But -to Kennaston the clerk Horvendile, the fictitious first writer of the -chronicle and eye-witness of its events, was necessary. No doubt it -handicapped the story’s progress, so to contrive matters that one -subsidiary character should invariably be at hand when important doings -were in execution, and should be taken more or less into everyone’s -confidence—but then, somehow, it made the tale seem real. - -For in the writing it all seemed perfectly real to Felix Kennaston. His -life was rather barren of motive now. In remoter times, when he had -wandered impecuniously from one adventure to another, sponging without -hesitancy upon such wealthy people as his chatter amused, there had -always been exquisite girls to make love to—such girls as the younger -generation did not produce—and the ever-present problem of whence was to -come the fares for to-morrow’s hansoms, in which the younger generation -did not ride. For now hansom cabs were wellnigh as extinct as -velocipedes or sedan-chairs, he owned two motors, and, by the drollest -turn, had money in four banks. As recreation went, he and Kathleen had -in Lichfield their round of decorous social duties; and there was -nothing else to potter with save the writing. And a little by a little -the life he wrote of came to seem to Felix Kennaston more real, and far -more vital, than the life his body was shuffling through aimlessly. - -For as Horvendile he lived among such gallant circumstances as he had -always vaguely hoped his real life might provide to-morrow. This -Horvendile, coming unintelligibly to Storisende, and witnessing there -the long combat between Sir Guiron des Rocques and Maugis d’Aigremont -for possession of La Beale Alison—as Kennaston’s heroine is called of -course in the printed book—seems to us in reading the tale no very -striking figure; as in _Rob Roy_ and _Esmond_, it is not to the -narrator, but to the people and events he tells of, that attention is -riveted. But Felix Kennaston, writing the book, lived the life of -Horvendile in the long happy hours of writing, which became longer and -longer; and insensibly his existence blended and was absorbed into the -more colorful life of Horvendile. It was as Horvendile he wrote, seeming -actually at times to remember what he recorded, rather than to -invent.... - -And he called it inspiration.... - -So the tale flowed on, telling how Count Emmerick planned a notable -marriage-feast for his sister La Beale Ettarre and Sir Guiron des -Rocques, with vastly different results from those already recorded—with -the results, in fine, which figure in the printed _Men Who Loved -Alison_, where Horvendile keeps his proper place as a more or less -convenient device for getting the tale told. - -But to Kennaston that first irrational winding-up of affairs, wherein a -world’s creator was able to wring only contempt and pity from his -puppets—since he had not endowed them with any faculties wherewith to -comprehend their creator’s nature and intent—was always the tale’s real -ending.... - - * * * * * - -So it was that the lonely man lived with his dreams, and toiled for the -vision’s sake contentedly; and we of Lichfield who were most familiar -with Felix Kennaston in the flesh knew nothing then of his mental -diversions; and, with knowledge, would probably have liked him not a bit -the better. For ordinary human beings, as all other normal forms of -life, turn naturally toward the sun, and are at their best thereunder; -but it is the misfortune of dreamers that their peculiar talents find no -exercise in daylight. So we regarded Kennaston with the distrust -universally accorded people who need to be meddling with ideas in a -world which sustains its mental credit comfortably enough with a current -coinage of phrases. - -And therefore it may well be that I am setting down his story not all in -sympathy, for in perfect candor I never, quite, liked Felix Kennaston. -His high-pitched voice in talking, to begin with, was irritating: you -knew it was not his natural voice, and found it so entirely senseless -for him to speak thus. Then, too, the nervous and trivial grin with -which he prefaced almost all his infrequent remarks—and the odd little -noise, that was nearly a snigger and just missed being a cough, with -which he ended them—was peculiarly uningratiating in a fat and -middle-aged person; his weak eyes very rarely met yours full-gaze; and -he was continually handling his face or fidgeting with a cigarette or -twisting in his chair. When listening to you he usually nibbled at his -fingernails, and when he talked he had a secretive way of looking at -them. - -Such habits are not wholly incompatible with wisdom or generosity, and -the devil’s advocate would not advance them against their possessor’s -canonization; none the less, in everyday life they make against your -enjoying a chat with their possessor: and as for Kennaston’s undeniable -mental gifts, there is no escaping, at times, the gloomy suspicion that -fiddling with pens and ink is, after all, no fit employment for a grown -man. - -Felix Kennaston, to fix the word, was inadequate. His books apart, he -was as a human being a failure. Indeed, in some inexpressible fashion, -he impressed you as uneasily shirking life. Certainly he seemed since -his marriage to have relinquished all conversational obligations to his -wife. She had a curious trick of explaining him, before his face—in a -manner which was not unreminiscent of the lecturer in “side-shows” -pointing out the peculiarities of the living skeleton or the -glass-eater; but it was done with such ill-concealed pride in him that I -found it touching, even when she was boring me about the varieties of -food he could not be induced to touch or his finicky passion for saving -every bit of string he came across. - -That suggests a minor mystery: many women had been fond of Felix -Kennaston; and I have yet to find a man who liked him even moderately, -to offset the host who marveled, with unseemly epithets, as to what -these women saw in him. My wife explains it, rather enigmatically, that -he was “just a twoser”; and that, in addition, he expected women to look -after him, so that naturally they did. To her superior knowledge of the -feminine mind I can but bow: with the addition (quoting the same -authority) that a “twoser” is a trousered individual addicted to -dumbness in company and the very thrilliest sort of play-acting in -_tête-à-têtes_. - -At all events, I never quite liked Felix Kennaston—not even after I came -to understand that the man I knew in the flesh was but a very ill-drawn -likeness of Felix Kennaston. After all, that is the whole sardonic point -of his story—and, indeed, of every human story—that the person you or I -find in the mirror is condemned eternally to misrepresent us in the eyes -of our fellows. But even with comprehension, I never cordially liked the -man; and so, it may well be that his story is set down not all in -sympathy. - -With which Gargantuan parenthesis, in equitable warning, I return again -to his story. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - Of Idle Speculations in a Library - - -FELIX KENNASTON did not write very long that night. He fell idly to the -droll familiar wondering how this dull fellow seated here in this -luxurious room could actually be Felix Kennaston.... - -He was glad this spacious and subduedly-glowing place, and all the -comfortable appointments of Alcluid, belonged to him. He had seen enough -of the scrambling hand-to-mouth makeshifts of poverty, in poverty’s -heart-depressing habitations, during the thirty-eight years he weathered -before the simultaneous deaths, through a motor accident, of a -semi-mythical personage known since childhood as “your Uncle Henry in -Lichfield,” and of Uncle Henry’s only son as well, had raised Felix -Kennaston beyond monetary frets. As yet Kennaston did not very -profoundly believe in this unlooked-for turn; and in the library of his -fine house in particular he had still a sense of treading alien -territory under sufferance. - -Yet it was a territory which tempted exploration with alluring vistas. -Kennaston had always been, when there was time for it, “very fond of -reading,” as his wife was used to state in tones of blended patronage -and apology. Kathleen Kennaston, in the old days of poverty, had -declaimed too many pilfered dicta concerning literary matters to retain -any liking for them. - -As possibly you may recall, for some years after the death of her first -husband, Kathleen Eppes Saumarez had earned precarious bread and butter -as a lecturer before women’s clubs, and was more or less engaged in -journalism, chiefly as a reviewer of current literature. For all books -she had thus acquired an abiding dislike. In particular, I think, she -loathed the two volumes of “woodland tales” collected in those -necessitous years, from her Woman’s Page in the _Lichfield -Courier-Herald_, for the fickle general reading public, which then used -to follow the life-histories of Bazoo the Bear and Mooshwa the Mink, and -other “citizens of the wild,” with that incalculable unanimity which -to-day may be reserved for the biographies of optimistic orphans, and -to-morrow veers to _vies intimes_ of high-minded courtesans with hearts -of gold.... In fine, through a variety of reasons, Mrs. Kennaston quite -frankly cared even less for books, as manifestations of art, than does -the average tolerably honest woman to whom books do not represent a -source of income. - -And you may or may not remember, likewise, what Kennaston wrote, about -this time, in the “Colophon” to _Men Who Loved Alison_. With increased -knowledge of the author, some sentences therein, to me at least, took on -larger significance: - - “No one, I take it, can afford to do without books unless he be - quite sure that his own day and personality are the best - imaginable; and for this class of persons the most crying need - is not, of course, seclusion in a library, but in a sanatorium. - - “It was, instead, for the great generality, who combine a taste - for travel with a dislike for leaving home, that books were by - the luckiest hit invented, to confound the restrictions of - geography and the almanac. In consequence, from the Ptolemies to - the Capets, from the twilight of a spring dawn in Sicily to the - uglier shadow of Montfaucon’s gibbet, there intervenes but the - turning of a page, a choice between Theocritus and Villon. From - the Athens of Herodotus to the Versailles of St.-Simon, from - Naishapur to Cranford, it is equally quick traveling. All times - and lands that ever took the sun, indeed, lie open, equally, to - the explorer by the grace of Gutenberg; and transportation into - Greece or Rome or Persia or Chicago, equally, is the affair of a - moment. Then, too, the islands of Avalon and Ogygia and Theleme - stay always accessible, and magic casements open readily upon - the surf of Sea-coast Bohemia. For the armchair traveler alone - enjoys enfranchisement of a chronology, and of a geography, that - has escaped the wear-and-tear of ever actually existing. - - “Peregrination in the realms of gold possesses also the quite - inestimable advantage that therein one’s personality is - contraband. As when Dante makes us free of Hell and Heaven, it - is on the fixed condition of our actual love and hate of divers - Renaissance Italians, whose exploits in the flesh require to-day - the curt elucidation of a footnote, just so, admission to those - high delights whereunto Shelley conducts is purchased by - accrediting to clouds and skylarks—let us sanely admit—a - temporary importance which we would never accord them unbiased. - The traveler has for the half-hour exchanged his personality for - that of his guide: such is the rule in literary highways, a very - necessary traffic ordinance: and so long as many of us are, upon - the whole, inferior to Dante or Shelley—or Sophocles, or - Thackeray, or even Shakespeare—the change need not make entirely - for loss....” - -Yes, it is lightly phrased; but, after all, it is only another way of -confessing that his books afforded Kennaston an avenue to forgetfulness -of that fat pasty fellow whom Kennaston was heartily tired of being. For -one, I find the admission significant of much, in view of what befell -him afterward. - -And besides—so Kennaston’s thoughts strayed at times—these massed books, -which his predecessor at Alcluid had acquired piecemeal through the term -of a long life, were a part of that predecessor’s personality. No other -man would have gathered and have preserved precisely the same books, and -each book, with varying forcefulness, had entered into his predecessor’s -mind and had tinged it. These parti-colored books, could one but -reconstruct the mosaic correctly, would give a candid portrait of “your -Uncle Henry in Lichfield,” which would perhaps surprise all those who -knew him daily in the flesh. Of the fact that these were unusual books -their present owner and tentative explorer had no doubt whatever. They -were perturbing books. - -Now these books by their pleasant display of gold-leaf, soberly aglow in -lamplight, recalled an obscure association of other tiny brilliancies; -and Felix Kennaston recollected the bit of metal he had found that -evening. - -Laid by the lamp, it shone agreeably as Kennaston puckered his -protruding brows over the characters with which it was inscribed. So far -as touched his chances of deciphering them, he knew all foreign -languages were to him of almost equal inscrutability. French he could -puzzle out, or even Latin, if you gave him plenty of time and a -dictionary; but this inscription was not in Roman lettering. He wished, -with time-dulled yearning, that he had been accorded a college -education.... - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV - - How There Was a Light in the Fog - - -AS she came toward him through the fog, “How annoying it is,” she was -saying plaintively, “that these moors are never properly lighted.” - -“Ah, but you must not blame Ole-Luk-Oie,” he protested. “It is all the -fault of Beatricê Cenci....” - -Then Kennaston knew he had unwittingly spoken magic words, for at once, -just as he had seen it done in theaters, the girl’s face was shown him -clearly in a patch of roseate light. It was the face of Ettarre. - -“Things happen so in dreams,” he observed. “I know perfectly well I am -dreaming, as I have very often known before this that I was dreaming. -But it was always against some law to tell the people in my nightmares I -quite understood they were not real people. To-day in my daydream, and -here again to-night, there is no such restriction; and lovely as you -are, I know that you are just a daughter of sub-consciousness or of -memory or of jumpy nerves or, perhaps, of an improperly digested -entrée.” - -“No, I am real, Horvendile—but it is I who am dreaming you.” - -“I had not thought to be a part of any woman’s dream nowadays.... Why do -you call me Horvendile?” - -She who bore the face of Ettarre pondered momentarily; and his heart -moved with glad adoration. - -“Now, by the beard of the prophet! I do not know,” the girl said, at -last. - -“The name means nothing to you?” - -“I never heard it before. But it seemed natural, somehow—just as it did -when you spoke of Ole-Luk-Oie and Beatricê Cenci.” - -“But Ole-Luk-Oie is the lord and master of all dreams, of course. And -that furtive long-dead Roman girl has often troubled my dreams. When I -was a boy, you conceive, there was in my room at the first -boarding-house in which I can remember dieting, a copy of the Guido -portrait of Beatricê Cenci—a copy done in oils, a worthless daub, I -suppose. But there was evil in the picture—a lurking devilishness, which -waited patiently and alertly until I should do what that silent watcher -knew I was predestined to do, and, being malevolent, wanted me to do. I -knew nothing then of Beatricê Cenci, mark you, but when I came to learn -her history I thought the world was all wrong about her. That woman was -evil, whatever verse-makers may have fabled, I thought for a long -while.... To-day I believe the evil emanated from the person who painted -that particular copy. I do not know who that person was, I never shall -know. But the black magic of that person’s work was very potent.” - -And Kennaston looked about him now, to find fog everywhere—impenetrable -vapors which vaguely showed pearl-colored radiancies here and there, but -no determinable forms of trees or of houses, or of anything save the -face of Ettarre, so clearly discerned and so lovely in that strange -separate cloud of roseate light. - -“Ah, yes, those little magics”—it was the girl who spoke—“those futile -troubling necromancies that are wrought by portraits and unfamiliar -rooms and mirrors and all time-worn glittering objects—by running waters -and the wind’s persistency, and by lonely summer noons in forests—how -inconsequently they fret upon men’s heart-strings!” - -“As if some very feeble force—say, a maimed elf—were trying to attract -your attention? Yes, I think I understand. It is droll.” - -“And how droll, too, it is how quickly we communicate our thoughts—even -though, if you notice, you are not really speaking, because your lips -are not moving at all.” - -“No, they never do in dreams. One never seems, in fact, to use one’s -mouth—you never actually eat anything, you may also notice, in dreams, -even though food is very often at hand. I suppose it is because all -dream food is akin to the pomegranates of Persephone, so that if you -taste it you cannot ever return again to the workaday world.... But why, -I wonder, are we having the same dream?—it rather savors of Morphean -parsimony, don’t you think, thus to make one nightmare serve for two -people? Or perhaps it is the bit of metal I found this afternoon—” - -And the girl nodded. “Yes, it is on account of the sigil of Scoteia. I -have the other half, you know.” - -“What does this mean, Ettarre—?” he began; and reaching forward, was -about to touch her, when the universe seemed to fold about him, just as -a hand closes.... - - * * * * * - -And Felix Kennaston was sitting at the writing-table in the library, -with a gleaming scrap of metal before him; and, as the clock showed, it -was bedtime. - -“Well, it is undoubtedly quaint how dreams draw sustenance from -half-forgotten happenings,” he reflected; “to think of my recollecting -that weird daub which used to deface my room in Fairhaven! I had -forgotten Beatricê entirely. And I certainly never spoke of her to any -human being, except of course to Muriel Allardyce.... But I would not be -at all surprised if I had involuntarily hypnotized myself, sitting here -staring at this shiny piece of lead—you read of such cases. I believe I -will put it away, to play with again sometime.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V - - Of Publishing: With an Unlikely Appendix - - -SO Kennaston preserved this bit of metal. “No fool like an old fool,” -his commonsense testily assured him. But Felix Kennaston’s life was -rather barren of interests nowadays.... - -He thought no more of his queer dream, for a long while. Life had gone -on decorously. He had completed _The Audit at Storisende_, with leisured -joy in the task, striving to write perfectly of beautiful happenings -such as life did not afford. There is no denying that the typed -manuscript seemed to Felix Kennaston—as he added the last touches, -before expressing it to Dapley & Pildriff—to inaugurate a new era in -literature. - -Kennaston was yet to learn that publishers in their business capacity -have no especial concern with literature. To his bewilderment he -discovered that publishers seemed sure the merits of a book had nothing -to do with the advisability of printing it. Herewith is appended a -specimen or two from Felix Kennaston’s correspondence. - - DAPLEY & PILDRIFF—“We have carefully read your story, ‘The Audit - at Storisende,’ which you kindly submitted to us. It is needless - for us to speak of the literary quality of the story: it is in - fact exquisitely done, and would delight a very limited circle - of readers trained to appreciate such delicate productions. But - that class of readers is necessarily small, and the general - reader would, we fear, fail to recognize the book’s merit and be - attracted to it. For this reason we do not feel—and we regret to - confess it—that the publication of this book would be a wise - business enterprise for us to undertake. We wish that we could, - in justice to you and ourselves, see the matter in another - light. We are returning the manuscript to you, and we remain, - with appreciation of your courtesy, etc.” - - PAIGE TICKNOR’S SONS—“We have given very careful consideration - to your story, ‘The Audit at Storisende,’ which you kindly - submitted to us. We were much interested in this romance, for it - goes without saying that it is marked with high literary - quality. But we feel that it would not appeal with force and - success to the general reader. Its appeal, we think, would be to - the small class of cultured readers, and therefore its - publication would not be attended with commercial success. - Therefore in your interest, as well as our own, we feel that we - must give an unfavorable decision upon the question of - publication. Naturally we regret to be forced to that - conclusion, for the work is one which would be creditable to any - publisher’s list. We return the manuscript by express, with our - appreciation of your courtesy in giving us the opportunity of - considering it, and are, etc.” - -And so it was with The Gayvery Company, and with Leeds, McKibble & Todd, -and with Stuyvesant & Brothers. Unanimously they united to praise and to -return the manuscript. And Kennaston began reluctantly to suspect that, -for all their polite phrases about literary excellence, his romance -must, somehow, be not quite in consonance with the standards of that -person who is, after all, the final arbiter of literature, and to whom -these publishers very properly deferred, as “the general reader.” And -Kennaston wondered if it would not be well for him, also, to study the -all-important and exigent requirements of “the general reader.” - -Kennaston turned to the publishers’ advertisements. Dapley & Pildriff at -that time were urging every one to read _White Sepulchers_, the author -of which had made public the momentous discovery that all churchgoers -were not immaculate persons. Paige Ticknor’s Sons were announcing a new -edition of _The Apostates_, a scathing arraignment of plutocratic -iniquities, which was heralded as certain to sear the soul to its core, -more than rival Thackeray, and turn our highest social circles inside -out. Then the Gayvery Company offered _Through the Transom_, a daring -study of “feminism,” compiled to all appearance under rather novel -conditions, inasmuch as the brilliant young author had, according to the -advertisements, written every sentence with his jaws set and his soul on -fire. The majority of Leeds, McKibble & Todd’s adjectives were devoted -to _Sarah’s Secret_, the prize-winner in the firm’s $15,000 contest—a -“sprightly romance of the greenwood,” whose undoubted aim, Kennaston -deduced from tentative dips into its meandering balderdash, was to -become the most sought-after book, in all institutes devoted to care of -the feeble-minded. And Stuyvesant & Brothers were superlatively -acclaiming _The Silent Brotherhood_, the latest masterpiece of a -pornographically gifted genius, who had edifyingly shown that he ranked -religion above literature, by retiring from the ministry to write -novels. - -Kennaston laughed—upon which side of the mouth, it were too curious to -inquire. Momentarily he thought of printing the book at his own expense. -But here the years of poverty had left indelible traces. Kennaston had -too often walked because he had not carfare, for a dollar ever again to -seem to him an inconsiderable matter. Comfortably reassured as to -pecuniary needs for the future, he had not the least desire to control -more money than actually showed in his bank-balances: but, even so, he -often smiled to note how unwillingly he spent money. So now he shrugged, -and sent out his loved romance again. - - * * * * * - -An unlikely thing happened: the book was accepted for publication. The -Baxon-Muir Company had no prodigious faith in _The Audit at Storisende_, -as a commercial venture; but their “readers,” in common with most of the -“readers” for the firms who had rejected it, were not lacking in -discernment of its merits as an admirable piece of writing. And the more -optimistic among them protested even to foresee a possibility of the -book’s selling. The vast public that reads for pastime, they contended, -was beginning to grow a little tired of being told how bad was -this-or-that economic condition: and pretty much everything had been -“daringly exposed,” to the point of weariness, from the inconsistencies -of our clergy to the uncleanliness of our sausage. In addition, they -considered the surprising success of Mr. Marmaduke Fennel’s -eighteenth-century story, _For Love of a Lady_, as compared with the -more moderate sales of Miss Elspeth Lancaster’s _In Scarlet Sidon_, that -candid romance of the brothel; deducing therefrom that the “gadzooks” -and “by’r lady” type of reading-matter was ready to revive in vogue. At -all events, the Baxon-Muir Company, after holding a rather unusual -number of conferences, declared their willingness to publish this book; -and in due course they did publish it. - -There were before this, however, for Kennaston many glad hours of -dabbling with proofsheets: the tale seemed so different, and so -infernally good, in print. Kennaston never in his life found any other -playthings comparable to those first wide-margined “galley proofs” of -_The Audit at Storisende_. Here was the word, vexatiously repeated -within three lines, which must be replaced by a synonym; and the clause -which, when transposed, made the whole sentence gain in force and -comeliness; and the curt sentence whose addition gave clarity to the -paragraph, much as a pinch of alum clears turbid water; and the vaguely -unsatisfactory adjective, for which a jet of inspiration suggested a -substitute, of vastly different meaning, in the light of whose -inevitable aptness you marveled over your preliminary obtuseness:—all -these slight triumphs, one by one, first gladdened Kennaston’s labor and -tickled his self-complacency. He could see no fault in the book. - -His publishers had clearer eyes. His Preface, for one matter, they -insisted on transposing to the rear of the volume, where it now figures -as the book’s tolerably famous Colophon—that curious exposition of -Kennaston’s creed as artist. Then, for a title, _The Audit at -Storisende_ was editorially adjudged abominable: people would not know -how to pronounce Storisende, and in consequence would hold back from -discussing the romance or even asking for it at bookdealers. _Men Who -Loved Ettarre_ was Kennaston’s ensuing suggestion; but the Baxon-Muir -Company showed no fixed confidence in their patrons’ ability to -pronounce Ettarre, either. Would it not be possible, they inquired, to -change the heroine’s name?—and Kennaston assented. Thus it was that in -the end his book came to be called _Men Who Loved Alison_. - -But to Kennaston her name stayed always Ettarre.... - -The book was delivered to the world, which received the gift without -excitement. The book was delivered to reviewers, who found in it a -well-intentioned echo of Mr. Maurice Hewlett’s earlier mediæval tales. -And there for a month or some six weeks, the matter rested. - -Then one propitious morning an indignant gentlewoman in Brooklyn wrote -to _The New York Sphere_ a letter which was duly printed in that -journal’s widely circulated Sunday supplement, _The Literary -Masterpieces of This Week_, to denounce the loathsome and depraved -indecency of the nineteenth and twentieth chapters, in which—while -treating of Sir Guiron’s imprisonment in the Sacred Grove of Caer Idryn, -and the worship accorded there to the sigil of Scoteia—Kennaston had -touched upon some of the perverse refinements of antique sexual -relations. The following week brought forth a full page of letters. Two -of these, as Kennaston afterward learned, were contributed by the -“publicity man” of the Baxon-Muir Company, and all arraigned obscenities -which Kennaston could neither remember or on re-reading his book -discover. Later in this journal, as in other newspapers, appeared still -more denunciations. An up-to-the-minute bishop expostulated from the -pulpit against the story’s vicious tendencies, demanding that it be -suppressed. Thereafter it was no longer on sale in the large -department-stores alone, but was equally procurable at all the -bookstands in hotels and railway stations. Even the author’s -acquaintances began to read it. And the Delaunays (then at the height of -their vogue as exponents of the “new” dances) introduced “the Alison -amble”; and from Tampa to Seattle, in certain syndicated cartoons of -generally appealing idiocy, newspaper readers were privileged to see one -hero of the series knock the other heels over head with a copy of -Kennaston’s romance. And women wore the “Alison aigrette” for a whole -season; and a new brand of cheap tobacco christened in her honor had -presently made her name at least familiar in saloons. _Men Who Loved -Alison_ became, in fine, the novel of the hour. It was one of those rare -miracles such as sometimes palm off a well-written book upon the vast -public that reads for pastime. - -And shortly afterward Mr. Booth Tarkington published another of his -delightful romances: one forgets at this distance of time just which it -was: but, like all the others, it was exquisitely done, and sold neck -and neck with _Men Who Loved Alison_; so that for a while it looked -almost as if the American reading public was coming to condone adroit -and careful composition. - -But presently the advertising columns of magazines and newspapers were -heralding the year’s vernal output of enduring masterworks in the field -of fiction: and readers were again assured that the great American novel -had just been published at last, by any number of persons: and so, the -autumnal predecessors of these new _chefs d’œuvre_ passed swiftly into -oblivion, via the brief respite of a “popular” edition. And naturally, -Kennaston’s romance was forgotten, by all save a few pensive people. -Some of them had found in this volume food for curious speculation. - -That, however, is a matter to be taken up later. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VI - - Suggesting Themes of Universal Appeal - - -SO Felix Kennaston saw his dream vulgarized, made a low byword; and he -contemplated this travestying, as the cream of a sardonic jest, with -urbanity. Indeed, that hour of notoriety seemed not without its pleasant -features to Felix Kennaston, who had all a poet’s ordinary appetite for -flattery. Besides, it was droll to read the “literary notes” which the -Baxon-Muir people were industriously disseminating, by means of the -daily journals, concerning Felix Kennaston’s personality, ancestry, -accomplishments, recreations and preferences in diet. And then, in -common with the old woman famed in nursery rhyme, he was very often wont -to observe, “But, lawk a mercy on me! this is none of I!” - -It was droll, too, to be asked for autographs, lectures, and for -donations of “your wonderful novel.” It was droll to receive letters -from remote mysterious persons, who had read his book, and had liked it, -or else had disliked it to the point of being goaded into epistolary -remonstrance, sarcasm, abuse, and (as a rule) erratic spelling. It -troubled Kennaston that only riffraff seemed to have read his book, so -far as he could judge from these unsolicited communications; and that -such people of culture and education as might have been thrilled by -it—all people whose opinions he might conceivably value—seemed never to -write to authors.... - -And finally, it was droll to watch his wife’s reception of the book. To -Kennaston his wife stayed always a not unfriendly mystery. She now could -not but be a little taken aback by this revelation of his abilities, he -reflected—with which she had lived so long without, he felt, -appreciation of them—but certainly she would never admit to either fact. -He doubted very much if Kathleen would ever actually read _Men Who Loved -Alison_; on various pretexts she had deferred the pleasure, and seemed, -with perverted notions of humor, to esteem it a joke that she alone had -not read the book of which everybody was talking. Such was not -Kennaston’s idea of humor, or of wifely interest. But Kathleen dipped -into the volume here and there; and she assuredly read all the -newspaper-notices sent in by the clipping-bureau. These she considered -with profound seriousness. - -“I have been thinking—you ought to make a great deal out of your next -novel,” she said, one morning, over her grapefruit; and the former poet -wondered why, in heaven’s name, it should matter to her whether or not -the marketing of his dreams earned money, when they had already a -competence. But women were thus fashioned.... - -“You ought to do something more up-to-date, though, Felix, something -that deals with real life—” - -“Ah, but I don’t particularly care to write about a subject of which I -am so totally ignorant, dear. Besides, it isn’t for you to fleer and -gibe at a masterpiece which you never read,” he airily informed her. - -“I am saving it up for next summer, Felix, when I will have a chance to -give every word of it the reverence it deserves. I really don’t have any -time for reading nowadays. There is always something more important that -has to be attended to—For instance, the gasoline engine isn’t working -again, and I had to ’phone in town for Slaytor to send a man out to-day, -to see what is the matter this time.” - -“And it is messy things like that you want me to write about!” he -exclaimed. “About the gasoline engine going on another strike, and -Drake’s forgetting to tell you we were all out of sugar until late -Saturday night! Never mind, Mrs. Kennaston! you will be sorry for this, -and you will weep the bitter tears of unavailing repentance, some day, -when you ride in the front automobile with the Governor to the unveiling -of my various monuments, and have fallen into the anecdotage of a great -man’s widow.” He spoke lightly, but he was reflecting that in reality -Kathleen did not read his book because she did not regard any of his -doings very seriously. “Isn’t this the third time this week we have had -herring for breakfast?” he inquired, pleasantly. “I think I will wait -and let them scramble me a couple of eggs. It is evidently a trifle that -has escaped your attention, my darling, during our long years of happy -married life, that I don’t eat herring. But of course, just as you say, -you have a number of much more important things than husbands to think -about. I dislike having to put any one to any extra trouble on my -account; but as it happens, I have a lot of work to do this morning, and -I cannot very well get through it on an empty stomach.” - -“We haven’t had it since Saturday, Felix.” Then wearily, to the -serving-girl, “Cora, see if Mr. Kennaston can have some eggs.... I wish -you wouldn’t upset things so, Felix. Your coffee will get stone-cold; -and it is hard enough to keep servants as it is. Besides, you know -perfectly well to-day is Thursday, and the library has to be -thorough-cleaned.” - -“That means of course I am to be turned out-of-doors and forced to waste -a whole day somewhere in town. It is quite touching how my creature -comforts are catered to in this house!” - -And Kathleen began to laugh, ruefully. “You are just a great big baby, -Felix. You are sulking and swelling up like a frog, because you think I -don’t appreciate what a wonderful husband I have and what a wonderful -book he has written.” - -Then Kennaston began to laugh also. He knew that what she said was -tolerably true, even to the batrachian simile. “When you insisted on -adopting me, dear, you ought to have realized what you were letting -yourself in for.” - -“—And I do think,” Kathleen went on, evincing that conviction with which -she as a rule repeated other people’s remarks—“that you ought to make -your next book something that deals with real life. _Men Who Loved -Alison_ is beautifully written and all that, but, exactly as the _Tucson -Pioneer_ said, it is really just colorful soapbubbly nonsense.” - -“Ah, but is it unadulterated nonsense, Kathleen, that somewhere living -may be a uniformly noble transaction?” he debated—“and human passions -never be in a poor way to find expression with adequate speech and -action?” Pleased with the phrase, and feeling in a better temper, he -began to butter a roll. - -“I don’t know about that; but, in any event, people prefer to read about -the life they are familiar with.” - -“You touch on a disheartening truth. People never want to be told -anything they do not believe already. Yet I quite fail to see why, in -books or elsewhere, any one should wish to be reminded of what human -life is actually like. For living is the one art in which mankind has -never achieved distinction. It is perhaps an obscure sense of this that -makes us think the begetting of mankind an undiscussable subject, and -death a sublime and edifying topic.” - -“Yes—? I dare say,” Kathleen assented vaguely. “This herring is really -very good, Felix. I think you would like it, if you just had not made up -your mind to be stubborn about it—” Then she spoke with new animation: -“Felix, Margaret Woods was in Louvet’s yesterday morning, having her -hair done for a dinner they gave the railroad crowd last night, and of -all the faded washed-out looking people I ever saw—! And I can remember -her having that hideous brown dress long before she was married. Of -course, it doesn’t make any difference to me that she didn’t see fit to -invite us. She was one of your friends, not mine. I was only thinking -that, since she always pretended to be so fond of you, it does seem -curious the way we are invariably left out.” - -So Kennaston did not embroider verbally his theme—of Living -Adequately—as he had felt himself in vein to do could he have found a -listener. - -“Some day,” he ruefully reflected, “I shall certainly write a paper upon -The Lost Art of Conversing with One’s Wife. Its appeal, I think, would -be universal.” - -Then his eggs came.... - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VII - - Peculiar Conduct of a Personage - - -SHORTLY afterward befell a queer incident. Kennaston, passing through a -famed city, lunched with a personage who had been pleased to admire _Men -Who Loved Alison_, and whose remunerative admiration had been skilfully -trumpeted in the public press by Kennaston’s publishers. - -There were some ten others in the party, and Kennaston found it droll -enough to be sitting at table with them. The lean pensive man—with hair -falling over his forehead in a neatly-clipped “bang,” such as custom -restricts to children—had probably written that morning, in his official -capacity, to innumerable potentates. That handsome bluff old -navy-officer was a national hero: he would rank in history with Perry -and John Paul Jones; yet here he sat, within arms’-reach, prosaically -complaining of unseasonable weather. That bearded man, rubicund and -monstrous as to nose, was perhaps the most powerful, as he was certainly -the most wealthy, person inhabiting flesh; and it was rumored, in those -Arcadian days, that kingdoms did not presume to go to war without -securing the consent of this financier. - -And that exquisitely neat fellow, looking like a lad unconvincingly -made-up for an octogenarian in amateur theatricals, was the premier of -the largest province in the world: his thin-featured neighbor was an -aeronaut—at this period really a _rara avis_—and went above the clouds -to get his livelihood, just as ordinary people went to banks and -offices. And chief of all, their multifarious host—the personage, as one -may discreetly call him—had left unattempted scarcely any rôle in the -field of human activities: as ranchman, statesman, warrior, historian, -editor, explorer, athlete, coiner of phrases, and re-discoverer of the -Decalogue, impartially, he had labored to make the world a livelier -place of residence; and already he was the pivot of as many legends as -Charlemagne or Arthur. - -The famous navy-officer, as has been said, was complaining of the -weather. “The seasons have changed so, since I can remember. We seem to -go straight from winter into summer nowadays.” - -“It has been rather unseasonable,” assented the financier; “but then you -always feel the heat so much more during the first few hot days.” - -“Besides,” came the judicious comment, “it has not been the heat which -was so oppressive this morning, I think, as the great amount of humidity -in the air.” - -“Yes, it is most unpleasant—makes your clothes stick to you so.” - -“Ah, but don’t you find, now,” asked the premier gaily, “that looking at -the thermometer tends to make you feel, really, much more uncomfortable -than if you stayed uninformed as to precisely how hot it was?” - -“Well! where ignorance is bliss it is folly to be wise, as I remember to -have seen stated somewhere.” - -“By George, though, it is wonderful how true are many of those old -sayings!” observed the personage. “We assume we are much wiser than our -fathers: but I doubt if we really are, in the big things that count.” - -“In fact, I have often wondered what George Washington, for example, -would think of the republic he helped to found, if he could see it -nowadays.” - -“He would probably find it very different from what he imagined it would -be.” - -“Why, he would probably turn in his grave, at some of our newfangled -notions—such as prohibition and equal suffrage.” - -“Oh, well, all sensible people know, of course, that the trouble with -prohibition is that it does not prohibit, and that woman’s place is the -home, not in the mire of politics.” - -“That is admirably put, sir, if you will permit me to say so. Still, -there is a great deal to be said on both sides.” - -“And after all, is there not a greater menace to the ideals of -Washington and Jefferson in the way our present laws tend uniformly to -favor rich people?” - -“There you have it, sir—to-day we punish the poor man for doing what the -rich man does with entire impunity, only on a larger scale.” - -“By George, there are many of our so-called captains of industry who, if -the truth were told, and a shorter and uglier word were not -unpermissible, are little better than malefactors of great wealth.” - -This epigram, however heartily admired, was felt by many of the company -to be a bit daring in the presence of the magnate: and the lean -secretary spoke hastily, or at any rate, in less leisurely tones than -usual: - -“After all, money is not everything. The richest people are not always -the happiest, in spite of their luxury.” - -“You gentlemen can take it from me,” asserted the aeronaut, “that many -poor people get a lot of pleasure out of life.” - -“Now, really though, that reminds me—children are very close observers, -and, as you may have noticed, they ask the most remarkable questions. My -little boy asked me, only last Tuesday, why poor people are always so -polite and kind—” - -“Well, little pitchers have big ears—” - -“What you might call a chip of the old block, eh?—so that mighty little -misses him?” - -“I may be prejudiced, but I thought it pretty good, coming from a kid of -six—” - -“And it is perfectly true, gentlemen—the poor are kind to each other. -Now, I believe just being kind makes you happier—” - -“And I often think that is a better sort of religion than just dressing -up in your best clothes and going to church regularly on Sundays—” - -“That is a very true thought,” another chimed in. - -“And expressed, upon my word, with admirable clarity—” - -“Oh, whatever pretended pessimists in search of notoriety may say, most -people are naturally kind, at heart—” - -“I would put it that Christianity, in spite of the carping sneers of -science so-called, has led us once for all to recognize the vast -brotherhood of man—” - -“So that, really, the world gets better every day—” - -“We have quite abolished war, for instance—” - -“My dear sir, were there nothing else, and even putting aside the -outraged sentiments of civilized humanity, another great or prolonged -war between any two of the leading nations is unthinkable—” - -“For the simple reason, gentlemen, that we have perfected our fighting -machines to such an extent that the destruction involved would be too -frightful—” - -“Then, too, we are improving the automobile to such an extent—” - -“Oh, in the end it will inevitably supplant the horse—” - -“It seems almost impossible to realize how we ever got along without the -automobile—” - -“Do you know, I would not be surprised if some day horses were exhibited -in museums—” - -“As rare and nearly extinct animals? Come, now, that is pretty good—” - -“And electricity is, as one might say, just in its infancy—” - -“The telephone, for instance—our ancestors would not have believed in -the possibilities of such a thing—” - -“And, by George, they talk of giving an entire play with those -moving-picture machines—acting the whole thing out, you know.” - -“Oh, yes, we live in the biggest, brainiest age the world has ever -known—” - -“And America is going to be the greatest nation in it, before very long, -commercially and in every way....” - -So the talk flowed on, with Felix Kennaston contributing very little -thereto. Indeed, Felix Kennaston, the dreamer, was rather ill-at-ease -among these men of action, and listened to their observations with -perturbed attention. He sat among the great ones of earth—not all of -them the very greatest, of course, but each a person of quite -respectable importance. It was the sort of gathering that in boyhood—and -in later life also, for that matter—he had foreplanned to thrill and -dazzle, as he perfectly recollected. But now, with the opportunity, he -somehow could not think of anything quite suitable to say—of anything -which would at once do him justice and be admiringly received. - -Therefore he attempted to even matters by assuring himself that the talk -of these efficient people was lacking in brilliance and real depth, and -expressed sentiments which, microscopically viewed, did not appear to be -astoundingly original. If these had been less remarkable persons he -would have thought their conversation almost platitudinous. And not one -of these much-talked-about men, whatever else he might have done, could -have written _Men Who Loved Alison_! Kennaston cherished that reflection -as he sedately partook of a dish he recollected to have seen described, -on menu cards, as “Hungarian goulash” and sipped sherry of no very -extraordinary flavor.... - -He was to remember how plain the fare was, and more than once, was to -refer to this meal—quite casually—beginning “That reminds me of what -Such-an-one said once, when I was lunching with him,” or perhaps, “The -last time I lunched with So-and-so, I remember—” With such gambits he -was able, later on, to introduce to us of Lichfield several anecdotes -which, if rather pointless, were at least garnished with widely-known -names. - -There was a Cabinet meeting that afternoon, and luncheon ended, the -personage wasted scant time in dismissing his guests. - -“It has been a very great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kennaston,” quoth -the personage, wringing Kennaston’s hand. - -Kennaston suitably gave him to understand that they shared ecstasy in -common. - -“Those portions of your book relating to the sigil of Scoteia struck me -as being too explicit,” the personage continued, bluffly, but in lowered -tones. The two stood now, beneath a great stuffed elk’s head, a little -apart from the others. “Do you think it was quite wise? I seem to recall -a phrase—about birds—” - -But Kennaston’s thoughts were vaguely dental. And there is no denying -Kennaston was astounded. Nor was he less puzzled when, as if in answer -to Kennaston’s bewildered look, the personage produced from his -waistcoat pocket a small square mirror, which he half-exhibited, but -retained secretively in the palm of his hand. “Yes, the hurt may well be -two-fold—I am presupposing that, as a country-gentleman, you have raised -white pigeons, Mr. Kennaston?” he said, meaningly. - -“Why, no, they keep up such a maddening cooing and purring on warm days, -and drum so on tin roofs”—Kennaston stammered—“that I long ago lost -patience with the birds of Venus, whatever the tincture of their -plumage. There used to be any number of them on our place, though—” - -“Ah, well,” the personage said, with a wise nod, and a bright gleam of -teeth, “you exercise the privilege common to all of us—and my intended -analogy falls through. In any event, it has been a great pleasure to -meet you. Come and see me again, Mr. Kennaston—and meanwhile, think over -what I have said.” - - * * * * * - -And that was all. Kennaston returned to Alcluid in a whirl of formless -speculations. The mirror and the insane query as to white pigeons could -not, he considered, but constitute some password to which Kennaston had -failed to give the proper response. - -The mystery had some connection with what he had written in his book as -to the sigil of Scoteia.... And he could not find he had written -anything very definite. The broken disk was spoken of as a talisman in -the vague terms best suited to a discussion of talismans by a person who -knew nothing much about them. True, the book told what the talisman -looked like; it looked like that bit of metal he had picked up in the -garden.... He wondered if he had thrown away that bit of metal; and, -searching, discovered it in the desk drawer, where it had lain for -several months. - -Laid by the lamp, it shone agreeably as Kennaston puckered his -protruding heavy brows over the characters with which it was inscribed. -That was what the sigil looked like—or, rather, what half the sigil -looked like, because Ettarre still had the other half. How could the -personage have known anything about it? unless there were, indeed, -really some secret and some password through which men won to place and -the world’s prizes?... Blurred memories of Eugène Sue’s nefarious -Jesuits and of Balzac’s redoubtable Thirteen arose in the background of -his mental picturings.... - -No, the personage had probably been tasting beverages more potent than -sherry; there were wild legends, since disproved, such as seemed then to -excuse that supposition: or perhaps he was insane, and nobody but Felix -Kennaston knew it.... What could a little mirror, much less pigeons, -have to do with this bit of metal?—except that this bit of metal, too, -reflected light so that the strain tired your eyes, thus steadily to -look down upon the thing.... - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VIII - - Of Vain Regret and Wonder in the Dark - - -“MADAM,” he was insanely stating, “I would not for the world set up as a -fit exponent for the mottoes of a copybook; but I am not all base.” - -“You are,” flashed she, “a notorious rogue.” - -It was quite dark. Kennaston could not see the woman with whom he was -talking. But they were in an open paved place, like a courtyard, and he -was facing the great shut door against which she stood, vaguely -discernible. He knew they were waiting for some one to open this door. -It seemed to him, for no reason at all, that they were at Tunbridge -Wells. But there was no light anywhere. Complete darkness submerged -them; the skies showed not one glimmer overhead. - -“That I am of smirched repute, madam, I lack both grounds and -inclination to deny. Yet I am not so through choice. Believe me, I am -innately of wellnigh ducal disposition; and by preference, an ill name -is as obnoxious to me as—shall we say?—soiled linen or a coat of last -year’s cut. But then, _que voulez-vous?_ as our lively neighbors -observe. Squeamishness was never yet bred in an empty pocket; and I am -thus compelled to the commission of divers profitable peccadilloes, once -in a blue moon, by the dictates of that same haphazard chance which -to-night has pressed me into the service of innocence and virtue.” - -She kept silence; and he went on in lightheaded wonder as to what this -dream, so plainly recognized as such, was all about, and as to whence -came the words which sprang so nimbly to his lips, and as to what was -the cause of his great wistful sorrow. Perhaps if he listened very -attentively to what he was saying, he might find out. - -“You do not answer, madam. Yet think a little. I am a notorious rogue: -the circumstance is conceded. But do you think I have selfishly become -so in quest of amusement? Nay, I can assure you that Newgate, the wigged -judge, the jolting cart, the gallows, is no pleasant dream o’ nights. -But what choice had I? Cast forth to the gutter’s miring in the -susceptible years of infancy, a girl of the town’s byblow, what choice -had I, in heaven’s name? If I may not live as I would, I must live as I -may; in emperors and parsons and sewer-diggers and cheese-mites that -claim is equally allowed.” - -“You are a thief?” she asked, pensively. - -“Let us put it, rather, that I have proved in life’s hard school an -indifferent Latinist, by occasionally confounding _meum_ with _tuum_.” - -“A murderer?” - -“Something of the sort might be my description in puritanic mouths. You -know at least what happened at The Cat and Hautbois.” - -(“_But what in the world had happened there?_” Kennaston wondered.) - -“And yet—” The sweet voice marveled. - -“And yet I have saved you from Lord Umfraville? Ah, madam, Providence -labors with quaint instruments, dilapidating Troy by means of a wood -rocking-horse, and loosing sin into the universe through a half-eaten -apple. Nay, I repeat, I am not all base; and I have read somewhere that -those who are in honor wholly shipwrecked will yet very often cling -desperately to one stray spar of virtue.” - -He could tell her hand had raised to the knocker on the closed door. -“Mr. Vanringham, will you answer me a question?” - -“A thousand. (_So I am Vanringham._”) - -“I have not knocked. I possess, as you know, a considerable fortune in -my own right. It would be easy for a strong man—and, sure, your -shoulders are prodigiously broad, Mr. Cut-throat!—very easy for him to -stifle my cries and carry me away, even now. And then, to preserve my -honor, I would have no choice save to marry that broad-shouldered man. -Is this not truth?” - -“It is the goddess herself, newly stolen from her well. _O dea certé!_” - -“I am not absolutely hideous, either?” she queried, absent-mindedly. - -“Dame Venus,” Kennaston observed, “may have made a similar demand of the -waves at Cythera when she first rose among their billows: and I doubt -not that the white foaming waters, amorously clutching at her far whiter -feet, laughed and murmured the answer I would give did I not know your -question was put in a spirit of mockery.” - -“And yet—” she re-began. - -“And yet, I resist all these temptations? Frankly, had you been in my -eyes less desirable, madam, you would not have reached home thus -uneventfully; for a rich marriage is the only chance adapted to repair -my tattered fortunes; and the devil is cunning to avail himself of our -flesh’s frailty. Had you been the fat widow of some City knight, I would -have played my lord of Umfraville’s part, upon my pettier scale. Or, had -I esteemed it possible for me to have done with my old life, I would -have essayed to devote a cleaner existence to your service and worship. -Indeed, indeed, I speak the truth, however jestingly!” he said, with -sudden wildness. “But what would you have? I would not entrust your fan, -much less your happiness, to the keeping of a creature so untrustworthy -as I know myself to be. In fine, I look upon you, madam, in such a -rapture of veneration and tenderness and joy and heartbreaking yearning, -that it is necessary I get very tipsy to-night, and strive to forget -that I, too, might have lived cleanlily.” - -And Kennaston, as he spoke thus, engulfed in darkness, knew it was a -noble sorrow which possessed him—a stingless wistful sorrow such as is -aroused by the unfolding of a well-acted tragedy or the progress of a -lofty music. This ruffian longing, quite hopelessly, to be made clean -again, so worshipful of his loved lady’s purity and loveliness, and -knowing loveliness and purity to be forever unattainable in his mean -life, was Felix Kennaston, somehow.... What was it Maugis d’Aigremont -had said?—“I have been guilty of many wickednesses, I have held much -filthy traffic such as my soul loathed; and yet, I swear to you, I seem -to myself to be still the boy who once was I.” Kennaston understood now, -for the first time with deep reality, what his puppet had meant; and how -a man’s deeds in the flesh may travesty the man himself. - -But the door opened. Confusedly Kennaston was aware of -brilliantly-lighted rooms beyond, of the chatter of gay people, of thin -tinkling music, and, more immediately, of two lackeys, much be-powdered -as to their heads, and stately in new liveries of blue-and-silver. -Confusedly he noted these things, for the woman had paused in the bright -doorway, and all the loveliness of Ettarre was visible now to him, and -she had given a delighted cry of recognition. - -“La, it is Horvendile! and we are having the same dream again!” - -This much he heard and saw as her hand went out gladly toward him. Then -as she touched him the universe seemed to fold about Felix Kennaston, -just as a hand closes, and he was sitting at the writing-table in the -library, with a gleaming scrap of metal before him. - - * * * * * - -He sat thus for a long while. - -“I can make nothing of all this. I remember of course that I saw Muriel -Allardyce stand very much like that, in the doorway of the Royal Hotel, -at the Green Chalybeate—and how many years ago, good Lord!... And -equally of course the most plausible explanation is that I am losing my -wits. Or, else, it may be that I am playing blindfold with perilous -matters. Felix Kennaston, my friend, the safest plan—the one assuredly -safe plan for you—would be to throw away this devil’s toy, and forget it -completely.... And, I will, too—the very first thing to-morrow -morning—or after I have had a few days to think it over, any way....” - -But even as he made this compact it was without much lively faith in his -promises. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - _Book Third_ - - - - - ══════════════════════ - - “Come to me in my dreams, and then - By day I shall be well again! - For then the night will more than pay - The hopeless longing of long day. - - “Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times, - A messenger from lovelier climes, - To smile on our drear world, and be - As kind to others as to me!” - - ══════════════════════ - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - They Come to a High Place - - -HE was looking down at the most repulsive old woman he had ever seen. -Hers was the abhorrent fatness of a spider; her flesh appeared to have -the coloring and consistency of dough. She sat upon the stone pavement, -knitting; her eyes, which raised to his unblinkingly, were black, -secretive, and impersonally malevolent; and her jaws stirred without -ceasing, in a loose chewing motion, so that the white hairs, rooted in -the big mole on her chin, twitched and glittered in the sunlight. - -“But one does not pay on entering,” she was saying. “One pays as one -goes out. It is the rule.” - -“And what do you knit, mother?” Kennaston asked her. - -“Eh, I shall never know until God’s funeral is preached,” the old woman -said. “I only know it is forbidden me to stop.” - -So he went past her, aware that through some nameless grace the girl -whom he had twice seen in dreams awaited him there, and that the girl’s -face was the face of Ettarre. She stood by a stone balustrade, upon -which squatted tall stone monsters—weird and haphazard collocations, as -touched anatomy, of bird and brute and fiend—and she in common with -these hobgoblins looked down upon a widespread comely city. The time was -a bright and windy morning in spring; and the sky, unclouded, was like -an inverted cup which did not merely roof Ettarre and the man who had -come back to her, but inclosed them in incommunicable isolation. To the -left, beyond shimmering tree-tops, so far beneath them that it made -Felix Kennaston dizzy to look, the ruffling surface of a river -gleamed.... It was in much this fashion, he recalled, that Ettarre and -Horvendile had stood alone together among the turrets of Storisende. - -“But now I wonder where on the face of—or, rather, so far above the face -of what especial planet we may happen to be?” Kennaston marveled -happily—“or east of the sun or west of the moon? At all events, it -hardly matters. Suffice it that we are in love’s land to-day. Why worry -over one particular inexplicable detail, where everything is -incomprehensible?” - -“I was never here before, Horvendile; and I have waited for you so -long.” - -He looked at her; and again his heart moved with glad adoration. It was -not merely that Ettarre was so pleasing to the eye, and distinguished by -so many delicate clarities of color—so young, so quick of movement, so -slender, so shapely, so inexpressibly virginal—but the heady knowledge -that here on dizzying heights he, Felix Kennaston, was somehow playing -with superhuman matters, and that no power could induce him to desist -from his delicious and perilous frolic, stirred, in deep recesses of his -being, nameless springs. Nameless they must remain; for it was as though -he had discovered himself to possess a sixth sense; and he found that -the contrivers of language, being less prodigally gifted, had never been -at need to invent any terms wherewith to express this sense’s -gratification. But he knew that he was strong and admirable; that men -and men’s affairs lay far beneath him; that Ettarre belonged to him; -and, most vividly of all, that the exultance which possessed him was a -by-product of an unstable dream. - -“Yet it is not any city of to-day,” he was saying. “Look, how yonder -little rascal glitters—he is wearing a helmet of some sort and a gorget. -Why, all those pigmies, if you look closely, go in far braver scarlets -and purples than we elect to skulk about in nowadays; and there is not -an office-building or an electric-light advertisement of chewing-gum in -sight. No, that hotchpotch of huddled gables and parapets and towers -shaped like lanterns was stolen straight out of some Doré illustration -for Rabelais or _Les Contes Drolatiques_. But it does not matter at all, -and it will never matter, where we may chance to be, Ettarre. What -really and greatly matters, is that when I try to touch you everything -vanishes.” - -The girl was frankly puzzled. “Yes, that seems a part of the sigil’s -magic....” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - Of the Sigil and One Use of It - - -IT proved that this was indeed a part of the sigil’s wonder-working: -Kennaston learned by experience that whenever, even by accident, he was -about to touch Ettarre his dream would end like a burst bubble. He would -find himself alone and staring at the gleaming fragment of metal. - -Before long he also learned something concerning the sigil of Scoteia, -of which this piece of metal once formed a part; for it was permitted -him to see the sigil in its entirety, many centuries before it was -shattered: it was then one of the treasures of the Didascalion, a -peculiar sort of girls’ school in King Ptolemy Physcon’s city of -Alexandria, where women were tutored to honor fittingly the power which -this sigil served. But it is not expedient to speak clearly concerning -this; and the real name of the sigil was, of course, quite different -from that which Kennaston had given it in his romance. - -So began an odd divided life for Felix Kennaston. At first he put his -half of the sigil in an envelope, which he hid in a desk in the library, -under a pile of his dead uncle’s unused bookplates; whence, when -occasion served, it was taken out in order that when held so as to -reflect the lamplight—for this was always necessary—it might induce the -desired dream of Ettarre. - -Later Kennaston thought of an expedient by which to prolong his dreams. -Nightly he lighted and set by his bedside a stump of candle. Its tiny -flame, after he had utilized its reflection, would harmlessly burn out -while his body slept with a bit of metal in one hand; and he would be -freed of Felix Kennaston for eight hours uninterruptedly. To have left -an electric-light turned on until he awakened, would in the end have -exposed him to detection and the not-impossible appointment of a -commission in lunacy; and he recognized the potentialities of such -mischance with frank distaste. As affairs sped, however, he could -without great difficulty buy his candles in secret. He was glad now he -was well-to-do, if only because, as an incidental result of materially -bettered fortunes, he and his wife had separate bedrooms. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - Treats of a Prelate and, in Part, of Pigeons - - -THE diurnal part of Kennaston’s life was largely devoted to writing _The -Tinctured Veil_—that amazing performance which he subsequently gave to a -bewildered world. And for the rest, his waking life went on in the old -round. - -But this is not—save by way of an occasional parenthesis—a chronicle of -Felix Kennaston’s doings in the flesh. You may find all that in Mr. -Froser’s _Biography_. Flippant, inefficient and moody, Felix Kennaston -was not in the flesh particularly engaging; and in writing this record -it is necessary to keep his fat corporeal personality in the background -as much as may be possible, lest it should cause you, as it so often -induced us of Lichfield, to find the man repellent, and nothing more. - -Now it befell that this spring died Bishop Arkwright—of the Cathedral of -the Bleeding Heart—and many dignitaries of his faith journeyed to -Lichfield to attend the funeral. Chief among these was a prelate who -very long ago had lived in Lichfield, when he was merely a bishop. -Kennaston was no little surprised to receive a note informing him that -this eminent churchman would be pleased to see Mr. Felix Kennaston that -evening at the Bishop’s House. - -The prelate sat alone in a sparsely furnished, rather dark, and -noticeably dusty room. He was like a lean effigy carved in time-yellowed -ivory, and his voice was curiously ingratiating. Kennaston recognized -with joy that this old man talked like a person in a book, in completed -sentences and picked phrases, instead of employing the fragmentary -verbal shorthand of ordinary Lichfieldian conversation: and Kennaston, -to whom the slovenliness of fairly cultured people’s daily talk was -always a mystery and an irritant, fell with promptitude into the same -tone. - -The prelate, it developed, had when he lived in Lichfield known -Kennaston’s dead uncle—“for whom I had the highest esteem, and whose -friendship I valued most dearly.” He hoped that Kennaston would pardon -the foibles of old age and overlook this trespass upon Kennaston’s time. -For the prelate had, he said, really a personal interest in the only -surviving relative of his dead friend. - -“There is a portrait of you, sir, in my library—very gorgeous, in full -canonicals—just as my uncle left the room,” said Kennaston, all at sea. -But the prelate had begun to talk—amiably, and in the most commonplace -fashion conceivable—of his former life in Lichfield, and of the folk who -had lived there then, and to ask questions about their descendants, -which Kennaston answered as he best could. The whole affair was puzzling -Kennaston, for he could think of no reason why this frail ancient -gentleman should have sent for a stranger, even though that stranger -were the nephew of a dead friend, just that they might discuss -trivialities. - -So their talking veered, as it seemed, at random.... - -“Yes, I was often a guest at Alcluid—a very beautiful home it was in -those days, famed, as I remember, for the many breeds of pigeons which -your uncle amused himself by maintaining. I suppose that you also raise -white pigeons, my son?” - -Kennaston saw that the prelate now held a small square mirror in his -left hand. “No, sir,” Kennaston answered evenly; “there were a great -many about the place when it came into our possession; but we have never -gone in very seriously for farming.” - -“The pigeon has so many literary associations that I should have thought -it would appeal to a man of letters,” the prelate continued. “I ought to -have said earlier perhaps that I read _Men Who Loved Alison_ with great -interest and enjoyment. It is a notable book. Yet in dealing with the -sigil of Scoteia—or so at least it seemed to me—you touched upon -subjects which had better be left undisturbed. There are drugs, my son, -which work much good in the hands of the skilled physician, but cannot -be intrusted without danger to the vulgar.” - -He spoke gently; yet it appeared to Kennaston a threat was voiced. - -“Sir,” Kennaston began, “I must tell you that in writing of the sigil—as -I called it—I designed to employ only such general terms as romance -ordinarily accords to talismans. All I wrote—I thought—was sheer -invention. It is true I found by accident a bit of metal, from which I -derived the idea of my so-called sigil’s appearance. That bit of metal -was to me then just a bit of metal; nor have I any notion, even to-day, -as to how it came to be lying in one of my own garden-paths.” - -He paused. The prelate nodded. “It is always interesting to hear whence -makers of creative literature draw their material,” he stated. - -“Since then, sir, by the drollest of coincidences, a famous personage -has spoken to me in almost the identical words you employed this -evening, as to the sigil of Scoteia. The coincidence, sir, lay less in -what was said than in the apparently irrelevant allusion to white -pigeons which the personage too made, and the little mirror which he too -held as he spoke. Can you not see, sir,” Kennaston asked gaily, “to what -wild imaginings the coincidence tempts a weaver of romance? I could find -it in my heart to believe it the cream of an ironic jest that you great -ones of the earth have tested me with a password, mistakenly supposing -that I, also, was initiate. I am tempted to imagine some secret -understanding, some hidden co-operancy, by which you strengthen or, -possibly, have attained your power. Confess, sir, is not the coincidence -a droll one?” - -He spoke lightly, but his heart was beating fast. - -“It is remarkable enough,” the prelate conceded, smiling. He asked the -name of the personage whom coincidence linked with him, and being told -it, chuckled. “I do not think it very odd he carried a mirror,” the -prelate considered. “He lives before a mirror, and behind a megaphone. I -confess—_mea culpa!_—I often find my little looking-glass a convenience, -in making sure all is right before I go into the pulpit. Not a few men -in public life, I believe, carry such mirrors,” he said, slowly. “But -you, I take it, have no taste for public life?” - -“I can assure you—” Kennaston began. - -“Think well, my son! Suppose, for one mad instant, that your wild -imaginings were not wholly insane? suppose that you had accidentally -stumbled upon enough of a certain secret to make it simpler to tell you -the whole mystery? Cannot a trained romancer conceive what you might -hope for then?” - -Very still it was in the dark room.... - -Kennaston was horribly frightened. “I can assure you, sir, that even -then I would prefer my peaceful lazy life and my dreams. I have not any -aptitude for action.” - -“Ah, well,” the prelate estimated; “it is scarcely a churchman’s part to -play _advocatus mundi_. Believe me, I would not tempt you from your -books. And for our dreams, I have always held heretically, we are more -responsible than for our actions, since it is what we are, uninfluenced, -that determines our dreams.” He seemed to meditate. “I will not tempt -you, therefore, to tell me the whole truth concerning that bit of metal. -I suspect, quite candidly, you are keeping something back, my son. But -you exercise a privilege common to all of us.” - -“At least,” said Kennaston, “we will hope my poor wits may not be shaken -by any more—coincidences.” - -“I am tolerably certain,” quoth the prelate, with an indulgent smile, -“that there will be no more coincidences.” - -Then he gave Kennaston his stately blessing; and Kennaston went back to -his life of dreams. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV - - Local Laws of Nephelococcygia - - -THERE was no continuity in these dreams save that Ettarre was in each of -them. A dream would usually begin with some lightheaded topsyturviness, -as when Kennaston found himself gazing forlornly down at his remote -feet—having grown so tall that they were yards away from him and he was -afraid to stand up—or lean strangers carefully and gruesomely explained -the importance of the task, set him by quoting fragments of the -multiplication tables, or a mad bull who happened to be the King of -Spain was pursuing him through a city of blind people. But presently, as -dregs settle a little by a little in a glass of water and leave it -clear, his dream-world would become rational and compliant with familiar -natural laws, and Ettarre would be there—desirable above all other -contents of the universe, and not to be touched under penalty of ending -all. - -Sometimes they would be alone in places which he did not recognize, -sometimes they would be living, under the Stuarts or the Valois or the -Cæsars, or other dynasties long since unkingdomed, human lives whose -obligations and imbroglios affected Horvendile and Ettarre to much that -half-serious concern with which one follows the action of a romance or a -well-acted play; for it was perfectly understood between Horvendile and -Ettarre that they were involved in the affairs of a dream. - -Ettarre seemed to remember nothing of the happenings Kennaston had -invented in his book. And Guiron and Maugis d’Aigremont and Count -Emmerick and the other people in _The Audit at Storisende_—once more to -give _Men Who Loved Alison_ its original title—were names that rang -familiar to her somehow, she confessed, but without her knowing why. And -so, Kennaston came at last to comprehend that perhaps the Ettarre he -loved was not the heroine of his book inexplicably vivified; but, -rather, that in the book he had, just as inexplicably, drawn a blurred -portrait of the Ettarre he loved, that ageless lovable and loving woman -of whom all poets had been granted fitful broken glimpses—dimly -prefiguring her advent into his life too, with pallid and feeble -visionings. But of this he was not ever sure; nor did he greatly care, -now that he had his dreams. - -There was, be it repeated, no continuity in these dreams save that -Ettarre was in each of them; that alone they had in common: but each -dream conformed to certain general laws. For instance, there was never -any confusion of time—that is, a dream extended over precisely the -amount of time he actually slept, so that each dream-life was limited to -some eight hours or thereabouts. No dream was ever iterated, nor did he -ever twice find himself in the same surroundings as touched chronology; -thus, he was often in Paris and Constantinople and Alexandria and Rome -and London, revisiting even the exact spot, the very street-corner, -which had figured in some former dream; but as terrestrial time went, -the events of his first dream would either have happened years ago or -else not be due to happen until a great while later. - -He never dreamed of absolutely barbaric or orderless epochs, nor of -happenings (so far as he could ascertain) elsewhere than in Europe and -about the Mediterranean coasts; even within these confines his dreams -were as a rule restricted to urban matters, rarely straying beyond city -walls: his hypothesis in explanation of these facts was curious, but too -fine-spun to be here repeated profitably. - -For a while Kennaston thought these dreams to be bits of lives he had -lived in previous incarnations; later he was inclined to discard this -view. He never to his knowledge lived through precisely the same moment -in two different capacities and places; but more than once he came -within a few years of doing this, so that even had he died immediately -after the earlier-timed dream, it would have been impossible for him to -have been reborn and reach the age he had attained in that dream whose -period was only a trifle later. In his dreams Kennaston’s age varied -slightly, but was almost always in pleasant proximity to twenty-five. -Thus, he was in Jerusalem on the day of the Crucifixion and was aged -about twenty-three; yet in another dream he was at Capreæ when Tiberius -died there, seven years afterward, and Kennaston was then still in the -early twenties: and, again, he was in London, at Whitehall, in 1649, and -at Vaux-le-Vicomte near Fontainebleau in 1661, being on each occasion -twenty-three or -four. Kennaston could suggest no explanation of this. - -He often regretted that he was never in any dream anybody of historical -prominence, so that he could have found out what became of him after the -dream ended. But though he sometimes talked with notable -persons—inwardly gloating meanwhile over his knowledge of what would be -the outcome of their warfaring or statecraft, and of the manner and even -the hour of their deaths—he himself seemed fated, as a rule, never to be -any one of importance in the world’s estimation. Indeed, as Kennaston -cheerfully recognized, his was not a temperament likely to succeed, as -touched material matters, in any imaginable state of society; there was -not, and never had been, any workaday world in which—as he had said at -Storisende—he and his like would not, in so far as temporal prizes were -concerned, appear to waste at loose ends and live futilely. Then, -moreover, in each dream he was woefully hampered by inability to recall -preceding events in the life he was then leading, which handicap doomed -him to redoubled inefficiencies. But that did not matter now, in view of -his prodigal recompenses.... - -It was some while before the man made the quaint discovery that in these -dreams he did not in any way resemble Felix Kennaston physically. They -were astray in an autumn forest, resting beside a small fire which he -had kindled in the shelter of a boulder, when Ettarre chanced to speak -of his brown eyes, and thereby to perplex him. But there was in this -dream nothing which would reflect his countenance; and it was later, in -Troy Town (Laomedon ruled the city then, and Priam they saw as a lad -playing at marbles in a paved courtyard, where tethered oxen watched him -over curiously painted mangers) that Kennaston looked into a steel -mirror, framed with intertwined ivory serpents that had emeralds for -eyes, and found there a puzzled stranger. - -Thus it was he discovered that in these dreams he was a tall lean -youngster, with ruddy cheeks, wide-set brown eyes, and a smallish head -covered with crisp tight-curling dark-red hair; nor did his appearance -ever alter, to his knowledge, in any subsequent dream. What he saw was -so different from the pudgy pasty man of forty-odd who, he knew, lay at -this moment in Felix Kennaston’s bed, breathing heavily and clasping a -bit of metal in his pudgy hand, that the stranger in the mirror laughed -appreciatively. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V - - Of Divers Fleshly Riddles - - -A LITTLE by a little he was beginning to lose interest in that pudgy -pasty man of forty-odd who was called Felix Kennaston, and to handle his -affairs more slackly. Once or twice Kennaston caught his wife regarding -him furtively, with a sort of anxious distrust.... - -Let there be no mistake here: Felix Kennaston had married a woman -admirably suited to him, and he had never regretted that act. Nor with -the advent of Ettarre, did he regret it: and never at any time would he -have considered separating his diurnal existence from that of his thin -beady-eyed capable wife, with graver seriousness than he would have -accorded, say, to a rambling notion of some day being gripped in a trap -and having no way to escape save by cutting off one of his feet. His -affection for Kathleen was well-founded, proved, and understood; but, as -it happens, this narrative does not chance to deal with that affection. -And besides, what there was to tell concerning Kennaston’s fondness for -his wife was duly set forth years ago. - -Meanwhile, it began vaguely to be rumored among Kennaston’s associates -that he drank more than was good for him; and toward “drugs” also sped -the irresponsible arrows of surmise. He himself noticed, without much -interest, that daily he, who had once been garrulous, was growing more -chary of speech; and that his attention was apt to wander when the man’s -or woman’s face before him spoke at any length. These shifting faces -talked of wars and tariffs and investments and the weather and -committee-meetings, and of having seen So-and-so and of So-and-so’s -having said this-or-that, and it all seemed of importance to the wearers -of these faces; so that he made pretense to listen, patiently. What did -it matter? - -It did not matter a farthing, he considered, for he had cheated life of -its main oppression, which is loneliness. Now at last Felix Kennaston -could unconcernedly acknowledge that human beings develop graveward in -continuous solitude. - -His life until this had been in the main normal, with its due share of -normal intimacies with parents, kinsmen, friends, a poet’s ordinary -allotment of sweethearts, and, chief of all, with his wife. No one of -these people, as he reflected in a comminglement of yearning and -complacency, had ever comprehended the real Felix Kennaston as he -existed, in all his hampered strugglings and meannesses, his -inadequacies and his divine unexercised potentialities. - -And he, upon the other hand, knew nothing of these people with any -certainty. Pettifoggeries were too easily practiced in speech or -gesture, emotions were too often feigned or overcolored in expression, -and unpopular thoughts were too instinctively dissembled, as he -forlornly knew by his own conduct of daily life, for him to put very -zealous faith in any information gained through his slender fallible -five senses; and it was the cream of the jest that through these five -senses lay his only means of getting any information whatever. - -All that happened to him, he considered, happened inside his skull. -Nothing which happened in the big universe affected him in the least -except as it roused certain forces lodged in his skull. His life -consisted of one chemical change after another, haphazardly provoked in -some three pounds of fibrous matter tucked inside his skull. And so, -people’s heads took on a new interest; how was one to guess what was -going on in those queer round boxes, inset with eyes, as people so -glibly called certain restive and glinting things that moved in partial -independence of their setting, and seemed to have an individual -vitality—those queer round boxes whence vegetation sprouted as from the -soil of a planet? - -Perhaps—he mused—perhaps in reality all heads were like isolated -planets, with impassable space between each and its nearest neighbor. -You read in the newspapers every once in a while that, because of one or -another inexplicable phenomenon, Mars was supposed to be attempting to -communicate with the earth; and perhaps it was in just such blurred and -unsatisfactory fashion that what happened in one human head was signaled -to another, on those rare occasions when the signal was despatched in -entire good faith. Yes, a perpetual isolation, for all the fretful and -vain strivings of humanity against such loneliness, was probably a -perdurable law in all other men’s lives, precisely as it had been in his -own life until the coming of Ettarre. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VI - - In Pursuit of a Whisper - - -NIGHTLY he went adventuring with Ettarre: and they saw the cities and -manners of many men, to an extent undreamed-of by Ithaca’s mundivigant -king; and among them even those three persons who had most potently -influenced human life. - -For once, in an elongated room with buff-colored walls—having scarlet -hangings over its windows, and seeming larger than it was in reality, -because of its many mirrors—they foregathered with Napoleon, on the -evening of his coronation: the emperor of half-Europe was fretting over -an awkward hitch in the day’s ceremony, caused by his sisters’ attempt -to avoid carrying the Empress Josephine’s train; and he was grumbling -because the old French families continued to ignore him, as a parvenu. -In a neglected orchard, sunsteeped and made drowsy by the murmur of -bees, they talked with Shakespeare; the playwright, his nerves the worse -for the preceding night’s potations, was peevishly complaining of the -meager success of his later comedies, worrying over Lord Pembroke’s -neglect of him, and trying to concoct a masque in the style of fat Ben -Jonson, since that was evidently what the theater-patronizing public -wanted. And they were with Pontius Pilate in Jerusalem, on the evening -of a day when the sky had been black and the earth had trembled; and -Pilate, benevolent and replete with supper, was explaining the latest -theories concerning eclipses and earthquakes to his little boy, and -chuckling with fond pride in the youngster’s intelligent questions. - -These three were a few among the prominent worthies of remoter days whom -Kennaston was enabled to view as they appeared in the flesh; but, as a -rule, chance thrust him into the company of mediocre people living -ordinary lives amid surroundings which seemed outlandish to him, but to -them a matter of course. And everywhere, in every age, it seemed to him, -men stumbled amiable and shatter-pated through a jungle of miracles, -blind to its wonderfulness, and intent to gain a little money, food and -sleep, a trinket or two, some rare snatched fleeting moments of -rantipole laughter, and at the last a decent bed to die in. He, and he -only, it seemed to Felix Kennaston, could see the jungle and all its -awe-inspiring beauty, wherethrough men scurried like feeble-minded ants. - -He often wondered whether any other man had been so licensed as himself; -and prowling, as he presently did, in odd byways of printed matter—for -he found the library of his predecessor at Alcluid a mine rich-veined -with strangeness—Kennaston lighted on much that appeared to him -significant. Even such apparently unrelated matters as the doctrine of -metempsychosis, all the grotesque literature of witches, sorcerers and -familiar spirits, and of muses who actually prompted artistic -composition with audible voices, were beginning to fall into -cloudily-discerned interlocking. Kennaston read much nowadays in his -dead uncle’s books; and he often wished that, even at the expense of -Felix Kennaston’s being reduced again to poverty, it were possible to -revivify the man who had amassed and read these books. Kennaston wanted -to talk with him. - -Meanwhile, Kennaston read of Endymion and Numa, of Iason and Anchises, -of Tannhäuser, and Foulques Plantagenet, and Raymondin de la Forêt, and -Olger Danske, and other mortal men to whom old legend-weavers, as if -wistfully, accredited the love of immortal mistresses—and of less -fortunate nympholepts, frail babbling planet-stricken folk, who had -spied by accident upon an inhuman loveliness, and so, must pine away -consumed by foiled desire of a beauty which the homes and cities and the -tilled places of men did not afford, and life did not bring forth -sufficingly. He read Talmudic tales of Sulieman-ben-Daoud—even in name -transfigured out of any resemblance to an amasser of reliable -axioms—that proud luxurious despot “who went daily to the comeliest of -the spirits for wisdom”; and of Arthur and the Lady Nimuë; and of Thomas -of Ercildoune, whom the Queen of Faëry drew from the merchants’ -market-place with ambiguous kindnesses; and of John Faustus, who -“through fantasies and deep cogitations” was enabled to woo successfully -a woman that died long before his birth, and so won to his love, as the -book recorded, “this stately pearl of Greece, fair Helena, the wife to -King Menelaus.” - -And, as has been said, the old idea of muses who actually prompted -artistic composition, with audible voices, took on another aspect. He -came to suspect that other creative writers had shared such a divided -life as his was now, for of this he seemed to find traces here and -there. Coleridge offered at once an arresting parallel. Yes, Kennaston -reflected; and Coleridge had no doubt spoken out in the first glow of -wonder, astounded into a sort of treason, when he revealed how he wrote -_Kubla Khan_; so that thus perhaps Coleridge had told far more -concerning the origin of this particular poem than he ever did as to his -later compositions. Then, also, I have a volume of Herrick from -Kennaston’s library with curious comments penciled therein, relative to -_Lovers How They Come and Part_ and _His Mistress Calling Him to -Elysium_; a copy of Marlowe’s _Tragical History of Doctor Faustus_ is -similarly annotated; and on a fly-leaf in Forster’s _Life of Charles -Dickens_, apropos of passages in the first chapter of the ninth book, -Kennaston has inscribed strange speculations very ill suited to general -reading. All that Kennaston cared to print, however, concerning the -hypothesis he eventually evolved, you will find in _The Tinctured Veil_, -where he has nicely refrained from too-explicit writing, and—of -course—does not anywhere pointblank refer to his personal experiences. - -Then Kennaston ran afoul of the Rosicrucians, and their quaint dogmas, -which appeared so preposterous at first, took on vital meanings -presently; and here too he seemed to surprise the cautious whispering of -men who neither cared nor dared to speak with candor of all they knew. -It seemed to him he understood that whispering which was everywhere -apparent in human history; for he too was initiate. - -He wondered very often about his uncle.... - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VII - - Of Truisms: Treated Reasonably - - -HE seemed, indeed, to find food for wonder everywhere. It was as if he -had awakened from a dragging nightmare of life made up of unimportant -tasks and tedious useless little habits, to see life as it really was, -and to rejoice in its exquisite wonderfulness. - -How poignantly strange it was that life could afford him nothing save -consciousness of the moment immediately at hand! Memory and -anticipation, whatever else they might do—and they had important uses, -of course, in rousing emotion—yet did not deal directly with reality. -What you regretted, or were proud of, having done yesterday was no more -real now than the deeds of Cæsar Borgia or St. Paul; and what you looked -forward to within the half-hour was as non-existent as the senility of -your unborn great-grandchildren. Never was man brought into contact with -reality save through the evanescent emotions and sensations of that -single moment, that infinitesimal fraction of a second, which was -passing now. This commonplace, so simple and so old, bewildered -Kennaston when he came unreservedly to recognize its truth.... - -To live was to be through his senses conscious, one by one, of a -restricted number of these fractions of a second. Success in life, then, -had nothing to do with bank-accounts or public office, or any step -toward increasing the length of one’s obituary notices, but meant to be -engrossed utterly by as many as possible of these instants. And complete -success required a finding, in these absorbing instants, of employment -for every faculty he possessed. It was for this that Kennaston had -always vaguely longed; and to this, if only in dreams, he now attained. - -If only in dreams he debated: why, and was he not conscious, now, in his -dreams, of every moment as it fled? And corporal life in banks and -ballrooms and legislative halls and palaces, nowhere had anything more -than that to offer mortal men. - -It is not necessary to defend his course of reasoning; to the contrary, -its fallacy is no less apparent than its conduciveness to unbusinesslike -conclusions. But it is highly necessary to tell you that, according to -Felix Kennaston’s account, now, turn by turn, he was in Horvendile’s -person rapt by nearly every passion, every emotion, the human race has -ever known. True, throughout these dramas into which chance plunged him, -in that he knew always he was dreaming, he was at once performer and -spectator; but he played with the born actor’s zest—feeling his part, as -people say—and permitting the passion he portrayed to possess him almost -completely. - -Almost completely, be it repeated; for there was invariably a sufficient -sense of knowing he was only dreaming to prevent entire abandonment to -the raw emotion. Kennaston preferred it thus. He preferred in this more -comely way to play with human passions, rather than, as seemed the -vulgar use, to consent to become their battered play-thing. - -It pleased him, too, to be able to have done with such sensations and -emotions as did not interest him; for he had merely to touch Ettarre, -and the dream ended. In this fashion he would very often terminate an -existence which was becoming distasteful—resorting debonairly to this -sort of suicide, and thus dismissing an era’s social orderings and its -great people as toys that, played with, had failed to amuse Felix -Kennaston. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - _Book Fourth_ - - - - - ══════════════════════ - - “_But there were dreams to sell - Ill didst thou buy: - Life is a dream, they tell, - Waking to die. - Dreaming a dream to prize, - Is wishing ghosts to rise; - And, if I had the spell - To call the buried—well, - Which one would I?_” - - ══════════════════════ - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - Economic Considerations of Piety - - -AS has been said, Kennaston read much curious matter in his dead uncle’s -library.... - -But most books—even Felix Kennaston’s own little books—did not seem now -to be affairs of heavy moment. Once abed, clasping his gleaming broken -bit of metal, and the truthful history of all that had ever happened -was, instead, Kennaston’s library. It was not his to choose from what -volume or on which page thereof he would read; accident, as it seemed, -decided that; but the chance-opened page lay unblurred before him, and -he saw it with a clarity denied to other men of his generation. - - * * * * * - -Kennaston stood by the couch of Tiberius Cæsar as he lay ill at Capreæ. -Beside him hung a memorable painting, by Parrhasius, which represented -the virgin Atalanta in the act of according very curious assuagements to -her lover’s ardor. Charicles, a Greek physician, was telling the Emperor -of a new religious sect that had arisen in Judea, and of the -persecutions these disciples of Christus were enduring. Old Cæsar -listened, made grave clucking noises of disapproval. - -“It is, instead, a religion that should be fostered. The man preached -peace. It is what my father before me strove for, what I have striven -for, what my successors must strive for. Peace alone may preserve Rome: -the empire is too large, a bubble blown so big and tenuous that the -first shock will disrupt it in suds. Pilate did well to crucify the man, -else we could not have made a God of him; but the persecution of these -followers of Christus must cease. This Nazarene preached the same -doctrine that I have always preached. I shall build him a temple. The -rumors concerning him lack novelty, it is true: this God born of a -mortal woman is the old legend of Dionysos and Mithra and Hercules, a -little pulled about; Gautama also was tempted in a wilderness; -Prometheus served long ago as man’s scapegoat under divine anger; and -the cult of Pollux and Castor, and of Adonis, has made these -resurrection stories hackneyed. In fine, Charicles, you have brought me -a woefully inartistic jumble of old tales; but the populace prefers old -tales, they delight to be told what they have heard already. I shall -certainly build Christus a temple.” - -So he ran on, devising the reception of Christ into the Roman pantheon, -as a minor deity at first, and thence, if the receipts at his temple -justified it, to be raised to greater eminence. Tiberius saw large -possibilities in the worship of this new God, both from a doctrinal and -a money-making standpoint. Then Cæsar yawned, and ordered that a company -of his Spintriæ be summoned to his chamber, to amuse him with their -unnatural diversions. - -But Charicles had listened in horror, for he was secretly a Christian, -and knew that the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church. He -foresaw that, without salutary discouragement, the worship of Christus -would never amount to more than the social fad of a particular season, -just as that of Cybele and that of Heliogabalus had been modish in -different years; and would afterward dwindle, precisely as these cults -had done, into shrugged-at old-fashionedness. Then, was it not written -that they only were assuredly blessed who were persecuted for -righteousness’ sake?—Why, martyrdom was the one certain road to Heaven; -and a religion which is patronized by potentates, obviously, breeds no -martyrs. - -So Charicles mingled poison in Cæsar’s drink, that Cæsar might die, and -crazed Caligula succeed him, to put all Christians to the sword. And -Charicles young Caius Cæsar Caligula—Child of the Camp, Father of -Armies, Beloved of the Gods—killed first of all. - - * * * * * - -Then a lean man, white-robed, and clean-shaven as to his head, was -arranging a complicated toy. He labored in a gray-walled room, lit only -by one large circular window opening upon the sea. There was an alcove -in this room, and in the alcove stood a large painted statue. - -This prefigured a crowned woman, in bright parti-colored garments of -white and red and yellow, under a black mantle embroidered with small -sparkling stars. Upon the woman’s forehead was a disk, like a round -glittering mirror; seen closer, it was engraved with tiny characters, -and Kennaston viewed it with a thrill of recognition. To the woman’s -right were vipers rising from the earth, and to the left were stalks of -ripe corn, all in their proper colors. In one hand she carried a golden -boat, from which a coiled asp raised its head threateningly. From the -other hand dangled three or four slender metal rods, which were not a -part of the statue, but were loosely attached to it, so that the least -wind caused them to move and jangle. There was nothing whatever in the -gray-walled room save this curious gleaming statue and the lean man and -the mechanical toy on which he labored. - -He explained its workings, willingly enough. See now! you kindled a fire -in this little cube-shaped box. The air inside expanded through this -pipe into the first jar of water, and forced the water out, through this -other pipe, into this tiny bucket. The bucket thus became heavier and -heavier, till its weight at last pulled down the string by which the -bucket was swung over a pulley, and so, moved this lever. - -Oh, yes, the notion was an old one; the priest admitted he had copied -the toy from one made by Hero of Alexandria, who died years ago. Still, -it was an ingenious trifle: moreover—and here was the point—enlarge the -scale, change the cube-shaped box into the temple altar, fasten the -lever to the temple doors, and you had the mechanism for a miracle. -People had only to offer burnt sacrifices to the Goddess, and before -their eyes the All-Mother, the holy and perpetual preserver of the human -race, would stoop to material thaumaturgy, and would condescend to -animate her sacred portals. - -“We very decidedly need some striking miracle to advertise our temple,” -he told Kennaston. “Folk are flocking like sheep after these barbarous -new Galilean heresies. But the All-Mother is compassionate to human -frailty; and this device will win back many erring feet to the true -way.” - -And Kennaston saw there were tears in this man’s dark, sad eyes. The -trickster was striving to uphold the faith of his fathers; and in the -attempt he had constructed a practicable steam-engine. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - Deals With Pen Scratches - - -THEN Kennaston was in Alexandria when John the Grammarian pleaded with -the victorious Arabian general Amrou to spare the royal library, the -sole repository at this period of many of the masterworks of Greek and -Roman literature. - -But Amrou only laughed, with a practical man’s contempt for such -matters. “The Koran contains all that is necessary to salvation: if -these books teach as the Koran teaches they are superfluous; if they -contain anything contrary to the Koran they ought to be destroyed. Let -them be used as fuel for the public baths.” - -And this was done. Curious, very curious, it was to Kennaston, to -witness this utilitarian employment of a nation’s literature; and it -moved him strangely. He had come at this season to believe that -individual acts can count for nothing, in the outcome of things. -Whatever might happen upon earth, during the existence of that midge -among the planets, affected infinitesimally, if at all, the universe of -which earth was a part so inconceivably tiny. To figure out the -importance in this universe of the deeds of one or another nation -temporarily clustering on earth’s surface, when you considered that -neither the doings of Assyria or of Rome, or of any kingdom, had ever -extended a thousand feet from earth’s surface, was a task too delicate -for human reason. For human faculties to attempt to estimate the -individuals of this nation, in the light of the relative importance of -their physical antics while living, was purely and simply ridiculous. To -assume, as did so many well-meaning persons, that Omniscience devoted -eternity to puzzling out just these minutiæ, seemed at the mildest to -postulate in Omniscience a queer mania for trivialities. With the -passage of time, whatever a man had done, whether for good or evil, with -the man’s bodily organs, left the man’s parish unaffected: only man’s -thoughts and dreams could outlive him, in any serious sense, and these -might survive with perhaps augmenting influence: so that Kennaston had -come to think artistic creation in words—since marble and canvas -inevitably perished—was the one, possibly, worth-while employment of -human life. But here was a crude corporal deed which bluntly destroyed -thoughts, and annihilated dreams by wholesale. To Kennaston this seemed -the one real tragedy that could be staged on earth.... - -Curious, very curious, it was to Kennaston, to see the burning of -sixty-three plays written by Æschylus, of a hundred and six by -Sophocles, and of fifty-five by Euripides—masterworks eternally lost, -which, as Kennaston knew, the world would affect to deplore eternally, -whatever might be the world’s real opinion in the matter. - -But of these verbal artificers something at least was to endure. They -would fare better than Agathon and Ion and Achæus, their admitted equals -in splendor, whose whole life-work was passing, at the feet of -Horvendile, into complete oblivion. There, too, were perishing all the -writings of the Pleiad—the noble tragedies of Homerus, and Sositheus, -and Lycophron, and Alexander, and Philiscus, and Sosiphanes, and -Dionysides. All the great comic poets, too, were burned pellmell with -these—Telecleides, Hermippus, Eupolis, Antiphanes, Ameipsas, Lysippus, -and Menander—“whom nature mimicked,” as the phrase was. And here, -posting to obliteration, went likewise Thespis, and Pratinas, and -Phrynichus—and Choerilus, whom cultured persons had long ranked with -Homer. Nothing was to remain of any of these save the bare name, and -even this would be known only to pedants. All these, spurred by the -poet’s ageless monomania, had toiled toward, and had attained, the -poet’s ageless goal—to write perfectly of beautiful happenings: and of -this action’s normal by-product, which is immortality in the mouths and -minds of succeeding generations, all these were being robbed, by the -circumstance that parchment is inflammable. - -Here was beauty, and wit, and learning, and genius, being wasted—quite -wantonly—never to be recaptured, never to be equaled again (despite the -innumerable painstaking penmen destined to fret the hearts of unborn -wives), and never, in the outcome, to be thought of as a very serious -loss to anybody, after all.... - -These book-rolls burned with great rapidity, crackling cheerily as the -garnered wisdom of Cato’s octogenarian life dissolved in puffs of smoke, -and the wit of Sosipater blazed for the last time in heating a pint of -water.... But then in Parma long afterward Kennaston observed a monk -erasing a song of Sappho’s from a parchment on which the monk meant to -inscribe a feeble little Latin hymn of his own composition; in an -obscure village near Alexandria Kennaston saw the only existent copy of -the _Mimes_ of Herondas crumpled up and used as packing for a -mummy-case; and at Prior Park Kennaston watched Mrs. Elizabeth Barnes, -then acting as cook for Dr. William Warburton, destroy in making -piecrust the unique manuscript copies of three of Shakespeare’s dramas, -which had never been printed. - -And—conceding Heaven to be an actual place, and attainment of its -felicities to be the object of human life—Kennaston could not, after -all, detect any fault in Amrou’s logic. Æsthetic considerations could, -in that event, but lead to profitless time-wasting where every moment -was precious. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - By-Products of Rational Endeavor - - -THEN again Kennaston stood in a stone-walled apartment, like a cell, -wherein there was a furnace and much wreckage. A contemplative friar was -regarding the disorder about him with disapproval, the while he sucked -at two hurt fingers. - -“There can be no doubt that Old Legion conspires to hinder the great -work,” he considered. - -“And what is the great work, father?” Kennaston asked him. - -“To find the secret of eternal life, my son. What else is lacking? Man -approaches to God in all things save this, _Imaginis imago_, created -after God’s image. But as yet, by reason of his mortality, man shudders -in a world that is arrayed against him. Thus, the heavens threaten with -winds and lightnings, with plague-breeding meteors and the unfriendly -aspect of planets; the big seas molest with waves and inundations, -stealthily drowning cities overnight, and sucking down tall navies as a -child gulps sugarplums; whereas how many plants and gums and seeds bear -man’s destruction in their tiny hearts! what soulless beasts of the -field and of the wood are everywhere enleagued in endless feud against -him, with tusks and teeth, with nails and claws and venomous stings, -made sharp for man’s demolishment! Thus all struggle miserably, like -hunted persons under a sentence of death that may at best be avoided for -a little while. And manifestly, this is not as it should be.” - -“Yet I much fear it is so ordered, father.” - -The old man said testily: “I repeat, for your better comfort, there can -be no doubt that Satan alone conspires to hinder the great work. No; it -would be abuse of superstition to conceive, as would be possible for -folk of slender courage, that the finger of heaven has to-day unloosed -this destruction, to my bodily hurt and spiritual admonition.” Kennaston -could see, though, that the speaker half believed this might be exactly -what had happened. “For I am about no vaunting transgression of man’s -estate; I do but seek to recover his lost heritage. You will say to me, -it is written that never shall any man be one day old in the sight of -God?—Yet it is likewise written that unto God a thousand years are but -one day. For this period of time, then, may each man righteously demand -that death delay to enact the midwife to his second birth. It advantages -not to contend that even in the heyday of patriarchs few approached to -such longevity; for Moses, relinquishing to silence all save the progeny -of Seth, nowhere directly tells us that some of the seed of Cain did not -outlive Methuselah. Yea, and our common parent, Adam, was created in the -perfect age of man, which then fell not short of one hundred years, -since at less antiquity did none of the antediluvian fathers beget -issue, as did Adam in the same year breath was given him; and the years -of Adam’s life were nine hundred and thirty; whereby it is a reasonable -conceit of learned persons to compute him to have exceeded a thousand -years in age, if not in duration of existence. Now, it is written that -we shall all die as Adam died; and caution should not scruple to affirm -this is an excellent dark saying, prophetic of that day when no man need -outdo Adam in celerity to put by his flesh.” - -Then Kennaston found the alchemist had been compounding nitrum of -Memphis with sulphur, mixing in a little willow charcoal to make the -whole more friable, and that the powder had exploded. The old man was -now interested, less in the breakage, than in the horrible noise this -accident had occasioned. - -“The mixture might be used in court-pageants and miracle-plays,” he -estimated, “to indicate the entrance of Satan, or the fall of Sodom, or -Herod’s descent into the Pit, and so on. Yes, I shall thriftily sell -this secret, and so get money to go on with the great work.” - -Seeking to find the means of making life perpetual, he had accidentally -discovered gunpowder. - - * * * * * - -Then at Valladolid an age-stricken seaman, wracked with gout, tossed in -a mean bed and grumbled to bare walls. He, “the Admiral,” was neglected -by King Philip, the broth was unfit for a dog’s supper, his son Diego -was a laggard fool. Thus the old fellow mumbled. - -Ingratitude everywhere! and had not he, “the Admiral”—“the Admiral of -Mosquito Land,” as damnable street-songs miscalled him, he whimpered, in -a petulant gust of self-pity—had not he found out at last a way by sea -to the provinces of the Great Khan and the treasures of Cipango? Give -him another fleet, and he would demonstrate what malignant fools were -his enemies. He would convert the Khan from Greek heresies; or else let -the Holy Inquisition be established in Cipango, the thumbscrew and the -stake be fittingly utilized there _ad majorem Dei gloriam_—all should -redound to the credit of King Philip, both temporal and celestial. And -what wealth, too, a capable emissary would bring back to his -Majesty—what cargoes of raw silks, of gold and precious gems, ravished -from Kanbalu and Taidu, those famed marvelous cities!... But there was -only ingratitude and folly everywhere, and the broth was cold.... - -Thus the broken adventurer, Cristoforo Colombo, mumbled. He had doubled -the world’s size and resources, in his attempts to find some defenseless -nation which could be plundered with impunity; and he was dying in -ignorance of what his endeavors had achieved. - - * * * * * - -And Kennaston was at Blickling Hall when King Henry read the Pope’s -letter which threatened excommunication. “Nan, Nan,” the King said, -“this is a sorry business.” - -“Sire,” says Mistress Boleyn, saucily, “and am I not worth a little -abuse?” - -“You deserve some quite certainly,” he agrees; and his bright lecherous -pig’s eyes twinkled, and he guffawed. - -“Defy the Pope, then, sire, and marry your true love. Let us snap -fingers at Giulio de Medici—” - -“Faith, and not every lass can bring eleven fingers to the task,” the -King put in. - -She tweaked his fine gold beard, and Kennaston saw that upon her left -hand there was really an extra finger. - -“My own sweetheart,” says she, “if you would have my person as much at -your disposal as my heart is, we must part company with Rome. Then, too, -at the cost of a few Latin phrases, some foolish candle-snuffing and a -little bell-ringing, you may take for your own all the fat abbey-lands -in these islands, and sell them for a great deal of money,” she pointed -out. - -So, between lust and greed, the King was persuaded. In the upshot, -“because”—as was duly set forth to his lieges—“a virtuous monarch ought -to surround his throne with many peers of the worthiest of both sexes,” -Mistress Anne Boleyn was created Marchioness of Pembroke, in her own -right, with a reversion of the title and estates to her offspring, -whether such might happen to be legitimate or not. A pension of £1,000 -per annum, with gold, silver and parcel-gilt plate to the value of -£1,188, was likewise awarded her: and the King, by thus piously defying -Romish error, earned the abbey-lands, as well as the key of a certain -bed-chamber, and the eternal approbation of zealous Protestants, for -thus inaugurating religious liberty. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV - - “Epper Si Muove” - - -THESE ironies Kennaston witnessed among many others, as he read in this -or that chance-opened page from the past. Everywhere, it seemed to him, -men had labored blindly, at flat odds with rationality, and had achieved -everything of note by accident. Everywhere he saw reason to echo the cry -of Maugis d’Aigremont—“It is very strange how affairs fall out in this -world of ours, so that a man may discern no plan or purpose anywhere.” - -Here was the astounding fact: the race did go forward; the race did -achieve; and in every way the race grew better. Progress through -irrational and astounding blunders, whose outrageousness bedwarfed the -wildest _clichés_ of romance, was what Kennaston found everywhere. All -this, then, also was foreplanned, just as all happenings at Storisende -had been, in his puny romance; and the puppets here, too, moved as they -thought of their own volition, but really in order to serve a denouement -in which many of them had not any personal part or interest.... - -And always the puppets moved toward greater efficiency and comeliness. -The puppet-shifter appeared to seek at once utility and artistic -self-expression. So the protoplasm—that first imperceptible pinhead of -living matter—had become a fish; the fish had become a batrachian, the -batrachian a reptile, the reptile a mammal; thus had the puppets -continuously been reshaped, into more elaborate forms more captivating -to the eye, until amiable and shatter-pated man stood erect in the -world. And man, in turn, had climbed a long way from gorillaship, -however far he was as yet from godhead—blindly moving always, like fish -and reptile, toward unapprehended loftier goals. - -But, just as men’s lives came to seem to Kennaston like many -infinitesimal threads woven into the pattern of human destiny, so -Kennaston grew to suspect that the existence of mankind upon earth was -but an incident in the unending struggle of life to find a home in the -universe. Human inhabitancy was not even a very important phase in the -world’s history, perhaps; a scant score or so of centuries ago there had -been no life on earth, and presently the planet would be a silent naked -frozen clod. Would this sphere then have served its real purpose of -being, by having afforded foothold to life for a few æons? - -He could not tell. But Kennaston contemplated sidereal space full of -such frozen worlds, where life seemed to have flourished for a while and -to have been dispossessed—and full, too, of glowing suns, with their -huge satellites, all slowly cooling and congealing into fitness for -life’s occupancy. Life would tarry there also, he reflected; and thence -also life would be evicted. For life was not a part of the universe, not -a product of the universe at all perhaps, but, rather, an intruder into -the cosmic machinery, which moved without any consideration of life’s -needs. Like a bird striving to nest in a limitless engine, insanely -building among moving wheels and cogs and pistons and pulley-bands, -whose moving toward their proper and intended purposes inevitably swept -away each nest before completion—so it might be that life passed from -moving world to world, found transitory foothold, began to build, and -was driven out. - -What was it that life sought to rear?—what was the purpose of this -endless endeavor, of which the hatching of an ant or the begetting of an -emperor was equally a by-product? and of which the existence of Felix -Kennaston was a manifestation past conceiving in its unimportance? -Toward what did life aspire?—that force which moved in Felix Kennaston, -and thus made Felix Kennaston also an intruder, a temporary visitor, in -the big moving soulless mechanism of earth and water and planets and -suns and interlocking solar systems? - -“To answer that question must be my modest attempt,” he decided. “In -fine—why is a Kennaston? The query has a humorous ring undoubtedly, in -so far as it is no little suggestive of the spinning mouse that is the -higher the fewer—but, after all, it voices the sole question in which I -personally am interested....” - - * * * * * - -“Why is a Kennaston?” he asked himself—thus whimsically voicing the -inquiry as to whether human beings were intended for any especial -purpose. Most of us find it more comfortable, upon the whole, to stave -off such queries—with a jest, a shrug, or a Scriptural quotation, as -best suits personal taste; but Kennaston was “queer” enough to face the -situation quite gravely. Here was he, the individual, very possibly -placed on—at all events, infesting—a particular planet for a -considerable number of years; the planet was so elaborately constructed, -so richly clothed with trees and valleys and uplands and running waters -and multitudinary grass-blades, and the body that housed Felix Kennaston -was so intricately wrought with tiny bones and veins and sinews, with -sockets and valves and levers, and little hairs which grew upon the body -like grass-blades about the earth, that it seemed unreasonable to -suppose this much cunning mechanism had been set agoing aimlessly: and -so, he often wondered if he was not perhaps expected to devote these -years of human living to some intelligible purpose? - -Religion, of course, assured him that the answer to his query was -written explicitly, in various books, in very dissimilar forms. But -Kennaston could find little to attract him in any theory of the universe -based upon direct revelations from heaven. Conceding that divinity had -actually stated so-and-so, from Sinai or Delphi or Mecca, and had been -reported without miscomprehension or error, there was no particular -reason for presuming that divinity had spoken veraciously: and, indeed, -all available analogues went to show that nothing in nature dealt with -its inferiors candidly. To liken the relationship to the intercourse of -a father with his children, as did all revealed religions with queer -uniformity, was at best a two-edged simile, in that it suggested a -possible amiability of intention combined with inevitable duplicity. The -range of an earthly father’s habitual deceptions, embracing the source -of life and Christmas presents on one side and his own fallibility on -the other, was wide enough to make the comparison suspicious. When -fathers were at their worst they punished; and when in their kindliest -and most expansive moods, why, then it was—precisely—that they told -their children fairy-stories. It seemed to Kennaston, for a while, that -all religions ended in this blind-alley. - -To exercise for an allotted period divinely-recommended qualities known -as virtues, and to be rewarded therefor, by an immortal score-keeper, -appeared a rather childish performance all around. Yet every religion -agreed in asserting that such was the course of human life at its -noblest; and to believe matters were thus arranged indisputably -satisfied an innate craving of men’s natures, as Kennaston was -privileged to see for himself. - -Under all theocracies the run of men proved much the same: as has been -said, it was for the most part with quite ordinary people that -Horvendile dealt in dreams. The Roman citizenry, for instance, he found -did not devote existence, either under the Republic or the Empire, to -shouting in unanimous response to metrical declamations, and worrying -over their own bare legs, or in other ways conform to the best -traditions of literature and the stage; nor did the Athenians -corroborate their dramatists by talking perpetually of the might of Zeus -or Aphrodite, any more than motormen and stockbrokers conversed -continually of the Holy Ghost. Substantial people everywhere worshiped -at their accustomed temple at accustomed intervals, and then put the -matter out of mind, in precisely the fashion of any reputable -twentieth-century church-goer. Meanwhile they had their -business-affairs, their sober chats on weather probabilities, their -staid diversions (which everywhere bored them frightfully), their family -jokes, their best and second-best clothes, their flirtations, their -petty snobbishnesses, and their perfectly irrational faith in -Omnipotence and in the general kindliness of Omnipotence—all these they -had, and made play with, to round out living. Ritualistic worship -everywhere seemed to be of the nature of a conscious outing, of a -conscious departure from everyday life; it was generally felt that -well-balanced people would not permit such jaunts to interfere with -their business-matters or home-ties; but there was no doubt men did not -like to live without religion and religion’s promise of a less trivial -and more ordered and symmetrical existence—to-morrow. - -Meanwhile, men were to worry, somehow, through to-day—doing as -infrequent evil as they conveniently could, exercising as much bravery -and honesty and benevolence as they happened to possess, through a life -made up of unimportant tasks and tedious useless little habits. Men felt -the routine to be niggardly: but to-morrow—as their priests and bonzes, -their flamens and imauns, their medicine men and popes and rectors, were -unanimous—would be quite different. - -To-day alone was real. Never was man brought into contact with reality -save through the evanescent emotions and sensations of that single -moment, that infinitesimal fraction of a second, which was passing -now—and it was this, precisely, that you were to disregard. Such was the -burden of all dead and lingering faiths alike. Here was, perhaps, only -another instance of man-kind’s abhorrence of actualities; and man’s -quaint dislike of facing reality was here disguised as a high moral -principle. That was why all art, which strove to make the sensations of -a moment soul-satisfying, was dimly felt to be irreligious. For art -performed what religion only promised. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V - - Evolution of a Vestryman - - -BUT, much as man’s religion looked to a more ordered and symmetrical -existence to-morrow, just so, upon another scale, man’s daily life -seemed a continuous looking-forward to a terrestrial to-morrow. -Kennaston could find in the past—even he, who was privileged to view the -past in its actuality, rather than through the distorting media of books -and national pride—no suggestion as to what, if anything, he was -expected to do while his physical life lasted, or to what, if anything, -this life was a prelude. Yet that to-day was only a dull overture to -to-morrow seemed in mankind an instinctive belief. All life everywhere, -as all people spent it, was in preparation for something that was to -happen to-morrow. This was as true of Antioch as Lichfield, as much the -case with Charlemagne and Sardanapalus, with Agamemnon and -Tiglath-Pileser, as with Felix Kennaston. - -Kennaston considered his own life.... In childhood you had looked -forward to being a man—a trapper of the plains or a railway engineer or -a pirate, for choice, but pending that, to get through the necessity of -going to school five times a week. In vacations, of course, you looked -forward to school’s beginning again, because next term was to be quite -different from the last, and moreover because last session, in -retrospection, did not appear to have been half bad. And of course you -were always wishing it would hurry up and be your birthday, or -Christmas, or even Easter.... Later, with puberty, had come the desire -to be a devil with the women, like the fellows in Wycherley’s plays (a -cherished volume, which your schoolmates, unaccountably, did not find -sufficiently “spicy”); and to become a great author, like Shakespeare; -and to have plenty of money, like the Count of Monte-Cristo; and to be -thrown with, and into the intimate confidence of, famous people, like -the hero of a Scott novel.... Kennaston reflected that his touchstones -seemed universally to have come from the library.... And Felix Kennaston -had achieved his desire, to every intent, however unready posterity -stood to bracket him with Casanova or Don Juan, and however many -tourists still went with reverence to Stratford. For the rest, he had -sufficient money; and quite certainly he had met more celebrities than -any other person living. Felix Kennaston reflected that, through -accident’s signal favor, he had done all he had at any time very -earnestly wanted to do; and that the result was always disappointing, -and not as it was depicted in story-books.... He wondered why he should -again be harking back to literary standards. - -Then it occurred to him that, in reality, he had always been shuffling -through to-day—somehow and anyhow—in the belief that to-morrow the life -of Felix Kennaston would be converted into a romance like those in -story-books. - -The transfiguring touch was to come, it seemed, from a girl’s lips; but -it had not; he kissed, and life remained uncharmed. It was to come from -marriage, after which everything would be quite different; but the main -innovation was that he missed the long delightful talks he used to have -with Kathleen (mostly about Felix Kennaston), since as married people -they appeared only to speak to each other, in passing, as it were, -between the discharge of various domestic and social duties, and -speaking then of having seen So-and-so, and of So-and-so’s having said -this-or-that. The transfiguring touch was to come from wealth; and it -had not, for all that his address was in the _Social Register_, and was -neatly typed in at the beginning of one copy of pretty much every appeal -sent broadcast by charitable organizations. It was to come from fame; -and it had not, even with the nine-day wonder over _Men Who Loved -Alison_, and with Felix Kennaston’s pictorial misrepresentation figuring -in public journals, almost as prodigally as if he had murdered his wife -with peculiar brutality or headed a company to sell inexpensive shoes. -And, at the bottom of his heart, he was still expecting the -transfiguring touch to come, some day, from something he was to obtain -or do, perhaps to-morrow.... Then he had by accident found out the -sigil’s power.... - -Men everywhere were living as he had lived. People got their notions of -life, if only at second- or third-hand, from books, precisely as he had -done. Even Amrou had derived his notions as to the value of literature -from a book. Men pretended laboriously that their own lives were like -the purposeful and clearly motived life of book-land. In secret, the -more perspicacious cherished the reflection that, any how, their lives -would begin to be like that to-morrow. The purblind majority quite -honestly believed that literature was meant to mimic human life, and -that it did so. And in consequences, their love-affairs, their maxims, -their passions, their ethics, their conversations, their so-called -natural ties and instincts, and above all, their wickednesses, became -just so many bungling plagiarisms from something they had read, in a -novel or a Bible or a poem or a newspaper. People progressed from the -kindergarten to the cemetery assuming that their emotion at every crisis -was what books taught them was the appropriate emotion, and without -noticing that it was in reality something quite different. Human life -was a distorting tarnished mirror held up to literature: this much at -least of Wilde’s old paradox—that life mimicked art—was indisputable. -Human life, very clumsily, tried to reproduce the printed word. Human -life was prompted by, and was based upon, printed words—“in the -beginning was the Word,” precisely as Gospel asserted. Kennaston had it -now. Living might become symmetrical, well-plotted, coherent, and -rational as living was in books. This was the hope which guided human -beings through to-day with anticipation of to-morrow. - -Then he perceived that there was no such thing as symmetry anywhere in -inanimate nature.... - -It was Ettarre who first pointed out to him the fact, so tremendously -apparent when once observed, that there was to be found nowhere in -inanimate nature any approach to symmetry. It needed only a glance -toward the sky the first clear night to show there was no pattern-work -in the arrangement of the stars. Nor were the planets moving about the -sun at speeds or distances which bore any conceivable relation to one -another. It was all at loose ends. He wondered how he could possibly -have been misled by pulpit platitudes into likening this circumambient -anarchy to mechanism. To his finicky love of neatness the universe -showed on a sudden as a vast disheveled horror. There seemed so little -harmony, so faint a sense of order, back of all this infinite torrent of -gyrations. Interstellar space seemed just a jumble of frozen or flaming -spheres that, moving ceaselessly, appeared to avoid one another’s -orbits, or to collide, by pure chance. This spate of stars, as in three -monstrous freshets, might roughly serve some purpose; but there was to -be found no more formal order therein than in the flow of water-drops -over a mill-wheel. - -And on earth there was no balancing in the distribution of land and -water. Continents approached no regular shape. Mountains stood out like -pimples or lay like broken welts across the habitable ground, with no -symmetry of arrangement. Rivers ran anywhither, just as the haphazard -slope of earth’s crevices directed; upon the map you saw quite clearly -that their streams neither balanced one another nor watered the land -with any pretense of equity. There was no symmetry anywhere in inanimate -nature, no harmony, no equipoise of parts, no sense of form, not even a -straight line. It was all at loose ends. - -But living things aimed toward symmetry. In plants the notion seemed -rudimentary, yet the goal was recognizable. The branches of a tree did -not put out at ordered distance, nor could you discern any definite plan -in their shaping: but in the leaves, at least, you detected an effort -toward true balance: the two halves of a leaf, in a rough fashion, were -equal. In every leaf and flower and grass-blade you saw this never -entirely successful effort. - -And in insects and reptiles and fish and birds and animals you saw again -this effort, more creditably performed. All life seemed about the rather -childish employment of producing a creature which consisted of two equal -and exactly corresponding parts. It was true that in most cases this -effort was foiled by an uneven distribution of color in plumage or -scales or hide; but in insects and in mankind the goal, so far as went -the eye, was reached. Men and insects, to the eye at least, could be -divided into two equal halves.... - -But even so, there was no real symmetry in man’s body save in externals. -The heart was not in the center; there was no order in the jumbled -viscera; the two divisions of the brain did not correspond; there was -nothing on the left side to balance the troublesome vermiform appendix -on the right; even the lines in the palm of one hand were unlike those -which marked the other: and everywhere, in fine, there was some -irrational discrepancy. Man, the highest form as yet of life, had -attained at most only a teasing semblance of that crude symmetry toward -which all life seemed to aim, and which inanimate nature appeared to -ignore. Nowhere in the universe could Kennaston discover any instance of -quite equal balance, of anything which, as vision went, could be divided -into two similar halves—save only in man’s handiwork. Here, again, -insects approached man’s efforts more closely than the rest of creation; -for many of them builded almost as truly. But man, alone in the -universe, could produce exact visual symmetry, in a cathedral or a -dinner-table or a pair of scissors, just as man so curiously mimicked -symmetry in his outward appearance. The circumstance was droll, and no -less quaint for the fact that it was perhaps without significance.... - -But Kennaston bemused himself with following out the notion that life -was trying to evolve symmetry—order, proportion and true balance. Living -creatures represented life’s gropings toward that goal. You saw, no -doubt, a dim perception of this in the dream which sustained all human -beings—that to-morrow living would begin to be symmetrical, well-plotted -and coherent, like the progress of a novel.... And that was precisely -what religion promised, only in more explicit terms, and with the -story’s _milieu_ fixed in romantic, rather than realistic, settings. -Kennaston had here the sensation of fitting in the last bit of a puzzle. -Life, yearning for symmetry, stood revealed as artist. Life strove -toward the creation of art. That was all life cared about. Living things -were more or less successful works of art, and were to be judged -according to art’s canons alone. The universe was life’s big barren -studio, which the Artist certainly had neither planned nor builded, but -had, somehow, occupied, to make the best of its limitations. For -Kennaston insisted that living things and inanimate nature had none of -the earmarks of being by the same author. They were not in similar -style, he said; thus, presupposing a sentient creator of the stars and -planets, it would seem to have been in contradiction of his code to make -both a man’s eyes of the same color. - -It was this course of speculation which converted Kennaston to an -abiding faith in Christianity, such as, our rector informs me, is -deplorably rare in these lax pleasure-loving days of materialism. To -believe this inconsiderable planet the peculiar center of a God’s -efforts and attention had for a long while strained Kennaston’s -credulity: the thing was so woefully out of proportion when you -considered earth’s relative value in the universe. But now Felix -Kennaston comprehended that in the insensate universe there was no -proportion. The idea was unknown to the astral architect, or at best no -part of his plan, if indeed there had been any pre-meditation or -contriver concerned. Singly on our small earth—not even in the solar -system of which earth made a part—was any sense of proportion evinced; -and there it was apparent only in living things. Kennaston seemed to -glimpse an Artist-God, with a commendable sense of form—Kennaston’s -fellow craftsman—the earth as that corner of the studio wherein the God -was working just now, and all life as a romance the God was inditing.... - -That the plot of this romance began with Eden and reached its climax at -Calvary, Kennaston was persuaded, solely and ardently, because of the -surpassing beauty of the Christ-legend. No other myth compared with it -from an æsthetic standpoint. He could imagine no theme more adequate to -sustain a great romance than this of an Author suffering willingly for -His puppets’ welfare; and mingling with His puppets in the similitude of -one of them; and able to wring only contempt and pity from His -puppets—since He had not endowed them with any faculties wherewith to -comprehend their Creator’s nature and intent. Indeed, it was pretty much -the plight which Kennaston had invented for his own puppets at -Storisende, as Kennaston complacently reflected. It was the most -tremendous situation imaginable; and quite certainly no Author could -ever have failed to perceive, and to avail Himself of, its dramatic -possibilities. To conceive that the world-romance did not center upon -Calvary was to presume an intelligent and skilled Romancer blind to the -basic principles of His art. His sense of pathos and of beauty and of -irony could have led Him to select no other legend. And in the -inconsistencies and unsolved problems, or even the apparent -contradictions, of Christianity, Felix Kennaston could see only a -possible error or omission on the Author’s part, such as was common to -all romances. A few errata did not hamper the tale’s worth and splendor, -or render it a whit less meritorious of admiration.... - -And, indeed, Felix Kennaston found that his theory of the Atonement was -in harmony with quite orthodox teachings. The library at Alcluid -revealed bewildered and perturbed generations at guess-work. How could a -God have been placated, and turned from wrath to benevolence, by -witnessing the torment of His own son? What pleasure, whereby He was -propitiated, could the God have derived from watching the scene on -Calvary? Or was the God, as priests had taught so long (within the same -moment that they proclaimed the God’s omnipotence) not wholly a free -agent, because bound by laws whereby He was compelled to punish some one -for humanity’s disobedience, with the staggering option of substituting -an innocent victim? For if you granted that, you conceded to be higher -than the God, and overruling Him, a power which made for flat injustice. -Since Schleiermacher’s time, at least, as Kennaston discovered, there -had been reasoning creatures to contest the possibility of such -discrepant assumptions, and a dynasty of teachers who adhered to the -“subjective” theory of propitiation. For these considered that Christ -came, not primarily to be crucified, but by his life to reveal to men -the nature of their God. The crucifixion was an incidental, almost -inevitable, result of human obtuseness; and was pregnant with value only -in that thereby the full extent of divine love was perfectly evinced. -The personality, rather than the sufferings, of the Nazarene had thus -satisfied, not any demand or attribute of the God by acting upon it from -without, “but God’s total nature by revealing it and realizing it in -humanity.” The God, in short, had satisfied Himself “by revealing and -expressing His nature” in the material universe, precisely as lesser -artists got relief from the worries of existence by depicting themselves -in their books. Just as poets express themselves communicatively in -words, so here the Author had expressed Himself in flesh. Such, in -effect, had been the teaching of Karl Immanuel Nitzsch, of Richard -Rothe, and of von Hofman, in Germany; of Auguste Bouvier in Geneva; of -Alexandre Vinet, and of Auguste Sabatier, in France; of Frederick -Denison Maurice, and John Caird, and Benjamin Jowett, in England; and in -America of Horace Bushnell, and Elisha Mulford, and William Newton -Clarke. The list was imposing: and Kennaston rejoiced to find himself at -one with so many reputable theologians. For all these scholars had dimly -divined, with whatever variousness they worded the belief, that the -God’s satisfaction sprang, in reality, from the consciousness of having -at last done a fine piece of artistic work, in creating the character of -Christ.... - -So, as nearly as one can phrase the matter, it was really as a proof of -confidence in his Author’s literary abilities that Felix Kennaston was -presently confirmed at our little country church, to the delight of his -wife and the approbation of his neighbors. It was felt to be eminently -suitable: that such a quiet well-to-do man of his years and station -should not be a communicant was generally, indeed, adjudged unnatural. -And when William T. Vartrey (of the Lichfield Iron Works) was gathered -to his grandfathers, in the following autumn, Mr. Kennaston was rather -as a matter of course elected to succeed him in the vestry. And -Kennaston was unfeignedly pleased and flattered. - - * * * * * - -To the discerning it is easy enough to detect in all this fantastic -theorizing the man’s obsessing love of ordered beauty and his abhorrence -of slovenliness—of shapelessness—which make his writings so admirable, -here alluring him to believe that such ideals must also be cherished by -Omnipotence. This poet loved his formal art to the extent of coming to -assume it was the purpose and the origin of terrestrial life. Life -seemed to him, in short, a God’s chosen form of artistic -self-expression; and as a confrère, Kennaston found the result -praiseworthy. Even inanimate nature, he sometimes thought, might be a -divine experiment in _vers libre_.... But neither the justice of -Kennaston’s airdrawn surmises, nor their wildness, matters; the point is -that they made of him a vestryman who in appearance and speech and -actions, and in essential beliefs, differed not at all from his -associates in office, who had comfortably acquired their standards by -hearsay. So that the moral of his theorizing should be no less obvious -than salutary. - - * * * * * - -Thus, he too entered at last into that belief which is man’s noble -heritage.... - -“Or I would put it, rather, that belief is man’s _métier_,” Kennaston -once corrected me—“for the sufficient reason that man has nothing to do -with certainties. He cannot ever get in direct touch with reality. Such -is the immutable law, the true cream of the jest. Felix Kennaston, so -long as he wears the fleshly body of Felix Kennaston, is conscious only -of various tiny disturbances in his brain-cells, which entertain and -interest him, but cannot pretend to probe to the roots of reality about -anything. By the nature of my mental organs, it is the sensation the -thing arouses in my brain of which I am aware, and never of the thing -itself. I am conscious only of appearances. They may all be illusory. I -cannot ever tell. But it is my human privilege to believe whatever I may -elect.” - -“And, my dear sir,” as I pointed out, “is not this hair-splitting, -really, a reduction of human life to the very shallowest sort of -mysticism, that gets you nowhere?” - -“Now again, Harrowby, you are falling into the inveterate race-delusion -that man is intended to get somewhere. I do not see that the notion -rests on any readily apparent basis. It is at any rate a working -hypothesis that in the world-romance man, being cast for the part of -fool, quite obviously best furthers the dénouement’s success by wearing -his motley bravely.... There was a fool in my own romance, a character -of no great importance; yet it was an essential incident in the story -that he should irresponsibly mislay the King’s letter, and Sir Guiron -thus be forced to seek service under Duke Florestan. Perhaps, in similar -fashion, it is here necessary to the Author’s scheme that man must -simply go on striving to gain a little money, food, and sleep, a trinket -or two, some moments of laughter, and at the last a decent bed to die -in. For it may well be that man’s allotted part calls for just these -actions, to round out the drama artistically. Yes; it is quite -conceivable that, much as I shaped events at Storisende, so here the -Author aims toward making an æsthetic masterpiece of His puppet-play as -a whole, rather than at ending everything with a transformation scene -such as, when we were younger, used so satisfactorily to close _The -Black Crook_ and _The Devil’s Auction_. For it may well be that the -Author has, after all, more in common with Æschylus, say, than with Mr. -Charles H. Yale.... So I must train my mind to be contented with -appearances, whether they be true or not—and reserving always a -permissible preference for pleasant delusions. Being mortal, I am able -to contrive no thriftier bargain.” - -“Being mortal,” I amended, “we pick our recreations to suit our tastes. -Now I, for instance—as is, indeed, a matter of some notoriety and -derision here in Lichfield—am interested in what people loosely speak of -as ‘the occult.’ I don’t endeavor to persuade defunct poetesses to -dictate via the Ouija board effusions which give little encouragement as -to the present state of culture in Paradise, or to induce Napoleon to -leave wherever he is and devote his energies to tipping a table for me, -you understand.... But I quite fixedly believe the Wardens of Earth -sometimes unbar strange windows, that face on other worlds than ours. -And some of us, I think, once in a while get a peep through these -windows. But we are not permitted to get a long peep, or an unobstructed -peep, nor, very certainly, are we permitted to see all there is—out -yonder. The fatal fault, sir, of your theorizing is that it is too -complete. It aims to throw light upon the universe, and therefore is -self-evidently moonshine. The Wardens of Earth do not desire that we -should understand the universe, Mr. Kennaston; it is part of Their -appointed task to insure that we never do; and because of Their -efficiency every notion that any man, dead, living, or unborn, might -form as to the universe will necessarily prove wrong. So, if for no -other reason, I must decline to think of you and me as characters in a -romance.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - _Book Fifth_ - - - - - “This was the measure of my soul’s delight; - It had no power of joy to fly by day, - Nor part in the large lordship of the light; - But in a secret moon-beholden way - Had all its will of dreams and pleasant night, - And all the love and life that sleepers may. - - “But such life’s triumph as men waking may - It might not have to feed its faint delight.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - Of Poetic Love: Treated with Poetic Inefficiency - - -SO much for what Kennaston termed his “serious reading” in chance-opened -pages of the past. There were other dreams quite different in nature, -which seemed, rather, to fulfil the function of romantic art, in -satisfying his human craving for a full-fed emotional existence—dreams -which Kennaston jestingly described as “_belles lettres_.” For now by -turn—as murderer, saint, herdsman, serf, fop, pickpurse, troubadour, -monk, bravo, lordling, monarch, and in countless other estates—Kennaston -tasted those fruitless emotions which it is the privilege of art to -arouse—joys without any inevitable purchase-price, regrets that were not -bitter, and miseries which left him not a penny the worse. - -But it was as a lover that his rôle most engrossed him, in many dreams -wherein he bore for Ettarre such adoration as he had always wistfully -hoped he might entertain toward some woman some day, and had not ever -known in his waking hours. It was sober truth he had spoken at -Storisende: “There is no woman like you in my country, Ettarre. I can -find no woman anywhere resembling you whom dreams alone may win to.” But -now at last, even though it were only in dreams, he loved as he had -always dimly felt he was capable of loving.... Even the old lost faculty -of verse-making seemed to come back to him with this change, and he -began again to fashion rhymes, elaborating bright odd vignettes of -foiled love in out-of-the-way epochs and surroundings. These were the -verses included, later, under the general title of “Dramatis Personæ,” -in his _Chimes at Midnight_. - -He wrote of foiled love necessarily, since not even as a lover might he -win to success. It was the cream of some supernal jest that he might not -touch Ettarre; that done, though but by accident, the dream ended, and -the universe seemed to fold about him, just as a hand closes. He came to -understand the reason of this. “Love must look toward something not -quite accessible, something not quite understood,” he had said at -Storisende: and this phrase, so lightly despatched, came home to him now -as pregnant truth. For it was this fact which enabled him to love -Ettarre, and had always prevented his loving any other woman. - -All mortal women either loved some other man, and went with him -somewhither beyond the area of your daily life, and so, in time were -forgotten; or, else, they loved you, and laid bare to you their minds -and bodies—and neither of these possessions ever proved so remarkable, -when calmly viewed, as to justify continued infatuation therewith. Such -at least Felix Kennaston had always found to be the case: love did not -live, as lovers do, by feeding; but, paradoxically, got strength by -hungering. It should be remembered, however, that Felix Kennaston was a -poet.... - - * * * * * - -He would sometimes think of the women who had loved him; and would -speculate, with some wistfulness, if it was invariably true, as with his -own amorous traffic, that love both kept and left its victims strangers -to each other? He knew so little of these soft-lipped girls and women, -when everything was said.... - -Yet there had been—he counted—yes, time had known eight chaste and -comely gentlewomen, in all, who had “given themselves to him,” as the -hackneyed phrase was. These eight affairs, at any event, had conformed -to every tradition, and had been as thorough-going as might romantically -be expected: but nothing much seemed to have come of them; and he did -not feel in the upshot very well acquainted with their heroines. His -sole emotion toward them nowadays was that of mild dislike. But six of -them—again to utilize a venerable conjunction of words—had “deceived -their husbands” for the caresses of an impecunious Kennaston; and the -other two had anticipatorily “deceived” the husbands they took later: so -that they must, he reflected, have loved Felix Kennaston sincerely. He -was quite certain, though, that he had never loved any one of them as he -had always wanted to love. No one of these women had given him what he -sought in vain. Kennaston had felt this lack of success dispiritedly -when, with soft arms about him, it was necessary to think of what he -would say next. He had always in such circumstances managed to feign -high rapture, to his temporary companion’s entire satisfaction, as he -believed; but each adventure left him disappointed. It had not roused in -him the overwhelming emotions lovers had in books, nor anything -resembling these emotions; and that was what he had wanted, and had not -ever realized, until the coming of Ettarre.... - -He had made love, as a prevalent rule, to married women—allured, again, -by bookish standards, which advanced the commerce of Lancelot with -Guinevere, or of Paolo Malatesta with his brother’s wife, as the supreme -type of romantic passion. On more practical grounds, Kennaston preferred -married women, partly because they were less stupid to converse with in -general, and in particular did not bring up the question of marrying -you; and in part because the husband in the background helped the -situation pictorially—this notion also now seemed to be of literary -origin—besides furnishing an unfailing topic of conversation. For -unfaithful or wavering wives, to Kennaston’s finding, peculiarly -delighted in talking about their husbands; and in such prattle failed -either to exhibit the conventional remorse toward, or any very grave -complaint against, the discussed better-half. The inconsistency would -have worried Kennaston’s sense of justice, had not these husbands always -been so transparently certain of Kennaston’s insignificance.... Although -judging of necessity only from his own experience, Kennaston was unable -conscientiously to approve of adulterous love-affairs: they tended too -soon toward tediousness; and married women seemed horribly quick to -become matter-of-fact in the details of a liaison, and ready almost to -confuse you with the husband. - -The giggle and chatter of young girls Kennaston had always esteemed -unalluring, even in his own youth. He had admired a number of them -extravagantly, but only as ornamental objects upon which very -ill-advisedly had been conferred the gift of speech. To-day he looked -back wistfully at times, as we must all do, to that girl who first had -asked him if he was sure that he respected her as much as ever: but it -was with the mental annotation that she had seven children now, and, as -Kathleen put it, not a ray of good looks left. And he would meditate -that he had certainly been fond of Margaret Hugonin, even though in the -beginning it was her money which attracted him; and that Marian Winwood, -despite her underhanded vengeance in publishing his letters, had been -the most delectable of company all that ancient summer when it had -rained so persistently. Then there had been tall Agnés Faroy, like a -statue of gold and ivory; Kitty Provis, with those wonderful huge green -eyes of hers; and Celia Reindan, she who wore that curious silver band -across her forehead; and Helen Strong; and Blanche Druro; and Muriel.... -In memory they arose like colorful and gracious phantoms, far more -adorable than they had ever been on earth, when each of these had -loaned, for a season, the touch of irresolute soft hands and friendly -lips to a half-forgotten Felix Kennaston. All these, and others, had -been, a long while since, the loveliest creatures that wore tender human -flesh: and so, they had kissed, and they had talked time-hallowed -nonsense, and they had shed the orthodox tears; and—also a long while -since—they had died or they had married the conventional some one-else: -and it did not matter the beard of an onion to the pudgy pasty man that -Felix Kennaston had come to be. He had possessed, or else of his own -volition he had refrained from possessing, all these brightly-colored -moth-brained girls: but he had loved none of them as he had always known -he was capable of loving: and at best, these girls were dead now, or at -worst, they had been converted into unaccountable people.... - - * * * * * - -Kathleen was returning from the South that day, and Kennaston had gone -into Lichfield to meet her train. The Florida Express was late by a full -hour; so he sat in their motor-car, waiting, turning over some verses in -his torpid mind, and just half-noticing persons who were gathering on -the station platform to take the noon train going west. He was -reflecting how ugly and trivial people’s faces appear when a crowd is -viewed collectively—and wondering if the Author, looking down into a hot -thronged street, was never tempted to obliterate the race as an -unsuccessful experiment—when Kennaston recognized Muriel Allardyce. - -“I simply will not see her,” he decided. He turned his back that way, -picked up the morning paper on the seat beside him, and began to read an -editorial on immigration. What the deuce was she doing in Lichfield, any -way? She lived in St. Louis now. She was probably visiting Avis Blagden. -Evidently, she was going west on the noon train. If Kathleen’s train -arrived before midday he would have to get out of the car to meet her, -and all three would come together on the platform. If Muriel spied him -there, in the open car, it would be not uncharacteristic of her to join -him. And he could not go away, because Kathleen’s train was apt to -arrive any minute. It was perfectly damnable. Why could the woman not -stay in St. Louis, where she belonged, instead of gadding about the -country? Thus Kennaston, as he re-read the statistics as to Poles and -Magyars. - -“I think there’s two ladies trying to speak to you, sir,” the chauffeur -hazarded. - -“Eh?—oh, yes!” said Kennaston. He looked, perforce, and saw that across -the railway track both Muriel Allardyce and Avis Blagden were regarding -him with idiotic grins and wavings. He lifted his hat, smiled, waved his -own hand, and retired between the pages of the _Lichfield -Courier-Herald_. Muriel was wearing a light traveling veil, he -reflected; he could pretend not to know who she was. With recognition, -of course, he would be expected to come over and speak to her. He must -remember to ask Avis, the very next time he saw her, who had been that -familiar-looking person with her, and to express regret for his -short-sightedness.... - -He decided to step out of the car, by way of the farther door, and buy a -package of cigarettes on the other side of the street. He could loaf -there and pray that Muriel’s train left before Kathleen’s arrived.... - -“I don’t believed you recognized us,” said Avis Blagden, at his elbow. -“Or else you are trying to cut your old playmates.” The two women had -brazenly pursued him. They were within a yard of him. It was indelicate. -It was so perfectly unnecessary. He cordially wished some friendly -engine had run them both down when they were crossing the tracks.... - -“Why, bless my soul!” he was saying, “this is indeed a delightful -surprise. I had no idea you were in town, Mrs. Allardyce. I didn’t -recognize you, with that veil on—” - -“There’s Peter, at last,” said Avis. “I really must speak to him a -moment.” And she promptly left them. Kennaston reflected that the whole -transaction was self-evidently pre-arranged. And Muriel was, as if -abstractedly, but deliberately, walking beyond earshot of the chauffeur. -And there was nothing for it save to accompany her. - -“It’s awfully jolly to see you again,” he observed, with fervor. - -“Is it? Honestly, Felix, it looked almost as if you were trying to avoid -me.” Kennaston wondered how he could ever have loved a woman of so -little penetration. - -“No, I didn’t recognize you, with that veil on,” he repeated. “And I had -no idea you were in Lichfield. I do hope you are going to pay us all a -nice long visit—” - -“But, no, I am leaving on this train—” - -“Oh, I say, but that’s too bad! And I never knew you were here!” he -lamented. - -“I only stopped overnight with Avis. I am on my way home—” - -“To Leonard?” And Kennaston smiled. “How do you get on with him -nowadays?” - -“We are—contented, I suppose. He has his business—and politics. He is -doing perfectly splendidly now, you know. And I have my memories.” Her -voice changed. “I have my memories, Felix! Nothing—nothing can take that -from me!” - -“Good God, Muriel, there are a dozen people watching us—” - -“What does that matter!” - -“Well, it matters a lot to me. I live here, you know.” - -She was silent for a moment. “You look your latest rôle in life so well, -too, Felix. You are the respectable married gentleman to the last -detail. Why, you are an old man now, Felix,” she said wistfully. “Your -hair is gray about the ears, and you are fat, and there are wrinkles -under your eyes—But are you happy, dear?” she asked, with the grave -tender speech that he remembered. And momentarily the man forgot the -people about them, and the fact that his wife’s train was due any -minute. - -“Happier than I deserve to be, Muriel.” His voice had quavered—not -ineffectively, it appeared to him. - -“That’s true, at least,” the woman said, as in reflection. “You treated -me rather abominably, you know—like an old shoe.” - -“I am not altogether sorry you take that view of it. For I wouldn’t want -you to regret—anything—not even that which, to me at least, is very -sacred. But there was really nothing else to do save just to let things -end. It was as hard,” he said, with a continuous flight of imagination, -“it was as hard on me as you.” - -“Sometimes I think it was simply because you were afraid of Leonard. I -put that out of my mind, though, always. You see, I like to keep my -memories. I have nothing else now, Felix—” She opened the small leather -bag she carried, took out a handkerchief, and brushed her lips. “I am a -fool, of course. Oh, it is funny to see your ugly little snub nose -again! And I couldn’t help wanting to speak to you, once more—” - -“It has been delightful. And some day I certainly do hope—But there’s -your train, I think. The gates are going down.” - -“And here is Avis coming. So good-by, Felix. It is really forever this -time, I think—” - -It seemed to him that she held in her left hand the sigil of Scoteia.... -He stared at the gleaming thing, then raised his eyes to hers. She was -smiling. Her eyes were the eyes of Ettarre. All the beauty of the world -seemed gathered in this woman’s face.... - -“Don’t let it be forever! Come with me, Felix! There is only you—even -now, there is only you. It is not yet too late—” Astounding as were the -words, they came quite clearly, in a pleading frightened whisper. - -The man was young for just that one wonderful moment of inexplicable -yearning and self-loathing. Then, “I—I am afraid my wife would hardly -like it,” he said, equably. “So good-by, Muriel. It has been very -delightful to see you again.” - - * * * * * - -“I was mistaken, though, of course. It was the top of a vanity-box, or -of a toilet water flask, or of something else, that she took out of the -bag, when she was looking for her handkerchief. It was just a silly -coincidence. I was mistaken, of course.... And here is Kathleen’s train. -Thank goodness, it was late enough....” - -Thus Kennaston, as he went to receive his wife’s cool kiss. And—having -carefully mentioned as a matter of no earthly importance that he had -just seen Muriel Allardyce, and that she had gone off terribly in looks, -and that none of them seem to hold their own like you, dear—he disbarred -from mind that awkward moment’s delusion, and tried not to think of it -any more. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - Cross-Purposes in Spacious Times - - -SO Kennaston seemed to have got only disappointment and vexation and -gainless vague regret from his love-affairs in the flesh; and all -fleshly passion seemed to flicker out inevitably, however splendid the -brief blaze. For you loved and lost; or else you loved and won: there -was quick ending either way. And afterward unaccountable women haunted -you, and worried you into unreasonable contrition, in defiance of -commonsense.... - -But for Ettarre, who embodied all Kennaston was ever able to conceive of -beauty and fearlessness and strange purity, all perfections, all the -attributes of divinity, in a word, such as his slender human faculties -were competent to understand, he must hunger always in vain. Whatever -happened, Ettarre stayed inaccessible, even in dreams: her beauty was -his to look on only; and always when he came too near that radiant -loveliness which was Ettarre’s—that perfect beauty which was so full of -troubling reticences, and so, was touched with something sinister—the -dream would end, and the universe would seem to fold about him, just as -a hand closes. Such was the law, the kindly law, as Kennaston now -believed, through which love might thrive even in the arid heart of a -poet. - -Sometimes, however, this law would lead to odd results, and left the -dream an enigma. For instance, he had a quaint experience upon the night -of that day during which he had talked with Muriel Allardyce.... - - * * * * * - -“You are in all things a fortunate man, Master—ah—whatever your true -name may be,” said the boy, pettishly flinging down the cards. - -“Ods life, and have we done?” says Kennaston.... - -The two sat in a comfortable paneled room. There was a big open fire -behind Kennaston; he could see its reflections flicker about the -wood-work. The boy facing him was glowingly attired in green and gold, -an ardent comely urchin, who (as Kennaston estimated) might perhaps be a -page to Queen Elizabeth, or possibly was one of King James’s spoilt -striplings. Between them was a rough deal table, littered with -playing-cards; and upon it sat a tallish blue pitcher half-full of wine, -four lighted candles stuck like corks in as many emptied bottles, and -two coarse yellow mugs.... - -“Yes, we have done,” the boy answered; and, rising, smiled cherubically. -“May I ask what the object may be that you conceal with such care in -your left hand?” says he. - -“To be candid,” Kennaston returned, “it is the King of Diamonds, that -swarthy bearded Spaniard. I had intended it should serve as a corrective -and encourager of Lady Fortune, when I turned it, my next deal, as the -trump card. I’ faith, I thank God I have found the jade is to be -influenced by such feats of manual activity. Oh, ay, sir, I may say it -without conceit that my fingers have in these matters tolerable compass -and variety.” - -“A card-sharp!” sneers the boy. “La, half of us suspected it already; -but it will be rare news to the town that Master Lionel Branch—as I must -continue to call you—stands detected in such Greek knaveries.” - -“Nay, but you will hardly live to moralize of it, sir. Oh, no, sir, -indeed my poor arts must not be made public: for I would not seem to -boast of my accomplishments. Harkee, sir, I abhor vain-glory. I name no -man, sir; but I know very well there are snotty-nosed people who regard -expedients toward amending the quirks of fate with puritan disfavor. -Hah, but, signior, what is that to us knights of the moon, to us -gallants of generous spirit?—Oh, Lord, sir, I protest I look upon such -talents much as I do upon my breeches. I do consider them as -possessions, not certainly to be vaunted, but indispensable to any -gentleman who hopes to make a pleasing figure in the world.” - -“All this bluster is wordy foolery, Master Branch. What I have seen, I -have seen; and you will readily guess how I mean to use my knowledge.” - -“I would give a great deal to find out what he is talking about,” was -Kennaston’s reflection. “I have discovered, at least, that my present -alias is Branch, but that I am in reality somebody else.” Aloud he said: -“’Fore God, your eyesight is of the best, Master Skirlaw—(_How the deuce -did I know his name, now?_)—Hah, I trust forthwith to prove if your -sword be equally keen.” - -“I will fight with no cheats—” - -“I’ faith, sir, but I have heard that wine is a famed provoker of -courage. Let us try the byword.” So saying, Kennaston picked up one mug, -and flung its contents full in the boy’s face. It was white wine, -Kennaston noted, for it did not stain Master Skirlaw’s handsome -countenance at all. - -“The insult is sufficient. Draw, and have done!” the lad said quietly. -His sword gleamed in the restive reflections of that unseen fire behind -Kennaston. - -“Na, na! but, my most expeditious cockerel, surely this place is a -thought too public? Now yonder is a noble courtyard. Oh, ay, favored by -to-night’s moon, we may settle our matter without any hindrance or -intolerable scandal. So, I will call my host, that we may have the key. -Yet, upon my gentility, Master Skirlaw, I greatly fear I shall be forced -to kill you. Therefore I cry you mercy, sir, but is there no business on -your mind which you would not willingly leave undischarged? Save you, -friend, but we are all mortal. Hah, to a lady whom I need not name, it -is an affair of considerable import what disposition a bold man might -make of this ring—” - -Leering, Kennaston touched the great signet-ring on the lad’s thumb; and -forthwith the universe seemed to fold about him, just as a hand closes. -In this brief moment of inexplicable yearning and self-loathing he -comprehended that the boy’s face was the face of Ettarre. - -And Kennaston, awake, was pleading, with meaningless words: “Valentia! -forgive me, Valentia!...” - - * * * * * - -And that was all. This dream remained an enigma. Kennaston could never -know what events had preceded this equivocal instant, or how Ettarre -came to be disguised as a man, or what were their relations in this -dream, nor, above all, why he should have awakened crying upon the name -of Valentia. It was simply a law that always when he was about to touch -Ettarre—even unconsciously—everything must vanish; and through the -workings of that law this dream, with many others, came to be just a -treasured moment of unexplainable but poignant emotion. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - Horvendile to Ettarre: At Whitehall - - -TO Kennaston the Lord Protector was saying, with grave unction: “You -will, I doubt not, fittingly express to our friends in Virginia, Master -Major, those hearty sentiments which I have in the way of gratefulness, -in that I have received the honor and safeguard of their approbation; -for all which I humbly thank them. To our unfriends in that colony we -will let action speak when I shall have completed God’s work in -Ireland.” - -“Yet the Burgesses, sir, are mostly ill-affected; and Berkeley, to grant -him justice, does not lack bravery—” - -“With Heaven’s help, Master Major, I have of late dealt with a king who -did not lack bravery. Nay, depend upon it, I shall some day grant -William Berkeley utter justice—such justice as I gave his master, that -proud curled man, Charles Stuart.” Then the Lord Protector’s face was -changed, and his harsh countenance became a little troubled. “Yes, I -shall do all this, with Heaven’s help, I think. But in good faith, I -grow old, Master Major. I move in a mist, and my deeds are strange to -me....” - -Cromwell closed and unclosed his hands, regarding them; and he sighed. -Then it was to Ettarre he spoke: - -“I leave you in Master Major’s charge. It may be I shall not return -alive into England; indeed, I grow an old man and feel infirmities of -age stealing upon me. And so, farewell, my lass. Truly if I love you not -too well, I err not on the other hand much. Thou hast been dearer to me -than any other creature: let that suffice.” And with this leave-taking -he was gone. - -As the door closed upon Cromwell’s burly figure, “No, be very careful -not to touch me,” Kennaston implored. “The dream must last till I have -found out how through your aid, Ettarre, this bull-necked country squire -has come to rule England. It is precisely as I expected. You explain -Cromwell, you explain Mohammed—Richelieu and Tamburlaine and Julius -Cæsar, I suspect, and, as I know, Napoleon—all these men who have -inexplicably risen from nothing to earthly supremacy. How is it done, -Ettarre?” - -“It is not I who contrive it, Horvendile. I am but an incident in such -men’s lives. They have known me—yes: and knowing me, they were bent -enough on their own ends to forget that I seemed not unlovely. It is not -the sigil and the power the sigil gives which they love and serve—” - -“And that small square mirror, such as Cromwell also carried—?” -Kennaston began. “Or is this forbidden talk?” - -“Yes, that mirror aids them. In that mirror they can see only -themselves. So the mirror aids toward the ends they chose, with open -eyes.... But you cannot ever penetrate these mysteries now, Horvendile. -The secret of the mirror was offered you once, and you would not -bargain. The secret of the mirror is offered to no man twice.” - -And he laughed merrily. “What does it matter? I am perfectly content. -That is more than can be said for yonder sanctimonious fat old rascal, -who has just told me he is going into Ireland ‘for the propagating of -the gospel of Christ, the establishing of truth and peace, and the -restoring of that bleeding nation to its former happiness and -tranquillity.’ Why is it that people of executive ability seem always to -be more or less mentally deficient? Now, you and I know that, in point -of fact, he is going into Ireland to burn villages, massacre women, hang -bishops, and generally qualify his name for all time as a Hibernian -synonym for infamy. Oh, no, the purchase-price of grandeur is too great; -and men that crown themselves in this world inevitably perform the -action with soiled hands. Still, I wish I had known I was going visiting -to-night in seventeenth-century England,” said Kennaston, reflectively; -“then I could have read up a bit. I don’t even know whether Virginia -ever submitted to him. It simply shows what idleness may lead to! If I -had studied history more faithfully I would have been able to-night to -prophesy to Oliver Cromwell about the results of his Irish campaigns and -so on, and could have impressed him vastly with my abilities. As it is, -I have missed an opportunity which will probably never occur again to -any man of my generation....” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV - - Horvendile to Ettarre: At Vaux-le-Vicomte - - -“WHAT fun!” says Kennaston; “we are at Vaux-le-Vicomte, where Fouquet is -entertaining young Louis Quatorze. Yonder is La Vallière—the thin -tow-headed girl, with the big mouth. People are just beginning to -whisper scandal about her. And that tall jade is Athenaïs de -Tonnay-Charente—the woman who is going to be Madame de Montespan and -control everything in the kingdom later on, you remember. The King is -not yet aware of her existence, nor has Monsieur de Montespan been -introduced.... - -“The Troupe of Monsieur is about to present an open-air comedy. It is -called _Les Facheux_—The Bores. It is rumored to take off very cleverly -the trivial tedious fashion in which perfectly well-meaning people -chatter their way through life. But that more fittingly would be the -theme of a tragedy, Ettarre. Men are condemned eternally to bore one -another. Two hundred years and more from to-day—perhaps forever—man will -lack means, or courage, to voice his actual thoughts adequately. He must -still talk of weather probabilities and of having seen So-and-so and of -such trifles, that mean absolutely nothing to him—and must babble of -these things even to the persons who are most dear and familiar to him. -Yes, every reputable man must desperately make small-talk, and echo and -re-echo senseless phrases, until the crack of doom. He will always be -afraid to bare his actual thoughts and interests to his fellows’ -possible disapproval: or perhaps it is just a pitiable mania with the -race. At all events, one should not laugh at this ageless aspersion and -burlesque of man’s intelligence as performed by man himself.... - -“The comedy is quite new. A marquis, with wonderful canions and a -scented wig like an edifice, told me it is by an upholsterer named -Coquelin, a barnstormer who ran away from home and has been knocking -about the provinces unsuccessfully for nearly twenty years: and my -little marquis wondered what in the world we are coming to, when -Monsieur le Surintendent takes up with that class of people. Is not my -little marquis droll?—for he meant Poquelin, soon to be Poquelin de -Molière, of course. Molière, also, is a name which is not famous as yet. -But in a month or so it will be famous for all time; and Monsieur le -Surintendent will be in jail and forgotten.... - -“You smile, Ettarre? Ah, yes, I understand. Molière too adores you. All -poets have had fitful glimpses of you, Ettarre, and of that perfect -beauty which is full of troubling reticences, and so, is touched with -something sinister. I have written as to the price they pay, these -hapless poets, in a little book I am inditing through that fat pudgy -body I wear in the flesh.... Do not frown: I know it is forbidden to -talk with you concerning my life in the flesh.... - -“Ah, the King comes—evidently in no very amiable frame of mind—and all -rise, like a flurry of great butterflies. It is the beginning of the -play. See, a woman is coming out of the big shell in the fountain.... - -“I wish my old friend Jonas d’Artagnan were here. It is a real pity he -is only a character in fiction—just as I once thought you were, Ettarre. -Eh, what a fool I was to imagine I had created you! and that I -controlled your speech and doings! I know much better now.... - -“Ettarre, your unattainable beauty tears my heart. Is that black-browed -Molière your lover too? What favors have you granted him? You perceive I -am jealous. How can I be otherwise, when there is nothing, nothing in me -that does not cry out for love of you? And I am forbidden ever to win -quite to you, ever to touch you, ever to see you even save in my -dreams!” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V - - Horvendile to Ettarre: In the Conciergerie - - -THEY waited in a big dark room of the Conciergerie, with many other -condemned émigrants, until the tumbrils should come to fetch them to the -Place de la Révolution. They stood beneath a narrow barred window, set -high in the wall, so that thin winter sunlight made the girl’s face -visible. Misery was about them, death waited without: and it did not -matter a pennyworth. - -“Ettarre, I know to-day that all my life I have been seeking you. Very -long ago when I was a child it was made clear that you awaited me -somewhere; and, I recollect now, I used to hunger for your coming with a -longing which has not any name. And when I went about the dusty world I -still believed you waited somewhere—till I should find you, as I -inevitably must, or soon or late. Did I go upon a journey to some -unfamiliar place?—it might be that unwittingly I traveled toward your -home. I could never pass a walled garden where green tree-tops showed -without suspecting, even while I shrugged to think how wild was the -imagining, that there was only the wall between us. I did not know the -color of your eyes, but I knew what I would read there. And for a -fevered season I appeared to encounter many women of earth who resembled -you—” - -“All women resemble me, Horvendile. Whatever flesh they may wear as a -garment, and however time-frayed or dull-hued or stained by horrible -misuse that garment may seem to be, the wearer of that garment is no -less fair than I, could any man see her quite clearly. Horvendile, were -that not true, could our great Author find anywhere a woman’s body which -wickedness and ugliness controlled unchecked, all the big stars which -light the universe, and even the tiny sun that our earth spins about, -would be blown out like unneeded candles, for the Author’s labor would -have been frustrated and misspent.” - -“Yes; I know now that this is true.... See, Ettarre! Yonder woman is -furtively coloring her cheeks with a little wet red rag. She does not -wish to seem pale—or is it that she wishes to look her best?—in the -moment of death.... Ettarre, my love for you whom I could not ever find, -was not of earth, and I could not transfer it to an earthly woman. The -lively hues, the lovely curvings and the fragrant tender flesh of -earth’s women were deft to cast their spells; but presently I knew this -magic was only of the body. It might be I was honoring divinity; but it -was certain that even in such case I was doing so by posturing before my -divinity’s effigy in tinted clay. Besides, it is not possible to know -with any certainty what is going on in the round glossy little heads of -women. ‘I hide no secrets from you, because I love you,’ say they?—eh, -and their love may be anything from a mild preference to a flat lie. And -so, I came finally to concede that all women are creatures of like -frailties and limitations and reserves as myself, and I was most -poignantly lonely when I was luckiest in love. Once only, in my life in -the flesh, it seemed to me that a woman, whom I had abandoned, held in -her hand the sigil visibly. That memory has often troubled me, Ettarre. -It may be that this woman could have given me what I sought everywhere -in vain. But I did not know this until it was too late, until the chance -and the woman’s life alike were wasted.... And so, I grew apathetic, -senseless and without any spurring aspiration, seeing that all human -beings are so securely locked in the prison of their flesh.” - -“When immortals visit earth it is necessary they assume the appearance -of some animal. Very long ago, as we have seen, Horvendile, that secret -was discovered, which so many myths veil thinly: and have we not -learned, too, that the animal’s fleshly body is a disguise which it is -possible to put aside?” - -“That knowledge, so fearfully purchased at the Sabbat, still troubles -me, Ettarre.... Monsieur le Prince, I regret the circumstance, but—as -you see—my snuff-box is quite empty. Ah, but yes, as you very justly -observe, rappee, repose and rationality are equally hard to come by in -these mad days.... Is that not droll, Ettarre? This unvenerable old -Prince de Gâtinais—once Grand Duke of Noumaria, you remember—has been -guilty in his career of every iniquity and meanness and cowardice: now, -facing instant death, he finds time to think of snuff and -phrase-making.... But—to go back a little—I had thought the Sabbat would -be so different! One imagined there would be cauldrons, and hags upon -prancing broomsticks, and a black goat, of course—” - -“How much more terrible it is—and how beautiful!” - -“Yet—even now I may not touch you, Ettarre.” - -“My friend, all men have striven to do that; and I have evaded each one -of them at the last, and innumerable are the ways of my elusion. There -is no man but has loved me, no man that has forgotten me, and none but -has attempted to express that which he saw and understood when I was -visible.” - -“Do I not know? There is no beauty in the world save those stray hints -of you, Ettarre. Canvas and stone and verse speak brokenly of you -sometimes; all music yearns toward you, Ettarre, all sunsets whisper of -you, and it is because they waken memories of you that the eyes of all -children so obscurely trouble and delight us. Ettarre, your unattainable -beauty tears my heart. There is nothing, nothing in me that does not cry -out for love of you. And it is the cream of a vile jest that I am -forbidden ever to win quite to you, ever to touch you, ever to see you -even save in my dreams!” - -“Already this dream draws toward an end, my poor Horvendile.” - -And he saw that the great doors—which led to death—were unclosing: and -beyond them he saw confusedly a mob of red-capped men, of malignant -frenzied women, of wide-eyed little children, and the staid officials, -chatting pleasantly among themselves, who came to fetch that day’s tale -of those condemned to the guillotine. But more vividly Kennaston saw -Ettarre and how tenderly she smiled, in thin wintry sunlight, as she -touched Kennaston upon the breast, so that the dream might end and he -might escape the guillotine. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VI - - Of One Enigma that Threatened to Prove Allegorical - - -THEN again Kennaston stood alone before a tall window, made up of many -lozenge-shaped panes of clear glass set in lead framework. He had put -aside one of the two great curtains—of a very fine stuff like gauze, -stitched over with transparent glittering beetle-wings, and embroidered -with tiny seed pearls—which hung before this window. - -Snow covered the expanse of house-tops without, and the sky without was -glorious with chill stars. That white city belonged to him, he knew, -with a host of other cities. He was the strongest of kings. People -dreaded him, he knew; and he wondered why any one should esteem a frail -weakling such as he to be formidable. The hand of this great king—his -own hand, that held aside the curtain before him—was shriveled and -colorless as lambs’ wools. It was like a horrible bird-claw. - -(“_But then I have the advantage of remembering the twentieth century,” -he thought, fleetingly, “and all my contemporaries are superstitious -ignorant folk. It is strange, but in this dream I appear to be an old -man. That never happened before._”) - -A remote music resounded in his ears, and cloying perfumes were about -him.... - -“I want to be happy. And that is impossible, because there is no -happiness anywhere in the world. I, a great king, say this—I, who am -known in unmapped lands, and before whom nations tremble. For there are -but three desirable things in life—love and power and wisdom: and I, the -king, have sounded the depths of these, and in none is happiness.” - -Despairing words came to him now, and welled to his lips, in a sort of -chaunt: - -“I am sad to-night, for I remember that I once loved a woman. She was -white as the moon; her hair was a gold cloud; she had untroubled eyes. -She was so fair that I longed for her until my heart was as the heart of -a God. But she sickened and died: worms had their will of her, not I. So -I took other women, and my bed was never lonely. Bright poisonous women -were brought to me, from beyond the sunset, from the Fortunate Islands, -from Invallis and Planasia even; and these showed me nameless -endearments and many curious perverse pleasures. But I was not able to -forget that woman who was denied me because death had taken her: and I -grew a-weary of love, for I perceived that all which has known life must -suffer death. - -“There was no people anywhere who could withstand my armies. We traveled -far in search of such a people. My armies rode into a country of great -heat and endless sands, and contended with the Presbyter’s brown -horsemen, who fought with arrows and brightly painted bows; and we slew -them. My armies entered into a land where men make their homes in the -shells of huge snails, and feed upon white worms which have black heads; -and we slew them. My armies passed into a land where a people that have -no language dwell in dark caves under the earth, and worship a stone -that has sixty colors; and we slew them, teaching ruthlessly that all -which has known life must suffer death. - -“Many stiff-necked kings, still clad in purple and scarlet and wearing -gold crowns—monarchs whose proud faces, for all that these men were my -slaves, kept their old fashion and stayed changeless as the faces of -statues—such were my lackeys: and I burned walled cities. Empires were -my playthings, but I had no son to inherit after me. I had no son—only -that dead horrible mangled worm, born dead, that I remember seeing very -long ago where the woman I loved lay dead. That would have been my son -had the thing lived—a greater and a nobler king than I. But death willed -otherwise: the life that moved in me was not to be perpetuated: and so, -the heart in my body grew dried and little and shriveled, like a parched -pea: for I perceived that all which has known life must suffer death. - -“Then I turned from warfare, and sought for wisdom. I learned all that -it is permitted any man to know—oh, I learned more than is permissible. -Have I not summoned demons from the depths of the sea, and at the Sabbat -have I not smitten haggard Gods upon the cheek? Yea, at Phigalia did I -not pass beneath the earth and strive with a terrible Black Woman, who -had the head of a horse, and wrest from her what I desired to know? Have -I not talked with Morskoi, that evil formless ruler of the Sea-Folk, and -made a compact with him? And has not even Phobetor, whose real name may -not be spoken, revealed to me his secrets, at a paid price of which I do -not care to think, now I perceive that all which has known life must -suffer death? - -“Yea, by the Hoofs of the Goat! it seems to me that I have done these -things; yet how may I be sure? For I have learned, too, that all man’s -senses lie to him, that nothing we see or hear or touch is truthfully -reported, and that the visible world at best stands like an island in an -uncharted ocean which is a highway, none the less, for much alien -traffic. Yet, it seems to me that I found means whereby the universe I -live in was stripped of many veils. It seems to me that I do not regret -having done this.... But presently I shall be dead, and all my -dearly-purchased, wearily-earned wisdom must lie quiet in a big stone -box, and all which has known life must suffer death. - -“For death is mighty, and against it naught can avail: it is terrible -and strong and cruel, and a lover of bitter jests. And presently, -whatever I have done or learned or dreamed, I must lie helpless where -worms will have their will of me, and neither the worms nor I will think -it odd. For all which has known life must suffer death.” - -A remote music resounded in his ears, and cloying perfumes were about -him. Turning, he saw that the walls of this strange room were of -iridescent lacquer, worked with bulls and apes and parrots in raised -gold: black curtains screened the doors: and the bare floor was of -smooth sea-green onyx. A woman stood there, who did not speak, but only -waited. At length he knew what terror was, for terror possessed him -utterly; and yet he was elated. - -“You have come, then, at last....” - -“To you at last I have come as I come to all men,” she answered, “in my -good hour.” And Ettarre’s hands, gleaming and half-hidden with jewels, -reached toward his hands, so gladly raised to hers; and the universe -seemed to fold about him, just as a hand closes. - - * * * * * - -Was it as death she came to him in this dream?—as death made manifest as -man’s liberation from much vain toil? Kennaston, at least, preferred to -think his dreams were not degenerating into such hackneyed crude -misleading allegories. Or perhaps it was as ghost of the dead woman he -had loved she came, now that he was age-stricken and nearing death, for -in this one dream alone he had seemed to be an old man. - -Kennaston could not ever be sure; the broken dream remained an enigma; -but he got sweet terror and happiness of the dream, for all that, -tasting his moment of inexplicable poignant emotion: and therewith he -was content. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VII - - Treats of Witches, Mixed Drinks, and the Weather - - -MEANWHILE, I used to see Kennaston nearly every day.... Looking back, I -recollect one afternoon when the Kennastons were calling on us. It was -the usual sort of late-afternoon call customarily exchanged by country -neighbors.... - -“We have been intending to come over for ever so long,” Mrs. Kennaston -explained. “But we have been in such a rush, getting ready for the -summer—” - -“We only got the carpets up yesterday,” my wife assented. “Riggs just -kept promising and promising, but he did finally get a man out—” - -“Well, the roads are in pretty bad shape,” I suggested, “and those vans -are fearfully heavy—” - -“Still, if they would just be honest about it,” Mrs. Kennaston -bewailed—“and not keep putting you off—No, I really don’t think I ever -saw the Loop road in worse condition—” - -“It’s the long rainy spell we ought to have had in May,” I informed her. -“The seasons are changing so, though, nowadays that nobody can keep up -with them.” - -“Yes, Felix was saying only to-day that we seem no longer to have any -real spring. We simply go straight from winter into summer.” - -“I was endeavoring to persuade her,” Kennaston amended, “that it was -foolish to go away as long as it stays cool as it is.” - -“Oh, yes, _now_!” my wife conceded. “But the paper says we are in for a -long heat period about the fifteenth. For my part, I think July is -always our worst month.” - -“It is just that you feel the heat so much more during the first warm -days,” I suggested. - -“Oh, no!” my wife said, earnestly; “the nights are cool in August, and -you can stand the days. Of course, there are apt to be a few mosquitoes -in September, but not many if you are careful about standing water—” - -“The drain-pipe to the gutter around our porch got stopped somehow, last -year”—this Kennaston contributed, morosely—“and we had a terrible time.” - -“—Then there is always so much to do, getting the children started at -school,” my wife continued—“everything under the sun needed at the last -moment, of course! And the way they change all the school-books every -year is simply ridiculous. So, if I had my way, we would always go away -early, and be back again in good time to get things in shape—” - -“Oh, yes, if we could have our way!”—Mrs. Kennaston could not deny -that—“but don’t your servants always want August off, to go home? I know -ours do: and, my dear, you simply don’t dare say a word.” - -“That is the great trouble in the country,” I philosophized—“in fact, we -suburbanites are pretty well hag-ridden by our dusky familiars. The -old-time darkies are dying out, and the younger generation is simply -worthless. And with no more sense of gratitude—Why, Moira hired a new -girl last week, to help out upstairs, and—” - -“Oh, yes, hag-ridden! like the unfortunate magicians in old stories!” -Kennaston broke in, on a sudden. “We were speaking about such things the -other day, you remember? I have been thinking—You see, every one tells -me that, apart from being a master soapboiler, Mr. Harrowby, you are by -way of being an authority on witchcraft and similar murky -accomplishments?” And he ended with that irritating little noise, that -was nearly a snigger, and just missed being a cough. - -“It so often comes over me,” says Moira—which happens to be my wife’s -name—“that Dick, all by himself, is really Harrowby & Sons, Inc.”—she -spoke as if I were some sort of writing-fluid—“and has his products on -sale all over the world. I look on him in a new light, so to speak, when -I realize that daily he is gladdening Calcutta with his soaps, -delighting London with his dentifrice, and comforting Nova Zembla with -his talcum powder.” - -“Well, but I inherited all that. It isn’t fair to fling ancestral -soap-vats in my face,” I reminded her. “And yes, I have dabbled a bit in -forces that aren’t as yet thoroughly understood, Mr. Kennaston. I -wouldn’t go so far as to admit to witchcraft, though. Very certainly I -never attended a Sabbat.” - -I recollect now how his face changed. “And what in heaven’s name was a -Sabbat?” Then he fidgeted, and crossed his legs the other way. - -“Well! it was scarcely heaven’s name that was invoked there, if old -tales are to be trusted. Traditionally, the Sabbat was a meeting -attended by all witches in satisfactory diabolical standing, lightly -attired in smears of various magical ointments; and their vehicle of -transportation to this outing was, of course, the traditional -broomstick. Good Friday,” I continued, seeing they all seemed willing -enough to listen, “was the favorite date for these gatherings, which -were likewise sometimes held on St. John’s Eve, on Walburga’s Eve, and -on Hallowe’en Night. The diversions were numerous: there was feasting, -music, and dancing, with the devil performing obligatos on the pipes or -a cittern, and not infrequently preaching a burlesque sermon. He usually -attended in the form of a monstrous goat; and when—when not amorously -inclined, often thrashed the witches with their own broomsticks. The -more practical pursuits of the evening included the opening of graves, -to despoil dead bodies of finger- and toe-joints, and certain portions -of the winding-sheet, with which to prepare a powder that had strange -uses.... But the less said of that, the better. Here, also, the devil -taught his disciples how to make and christen statues of wax, so that by -roasting these effigies the persons whose names they bore would be -wasted away by sickness.” - -“I see,” says Kennaston, intently regarding his fingernails: “they must -have been highly enjoyable social outings, all around.” - -“They must have been worse than family reunions,” put in Mrs. Kennaston, -and affected to shudder. - -“Indeed, there are certain points of resemblance,” I conceded, “in the -general atmosphere of jealous hostility and the ruthless digging-up of -what were better left buried.” - -Then Kennaston asked carelessly, “But how could such absurd -superstitions ever get any hold on people, do you suppose?” - -“That would require rather a lengthy explanation—Why, no,” I protested, -in answer to his shrug; “the Sabbat is not inexplicable. Hahn-Kraftner’s -book, or Herbert Perlin’s either, will give you a very fair notion of -what the Sabbat really was—something not in the least grotesque, but -infinitely more awe-inspiring than is hinted by any traditions in -popular use. And Le Bret, whom bookdealers rightly list as ‘curious’—” - -“Yes. I have read those books, it happens. My uncle had them, you know. -But”—Kennaston was plainly not quite at ease—“but, after all, is it not -more wholesome to dismiss such theories as fantastic nonsense, even if -they are perfectly true?” - -“Why, not of necessity,” said I. “As touches what we call the ‘occult,’ -delusion after delusion has been dissipated, of course, and much -jubilant pother made over the advance in knowledge. But the last of his -delusions, which man has yet to relinquish, is that he invented them. -This too must be surrendered with time; and already we are beginning to -learn that many of these wild errors are the illegitimate children of -grave truths. Science now looks with new respect on folk-lore—” - -“Mr. Kennaston,” says Moira, laughing, “I warn you, if you start Dick on -his hobbies, he will talk us all to death. So, come into the house, and -I will mix you two men a drink.” - -And we obeyed her, and—somehow—got to talking of the recent -thunderstorms, and getting in our hay, and kindred topics. - - * * * * * - -Yes, it was much the usual sort of late-afternoon call customarily -exchanged by country neighbors. I remember Moira’s yawning as she closed -the cellarette, and her wondering how Mrs. Kennaston could keep on -rouging and powdering at her age, and why Kennaston never had anything -in particular to say for himself? - -“Do you suppose it is because he has a swelled head over his little old -book, or is he just naturally stupid?” she wanted to know. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - _Book Sixth_ - - - - - ══════════════════════ - - “Alas! the sprite that haunts us - Deceives our rash desire; - It whispers of the glorious gods, - And leaves us in the mire: - We cannot learn the cipher - Inscribed upon our cell; - Stars taunt us with a mystery - Which we lack lore to spell.” - - ══════════════════════ - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - I - - Sundry Disclosures of the Press - - -SUCH as has been described was now Felix Kennaston’s manner of living, -which, as touches utilitarian ends, it might be wiser forthwith to -dismiss as bred by the sickly fancies of an idle man bemused with -unprofitable reading. By day his half of the sigil lay hidden in the -library, under a pile of unused bookplates. But nightly this bit of -metal was taken with him to bed, in order that, when held so as to -reflect the candlelight—for this was always necessary—it might induce -the desired dream of Ettarre; and that, so, Horvendile would be freed of -Felix Kennaston for eight hours uninterruptedly. - -In our social ordering Felix Kennaston stayed worthy of consideration in -Lichfield, both as a celebrity of sorts and as the owner of four -bank-accounts; and colloquially, as likewise has been recorded, he was -by ordinary dismissed from our patronizing discussion as having long -been “queer,” and in all probability “a dope-fiend.” In Lichfield, as -elsewhere, a man’s difference from his fellows cannot comfortably be -conceded except by assuming the difference to be to his discredit. - -Meanwhile, the Felix Kennaston who owned two motors and had money in -four banks, went with his wife about their round of decorous social -duties; and the same Felix Kennaston, with leisured joy in the task, had -completed _The Tinctured Veil_—which, as you now know, was woven from -the dreamstuff Horvendile had fetched out of that fair country—very far -from Lichfield—which is bounded by Avalon and Phæacia and Sea-coast -Bohemia, and the contiguous forests of Arden and Broceliande, and on the -west of course by the Hesperides. - -Then, just before _The Tinctured Veil_ was published, an accident -happened. - -Fate, as always frugal of display, used simple tools. Kennaston, midway -in dressing, found he had no more mouthwash. He went into his wife’s -bathroom, in search of a fresh bottle. Kathleen was in Lichfield for the -afternoon, at a card party; and thus it was brought about that Kennaston -found, lying in the corner of her bathroom press, and hidden by a bottle -of Harrowby’s No. 7 Dental Delight, the missing half of the sigil of -Scoteia—the half which Ettarre had retained. There was no doubt about -it. He held it in his hand. - -“Now, that,” said Felix Kennaston, aloud, “is rather curious.” - -He went into the library, and lifted the little pile of unused -bookplates; and presently the two pieces of metal lay united upon his -wife’s dressing-table, between the manicure-set and the pincushion, -forming a circle not quite three inches in diameter, just such as he had -seen once upon the brow of Mother Isis, and again in the Didascalion -when Ptolemy of the Fat Paunch was master of Egypt. - -“So, Kathleen somehow found the other half. She has had it from the -first.... But naturally I never spoke of Felix Kennaston; it was -forbidden, and besides, the sigil’s crowning grace was that it enabled -me to forget his existence. And the girl’s name in the printed book is -Alison. And Horvendile is such an unimportant character that Kathleen, -reading the tale hastily—I thought she simply skimmed it!—did not -remember that name either; and so, did not associate the dream names in -any way with my book, nor with me.... She too, then, does not know—as -yet.... And, for all that, Kathleen, the real Kathleen, is -Ettarre—‘whatever flesh she may wear as a garment!’.... Or, rather, -Ettarre is to Kathleen as Horvendile—but am I truly that high-hearted -ageless being? Eh, I do not know, for we touch mystery everywhere. I -only know it is the cream of the jest that day by day, while that lean, -busy sharp-eyed stranger, whose hands and lips my own hands and lips -meet daily, because this contact has become a part of the day’s -routine—” - -But he was standing before his wife’s dressing-table, and the mirror -showed him a squat insignificant burgess in shirtsleeves, with grizzled -untidied hair, and mild accommodating pale eyes, and an inadequate nose, -with huge nostrils, and a spacious naked-looking upper-lip. That was -Felix Kennaston, so far as all other people were concerned save -Kathleen. He smiled; and in the act he noted that the visual result was -to make Felix Kennaston appear particularly inane and sheepish. But he -knew now that did not matter. Nor did it greatly matter—his thoughts -ran—that it was never permitted any man, not even in his dreams, ever to -touch the hands and lips of Ettarre. - -So he left there the two pieces of metal, united at last upon his wife’s -dressing-table, between the manicure-set and the pincushion, where on -her return she might find them, and, finding, understand all that which -he lacked words to tell. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II - - Considerations Toward Sunset - - -THEN Kennaston went for a meditative walk in the abating glare of that -day’s portentous sunset, wherein the tree-trunks westward showed like -the black bars of a grate. It was in just such a twilight that -Horvendile had left Storisende.... - -And presently he came to a field which had been mowed that week. The -piled hay stood in rounded heaps, suggestive to Kennaston of shaggy -giant heads bursting through the soil, as in the old myth of Cadmus and -the dragon’s teeth; beyond were glittering cornfields, whose tremulous -green was shot with brown and sickly yellow now, and which displayed a -host of tassels like ruined plumes. Autumn was at hand. And as Kennaston -approached, a lark—as though shot vehemently from the ground—rose -singing. Straight into the air it rose, and was lost in the sun’s -abating brilliance; but still you could hear its singing; and then, as -suddenly, the bird dropped earthward. - -Kennaston snapped his fingers. “Aha, my old acquaintance!” he said, “but -now I envy you no longer!” Then he walked onward, thinking.... - - * * * * * - -“What did I think of?” he said, long afterward—“oh, of nothing with any -real clarity. You see—I touched mystery everywhere.... - -“But I thought of Kathleen’s first kiss, and of the first time I came to -her alone after we were married, and of our baby that was born dead.... -I was happier than I had ever been in any dream.... I saw that the ties -of our ordinary life here in the flesh have their own mystic strength -and sanctity. I comprehended why in our highest sacrament we pre-figure -with holy awe, not things of the mind and spirit, but flesh and -blood.... A man and his wife, barring stark severance, grow with time to -be one person, you see; and it is not so much the sort of person as the -indivisibility that matters with them.... - -“And I thought of how in evoking that poor shadow of Ettarre which -figures in my book, I had consciously written of my dear wife as I -remembered her when we were young together. My vocabulary and my ink -went to the making of the book’s Ettarre: but with them went Kathleen’s -youth and purity and tenderness and serenity and loving-kindness toward -all created things save the women I had flirted with—so that she -contributed more than I.... - -“And I saw that the good-smelling earth about my pudgy pasty body, and -my familiar home—as I turned back my pudgy pasty face toward Alcluid, -bathed now in the sun’s gold—were lovely kindly places. Outside were -kings and wars and thunderous zealots, and groaning, rattling thunderous -printing-presses, too, that were turning off a book called _The -Tinctured Veil_, whereinto had been distilled and bottled up the very -best that was in Felix Kennaston; but here was just ‘a citadel of peace -in the heart of the trouble.’ And—well, I was satisfied. People do not -think much when they are satisfied.” - -But he did not walk long; for it was growing chilly, as steadily dusk -deepened, in this twilight so like that in which Horvendile had left -Storisende forever. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III - - One Way of Elusion - - -KATHLEEN was seated at the dressing-table, arranging her hair, when -Kennaston came again into her rooms. He went forward, and without -speaking, laid one hand upon each shoulder. - -Now for an instant their eyes met in the mirror; and the woman’s face he -saw there, or seemed to see there, yearned toward him, and was -unutterably loving, and compassionate, and yet was resolute in its -denial. For it denied him, no matter with what wistful tenderness, or -with what wonder at his folly. Just for a moment he seemed to see that; -and then he doubted, for Kathleen’s lips lifted complaisantly to his, -and Kathleen’s matter-of-fact face was just as he was used to seeing it. - -And thus, with no word uttered, Felix Kennaston understood that his wife -must disclaim any knowledge of the sigil of Scoteia, should he be bold -enough to speak of it. He knew he would never dare to speak of it in -that constricted hide-bound kindly life which he and Kathleen shared in -the flesh. To speak of it would mean to become forthwith what people -glibly called insane. So Horvendile and Ettarre were parted for all -time. And Kathleen willed this, no matter with what wistful tenderness, -and because of motives which he would never know—for how could one tell -what was going on inside that small round head his hand was caressing? -Still, he could guess at her reasons; and he comprehended now that -Ettarre had spoken a very terrible truth—“_All men I must evade at the -last, and innumerable are the ways of my elusion._” - -“Well, dear,” he said aloud; “and was it a pleasant party?” - -“Oh, so-so,” Kathleen conceded; “but it was rather a mixed crowd. Hadn’t -you better hurry and change your clothes, Felix? It is almost -dinner-time, and, you know, we have seats for the theater to-night.” - -Quite as if he, too, were thinking of trifles, Felix Kennaston took up -the two bits of metal. “I have often wondered what this design meant,” -he said, idly—not looking at her, and hopeful that this much allusion at -least was permitted to what they dared not speak of openly. - -“Perhaps Mr. Harrowby could tell you.” Kathleen also spoke as with -indifference—not looking at him, but into the mirror, and giving deft -final touches to her hair. - -“Eh—?” Kennaston smiled. “Oh, yes, Dick Harrowby, I grant you, has -dabbled a bit in occult matters, but hardly deep enough, I fancy, to -explain—this.” - -“At all events,” Kathleen considered, “it is a quarter to seven already, -and we have seats for the theater to-night.” - -He cleared his throat. “Shall I keep this, or you?” - -“Why, for heaven’s sake—! The thing is of no value now, Felix. Give it -to me.” She dropped the two pieces of metal into the wastebasket by the -dressing-table, and rose impatiently. “Of course if you don’t _mean_ to -change for dinner—” - -He shrugged and gave it up. - - * * * * * - -So they dined alone together, sharing a taciturn meal, and duly -witnessed the drolleries of _The Gutta-Percha Girl_. Kennaston’s sleep -afterward was sound and dreamless. - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV - - Past Storisende Fares the Road of Use and Wont - - -HE read _The Tinctured Veil_ in print, with curious wistful wonder. “How -did I come to write it?” was his thought. - -Thereafter Felix Kennaston, as the world knows, wrote no more books, -save to collect his later verses into a volume. “I am afraid to write -against the author of _The Tinctured Veil_,” he was wont flippantly to -declare. And a few of us suspected even then that he spoke the absolute -truth. - - * * * * * - -Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Kennaston continued their round of decorous -social duties: their dinner-parties were chronicled in the _Lichfield -Courier-Herald_; and Kennaston delivered, by request, two scholarly -addresses before the Lichfield Woman’s Club, was duly brought forward to -shake hands with all celebrities who visited the city, and served -acceptably in the vestry of his church. - -Was Felix Kennaston content?—that is a question he alone could have -answered. - -“But why shouldn’t I have been?” he said, a little later, in reply to -the pointblank query. “I had a handsome home, two motors, money in four -banks, and a good-looking wife who loved and coddled me. The third -prince gets no more at the end of any fairy tale. Still, the old woman -spoke the truth, of course—one pays as one goes out.... Oh, yes, one -pays!—that is an inevitable rule; but what you have to pay is not -exorbitant, all things considered.... So, be off with your crude -pessimisms, Harrowby!” - - * * * * * - -And indeed, when one comes to think, he was in no worse case than any -other husband of his standing. “Who wins his love must lose her,” as no -less tunefully than wisely sings one of our poets—a married bard, you -may be sure—and all experience tends to prove his warbling perfectly -veracious. Romancers, from Time’s nonage, have invented and have -manipulated a host of staple severances for their puppet -lovers—sedulously juggling, ever since Menander’s heyday, with -compromising letters and unscrupulous rivals and shipwrecks and wills -and testy parents and what not—and have contrived to show love -overriding these barriers plausibly enough. But he must truly be a -boldfaced rhapsodist who dared at outset marry his puppets, to each -other, and tell you how their love remained unchanged. - -I am thus digressing, in obsolete Thackerayan fashion, to twaddle about -love-matches alone. People marry through a variety of other reasons, and -with varying results: but to marry for love is to invite inevitable -tragedy. There needs no side-glancing here at such crass bankruptcies of -affection as end in homicide or divorce proceedings, or even just in -daily squabbling: these dramas are of the body. They may be taken as the -sardonic comedies, or at their most outrageous as the blustering cheap -melodramas, of existence; and so lie beyond the tragic field. For your -true right tragedy is enacted on the stage of a man’s soul, with the -man’s reason as lone auditor. - -And being happily married—but how shall I word it? Let us step into the -very darkest corner. Now, my dear Mr. Grundy, your wife is a credit to -her sex, an ornament to her circle, and the mainstay of your home; and -you, sir, are proverbially the most complacent and uxorious of spouses. -But you are not, after all, married to the girl you met at the -chancel-rail, so long and long ago, with unforgotten tremblings of the -knees. Your wife, that estimable matron, is quite another person. And -you live in the same house, and you very often see her with hair -uncombed, or even with a disheveled temper; you are familiar with her -hours of bathing, her visits to the dentist, and a host of other -physical phenomena we need not go into; she does not appreciate your -jokes; she peeps into your personal correspondence; she keeps the top -bureau-drawer in a jumble of veils and gloves and powder-rags and -hair-pins and heaven knows what; her gowns continually require to be -buttoned up the back in an insane incalculable fashion; she irrationally -orders herring for breakfast, though you never touch it:—and in fine, -your catalogue of disillusionments is endless. - -Hand upon heart, my dear Mr. Grundy, is this the person to whom you -despatched those letters you wrote before you were married? Your wife -has those epistles safely put away somewhere, you may depend on it: and -for what earthly consideration would you read them aloud to her? Some -day, when one or the other of you is dead, those letters will ring true -again and rouse a noble sorrow; and the survivor will be all the better -for reading them. But now they only prove you were once free of uplands -which you do not visit nowadays: and that common knowledge is a secret -every wife must share half-guiltily with her husband—even in your -happiest matrimonial ventures—as certainly as it is the one topic they -may not ever discuss with profit. - -For you are married, you and she: and you live, contentedly enough, in a -four-square world, where there is the rent and your social obligations -and the children’s underclothing to be considered, long and long before -indulgence in rattle-pate mountain-climbing. And people glibly think of -you as Mr. and Mrs. Grundy now, almost as a unit: but do you really know -very much about that woman whose gentle breathing—for we will not -crudely call it snoring—you can always hear at will o’ nights? Suppose, -by a wild flight of fancy, that she is no more honest with you than you -are with her? - - * * * * * - -So to Kennaston his wife remained a not unfriendly mystery. They had -been as demi-gods for a little while; and the dream had faded, to leave -it matters not what memories; and they were only Mr. and Mrs. Felix -Kennaston. Concerning all of us, my fellow failures in the great and -hopeless adventure of matrimony, this apologue is narrated. - -Yet, as I look into my own wife’s face—no more the loveliest, but still -the dearest of all earthly faces, I protest—and as I wonder how much she -really knows about me or the universe at large, and have not the least -notion—why, I elect to believe that, in the ultimate, Kennaston was not -dissatisfied. For all of us the dream-haze merges into the glare of -common day; the _dea certé_, whom that fled roseate light transfigured, -stands confessed a simple loving woman, a creature of like flesh and -limitations as our own: but who are we to mate with goddesses? It is -enough that much in us which is not merely human has for once found -exercise—has had its high-pitched outing, however fleet—and that, -because of many abiding memories, we know, assuredly, the way of flesh -is not a futile scurrying through dining-rooms and offices and shops and -parlors, and thronged streets and restaurants, “and so to bed.” - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V - - Which Mr. Flaherty Does Not Quite Explain - - -WITH the preceding preachment I wish I might end the story. For what -follows—which is my own little part in the story of Felix Kennaston—is -that discomfortable sort of anticlimax wherein the key to a mystery, by -unlocking unsuspected doors, discloses only another equally perplexing -riddle. - -Kathleen Kennaston died in her sleep some eleven months after her -husband discovered the missing half of the sigil.... - -“I have a sort of headache,” she said, toward nine o’clock in the -evening. “I believe I will go to bed, Felix.” So she kissed him -goodnight, in just that emotionless preoccupied fashion that years of -living together had made familiar; and so she left him in the -music-room, to smoke and read magazines. He never saw her living any -more. - -Kathleen stopped in the hall, to wind the clock. “Don’t forget to lock -the front door when you come up, Felix.” She was out of sight, but he -could hear her, as well as the turning of the clock key. “I forgot to -tell you I saw Adèle Van Orden to-day, at Greenberg’s. They are going -down to the Beach Thursday. She told me they haven’t had a cook for -three days now, and she and old Mrs. Haggage have had to do all the -work. She looked it, too—I never saw any one let themselves go all to -pieces the way she has—” - -“How—? Oh, yes,” he mumbled, intent upon his reading; “it is pretty bad. -Don’t many of them keep their looks as you do, dear—” - -And that was all. He never heard his wife’s voice any more. Kennaston -read contentedly for a couple of hours, and went to bed. It was in the -morning the maid found Mrs. Kennaston dead and cold. She had died in her -sleep, quite peacefully, after taking two headache powders, while her -husband was contentedly pursuing the thread of a magazine story through -the advertising columns.... - -Kennaston had never spoken to her concerning the sigil. Indeed, I do not -well see how he could have dared to do so, in view of her attitude in a -world so opulent in insane asylums. But among her effects, hidden away -as before in the press in her bathroom, Kennaston found both the pieces -of metal. They were joined together now, forming a perfect circle, but -with the line of their former separation yet visible. - -He showed me the sigil of Scoteia, having told this tale.... - - * * * * * - -I had thought from the first there would prove to be supernal -double-dealing back of all this. The Wardens of Earth sometimes unbar -strange windows, I suspect—windows which face on other worlds than ours; -and They permit this-or-that man to peer out fleetingly, perhaps, just -for the joke’s sake; since always They humorously contrive matters so -this man shall never be able to convince his fellows of what he has -seen, or of the fact that he was granted any peep at all. The Wardens -without fail arrange what we call—gravely, too—“some natural -explanation.” - -Kennaston showed me the sigil of Scoteia, having told this tale.... - -“You are interested in such things, you see—just as Kathleen said. And I -have sometimes wondered if when she said, ‘Perhaps Mr. Harrowby could -tell you,’ the words did not mean more than they seemed then to mean—?” - -I was interested now, very certainly. But I knew that Kathleen Kennaston -had referred not at all to my interest in certain of the less known -sides of existence, which people loosely describe as “occult.” - -And slowly, I comprehended that for the thousandth time the Wardens of -Earth were uncompromised; that here too They stayed unconvicted of -negligence in Their duty: for here was at hand the “natural -explanation.” Kennaston’s was one of those curious, but not uncommon, -cases of self-hypnosis, such as Fehlig and Alexis Bidoche have -investigated and described. Kennaston’s first dream of Ettarre had been -an ordinary normal dream, in no way particularly remarkable; and -afterward, his will to dream again of Ettarre, co-operating with his -queer reading, his temperament, his idle life, his belief in the sigil, -and co-operating too—as yet men may not say just how—with the hypnotic -effects of any trivial bright object when gazed at steadily, had been -sufficient to induce more dreams. I could understand how it had all -befallen in consonance with hackneyed laws, insane as was the outcome. - -And the prelate and the personage had referred, of course, to the -then-notorious nineteenth and twentieth chapters of _Men Who Loved -Alison_, in which is described the worship of the sigil of Scoteia—and -which chapters they, in common with a great many other people, -considered unnecessarily to defile a noble book. The coincidence of the -mirrors was quaint, but in itself came to less than nothing; for as -touches the two questions as to white pigeons, the proverb alluded to by -the personage, concerning the bird that fouls its own nest, is fairly -familiar, and the prelate’s speech was the most natural of prosaic -inquiries. What these two men had said and done, in fine, amounted to -absolutely nothing until transfigured in the crucible of an ardent -imagination, by the curious literary notion that human life as people -spend it is purposeful and clearly motived. - -For what Kennaston showed me was the metal top of a cold cream jar. I am -sure of this, for Harrowby’s Crême Cleopatre is one of the most popular -articles our firm manufactures. I hesitate to tell you how many thousand -husbands may find at will among their wives’ possessions just such a -talisman as Kennaston had discovered. I myself selected the design for -these covers when the stuff was first put in the market. They are sealed -on, you may remember, with gray wax, to carry out the general idea that -we are vending old Egyptian secrets of beauty. And the design upon these -covers, as I have since been at pains to make sure, is in no known -alphabet. P. N. Flaherty (the artist implicated) tells me he “just made -it up out of his head”—blending meaningless curlicues and dots and -circles with an irresponsible hand, and sketching a crack across all, -“just to make it look ancient like.” It was along this semblance of a -fracture—for there the brittle metal is thinnest—that the cover first -picked up by Kennaston had been broken. The cover he showed me was, of -course, complete.... So much for Mr. Flaherty’s part in the matter; and -of hieroglyphic lore, or any acquaintance with heathenry beyond his -gleanings from the moving pictures, I would be the last person to -suspect him. - -It was natural that Mrs. Kennaston should have used Harrowby’s Crême -Cleopatre habitually; for indeed, as my wife had often pointed out, Mrs. -Kennaston used a considerable amount of toilet preparations. And that -Mrs. Allardyce should have had a jar of Harrowby’s Crême Cleopatre in -her handbag was almost inevitable: there is no better restorative and -cleanser for the complexion, after the dust and dirt of a train-journey, -as is unanimously acknowledged by Harrowby & Sons’ advertisements. - -But there is the faith that moves mountains, as we glibly acknowledge -with unconcernment as to the statement’s tremendous truth; and Felix -Kennaston had believed in his talisman implicitly from the very first. -Thus, through his faith, and through we know not what soul-hunger, so -many long hours, and—here is the sardonic point—so many contented and -artistically-fruitful hours of Kennaston’s life in the flesh had been -devoted to contemplation of a mirage. It was no cause for astonishment -that he had more than once surprised compassion and wonder in his wife’s -eyes: indeed, she could hardly have failed to suspect his mind was -affected; but, loving him, she had tried to shield him, as is the way of -women.... I found the whole matter droll and rather heartbreaking. But -the Wardens of Earth were uncompromised, so far as I could prove. -Whatever windows had or had not been unbarred, there remained no -proof.... - - * * * * * - -So I shook my head. “Why, no,” said I, with at worst a verbal adhesion -to veracity. “I, for one, do not know what the design means. Still, you -have never had this deciphered,” I added, gently. “Suppose—suppose there -had been some mistake, Mr. Kennaston—that there was nothing miraculous -about the sigil, after all—?” - -I cannot tell you of his expression; but it caused me for the moment to -feel disconcertingly little and obtuse. - -“Now, how can you say that, I wonder!” he marveled—and then, of course, -he fidgeted, and crossed his legs the other way—“when I have been -telling you, from alpha to omega, what is the one great thing the sigil -taught me—that everything in life is miraculous. For the sigil taught me -that it rests within the power of each of us to awaken at will from a -dragging nightmare of life made up of unimportant tasks and tedious -useless little habits, to see life as it really is, and to rejoice in -its exquisite wonderfulness. If the sigil were proved to be the top of a -tomato-can, it would not alter that big fact, nor my fixed faith. No, -Harrowby, the common names we call things by do not matter—except to -show how very dull we are,” he ended, with that irritating little noise -that was nearly a snigger, and just missed being a cough. - -And I was sorely tempted.... You see, I never liked Felix Kennaston. The -man could create beauty, to outlive him; but in his own appearance he -combined grossness with insignificance, and he added thereto a variety -of ugly senseless little mannerisms. He could evolve interesting ideas, -as to Omnipotence, the universe, art, life, religion, himself, his wife, -a candlestick or a comet—anything—and very probably as to me; but his -preferences and his limitations would conform and color all these ideas -until they were precisely what he desired to believe, no more or less; -and, having them, he lacked means, or courage, to voice his ideas -adequately, so that to talk with him meant a dull interchange of -commonplaces. Again, he could aspire toward chivalric love, that passion -which sees in womankind High God made manifest in the loveliest and most -perfect of His creations; but in the quest he had succeeded merely in -utilizing womenfolk either as toys to play with and put by or as drudges -to wait on him; yet, with all this, he could retain unshaken his faith -in and his worship of that ideal woman. He could face no decision -without dodging; no temptation without compromise; and he lied, as if by -instinct, at the threatened approach of discomfort or of his fellows’ -disapproval: yet devils, men and seraphim would conspire in vain in any -effort to dissuade him from his self-elected purpose. For, though he -would do no useful labor he could possibly avoid, he could grudge -nothing to the perfection of his chosen art, in striving to perpetuate -the best as he saw it. - -In short, to me this man seemed an inadequate kickworthy creature, who -had muddled away the only life he was quite certain of enjoying, in -contemplation of a dream; and who had, moreover, despoiled the lives of -others, too, for the dream’s sake. To him the dream alone could -matter—his proud assurance that life was not a blind and aimless -business, not all a hopeless waste and confusion; and that he, this -gross weak animal, could be strong and excellent and wise, and his -existence a pageant of beauty and nobility. To prove this dream was -based on a delusion would be no doubt an enjoyable retaliation, for -Kennaston’s being so unengaging to the eye and so stupid to talk to; but -it would make the dream no whit less lovely or less dear to him—or to -the rest of us, either. - -For it occurred to me that his history was, in essentials, the history -of our race, thus far. All I advanced for or against him, equally, was -true of all men that have ever lived.... For it is in this inadequate -flesh that each of us must serve his dream; and so, must fail in the -dream’s service, and must parody that which he holds dearest. To this we -seem condemned, being what we are. Thus, one and all, we play false to -the dream, and it evades us, and we dwindle into responsible citizens. -And yet always thereafter—because of many abiding memories—we know, -assuredly, that the way of flesh is not a futile scurrying through -dining-rooms and offices and shops and parlors, and thronged streets and -restaurants, “and so to bed.” ... - -It was in appropriate silence, therefore, that I regarded Felix -Kennaston, as a parable. The man was not merely very human; he was -humanity. And I reflected that it is only by preserving faith in human -dreams that we may, after all, perhaps some day make them come true. - - - - - THE END - - - - - VAIL-BALLOU CO., BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - ● Transcriber’s Notes: - ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. - ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected. - ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only - when a predominant form was found in this book. - ○ Text that: - was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_); - was in bold by is enclosed by “equal” signs (=bold=) - had extra character spacing by “plus” signs (+stretched+). - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREAM OF THE JEST *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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font-size: 85%; text-indent: 1em; - margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } - .c023 { margin-top: 1em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } - body {width:80%; margin:auto; } - .tnbox {background-color:#E3E4FA;border:1px solid silver;padding: 0.5em; - margin:2em 10% 0 10%; } - .box1 {border-style: none; margin: 0 30% 0 30% } - h1 {font-size: 2em; text-align: right; } - h2 {font-size: 2.00em; text-align: left; font-style: italic; } - .fs15 {font-size: 1.5em } - </style> - </head> - <body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Cream of the Jest, by James Branch Cabell</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Cream of the Jest</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0;'>A comedy of evasions</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: James Branch Cabell</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 26, 2021 [eBook #66146]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREAM OF THE JEST ***</div> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c000' /> -</div> -<div> - <h1 class='c001'>THE<br />CREAM<br />OF THE<br />JEST</h1> -</div> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> -<div class='fs15'> - -<div class='lg-container-b c002'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><i><b>BOOKS BY MR. CABELL</b></i></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><i>NOVELS</i>:</div> - <div class='line in2'><i>THE CREAM OF THE JEST</i></div> - <div class='line in2'><i>THE SOUL OF MELICENT</i></div> - <div class='line in2'><i>THE RIVET IN GRANDFATHER’S NECK</i></div> - <div class='line in2'><i>THE CORDS OF VANITY</i></div> - <div class='line in2'><i>THE EAGLE’S SHADOW</i></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><i>TALES</i>:</div> - <div class='line in2'><i>THE CERTAIN HOUR</i></div> - <div class='line in2'><i>CHIVALRY</i></div> - <div class='line in2'><i>THE LINE OF LOVE</i></div> - <div class='line in2'><i>GALLANTRY</i></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><i>VERSES</i>:</div> - <div class='line in2'><i>FROM THE HIDDEN WAY</i></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><i>GENEALOGIES</i>:</div> - <div class='line in2'><i>BRANCH OF ABINGDON</i></div> - <div class='line in2'><i>BRANCHIANA</i></div> - <div class='line in2'><i>THE MAJORS AND THEIR MARRIAGES</i></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> -<p class='c003'> </p> -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<img src='images/frontis.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> -<p class='c004'> </p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c005' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><span class='c006'>THE</span></div> - <div><span class='c006'>CREAM</span></div> - <div><span class='c006'>OF THE</span></div> - <div><span class='c006'>JEST</span></div> - <div><span class='c006'>═══════════════</span></div> - <div><span class='c006'><i>A Comedy of Evasions</i></span></div> - <div><span class='c006'>═══════════════</span></div> - <div>BY</div> - <div class='c000'><span class='c007'>JAMES BRANCH CABELL</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='box1'> - -<p class='c003'>“<i>Le pays où je voulais aller, tu m’y as mené -en songe, cette nuit, et tu étais belle ... -ah! que tu étais belle!... Mais, comme -je n’ai aimé que ton ombre, tu me dispenseras, -chère tête, de remercier ta réalité.</i>”</p> - -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c005'> - <div><span class='c008'>NEW YORK</span></div> - <div><span class='c008'>ROBERT M. McBRIDE & COMPANY</span></div> - <div><span class='c008'>1917</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div><em class='gesperrt'>Copyright, 1917, by</em></div> - <div><span class='sc'>Robert M. McBride & Co.</span></div> - <div>─────────</div> - <div class='c002'>─────────</div> - <div>Published September, 1917</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>TO</div> - <div class='c000'><span class='xlarge'>LOUISA NELSON</span></div> - <div class='c000'>“<i>At me ab amore tuo diducet</i></div> - <div><i>nulla senectus.</i>”</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_ix'>ix</span> - <h2 class='c010'>Contents</h2> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c009'> - <div>BOOK FIRST</div> - </div> -</div> - -<table class='table0' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='14%' /> -<col width='73%' /> -<col width='12%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>I</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Introduces the Ageless Woman</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_3'>3</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>II</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Wherein a Clerk Appraises a Fair Country</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_11'>11</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>III</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Of the Double-Dealer’s Traffic with a Knave</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_15'>15</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>IV</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>How the Double-Dealer was of Two Minds</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_19'>19</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>V</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Treats of Maugis d’Aigremont’s Pottage</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_23'>23</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>VI</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Journeys End: with the Customary Unmasking</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_26'>26</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c009'> - <div>BOOK SECOND</div> - </div> -</div> - -<table class='table0' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='14%' /> -<col width='73%' /> -<col width='12%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>I</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Of a Trifle Found in Twilight</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_37'>37</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>II</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Beyond Use and Wont Fares the Road to Storisende</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_40'>40</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>III</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Of Idle Speculations in a Library</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_49'>49</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>IV</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>How There was a Light in the Fog</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_55'>55</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>V</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Of Publishing: with an Unlikely Appendix</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_61'>61</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>VI</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Suggesting Themes of Universal Appeal</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_72'>72</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'><span class='pageno' id='Page_x'>x</span>VII</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Peculiar Conduct of a Personage</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_80'>80</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>VIII</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Of Vain Regret and Wonder in the Dark</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_93'>93</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c009'> - <div>BOOK THIRD</div> - </div> -</div> - -<table class='table0' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='14%' /> -<col width='73%' /> -<col width='12%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>I</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>They Come to a High Place</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_103'>103</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>II</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Of the Sigil and One Use of It</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_107'>107</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>III</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Treats of a Prelate and, in Part, of Pigeons</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_110'>110</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>IV</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Local Laws of Nephelococcygia</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_118'>118</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>V</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Of Divers Fleshly Riddles</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_125'>125</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>VI</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>In Pursuit of a Whisper</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_130'>130</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>VII</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Of Truisms: Treated Reasonably</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_136'>136</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c009'> - <div>BOOK FOURTH</div> - </div> -</div> - -<table class='table0' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='14%' /> -<col width='73%' /> -<col width='12%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>I</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Economic Considerations of Piety</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_143'>143</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>II</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Deals with Pen Scratches</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_150'>150</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>III</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>By-Products of Rational Endeavor</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_156'>156</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>IV</td> - <td class='c012'>“<span class='sc'>Epper Si Muove</span>”</td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_163'>163</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>V</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Evolution of a Vestryman</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_172'>172</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c009'> - <div>BOOK FIFTH</div> - </div> -</div> - -<table class='table0' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='14%' /> -<col width='73%' /> -<col width='12%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>I</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Of Poetic Love: Treated with Poetic Inefficiency</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_195'>195</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>II</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Cross-Purposes in Spacious Times</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_210'>210</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>III</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Horvendile to Ettarre: at Whitehall</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_217'>217</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>IV</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Horvendile to Ettarre: at Vaux-le-Vicomte</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_222'>222</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'><span class='pageno' id='Page_xi'>xi</span>V</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Horvendile to Ettarre: in the Conciergerie</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_226'>226</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>VI</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Of One Enigma That Threatened to Prove Allegorical</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_232'>232</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>VII</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Treats of Witches, Mixed Drinks, and the Weather</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_239'>239</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c009'> - <div>BOOK SIXTH</div> - </div> -</div> - -<table class='table0' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='14%' /> -<col width='73%' /> -<col width='12%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>I</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Sundry Disclosures of the Press</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_249'>249</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>II</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Considerations toward Sunset</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_254'>254</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>III</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>One Way of Elusion</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_258'>258</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>IV</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Past Storisende Fares the Road of Use and Wont</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_262'>262</a></td> - </tr> - <tr><td> </td></tr> - <tr> - <td class='c011'>V</td> - <td class='c012'><span class='sc'>Which Mr. Flaherty Does Not Quite Explain</span></td> - <td class='c013'><a href='#Page_269'>269</a></td> - </tr> -</table> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_xiii'>xiii</span> - <h2 class='c014'>Preface</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>MUCH has been written critically about -Felix Kennaston since the disappearance -of his singular personality from the -field of contemporary writers; and Mr. Froser’s -<i>Biography</i> contains all it is necessary to know as -to the facts of Kennaston’s life. Yet most readers -of the <i>Biography</i>, I think, must have felt that the -great change in Kennaston no long while after he -“came to forty year”—this sudden, almost unparalleled, -conversion of a talent for tolerable -verse into the full-fledged genius of <i>Men Who -Loved Alison</i>—stays, after all, unexplained....</p> - -<p class='c004'>Hereinafter you have Kennaston’s own explanation. -I do not know but that in hunting down -one enigma it raises a bevy; but it, at worst, tells -from his standpoint honestly how this change -came about.</p> - -<p class='c004'>You are to remember that the tale is pieced together, -in part from social knowledge of the man, -and in part from the notes I made as to what Felix -<span class='pageno' id='Page_xiv'>xiv</span>Kennaston in person told me, bit by bit, a year or -two after events the tale commemorates. I had -known the Kennastons for some while, with that -continual shallow intimacy into which chance -forces most country people with their near neighbors, -before Kennaston ever spoke of—as he -called the thing—the sigil. And, even then, it -was as if with negligence he spoke, telling of what -happened—or had appeared to happen—and -answering my questions, with simply dumbfounding -personal unconcern. It all seemed indescribably -indecent: and I marveled no little, I can remember, -as I took my notes....</p> - -<p class='c004'>Now I can understand it was just that his standard -of values was no longer ours nor really human. -You see—it hardly matters through how -dependable an agency—Kennaston no longer -thought of himself as a man of flesh-and-blood -moving about a world of his compeers. Or, at -least, that especial aspect of his existence was to -him no longer a phase of any particular importance.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But to tell of his thoughts, is to anticipate. -Hereinafter you have them full measure and, such -<span class='pageno' id='Page_xv'>xv</span>as it is, his story. You must permit that I begin -it in my own way, with what may to you at first -seem dream-stuff. For I commence at Storisende, -in the world’s youth, when the fourth Count Emmerick -reigned in Poictesme, having not yet blundered -into the disfavor of his papal cousin Adrian -VII.... With such roundabout gambits alone -can some of us approach—as one fancy begets -another, if you will—to proud assurance that life -is not a blind and aimless business; not all a hopeless -waste and confusion; and that we ourselves -may (by-and-by) be strong and excellent and wise.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Such, in any event, is the road that Kennaston -took, and such the goal to which he was conducted. -So, with that goal in view, I also begin where he -began, and follow whither the dream led him. -Meanwhile, I can but entreat you to remember it -is only by preserving faith in human dreams that -we may, after all, perhaps some day make them -come true.</p> -<div class='c016'><span class='large'><span class='sc'>Richard Fentnor Harrowby.</span></span></div> - -<p class='c004'><i>Montevideo -14 April 1917.</i></p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-r c002'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span><span class='c017'><i>Book First</i></span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c018'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>══════════════════════</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Give place, fair ladies, and begone,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Ere pride hath had a fall!</div> - <div class='line'>For here at hand approacheth one</div> - <div class='line in2'>Whose grace doth stain you all.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Ettarre is well compared</div> - <div class='line in2'>Unto the Phœnix kind,</div> - <div class='line'>Whose like was never seen or heard,</div> - <div class='line in2'>That any man can find.”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>══════════════════════</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span> - <h2 class='c014'>I<br /> <br />Introduces the Ageless Woman</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>THE tale tells how Count Emmerick -planned a notable marriage-feast for -his sister La Beale Ettarre and Sir -Guiron des Rocques. The tale relates that, in -honor of this wedding, came from Nacumera, far -oversea, Count Emmerick’s elder sister Dame -Melicent and her husband the Comte de la Forêt, -with an outlandish retinue of pagan slaves that -caused great wonder. All Poictesme took holiday. -The tale narrates how from Naimes to -Lisuarte, and in the wild hill-country back of -Perdigon, knights made ready for the tournament, -traveling toward Storisende in gay silken garments -such as were suited to these new times of -peace. The highways in those parts shone with -warriors, riding in companies of six or eight, wearing -mantles worked in gold, and mounted upon -valuable horses that glittered with new bits and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>housings. And the tale tells, also, how they came -with horns sounding before them.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Ettarre watched from the turrets of Storisende, -pensively. Yet she was happy in these days. -“Indeed, there is now very little left this side of -heaven for you to desire, madame,” said Horvendile -the clerk, who stood beside her at his service.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“No, there is nothing now which troubles me, -Horvendile, save the thought of Maugis d’Aigremont. -I cannot ever be sure of happiness so -long as that man lives.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“So, so!” says Horvendile—“ah, yes, a master-villain, -that! He is foiled for the present, -and in hiding, nobody knows where; but I, too, -would not wonder should he be contriving some -new knavery. Say what you may, madame, I cannot -but commend his persistency, however base be -his motives; and in the forest of Bovion, where I -rescued you from his clutches, the miscreant spoke -with a hellish gusto that I could have found it in -my heart to admire.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Ettarre had never any liking for this half-scoffing -kind of talk, to which the clerk was deplorably -<span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>prone. “You speak very strangely at times, -Horvendile. Wickedness cannot ever be admirable; -and to praise it, even in jest, cannot but be -displeasing to the Author of us all.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Eh, madame, I am not so sure of that. Certainly, -the Author of those folk who have figured -thus far in your history has not devoted His talents -to creating perfect people.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>She wondered at him, and showed as much in -the big blue eyes which had troubled so many -men’s sleep. “Since time began, there has lived -no nobler person or more constant lover than my -lord Guiron.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Oh, yes, Sir Guiron, I grant you, is very -nearly immaculate,” said Horvendile; and he -yawned.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“My friend, you have always served him faithfully. -We two cannot ever forget how much we -have owed in the past to your quick wits and -shrewd devices. Yet now your manner troubles -me.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Dame Ettarre spoke the truth, for, knowing -the man to be unhappy—and suspecting the reason -of his unhappiness, too—she would have -<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>comforted him; but Horvendile was not in a confiding -mood. Whimsically he says:</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Rather, it is I who am troubled, madame. -For envy possesses me, and a faint teasing weariness -also possesses me, because I am not as Sir -Guiron, and never can be. Look you, they prepare -your wedding-feast now, your former sorrows -are stingless; and to me, who have served -you through hard seasons of adversity, it is as if -I had been reading some romance, and had come -now to the last page. Already you two grow -shadowy; and already I incline to rank Sir Guiron -and you, madame, with Arnaud and Fregonde, -with Palmerin and Polinarda, with Gui and Floripas—with -that fair throng of noted lovers whose -innocuous mishaps we follow with pleasant agitation, -and whom we dismiss to eternal happiness, -with smiling incredulity, as we turn back to a -workaday world. For it is necessary now that I -return to my own country, and there I shall not -ever see you any more.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Ettarre, in common with the countryside, knew -the man hopelessly loved her; and she pitied him -to-day beyond wording. Happiness is a famed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>breeder of magnanimity. “My poor friend, we -must get you a wife. Are there no women in -your country?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ah, but there is never any woman in one’s -own country whom one can love, madame,” replies -Horvendile shrewdly. “For love, I take it, -must look toward something not quite accessible, -something not quite understood. Now, I have -been so unfortunate as to find the women of my -country lacking in reticence. I know their opinions -concerning everything—touching God and -God’s private intentions, and touching me, and -the people across the road—and how these -women’s clothes are adjusted, and what they eat -for breakfast, and what men have kissed them: -there is no room for illusion anywhere. Nay, -more: I am familiar with the mothers of these -women, and in them I see quite plainly what these -women will be some twenty years from this morning; -there is not even room for hope. Ah, no, -madame; the women of my country are the pleasantest -of comrades, and the helpfullest of wives: -but I cannot conceal it from myself that, after -all, they are only human beings; and therefore it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>has never been possible for me to love any one of -them.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And am I not, then, a human being, poor -Horvendile?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>There was a tinge of mischief in the query; but -beauty very often makes for lightheadedness, both -in her that has and in him that views it; nor between -Ind and Thule was there any lovelier maid -than Ettarre. Smiling she awaited his answer; -the sunlight glorified each delicate clarity of color -in her fair face, and upon her breast gleamed the -broken sigil of Scoteia, that famed talisman which -never left her person. “And am I not, then, a -human being?” says she.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Gravely Horvendile answered: “Not in my -eyes, madame. For you embody all that I was -ever able to conceive of beauty and fearlessness -and strange purity. Therefore it is evident I do -not see in you merely Count Emmerick’s third -sister, but, instead, that ageless lovable and loving -woman long worshiped and sought everywhere -in vain by all poets.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Horvendile meditated for a while. “Assuredly, -it was you of whom blind Homer dreamed, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>comforting endless night with visions of your -beauty, as you sat in a bright fragrant vaulted -chamber weaving at a mighty loom, and embroidering -on tapestry the battles men were waging -about Troy because of your beauty; and very -certainly it was to you that Hermes came over -fields of violets and parsley, where you sang magic -rhymes, sheltered by an island cavern, in which -cedar and citron-wood were burning—and, calling -you Calypso, bade you release Odysseus from -the spell of your beauty. Sophocles, too, saw you -bearing an ewer of bronze, and treading gingerly -among gashed lamentable corpses, lest your loved -dead be dishonored; and Sophocles called you -Antigonê, praising your valor and your beauty. -And when men named you Bombyca, Theocritus -also sang of your grave drowsy voice and your -feet carven of ivory, and of your tender heart and -all your honey-pale sweet beauty.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I do not remember any of these troubadours -you speak of, my poor Horvendile; but I am very -certain that if they were poets they, also, must -in their time have talked a great deal of nonsense.”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>“And as Mark’s Queen,” says Horvendile, intent -on his conceit, “you strayed with Tristran in -the sunlit glades of Morois, that high forest, -where many birds sang full-throated in the new -light of spring; as Medeia you fled from Colchis; -and as Esclairmonde you delivered Huon from -the sardonic close wiles of heathenry, which to -you seemed childish. All poets have had these -fitful glimpses of you, Ettarre, and of that perfect -beauty which is full of troubling reticences, -and so, is somehow touched with something sinister. -Now all these things I likewise see in you, -Ettarre; and therefore, for my own sanity’s sake, -I dare not concede that you are a human being.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>The clerk was very much in earnest. Ettarre -granted that, insane as his talk seemed to her; and -the patient yearning in his eyes was not displeasing -to Ettarre. Her hand touched his cheek, -quickly and lightly, like the brush of a bird’s wing.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“My poor Horvendile, you are in love with -fantasies. There was never any lady such as you -dream of.” Then she left him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But Horvendile remained at the parapet, peering -out over broad rolling uplands.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span> - <h2 class='c014'>II<br /> <br />Wherein a Clerk Appraises a Fair Country</h2> -</div> -<p class='c019'>HORVENDILE peered out over broad -rolling uplands.... He viewed a noble -country, good to live in, rich with -grain and metal, embowered with tall forests, and -watered by pleasant streams. Walled cities it -had, and castles crowned its eminencies. Very -far beneath Horvendile the leaded roofs of these -fortresses glittered in sunlight, for Storisende -guards the loftiest part of the province.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And the people of this land—from its lords -of the high, the low, and the middle justice, to -the sturdy whining beggars at its cathedral doors—were -not all unworthy of this fair realm. Undoubtedly, -it was a land, as Horvendile whimsically -reflected, wherein human nature kept its first -dignity and strength; and wherein human passions -were never in a poor way to find expression with -adequate speech and action.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>Now, from the field below, a lark rose singing -joyously. Straight into the air it rose, and was -lost in the sun’s growing brilliance; but you could -hear its singing; and then, as suddenly, the bird -dropped to earth. No poet could resist embroidery -on such a text.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Began Horvendile straightway: “<i>Quan vey -la laudeta mover</i>”—or in other wording:</p> - -<p class='c004'>“When I behold the skylark move in perfect -joy toward its love the sun, and, growing drunk -with joy, forget the use of wings, so that it topples -from the height of heaven, I envy the bird’s -fate. I, too, would taste that ruinous mad moment -of communion, there in heaven, and my heart -dissolves in longing.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ailas! how little do I know of love!—I, who -was once deluded by the conceit that I was all-wise -in love. For I am unable to put aside desire -for a woman whom I must always love in vain. -She has bereft me of hope. She has robbed me -of my heart, of herself, and of all joy in the -world, and she has left me nothing save dreams -and regrets.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Never have I been able to recover my full -<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>senses since that moment when she first permitted -me to see myself mirrored in her bright eyes. -Hey, fatal mirrors! which flattered me too much! -for I have sighed ever since I beheld my image in -you. I have lost myself in you, like Narcissus in -his fountain.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Thus he lamented, standing alone among the -turrets of Storisende. Now a troop of jongleurs -was approaching the castle—gay dolls, jerked -by invisible wires, the vagabonds seemed to be, -from this height.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“More merry-makers for the marriage-feast. -We must spare no appropriate ceremony. And -yonder Count Emmerick is ordering the major-domo -to prepare peacocks stuffed with beccaficoes, -and a pastry builded like a palace. Hah, my -beautiful fantastic little people, that I love and -play with, and dispose of just as I please, it is -time your master shift another puppet.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>So Horvendile descended, still poetizing: -“<i>Pus ab mi dons no m pot valer</i>”—or in other -wording:</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Since nothing will avail to move my lady—not -prayers or righteous claims or mercy—and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>she desires my homage now no longer, I shall have -nothing more to say of love. I must renounce -love, and abjure it utterly. I must regard her -whom I love as one no longer living. I must, in -fine, do that which I prepare to do; and afterward -I must depart into eternal exile.”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span> - <h2 class='c014'>III<br /> <br />Of the Double-Dealer’s Traffic With a Knave</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>HORVENDILE left the fortress, and came -presently to Maugis d’Aigremont. -Horvendile got speech with this brigand -where he waited encamped in the hill-country of -Perdigon, loth to leave Storisende since it held -Ettarre whom he so much desired, but with too -few adherents to venture an attack.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Maugis sprawled listless in his chair, wrapped -in a mantle of soiled and faded green stuff, as -though he were cold. In his hand was a naked -sword, with which moodily he was prodding the -torn papers scattered about him. He did not -move at all, but his somber eyes lifted.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“What do you plan now, Horvendile?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Treachery, messire.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It is the only weapon of you scribblers. -How will it serve me?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then Horvendile spoke. Maugis sat listening. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>Above the swordhilt the thumb of one hand -was stroking the knuckles of the other carefully. -His lean and sallow face stayed changeless.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Says Maugis: “It is a bold stroke—yes. -But how do I know it is not some trap for me?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Horvendile shrugged, and asked: “Have I -not served you constantly in the past, messire?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You have suggested makeshifts very certainly. -And to a pretty pass they have brought -me! Here I roost like a starved buzzard, with -no recreation save to watch the turrets of Storisende -on clear afternoons.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Where Ettarre prepares to marry Sir -Guiron,” Horvendile prompted.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I think of that.... She is very beautiful, -is she not, Horvendile? And she loves this -stately kindly fool who carries his fair head so -high and has no reason to hide anything from her. -Yes, she is very beautiful, being created perfect -by divine malice that she might be the ruin of -men. So I loved her: and she did not love me, -because I was not worthy of her love. And Guiron -is in all things worthy of her. I cannot ever -pardon him that, Horvendile.”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>“And I am pointing out a way, messire, by -which you may reasonably hope to deal with Sir -Guiron—ho, and with the Counts Emmerick and -Perion, and with Ettarre also—precisely as you -elect.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then Maugis spoke wearily. “I must trust -you, I suppose. But I have no lively faith in my -judgments nowadays. I have played fast and -loose with too many men, and the stench of their -blood is in my nostrils, drugging me. I move in -a half-sleep, and people’s talking seems remote -and foolish. I can think clearly only when I -think of how tender is the flesh of Ettarre. Heh, -a lovely flashing peril allures me, through these -days of fog, and I must trust you. Death is ugly, -I know; but life is ugly too, and all my deeds are -strange to me.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>The clerk was oddly moved. “Do you not -know I love you as I never loved Guiron?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“How can I tell? You are an outlander. -Your ways are not our ways,” says the brigand -moodily. “And what have I to do with love?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You will talk otherwise when you drink in the -count’s seat, with Ettarre upon your knee,” Horvendile -<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>considered. “Observe, I do not promise -you success! Yet I would have you remember it -was by very much this same device that Count -Perion won the sister of Ettarre.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Heh, if we fail,” replies Maugis, “I shall at -least have done with remembering....” Then -they settled details of the business in hand.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Thus Horvendile returned to Storisende before -twilight had thickened into nightfall. He came -thus to a place different in all things from the -haggard outlaw’s camp, for Count Emmerick held -that night a noble revel. There was gay talk and -jest and dancing, with all other mirth men could -devise.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span> - <h2 class='c014'>IV<br /> <br />How the Double-Dealer Was of Two Minds</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>IT was deep silent night when Horvendile came -into the room where Ettarre slept. “Out, -out!” cried Horvendile. “Let us have more -light here, so that men may see the beauty men die -for!” He went with a torch from lamp to lamp, -kindling them all.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Ettarre stood between the bed-curtains, which -were green hangings worked with birds and beasts -of the field, each in his proper colors. The girl -was robed in white; and upon her breast gleamed -the broken sigil of Scoteia, that famed talisman -which never left her person. She wore a scarlet -girdle about her middle, and her loosened yellow -hair fell heavy about her. Her fine proud -face questioned the clerk in silence, without any -trace of fear.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“We must wait now,” says Horvendile, “wait -patiently for that which is to follow. For while -<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>the folk of Storisende slept—while your fair, -favored lover slept, Ettarre, and your stout -brothers Emmerick and Perion slept, and all persons -who are your servitors and well-wishers slept—I, -I, the puppet-shifter, have admitted Maugis -d’Aigremont and his men into this castle. They -are at work now, hammer-and-tongs, to decide -who shall be master of Storisende and you.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Her first speech you would have found odd at -such a time. “But, oh, it was not you who betrayed -us, Horvendile—not you whom Guiron -loved!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You forget,” he returned, “that I, who am -without any hope to win you, must attempt to view -the squabbling of your other lovers without bias. -It is the custom of omnipotence to do that, Ettarre. -I have given Maugis d’Aigremont an -equal chance with Sir Guiron. It is the custom -of omnipotence to do that also, Ettarre. You -will remember the tale was trite even in Job’s -far time that the sweetmeats of life do not invariably -fall to immaculate people.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then, as if on a sudden, Dame Ettarre seemed -to understand that the clerk’s brain had been -<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>turned through his hopeless love for her. She -wondered, dizzily, how she could have stayed -blind to his insanity this long, recollecting the inconsequence -of his acts and speeches in the past; -but matters of heavier urgency were at hand. -Here, with this apparent madman, she was on -perilous ground; but now had arisen a hideous -contention without; and the shrieks there, and the -clash of metal there, spoke with rude eloquence -of a harborage even less desirable.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Heaven will defend the right!” Ettarre said -bravely.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I am not so sure that heaven has any finger in -this pie. An arras hides all. It will lift presently, -and either Good or Evil, either Guiron or -Maugis, will come through that arras as your -master. I am not certain as yet which one I -shall permit to enter; and the matter rests with -me, Ettarre.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Heaven will defend the right!” Ettarre said -bravely.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And at that the arras quivered and heaved, so -that its heavy embroideries were converted into -a welter of shimmering gold, bright in the glare -<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>of many lamps, sparkling like the ocean’s waters -at sunset; and Horvendile and Ettarre saw nothing -else there for a breathless moment, which -seemed to last for a great while. Then, parting, -the arras yielded up Maugis d’Aigremont.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Horvendile chuckled.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span> - <h2 class='c014'>V<br /> <br />Treats of Maugis D’Aigremont’s Pottage</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>MAUGIS came forward, his eyes fixed hungrily -upon Ettarre. “So a long struggle -ends,” he said, very quiet. “There -is no virtue left, Ettarre, save patience.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“While life remains I shall not cease to shriek -out your villainy. O God, men have let Guiron -die!” she wailed.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I will cause you to forget that death is dreadful, -Ettarre!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I need no teacher now.... And so, Guiron -is dead and I yet live! I had not thought that -would be possible.” She whispered this. “Give -me your sword, Maugis, for just a little while, and -then I will not hate you any longer.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>The man said, with dreary patience: “Yes, -you would die rather than endure my touch. And -through my desire of you I have been stripped of -wealth and joy and honor, and even of hope; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>through my desire of you I have held much filthy -traffic, with treachery and theft and murder, traffic -such as my soul loathed: and to no avail! Yes, -I have been guilty of many wickednesses, as men -estimate these matters; and yet, I swear to you, I -seem to myself to be still that boy with whom you -used to play, when you too were a child, Ettarre, -and did not hate me. Heh, it is very strange how -affairs fall out in this world of ours, so that a -man may discern no aim or purpose anywhere!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yet it is all foreplanned, Maugis.” Horvendile -spoke thus.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And to what end have you ensnared me, Horvendile?” -says Maugis, turning wearily. “For -the attack on Storisende has failed, and I am dying -of many wounds, Horvendile. See how I -bleed! Guiron and Perion and Emmerick and all -their men are hunting me everywhere beyond that -arras, and I am frightened, Horvendile—even -I, who was Maugis, am frightened!—lest any of -them find me here. For I desire now only to die -untroubled. Oh, Horvendile, in an ill hour I -trusted you!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>As knave and madman, Ettarre saw the double-dealer -<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>and his dupe confront each other. In the -haggard face of Maugis, no longer evil, showed -only puzzled lassitude. In the hand of Horvendile -a dagger glittered; and his face was pensive.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“My poor Maugis, it is not yet time I make my -dealings plain to you. It suffices that you have -served my turn, Maugis, and that of you I have -no need any longer. You must die now, Maugis.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Ettarre feared this frozen madman, she who -was by ordinary fearless. Ettarre turned away -her face, so that she might not see the two men -grapple. Without, the uproar continued—for -a long while, it seemed. When she looked again -it was, by some great wonder-working, to meet -Guiron’s eyes and Guiron’s lips.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span> - <h2 class='c014'>VI<br /> <br />Journeys End: With the Customary Unmasking</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>“MY love, Ettarre, they have not harmed -you?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“None has harmed me, Guiron. -Oh, and you?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Maugis is dead,” he answered joyously.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“See, here he lies, slain by brave Horvendile. -And the rogues who followed Maugis are all -killed or fled. Our woes are at an end, dear -love.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then Ettarre saw that Horvendile indeed -waited beside the dead body of Maugis d’Aigremont. -And the clerk stayed motionless while she -told Guiron of Horvendile’s baleful work.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Sir Guiron then said: “Is this true speech, -Horvendile?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It is quite true I have done all these things, -messire,” Horvendile answered quietly.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>“And with what purpose?” said Sir Guiron, -very sadly; for to him too it seemed certain that -such senseless treachery could not spring from -anything but madness, and he had loved Horvendile.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I will tell you,” Horvendile replied, “though -I much fear you will not understand—” He -meditated, shook his head, smiling. “Indeed, -how is it possible for me to make you understand? -Well, I blurt out the truth. There was once in a -land very far away from this land—in my country—a -writer of romances. And once he constructed -a romance which, after a hackneyed custom -of my country, purported to be translated -from an old manuscript written by an ancient clerk—called -Horvendile. It told of Horvendile’s -part in the love-business between Sir Guiron des -Rocques and La Beale Ettarre. I am that writer -of romance. This room, this castle, all the broad -rolling countryside without, is but a portion of my -dream, and these places have no existence save in -my fancies. And you, messire—and you also, -madame—and dead Maugis here, and all the -others who seemed so real to me, are but the puppets -<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>I fashioned and shifted, for a tale’s sake, in -that romance which now draws to a close.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>He paused; and Sir Guiron sighed. “My -poor Horvendile!” was all he said.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It is not possible for you to believe me, of -course. And it may be that I, too, am only a -figment of some greater dream, in just such case -as yours, and that I, too, cannot understand. It -may be the very cream of the jest that my country -is no more real than Storisende. How could I -judge if I, too, were a puppet? It is a thought -which often troubles me....”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Horvendile deliberated, then spoke more -briskly. “At all events, I must return now to -my own country, which I do not love as I love -this bright fantastic tiny land that I created—or -seemed to create—and wherein I was—or -seemed to be—omnipotent.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Horvendile drew a deep breath; and he looked -downward at the corpse he had bereft of pride -and daring and agility. “Farewell, Maugis! It -would be indecorous, above all in omnipotence, to -express anything save abhorrence toward you: -yet I delighted in you as you lived and moved; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>and it was not because of displeasure with you -that I brought you to disaster. Hence, also, one -might evolve a heady analogue....”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Guiron was wondering what he might do in -accord with honor and with clemency. He did -not stir as Horvendile came nearer. The clerk -showed very pitiful and mean beside this stately -champion in full armor, all shining metal, save -for a surcoat of rose-colored stuff irregularly -worked with crescents of silver.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Farewell, Sir Guiron!” Horvendile then -said. “There are no men like you in my country. -I have found you difficult to manage; and -I may confess now that I kept you so long imprisoned -at Caer Idryn, and caused you to spend -so many chapters oversea in heathendom, mainly -in order that I might weave out my romance here -untroubled by your disconcerting and rather -wooden perfection. But you are not the person -to suspect ill of your creator. You are all that -I once meant to be, Guiron, all that I have forgotten -how to be; and for a dead boy’s sake I love -you.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Listen, poor wretch!” Sir Guiron answered, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>sternly; “you have this night done horrible mischief, -you have caused the death of many estimable -persons. Yet I have loved you, Horvendile, -and I know that heaven, through heaven’s inscrutable -wisdom, has smitten you with madness. -That stair leads to the postern on the east side of -the castle. Go forth from Storisende as quickly -as you may, whilst none save us knows of your -double-dealings. It may be that I am doing great -wrong; but I cannot forget I have twice owed my -life to you. If I must err at all hazards, I prefer -to err upon the side of gratitude and mercy.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“That is said very like you,” Horvendile replied. -“Eh, it was not for nothing I endowed -you with sky-towering magnanimity. Assuredly, -I go, messire. And so, farewell, Ettarre!” -Long and long Horvendile gazed upon the maiden. -“There is no woman like you in my country, Ettarre. -I can find no woman anywhere resembling -you whom dreams alone may win to. It is a little -thing to say that I have loved you; it is a bitter -thing to know that I must live among, and pursue, -and win, those other women.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“My poor Horvendile,” she answered, very -<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>lovely in her compassion, “you are in love with -fantasies.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>He held her hand, touching her for the last -time; and he trembled. “Yes, I am in love with -my fantasies, Ettarre; and, none the less, I must -return into my own country and abide there always....”</p> - -<p class='c004'>As he considered the future, in the man’s face -showed only puzzled lassitude; and you saw -therein a quaint resemblance to Maugis d’Aigremont. -“I find my country an inadequate place in -which to live,” says Horvendile. “Oh, many -persons live there happily enough! or, at worst, -they seem to find the prizes and the applause of -my country worth striving for whole-heartedly. -But there is that in some of us which gets no -exercise there; and we struggle blindly, with impotent -yearning, to gain outlet for great powers -which we know that we possess, even though we -do not know their names. And so, we dreamers -wander at adventure to Storisende—oh, and into -more perilous realms sometimes!—in search of -a life that will find employment for every faculty -we have. For life in my country does not engross -<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>us utterly. We dreamers waste there at loose -ends, waste futilely. All which we can ever see -and hear and touch there, we dreamers dimly -know, is at best but a portion of the truth, and is -possibly not true at all. Oh, yes! it may be that -we are not sane; could we be sure of that, it would -be a comfort. But, as it is, we dreamers only -know that life in my country does not content us, -and never can content us. So we struggle, for a -tiny dear-bought while, into other and fairer-seeming -lands in search of—we know not what! -And, after a little”—he relinquished the -maiden’s hands, spread out his own hands, shrugging—“after -a little, we must go back into my -country and live there as best we may.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>A whimsical wise smile now visited Ettarre’s -lips. Her hands went to her breast, and presently -one half the broken sigil of Scoteia lay in Horvendile’s -hand. “You will not always abide in -your own country, Horvendile. Some day you -will return to us at Storisende. The sign of the -Dark Goddess will prove your safe-conduct then -if Guiron and I be yet alive.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Horvendile raised to his mouth the talisman -<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>warmed by contact with her sweet flesh. “It -may be you will not live for a great while,” he -says; “but that will befall through no lack of loving -pains on your creator’s part.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then Horvendile left them. In the dark passage-way -he paused, looking back at Guiron and -Ettarre for a heart-beat. Guiron and Ettarre -had already forgotten his existence. Hand-in-hand -they stood in the bright room, young, beautiful -and glad. Silently their lips met.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Horvendile closed the door, and so left Storisende -forever. Without he came into a lonely -quiet-colored world already expectant of dawn’s -occupancy. Already the tree-trunks eastward -showed like the black bars of a grate. Thus he -walked in twilight, carrying half the sigil of -Scoteia....</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-r c002'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span><span class='c017'><i>Book Second</i></span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c018'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>══════════════════════</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Whate’er she be—</div> - <div class='line in1'>That inaccessible She</div> - <div class='line in1'>That doth command my heart and me:</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Till that divine</div> - <div class='line in1'>Idea take a shrine</div> - <div class='line in1'>Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Let her full glory,</div> - <div class='line in1'>My fancies, fly before ye;</div> - <div class='line in1'>Be ye my fictions—but her story.”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>══════════════════════</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span> - <h2 class='c014'>I<br /> <br />Of a Trifle Found in Twilight</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>THUS he walked in twilight, regretful -that he must return to his own country, -and live another life, and bear another -name than that of Horvendile.... It was droll -that in his own country folk should call him Felix, -since Felix meant “happy”; and assuredly he -was not pre-eminently happy there.</p> - -<p class='c004'>At least he had ended the love-business of Ettarre -and Guiron happily, however droll the necessitated -makeshifts might have been.... He had -very certainly introduced the god in the car, -against Horatian admonition, had wound up affairs -with a sort of transformation scene.... -It was, perhaps, at once too hackneyed and too -odd an ending to be æsthetically satisfactory, after -all.... Why, beyond doubt it was. He -shrugged his impatience.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yet—what a true ending it would be!” he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>reflected. He was still walking in twilight—for -the time was approaching sunset—in the gardens -of Alcluid. He must devise another ending for -this high-hearted story of Guiron and Ettarre.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Felix Kennaston smiled a little over the thought -of ending the romance with such topsy-turvy anti-climaxes -as his woolgathering wits had blundered -into; and, stooping, picked up a shining bit of -metal that lay beside the pathway. He was conscious -of a vague notion he had just dropped this -bit of metal.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It is droll how all great geniuses instinctively -plagiarize,” he reflected. “I must have seen this -a half-hour ago, when I was walking up and down -planning my final chapters. And so, I wove it -into the tale as a breast-ornament for Ettarre, -without ever consciously seeing the thing at all. -Then, presto! I awake and find it growing dark, -with me lackadaisically roaming in twilight clasping -this bauble, just as I imagined Horvendile -walking out of the castle of Storisende carrying -much such a bauble. Oh, yes, the processes of inspiration -are as irrational as if all poets took after -their mothers.”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>This bit of metal, Kennaston afterward ascertained, -was almost an exact half of a disk, not -quite three inches in diameter, which somehow -had been broken or cut in two. It was of -burnished metal—lead, he thought—about a -sixteenth of an inch in thickness; and its single -notable feature was the tiny characters with which -one surface was inscribed.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Later Felix Kennaston was destined to puzzle -over his inability to recollect what motive -prompted him to slip this glittering trifle into his -pocket. A trifle was all that it seemed then. He -always remembered quite clearly how it sparkled -in the abating glare of that day’s portentous sunset; -and how the tree-trunks westward showed like -the black bars of a grate, as he walked slowly -through the gardens of Alcluid. Alcluid, be it -explained, was the queer name with which Felix -Kennaston’s progenitors had seen fit to christen -their fine country home near Lichfield.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span> - <h2 class='c014'>II<br /> <br />Beyond Use and Wont Fares the Road to Storisende</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>KENNASTON was to recall, also, that on -this evening he dined alone with his wife, -sharing a taciturn meal. He and Kathleen -talked of very little, now, save the existent -day’s small happenings, such as having seen So-and-so, -and of So-and-so’s having said this-or-that, -as Kennaston reflected in the solitude of the library. -But soon he was contentedly laboring -upon the book he had always intended to write -some day.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Off and on, in common with most high-school -graduates, Felix Kennaston had been an “intending -contributor” to various magazines, spasmodically -bartering his postage-stamps for courteously-worded -rejection-slips. Then, too, in the old -days before his marriage, when Kennaston had -<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>come so near to capturing Margaret Hugonin and -her big fortune, the heiress had paid for the printing -of <i>The King’s Quest</i> and its companion enterprises -in rhyme, as well as the prose <i>Defence of -Ignorance</i>—wide-margined specimens of the -far-fetched decadence then in vogue, and the idol -of Kennaston’s youth, when he had seriously essayed -the parlor-tricks of “stylists.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And it was once a familiar story how Marian -Winwood got revenge on Felix Kennaston, when -he married Kathleen Saumarez, by publishing, in -a transparent guise of fiction, all the love-letters -he had written Miss Winwood; so that Kennaston -might also have claimed to be generally recognized -as the actual author of her <i>Epistles of Ananias</i>, -which years ago created some literary stir.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>But this book was to be different from any of -his previous compositions. To paraphrase Felix -Kennaston’s own words (as recorded in the “Colophon” -to <i>Men Who Loved Alison</i>), he had determined -in this story lovingly to deal with an -epoch and a society, and even a geography, whose -comeliness had escaped the wear-and-tear of ever -<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>actually existing. He had attempted a jaunt into -that “happy, harmless Fable-land” which is -bounded by Avalon and Phæacia and Sea-coast -Bohemia, and the contiguous forests of Arden and -Broceliande, and on the west of course by the -Hesperides, because he believed this country to be -the one possible setting for a really satisfactory -novel, even though its byways can boast of little -traffic nowadays. He was completing, in fine, -<i>The Audit at Storisende</i>—or, rather, <i>Men Who -Loved Alison</i>, as the book came afterward to be -called.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Competent critics in plenty have shrugged over -Kennaston’s pretense therein that the romance is -translated from an ancient manuscript. But to -Kennaston the clerk Horvendile, the fictitious first -writer of the chronicle and eye-witness of its -events, was necessary. No doubt it handicapped -the story’s progress, so to contrive matters that -one subsidiary character should invariably be at -hand when important doings were in execution, -and should be taken more or less into everyone’s -confidence—but then, somehow, it made the tale -seem real.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>For in the writing it all seemed perfectly real to -Felix Kennaston. His life was rather barren of -motive now. In remoter times, when he had wandered -impecuniously from one adventure to another, -sponging without hesitancy upon such -wealthy people as his chatter amused, there had -always been exquisite girls to make love to—such -girls as the younger generation did not produce—and -the ever-present problem of whence was to -come the fares for to-morrow’s hansoms, in which -the younger generation did not ride. For now -hansom cabs were wellnigh as extinct as velocipedes -or sedan-chairs, he owned two motors, and, -by the drollest turn, had money in four banks. -As recreation went, he and Kathleen had in Lichfield -their round of decorous social duties; and -there was nothing else to potter with save the -writing. And a little by a little the life he wrote -of came to seem to Felix Kennaston more real, -and far more vital, than the life his body was -shuffling through aimlessly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>For as Horvendile he lived among such gallant -circumstances as he had always vaguely hoped his -real life might provide to-morrow. This Horvendile, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>coming unintelligibly to Storisende, and -witnessing there the long combat between Sir -Guiron des Rocques and Maugis d’Aigremont for -possession of La Beale Alison—as Kennaston’s -heroine is called of course in the printed book—seems -to us in reading the tale no very striking -figure; as in <i>Rob Roy</i> and <i>Esmond</i>, it is not to the -narrator, but to the people and events he tells of, -that attention is riveted. But Felix Kennaston, -writing the book, lived the life of Horvendile in -the long happy hours of writing, which became -longer and longer; and insensibly his existence -blended and was absorbed into the more colorful -life of Horvendile. It was as Horvendile he -wrote, seeming actually at times to remember what -he recorded, rather than to invent....</p> - -<p class='c004'>And he called it inspiration....</p> - -<p class='c004'>So the tale flowed on, telling how Count Emmerick -planned a notable marriage-feast for his -sister La Beale Ettarre and Sir Guiron des Rocques, -with vastly different results from those already -recorded—with the results, in fine, which -figure in the printed <i>Men Who Loved Alison</i>, -where Horvendile keeps his proper place as a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>more or less convenient device for getting the tale -told.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But to Kennaston that first irrational winding-up -of affairs, wherein a world’s creator was able -to wring only contempt and pity from his puppets—since -he had not endowed them with any faculties -wherewith to comprehend their creator’s -nature and intent—was always the tale’s real -ending....</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>So it was that the lonely man lived with his -dreams, and toiled for the vision’s sake contentedly; -and we of Lichfield who were most familiar -with Felix Kennaston in the flesh knew nothing -then of his mental diversions; and, with knowledge, -would probably have liked him not a bit -the better. For ordinary human beings, as all -other normal forms of life, turn naturally toward -the sun, and are at their best thereunder; but it is -the misfortune of dreamers that their peculiar -talents find no exercise in daylight. So we regarded -Kennaston with the distrust universally accorded -people who need to be meddling with ideas -in a world which sustains its mental credit comfortably -<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>enough with a current coinage of phrases.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And therefore it may well be that I am setting -down his story not all in sympathy, for in perfect -candor I never, quite, liked Felix Kennaston. -His high-pitched voice in talking, to begin with, -was irritating: you knew it was not his natural -voice, and found it so entirely senseless for him -to speak thus. Then, too, the nervous and trivial -grin with which he prefaced almost all his infrequent -remarks—and the odd little noise, that was -nearly a snigger and just missed being a cough, -with which he ended them—was peculiarly uningratiating -in a fat and middle-aged person; his -weak eyes very rarely met yours full-gaze; and he -was continually handling his face or fidgeting with -a cigarette or twisting in his chair. When listening -to you he usually nibbled at his fingernails, -and when he talked he had a secretive way of looking -at them.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Such habits are not wholly incompatible with -wisdom or generosity, and the devil’s advocate -would not advance them against their possessor’s -canonization; none the less, in everyday life they -make against your enjoying a chat with their possessor: -<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>and as for Kennaston’s undeniable mental -gifts, there is no escaping, at times, the gloomy -suspicion that fiddling with pens and ink is, after -all, no fit employment for a grown man.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Felix Kennaston, to fix the word, was inadequate. -His books apart, he was as a human being -a failure. Indeed, in some inexpressible fashion, -he impressed you as uneasily shirking life. Certainly -he seemed since his marriage to have relinquished -all conversational obligations to his -wife. She had a curious trick of explaining him, -before his face—in a manner which was not unreminiscent -of the lecturer in “side-shows” pointing -out the peculiarities of the living skeleton or -the glass-eater; but it was done with such ill-concealed -pride in him that I found it touching, even -when she was boring me about the varieties of -food he could not be induced to touch or his -finicky passion for saving every bit of string he -came across.</p> - -<p class='c004'>That suggests a minor mystery: many women -had been fond of Felix Kennaston; and I have yet -to find a man who liked him even moderately, to -offset the host who marveled, with unseemly epithets, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>as to what these women saw in him. My -wife explains it, rather enigmatically, that he was -“just a twoser”; and that, in addition, he expected -women to look after him, so that naturally -they did. To her superior knowledge of the feminine -mind I can but bow: with the addition (quoting -the same authority) that a “twoser” is a -trousered individual addicted to dumbness in company -and the very thrilliest sort of play-acting in -<i>tête-à-têtes</i>.</p> - -<p class='c004'>At all events, I never quite liked Felix Kennaston—not -even after I came to understand that -the man I knew in the flesh was but a very ill-drawn -likeness of Felix Kennaston. After all, -that is the whole sardonic point of his story—and, -indeed, of every human story—that the person -you or I find in the mirror is condemned eternally -to misrepresent us in the eyes of our fellows. -But even with comprehension, I never cordially -liked the man; and so, it may well be that his story -is set down not all in sympathy.</p> - -<p class='c004'>With which Gargantuan parenthesis, in equitable -warning, I return again to his story.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span> - <h2 class='c014'>III<br /> <br />Of Idle Speculations in a Library</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>FELIX KENNASTON did not write very -long that night. He fell idly to the droll -familiar wondering how this dull fellow -seated here in this luxurious room could actually -be Felix Kennaston....</p> - -<p class='c004'>He was glad this spacious and subduedly-glowing -place, and all the comfortable appointments -of Alcluid, belonged to him. He had seen -enough of the scrambling hand-to-mouth makeshifts -of poverty, in poverty’s heart-depressing -habitations, during the thirty-eight years he -weathered before the simultaneous deaths, -through a motor accident, of a semi-mythical personage -known since childhood as “your Uncle -Henry in Lichfield,” and of Uncle Henry’s only -son as well, had raised Felix Kennaston beyond -monetary frets. As yet Kennaston did not very -profoundly believe in this unlooked-for turn; and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>in the library of his fine house in particular he had -still a sense of treading alien territory under -sufferance.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Yet it was a territory which tempted exploration -with alluring vistas. Kennaston had always -been, when there was time for it, “very fond of -reading,” as his wife was used to state in tones -of blended patronage and apology. Kathleen -Kennaston, in the old days of poverty, had declaimed -too many pilfered dicta concerning literary -matters to retain any liking for them.</p> - -<p class='c004'>As possibly you may recall, for some years after -the death of her first husband, Kathleen Eppes -Saumarez had earned precarious bread and butter -as a lecturer before women’s clubs, and was more -or less engaged in journalism, chiefly as a reviewer -of current literature. For all books she -had thus acquired an abiding dislike. In particular, -I think, she loathed the two volumes of -“woodland tales” collected in those necessitous -years, from her Woman’s Page in the <i>Lichfield -Courier-Herald</i>, for the fickle general reading public, -which then used to follow the life-histories -of Bazoo the Bear and Mooshwa the Mink, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>other “citizens of the wild,” with that incalculable -unanimity which to-day may be reserved for -the biographies of optimistic orphans, and to-morrow -veers to <i>vies intimes</i> of high-minded courtesans -with hearts of gold.... In fine, through a -variety of reasons, Mrs. Kennaston quite frankly -cared even less for books, as manifestations of -art, than does the average tolerably honest woman -to whom books do not represent a source of income.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And you may or may not remember, likewise, -what Kennaston wrote, about this time, in the -“Colophon” to <i>Men Who Loved Alison</i>. With -increased knowledge of the author, some sentences -therein, to me at least, took on larger significance:</p> - -<p class='c021'>“No one, I take it, can afford to do without -books unless he be quite sure that his own day and -personality are the best imaginable; and for this -class of persons the most crying need is not, of -course, seclusion in a library, but in a sanatorium.</p> - -<p class='c022'>“It was, instead, for the great generality, who -combine a taste for travel with a dislike for leaving -home, that books were by the luckiest hit invented, -to confound the restrictions of geography -and the almanac. In consequence, from the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>Ptolemies to the Capets, from the twilight of a -spring dawn in Sicily to the uglier shadow of -Montfaucon’s gibbet, there intervenes but the -turning of a page, a choice between Theocritus -and Villon. From the Athens of Herodotus to -the Versailles of St.-Simon, from Naishapur to -Cranford, it is equally quick traveling. All times -and lands that ever took the sun, indeed, lie open, -equally, to the explorer by the grace of Gutenberg; -and transportation into Greece or Rome or -Persia or Chicago, equally, is the affair of a moment. -Then, too, the islands of Avalon and -Ogygia and Theleme stay always accessible, and -magic casements open readily upon the surf of -Sea-coast Bohemia. For the armchair traveler -alone enjoys enfranchisement of a chronology, and -of a geography, that has escaped the wear-and-tear -of ever actually existing.</p> - -<p class='c022'>“Peregrination in the realms of gold possesses -also the quite inestimable advantage that therein -one’s personality is contraband. As when Dante -makes us free of Hell and Heaven, it is on the -fixed condition of our actual love and hate of -divers Renaissance Italians, whose exploits in the -flesh require to-day the curt elucidation of a footnote, -just so, admission to those high delights -whereunto Shelley conducts is purchased by accrediting -to clouds and skylarks—let us sanely -<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>admit—a temporary importance which we would -never accord them unbiased. The traveler has -for the half-hour exchanged his personality for -that of his guide: such is the rule in literary highways, -a very necessary traffic ordinance: and so -long as many of us are, upon the whole, inferior -to Dante or Shelley—or Sophocles, or Thackeray, -or even Shakespeare—the change need not -make entirely for loss....”</p> - -<p class='c023'>Yes, it is lightly phrased; but, after all, it is -only another way of confessing that his books afforded -Kennaston an avenue to forgetfulness of -that fat pasty fellow whom Kennaston was -heartily tired of being. For one, I find the admission -significant of much, in view of what befell -him afterward.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And besides—so Kennaston’s thoughts strayed -at times—these massed books, which his predecessor -at Alcluid had acquired piecemeal through -the term of a long life, were a part of that predecessor’s -personality. No other man would -have gathered and have preserved precisely the -same books, and each book, with varying forcefulness, -had entered into his predecessor’s mind -<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>and had tinged it. These parti-colored books, -could one but reconstruct the mosaic correctly, -would give a candid portrait of “your Uncle -Henry in Lichfield,” which would perhaps surprise -all those who knew him daily in the flesh. -Of the fact that these were unusual books their -present owner and tentative explorer had no -doubt whatever. They were perturbing books.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Now these books by their pleasant display of -gold-leaf, soberly aglow in lamplight, recalled an -obscure association of other tiny brilliancies; and -Felix Kennaston recollected the bit of metal he -had found that evening.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Laid by the lamp, it shone agreeably as Kennaston -puckered his protruding brows over the -characters with which it was inscribed. So far -as touched his chances of deciphering them, he -knew all foreign languages were to him of almost -equal inscrutability. French he could puzzle out, -or even Latin, if you gave him plenty of time and -a dictionary; but this inscription was not in Roman -lettering. He wished, with time-dulled yearning, -that he had been accorded a college education....</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span> - <h2 class='c014'>IV<br /> <br />How There Was a Light in the Fog</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>AS she came toward him through the fog, -“How annoying it is,” she was saying -plaintively, “that these moors are never -properly lighted.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ah, but you must not blame Ole-Luk-Oie,” -he protested. “It is all the fault of Beatricê -Cenci....”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then Kennaston knew he had unwittingly -spoken magic words, for at once, just as he had -seen it done in theaters, the girl’s face was shown -him clearly in a patch of roseate light. It was -the face of Ettarre.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Things happen so in dreams,” he observed. -“I know perfectly well I am dreaming, as I have -very often known before this that I was dreaming. -But it was always against some law to tell the -people in my nightmares I quite understood they -were not real people. To-day in my daydream, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>and here again to-night, there is no such restriction; -and lovely as you are, I know that you are -just a daughter of sub-consciousness or of memory -or of jumpy nerves or, perhaps, of an improperly -digested entrée.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“No, I am real, Horvendile—but it is I who -am dreaming you.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I had not thought to be a part of any woman’s -dream nowadays.... Why do you call me Horvendile?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>She who bore the face of Ettarre pondered momentarily; -and his heart moved with glad adoration.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Now, by the beard of the prophet! I do not -know,” the girl said, at last.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“The name means nothing to you?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I never heard it before. But it seemed natural, -somehow—just as it did when you spoke -of Ole-Luk-Oie and Beatricê Cenci.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“But Ole-Luk-Oie is the lord and master of all -dreams, of course. And that furtive long-dead -Roman girl has often troubled my dreams. -When I was a boy, you conceive, there was in my -room at the first boarding-house in which I can -<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>remember dieting, a copy of the Guido portrait -of Beatricê Cenci—a copy done in oils, a worthless -daub, I suppose. But there was evil in the -picture—a lurking devilishness, which waited patiently -and alertly until I should do what that -silent watcher knew I was predestined to do, and, -being malevolent, wanted me to do. I knew nothing -then of Beatricê Cenci, mark you, but when I -came to learn her history I thought the world was -all wrong about her. That woman was evil, -whatever verse-makers may have fabled, I thought -for a long while.... To-day I believe the evil -emanated from the person who painted that particular -copy. I do not know who that person was, -I never shall know. But the black magic of that -person’s work was very potent.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And Kennaston looked about him now, to find -fog everywhere—impenetrable vapors which -vaguely showed pearl-colored radiancies here and -there, but no determinable forms of trees or of -houses, or of anything save the face of Ettarre, -so clearly discerned and so lovely in that strange -separate cloud of roseate light.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ah, yes, those little magics”—it was the girl -<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>who spoke—“those futile troubling necromancies -that are wrought by portraits and unfamiliar -rooms and mirrors and all time-worn glittering objects—by -running waters and the wind’s persistency, -and by lonely summer noons in forests—how -inconsequently they fret upon men’s heart-strings!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“As if some very feeble force—say, a maimed -elf—were trying to attract your attention? Yes, -I think I understand. It is droll.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And how droll, too, it is how quickly we -communicate our thoughts—even though, if you -notice, you are not really speaking, because your -lips are not moving at all.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“No, they never do in dreams. One never -seems, in fact, to use one’s mouth—you never actually -eat anything, you may also notice, in dreams, -even though food is very often at hand. I suppose -it is because all dream food is akin to the -pomegranates of Persephone, so that if you taste -it you cannot ever return again to the workaday -world.... But why, I wonder, are we having -the same dream?—it rather savors of Morphean -<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>parsimony, don’t you think, thus to make one -nightmare serve for two people? Or perhaps it -is the bit of metal I found this afternoon—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And the girl nodded. “Yes, it is on account -of the sigil of Scoteia. I have the other half, -you know.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“What does this mean, Ettarre—?” he began; -and reaching forward, was about to touch -her, when the universe seemed to fold about him, -just as a hand closes....</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>And Felix Kennaston was sitting at the writing-table -in the library, with a gleaming scrap of metal -before him; and, as the clock showed, it was bedtime.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Well, it is undoubtedly quaint how dreams -draw sustenance from half-forgotten happenings,” -he reflected; “to think of my recollecting that -weird daub which used to deface my room in Fairhaven! -I had forgotten Beatricê entirely. And -I certainly never spoke of her to any human being, -except of course to Muriel Allardyce.... But -I would not be at all surprised if I had involuntarily -<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>hypnotized myself, sitting here staring at -this shiny piece of lead—you read of such cases. -I believe I will put it away, to play with again -sometime.”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span> - <h2 class='c014'>V<br /> <br />Of Publishing: With an Unlikely Appendix</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>SO Kennaston preserved this bit of metal. -“No fool like an old fool,” his commonsense -testily assured him. But Felix -Kennaston’s life was rather barren of interests -nowadays....</p> - -<p class='c004'>He thought no more of his queer dream, for -a long while. Life had gone on decorously. He -had completed <i>The Audit at Storisende</i>, with leisured -joy in the task, striving to write perfectly of -beautiful happenings such as life did not afford. -There is no denying that the typed manuscript -seemed to Felix Kennaston—as he added the -last touches, before expressing it to Dapley & -Pildriff—to inaugurate a new era in literature.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kennaston was yet to learn that publishers in -their business capacity have no especial concern -with literature. To his bewilderment he discovered -that publishers seemed sure the merits of a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>book had nothing to do with the advisability of -printing it. Herewith is appended a specimen or -two from Felix Kennaston’s correspondence.</p> - -<p class='c021'><span class='sc'>Dapley & Pildriff</span>—“We have carefully -read your story, ‘The Audit at Storisende,’ which -you kindly submitted to us. It is needless for us -to speak of the literary quality of the story: it is -in fact exquisitely done, and would delight a very -limited circle of readers trained to appreciate such -delicate productions. But that class of readers is -necessarily small, and the general reader would, -we fear, fail to recognize the book’s merit and be -attracted to it. For this reason we do not feel—and -we regret to confess it—that the publication -of this book would be a wise business enterprise -for us to undertake. We wish that we could, in -justice to you and ourselves, see the matter in another -light. We are returning the manuscript to -you, and we remain, with appreciation of your -courtesy, etc.”</p> - -<p class='c021'><span class='sc'>Paige Ticknor’s Sons</span>—“We have given -very careful consideration to your story, ‘The -Audit at Storisende,’ which you kindly submitted -to us. We were much interested in this romance, -for it goes without saying that it is marked with -high literary quality. But we feel that it would -<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>not appeal with force and success to the general -reader. Its appeal, we think, would be to the -small class of cultured readers, and therefore its -publication would not be attended with commercial -success. Therefore in your interest, as well -as our own, we feel that we must give an unfavorable -decision upon the question of publication. -Naturally we regret to be forced to that conclusion, -for the work is one which would be creditable -to any publisher’s list. We return the manuscript -by express, with our appreciation of your -courtesy in giving us the opportunity of considering -it, and are, etc.”</p> - -<p class='c023'>And so it was with The Gayvery Company, and -with Leeds, McKibble & Todd, and with Stuyvesant -& Brothers. Unanimously they united to -praise and to return the manuscript. And Kennaston -began reluctantly to suspect that, for all -their polite phrases about literary excellence, his -romance must, somehow, be not quite in consonance -with the standards of that person who is, -after all, the final arbiter of literature, and to -whom these publishers very properly deferred, as -“the general reader.” And Kennaston wondered -if it would not be well for him, also, to study the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>all-important and exigent requirements of “the -general reader.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kennaston turned to the publishers’ advertisements. -Dapley & Pildriff at that time were urging -every one to read <i>White Sepulchers</i>, the author -of which had made public the momentous -discovery that all churchgoers were not immaculate -persons. Paige Ticknor’s Sons were announcing -a new edition of <i>The Apostates</i>, a -scathing arraignment of plutocratic iniquities, -which was heralded as certain to sear the soul to -its core, more than rival Thackeray, and turn our -highest social circles inside out. Then the Gayvery -Company offered <i>Through the Transom</i>, a -daring study of “feminism,” compiled to all appearance -under rather novel conditions, inasmuch -as the brilliant young author had, according to the -advertisements, written every sentence with his -jaws set and his soul on fire. The majority of -Leeds, McKibble & Todd’s adjectives were devoted -to <i>Sarah’s Secret</i>, the prize-winner in the -firm’s $15,000 contest—a “sprightly romance -of the greenwood,” whose undoubted aim, Kennaston -deduced from tentative dips into its meandering -<span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>balderdash, was to become the most sought-after -book, in all institutes devoted to care of the -feeble-minded. And Stuyvesant & Brothers were -superlatively acclaiming <i>The Silent Brotherhood</i>, -the latest masterpiece of a pornographically -gifted genius, who had edifyingly shown that he -ranked religion above literature, by retiring from -the ministry to write novels.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kennaston laughed—upon which side of the -mouth, it were too curious to inquire. Momentarily -he thought of printing the book at his own -expense. But here the years of poverty had left -indelible traces. Kennaston had too often walked -because he had not carfare, for a dollar ever -again to seem to him an inconsiderable matter. -Comfortably reassured as to pecuniary needs for -the future, he had not the least desire to control -more money than actually showed in his bank-balances: -but, even so, he often smiled to note -how unwillingly he spent money. So now he -shrugged, and sent out his loved romance again.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>An unlikely thing happened: the book was accepted -for publication. The Baxon-Muir Company -<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>had no prodigious faith in <i>The Audit at -Storisende</i>, as a commercial venture; but their -“readers,” in common with most of the “readers” -for the firms who had rejected it, were not -lacking in discernment of its merits as an admirable -piece of writing. And the more optimistic -among them protested even to foresee a possibility -of the book’s selling. The vast public that -reads for pastime, they contended, was beginning -to grow a little tired of being told how bad was -this-or-that economic condition: and pretty much -everything had been “daringly exposed,” to the -point of weariness, from the inconsistencies of our -clergy to the uncleanliness of our sausage. In addition, -they considered the surprising success of -Mr. Marmaduke Fennel’s eighteenth-century -story, <i>For Love of a Lady</i>, as compared with the -more moderate sales of Miss Elspeth Lancaster’s -<i>In Scarlet Sidon</i>, that candid romance of the -brothel; deducing therefrom that the “gadzooks” -and “by’r lady” type of reading-matter was -ready to revive in vogue. At all events, the -Baxon-Muir Company, after holding a rather unusual -number of conferences, declared their willingness -<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>to publish this book; and in due course -they did publish it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>There were before this, however, for Kennaston -many glad hours of dabbling with proofsheets: -the tale seemed so different, and so infernally -good, in print. Kennaston never in his life -found any other playthings comparable to those -first wide-margined “galley proofs” of <i>The -Audit at Storisende</i>. Here was the word, vexatiously -repeated within three lines, which must be -replaced by a synonym; and the clause which, -when transposed, made the whole sentence gain -in force and comeliness; and the curt sentence -whose addition gave clarity to the paragraph, -much as a pinch of alum clears turbid water; and -the vaguely unsatisfactory adjective, for which a -jet of inspiration suggested a substitute, of vastly -different meaning, in the light of whose inevitable -aptness you marveled over your preliminary obtuseness:—all -these slight triumphs, one by one, -first gladdened Kennaston’s labor and tickled his -self-complacency. He could see no fault in the -book.</p> - -<p class='c004'>His publishers had clearer eyes. His Preface, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>for one matter, they insisted on transposing to the -rear of the volume, where it now figures as the -book’s tolerably famous Colophon—that curious -exposition of Kennaston’s creed as artist. -Then, for a title, <i>The Audit at Storisende</i> was -editorially adjudged abominable: people would -not know how to pronounce Storisende, and in -consequence would hold back from discussing the -romance or even asking for it at bookdealers. -<i>Men Who Loved Ettarre</i> was Kennaston’s ensuing -suggestion; but the Baxon-Muir Company -showed no fixed confidence in their patrons’ ability -to pronounce Ettarre, either. Would it not -be possible, they inquired, to change the heroine’s -name?—and Kennaston assented. Thus it was -that in the end his book came to be called <i>Men -Who Loved Alison</i>.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But to Kennaston her name stayed always Ettarre....</p> - -<p class='c004'>The book was delivered to the world, which received -the gift without excitement. The book -was delivered to reviewers, who found in it a -well-intentioned echo of Mr. Maurice Hewlett’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>earlier mediæval tales. And there for a month -or some six weeks, the matter rested.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then one propitious morning an indignant gentlewoman -in Brooklyn wrote to <i>The New York -Sphere</i> a letter which was duly printed in that journal’s -widely circulated Sunday supplement, <i>The -Literary Masterpieces of This Week</i>, to denounce -the loathsome and depraved indecency of the nineteenth -and twentieth chapters, in which—while -treating of Sir Guiron’s imprisonment in the Sacred -Grove of Caer Idryn, and the worship accorded -there to the sigil of Scoteia—Kennaston -had touched upon some of the perverse refinements -of antique sexual relations. The following -week brought forth a full page of letters. Two -of these, as Kennaston afterward learned, were -contributed by the “publicity man” of the Baxon-Muir -Company, and all arraigned obscenities -which Kennaston could neither remember or on -re-reading his book discover. Later in this journal, -as in other newspapers, appeared still more -denunciations. An up-to-the-minute bishop expostulated -from the pulpit against the story’s vicious -<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>tendencies, demanding that it be suppressed. -Thereafter it was no longer on sale in the large -department-stores alone, but was equally procurable -at all the bookstands in hotels and railway -stations. Even the author’s acquaintances began -to read it. And the Delaunays (then at the -height of their vogue as exponents of the “new” -dances) introduced “the Alison amble”; and -from Tampa to Seattle, in certain syndicated cartoons -of generally appealing idiocy, newspaper -readers were privileged to see one hero of the series -knock the other heels over head with a copy -of Kennaston’s romance. And women wore the -“Alison aigrette” for a whole season; and a new -brand of cheap tobacco christened in her honor -had presently made her name at least familiar in -saloons. <i>Men Who Loved Alison</i> became, in -fine, the novel of the hour. It was one of those -rare miracles such as sometimes palm off a well-written -book upon the vast public that reads for -pastime.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And shortly afterward Mr. Booth Tarkington -published another of his delightful romances: one -forgets at this distance of time just which it was: -<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>but, like all the others, it was exquisitely done, -and sold neck and neck with <i>Men Who Loved Alison</i>; -so that for a while it looked almost as if the -American reading public was coming to condone -adroit and careful composition.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But presently the advertising columns of magazines -and newspapers were heralding the year’s -vernal output of enduring masterworks in the field -of fiction: and readers were again assured that -the great American novel had just been published -at last, by any number of persons: and so, the autumnal -predecessors of these new <i>chefs d’œuvre</i> -passed swiftly into oblivion, via the brief respite -of a “popular” edition. And naturally, Kennaston’s -romance was forgotten, by all save a few -pensive people. Some of them had found in this -volume food for curious speculation.</p> - -<p class='c004'>That, however, is a matter to be taken up later.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span> - <h2 class='c014'>VI<br /> <br />Suggesting Themes of Universal Appeal</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>SO Felix Kennaston saw his dream vulgarized, -made a low byword; and he contemplated -this travestying, as the cream of -a sardonic jest, with urbanity. Indeed, that -hour of notoriety seemed not without its pleasant -features to Felix Kennaston, who had all a poet’s -ordinary appetite for flattery. Besides, it was -droll to read the “literary notes” which the -Baxon-Muir people were industriously disseminating, -by means of the daily journals, concerning -Felix Kennaston’s personality, ancestry, accomplishments, -recreations and preferences in -diet. And then, in common with the old woman -famed in nursery rhyme, he was very often wont -to observe, “But, lawk a mercy on me! this is -none of I!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>It was droll, too, to be asked for autographs, -lectures, and for donations of “your wonderful -<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>novel.” It was droll to receive letters from remote -mysterious persons, who had read his book, -and had liked it, or else had disliked it to the point -of being goaded into epistolary remonstrance, sarcasm, -abuse, and (as a rule) erratic spelling. It -troubled Kennaston that only riffraff seemed to -have read his book, so far as he could judge from -these unsolicited communications; and that such -people of culture and education as might have -been thrilled by it—all people whose opinions -he might conceivably value—seemed never to -write to authors....</p> - -<p class='c004'>And finally, it was droll to watch his wife’s reception -of the book. To Kennaston his wife -stayed always a not unfriendly mystery. She -now could not but be a little taken aback by this -revelation of his abilities, he reflected—with -which she had lived so long without, he felt, appreciation -of them—but certainly she would -never admit to either fact. He doubted very -much if Kathleen would ever actually read <i>Men -Who Loved Alison</i>; on various pretexts she had -deferred the pleasure, and seemed, with perverted -notions of humor, to esteem it a joke that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>she alone had not read the book of which everybody -was talking. Such was not Kennaston’s -idea of humor, or of wifely interest. But Kathleen -dipped into the volume here and there; and -she assuredly read all the newspaper-notices sent -in by the clipping-bureau. These she considered -with profound seriousness.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I have been thinking—you ought to make a -great deal out of your next novel,” she said, one -morning, over her grapefruit; and the former -poet wondered why, in heaven’s name, it should -matter to her whether or not the marketing of his -dreams earned money, when they had already -a competence. But women were thus fashioned....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You ought to do something more up-to-date, -though, Felix, something that deals with real -life—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ah, but I don’t particularly care to write -about a subject of which I am so totally ignorant, -dear. Besides, it isn’t for you to fleer and gibe -at a masterpiece which you never read,” he airily -informed her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I am saving it up for next summer, Felix, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>when I will have a chance to give every word of -it the reverence it deserves. I really don’t have -any time for reading nowadays. There is always -something more important that has to be attended -to—For instance, the gasoline engine isn’t -working again, and I had to ’phone in town for -Slaytor to send a man out to-day, to see what is -the matter this time.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And it is messy things like that you want me -to write about!” he exclaimed. “About the -gasoline engine going on another strike, and -Drake’s forgetting to tell you we were all out of -sugar until late Saturday night! Never mind, -Mrs. Kennaston! you will be sorry for this, and -you will weep the bitter tears of unavailing repentance, -some day, when you ride in the front -automobile with the Governor to the unveiling of -my various monuments, and have fallen into the -anecdotage of a great man’s widow.” He spoke -lightly, but he was reflecting that in reality Kathleen -did not read his book because she did not regard -any of his doings very seriously. “Isn’t this -the third time this week we have had herring for -breakfast?” he inquired, pleasantly. “I think -<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>I will wait and let them scramble me a couple of -eggs. It is evidently a trifle that has escaped -your attention, my darling, during our long years -of happy married life, that I don’t eat herring. -But of course, just as you say, you have a number -of much more important things than husbands -to think about. I dislike having to put any one -to any extra trouble on my account; but as it happens, -I have a lot of work to do this morning, and -I cannot very well get through it on an empty -stomach.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“We haven’t had it since Saturday, Felix.” -Then wearily, to the serving-girl, “Cora, see if -Mr. Kennaston can have some eggs.... I -wish you wouldn’t upset things so, Felix. Your -coffee will get stone-cold; and it is hard enough to -keep servants as it is. Besides, you know perfectly -well to-day is Thursday, and the library -has to be thorough-cleaned.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“That means of course I am to be turned out-of-doors -and forced to waste a whole day somewhere -in town. It is quite touching how my creature -comforts are catered to in this house!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And Kathleen began to laugh, ruefully. “You -<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>are just a great big baby, Felix. You are sulking -and swelling up like a frog, because you think I -don’t appreciate what a wonderful husband I have -and what a wonderful book he has written.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then Kennaston began to laugh also. He -knew that what she said was tolerably true, even -to the batrachian simile. “When you insisted on -adopting me, dear, you ought to have realized -what you were letting yourself in for.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“—And I do think,” Kathleen went on, evincing -that conviction with which she as a rule repeated -other people’s remarks—“that you ought -to make your next book something that deals with -real life. <i>Men Who Loved Alison</i> is beautifully -written and all that, but, exactly as the <i>Tucson -Pioneer</i> said, it is really just colorful soapbubbly -nonsense.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ah, but is it unadulterated nonsense, Kathleen, -that somewhere living may be a uniformly -noble transaction?” he debated—“and human -passions never be in a poor way to find expression -with adequate speech and action?” Pleased -with the phrase, and feeling in a better temper, he -began to butter a roll.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>“I don’t know about that; but, in any event, -people prefer to read about the life they are familiar -with.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You touch on a disheartening truth. People -never want to be told anything they do not believe -already. Yet I quite fail to see why, in books or -elsewhere, any one should wish to be reminded of -what human life is actually like. For living is -the one art in which mankind has never achieved -distinction. It is perhaps an obscure sense of -this that makes us think the begetting of mankind -an undiscussable subject, and death a sublime and -edifying topic.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yes—? I dare say,” Kathleen assented -vaguely. “This herring is really very good, -Felix. I think you would like it, if you just had -not made up your mind to be stubborn about it—” -Then she spoke with new animation: “Felix, -Margaret Woods was in Louvet’s yesterday -morning, having her hair done for a dinner they -gave the railroad crowd last night, and of all the -faded washed-out looking people I ever saw—! -And I can remember her having that hideous -brown dress long before she was married. Of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>course, it doesn’t make any difference to me that -she didn’t see fit to invite us. She was one of -your friends, not mine. I was only thinking that, -since she always pretended to be so fond of you, -it does seem curious the way we are invariably -left out.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>So Kennaston did not embroider verbally his -theme—of Living Adequately—as he had felt -himself in vein to do could he have found a listener.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Some day,” he ruefully reflected, “I shall certainly -write a paper upon The Lost Art of Conversing -with One’s Wife. Its appeal, I think, -would be universal.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then his eggs came....</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span> - <h2 class='c014'>VII<br /> <br />Peculiar Conduct of a Personage</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>SHORTLY afterward befell a queer incident. -Kennaston, passing through a famed city, -lunched with a personage who had been -pleased to admire <i>Men Who Loved Alison</i>, and -whose remunerative admiration had been skilfully -trumpeted in the public press by Kennaston’s publishers.</p> - -<p class='c004'>There were some ten others in the party, and -Kennaston found it droll enough to be sitting at -table with them. The lean pensive man—with -hair falling over his forehead in a neatly-clipped -“bang,” such as custom restricts to children—had -probably written that morning, in his official -capacity, to innumerable potentates. That handsome -bluff old navy-officer was a national hero: -he would rank in history with Perry and John Paul -Jones; yet here he sat, within arms’-reach, prosaically -complaining of unseasonable weather. That -<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>bearded man, rubicund and monstrous as to nose, -was perhaps the most powerful, as he was certainly -the most wealthy, person inhabiting flesh; -and it was rumored, in those Arcadian days, that -kingdoms did not presume to go to war without -securing the consent of this financier.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And that exquisitely neat fellow, looking like a -lad unconvincingly made-up for an octogenarian -in amateur theatricals, was the premier of the -largest province in the world: his thin-featured -neighbor was an aeronaut—at this period really -a <i>rara avis</i>—and went above the clouds to get -his livelihood, just as ordinary people went to -banks and offices. And chief of all, their multifarious -host—the personage, as one may discreetly -call him—had left unattempted scarcely -any rôle in the field of human activities: as ranchman, -statesman, warrior, historian, editor, explorer, -athlete, coiner of phrases, and re-discoverer -of the Decalogue, impartially, he had labored -to make the world a livelier place of residence; -and already he was the pivot of as many legends -as Charlemagne or Arthur.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The famous navy-officer, as has been said, was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>complaining of the weather. “The seasons have -changed so, since I can remember. We seem to -go straight from winter into summer nowadays.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It has been rather unseasonable,” assented the -financier; “but then you always feel the heat so -much more during the first few hot days.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Besides,” came the judicious comment, “it -has not been the heat which was so oppressive this -morning, I think, as the great amount of humidity -in the air.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yes, it is most unpleasant—makes your -clothes stick to you so.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ah, but don’t you find, now,” asked the premier -gaily, “that looking at the thermometer -tends to make you feel, really, much more uncomfortable -than if you stayed uninformed as to precisely -how hot it was?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Well! where ignorance is bliss it is folly to be -wise, as I remember to have seen stated somewhere.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“By George, though, it is wonderful how true -are many of those old sayings!” observed the personage. -“We assume we are much wiser than -<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>our fathers: but I doubt if we really are, in the big -things that count.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“In fact, I have often wondered what George -Washington, for example, would think of the republic -he helped to found, if he could see it nowadays.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“He would probably find it very different from -what he imagined it would be.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Why, he would probably turn in his grave, at -some of our newfangled notions—such as prohibition -and equal suffrage.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Oh, well, all sensible people know, of course, -that the trouble with prohibition is that it does not -prohibit, and that woman’s place is the home, not -in the mire of politics.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“That is admirably put, sir, if you will permit -me to say so. Still, there is a great deal to be said -on both sides.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And after all, is there not a greater menace -to the ideals of Washington and Jefferson in the -way our present laws tend uniformly to favor rich -people?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“There you have it, sir—to-day we punish the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>poor man for doing what the rich man does with -entire impunity, only on a larger scale.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“By George, there are many of our so-called -captains of industry who, if the truth were told, -and a shorter and uglier word were not unpermissible, -are little better than malefactors of great -wealth.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>This epigram, however heartily admired, was -felt by many of the company to be a bit daring in -the presence of the magnate: and the lean secretary -spoke hastily, or at any rate, in less leisurely -tones than usual:</p> - -<p class='c004'>“After all, money is not everything. The -richest people are not always the happiest, in spite -of their luxury.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You gentlemen can take it from me,” asserted -the aeronaut, “that many poor people get a lot -of pleasure out of life.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Now, really though, that reminds me—children -are very close observers, and, as you may -have noticed, they ask the most remarkable questions. -My little boy asked me, only last Tuesday, -why poor people are always so polite and kind—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Well, little pitchers have big ears—”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>“What you might call a chip of the old block, -eh?—so that mighty little misses him?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I may be prejudiced, but I thought it pretty -good, coming from a kid of six—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And it is perfectly true, gentlemen—the poor -are kind to each other. Now, I believe just being -kind makes you happier—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And I often think that is a better sort of religion -than just dressing up in your best clothes -and going to church regularly on Sundays—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“That is a very true thought,” another chimed -in.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And expressed, upon my word, with admirable -clarity—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Oh, whatever pretended pessimists in search -of notoriety may say, most people are naturally -kind, at heart—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I would put it that Christianity, in spite of the -carping sneers of science so-called, has led us once -for all to recognize the vast brotherhood of -man—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“So that, really, the world gets better every -day—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“We have quite abolished war, for instance—”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>“My dear sir, were there nothing else, and -even putting aside the outraged sentiments of -civilized humanity, another great or prolonged -war between any two of the leading nations is unthinkable—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“For the simple reason, gentlemen, that we -have perfected our fighting machines to such an -extent that the destruction involved would be too -frightful—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Then, too, we are improving the automobile -to such an extent—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Oh, in the end it will inevitably supplant the -horse—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It seems almost impossible to realize how we -ever got along without the automobile—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Do you know, I would not be surprised if -some day horses were exhibited in museums—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“As rare and nearly extinct animals? Come, -now, that is pretty good—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And electricity is, as one might say, just in -its infancy—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“The telephone, for instance—our ancestors -would not have believed in the possibilities of such -a thing—”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>“And, by George, they talk of giving an entire -play with those moving-picture machines—acting -the whole thing out, you know.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Oh, yes, we live in the biggest, brainiest age -the world has ever known—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And America is going to be the greatest nation -in it, before very long, commercially and in -every way....”</p> - -<p class='c004'>So the talk flowed on, with Felix Kennaston contributing -very little thereto. Indeed, Felix Kennaston, -the dreamer, was rather ill-at-ease among -these men of action, and listened to their observations -with perturbed attention. He sat among -the great ones of earth—not all of them the very -greatest, of course, but each a person of quite respectable -importance. It was the sort of gathering -that in boyhood—and in later life also, for -that matter—he had foreplanned to thrill and -dazzle, as he perfectly recollected. But now, -with the opportunity, he somehow could not think -of anything quite suitable to say—of anything -which would at once do him justice and be admiringly -received.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Therefore he attempted to even matters by assuring -<span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>himself that the talk of these efficient people -was lacking in brilliance and real depth, and -expressed sentiments which, microscopically -viewed, did not appear to be astoundingly original. -If these had been less remarkable persons -he would have thought their conversation almost -platitudinous. And not one of these much-talked-about -men, whatever else he might have done, -could have written <i>Men Who Loved Alison</i>! -Kennaston cherished that reflection as he sedately -partook of a dish he recollected to have seen described, -on menu cards, as “Hungarian goulash” -and sipped sherry of no very extraordinary -flavor....</p> - -<p class='c004'>He was to remember how plain the fare was, -and more than once, was to refer to this meal—quite -casually—beginning “That reminds me of -what Such-an-one said once, when I was lunching -with him,” or perhaps, “The last time I lunched -with So-and-so, I remember—” With such -gambits he was able, later on, to introduce to us of -Lichfield several anecdotes which, if rather pointless, -were at least garnished with widely-known -names.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>There was a Cabinet meeting that afternoon, -and luncheon ended, the personage wasted scant -time in dismissing his guests.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It has been a very great pleasure to meet -you, Mr. Kennaston,” quoth the personage, -wringing Kennaston’s hand.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kennaston suitably gave him to understand that -they shared ecstasy in common.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Those portions of your book relating to the -sigil of Scoteia struck me as being too explicit,” -the personage continued, bluffly, but in lowered -tones. The two stood now, beneath a great -stuffed elk’s head, a little apart from the others. -“Do you think it was quite wise? I seem to recall -a phrase—about birds—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>But Kennaston’s thoughts were vaguely dental. -And there is no denying Kennaston was astounded. -Nor was he less puzzled when, as if in answer to -Kennaston’s bewildered look, the personage produced -from his waistcoat pocket a small square -mirror, which he half-exhibited, but retained -secretively in the palm of his hand. “Yes, the -hurt may well be two-fold—I am presupposing -that, as a country-gentleman, you have raised -<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>white pigeons, Mr. Kennaston?” he said, meaningly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Why, no, they keep up such a maddening -cooing and purring on warm days, and drum so on -tin roofs”—Kennaston stammered—“that I -long ago lost patience with the birds of Venus, -whatever the tincture of their plumage. There -used to be any number of them on our place, -though—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ah, well,” the personage said, with a wise -nod, and a bright gleam of teeth, “you exercise -the privilege common to all of us—and my intended -analogy falls through. In any event, it -has been a great pleasure to meet you. Come -and see me again, Mr. Kennaston—and meanwhile, -think over what I have said.”</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>And that was all. Kennaston returned to Alcluid -in a whirl of formless speculations. The -mirror and the insane query as to white pigeons -could not, he considered, but constitute some password -to which Kennaston had failed to give the -proper response.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The mystery had some connection with what he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>had written in his book as to the sigil of Scoteia.... -And he could not find he had written anything -very definite. The broken disk was spoken of as -a talisman in the vague terms best suited to a discussion -of talismans by a person who knew nothing -much about them. True, the book told what -the talisman looked like; it looked like that bit of -metal he had picked up in the garden.... He -wondered if he had thrown away that bit of metal; -and, searching, discovered it in the desk drawer, -where it had lain for several months.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Laid by the lamp, it shone agreeably as Kennaston -puckered his protruding heavy brows over -the characters with which it was inscribed. That -was what the sigil looked like—or, rather, what -half the sigil looked like, because Ettarre still had -the other half. How could the personage have -known anything about it? unless there were, indeed, -really some secret and some password -through which men won to place and the world’s -prizes?... Blurred memories of Eugène Sue’s -nefarious Jesuits and of Balzac’s redoubtable -Thirteen arose in the background of his mental -picturings....</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>No, the personage had probably been tasting -beverages more potent than sherry; there were -wild legends, since disproved, such as seemed then -to excuse that supposition: or perhaps he was insane, -and nobody but Felix Kennaston knew -it.... What could a little mirror, much less -pigeons, have to do with this bit of metal?—except -that this bit of metal, too, reflected light so -that the strain tired your eyes, thus steadily to -look down upon the thing....</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span> - <h2 class='c014'>VIII<br /> <br />Of Vain Regret and Wonder in the Dark</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>“MADAM,” he was insanely stating, “I -would not for the world set up as a -fit exponent for the mottoes of a copybook; -but I am not all base.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You are,” flashed she, “a notorious rogue.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>It was quite dark. Kennaston could not see the -woman with whom he was talking. But they -were in an open paved place, like a courtyard, and -he was facing the great shut door against which -she stood, vaguely discernible. He knew they -were waiting for some one to open this door. It -seemed to him, for no reason at all, that they -were at Tunbridge Wells. But there was no -light anywhere. Complete darkness submerged -them; the skies showed not one glimmer overhead.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“That I am of smirched repute, madam, I lack -both grounds and inclination to deny. Yet I am -<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>not so through choice. Believe me, I am innately -of wellnigh ducal disposition; and by preference, -an ill name is as obnoxious to me as—shall -we say?—soiled linen or a coat of last year’s cut. -But then, <i>que voulez-vous?</i> as our lively neighbors -observe. Squeamishness was never yet bred in an -empty pocket; and I am thus compelled to the commission -of divers profitable peccadilloes, once in -a blue moon, by the dictates of that same haphazard -chance which to-night has pressed me into -the service of innocence and virtue.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>She kept silence; and he went on in lightheaded -wonder as to what this dream, so plainly recognized -as such, was all about, and as to whence -came the words which sprang so nimbly to his lips, -and as to what was the cause of his great wistful -sorrow. Perhaps if he listened very attentively -to what he was saying, he might find out.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You do not answer, madam. Yet think a -little. I am a notorious rogue: the circumstance -is conceded. But do you think I have selfishly become -so in quest of amusement? Nay, I can assure -you that Newgate, the wigged judge, the jolting -cart, the gallows, is no pleasant dream o’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>nights. But what choice had I? Cast forth to -the gutter’s miring in the susceptible years of infancy, -a girl of the town’s byblow, what choice had -I, in heaven’s name? If I may not live as I -would, I must live as I may; in emperors and parsons -and sewer-diggers and cheese-mites that claim -is equally allowed.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You are a thief?” she asked, pensively.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Let us put it, rather, that I have proved in -life’s hard school an indifferent Latinist, by occasionally -confounding <i>meum</i> with <i>tuum</i>.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“A murderer?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Something of the sort might be my description -in puritanic mouths. You know at least what -happened at The Cat and Hautbois.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>(“<i>But what in the world had happened there?</i>” -Kennaston wondered.)</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And yet—” The sweet voice marveled.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And yet I have saved you from Lord Umfraville? -Ah, madam, Providence labors with quaint -instruments, dilapidating Troy by means of a -wood rocking-horse, and loosing sin into the universe -through a half-eaten apple. Nay, I repeat, -I am not all base; and I have read somewhere -<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>that those who are in honor wholly shipwrecked -will yet very often cling desperately to one stray -spar of virtue.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>He could tell her hand had raised to the -knocker on the closed door. “Mr. Vanringham, -will you answer me a question?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“A thousand. (<i>So I am Vanringham.</i>”)</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I have not knocked. I possess, as you know, -a considerable fortune in my own right. It would -be easy for a strong man—and, sure, your shoulders -are prodigiously broad, Mr. Cut-throat!—very -easy for him to stifle my cries and carry me -away, even now. And then, to preserve my -honor, I would have no choice save to marry that -broad-shouldered man. Is this not truth?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It is the goddess herself, newly stolen from -her well. <i>O dea certé!</i>”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I am not absolutely hideous, either?” she -queried, absent-mindedly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Dame Venus,” Kennaston observed, “may -have made a similar demand of the waves at Cythera -when she first rose among their billows: and -I doubt not that the white foaming waters, amorously -<span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>clutching at her far whiter feet, laughed and -murmured the answer I would give did I not know -your question was put in a spirit of mockery.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And yet—” she re-began.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And yet, I resist all these temptations? -Frankly, had you been in my eyes less desirable, -madam, you would not have reached home thus -uneventfully; for a rich marriage is the only chance -adapted to repair my tattered fortunes; and the -devil is cunning to avail himself of our flesh’s -frailty. Had you been the fat widow of some -City knight, I would have played my lord of Umfraville’s -part, upon my pettier scale. Or, had I -esteemed it possible for me to have done with my -old life, I would have essayed to devote a cleaner -existence to your service and worship. Indeed, -indeed, I speak the truth, however jestingly!” -he said, with sudden wildness. “But what would -you have? I would not entrust your fan, much -less your happiness, to the keeping of a creature -so untrustworthy as I know myself to be. In fine, -I look upon you, madam, in such a rapture of -veneration and tenderness and joy and heartbreaking -<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>yearning, that it is necessary I get very tipsy -to-night, and strive to forget that I, too, might -have lived cleanlily.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And Kennaston, as he spoke thus, engulfed in -darkness, knew it was a noble sorrow which possessed -him—a stingless wistful sorrow such as -is aroused by the unfolding of a well-acted tragedy -or the progress of a lofty music. This ruffian -longing, quite hopelessly, to be made clean again, -so worshipful of his loved lady’s purity and loveliness, -and knowing loveliness and purity to be forever -unattainable in his mean life, was Felix Kennaston, -somehow.... What was it Maugis -d’Aigremont had said?—“I have been guilty -of many wickednesses, I have held much filthy -traffic such as my soul loathed; and yet, I swear -to you, I seem to myself to be still the boy who -once was I.” Kennaston understood now, for -the first time with deep reality, what his puppet -had meant; and how a man’s deeds in the flesh -may travesty the man himself.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But the door opened. Confusedly Kennaston -was aware of brilliantly-lighted rooms beyond, of -the chatter of gay people, of thin tinkling music, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>and, more immediately, of two lackeys, much be-powdered -as to their heads, and stately in new -liveries of blue-and-silver. Confusedly he noted -these things, for the woman had paused in the -bright doorway, and all the loveliness of Ettarre -was visible now to him, and she had given a delighted -cry of recognition.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“La, it is Horvendile! and we are having the -same dream again!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>This much he heard and saw as her hand went -out gladly toward him. Then as she touched him -the universe seemed to fold about Felix Kennaston, -just as a hand closes, and he was sitting at the -writing-table in the library, with a gleaming scrap -of metal before him.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>He sat thus for a long while.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I can make nothing of all this. I remember -of course that I saw Muriel Allardyce stand very -much like that, in the doorway of the Royal Hotel, -at the Green Chalybeate—and how many years -ago, good Lord!... And equally of course the -most plausible explanation is that I am losing -my wits. Or, else, it may be that I am playing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>blindfold with perilous matters. Felix Kennaston, -my friend, the safest plan—the one assuredly -safe plan for you—would be to throw -away this devil’s toy, and forget it completely.... -And, I will, too—the very first thing to-morrow -morning—or after I have had a few -days to think it over, any way....”</p> - -<p class='c004'>But even as he made this compact it was without -much lively faith in his promises.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-r c002'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span><span class='c017'><i>Book Third</i></span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c018'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>══════════════════════</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Come to me in my dreams, and then</div> - <div class='line in1'>By day I shall be well again!</div> - <div class='line in1'>For then the night will more than pay</div> - <div class='line in1'>The hopeless longing of long day.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,</div> - <div class='line in1'>A messenger from lovelier climes,</div> - <div class='line in1'>To smile on our drear world, and be</div> - <div class='line in1'>As kind to others as to me!”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>══════════════════════</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span> - <h2 class='c014'>I<br /> <br />They Come to a High Place</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>HE was looking down at the most repulsive -old woman he had ever seen. Hers -was the abhorrent fatness of a spider; -her flesh appeared to have the coloring and consistency -of dough. She sat upon the stone pavement, -knitting; her eyes, which raised to his unblinkingly, -were black, secretive, and impersonally -malevolent; and her jaws stirred without -ceasing, in a loose chewing motion, so that the -white hairs, rooted in the big mole on her chin, -twitched and glittered in the sunlight.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“But one does not pay on entering,” she was -saying. “One pays as one goes out. It is the -rule.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And what do you knit, mother?” Kennaston -asked her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Eh, I shall never know until God’s funeral -is preached,” the old woman said. “I only know -it is forbidden me to stop.”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>So he went past her, aware that through some -nameless grace the girl whom he had twice seen -in dreams awaited him there, and that the girl’s -face was the face of Ettarre. She stood by a -stone balustrade, upon which squatted tall stone -monsters—weird and haphazard collocations, -as touched anatomy, of bird and brute and fiend—and -she in common with these hobgoblins looked -down upon a widespread comely city. The time -was a bright and windy morning in spring; and the -sky, unclouded, was like an inverted cup which did -not merely roof Ettarre and the man who had -come back to her, but inclosed them in incommunicable -isolation. To the left, beyond shimmering -tree-tops, so far beneath them that it made Felix -Kennaston dizzy to look, the ruffling surface of a -river gleamed.... It was in much this fashion, -he recalled, that Ettarre and Horvendile had -stood alone together among the turrets of Storisende.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“But now I wonder where on the face of—or, -rather, so far above the face of what especial -planet we may happen to be?” Kennaston -marveled happily—“or east of the sun or west of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>the moon? At all events, it hardly matters. -Suffice it that we are in love’s land to-day. Why -worry over one particular inexplicable detail, -where everything is incomprehensible?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I was never here before, Horvendile; and I -have waited for you so long.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>He looked at her; and again his heart moved -with glad adoration. It was not merely that Ettarre -was so pleasing to the eye, and distinguished -by so many delicate clarities of color—so young, -so quick of movement, so slender, so shapely, so -inexpressibly virginal—but the heady knowledge -that here on dizzying heights he, Felix Kennaston, -was somehow playing with superhuman -matters, and that no power could induce him to -desist from his delicious and perilous frolic, -stirred, in deep recesses of his being, nameless -springs. Nameless they must remain; for it was -as though he had discovered himself to possess a -sixth sense; and he found that the contrivers of -language, being less prodigally gifted, had never -been at need to invent any terms wherewith to express -this sense’s gratification. But he knew that -he was strong and admirable; that men and men’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>affairs lay far beneath him; that Ettarre belonged -to him; and, most vividly of all, that the exultance -which possessed him was a by-product of an unstable -dream.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yet it is not any city of to-day,” he was saying. -“Look, how yonder little rascal glitters—he -is wearing a helmet of some sort and a gorget. -Why, all those pigmies, if you look closely, go in -far braver scarlets and purples than we elect to -skulk about in nowadays; and there is not an office-building -or an electric-light advertisement of -chewing-gum in sight. No, that hotchpotch of -huddled gables and parapets and towers shaped -like lanterns was stolen straight out of some Doré -illustration for Rabelais or <i>Les Contes Drolatiques</i>. -But it does not matter at all, and it will -never matter, where we may chance to be, Ettarre. -What really and greatly matters, is that when I -try to touch you everything vanishes.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>The girl was frankly puzzled. “Yes, that -seems a part of the sigil’s magic....”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span> - <h2 class='c014'>II<br /> <br />Of the Sigil and One Use of It</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>IT proved that this was indeed a part of the -sigil’s wonder-working: Kennaston learned by -experience that whenever, even by accident, -he was about to touch Ettarre his dream would -end like a burst bubble. He would find himself -alone and staring at the gleaming fragment of -metal.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Before long he also learned something concerning -the sigil of Scoteia, of which this piece of -metal once formed a part; for it was permitted -him to see the sigil in its entirety, many centuries -before it was shattered: it was then one of the -treasures of the Didascalion, a peculiar sort of -girls’ school in King Ptolemy Physcon’s city of -Alexandria, where women were tutored to honor -fittingly the power which this sigil served. But it -is not expedient to speak clearly concerning this; -and the real name of the sigil was, of course, quite -<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>different from that which Kennaston had given it -in his romance.</p> - -<p class='c004'>So began an odd divided life for Felix Kennaston. -At first he put his half of the sigil in an -envelope, which he hid in a desk in the library, -under a pile of his dead uncle’s unused bookplates; -whence, when occasion served, it was taken out in -order that when held so as to reflect the lamplight—for -this was always necessary—it might induce -the desired dream of Ettarre.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Later Kennaston thought of an expedient by -which to prolong his dreams. Nightly he -lighted and set by his bedside a stump of candle. -Its tiny flame, after he had utilized its reflection, -would harmlessly burn out while his body slept -with a bit of metal in one hand; and he would be -freed of Felix Kennaston for eight hours uninterruptedly. -To have left an electric-light turned -on until he awakened, would in the end have exposed -him to detection and the not-impossible appointment -of a commission in lunacy; and he recognized -the potentialities of such mischance with -frank distaste. As affairs sped, however, he -could without great difficulty buy his candles in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>secret. He was glad now he was well-to-do, if -only because, as an incidental result of materially -bettered fortunes, he and his wife had separate -bedrooms.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span> - <h2 class='c014'>III<br /> <br />Treats of a Prelate and, in Part, of Pigeons</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>THE diurnal part of Kennaston’s life was -largely devoted to writing <i>The Tinctured -Veil</i>—that amazing performance -which he subsequently gave to a bewildered world. -And for the rest, his waking life went on in the -old round.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But this is not—save by way of an occasional -parenthesis—a chronicle of Felix Kennaston’s -doings in the flesh. You may find all that in -Mr. Froser’s <i>Biography</i>. Flippant, inefficient -and moody, Felix Kennaston was not in the flesh -particularly engaging; and in writing this record it -is necessary to keep his fat corporeal personality -in the background as much as may be possible, lest -it should cause you, as it so often induced us of -Lichfield, to find the man repellent, and nothing -more.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Now it befell that this spring died Bishop Arkwright—of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>the Cathedral of the Bleeding Heart—and -many dignitaries of his faith journeyed to -Lichfield to attend the funeral. Chief among -these was a prelate who very long ago had lived -in Lichfield, when he was merely a bishop. Kennaston -was no little surprised to receive a note informing -him that this eminent churchman would -be pleased to see Mr. Felix Kennaston that evening -at the Bishop’s House.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The prelate sat alone in a sparsely furnished, -rather dark, and noticeably dusty room. He was -like a lean effigy carved in time-yellowed ivory, -and his voice was curiously ingratiating. Kennaston -recognized with joy that this old man -talked like a person in a book, in completed sentences -and picked phrases, instead of employing -the fragmentary verbal shorthand of ordinary -Lichfieldian conversation: and Kennaston, to -whom the slovenliness of fairly cultured people’s -daily talk was always a mystery and an irritant, -fell with promptitude into the same tone.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The prelate, it developed, had when he lived in -Lichfield known Kennaston’s dead uncle—“for -whom I had the highest esteem, and whose friendship -<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>I valued most dearly.” He hoped that Kennaston -would pardon the foibles of old age and -overlook this trespass upon Kennaston’s time. -For the prelate had, he said, really a personal -interest in the only surviving relative of his dead -friend.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“There is a portrait of you, sir, in my library—very -gorgeous, in full canonicals—just as my -uncle left the room,” said Kennaston, all at sea. -But the prelate had begun to talk—amiably, and -in the most commonplace fashion conceivable—of -his former life in Lichfield, and of the folk who -had lived there then, and to ask questions about -their descendants, which Kennaston answered as -he best could. The whole affair was puzzling -Kennaston, for he could think of no reason why -this frail ancient gentleman should have sent for a -stranger, even though that stranger were the -nephew of a dead friend, just that they might discuss -trivialities.</p> - -<p class='c004'>So their talking veered, as it seemed, at random....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yes, I was often a guest at Alcluid—a very -beautiful home it was in those days, famed, as I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>remember, for the many breeds of pigeons which -your uncle amused himself by maintaining. I suppose -that you also raise white pigeons, my son?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kennaston saw that the prelate now held a small -square mirror in his left hand. “No, sir,” Kennaston -answered evenly; “there were a great -many about the place when it came into our possession; -but we have never gone in very seriously -for farming.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“The pigeon has so many literary associations -that I should have thought it would appeal to a -man of letters,” the prelate continued. “I ought -to have said earlier perhaps that I read <i>Men Who -Loved Alison</i> with great interest and enjoyment. -It is a notable book. Yet in dealing with the sigil -of Scoteia—or so at least it seemed to me—you -touched upon subjects which had better be left undisturbed. -There are drugs, my son, which work -much good in the hands of the skilled physician, -but cannot be intrusted without danger to the vulgar.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>He spoke gently; yet it appeared to Kennaston -a threat was voiced.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Sir,” Kennaston began, “I must tell you that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>in writing of the sigil—as I called it—I designed -to employ only such general terms as romance -ordinarily accords to talismans. All I -wrote—I thought—was sheer invention. It is -true I found by accident a bit of metal, from which -I derived the idea of my so-called sigil’s appearance. -That bit of metal was to me then just a bit -of metal; nor have I any notion, even to-day, as to -how it came to be lying in one of my own garden-paths.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>He paused. The prelate nodded. “It is always -interesting to hear whence makers of creative -literature draw their material,” he stated.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Since then, sir, by the drollest of coincidences, -a famous personage has spoken to me in almost -the identical words you employed this evening, as -to the sigil of Scoteia. The coincidence, sir, lay -less in what was said than in the apparently irrelevant -allusion to white pigeons which the personage -too made, and the little mirror which he too -held as he spoke. Can you not see, sir,” Kennaston -asked gaily, “to what wild imaginings the -coincidence tempts a weaver of romance? I could -find it in my heart to believe it the cream of an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>ironic jest that you great ones of the earth have -tested me with a password, mistakenly supposing -that I, also, was initiate. I am tempted to imagine -some secret understanding, some hidden co-operancy, -by which you strengthen or, possibly, -have attained your power. Confess, sir, is not -the coincidence a droll one?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>He spoke lightly, but his heart was beating fast.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It is remarkable enough,” the prelate conceded, -smiling. He asked the name of the personage -whom coincidence linked with him, and -being told it, chuckled. “I do not think it very -odd he carried a mirror,” the prelate considered. -“He lives before a mirror, and behind a megaphone. -I confess—<i>mea culpa!</i>—I often find -my little looking-glass a convenience, in making -sure all is right before I go into the pulpit. Not a -few men in public life, I believe, carry such mirrors,” -he said, slowly. “But you, I take it, have -no taste for public life?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I can assure you—” Kennaston began.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Think well, my son! Suppose, for one mad -instant, that your wild imaginings were not wholly -insane? suppose that you had accidentally stumbled -<span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>upon enough of a certain secret to make it simpler -to tell you the whole mystery? Cannot a trained -romancer conceive what you might hope for -then?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Very still it was in the dark room....</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kennaston was horribly frightened. “I can -assure you, sir, that even then I would prefer my -peaceful lazy life and my dreams. I have not any -aptitude for action.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ah, well,” the prelate estimated; “it is -scarcely a churchman’s part to play <i>advocatus -mundi</i>. Believe me, I would not tempt you from -your books. And for our dreams, I have always -held heretically, we are more responsible than for -our actions, since it is what we are, uninfluenced, -that determines our dreams.” He seemed to -meditate. “I will not tempt you, therefore, to -tell me the whole truth concerning that bit of -metal. I suspect, quite candidly, you are keeping -something back, my son. But you exercise a privilege -common to all of us.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“At least,” said Kennaston, “we will hope my -poor wits may not be shaken by any more—coincidences.”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>“I am tolerably certain,” quoth the prelate, -with an indulgent smile, “that there will be no -more coincidences.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then he gave Kennaston his stately blessing; -and Kennaston went back to his life of dreams.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span> - <h2 class='c014'>IV<br /> <br />Local Laws of Nephelococcygia</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>THERE was no continuity in these dreams -save that Ettarre was in each of them. -A dream would usually begin with some -lightheaded topsyturviness, as when Kennaston -found himself gazing forlornly down at his remote -feet—having grown so tall that they were -yards away from him and he was afraid to stand -up—or lean strangers carefully and gruesomely -explained the importance of the task, set him by -quoting fragments of the multiplication tables, or -a mad bull who happened to be the King of Spain -was pursuing him through a city of blind people. -But presently, as dregs settle a little by a little in a -glass of water and leave it clear, his dream-world -would become rational and compliant with familiar -natural laws, and Ettarre would be there—desirable -above all other contents of the universe, -and not to be touched under penalty of ending all.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>Sometimes they would be alone in places which -he did not recognize, sometimes they would be living, -under the Stuarts or the Valois or the Cæsars, -or other dynasties long since unkingdomed, human -lives whose obligations and imbroglios affected -Horvendile and Ettarre to much that half-serious -concern with which one follows the action of a -romance or a well-acted play; for it was perfectly -understood between Horvendile and Ettarre that -they were involved in the affairs of a dream.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Ettarre seemed to remember nothing of the -happenings Kennaston had invented in his book. -And Guiron and Maugis d’Aigremont and Count -Emmerick and the other people in <i>The Audit at -Storisende</i>—once more to give <i>Men Who Loved -Alison</i> its original title—were names that rang -familiar to her somehow, she confessed, but without -her knowing why. And so, Kennaston came -at last to comprehend that perhaps the Ettarre he -loved was not the heroine of his book inexplicably -vivified; but, rather, that in the book he had, just -as inexplicably, drawn a blurred portrait of the -Ettarre he loved, that ageless lovable and loving -woman of whom all poets had been granted fitful -<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>broken glimpses—dimly prefiguring her advent -into his life too, with pallid and feeble visionings. -But of this he was not ever sure; nor did he greatly -care, now that he had his dreams.</p> - -<p class='c004'>There was, be it repeated, no continuity in these -dreams save that Ettarre was in each of them; that -alone they had in common: but each dream conformed -to certain general laws. For instance, -there was never any confusion of time—that is, -a dream extended over precisely the amount of -time he actually slept, so that each dream-life was -limited to some eight hours or thereabouts. No -dream was ever iterated, nor did he ever twice find -himself in the same surroundings as touched chronology; -thus, he was often in Paris and Constantinople -and Alexandria and Rome and London, -revisiting even the exact spot, the very street-corner, -which had figured in some former dream; -but as terrestrial time went, the events of his first -dream would either have happened years ago or -else not be due to happen until a great while later.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He never dreamed of absolutely barbaric or -orderless epochs, nor of happenings (so far as he -could ascertain) elsewhere than in Europe and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>about the Mediterranean coasts; even within these -confines his dreams were as a rule restricted to -urban matters, rarely straying beyond city walls: -his hypothesis in explanation of these facts was -curious, but too fine-spun to be here repeated profitably.</p> - -<p class='c004'>For a while Kennaston thought these dreams to -be bits of lives he had lived in previous incarnations; -later he was inclined to discard this view. -He never to his knowledge lived through precisely -the same moment in two different capacities and -places; but more than once he came within a few -years of doing this, so that even had he died immediately -after the earlier-timed dream, it would -have been impossible for him to have been reborn -and reach the age he had attained in that dream -whose period was only a trifle later. In his -dreams Kennaston’s age varied slightly, but was -almost always in pleasant proximity to twenty-five. -Thus, he was in Jerusalem on the day of the Crucifixion -and was aged about twenty-three; yet in another -dream he was at Capreæ when Tiberius died -there, seven years afterward, and Kennaston was -then still in the early twenties: and, again, he was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>in London, at Whitehall, in 1649, and at Vaux-le-Vicomte -near Fontainebleau in 1661, being on -each occasion twenty-three or -four. Kennaston -could suggest no explanation of this.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He often regretted that he was never in any -dream anybody of historical prominence, so that -he could have found out what became of him after -the dream ended. But though he sometimes -talked with notable persons—inwardly gloating -meanwhile over his knowledge of what would be -the outcome of their warfaring or statecraft, and -of the manner and even the hour of their deaths—he -himself seemed fated, as a rule, never to be -any one of importance in the world’s estimation. -Indeed, as Kennaston cheerfully recognized, his -was not a temperament likely to succeed, as -touched material matters, in any imaginable state -of society; there was not, and never had been, any -workaday world in which—as he had said at -Storisende—he and his like would not, in so far -as temporal prizes were concerned, appear to -waste at loose ends and live futilely. Then, moreover, -in each dream he was woefully hampered by -inability to recall preceding events in the life he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>was then leading, which handicap doomed him to -redoubled inefficiencies. But that did not matter -now, in view of his prodigal recompenses....</p> - -<p class='c004'>It was some while before the man made the -quaint discovery that in these dreams he did not -in any way resemble Felix Kennaston physically. -They were astray in an autumn forest, resting -beside a small fire which he had kindled in the -shelter of a boulder, when Ettarre chanced to -speak of his brown eyes, and thereby to perplex -him. But there was in this dream nothing which -would reflect his countenance; and it was later, in -Troy Town (Laomedon ruled the city then, and -Priam they saw as a lad playing at marbles in a -paved courtyard, where tethered oxen watched him -over curiously painted mangers) that Kennaston -looked into a steel mirror, framed with intertwined -ivory serpents that had emeralds for eyes, and -found there a puzzled stranger.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Thus it was he discovered that in these dreams -he was a tall lean youngster, with ruddy cheeks, -wide-set brown eyes, and a smallish head covered -with crisp tight-curling dark-red hair; nor did his -appearance ever alter, to his knowledge, in any -<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>subsequent dream. What he saw was so different -from the pudgy pasty man of forty-odd who, he -knew, lay at this moment in Felix Kennaston’s bed, -breathing heavily and clasping a bit of metal in -his pudgy hand, that the stranger in the mirror -laughed appreciatively.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span> - <h2 class='c014'>V<br /> <br />Of Divers Fleshly Riddles</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>A LITTLE by a little he was beginning to -lose interest in that pudgy pasty man of -forty-odd who was called Felix Kennaston, -and to handle his affairs more slackly. Once -or twice Kennaston caught his wife regarding him -furtively, with a sort of anxious distrust....</p> - -<p class='c004'>Let there be no mistake here: Felix Kennaston -had married a woman admirably suited to him, -and he had never regretted that act. Nor with -the advent of Ettarre, did he regret it: and never -at any time would he have considered separating -his diurnal existence from that of his thin beady-eyed -capable wife, with graver seriousness than he -would have accorded, say, to a rambling notion of -some day being gripped in a trap and having no -way to escape save by cutting off one of his feet. -His affection for Kathleen was well-founded, -proved, and understood; but, as it happens, this -narrative does not chance to deal with that affection. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>And besides, what there was to tell concerning -Kennaston’s fondness for his wife was -duly set forth years ago.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Meanwhile, it began vaguely to be rumored -among Kennaston’s associates that he drank more -than was good for him; and toward “drugs” also -sped the irresponsible arrows of surmise. He -himself noticed, without much interest, that daily -he, who had once been garrulous, was growing -more chary of speech; and that his attention was -apt to wander when the man’s or woman’s face before -him spoke at any length. These shifting -faces talked of wars and tariffs and investments -and the weather and committee-meetings, and of -having seen So-and-so and of So-and-so’s having -said this-or-that, and it all seemed of importance -to the wearers of these faces; so that he made pretense -to listen, patiently. What did it matter?</p> - -<p class='c004'>It did not matter a farthing, he considered, for -he had cheated life of its main oppression, which -is loneliness. Now at last Felix Kennaston could -unconcernedly acknowledge that human beings develop -graveward in continuous solitude.</p> - -<p class='c004'>His life until this had been in the main normal, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>with its due share of normal intimacies with parents, -kinsmen, friends, a poet’s ordinary allotment -of sweethearts, and, chief of all, with his wife. -No one of these people, as he reflected in a comminglement -of yearning and complacency, had ever -comprehended the real Felix Kennaston as he -existed, in all his hampered strugglings and meannesses, -his inadequacies and his divine unexercised -potentialities.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And he, upon the other hand, knew nothing of -these people with any certainty. Pettifoggeries -were too easily practiced in speech or gesture, emotions -were too often feigned or overcolored in expression, -and unpopular thoughts were too instinctively -dissembled, as he forlornly knew by his -own conduct of daily life, for him to put very zealous -faith in any information gained through his -slender fallible five senses; and it was the cream -of the jest that through these five senses lay his -only means of getting any information whatever.</p> - -<p class='c004'>All that happened to him, he considered, happened -inside his skull. Nothing which happened -in the big universe affected him in the least except -as it roused certain forces lodged in his skull. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>His life consisted of one chemical change after -another, haphazardly provoked in some three -pounds of fibrous matter tucked inside his skull. -And so, people’s heads took on a new interest; how -was one to guess what was going on in those queer -round boxes, inset with eyes, as people so glibly -called certain restive and glinting things that -moved in partial independence of their setting, -and seemed to have an individual vitality—those -queer round boxes whence vegetation sprouted -as from the soil of a planet?</p> - -<p class='c004'>Perhaps—he mused—perhaps in reality all -heads were like isolated planets, with impassable -space between each and its nearest neighbor. -You read in the newspapers every once in a while -that, because of one or another inexplicable phenomenon, -Mars was supposed to be attempting -to communicate with the earth; and perhaps it was -in just such blurred and unsatisfactory fashion -that what happened in one human head was signaled -to another, on those rare occasions when -the signal was despatched in entire good faith. -Yes, a perpetual isolation, for all the fretful and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>vain strivings of humanity against such loneliness, -was probably a perdurable law in all other men’s -lives, precisely as it had been in his own life until -the coming of Ettarre.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span> - <h2 class='c014'>VI<br /> <br />In Pursuit of a Whisper</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>NIGHTLY he went adventuring with -Ettarre: and they saw the cities and -manners of many men, to an extent undreamed-of -by Ithaca’s mundivigant king; and -among them even those three persons who had -most potently influenced human life.</p> - -<p class='c004'>For once, in an elongated room with buff-colored -walls—having scarlet hangings over its -windows, and seeming larger than it was in reality, -because of its many mirrors—they foregathered -with Napoleon, on the evening of his coronation: -the emperor of half-Europe was fretting over an -awkward hitch in the day’s ceremony, caused by -his sisters’ attempt to avoid carrying the Empress -Josephine’s train; and he was grumbling because -the old French families continued to ignore him, -as a parvenu. In a neglected orchard, sunsteeped -and made drowsy by the murmur of bees, they -talked with Shakespeare; the playwright, his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>nerves the worse for the preceding night’s potations, -was peevishly complaining of the meager -success of his later comedies, worrying over Lord -Pembroke’s neglect of him, and trying to concoct -a masque in the style of fat Ben Jonson, since that -was evidently what the theater-patronizing public -wanted. And they were with Pontius Pilate in -Jerusalem, on the evening of a day when the sky -had been black and the earth had trembled; and -Pilate, benevolent and replete with supper, was explaining -the latest theories concerning eclipses and -earthquakes to his little boy, and chuckling with -fond pride in the youngster’s intelligent questions.</p> - -<p class='c004'>These three were a few among the prominent -worthies of remoter days whom Kennaston was -enabled to view as they appeared in the flesh; but, -as a rule, chance thrust him into the company of -mediocre people living ordinary lives amid surroundings -which seemed outlandish to him, but to -them a matter of course. And everywhere, in -every age, it seemed to him, men stumbled amiable -and shatter-pated through a jungle of miracles, -blind to its wonderfulness, and intent to gain a -little money, food and sleep, a trinket or two, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>some rare snatched fleeting moments of rantipole -laughter, and at the last a decent bed to die in. -He, and he only, it seemed to Felix Kennaston, -could see the jungle and all its awe-inspiring -beauty, wherethrough men scurried like feeble-minded -ants.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He often wondered whether any other man had -been so licensed as himself; and prowling, as he -presently did, in odd byways of printed matter—for -he found the library of his predecessor at -Alcluid a mine rich-veined with strangeness—Kennaston -lighted on much that appeared to him -significant. Even such apparently unrelated matters -as the doctrine of metempsychosis, all the grotesque -literature of witches, sorcerers and familiar -spirits, and of muses who actually prompted -artistic composition with audible voices, were beginning -to fall into cloudily-discerned interlocking. -Kennaston read much nowadays in his dead -uncle’s books; and he often wished that, even at -the expense of Felix Kennaston’s being reduced -again to poverty, it were possible to revivify the -man who had amassed and read these books. -Kennaston wanted to talk with him.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>Meanwhile, Kennaston read of Endymion and -Numa, of Iason and Anchises, of Tannhäuser, -and Foulques Plantagenet, and Raymondin de la -Forêt, and Olger Danske, and other mortal men -to whom old legend-weavers, as if wistfully, accredited -the love of immortal mistresses—and of -less fortunate nympholepts, frail babbling planet-stricken -folk, who had spied by accident upon an -inhuman loveliness, and so, must pine away consumed -by foiled desire of a beauty which the -homes and cities and the tilled places of men did -not afford, and life did not bring forth sufficingly. -He read Talmudic tales of Sulieman-ben-Daoud—even -in name transfigured out of any resemblance -to an amasser of reliable axioms—that -proud luxurious despot “who went daily to the -comeliest of the spirits for wisdom”; and of Arthur -and the Lady Nimuë; and of Thomas of -Ercildoune, whom the Queen of Faëry drew from -the merchants’ market-place with ambiguous -kindnesses; and of John Faustus, who “through -fantasies and deep cogitations” was enabled to -woo successfully a woman that died long before -his birth, and so won to his love, as the book recorded, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>“this stately pearl of Greece, fair Helena, -the wife to King Menelaus.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And, as has been said, the old idea of muses -who actually prompted artistic composition, with -audible voices, took on another aspect. He came -to suspect that other creative writers had shared -such a divided life as his was now, for of this he -seemed to find traces here and there. Coleridge -offered at once an arresting parallel. Yes, Kennaston -reflected; and Coleridge had no doubt -spoken out in the first glow of wonder, astounded -into a sort of treason, when he revealed how he -wrote <i>Kubla Khan</i>; so that thus perhaps Coleridge -had told far more concerning the origin of this -particular poem than he ever did as to his later -compositions. Then, also, I have a volume of -Herrick from Kennaston’s library with curious -comments penciled therein, relative to <i>Lovers -How They Come and Part</i> and <i>His Mistress Calling -Him to Elysium</i>; a copy of Marlowe’s <i>Tragical -History of Doctor Faustus</i> is similarly annotated; -and on a fly-leaf in Forster’s <i>Life of Charles Dickens</i>, -apropos of passages in the first chapter of the -ninth book, Kennaston has inscribed strange speculations -<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>very ill suited to general reading. All -that Kennaston cared to print, however, concerning -the hypothesis he eventually evolved, you will -find in <i>The Tinctured Veil</i>, where he has nicely refrained -from too-explicit writing, and—of course—does -not anywhere pointblank refer to his personal -experiences.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then Kennaston ran afoul of the Rosicrucians, -and their quaint dogmas, which appeared so preposterous -at first, took on vital meanings presently; -and here too he seemed to surprise the -cautious whispering of men who neither cared nor -dared to speak with candor of all they knew. It -seemed to him he understood that whispering -which was everywhere apparent in human history; -for he too was initiate.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He wondered very often about his uncle....</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span> - <h2 class='c014'>VII<br /> <br />Of Truisms: Treated Reasonably</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>HE seemed, indeed, to find food for wonder -everywhere. It was as if he had -awakened from a dragging nightmare of -life made up of unimportant tasks and tedious useless -little habits, to see life as it really was, and to -rejoice in its exquisite wonderfulness.</p> - -<p class='c004'>How poignantly strange it was that life could -afford him nothing save consciousness of the moment -immediately at hand! Memory and anticipation, -whatever else they might do—and they -had important uses, of course, in rousing emotion—yet -did not deal directly with reality. What -you regretted, or were proud of, having done yesterday -was no more real now than the deeds of -Cæsar Borgia or St. Paul; and what you looked -forward to within the half-hour was as non-existent -as the senility of your unborn great-grandchildren. -Never was man brought into contact -<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>with reality save through the evanescent emotions -and sensations of that single moment, that infinitesimal -fraction of a second, which was passing -now. This commonplace, so simple and so old, -bewildered Kennaston when he came unreservedly -to recognize its truth....</p> - -<p class='c004'>To live was to be through his senses conscious, -one by one, of a restricted number of these fractions -of a second. Success in life, then, had nothing -to do with bank-accounts or public office, or -any step toward increasing the length of one’s -obituary notices, but meant to be engrossed utterly -by as many as possible of these instants. -And complete success required a finding, in these -absorbing instants, of employment for every -faculty he possessed. It was for this that Kennaston -had always vaguely longed; and to this, if -only in dreams, he now attained.</p> - -<p class='c004'>If only in dreams he debated: why, and was -he not conscious, now, in his dreams, of every moment -as it fled? And corporal life in banks and -ballrooms and legislative halls and palaces, nowhere -had anything more than that to offer mortal -men.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>It is not necessary to defend his course of -reasoning; to the contrary, its fallacy is no less -apparent than its conduciveness to unbusinesslike -conclusions. But it is highly necessary to tell you -that, according to Felix Kennaston’s account, now, -turn by turn, he was in Horvendile’s person rapt -by nearly every passion, every emotion, the human -race has ever known. True, throughout these -dramas into which chance plunged him, in that he -knew always he was dreaming, he was at once -performer and spectator; but he played with the -born actor’s zest—feeling his part, as people say—and -permitting the passion he portrayed to possess -him almost completely.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Almost completely, be it repeated; for there -was invariably a sufficient sense of knowing he was -only dreaming to prevent entire abandonment to -the raw emotion. Kennaston preferred it thus. -He preferred in this more comely way to play with -human passions, rather than, as seemed the vulgar -use, to consent to become their battered play-thing.</p> - -<p class='c004'>It pleased him, too, to be able to have done -with such sensations and emotions as did not interest -<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>him; for he had merely to touch Ettarre, -and the dream ended. In this fashion he would -very often terminate an existence which was becoming -distasteful—resorting debonairly to this -sort of suicide, and thus dismissing an era’s social -orderings and its great people as toys that, played -with, had failed to amuse Felix Kennaston.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-r c002'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span><span class='c017'><i>Book Fourth</i></span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c018'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>══════════════════════</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“<i>But there were dreams to sell</i></div> - <div class='line in3'><i>Ill didst thou buy:</i></div> - <div class='line in1'><i>Life is a dream, they tell,</i></div> - <div class='line in3'><i>Waking to die.</i></div> - <div class='line in1'><i>Dreaming a dream to prize,</i></div> - <div class='line in1'><i>Is wishing ghosts to rise;</i></div> - <div class='line in1'><i>And, if I had the spell</i></div> - <div class='line in1'><i>To call the buried—well,</i></div> - <div class='line in1'><i>Which one would I?</i>”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>══════════════════════</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span> - <h2 class='c014'>I<br /> <br />Economic Considerations of Piety</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>AS has been said, Kennaston read much -curious matter in his dead uncle’s library....</p> - -<p class='c004'>But most books—even Felix Kennaston’s own -little books—did not seem now to be affairs of -heavy moment. Once abed, clasping his gleaming -broken bit of metal, and the truthful history of -all that had ever happened was, instead, Kennaston’s -library. It was not his to choose from what -volume or on which page thereof he would read; -accident, as it seemed, decided that; but the chance-opened -page lay unblurred before him, and he saw -it with a clarity denied to other men of his generation.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>Kennaston stood by the couch of Tiberius -Cæsar as he lay ill at Capreæ. Beside him hung -a memorable painting, by Parrhasius, which represented -<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>the virgin Atalanta in the act of according -very curious assuagements to her lover’s ardor. -Charicles, a Greek physician, was telling the Emperor -of a new religious sect that had arisen in -Judea, and of the persecutions these disciples of -Christus were enduring. Old Cæsar listened, -made grave clucking noises of disapproval.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It is, instead, a religion that should be fostered. -The man preached peace. It is what my -father before me strove for, what I have striven -for, what my successors must strive for. Peace -alone may preserve Rome: the empire is too large, -a bubble blown so big and tenuous that the first -shock will disrupt it in suds. Pilate did well to -crucify the man, else we could not have made a -God of him; but the persecution of these followers -of Christus must cease. This Nazarene -preached the same doctrine that I have always -preached. I shall build him a temple. The -rumors concerning him lack novelty, it is true: this -God born of a mortal woman is the old legend -of Dionysos and Mithra and Hercules, a little -pulled about; Gautama also was tempted in a -wilderness; Prometheus served long ago as man’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>scapegoat under divine anger; and the cult of -Pollux and Castor, and of Adonis, has made these -resurrection stories hackneyed. In fine, Charicles, -you have brought me a woefully inartistic -jumble of old tales; but the populace prefers old -tales, they delight to be told what they have heard -already. I shall certainly build Christus a -temple.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>So he ran on, devising the reception of Christ -into the Roman pantheon, as a minor deity at first, -and thence, if the receipts at his temple justified it, -to be raised to greater eminence. Tiberius saw -large possibilities in the worship of this new God, -both from a doctrinal and a money-making standpoint. -Then Cæsar yawned, and ordered that a -company of his Spintriæ be summoned to his -chamber, to amuse him with their unnatural diversions.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But Charicles had listened in horror, for he was -secretly a Christian, and knew that the blood of -the martyrs is the seed of the church. He foresaw -that, without salutary discouragement, the -worship of Christus would never amount to more -than the social fad of a particular season, just as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>that of Cybele and that of Heliogabalus had been -modish in different years; and would afterward -dwindle, precisely as these cults had done, into -shrugged-at old-fashionedness. Then, was it not -written that they only were assuredly blessed who -were persecuted for righteousness’ sake?—Why, -martyrdom was the one certain road to Heaven; -and a religion which is patronized by potentates, -obviously, breeds no martyrs.</p> - -<p class='c004'>So Charicles mingled poison in Cæsar’s drink, -that Cæsar might die, and crazed Caligula succeed -him, to put all Christians to the sword. And -Charicles young Caius Cæsar Caligula—Child of -the Camp, Father of Armies, Beloved of the Gods—killed -first of all.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>Then a lean man, white-robed, and clean-shaven -as to his head, was arranging a complicated toy. -He labored in a gray-walled room, lit only by one -large circular window opening upon the sea. -There was an alcove in this room, and in the -alcove stood a large painted statue.</p> - -<p class='c004'>This prefigured a crowned woman, in bright -parti-colored garments of white and red and yellow, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>under a black mantle embroidered with small -sparkling stars. Upon the woman’s forehead -was a disk, like a round glittering mirror; seen -closer, it was engraved with tiny characters, and -Kennaston viewed it with a thrill of recognition. -To the woman’s right were vipers rising from the -earth, and to the left were stalks of ripe corn, all -in their proper colors. In one hand she carried a -golden boat, from which a coiled asp raised its -head threateningly. From the other hand -dangled three or four slender metal rods, which -were not a part of the statue, but were loosely -attached to it, so that the least wind caused them -to move and jangle. There was nothing whatever -in the gray-walled room save this curious -gleaming statue and the lean man and the mechanical -toy on which he labored.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He explained its workings, willingly enough. -See now! you kindled a fire in this little cube-shaped -box. The air inside expanded through -this pipe into the first jar of water, and forced -the water out, through this other pipe, into this -tiny bucket. The bucket thus became heavier -and heavier, till its weight at last pulled down the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>string by which the bucket was swung over a -pulley, and so, moved this lever.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Oh, yes, the notion was an old one; the priest -admitted he had copied the toy from one made by -Hero of Alexandria, who died years ago. Still, -it was an ingenious trifle: moreover—and here -was the point—enlarge the scale, change the cube-shaped -box into the temple altar, fasten the lever -to the temple doors, and you had the mechanism -for a miracle. People had only to offer burnt -sacrifices to the Goddess, and before their eyes the -All-Mother, the holy and perpetual preserver of -the human race, would stoop to material thaumaturgy, -and would condescend to animate her -sacred portals.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“We very decidedly need some striking miracle -to advertise our temple,” he told Kennaston. -“Folk are flocking like sheep after these barbarous -new Galilean heresies. But the All-Mother -is compassionate to human frailty; and -this device will win back many erring feet to the -true way.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And Kennaston saw there were tears in this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>man’s dark, sad eyes. The trickster was striving -to uphold the faith of his fathers; and in the attempt -he had constructed a practicable steam-engine.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span> - <h2 class='c014'>II<br /> <br />Deals With Pen Scratches</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>THEN Kennaston was in Alexandria when -John the Grammarian pleaded with the -victorious Arabian general Amrou to -spare the royal library, the sole repository at -this period of many of the masterworks of Greek -and Roman literature.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But Amrou only laughed, with a practical man’s -contempt for such matters. “The Koran contains -all that is necessary to salvation: if these -books teach as the Koran teaches they are superfluous; -if they contain anything contrary to the -Koran they ought to be destroyed. Let them -be used as fuel for the public baths.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And this was done. Curious, very curious, it -was to Kennaston, to witness this utilitarian employment -of a nation’s literature; and it moved -him strangely. He had come at this season to -believe that individual acts can count for nothing, -in the outcome of things. Whatever might -<span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>happen upon earth, during the existence of that -midge among the planets, affected infinitesimally, -if at all, the universe of which earth was a part -so inconceivably tiny. To figure out the importance -in this universe of the deeds of one or another -nation temporarily clustering on earth’s surface, -when you considered that neither the doings -of Assyria or of Rome, or of any kingdom, had -ever extended a thousand feet from earth’s surface, -was a task too delicate for human reason. -For human faculties to attempt to estimate the -individuals of this nation, in the light of the relative -importance of their physical antics while living, -was purely and simply ridiculous. To assume, -as did so many well-meaning persons, that -Omniscience devoted eternity to puzzling out just -these minutiæ, seemed at the mildest to postulate -in Omniscience a queer mania for trivialities. -With the passage of time, whatever a man had -done, whether for good or evil, with the man’s -bodily organs, left the man’s parish unaffected: -only man’s thoughts and dreams could outlive -him, in any serious sense, and these might survive -with perhaps augmenting influence: so that -<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>Kennaston had come to think artistic creation in -words—since marble and canvas inevitably perished—was -the one, possibly, worth-while employment -of human life. But here was a crude -corporal deed which bluntly destroyed thoughts, -and annihilated dreams by wholesale. To Kennaston -this seemed the one real tragedy that -could be staged on earth....</p> - -<p class='c004'>Curious, very curious, it was to Kennaston, to -see the burning of sixty-three plays written by -Æschylus, of a hundred and six by Sophocles, and -of fifty-five by Euripides—masterworks eternally -lost, which, as Kennaston knew, the world -would affect to deplore eternally, whatever might -be the world’s real opinion in the matter.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But of these verbal artificers something at least -was to endure. They would fare better than -Agathon and Ion and Achæus, their admitted -equals in splendor, whose whole life-work was -passing, at the feet of Horvendile, into complete -oblivion. There, too, were perishing all the writings -of the Pleiad—the noble tragedies of Homerus, -and Sositheus, and Lycophron, and Alexander, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>and Philiscus, and Sosiphanes, and Dionysides. -All the great comic poets, too, were -burned pellmell with these—Telecleides, Hermippus, -Eupolis, Antiphanes, Ameipsas, Lysippus, -and Menander—“whom nature mimicked,” as -the phrase was. And here, posting to obliteration, -went likewise Thespis, and Pratinas, and -Phrynichus—and Choerilus, whom cultured persons -had long ranked with Homer. Nothing was -to remain of any of these save the bare name, and -even this would be known only to pedants. All -these, spurred by the poet’s ageless monomania, -had toiled toward, and had attained, the poet’s -ageless goal—to write perfectly of beautiful happenings: -and of this action’s normal by-product, -which is immortality in the mouths and minds of -succeeding generations, all these were being -robbed, by the circumstance that parchment is inflammable.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here was beauty, and wit, and learning, and -genius, being wasted—quite wantonly—never -to be recaptured, never to be equaled again (despite -the innumerable painstaking penmen destined -<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>to fret the hearts of unborn wives), and never, in -the outcome, to be thought of as a very serious -loss to anybody, after all....</p> - -<p class='c004'>These book-rolls burned with great rapidity, -crackling cheerily as the garnered wisdom of -Cato’s octogenarian life dissolved in puffs of -smoke, and the wit of Sosipater blazed for the -last time in heating a pint of water.... But -then in Parma long afterward Kennaston observed -a monk erasing a song of Sappho’s from -a parchment on which the monk meant to inscribe -a feeble little Latin hymn of his own composition; -in an obscure village near Alexandria Kennaston -saw the only existent copy of the <i>Mimes</i> of Herondas -crumpled up and used as packing for a -mummy-case; and at Prior Park Kennaston -watched Mrs. Elizabeth Barnes, then acting as -cook for Dr. William Warburton, destroy in making -piecrust the unique manuscript copies of three -of Shakespeare’s dramas, which had never been -printed.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And—conceding Heaven to be an actual place, -and attainment of its felicities to be the object of -human life—Kennaston could not, after all, detect -<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>any fault in Amrou’s logic. Æsthetic considerations -could, in that event, but lead to profitless -time-wasting where every moment was precious.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span> - <h2 class='c014'>III<br /> <br />By-Products of Rational Endeavor</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>THEN again Kennaston stood in a stone-walled -apartment, like a cell, wherein -there was a furnace and much wreckage. -A contemplative friar was regarding the disorder -about him with disapproval, the while he sucked -at two hurt fingers.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“There can be no doubt that Old Legion conspires -to hinder the great work,” he considered.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And what is the great work, father?” Kennaston -asked him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“To find the secret of eternal life, my son. -What else is lacking? Man approaches to God -in all things save this, <i>Imaginis imago</i>, created -after God’s image. But as yet, by reason of his -mortality, man shudders in a world that is arrayed -against him. Thus, the heavens threaten -with winds and lightnings, with plague-breeding -meteors and the unfriendly aspect of planets; the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>big seas molest with waves and inundations, -stealthily drowning cities overnight, and sucking -down tall navies as a child gulps sugarplums; -whereas how many plants and gums and seeds -bear man’s destruction in their tiny hearts! what -soulless beasts of the field and of the wood are -everywhere enleagued in endless feud against -him, with tusks and teeth, with nails and claws -and venomous stings, made sharp for man’s demolishment! -Thus all struggle miserably, like -hunted persons under a sentence of death that -may at best be avoided for a little while. And -manifestly, this is not as it should be.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yet I much fear it is so ordered, father.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>The old man said testily: “I repeat, for your -better comfort, there can be no doubt that Satan -alone conspires to hinder the great work. No; -it would be abuse of superstition to conceive, as -would be possible for folk of slender courage, -that the finger of heaven has to-day unloosed this -destruction, to my bodily hurt and spiritual admonition.” -Kennaston could see, though, that -the speaker half believed this might be exactly -what had happened. “For I am about no vaunting -<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>transgression of man’s estate; I do but seek -to recover his lost heritage. You will say to me, -it is written that never shall any man be one day -old in the sight of God?—Yet it is likewise -written that unto God a thousand years are but -one day. For this period of time, then, may -each man righteously demand that death delay to -enact the midwife to his second birth. It advantages -not to contend that even in the heyday of -patriarchs few approached to such longevity; for -Moses, relinquishing to silence all save the progeny -of Seth, nowhere directly tells us that some -of the seed of Cain did not outlive Methuselah. -Yea, and our common parent, Adam, was created -in the perfect age of man, which then fell -not short of one hundred years, since at less antiquity -did none of the antediluvian fathers beget -issue, as did Adam in the same year breath was -given him; and the years of Adam’s life were nine -hundred and thirty; whereby it is a reasonable -conceit of learned persons to compute him to -have exceeded a thousand years in age, if not in -duration of existence. Now, it is written that we -shall all die as Adam died; and caution should -<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>not scruple to affirm this is an excellent dark saying, -prophetic of that day when no man need -outdo Adam in celerity to put by his flesh.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then Kennaston found the alchemist had been -compounding nitrum of Memphis with sulphur, -mixing in a little willow charcoal to make the -whole more friable, and that the powder had exploded. -The old man was now interested, less -in the breakage, than in the horrible noise this -accident had occasioned.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“The mixture might be used in court-pageants -and miracle-plays,” he estimated, “to indicate the -entrance of Satan, or the fall of Sodom, or Herod’s -descent into the Pit, and so on. Yes, I shall -thriftily sell this secret, and so get money to go -on with the great work.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Seeking to find the means of making life perpetual, -he had accidentally discovered gunpowder.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>Then at Valladolid an age-stricken seaman, -wracked with gout, tossed in a mean bed and -grumbled to bare walls. He, “the Admiral,” -was neglected by King Philip, the broth was unfit -<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>for a dog’s supper, his son Diego was a laggard -fool. Thus the old fellow mumbled.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Ingratitude everywhere! and had not he, “the -Admiral”—“the Admiral of Mosquito Land,” -as damnable street-songs miscalled him, he whimpered, -in a petulant gust of self-pity—had not -he found out at last a way by sea to the provinces -of the Great Khan and the treasures of Cipango? -Give him another fleet, and he would demonstrate -what malignant fools were his enemies. He -would convert the Khan from Greek heresies; or -else let the Holy Inquisition be established in -Cipango, the thumbscrew and the stake be fittingly -utilized there <i>ad majorem Dei gloriam</i>—all -should redound to the credit of King Philip, -both temporal and celestial. And what wealth, -too, a capable emissary would bring back to his -Majesty—what cargoes of raw silks, of gold -and precious gems, ravished from Kanbalu and -Taidu, those famed marvelous cities!... But -there was only ingratitude and folly everywhere, -and the broth was cold....</p> - -<p class='c004'>Thus the broken adventurer, Cristoforo Colombo, -mumbled. He had doubled the world’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>size and resources, in his attempts to find some -defenseless nation which could be plundered with -impunity; and he was dying in ignorance of what -his endeavors had achieved.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>And Kennaston was at Blickling Hall when -King Henry read the Pope’s letter which threatened -excommunication. “Nan, Nan,” the King -said, “this is a sorry business.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Sire,” says Mistress Boleyn, saucily, “and am -I not worth a little abuse?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You deserve some quite certainly,” he agrees; -and his bright lecherous pig’s eyes twinkled, and -he guffawed.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Defy the Pope, then, sire, and marry your -true love. Let us snap fingers at Giulio de Medici—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Faith, and not every lass can bring eleven -fingers to the task,” the King put in.</p> - -<p class='c004'>She tweaked his fine gold beard, and Kennaston -saw that upon her left hand there was really -an extra finger.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“My own sweetheart,” says she, “if you would -have my person as much at your disposal as my -<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>heart is, we must part company with Rome. -Then, too, at the cost of a few Latin phrases, -some foolish candle-snuffing and a little bell-ringing, -you may take for your own all the fat abbey-lands -in these islands, and sell them for a great -deal of money,” she pointed out.</p> - -<p class='c004'>So, between lust and greed, the King was persuaded. -In the upshot, “because”—as was duly -set forth to his lieges—“a virtuous monarch -ought to surround his throne with many peers of -the worthiest of both sexes,” Mistress Anne -Boleyn was created Marchioness of Pembroke, in -her own right, with a reversion of the title and estates -to her offspring, whether such might happen -to be legitimate or not. A pension of £1,000 -per annum, with gold, silver and parcel-gilt plate -to the value of £1,188, was likewise awarded her: -and the King, by thus piously defying Romish error, -earned the abbey-lands, as well as the key -of a certain bed-chamber, and the eternal approbation -of zealous Protestants, for thus inaugurating -religious liberty.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span> - <h2 class='c014'>IV<br /> <br />“Epper Si Muove”</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>THESE ironies Kennaston witnessed among -many others, as he read in this or that -chance-opened page from the past. -Everywhere, it seemed to him, men had labored -blindly, at flat odds with rationality, and had -achieved everything of note by accident. Everywhere -he saw reason to echo the cry of Maugis -d’Aigremont—“It is very strange how affairs -fall out in this world of ours, so that a man may -discern no plan or purpose anywhere.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Here was the astounding fact: the race did -go forward; the race did achieve; and in every -way the race grew better. Progress through irrational -and astounding blunders, whose outrageousness -bedwarfed the wildest <i>clichés</i> of romance, -was what Kennaston found everywhere. -All this, then, also was foreplanned, just as all -happenings at Storisende had been, in his puny -romance; and the puppets here, too, moved as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>they thought of their own volition, but really in -order to serve a denouement in which many of -them had not any personal part or interest....</p> - -<p class='c004'>And always the puppets moved toward greater -efficiency and comeliness. The puppet-shifter -appeared to seek at once utility and artistic self-expression. -So the protoplasm—that first imperceptible -pinhead of living matter—had become -a fish; the fish had become a batrachian, the -batrachian a reptile, the reptile a mammal; thus -had the puppets continuously been reshaped, into -more elaborate forms more captivating to the -eye, until amiable and shatter-pated man stood -erect in the world. And man, in turn, had -climbed a long way from gorillaship, however -far he was as yet from godhead—blindly moving -always, like fish and reptile, toward unapprehended -loftier goals.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But, just as men’s lives came to seem to Kennaston -like many infinitesimal threads woven into -the pattern of human destiny, so Kennaston grew -to suspect that the existence of mankind upon -earth was but an incident in the unending struggle -of life to find a home in the universe. Human -<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>inhabitancy was not even a very important phase -in the world’s history, perhaps; a scant score or -so of centuries ago there had been no life on -earth, and presently the planet would be a silent -naked frozen clod. Would this sphere then have -served its real purpose of being, by having afforded -foothold to life for a few æons?</p> - -<p class='c004'>He could not tell. But Kennaston contemplated -sidereal space full of such frozen worlds, -where life seemed to have flourished for a while -and to have been dispossessed—and full, too, of -glowing suns, with their huge satellites, all slowly -cooling and congealing into fitness for life’s occupancy. -Life would tarry there also, he reflected; -and thence also life would be evicted. -For life was not a part of the universe, not a -product of the universe at all perhaps, but, rather, -an intruder into the cosmic machinery, which -moved without any consideration of life’s needs. -Like a bird striving to nest in a limitless engine, -insanely building among moving wheels and cogs -and pistons and pulley-bands, whose moving toward -their proper and intended purposes inevitably -swept away each nest before completion—so -<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>it might be that life passed from moving world -to world, found transitory foothold, began to -build, and was driven out.</p> - -<p class='c004'>What was it that life sought to rear?—what -was the purpose of this endless endeavor, of -which the hatching of an ant or the begetting of -an emperor was equally a by-product? and of -which the existence of Felix Kennaston was a -manifestation past conceiving in its unimportance? -Toward what did life aspire?—that force which -moved in Felix Kennaston, and thus made Felix -Kennaston also an intruder, a temporary visitor, -in the big moving soulless mechanism of earth -and water and planets and suns and interlocking -solar systems?</p> - -<p class='c004'>“To answer that question must be my modest -attempt,” he decided. “In fine—why is a Kennaston? -The query has a humorous ring undoubtedly, -in so far as it is no little suggestive of -the spinning mouse that is the higher the fewer—but, -after all, it voices the sole question in -which I personally am interested....”</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>“Why is a Kennaston?” he asked himself—thus -whimsically voicing the inquiry as to whether -human beings were intended for any especial purpose. -Most of us find it more comfortable, upon -the whole, to stave off such queries—with a jest, -a shrug, or a Scriptural quotation, as best suits -personal taste; but Kennaston was “queer” -enough to face the situation quite gravely. Here -was he, the individual, very possibly placed on—at -all events, infesting—a particular planet for -a considerable number of years; the planet was -so elaborately constructed, so richly clothed with -trees and valleys and uplands and running waters -and multitudinary grass-blades, and the body that -housed Felix Kennaston was so intricately wrought -with tiny bones and veins and sinews, with sockets -and valves and levers, and little hairs which -grew upon the body like grass-blades about the -earth, that it seemed unreasonable to suppose this -much cunning mechanism had been set agoing aimlessly: -and so, he often wondered if he was not -perhaps expected to devote these years of human -living to some intelligible purpose?</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>Religion, of course, assured him that the answer -to his query was written explicitly, in various -books, in very dissimilar forms. But Kennaston -could find little to attract him in any theory -of the universe based upon direct revelations from -heaven. Conceding that divinity had actually -stated so-and-so, from Sinai or Delphi or Mecca, -and had been reported without miscomprehension -or error, there was no particular reason for presuming -that divinity had spoken veraciously: and, -indeed, all available analogues went to show that -nothing in nature dealt with its inferiors candidly. -To liken the relationship to the intercourse of a -father with his children, as did all revealed religions -with queer uniformity, was at best a two-edged -simile, in that it suggested a possible amiability -of intention combined with inevitable duplicity. -The range of an earthly father’s habitual -deceptions, embracing the source of life and -Christmas presents on one side and his own fallibility -on the other, was wide enough to make the -comparison suspicious. When fathers were at -their worst they punished; and when in their -kindliest and most expansive moods, why, then it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>was—precisely—that they told their children -fairy-stories. It seemed to Kennaston, for a -while, that all religions ended in this blind-alley.</p> - -<p class='c004'>To exercise for an allotted period divinely-recommended -qualities known as virtues, and to be -rewarded therefor, by an immortal score-keeper, -appeared a rather childish performance all -around. Yet every religion agreed in asserting -that such was the course of human life at its noblest; -and to believe matters were thus arranged -indisputably satisfied an innate craving of men’s -natures, as Kennaston was privileged to see for -himself.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Under all theocracies the run of men proved -much the same: as has been said, it was for the -most part with quite ordinary people that Horvendile -dealt in dreams. The Roman citizenry, -for instance, he found did not devote existence, -either under the Republic or the Empire, to shouting -in unanimous response to metrical declamations, -and worrying over their own bare legs, or -in other ways conform to the best traditions of literature -and the stage; nor did the Athenians corroborate -their dramatists by talking perpetually of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>the might of Zeus or Aphrodite, any more than -motormen and stockbrokers conversed continually -of the Holy Ghost. Substantial people everywhere -worshiped at their accustomed temple at -accustomed intervals, and then put the matter out -of mind, in precisely the fashion of any reputable -twentieth-century church-goer. Meanwhile they -had their business-affairs, their sober chats on -weather probabilities, their staid diversions (which -everywhere bored them frightfully), their family -jokes, their best and second-best clothes, their flirtations, -their petty snobbishnesses, and their perfectly -irrational faith in Omnipotence and in the -general kindliness of Omnipotence—all these -they had, and made play with, to round out living. -Ritualistic worship everywhere seemed to be of -the nature of a conscious outing, of a conscious departure -from everyday life; it was generally felt -that well-balanced people would not permit such -jaunts to interfere with their business-matters or -home-ties; but there was no doubt men did not -like to live without religion and religion’s promise -of a less trivial and more ordered and symmetrical -existence—to-morrow.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>Meanwhile, men were to worry, somehow, -through to-day—doing as infrequent evil as they -conveniently could, exercising as much bravery and -honesty and benevolence as they happened to possess, -through a life made up of unimportant tasks -and tedious useless little habits. Men felt the -routine to be niggardly: but to-morrow—as their -priests and bonzes, their flamens and imauns, their -medicine men and popes and rectors, were unanimous—would -be quite different.</p> - -<p class='c004'>To-day alone was real. Never was man -brought into contact with reality save through the -evanescent emotions and sensations of that single -moment, that infinitesimal fraction of a second, -which was passing now—and it was this, precisely, -that you were to disregard. Such was the -burden of all dead and lingering faiths alike. -Here was, perhaps, only another instance of man-kind’s -abhorrence of actualities; and man’s quaint -dislike of facing reality was here disguised as a -high moral principle. That was why all art, -which strove to make the sensations of a moment -soul-satisfying, was dimly felt to be irreligious. -For art performed what religion only promised.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span> - <h2 class='c014'>V<br /> <br />Evolution of a Vestryman</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>BUT, much as man’s religion looked to a -more ordered and symmetrical existence -to-morrow, just so, upon another scale, -man’s daily life seemed a continuous looking-forward -to a terrestrial to-morrow. Kennaston -could find in the past—even he, who was privileged -to view the past in its actuality, rather than -through the distorting media of books and national -pride—no suggestion as to what, if anything, -he was expected to do while his physical -life lasted, or to what, if anything, this life was a -prelude. Yet that to-day was only a dull overture -to to-morrow seemed in mankind an instinctive -belief. All life everywhere, as all people -spent it, was in preparation for something that was -to happen to-morrow. This was as true of Antioch -as Lichfield, as much the case with Charlemagne -and Sardanapalus, with Agamemnon and -Tiglath-Pileser, as with Felix Kennaston.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>Kennaston considered his own life.... In -childhood you had looked forward to being a man—a -trapper of the plains or a railway engineer -or a pirate, for choice, but pending that, to get -through the necessity of going to school five times -a week. In vacations, of course, you looked forward -to school’s beginning again, because next -term was to be quite different from the last, and -moreover because last session, in retrospection, did -not appear to have been half bad. And of course -you were always wishing it would hurry up and -be your birthday, or Christmas, or even Easter.... -Later, with puberty, had come the desire to -be a devil with the women, like the fellows in -Wycherley’s plays (a cherished volume, which -your schoolmates, unaccountably, did not find sufficiently -“spicy”); and to become a great author, -like Shakespeare; and to have plenty of money, -like the Count of Monte-Cristo; and to be thrown -with, and into the intimate confidence of, famous -people, like the hero of a Scott novel.... Kennaston -reflected that his touchstones seemed universally -to have come from the library.... And -Felix Kennaston had achieved his desire, to every -<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>intent, however unready posterity stood to bracket -him with Casanova or Don Juan, and however -many tourists still went with reverence to Stratford. -For the rest, he had sufficient money; and -quite certainly he had met more celebrities than -any other person living. Felix Kennaston reflected -that, through accident’s signal favor, he -had done all he had at any time very earnestly -wanted to do; and that the result was always disappointing, -and not as it was depicted in story-books.... -He wondered why he should again -be harking back to literary standards.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then it occurred to him that, in reality, he had -always been shuffling through to-day—somehow -and anyhow—in the belief that to-morrow the -life of Felix Kennaston would be converted into a -romance like those in story-books.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The transfiguring touch was to come, it -seemed, from a girl’s lips; but it had not; he -kissed, and life remained uncharmed. It was to -come from marriage, after which everything would -be quite different; but the main innovation was -that he missed the long delightful talks he used -to have with Kathleen (mostly about Felix Kennaston), -<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>since as married people they appeared -only to speak to each other, in passing, as it were, -between the discharge of various domestic and -social duties, and speaking then of having seen -So-and-so, and of So-and-so’s having said this-or-that. -The transfiguring touch was to come from -wealth; and it had not, for all that his address -was in the <i>Social Register</i>, and was neatly typed -in at the beginning of one copy of pretty much -every appeal sent broadcast by charitable organizations. -It was to come from fame; and it had -not, even with the nine-day wonder over <i>Men -Who Loved Alison</i>, and with Felix Kennaston’s -pictorial misrepresentation figuring in public journals, -almost as prodigally as if he had murdered -his wife with peculiar brutality or headed a company -to sell inexpensive shoes. And, at the bottom -of his heart, he was still expecting the transfiguring -touch to come, some day, from something -he was to obtain or do, perhaps to-morrow.... -Then he had by accident found out the sigil’s -power....</p> - -<p class='c004'>Men everywhere were living as he had lived. -People got their notions of life, if only at second- -<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>or third-hand, from books, precisely as he had -done. Even Amrou had derived his notions as -to the value of literature from a book. Men pretended -laboriously that their own lives were like -the purposeful and clearly motived life of book-land. -In secret, the more perspicacious cherished -the reflection that, any how, their lives -would begin to be like that to-morrow. The purblind -majority quite honestly believed that literature -was meant to mimic human life, and that it -did so. And in consequences, their love-affairs, -their maxims, their passions, their ethics, their -conversations, their so-called natural ties and instincts, -and above all, their wickednesses, became -just so many bungling plagiarisms from something -they had read, in a novel or a Bible or a poem or -a newspaper. People progressed from the kindergarten -to the cemetery assuming that their -emotion at every crisis was what books taught -them was the appropriate emotion, and without -noticing that it was in reality something quite different. -Human life was a distorting tarnished -mirror held up to literature: this much at least -of Wilde’s old paradox—that life mimicked art—was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>indisputable. Human life, very clumsily, -tried to reproduce the printed word. Human life -was prompted by, and was based upon, printed -words—“in the beginning was the Word,” precisely -as Gospel asserted. Kennaston had it now. -Living might become symmetrical, well-plotted, -coherent, and rational as living was in books. -This was the hope which guided human beings -through to-day with anticipation of to-morrow.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then he perceived that there was no such thing -as symmetry anywhere in inanimate nature....</p> - -<p class='c004'>It was Ettarre who first pointed out to him the -fact, so tremendously apparent when once observed, -that there was to be found nowhere in -inanimate nature any approach to symmetry. It -needed only a glance toward the sky the first clear -night to show there was no pattern-work in the -arrangement of the stars. Nor were the planets -moving about the sun at speeds or distances which -bore any conceivable relation to one another. It -was all at loose ends. He wondered how he -could possibly have been misled by pulpit platitudes -into likening this circumambient anarchy to -mechanism. To his finicky love of neatness the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>universe showed on a sudden as a vast disheveled -horror. There seemed so little harmony, so -faint a sense of order, back of all this infinite torrent -of gyrations. Interstellar space seemed just -a jumble of frozen or flaming spheres that, moving -ceaselessly, appeared to avoid one another’s -orbits, or to collide, by pure chance. This spate -of stars, as in three monstrous freshets, might -roughly serve some purpose; but there was to be -found no more formal order therein than in the -flow of water-drops over a mill-wheel.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And on earth there was no balancing in the distribution -of land and water. Continents approached -no regular shape. Mountains stood out -like pimples or lay like broken welts across the -habitable ground, with no symmetry of arrangement. -Rivers ran anywhither, just as the haphazard -slope of earth’s crevices directed; upon the -map you saw quite clearly that their streams -neither balanced one another nor watered the land -with any pretense of equity. There was no symmetry -anywhere in inanimate nature, no harmony, -no equipoise of parts, no sense of form, not even -a straight line. It was all at loose ends.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>But living things aimed toward symmetry. In -plants the notion seemed rudimentary, yet the -goal was recognizable. The branches of a tree -did not put out at ordered distance, nor could -you discern any definite plan in their shaping: but -in the leaves, at least, you detected an effort toward -true balance: the two halves of a leaf, in a -rough fashion, were equal. In every leaf and -flower and grass-blade you saw this never entirely -successful effort.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And in insects and reptiles and fish and birds -and animals you saw again this effort, more creditably -performed. All life seemed about the -rather childish employment of producing a creature -which consisted of two equal and exactly corresponding -parts. It was true that in most cases -this effort was foiled by an uneven distribution -of color in plumage or scales or hide; but in insects -and in mankind the goal, so far as went the -eye, was reached. Men and insects, to the eye -at least, could be divided into two equal halves....</p> - -<p class='c004'>But even so, there was no real symmetry in -man’s body save in externals. The heart was not -in the center; there was no order in the jumbled -<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>viscera; the two divisions of the brain did not -correspond; there was nothing on the left side -to balance the troublesome vermiform appendix -on the right; even the lines in the palm of one -hand were unlike those which marked the other: -and everywhere, in fine, there was some irrational -discrepancy. Man, the highest form as yet of -life, had attained at most only a teasing semblance -of that crude symmetry toward which all life -seemed to aim, and which inanimate nature appeared -to ignore. Nowhere in the universe could -Kennaston discover any instance of quite equal -balance, of anything which, as vision went, could -be divided into two similar halves—save only -in man’s handiwork. Here, again, insects approached -man’s efforts more closely than the rest -of creation; for many of them builded almost as -truly. But man, alone in the universe, could produce -exact visual symmetry, in a cathedral or a -dinner-table or a pair of scissors, just as man so -curiously mimicked symmetry in his outward appearance. -The circumstance was droll, and no -less quaint for the fact that it was perhaps without -significance....</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>But Kennaston bemused himself with following -out the notion that life was trying to evolve -symmetry—order, proportion and true balance. -Living creatures represented life’s gropings toward -that goal. You saw, no doubt, a dim perception -of this in the dream which sustained all -human beings—that to-morrow living would begin -to be symmetrical, well-plotted and coherent, -like the progress of a novel.... And that was -precisely what religion promised, only in more explicit -terms, and with the story’s <i>milieu</i> fixed in -romantic, rather than realistic, settings. Kennaston -had here the sensation of fitting in the last -bit of a puzzle. Life, yearning for symmetry, -stood revealed as artist. Life strove toward the -creation of art. That was all life cared about. -Living things were more or less successful works -of art, and were to be judged according to art’s -canons alone. The universe was life’s big barren -studio, which the Artist certainly had neither -planned nor builded, but had, somehow, occupied, -to make the best of its limitations. For Kennaston -insisted that living things and inanimate nature -had none of the earmarks of being by the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>same author. They were not in similar style, he -said; thus, presupposing a sentient creator of the -stars and planets, it would seem to have been in -contradiction of his code to make both a man’s -eyes of the same color.</p> - -<p class='c004'>It was this course of speculation which converted -Kennaston to an abiding faith in Christianity, -such as, our rector informs me, is deplorably -rare in these lax pleasure-loving days of materialism. -To believe this inconsiderable planet -the peculiar center of a God’s efforts and attention -had for a long while strained Kennaston’s -credulity: the thing was so woefully out of proportion -when you considered earth’s relative value -in the universe. But now Felix Kennaston comprehended -that in the insensate universe there was -no proportion. The idea was unknown to the -astral architect, or at best no part of his plan, if -indeed there had been any pre-meditation or contriver -concerned. Singly on our small earth—not -even in the solar system of which earth made -a part—was any sense of proportion evinced; -and there it was apparent only in living things. -Kennaston seemed to glimpse an Artist-God, with a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>commendable sense of form—Kennaston’s fellow -craftsman—the earth as that corner of the studio -wherein the God was working just now, and all -life as a romance the God was inditing....</p> - -<p class='c004'>That the plot of this romance began with -Eden and reached its climax at Calvary, Kennaston -was persuaded, solely and ardently, because -of the surpassing beauty of the Christ-legend. -No other myth compared with it from an æsthetic -standpoint. He could imagine no theme more -adequate to sustain a great romance than this of -an Author suffering willingly for His puppets’ welfare; -and mingling with His puppets in the similitude -of one of them; and able to wring only contempt -and pity from His puppets—since He had -not endowed them with any faculties wherewith -to comprehend their Creator’s nature and intent. -Indeed, it was pretty much the plight which Kennaston -had invented for his own puppets at Storisende, -as Kennaston complacently reflected. It -was the most tremendous situation imaginable; -and quite certainly no Author could ever have -failed to perceive, and to avail Himself of, its -dramatic possibilities. To conceive that the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>world-romance did not center upon Calvary was to -presume an intelligent and skilled Romancer blind -to the basic principles of His art. His sense of -pathos and of beauty and of irony could have led -Him to select no other legend. And in the inconsistencies -and unsolved problems, or even the apparent -contradictions, of Christianity, Felix Kennaston -could see only a possible error or omission -on the Author’s part, such as was common -to all romances. A few errata did not hamper -the tale’s worth and splendor, or render it a whit -less meritorious of admiration....</p> - -<p class='c004'>And, indeed, Felix Kennaston found that his -theory of the Atonement was in harmony with -quite orthodox teachings. The library at Alcluid -revealed bewildered and perturbed generations -at guess-work. How could a God have been -placated, and turned from wrath to benevolence, -by witnessing the torment of His own son? -What pleasure, whereby He was propitiated, -could the God have derived from watching the -scene on Calvary? Or was the God, as priests -had taught so long (within the same moment that -they proclaimed the God’s omnipotence) not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>wholly a free agent, because bound by laws -whereby He was compelled to punish some one -for humanity’s disobedience, with the staggering -option of substituting an innocent victim? For if -you granted that, you conceded to be higher than -the God, and overruling Him, a power which -made for flat injustice. Since Schleiermacher’s -time, at least, as Kennaston discovered, there -had been reasoning creatures to contest the -possibility of such discrepant assumptions, and -a dynasty of teachers who adhered to the “subjective” -theory of propitiation. For these -considered that Christ came, not primarily to be -crucified, but by his life to reveal to men the -nature of their God. The crucifixion was an incidental, -almost inevitable, result of human obtuseness; -and was pregnant with value only in that -thereby the full extent of divine love was perfectly -evinced. The personality, rather than the -sufferings, of the Nazarene had thus satisfied, not -any demand or attribute of the God by acting -upon it from without, “but God’s total nature by -revealing it and realizing it in humanity.” The -God, in short, had satisfied Himself “by revealing -<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>and expressing His nature” in the material -universe, precisely as lesser artists got relief from -the worries of existence by depicting themselves -in their books. Just as poets express themselves -communicatively in words, so here the Author -had expressed Himself in flesh. Such, in effect, -had been the teaching of Karl Immanuel Nitzsch, -of Richard Rothe, and of von Hofman, in Germany; -of Auguste Bouvier in Geneva; of Alexandre -Vinet, and of Auguste Sabatier, in France; of -Frederick Denison Maurice, and John Caird, and -Benjamin Jowett, in England; and in America -of Horace Bushnell, and Elisha Mulford, and -William Newton Clarke. The list was imposing: -and Kennaston rejoiced to find himself at one with -so many reputable theologians. For all these -scholars had dimly divined, with whatever variousness -they worded the belief, that the God’s -satisfaction sprang, in reality, from the consciousness -of having at last done a fine piece of artistic -work, in creating the character of Christ....</p> - -<p class='c004'>So, as nearly as one can phrase the matter, it -was really as a proof of confidence in his Author’s -literary abilities that Felix Kennaston was presently -<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>confirmed at our little country church, to the -delight of his wife and the approbation of his -neighbors. It was felt to be eminently suitable: -that such a quiet well-to-do man of his years and -station should not be a communicant was generally, -indeed, adjudged unnatural. And when William -T. Vartrey (of the Lichfield Iron Works) -was gathered to his grandfathers, in the following -autumn, Mr. Kennaston was rather as a matter -of course elected to succeed him in the vestry. -And Kennaston was unfeignedly pleased and flattered.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>To the discerning it is easy enough to detect in -all this fantastic theorizing the man’s obsessing -love of ordered beauty and his abhorrence of -slovenliness—of shapelessness—which make -his writings so admirable, here alluring him to believe -that such ideals must also be cherished by -Omnipotence. This poet loved his formal art -to the extent of coming to assume it was the purpose -and the origin of terrestrial life. Life -seemed to him, in short, a God’s chosen form of -artistic self-expression; and as a confrère, Kennaston -<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>found the result praiseworthy. Even inanimate -nature, he sometimes thought, might be a -divine experiment in <i>vers libre</i>.... But neither -the justice of Kennaston’s airdrawn surmises, nor -their wildness, matters; the point is that they made -of him a vestryman who in appearance and speech -and actions, and in essential beliefs, differed not -at all from his associates in office, who had comfortably -acquired their standards by hearsay. So -that the moral of his theorizing should be no less -obvious than salutary.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>Thus, he too entered at last into that belief -which is man’s noble heritage....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Or I would put it, rather, that belief is man’s -<i>métier</i>,” Kennaston once corrected me—“for the -sufficient reason that man has nothing to do with -certainties. He cannot ever get in direct touch -with reality. Such is the immutable law, the true -cream of the jest. Felix Kennaston, so long as -he wears the fleshly body of Felix Kennaston, is -conscious only of various tiny disturbances in his -brain-cells, which entertain and interest him, but -cannot pretend to probe to the roots of reality -<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>about anything. By the nature of my mental -organs, it is the sensation the thing arouses in -my brain of which I am aware, and never of the -thing itself. I am conscious only of appearances. -They may all be illusory. I cannot ever tell. -But it is my human privilege to believe whatever I -may elect.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And, my dear sir,” as I pointed out, “is not -this hair-splitting, really, a reduction of human -life to the very shallowest sort of mysticism, that -gets you nowhere?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Now again, Harrowby, you are falling into -the inveterate race-delusion that man is intended -to get somewhere. I do not see that the notion -rests on any readily apparent basis. It is at any -rate a working hypothesis that in the world-romance -man, being cast for the part of fool, quite -obviously best furthers the dénouement’s success -by wearing his motley bravely.... There was a -fool in my own romance, a character of no great -importance; yet it was an essential incident in the -story that he should irresponsibly mislay the -King’s letter, and Sir Guiron thus be forced to -seek service under Duke Florestan. Perhaps, in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>similar fashion, it is here necessary to the Author’s -scheme that man must simply go on striving to -gain a little money, food, and sleep, a trinket or -two, some moments of laughter, and at the last -a decent bed to die in. For it may well be that -man’s allotted part calls for just these actions, to -round out the drama artistically. Yes; it is quite -conceivable that, much as I shaped events at -Storisende, so here the Author aims toward making -an æsthetic masterpiece of His puppet-play as -a whole, rather than at ending everything with a -transformation scene such as, when we were -younger, used so satisfactorily to close <i>The Black -Crook</i> and <i>The Devil’s Auction</i>. For it may well -be that the Author has, after all, more in common -with Æschylus, say, than with Mr. Charles H. -Yale.... So I must train my mind to be contented -with appearances, whether they be true or -not—and reserving always a permissible preference -for pleasant delusions. Being mortal, I am -able to contrive no thriftier bargain.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Being mortal,” I amended, “we pick our -recreations to suit our tastes. Now I, for instance—as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>is, indeed, a matter of some notoriety and -derision here in Lichfield—am interested in what -people loosely speak of as ‘the occult.’ I don’t -endeavor to persuade defunct poetesses to dictate -via the Ouija board effusions which give little encouragement -as to the present state of culture in -Paradise, or to induce Napoleon to leave wherever -he is and devote his energies to tipping a -table for me, you understand.... But I quite -fixedly believe the Wardens of Earth sometimes -unbar strange windows, that face on other worlds -than ours. And some of us, I think, once in a -while get a peep through these windows. But we -are not permitted to get a long peep, or an unobstructed -peep, nor, very certainly, are we permitted -to see all there is—out yonder. The fatal -fault, sir, of your theorizing is that it is too complete. -It aims to throw light upon the universe, -and therefore is self-evidently moonshine. The -Wardens of Earth do not desire that we should -understand the universe, Mr. Kennaston; it is part -of Their appointed task to insure that we never -do; and because of Their efficiency every notion -<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>that any man, dead, living, or unborn, might form -as to the universe will necessarily prove wrong. -So, if for no other reason, I must decline to think -of you and me as characters in a romance.”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-r c002'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span><span class='c017'><i>Book Fifth</i></span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c018'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“This was the measure of my soul’s delight;</div> - <div class='line in2'>It had no power of joy to fly by day,</div> - <div class='line'>Nor part in the large lordship of the light;</div> - <div class='line in2'>But in a secret moon-beholden way</div> - <div class='line'>Had all its will of dreams and pleasant night,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And all the love and life that sleepers may.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“But such life’s triumph as men waking may</div> - <div class='line in2'>It might not have to feed its faint delight.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span> - <h2 class='c014'>I<br /> <br />Of Poetic Love: Treated with Poetic Inefficiency</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>SO much for what Kennaston termed his -“serious reading” in chance-opened pages -of the past. There were other dreams -quite different in nature, which seemed, rather, -to fulfil the function of romantic art, in -satisfying his human craving for a full-fed emotional -existence—dreams which Kennaston jestingly -described as “<i>belles lettres</i>.” For now by -turn—as murderer, saint, herdsman, serf, fop, -pickpurse, troubadour, monk, bravo, lordling, -monarch, and in countless other estates—Kennaston -tasted those fruitless emotions which it is -the privilege of art to arouse—joys without any -inevitable purchase-price, regrets that were not -bitter, and miseries which left him not a penny the -worse.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But it was as a lover that his rôle most engrossed -him, in many dreams wherein he bore for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>Ettarre such adoration as he had always wistfully -hoped he might entertain toward some woman -some day, and had not ever known in his waking -hours. It was sober truth he had spoken at Storisende: -“There is no woman like you in my country, -Ettarre. I can find no woman anywhere -resembling you whom dreams alone may win to.” -But now at last, even though it were only in -dreams, he loved as he had always dimly felt he -was capable of loving.... Even the old lost faculty -of verse-making seemed to come back to him with -this change, and he began again to fashion rhymes, -elaborating bright odd vignettes of foiled love in -out-of-the-way epochs and surroundings. These -were the verses included, later, under the general -title of “Dramatis Personæ,” in his <i>Chimes at -Midnight</i>.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He wrote of foiled love necessarily, since not -even as a lover might he win to success. It was -the cream of some supernal jest that he might -not touch Ettarre; that done, though but by accident, -the dream ended, and the universe seemed to -fold about him, just as a hand closes. He came -to understand the reason of this. “Love must -<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>look toward something not quite accessible, something -not quite understood,” he had said at Storisende: -and this phrase, so lightly despatched, came -home to him now as pregnant truth. For it was -this fact which enabled him to love Ettarre, and -had always prevented his loving any other woman.</p> - -<p class='c004'>All mortal women either loved some other man, -and went with him somewhither beyond the area -of your daily life, and so, in time were forgotten; -or, else, they loved you, and laid bare to you their -minds and bodies—and neither of these possessions -ever proved so remarkable, when calmly -viewed, as to justify continued infatuation therewith. -Such at least Felix Kennaston had always -found to be the case: love did not live, as lovers -do, by feeding; but, paradoxically, got strength -by hungering. It should be remembered, however, -that Felix Kennaston was a poet....</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>He would sometimes think of the women who -had loved him; and would speculate, with some -wistfulness, if it was invariably true, as with his -own amorous traffic, that love both kept and left -its victims strangers to each other? He knew so -<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>little of these soft-lipped girls and women, when -everything was said....</p> - -<p class='c004'>Yet there had been—he counted—yes, time -had known eight chaste and comely gentlewomen, -in all, who had “given themselves to him,” as the -hackneyed phrase was. These eight affairs, at -any event, had conformed to every tradition, and -had been as thorough-going as might romantically -be expected: but nothing much seemed to have -come of them; and he did not feel in the upshot -very well acquainted with their heroines. His -sole emotion toward them nowadays was that of -mild dislike. But six of them—again to utilize -a venerable conjunction of words—had “deceived -their husbands” for the caresses of an -impecunious Kennaston; and the other two had -anticipatorily “deceived” the husbands they -took later: so that they must, he reflected, have -loved Felix Kennaston sincerely. He was quite -certain, though, that he had never loved any one -of them as he had always wanted to love. No -one of these women had given him what he sought -in vain. Kennaston had felt this lack of success -dispiritedly when, with soft arms about him, it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>was necessary to think of what he would say next. -He had always in such circumstances managed to -feign high rapture, to his temporary companion’s -entire satisfaction, as he believed; but each adventure -left him disappointed. It had not roused in -him the overwhelming emotions lovers had in -books, nor anything resembling these emotions; -and that was what he had wanted, and had not -ever realized, until the coming of Ettarre....</p> - -<p class='c004'>He had made love, as a prevalent rule, to -married women—allured, again, by bookish -standards, which advanced the commerce of -Lancelot with Guinevere, or of Paolo Malatesta -with his brother’s wife, as the supreme type of -romantic passion. On more practical grounds, -Kennaston preferred married women, partly because -they were less stupid to converse with in -general, and in particular did not bring up the -question of marrying you; and in part because the -husband in the background helped the situation -pictorially—this notion also now seemed to be -of literary origin—besides furnishing an unfailing -topic of conversation. For unfaithful or -wavering wives, to Kennaston’s finding, peculiarly -<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>delighted in talking about their husbands; and in -such prattle failed either to exhibit the conventional -remorse toward, or any very grave complaint -against, the discussed better-half. The inconsistency -would have worried Kennaston’s sense -of justice, had not these husbands always been so -transparently certain of Kennaston’s insignificance.... -Although judging of necessity only -from his own experience, Kennaston was unable -conscientiously to approve of adulterous love-affairs: -they tended too soon toward tediousness; -and married women seemed horribly quick to become -matter-of-fact in the details of a liaison, and -ready almost to confuse you with the husband.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The giggle and chatter of young girls Kennaston -had always esteemed unalluring, even in -his own youth. He had admired a number of -them extravagantly, but only as ornamental objects -upon which very ill-advisedly had been conferred -the gift of speech. To-day he looked back -wistfully at times, as we must all do, to that girl -who first had asked him if he was sure that he -respected her as much as ever: but it was with -the mental annotation that she had seven children -<span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>now, and, as Kathleen put it, not a ray of good -looks left. And he would meditate that he had -certainly been fond of Margaret Hugonin, even -though in the beginning it was her money which -attracted him; and that Marian Winwood, despite -her underhanded vengeance in publishing his letters, -had been the most delectable of company all -that ancient summer when it had rained so persistently. -Then there had been tall Agnés Faroy, -like a statue of gold and ivory; Kitty Provis, with -those wonderful huge green eyes of hers; and -Celia Reindan, she who wore that curious silver -band across her forehead; and Helen Strong; and -Blanche Druro; and Muriel.... In memory -they arose like colorful and gracious phantoms, -far more adorable than they had ever been on -earth, when each of these had loaned, for a -season, the touch of irresolute soft hands and -friendly lips to a half-forgotten Felix Kennaston. -All these, and others, had been, a long while since, -the loveliest creatures that wore tender human -flesh: and so, they had kissed, and they had talked -time-hallowed nonsense, and they had shed the -orthodox tears; and—also a long while since—they -<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>had died or they had married the conventional -some one-else: and it did not matter the -beard of an onion to the pudgy pasty man that -Felix Kennaston had come to be. He had possessed, -or else of his own volition he had refrained -from possessing, all these brightly-colored moth-brained -girls: but he had loved none of them as -he had always known he was capable of loving: -and at best, these girls were dead now, or at -worst, they had been converted into unaccountable -people....</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>Kathleen was returning from the South that -day, and Kennaston had gone into Lichfield to -meet her train. The Florida Express was late -by a full hour; so he sat in their motor-car, waiting, -turning over some verses in his torpid mind, -and just half-noticing persons who were gathering -on the station platform to take the noon train going -west. He was reflecting how ugly and trivial -people’s faces appear when a crowd is viewed collectively—and -wondering if the Author, looking -down into a hot thronged street, was never -tempted to obliterate the race as an unsuccessful -<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>experiment—when Kennaston recognized -Muriel Allardyce.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I simply will not see her,” he decided. He -turned his back that way, picked up the morning -paper on the seat beside him, and began to read -an editorial on immigration. What the deuce -was she doing in Lichfield, any way? She lived -in St. Louis now. She was probably visiting Avis -Blagden. Evidently, she was going west on the -noon train. If Kathleen’s train arrived before -midday he would have to get out of the car to -meet her, and all three would come together on -the platform. If Muriel spied him there, in the -open car, it would be not uncharacteristic of her -to join him. And he could not go away, because -Kathleen’s train was apt to arrive any minute. It -was perfectly damnable. Why could the woman -not stay in St. Louis, where she belonged, instead -of gadding about the country? Thus Kennaston, -as he re-read the statistics as to Poles and Magyars.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I think there’s two ladies trying to speak to -you, sir,” the chauffeur hazarded.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Eh?—oh, yes!” said Kennaston. He -<span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>looked, perforce, and saw that across the railway -track both Muriel Allardyce and Avis Blagden -were regarding him with idiotic grins and wavings. -He lifted his hat, smiled, waved his own -hand, and retired between the pages of the <i>Lichfield -Courier-Herald</i>. Muriel was wearing a -light traveling veil, he reflected; he could pretend -not to know who she was. With recognition, of -course, he would be expected to come over and -speak to her. He must remember to ask Avis, -the very next time he saw her, who had been that -familiar-looking person with her, and to express -regret for his short-sightedness....</p> - -<p class='c004'>He decided to step out of the car, by way of the -farther door, and buy a package of cigarettes on -the other side of the street. He could loaf there -and pray that Muriel’s train left before Kathleen’s -arrived....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I don’t believed you recognized us,” said -Avis Blagden, at his elbow. “Or else you are -trying to cut your old playmates.” The two -women had brazenly pursued him. They were -within a yard of him. It was indelicate. It was -so perfectly unnecessary. He cordially wished -<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>some friendly engine had run them both down -when they were crossing the tracks....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Why, bless my soul!” he was saying, “this -is indeed a delightful surprise. I had no idea -you were in town, Mrs. Allardyce. I didn’t -recognize you, with that veil on—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“There’s Peter, at last,” said Avis. “I really -must speak to him a moment.” And she promptly -left them. Kennaston reflected that the whole -transaction was self-evidently pre-arranged. And -Muriel was, as if abstractedly, but deliberately, -walking beyond earshot of the chauffeur. And -there was nothing for it save to accompany her.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It’s awfully jolly to see you again,” he observed, -with fervor.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Is it? Honestly, Felix, it looked almost as -if you were trying to avoid me.” Kennaston -wondered how he could ever have loved a woman -of so little penetration.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“No, I didn’t recognize you, with that veil -on,” he repeated. “And I had no idea you were -in Lichfield. I do hope you are going to pay us -all a nice long visit—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“But, no, I am leaving on this train—”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>“Oh, I say, but that’s too bad! And I never -knew you were here!” he lamented.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I only stopped overnight with Avis. I am -on my way home—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“To Leonard?” And Kennaston smiled. -“How do you get on with him nowadays?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“We are—contented, I suppose. He has his -business—and politics. He is doing perfectly -splendidly now, you know. And I have my -memories.” Her voice changed. “I have my -memories, Felix! Nothing—nothing can take -that from me!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Good God, Muriel, there are a dozen people -watching us—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“What does that matter!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Well, it matters a lot to me. I live here, you -know.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>She was silent for a moment. “You look your -latest rôle in life so well, too, Felix. You are the -respectable married gentleman to the last detail. -Why, you are an old man now, Felix,” she said -wistfully. “Your hair is gray about the ears, -and you are fat, and there are wrinkles under your -<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>eyes—But are you happy, dear?” she asked, -with the grave tender speech that he remembered. -And momentarily the man forgot the people about -them, and the fact that his wife’s train was due -any minute.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Happier than I deserve to be, Muriel.” His -voice had quavered—not ineffectively, it appeared -to him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“That’s true, at least,” the woman said, as in -reflection. “You treated me rather abominably, -you know—like an old shoe.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I am not altogether sorry you take that view -of it. For I wouldn’t want you to regret—anything—not -even that which, to me at least, is very -sacred. But there was really nothing else to do -save just to let things end. It was as hard,” he -said, with a continuous flight of imagination, “it -was as hard on me as you.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Sometimes I think it was simply because you -were afraid of Leonard. I put that out of my -mind, though, always. You see, I like to keep my -memories. I have nothing else now, Felix—” -She opened the small leather bag she carried, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>took out a handkerchief, and brushed her lips. -“I am a fool, of course. Oh, it is funny to see -your ugly little snub nose again! And I couldn’t -help wanting to speak to you, once more—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It has been delightful. And some day I certainly -do hope—But there’s your train, I think. -The gates are going down.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And here is Avis coming. So good-by, Felix. -It is really forever this time, I think—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>It seemed to him that she held in her left hand -the sigil of Scoteia.... He stared at the gleaming -thing, then raised his eyes to hers. She was -smiling. Her eyes were the eyes of Ettarre. All -the beauty of the world seemed gathered in this -woman’s face....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Don’t let it be forever! Come with me, -Felix! There is only you—even now, there is -only you. It is not yet too late—” Astounding -as were the words, they came quite clearly, in a -pleading frightened whisper.</p> - -<p class='c004'>The man was young for just that one wonderful -moment of inexplicable yearning and self-loathing. -Then, “I—I am afraid my wife -would hardly like it,” he said, equably. “So -<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>good-by, Muriel. It has been very delightful to -see you again.”</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>“I was mistaken, though, of course. It was -the top of a vanity-box, or of a toilet water flask, -or of something else, that she took out of the -bag, when she was looking for her handkerchief. -It was just a silly coincidence. I was mistaken, -of course.... And here is Kathleen’s train. -Thank goodness, it was late enough....”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Thus Kennaston, as he went to receive his wife’s -cool kiss. And—having carefully mentioned as -a matter of no earthly importance that he had -just seen Muriel Allardyce, and that she had gone -off terribly in looks, and that none of them seem -to hold their own like you, dear—he disbarred -from mind that awkward moment’s delusion, and -tried not to think of it any more.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span> - <h2 class='c014'>II<br /> <br />Cross-Purposes in Spacious Times</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>SO Kennaston seemed to have got only disappointment -and vexation and gainless vague -regret from his love-affairs in the flesh; and -all fleshly passion seemed to flicker out inevitably, -however splendid the brief blaze. For you loved -and lost; or else you loved and won: there was -quick ending either way. And afterward unaccountable -women haunted you, and worried you -into unreasonable contrition, in defiance of commonsense....</p> - -<p class='c004'>But for Ettarre, who embodied all Kennaston -was ever able to conceive of beauty and fearlessness -and strange purity, all perfections, all the -attributes of divinity, in a word, such as his slender -human faculties were competent to understand, he -must hunger always in vain. Whatever happened, -Ettarre stayed inaccessible, even in dreams: -her beauty was his to look on only; and always -<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>when he came too near that radiant loveliness -which was Ettarre’s—that perfect beauty which -was so full of troubling reticences, and so, was -touched with something sinister—the dream -would end, and the universe would seem to fold -about him, just as a hand closes. Such was the -law, the kindly law, as Kennaston now believed, -through which love might thrive even in the arid -heart of a poet.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Sometimes, however, this law would lead to -odd results, and left the dream an enigma. For -instance, he had a quaint experience upon the -night of that day during which he had talked with -Muriel Allardyce....</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>“You are in all things a fortunate man, Master—ah—whatever -your true name may be,” said -the boy, pettishly flinging down the cards.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ods life, and have we done?” says Kennaston....</p> - -<p class='c004'>The two sat in a comfortable paneled room. -There was a big open fire behind Kennaston; he -could see its reflections flicker about the wood-work. -The boy facing him was glowingly attired -<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>in green and gold, an ardent comely urchin, who -(as Kennaston estimated) might perhaps be a -page to Queen Elizabeth, or possibly was one of -King James’s spoilt striplings. Between them -was a rough deal table, littered with playing-cards; -and upon it sat a tallish blue pitcher half-full -of wine, four lighted candles stuck like corks -in as many emptied bottles, and two coarse yellow -mugs....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yes, we have done,” the boy answered; and, -rising, smiled cherubically. “May I ask what -the object may be that you conceal with such care -in your left hand?” says he.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“To be candid,” Kennaston returned, “it is -the King of Diamonds, that swarthy bearded Spaniard. -I had intended it should serve as a corrective -and encourager of Lady Fortune, when I -turned it, my next deal, as the trump card. I’ -faith, I thank God I have found the jade is to be -influenced by such feats of manual activity. Oh, -ay, sir, I may say it without conceit that my fingers -have in these matters tolerable compass and -variety.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“A card-sharp!” sneers the boy. “La, half -<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>of us suspected it already; but it will be rare news -to the town that Master Lionel Branch—as I -must continue to call you—stands detected in -such Greek knaveries.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Nay, but you will hardly live to moralize of it, -sir. Oh, no, sir, indeed my poor arts must not be -made public: for I would not seem to boast of my -accomplishments. Harkee, sir, I abhor vain-glory. -I name no man, sir; but I know very well -there are snotty-nosed people who regard expedients -toward amending the quirks of fate with -puritan disfavor. Hah, but, signior, what is that -to us knights of the moon, to us gallants of generous -spirit?—Oh, Lord, sir, I protest I look -upon such talents much as I do upon my breeches. -I do consider them as possessions, not certainly to -be vaunted, but indispensable to any gentleman -who hopes to make a pleasing figure in the world.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“All this bluster is wordy foolery, Master -Branch. What I have seen, I have seen; and you -will readily guess how I mean to use my knowledge.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I would give a great deal to find out what he -is talking about,” was Kennaston’s reflection. “I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>have discovered, at least, that my present alias is -Branch, but that I am in reality somebody else.” -Aloud he said: “’Fore God, your eyesight is of -the best, Master Skirlaw—(<i>How the deuce did I -know his name, now?</i>)—Hah, I trust forthwith -to prove if your sword be equally keen.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I will fight with no cheats—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I’ faith, sir, but I have heard that wine is a -famed provoker of courage. Let us try the byword.” -So saying, Kennaston picked up one mug, -and flung its contents full in the boy’s face. It -was white wine, Kennaston noted, for it did not -stain Master Skirlaw’s handsome countenance at -all.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“The insult is sufficient. Draw, and have -done!” the lad said quietly. His sword gleamed -in the restive reflections of that unseen fire behind -Kennaston.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Na, na! but, my most expeditious cockerel, -surely this place is a thought too public? Now -yonder is a noble courtyard. Oh, ay, favored by -to-night’s moon, we may settle our matter without -any hindrance or intolerable scandal. So, I will -call my host, that we may have the key. Yet, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>upon my gentility, Master Skirlaw, I greatly fear -I shall be forced to kill you. Therefore I cry -you mercy, sir, but is there no business on your -mind which you would not willingly leave undischarged? -Save you, friend, but we are all -mortal. Hah, to a lady whom I need not name, -it is an affair of considerable import what disposition -a bold man might make of this ring—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Leering, Kennaston touched the great signet-ring -on the lad’s thumb; and forthwith the universe -seemed to fold about him, just as a hand -closes. In this brief moment of inexplicable -yearning and self-loathing he comprehended that -the boy’s face was the face of Ettarre.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And Kennaston, awake, was pleading, with -meaningless words: “Valentia! forgive me, Valentia!...”</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>And that was all. This dream remained an -enigma. Kennaston could never know what -events had preceded this equivocal instant, or how -Ettarre came to be disguised as a man, or what -were their relations in this dream, nor, above all, -why he should have awakened crying upon the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>name of Valentia. It was simply a law that always -when he was about to touch Ettarre—even -unconsciously—everything must vanish; and -through the workings of that law this dream, with -many others, came to be just a treasured moment -of unexplainable but poignant emotion.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span> - <h2 class='c014'>III<br /> <br />Horvendile to Ettarre: At Whitehall</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>TO Kennaston the Lord Protector was saying, -with grave unction: “You will, I -doubt not, fittingly express to our -friends in Virginia, Master Major, those hearty -sentiments which I have in the way of gratefulness, -in that I have received the honor and safeguard -of their approbation; for all which I humbly -thank them. To our unfriends in that colony we -will let action speak when I shall have completed -God’s work in Ireland.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yet the Burgesses, sir, are mostly ill-affected; -and Berkeley, to grant him justice, does not lack -bravery—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“With Heaven’s help, Master Major, I have -of late dealt with a king who did not lack bravery. -Nay, depend upon it, I shall some day grant William -Berkeley utter justice—such justice as I -gave his master, that proud curled man, Charles -<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>Stuart.” Then the Lord Protector’s face was -changed, and his harsh countenance became a little -troubled. “Yes, I shall do all this, with -Heaven’s help, I think. But in good faith, I -grow old, Master Major. I move in a mist, and -my deeds are strange to me....”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Cromwell closed and unclosed his hands, regarding -them; and he sighed. Then it was to Ettarre -he spoke:</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I leave you in Master Major’s charge. It -may be I shall not return alive into England; indeed, -I grow an old man and feel infirmities of -age stealing upon me. And so, farewell, my lass. -Truly if I love you not too well, I err not on the -other hand much. Thou hast been dearer to me -than any other creature: let that suffice.” And -with this leave-taking he was gone.</p> - -<p class='c004'>As the door closed upon Cromwell’s burly -figure, “No, be very careful not to touch me,” -Kennaston implored. “The dream must last till -I have found out how through your aid, Ettarre, -this bull-necked country squire has come to rule -England. It is precisely as I expected. You -explain Cromwell, you explain Mohammed—Richelieu -<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>and Tamburlaine and Julius Cæsar, I -suspect, and, as I know, Napoleon—all these men -who have inexplicably risen from nothing to -earthly supremacy. How is it done, Ettarre?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It is not I who contrive it, Horvendile. I -am but an incident in such men’s lives. They -have known me—yes: and knowing me, they -were bent enough on their own ends to forget that -I seemed not unlovely. It is not the sigil and -the power the sigil gives which they love and -serve—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And that small square mirror, such as Cromwell -also carried—?” Kennaston began. “Or -is this forbidden talk?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yes, that mirror aids them. In that mirror -they can see only themselves. So the mirror -aids toward the ends they chose, with open -eyes.... But you cannot ever penetrate these -mysteries now, Horvendile. The secret of the -mirror was offered you once, and you would not -bargain. The secret of the mirror is offered to -no man twice.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And he laughed merrily. “What does it matter? -I am perfectly content. That is more than -<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>can be said for yonder sanctimonious fat old -rascal, who has just told me he is going into Ireland -‘for the propagating of the gospel of Christ, -the establishing of truth and peace, and the restoring -of that bleeding nation to its former happiness -and tranquillity.’ Why is it that people of -executive ability seem always to be more or less -mentally deficient? Now, you and I know that, -in point of fact, he is going into Ireland to burn -villages, massacre women, hang bishops, and generally -qualify his name for all time as a Hibernian -synonym for infamy. Oh, no, the purchase-price -of grandeur is too great; and men that crown -themselves in this world inevitably perform the -action with soiled hands. Still, I wish I had -known I was going visiting to-night in seventeenth-century -England,” said Kennaston, reflectively; -“then I could have read up a bit. I don’t even -know whether Virginia ever submitted to him. It -simply shows what idleness may lead to! If I -had studied history more faithfully I would have -been able to-night to prophesy to Oliver Cromwell -about the results of his Irish campaigns and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>so on, and could have impressed him vastly with -my abilities. As it is, I have missed an opportunity -which will probably never occur again to -any man of my generation....”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span> - <h2 class='c014'>IV<br /> <br />Horvendile to Ettarre: At Vaux-le-Vicomte</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>“WHAT fun!” says Kennaston; “we are -at Vaux-le-Vicomte, where Fouquet -is entertaining young Louis Quatorze. -Yonder is La Vallière—the thin tow-headed -girl, with the big mouth. People are just -beginning to whisper scandal about her. And -that tall jade is Athenaïs de Tonnay-Charente—the -woman who is going to be Madame de Montespan -and control everything in the kingdom later -on, you remember. The King is not yet aware of -her existence, nor has Monsieur de Montespan -been introduced....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“The Troupe of Monsieur is about to present -an open-air comedy. It is called <i>Les Facheux</i>—The -Bores. It is rumored to take off very -cleverly the trivial tedious fashion in which perfectly -well-meaning people chatter their way -through life. But that more fittingly would be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>the theme of a tragedy, Ettarre. Men are condemned -eternally to bore one another. Two hundred -years and more from to-day—perhaps forever—man -will lack means, or courage, to voice -his actual thoughts adequately. He must still -talk of weather probabilities and of having seen -So-and-so and of such trifles, that mean absolutely -nothing to him—and must babble of these things -even to the persons who are most dear and familiar -to him. Yes, every reputable man must desperately -make small-talk, and echo and re-echo -senseless phrases, until the crack of doom. He -will always be afraid to bare his actual thoughts -and interests to his fellows’ possible disapproval: -or perhaps it is just a pitiable mania with the -race. At all events, one should not laugh at this -ageless aspersion and burlesque of man’s intelligence -as performed by man himself....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“The comedy is quite new. A marquis, with -wonderful canions and a scented wig like an edifice, -told me it is by an upholsterer named Coquelin, -a barnstormer who ran away from home -and has been knocking about the provinces unsuccessfully -for nearly twenty years: and my little -<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>marquis wondered what in the world we are coming -to, when Monsieur le Surintendent takes up -with that class of people. Is not my little marquis -droll?—for he meant Poquelin, soon to be -Poquelin de Molière, of course. Molière, also, is -a name which is not famous as yet. But in a -month or so it will be famous for all time; and -Monsieur le Surintendent will be in jail and forgotten....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You smile, Ettarre? Ah, yes, I understand. -Molière too adores you. All poets have had fitful -glimpses of you, Ettarre, and of that perfect -beauty which is full of troubling reticences, and -so, is touched with something sinister. I have -written as to the price they pay, these hapless -poets, in a little book I am inditing through that -fat pudgy body I wear in the flesh.... Do not -frown: I know it is forbidden to talk with you -concerning my life in the flesh....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ah, the King comes—evidently in no very -amiable frame of mind—and all rise, like a flurry -of great butterflies. It is the beginning of the -play. See, a woman is coming out of the big -shell in the fountain....</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>“I wish my old friend Jonas d’Artagnan were -here. It is a real pity he is only a character in -fiction—just as I once thought you were, Ettarre. -Eh, what a fool I was to imagine I had created -you! and that I controlled your speech and doings! -I know much better now....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ettarre, your unattainable beauty tears my -heart. Is that black-browed Molière your lover -too? What favors have you granted him? You -perceive I am jealous. How can I be otherwise, -when there is nothing, nothing in me that does not -cry out for love of you? And I am forbidden -ever to win quite to you, ever to touch you, ever -to see you even save in my dreams!”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span> - <h2 class='c014'>V<br /> <br />Horvendile to Ettarre: In the Conciergerie</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>THEY waited in a big dark room of the -Conciergerie, with many other condemned -émigrants, until the tumbrils -should come to fetch them to the Place de la -Révolution. They stood beneath a narrow -barred window, set high in the wall, so that thin -winter sunlight made the girl’s face visible. -Misery was about them, death waited without: -and it did not matter a pennyworth.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Ettarre, I know to-day that all my life I have -been seeking you. Very long ago when I was a -child it was made clear that you awaited me somewhere; -and, I recollect now, I used to hunger for -your coming with a longing which has not any -name. And when I went about the dusty world I -still believed you waited somewhere—till I should -find you, as I inevitably must, or soon or late. Did -I go upon a journey to some unfamiliar place?—it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>might be that unwittingly I traveled toward your -home. I could never pass a walled garden where -green tree-tops showed without suspecting, even -while I shrugged to think how wild was the -imagining, that there was only the wall between -us. I did not know the color of your eyes, but I -knew what I would read there. And for a -fevered season I appeared to encounter many -women of earth who resembled you—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“All women resemble me, Horvendile. -Whatever flesh they may wear as a garment, and -however time-frayed or dull-hued or stained by -horrible misuse that garment may seem to be, the -wearer of that garment is no less fair than I, could -any man see her quite clearly. Horvendile, were -that not true, could our great Author find anywhere -a woman’s body which wickedness and ugliness -controlled unchecked, all the big stars which -light the universe, and even the tiny sun that our -earth spins about, would be blown out like unneeded -candles, for the Author’s labor would have -been frustrated and misspent.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yes; I know now that this is true.... See, -Ettarre! Yonder woman is furtively coloring her -<span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>cheeks with a little wet red rag. She does not -wish to seem pale—or is it that she wishes to -look her best?—in the moment of death.... -Ettarre, my love for you whom I could not ever -find, was not of earth, and I could not transfer it -to an earthly woman. The lively hues, the lovely -curvings and the fragrant tender flesh of earth’s -women were deft to cast their spells; but presently -I knew this magic was only of the body. It might -be I was honoring divinity; but it was certain that -even in such case I was doing so by posturing before -my divinity’s effigy in tinted clay. Besides, -it is not possible to know with any certainty what -is going on in the round glossy little heads of -women. ‘I hide no secrets from you, because I -love you,’ say they?—eh, and their love may be -anything from a mild preference to a flat lie. -And so, I came finally to concede that all women -are creatures of like frailties and limitations and -reserves as myself, and I was most poignantly -lonely when I was luckiest in love. Once only, in -my life in the flesh, it seemed to me that a woman, -whom I had abandoned, held in her hand the sigil -visibly. That memory has often troubled me, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>Ettarre. It may be that this woman could have -given me what I sought everywhere in vain. But -I did not know this until it was too late, until -the chance and the woman’s life alike were -wasted.... And so, I grew apathetic, senseless -and without any spurring aspiration, seeing that -all human beings are so securely locked in the -prison of their flesh.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“When immortals visit earth it is necessary -they assume the appearance of some animal. -Very long ago, as we have seen, Horvendile, that -secret was discovered, which so many myths veil -thinly: and have we not learned, too, that the -animal’s fleshly body is a disguise which it is possible -to put aside?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“That knowledge, so fearfully purchased at -the Sabbat, still troubles me, Ettarre.... Monsieur -le Prince, I regret the circumstance, but—as -you see—my snuff-box is quite empty. Ah, -but yes, as you very justly observe, rappee, repose -and rationality are equally hard to come by in -these mad days.... Is that not droll, Ettarre? -This unvenerable old Prince de Gâtinais—once -Grand Duke of Noumaria, you remember—has -<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>been guilty in his career of every iniquity and -meanness and cowardice: now, facing instant -death, he finds time to think of snuff and phrase-making.... -But—to go back a little—I had -thought the Sabbat would be so different! One -imagined there would be cauldrons, and hags upon -prancing broomsticks, and a black goat, of -course—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“How much more terrible it is—and how -beautiful!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yet—even now I may not touch you, Ettarre.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“My friend, all men have striven to do that; -and I have evaded each one of them at the last, -and innumerable are the ways of my elusion. -There is no man but has loved me, no man that -has forgotten me, and none but has attempted to -express that which he saw and understood when I -was visible.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Do I not know? There is no beauty in the -world save those stray hints of you, Ettarre. -Canvas and stone and verse speak brokenly of -you sometimes; all music yearns toward you, Ettarre, -all sunsets whisper of you, and it is because -<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>they waken memories of you that the eyes of all -children so obscurely trouble and delight us. -Ettarre, your unattainable beauty tears my heart. -There is nothing, nothing in me that does not cry -out for love of you. And it is the cream of a vile -jest that I am forbidden ever to win quite to you, -ever to touch you, ever to see you even save in my -dreams!”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Already this dream draws toward an end, my -poor Horvendile.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And he saw that the great doors—which led -to death—were unclosing: and beyond them he -saw confusedly a mob of red-capped men, of -malignant frenzied women, of wide-eyed little -children, and the staid officials, chatting pleasantly -among themselves, who came to fetch that day’s -tale of those condemned to the guillotine. But -more vividly Kennaston saw Ettarre and how -tenderly she smiled, in thin wintry sunlight, as she -touched Kennaston upon the breast, so that the -dream might end and he might escape the guillotine.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span> - <h2 class='c014'>VI<br /> <br />Of One Enigma that Threatened to Prove Allegorical</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>THEN again Kennaston stood alone before -a tall window, made up of many -lozenge-shaped panes of clear glass set -in lead framework. He had put aside one of -the two great curtains—of a very fine stuff like -gauze, stitched over with transparent glittering -beetle-wings, and embroidered with tiny seed -pearls—which hung before this window.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Snow covered the expanse of house-tops without, -and the sky without was glorious with chill -stars. That white city belonged to him, he knew, -with a host of other cities. He was the strongest -of kings. People dreaded him, he knew; and he -wondered why any one should esteem a frail weakling -such as he to be formidable. The hand of -this great king—his own hand, that held aside -the curtain before him—was shriveled and colorless -<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>as lambs’ wools. It was like a horrible bird-claw.</p> - -<p class='c004'>(“<i>But then I have the advantage of remembering -the twentieth century,” he thought, fleetingly, -“and all my contemporaries are superstitious -ignorant folk. It is strange, but in this -dream I appear to be an old man. That never -happened before.</i>”)</p> - -<p class='c004'>A remote music resounded in his ears, and cloying -perfumes were about him....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I want to be happy. And that is impossible, -because there is no happiness anywhere in the -world. I, a great king, say this—I, who am -known in unmapped lands, and before whom nations -tremble. For there are but three desirable -things in life—love and power and wisdom: and -I, the king, have sounded the depths of these, and -in none is happiness.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Despairing words came to him now, and welled -to his lips, in a sort of chaunt:</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I am sad to-night, for I remember that I -once loved a woman. She was white as the -moon; her hair was a gold cloud; she had untroubled -eyes. She was so fair that I longed for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>her until my heart was as the heart of a God. -But she sickened and died: worms had their will -of her, not I. So I took other women, and my -bed was never lonely. Bright poisonous women -were brought to me, from beyond the sunset, from -the Fortunate Islands, from Invallis and Planasia -even; and these showed me nameless endearments -and many curious perverse pleasures. But I was -not able to forget that woman who was denied me -because death had taken her: and I grew a-weary -of love, for I perceived that all which has known -life must suffer death.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“There was no people anywhere who could -withstand my armies. We traveled far in search -of such a people. My armies rode into a country -of great heat and endless sands, and contended -with the Presbyter’s brown horsemen, who -fought with arrows and brightly painted bows; -and we slew them. My armies entered into a -land where men make their homes in the shells of -huge snails, and feed upon white worms which -have black heads; and we slew them. My armies -passed into a land where a people that have no -language dwell in dark caves under the earth, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>worship a stone that has sixty colors; and we slew -them, teaching ruthlessly that all which has known -life must suffer death.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Many stiff-necked kings, still clad in purple -and scarlet and wearing gold crowns—monarchs -whose proud faces, for all that these men were -my slaves, kept their old fashion and stayed -changeless as the faces of statues—such were my -lackeys: and I burned walled cities. Empires -were my playthings, but I had no son to inherit -after me. I had no son—only that dead horrible -mangled worm, born dead, that I remember -seeing very long ago where the woman I loved lay -dead. That would have been my son had the -thing lived—a greater and a nobler king than I. -But death willed otherwise: the life that moved -in me was not to be perpetuated: and so, the heart -in my body grew dried and little and shriveled, -like a parched pea: for I perceived that all which -has known life must suffer death.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Then I turned from warfare, and sought for -wisdom. I learned all that it is permitted any -man to know—oh, I learned more than is permissible. -Have I not summoned demons from -<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>the depths of the sea, and at the Sabbat have I -not smitten haggard Gods upon the cheek? Yea, -at Phigalia did I not pass beneath the earth and -strive with a terrible Black Woman, who had the -head of a horse, and wrest from her what I desired -to know? Have I not talked with Morskoi, -that evil formless ruler of the Sea-Folk, and -made a compact with him? And has not even -Phobetor, whose real name may not be spoken, -revealed to me his secrets, at a paid price of which -I do not care to think, now I perceive that all -which has known life must suffer death?</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yea, by the Hoofs of the Goat! it seems to me -that I have done these things; yet how may I be -sure? For I have learned, too, that all man’s -senses lie to him, that nothing we see or hear or -touch is truthfully reported, and that the visible -world at best stands like an island in an uncharted -ocean which is a highway, none the less, for much -alien traffic. Yet, it seems to me that I found -means whereby the universe I live in was stripped -of many veils. It seems to me that I do not regret -having done this.... But presently I shall -be dead, and all my dearly-purchased, wearily-earned -<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>wisdom must lie quiet in a big stone box, -and all which has known life must suffer death.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“For death is mighty, and against it naught -can avail: it is terrible and strong and cruel, and -a lover of bitter jests. And presently, whatever -I have done or learned or dreamed, I must lie -helpless where worms will have their will of me, -and neither the worms nor I will think it odd. -For all which has known life must suffer -death.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>A remote music resounded in his ears, and -cloying perfumes were about him. Turning, he -saw that the walls of this strange room were of -iridescent lacquer, worked with bulls and apes and -parrots in raised gold: black curtains screened the -doors: and the bare floor was of smooth sea-green -onyx. A woman stood there, who did not -speak, but only waited. At length he knew what -terror was, for terror possessed him utterly; and -yet he was elated.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“You have come, then, at last....”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“To you at last I have come as I come to all -men,” she answered, “in my good hour.” And -Ettarre’s hands, gleaming and half-hidden with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>jewels, reached toward his hands, so gladly raised -to hers; and the universe seemed to fold about -him, just as a hand closes.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>Was it as death she came to him in this dream?—as -death made manifest as man’s liberation -from much vain toil? Kennaston, at least, preferred -to think his dreams were not degenerating -into such hackneyed crude misleading allegories. -Or perhaps it was as ghost of the dead woman he -had loved she came, now that he was age-stricken -and nearing death, for in this one dream alone he -had seemed to be an old man.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kennaston could not ever be sure; the broken -dream remained an enigma; but he got sweet -terror and happiness of the dream, for all that, -tasting his moment of inexplicable poignant emotion: -and therewith he was content.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span> - <h2 class='c014'>VII<br /> <br />Treats of Witches, Mixed Drinks, and the Weather</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>MEANWHILE, I used to see Kennaston -nearly every day.... Looking back, -I recollect one afternoon when the Kennastons -were calling on us. It was the usual sort -of late-afternoon call customarily exchanged by -country neighbors....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“We have been intending to come over for -ever so long,” Mrs. Kennaston explained. “But -we have been in such a rush, getting ready for the -summer—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“We only got the carpets up yesterday,” my -wife assented. “Riggs just kept promising and -promising, but he did finally get a man out—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Well, the roads are in pretty bad shape,” I -suggested, “and those vans are fearfully -heavy—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Still, if they would just be honest about it,” -Mrs. Kennaston bewailed—“and not keep putting -<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>you off—No, I really don’t think I ever -saw the Loop road in worse condition—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It’s the long rainy spell we ought to have -had in May,” I informed her. “The seasons -are changing so, though, nowadays that nobody -can keep up with them.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yes, Felix was saying only to-day that we -seem no longer to have any real spring. We -simply go straight from winter into summer.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I was endeavoring to persuade her,” Kennaston -amended, “that it was foolish to go away -as long as it stays cool as it is.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Oh, yes, <i>now</i>!” my wife conceded. “But -the paper says we are in for a long heat period -about the fifteenth. For my part, I think July -is always our worst month.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It is just that you feel the heat so much more -during the first warm days,” I suggested.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Oh, no!” my wife said, earnestly; “the -nights are cool in August, and you can stand the -days. Of course, there are apt to be a few mosquitoes -in September, but not many if you are -careful about standing water—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“The drain-pipe to the gutter around our -<span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>porch got stopped somehow, last year”—this -Kennaston contributed, morosely—“and we had -a terrible time.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“—Then there is always so much to do, getting -the children started at school,” my wife continued—“everything -under the sun needed at the -last moment, of course! And the way they -change all the school-books every year is simply -ridiculous. So, if I had my way, we would always -go away early, and be back again in good -time to get things in shape—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Oh, yes, if we could have our way!”—Mrs. -Kennaston could not deny that—“but don’t -your servants always want August off, to go home? -I know ours do: and, my dear, you simply don’t -dare say a word.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“That is the great trouble in the country,” I -philosophized—“in fact, we suburbanites are -pretty well hag-ridden by our dusky familiars. -The old-time darkies are dying out, and the -younger generation is simply worthless. And -with no more sense of gratitude—Why, Moira -hired a new girl last week, to help out upstairs, -and—”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>“Oh, yes, hag-ridden! like the unfortunate -magicians in old stories!” Kennaston broke in, on -a sudden. “We were speaking about such things -the other day, you remember? I have been thinking—You -see, every one tells me that, apart -from being a master soapboiler, Mr. Harrowby, -you are by way of being an authority on witchcraft -and similar murky accomplishments?” -And he ended with that irritating little noise, that -was nearly a snigger, and just missed being a -cough.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“It so often comes over me,” says Moira—which -happens to be my wife’s name—“that -Dick, all by himself, is really Harrowby & Sons, -Inc.”—she spoke as if I were some sort of writing-fluid—“and -has his products on sale all over -the world. I look on him in a new light, so to -speak, when I realize that daily he is gladdening -Calcutta with his soaps, delighting London with -his dentifrice, and comforting Nova Zembla with -his talcum powder.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Well, but I inherited all that. It isn’t fair -to fling ancestral soap-vats in my face,” I reminded -her. “And yes, I have dabbled a bit in forces -<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>that aren’t as yet thoroughly understood, Mr. -Kennaston. I wouldn’t go so far as to admit to -witchcraft, though. Very certainly I never attended -a Sabbat.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>I recollect now how his face changed. “And -what in heaven’s name was a Sabbat?” Then -he fidgeted, and crossed his legs the other way.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Well! it was scarcely heaven’s name that was -invoked there, if old tales are to be trusted. Traditionally, -the Sabbat was a meeting attended by -all witches in satisfactory diabolical standing, -lightly attired in smears of various magical ointments; -and their vehicle of transportation to this -outing was, of course, the traditional broomstick. -Good Friday,” I continued, seeing they all seemed -willing enough to listen, “was the favorite date -for these gatherings, which were likewise sometimes -held on St. John’s Eve, on Walburga’s Eve, -and on Hallowe’en Night. The diversions were -numerous: there was feasting, music, and dancing, -with the devil performing obligatos on the -pipes or a cittern, and not infrequently preaching -a burlesque sermon. He usually attended in the -form of a monstrous goat; and when—when not -<span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>amorously inclined, often thrashed the witches -with their own broomsticks. The more practical -pursuits of the evening included the opening of -graves, to despoil dead bodies of finger- and -toe-joints, and certain portions of the winding-sheet, -with which to prepare a powder that had -strange uses.... But the less said of that, the -better. Here, also, the devil taught his disciples -how to make and christen statues of wax, so that -by roasting these effigies the persons whose names -they bore would be wasted away by sickness.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I see,” says Kennaston, intently regarding his -fingernails: “they must have been highly enjoyable -social outings, all around.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“They must have been worse than family reunions,” -put in Mrs. Kennaston, and affected to -shudder.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Indeed, there are certain points of resemblance,” -I conceded, “in the general atmosphere -of jealous hostility and the ruthless digging-up of -what were better left buried.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then Kennaston asked carelessly, “But how -could such absurd superstitions ever get any hold -on people, do you suppose?”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>“That would require rather a lengthy explanation—Why, -no,” I protested, in answer to his -shrug; “the Sabbat is not inexplicable. Hahn-Kraftner’s -book, or Herbert Perlin’s either, will -give you a very fair notion of what the Sabbat -really was—something not in the least grotesque, -but infinitely more awe-inspiring than is hinted by -any traditions in popular use. And Le Bret, -whom bookdealers rightly list as ‘curious’—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Yes. I have read those books, it happens. -My uncle had them, you know. But”—Kennaston -was plainly not quite at ease—“but, after -all, is it not more wholesome to dismiss such theories -as fantastic nonsense, even if they are perfectly -true?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Why, not of necessity,” said I. “As touches -what we call the ‘occult,’ delusion after delusion -has been dissipated, of course, and much jubilant -pother made over the advance in knowledge. -But the last of his delusions, which man has yet -to relinquish, is that he invented them. This too -must be surrendered with time; and already we -are beginning to learn that many of these wild -errors are the illegitimate children of grave -<span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>truths. Science now looks with new respect on -folk-lore—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Mr. Kennaston,” says Moira, laughing, “I -warn you, if you start Dick on his hobbies, he will -talk us all to death. So, come into the house, -and I will mix you two men a drink.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And we obeyed her, and—somehow—got to -talking of the recent thunderstorms, and getting -in our hay, and kindred topics.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>Yes, it was much the usual sort of late-afternoon -call customarily exchanged by country neighbors. -I remember Moira’s yawning as she closed -the cellarette, and her wondering how Mrs. Kennaston -could keep on rouging and powdering at -her age, and why Kennaston never had anything -in particular to say for himself?</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Do you suppose it is because he has a swelled -head over his little old book, or is he just naturally -stupid?” she wanted to know.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-r c002'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span><span class='c017'><i>Book Sixth</i></span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c018'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>══════════════════════</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Alas! the sprite that haunts us</div> - <div class='line in1'>Deceives our rash desire;</div> - <div class='line in1'>It whispers of the glorious gods,</div> - <div class='line in1'>And leaves us in the mire:</div> - <div class='line in1'>We cannot learn the cipher</div> - <div class='line in1'>Inscribed upon our cell;</div> - <div class='line in1'>Stars taunt us with a mystery</div> - <div class='line in1'>Which we lack lore to spell.”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>══════════════════════</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c002' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span> - <h2 class='c014'>I<br /> <br />Sundry Disclosures of the Press</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>SUCH as has been described was now Felix -Kennaston’s manner of living, which, as -touches utilitarian ends, it might be wiser -forthwith to dismiss as bred by the sickly fancies -of an idle man bemused with unprofitable reading. -By day his half of the sigil lay hidden in the -library, under a pile of unused bookplates. But -nightly this bit of metal was taken with him to -bed, in order that, when held so as to reflect the -candlelight—for this was always necessary—it -might induce the desired dream of Ettarre; and -that, so, Horvendile would be freed of Felix -Kennaston for eight hours uninterruptedly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>In our social ordering Felix Kennaston stayed -worthy of consideration in Lichfield, both as a -celebrity of sorts and as the owner of four bank-accounts; -and colloquially, as likewise has been -recorded, he was by ordinary dismissed from our -<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>patronizing discussion as having long been -“queer,” and in all probability “a dope-fiend.” -In Lichfield, as elsewhere, a man’s difference from -his fellows cannot comfortably be conceded except -by assuming the difference to be to his discredit.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Meanwhile, the Felix Kennaston who owned -two motors and had money in four banks, went -with his wife about their round of decorous social -duties; and the same Felix Kennaston, with -leisured joy in the task, had completed <i>The Tinctured -Veil</i>—which, as you now know, was -woven from the dreamstuff Horvendile had -fetched out of that fair country—very far from -Lichfield—which is bounded by Avalon and -Phæacia and Sea-coast Bohemia, and the contiguous -forests of Arden and Broceliande, and on -the west of course by the Hesperides.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Then, just before <i>The Tinctured Veil</i> was published, -an accident happened.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Fate, as always frugal of display, used simple -tools. Kennaston, midway in dressing, found he -had no more mouthwash. He went into his -wife’s bathroom, in search of a fresh bottle. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>Kathleen was in Lichfield for the afternoon, at -a card party; and thus it was brought about that -Kennaston found, lying in the corner of her bathroom -press, and hidden by a bottle of Harrowby’s -No. 7 Dental Delight, the missing half of the -sigil of Scoteia—the half which Ettarre had -retained. There was no doubt about it. He -held it in his hand.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Now, that,” said Felix Kennaston, aloud, “is -rather curious.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>He went into the library, and lifted the little -pile of unused bookplates; and presently the two -pieces of metal lay united upon his wife’s dressing-table, -between the manicure-set and the pincushion, -forming a circle not quite three inches -in diameter, just such as he had seen once upon -the brow of Mother Isis, and again in the Didascalion -when Ptolemy of the Fat Paunch was master -of Egypt.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“So, Kathleen somehow found the other half. -She has had it from the first.... But naturally -I never spoke of Felix Kennaston; it was forbidden, -and besides, the sigil’s crowning grace -was that it enabled me to forget his existence. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>And the girl’s name in the printed book is Alison. -And Horvendile is such an unimportant character -that Kathleen, reading the tale hastily—I -thought she simply skimmed it!—did not remember -that name either; and so, did not associate -the dream names in any way with my book, nor -with me.... She too, then, does not know—as -yet.... And, for all that, Kathleen, the real -Kathleen, is Ettarre—‘whatever flesh she may -wear as a garment!’.... Or, rather, Ettarre -is to Kathleen as Horvendile—but am I truly -that high-hearted ageless being? Eh, I do not -know, for we touch mystery everywhere. I only -know it is the cream of the jest that day by day, -while that lean, busy sharp-eyed stranger, whose -hands and lips my own hands and lips meet daily, -because this contact has become a part of the -day’s routine—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>But he was standing before his wife’s dressing-table, -and the mirror showed him a squat insignificant -burgess in shirtsleeves, with grizzled untidied -hair, and mild accommodating pale eyes, -and an inadequate nose, with huge nostrils, and -a spacious naked-looking upper-lip. That was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>Felix Kennaston, so far as all other people were -concerned save Kathleen. He smiled; and in -the act he noted that the visual result was to -make Felix Kennaston appear particularly inane -and sheepish. But he knew now that did not -matter. Nor did it greatly matter—his -thoughts ran—that it was never permitted any -man, not even in his dreams, ever to touch the -hands and lips of Ettarre.</p> - -<p class='c004'>So he left there the two pieces of metal, united -at last upon his wife’s dressing-table, between the -manicure-set and the pincushion, where on her -return she might find them, and, finding, understand -all that which he lacked words to tell.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span> - <h2 class='c014'>II<br /> <br />Considerations Toward Sunset</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>THEN Kennaston went for a meditative -walk in the abating glare of that day’s -portentous sunset, wherein the tree-trunks -westward showed like the black bars of a -grate. It was in just such a twilight that Horvendile -had left Storisende....</p> - -<p class='c004'>And presently he came to a field which had -been mowed that week. The piled hay stood -in rounded heaps, suggestive to Kennaston of -shaggy giant heads bursting through the soil, as -in the old myth of Cadmus and the dragon’s -teeth; beyond were glittering cornfields, whose -tremulous green was shot with brown and sickly -yellow now, and which displayed a host of tassels -like ruined plumes. Autumn was at hand. And -as Kennaston approached, a lark—as though -shot vehemently from the ground—rose singing. -Straight into the air it rose, and was lost -<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>in the sun’s abating brilliance; but still you could -hear its singing; and then, as suddenly, the bird -dropped earthward.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kennaston snapped his fingers. “Aha, my -old acquaintance!” he said, “but now I envy -you no longer!” Then he walked onward, thinking....</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>“What did I think of?” he said, long afterward—“oh, -of nothing with any real clarity. -You see—I touched mystery everywhere....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“But I thought of Kathleen’s first kiss, and of -the first time I came to her alone after we were -married, and of our baby that was born dead.... -I was happier than I had ever been in any -dream.... I saw that the ties of our ordinary -life here in the flesh have their own mystic strength -and sanctity. I comprehended why in our highest -sacrament we pre-figure with holy awe, not things -of the mind and spirit, but flesh and blood.... -A man and his wife, barring stark severance, grow -with time to be one person, you see; and it is not -so much the sort of person as the indivisibility -that matters with them....</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>“And I thought of how in evoking that poor -shadow of Ettarre which figures in my book, I -had consciously written of my dear wife as I remembered -her when we were young together. My -vocabulary and my ink went to the making of the -book’s Ettarre: but with them went Kathleen’s -youth and purity and tenderness and serenity and -loving-kindness toward all created things save the -women I had flirted with—so that she contributed -more than I....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“And I saw that the good-smelling earth about -my pudgy pasty body, and my familiar home—as -I turned back my pudgy pasty face toward Alcluid, -bathed now in the sun’s gold—were lovely kindly -places. Outside were kings and wars and thunderous -zealots, and groaning, rattling thunderous -printing-presses, too, that were turning off a book -called <i>The Tinctured Veil</i>, whereinto had been -distilled and bottled up the very best that was in -Felix Kennaston; but here was just ‘a citadel of -peace in the heart of the trouble.’ And—well, -I was satisfied. People do not think much when -they are satisfied.”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>But he did not walk long; for it was growing -chilly, as steadily dusk deepened, in this twilight -so like that in which Horvendile had left Storisende -forever.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span> - <h2 class='c014'>III<br /> <br />One Way of Elusion</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>KATHLEEN was seated at the dressing-table, -arranging her hair, when Kennaston -came again into her rooms. He -went forward, and without speaking, laid one -hand upon each shoulder.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Now for an instant their eyes met in the mirror; -and the woman’s face he saw there, or -seemed to see there, yearned toward him, and -was unutterably loving, and compassionate, and -yet was resolute in its denial. For it denied him, -no matter with what wistful tenderness, or with -what wonder at his folly. Just for a moment he -seemed to see that; and then he doubted, for -Kathleen’s lips lifted complaisantly to his, and -Kathleen’s matter-of-fact face was just as he was -used to seeing it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And thus, with no word uttered, Felix Kennaston -understood that his wife must disclaim any -knowledge of the sigil of Scoteia, should he be -<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>bold enough to speak of it. He knew he would -never dare to speak of it in that constricted hide-bound -kindly life which he and Kathleen shared -in the flesh. To speak of it would mean to become -forthwith what people glibly called insane. -So Horvendile and Ettarre were parted for all -time. And Kathleen willed this, no matter with -what wistful tenderness, and because of motives -which he would never know—for how could one -tell what was going on inside that small round -head his hand was caressing? Still, he could -guess at her reasons; and he comprehended now -that Ettarre had spoken a very terrible truth—“<i>All -men I must evade at the last, and innumerable -are the ways of my elusion.</i>”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Well, dear,” he said aloud; “and was it a -pleasant party?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Oh, so-so,” Kathleen conceded; “but it was -rather a mixed crowd. Hadn’t you better hurry -and change your clothes, Felix? It is almost dinner-time, -and, you know, we have seats for the -theater to-night.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Quite as if he, too, were thinking of trifles, -Felix Kennaston took up the two bits of metal. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>“I have often wondered what this design meant,” -he said, idly—not looking at her, and hopeful -that this much allusion at least was permitted to -what they dared not speak of openly.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Perhaps Mr. Harrowby could tell you.” -Kathleen also spoke as with indifference—not -looking at him, but into the mirror, and giving deft -final touches to her hair.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Eh—?” Kennaston smiled. “Oh, yes, -Dick Harrowby, I grant you, has dabbled a bit in -occult matters, but hardly deep enough, I fancy, to -explain—this.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“At all events,” Kathleen considered, “it is a -quarter to seven already, and we have seats for the -theater to-night.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>He cleared his throat. “Shall I keep this, or -you?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Why, for heaven’s sake—! The thing is of -no value now, Felix. Give it to me.” She -dropped the two pieces of metal into the wastebasket -by the dressing-table, and rose impatiently. -“Of course if you don’t <i>mean</i> to change for -dinner—”</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>He shrugged and gave it up.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>So they dined alone together, sharing a taciturn -meal, and duly witnessed the drolleries of <i>The -Gutta-Percha Girl</i>. Kennaston’s sleep afterward -was sound and dreamless.</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span> - <h2 class='c014'>IV<br /> <br />Past Storisende Fares the Road of Use and Wont</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>HE read <i>The Tinctured Veil</i> in print, with -curious wistful wonder. “How did I -come to write it?” was his thought.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Thereafter Felix Kennaston, as the world -knows, wrote no more books, save to collect his -later verses into a volume. “I am afraid to write -against the author of <i>The Tinctured Veil</i>,” he was -wont flippantly to declare. And a few of us suspected -even then that he spoke the absolute truth.</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Kennaston continued -their round of decorous social duties: their dinner-parties -were chronicled in the <i>Lichfield Courier-Herald</i>; -and Kennaston delivered, by request, two -scholarly addresses before the Lichfield Woman’s -Club, was duly brought forward to shake hands -with all celebrities who visited the city, and served -acceptably in the vestry of his church.</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>Was Felix Kennaston content?—that is a question -he alone could have answered.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“But why shouldn’t I have been?” he said, a -little later, in reply to the pointblank query. “I -had a handsome home, two motors, money in four -banks, and a good-looking wife who loved and -coddled me. The third prince gets no more at the -end of any fairy tale. Still, the old woman spoke -the truth, of course—one pays as one goes -out.... Oh, yes, one pays!—that is an inevitable -rule; but what you have to pay is not exorbitant, -all things considered.... So, be off -with your crude pessimisms, Harrowby!”</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>And indeed, when one comes to think, he was -in no worse case than any other husband of his -standing. “Who wins his love must lose her,” -as no less tunefully than wisely sings one of our -poets—a married bard, you may be sure—and -all experience tends to prove his warbling perfectly -veracious. Romancers, from Time’s nonage, -have invented and have manipulated a host of -staple severances for their puppet lovers—sedulously -juggling, ever since Menander’s heyday, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>with compromising letters and unscrupulous rivals -and shipwrecks and wills and testy parents and -what not—and have contrived to show love overriding -these barriers plausibly enough. But he -must truly be a boldfaced rhapsodist who dared at -outset marry his puppets, to each other, and tell -you how their love remained unchanged.</p> - -<p class='c004'>I am thus digressing, in obsolete Thackerayan -fashion, to twaddle about love-matches alone. -People marry through a variety of other reasons, -and with varying results: but to marry for love is -to invite inevitable tragedy. There needs no side-glancing -here at such crass bankruptcies of affection -as end in homicide or divorce proceedings, or -even just in daily squabbling: these dramas are of -the body. They may be taken as the sardonic -comedies, or at their most outrageous as the blustering -cheap melodramas, of existence; and so lie -beyond the tragic field. For your true right -tragedy is enacted on the stage of a man’s soul, -with the man’s reason as lone auditor.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And being happily married—but how shall I -word it? Let us step into the very darkest corner. -Now, my dear Mr. Grundy, your wife is a credit -<span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>to her sex, an ornament to her circle, and the mainstay -of your home; and you, sir, are proverbially -the most complacent and uxorious of spouses. -But you are not, after all, married to the girl you -met at the chancel-rail, so long and long ago, with -unforgotten tremblings of the knees. Your wife, -that estimable matron, is quite another person. -And you live in the same house, and you very often -see her with hair uncombed, or even with a disheveled -temper; you are familiar with her hours -of bathing, her visits to the dentist, and a host of -other physical phenomena we need not go into; -she does not appreciate your jokes; she peeps into -your personal correspondence; she keeps the top -bureau-drawer in a jumble of veils and gloves and -powder-rags and hair-pins and heaven knows -what; her gowns continually require to be buttoned -up the back in an insane incalculable fashion; she -irrationally orders herring for breakfast, though -you never touch it:—and in fine, your catalogue -of disillusionments is endless.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Hand upon heart, my dear Mr. Grundy, is this -the person to whom you despatched those letters -you wrote before you were married? Your wife -<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>has those epistles safely put away somewhere, you -may depend on it: and for what earthly consideration -would you read them aloud to her? Some -day, when one or the other of you is dead, those -letters will ring true again and rouse a noble -sorrow; and the survivor will be all the better for -reading them. But now they only prove you were -once free of uplands which you do not visit nowadays: -and that common knowledge is a secret -every wife must share half-guiltily with her husband—even -in your happiest matrimonial ventures—as -certainly as it is the one topic they may -not ever discuss with profit.</p> - -<p class='c004'>For you are married, you and she: and you live, -contentedly enough, in a four-square world, where -there is the rent and your social obligations and -the children’s underclothing to be considered, long -and long before indulgence in rattle-pate mountain-climbing. -And people glibly think of you as Mr. -and Mrs. Grundy now, almost as a unit: but do you -really know very much about that woman whose -gentle breathing—for we will not crudely call it -snoring—you can always hear at will o’ nights? -<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>Suppose, by a wild flight of fancy, that she is no -more honest with you than you are with her?</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>So to Kennaston his wife remained a not unfriendly -mystery. They had been as demi-gods -for a little while; and the dream had faded, to -leave it matters not what memories; and they were -only Mr. and Mrs. Felix Kennaston. Concerning -all of us, my fellow failures in the great and -hopeless adventure of matrimony, this apologue -is narrated.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Yet, as I look into my own wife’s face—no -more the loveliest, but still the dearest of all -earthly faces, I protest—and as I wonder how -much she really knows about me or the universe at -large, and have not the least notion—why, I elect -to believe that, in the ultimate, Kennaston was not -dissatisfied. For all of us the dream-haze merges -into the glare of common day; the <i>dea certé</i>, whom -that fled roseate light transfigured, stands confessed -a simple loving woman, a creature of like -flesh and limitations as our own: but who are we -to mate with goddesses? It is enough that much -<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>in us which is not merely human has for once found -exercise—has had its high-pitched outing, however -fleet—and that, because of many abiding -memories, we know, assuredly, the way of flesh is -not a futile scurrying through dining-rooms and -offices and shops and parlors, and thronged streets -and restaurants, “and so to bed.”</p> -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span> - <h2 class='c014'>V<br /> <br />Which Mr. Flaherty Does Not Quite Explain</h2> -</div> -<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_7 c015'>WITH the preceding preachment I wish I -might end the story. For what follows—which -is my own little part in -the story of Felix Kennaston—is that discomfortable -sort of anticlimax wherein the key to a -mystery, by unlocking unsuspected doors, discloses -only another equally perplexing riddle.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kathleen Kennaston died in her sleep some -eleven months after her husband discovered the -missing half of the sigil....</p> - -<p class='c004'>“I have a sort of headache,” she said, toward -nine o’clock in the evening. “I believe I will go -to bed, Felix.” So she kissed him goodnight, in -just that emotionless preoccupied fashion that -years of living together had made familiar; and so -she left him in the music-room, to smoke and read -magazines. He never saw her living any more.</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kathleen stopped in the hall, to wind the clock. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>“Don’t forget to lock the front door when you -come up, Felix.” She was out of sight, but he -could hear her, as well as the turning of the clock -key. “I forgot to tell you I saw Adèle Van -Orden to-day, at Greenberg’s. They are going -down to the Beach Thursday. She told me they -haven’t had a cook for three days now, and she -and old Mrs. Haggage have had to do all the -work. She looked it, too—I never saw any one -let themselves go all to pieces the way she has—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>“How—? Oh, yes,” he mumbled, intent -upon his reading; “it is pretty bad. Don’t many -of them keep their looks as you do, dear—”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And that was all. He never heard his wife’s -voice any more. Kennaston read contentedly for -a couple of hours, and went to bed. It was in the -morning the maid found Mrs. Kennaston dead -and cold. She had died in her sleep, quite peacefully, -after taking two headache powders, while -her husband was contentedly pursuing the thread -of a magazine story through the advertising -columns....</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kennaston had never spoken to her concerning -the sigil. Indeed, I do not well see how he could -<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>have dared to do so, in view of her attitude in a -world so opulent in insane asylums. But among -her effects, hidden away as before in the press in -her bathroom, Kennaston found both the pieces of -metal. They were joined together now, forming -a perfect circle, but with the line of their former -separation yet visible.</p> - -<p class='c004'>He showed me the sigil of Scoteia, having told -this tale....</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>I had thought from the first there would prove -to be supernal double-dealing back of all this. -The Wardens of Earth sometimes unbar strange -windows, I suspect—windows which face on -other worlds than ours; and They permit this-or-that -man to peer out fleetingly, perhaps, just for -the joke’s sake; since always They humorously -contrive matters so this man shall never be able to -convince his fellows of what he has seen, or of -the fact that he was granted any peep at all. The -Wardens without fail arrange what we call—gravely, -too—“some natural explanation.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>Kennaston showed me the sigil of Scoteia, having -told this tale....</p> - -<p class='c004'><span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>“You are interested in such things, you see—just -as Kathleen said. And I have sometimes -wondered if when she said, ‘Perhaps Mr. Harrowby -could tell you,’ the words did not mean -more than they seemed then to mean—?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>I was interested now, very certainly. But I -knew that Kathleen Kennaston had referred not -at all to my interest in certain of the less known -sides of existence, which people loosely describe -as “occult.”</p> - -<p class='c004'>And slowly, I comprehended that for the thousandth -time the Wardens of Earth were uncompromised; -that here too They stayed unconvicted -of negligence in Their duty: for here was at hand -the “natural explanation.” Kennaston’s was one -of those curious, but not uncommon, cases of self-hypnosis, -such as Fehlig and Alexis Bidoche have -investigated and described. Kennaston’s first -dream of Ettarre had been an ordinary normal -dream, in no way particularly remarkable; and afterward, -his will to dream again of Ettarre, co-operating -with his queer reading, his temperament, -his idle life, his belief in the sigil, and co-operating -too—as yet men may not say just how—with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>the hypnotic effects of any trivial bright -object when gazed at steadily, had been sufficient -to induce more dreams. I could understand how -it had all befallen in consonance with hackneyed -laws, insane as was the outcome.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And the prelate and the personage had referred, -of course, to the then-notorious nineteenth and -twentieth chapters of <i>Men Who Loved Alison</i>, in -which is described the worship of the sigil of -Scoteia—and which chapters they, in common -with a great many other people, considered unnecessarily -to defile a noble book. The coincidence -of the mirrors was quaint, but in itself came to -less than nothing; for as touches the two questions -as to white pigeons, the proverb alluded to by the -personage, concerning the bird that fouls its own -nest, is fairly familiar, and the prelate’s speech was -the most natural of prosaic inquiries. What these -two men had said and done, in fine, amounted -to absolutely nothing until transfigured in the -crucible of an ardent imagination, by the curious -literary notion that human life as people spend it -is purposeful and clearly motived.</p> - -<p class='c004'>For what Kennaston showed me was the metal -<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>top of a cold cream jar. I am sure of this, for -Harrowby’s Crême Cleopatre is one of the most -popular articles our firm manufactures. I hesitate -to tell you how many thousand husbands may find -at will among their wives’ possessions just such a -talisman as Kennaston had discovered. I myself -selected the design for these covers when the stuff -was first put in the market. They are sealed on, -you may remember, with gray wax, to carry out -the general idea that we are vending old Egyptian -secrets of beauty. And the design upon these -covers, as I have since been at pains to make sure, -is in no known alphabet. P. N. Flaherty (the -artist implicated) tells me he “just made it up -out of his head”—blending meaningless curlicues -and dots and circles with an irresponsible hand, -and sketching a crack across all, “just to make it -look ancient like.” It was along this semblance -of a fracture—for there the brittle metal is thinnest—that -the cover first picked up by Kennaston -had been broken. The cover he showed me was, -of course, complete.... So much for Mr. -Flaherty’s part in the matter; and of hieroglyphic -lore, or any acquaintance with heathenry beyond -<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>his gleanings from the moving pictures, I would be -the last person to suspect him.</p> - -<p class='c004'>It was natural that Mrs. Kennaston should have -used Harrowby’s Crême Cleopatre habitually; for -indeed, as my wife had often pointed out, Mrs. -Kennaston used a considerable amount of toilet -preparations. And that Mrs. Allardyce should -have had a jar of Harrowby’s Crême Cleopatre -in her handbag was almost inevitable: there is no -better restorative and cleanser for the complexion, -after the dust and dirt of a train-journey, as is -unanimously acknowledged by Harrowby & Sons’ -advertisements.</p> - -<p class='c004'>But there is the faith that moves mountains, as -we glibly acknowledge with unconcernment as to -the statement’s tremendous truth; and Felix Kennaston -had believed in his talisman implicitly from -the very first. Thus, through his faith, and -through we know not what soul-hunger, so many -long hours, and—here is the sardonic point—so -many contented and artistically-fruitful hours of -Kennaston’s life in the flesh had been devoted to -contemplation of a mirage. It was no cause for -astonishment that he had more than once surprised -<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>compassion and wonder in his wife’s eyes: indeed, -she could hardly have failed to suspect his mind -was affected; but, loving him, she had tried to -shield him, as is the way of women.... I found -the whole matter droll and rather heartbreaking. -But the Wardens of Earth were uncompromised, -so far as I could prove. Whatever windows had -or had not been unbarred, there remained no -proof....</p> - -<hr class='c020' /> - -<p class='c004'>So I shook my head. “Why, no,” said I, with -at worst a verbal adhesion to veracity. “I, for -one, do not know what the design means. Still, -you have never had this deciphered,” I added, -gently. “Suppose—suppose there had been -some mistake, Mr. Kennaston—that there was -nothing miraculous about the sigil, after all—?”</p> - -<p class='c004'>I cannot tell you of his expression; but it caused -me for the moment to feel disconcertingly little -and obtuse.</p> - -<p class='c004'>“Now, how can you say that, I wonder!” he -marveled—and then, of course, he fidgeted, and -crossed his legs the other way—“when I have -been telling you, from alpha to omega, what is the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>one great thing the sigil taught me—that everything -in life is miraculous. For the sigil taught -me that it rests within the power of each of us -to awaken at will from a dragging nightmare of -life made up of unimportant tasks and tedious useless -little habits, to see life as it really is, and to -rejoice in its exquisite wonderfulness. If the sigil -were proved to be the top of a tomato-can, it would -not alter that big fact, nor my fixed faith. No, -Harrowby, the common names we call things by -do not matter—except to show how very dull we -are,” he ended, with that irritating little noise that -was nearly a snigger, and just missed being a -cough.</p> - -<p class='c004'>And I was sorely tempted.... You see, I -never liked Felix Kennaston. The man could create -beauty, to outlive him; but in his own appearance -he combined grossness with insignificance, and -he added thereto a variety of ugly senseless little -mannerisms. He could evolve interesting ideas, -as to Omnipotence, the universe, art, life, religion, -himself, his wife, a candlestick or a comet—anything—and -very probably as to me; but his -preferences and his limitations would conform and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>color all these ideas until they were precisely what -he desired to believe, no more or less; and, having -them, he lacked means, or courage, to voice his -ideas adequately, so that to talk with him meant -a dull interchange of commonplaces. Again, he -could aspire toward chivalric love, that passion -which sees in womankind High God made manifest -in the loveliest and most perfect of His creations; -but in the quest he had succeeded merely in -utilizing womenfolk either as toys to play with and -put by or as drudges to wait on him; yet, with all -this, he could retain unshaken his faith in and his -worship of that ideal woman. He could face no -decision without dodging; no temptation without -compromise; and he lied, as if by instinct, at the -threatened approach of discomfort or of his fellows’ -disapproval: yet devils, men and seraphim -would conspire in vain in any effort to dissuade him -from his self-elected purpose. For, though he -would do no useful labor he could possibly avoid, -he could grudge nothing to the perfection of his -chosen art, in striving to perpetuate the best as he -saw it.</p> - -<p class='c004'>In short, to me this man seemed an inadequate -<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>kickworthy creature, who had muddled away the -only life he was quite certain of enjoying, in contemplation -of a dream; and who had, moreover, -despoiled the lives of others, too, for the dream’s -sake. To him the dream alone could matter—his -proud assurance that life was not a blind and -aimless business, not all a hopeless waste and confusion; -and that he, this gross weak animal, could -be strong and excellent and wise, and his existence -a pageant of beauty and nobility. To prove this -dream was based on a delusion would be no doubt -an enjoyable retaliation, for Kennaston’s being so -unengaging to the eye and so stupid to talk to; -but it would make the dream no whit less lovely or -less dear to him—or to the rest of us, either.</p> - -<p class='c004'>For it occurred to me that his history was, in -essentials, the history of our race, thus far. All -I advanced for or against him, equally, was true -of all men that have ever lived.... For it is in -this inadequate flesh that each of us must serve his -dream; and so, must fail in the dream’s service, -and must parody that which he holds dearest. To -this we seem condemned, being what we are. -Thus, one and all, we play false to the dream, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>it evades us, and we dwindle into responsible citizens. -And yet always thereafter—because of -many abiding memories—we know, assuredly, -that the way of flesh is not a futile scurrying -through dining-rooms and offices and shops and -parlors, and thronged streets and restaurants, -“and so to bed.” ...</p> - -<p class='c004'>It was in appropriate silence, therefore, that I -regarded Felix Kennaston, as a parable. The -man was not merely very human; he was humanity. -And I reflected that it is only by preserving faith in -human dreams that we may, after all, perhaps -some day make them come true.</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c002'> - <div>THE END</div> - <div class='c002'><span class='small'>VAIL-BALLOU CO., BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c009' /> -</div> -<p class='c004'> </p> -<div class='tnbox'> - - <ul class='ul_1 c009'> - <li>Transcriber’s Notes: - <ul class='ul_2'> - <li>Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected. - </li> - <li>Typographical errors were silently corrected. - </li> - <li>Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant - form was found in this book. - </li> - </ul> - </li> - </ul> - -</div> -<p class='c004'> </p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CREAM OF THE JEST ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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