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diff --git a/old/jjphj10.txt b/old/jjphj10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f17761a..0000000 --- a/old/jjphj10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,681 +0,0 @@ -*** Project Gutenberg etext of The Philosopher's Joke *** -By Jerome K. Jerome - -Scanned and proofed by Ronald Burkey (rburkey@heads-up.com) and Amy -Thomte. - -Notes on the editing: Punctuation and hyphenation have been retained -as in the original, except words broken across lines have been joined. -Italicized text is delimited by underlines ("_"). A long break -between paragraphs is represented by "***". - - -THE PHILOSOPHER'S JOKE -By JEROME K. JEROME - -Author of "Paul Kelver," "Three Men in a Boat," etc., etc. - -NEW YORK -DODD, MEAD & COMPANY -1909 - - -COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY JEROME K. JEROME -COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY -Published, September, 1908 - - -THE PHILOSOPHER'S JOKE - -Myself, I do not believe this story. Six persons are persuaded of its -truth; and the hope of these six is to convince themselves it was an -hallucination. Their difficulty is there are six of them. Each one -alone perceives clearly that it never could have been. Unfortunately, -they are close friends, and cannot get away from one another; and when -they meet and look into each other's eyes the thing takes shape again. - -The one who told it to me, and who immediately wished he had not, was -Armitage. He told it to me one night when he and I were the only -occupants of the Club smoking-room. His telling me--as he explained -afterwards--was an impulse of the moment. Sense of the thing had been -pressing upon him all that day with unusual persistence; and the idea -had occurred to him, on my entering the room, that the flippant -scepticism with which an essentially commonplace mind like my own--he -used the words in no offensive sense--would be sure to regard the -affair might help to direct his own attention to its more absurd -aspect. I am inclined to think it did. He thanked me for dismissing -his entire narrative as the delusion of a disordered brain, and begged -me not to mention the matter to another living soul. I promised; and -I may as well here observe that I do not call this mentioning the -matter. Armitage is not the man's real name; it does not even begin -with an A. You might read this story and dine next to him the same -evening: you would know nothing. - -Also, of course, I did not consider myself debarred from speaking -about it, discreetly, to Mrs. Armitage, a charming woman. She burst -into tears at the first mention of the thing. It took me all I knew -to tranquillize her. She said that when she did not think about the -thing she could be happy. She and Armitage never spoke of it to one -another; and left to themselves her opinion was that eventually they -might put remembrance behind them. She wished they were not quite so -friendly with the Everetts. Mr. and Mrs. Everett had both dreamt -precisely the same dream; that is, assuming it was a dream. Mr. -Everett was not the sort of person that a clergyman ought, perhaps, to -know; but as Armitage would always argue: for a teacher of -Christianity to withdraw his friendship from a man because that man -was somewhat of a sinner would be inconsistent. Rather should he -remain his friend and seek to influence him. They dined with the -Everetts regularly on Tuesdays, and sitting opposite the Everetts, it -seemed impossible to accept as a fact that all four of them at the -same time and in the same manner had fallen victims to the same -illusion. I think I succeeded in leaving her more hopeful. She -acknowledged that the story, looked at from the point of common sense, -did sound ridiculous; and threatened me that if I ever breathed a word -of it to anyone, she never would speak to me again. She is a charming -woman, as I have already mentioned. - -By a curious coincidence I happened at the time to be one of Everett's -directors on a Company he had just promoted for taking over and -developing the Red Sea Coasting trade. I lunched with him the -following Sunday. He is an interesting talker, and curiosity to -discover how so shrewd a man would account for his connection with so -insane--so impossible a fancy, prompted me to hint my knowledge of the -story. The manner both of him and of his wife changed suddenly. They -wanted to know who it was had told me. I refused the information, -because it was evident they would have been angry with him. Everett's -theory was that one of them had dreamt it--probably Camelford--and by -hypnotic suggestion had conveyed to the rest of them the impression -that they had dreamt it also. He added that but for one slight -incident he should have ridiculed from the very beginning the argument -that it could have been anything else than a dream. But what that -incident was he would not tell me. His object, as he explained, was -not to dwell upon the business, but to try and forget it. Speaking as -a friend, he advised me, likewise, not to cackle about the matter any -more than I could help, lest trouble should arise with regard to my -director's fees. His way of putting things is occasionally blunt. - -It was at the Everetts', later on, that I met Mrs. Camelford, one of -the handsomest women I have ever set eyes upon. It was foolish of me, -but my memory for names is weak. I forgot that Mr. and Mrs. Camelford -were the other two concerned, and mentioned the story as a curious -tale I had read years ago in an old Miscellany. I had reckoned on it -to lead me into a discussion with her on platonic friendship. She -jumped up from her chair and gave me a look. I remembered then, and -could have bitten out my tongue. It took me a long while to make my -peace, but she came round in the end, consenting to attribute my -blunder to mere stupidity. She was quite convinced herself, she told -me, that the thing was pure imagination. It was only when in company -with the others that any doubt as to this crossed her mind. Her own -idea was that, if everybody would agree never to mention the matter -again, it would end in their forgetting it. She supposed it was her -husband who had been my informant: he was just that sort of ass. She -did not say it unkindly. She said when she was first married, ten -years ago, few people had a more irritating effect upon her than had -Camelford; but that since she had seen more of other men she had come -to respect him. I like to hear a woman speak well of her husband. It -is a departure which, in my opinion, should be more encouraged than it -is. I assured her Camelford was not the culprit; and on the -understanding that I might come to see her--not too often--on her -Thursdays, I agreed with her that the best thing I could do would be -to dismiss the subject from my mind and occupy myself instead with -questions that concerned myself. - -I had never talked much with Camelford before that time, though I had -often seen him at the Club. He is a strange man, of whom many stories -are told. He writes journalism for a living, and poetry, which he -publishes at his own expense, apparently for recreation. It occurred -to me that his theory would at all events be interesting; but at first -he would not talk at all, pretending to ignore the whole affair, as -idle nonsense. I had almost despaired of drawing him out, when one -evening, of his own accord, he asked me if I thought Mrs. Armitage, -with whom he knew I was on terms of friendship, still attached -importance to the thing. On my expressing the opinion that Mrs. -Armitage was the most troubled of the group, he was irritated; and -urged me to leave the rest of them alone and devote whatever sense I -might possess to persuading her in particular that the entire thing -was and could be nothing but pure myth. He confessed frankly that to -him it was still a mystery. He could easily regard it as chimera, but -for one slight incident. He would not for a long while say what that -was, but there is such a thing as perseverance, and in the end I -dragged it out of him. This is what he told me. - -"We happened by chance to find ourselves alone in the conservatory, -that night of the ball--we six. Most of the crowd had already left. -The last 'extra' was being played: the music came to us faintly. -Stooping to pick up Jessica's fan, which she had let fall to the -ground, something shining on the tesselated pavement underneath a -group of palms suddenly caught my eye. We had not said a word to one -another; indeed, it was the first evening we had any of us met one -another--that is, unless the thing was not a dream. I picked it up. -The others gathered round me, and when we looked into one another's -eyes we understood: it was a broken wine-cup, a curious goblet of -Bavarian glass. It was the goblet out of which we had all dreamt that -we had drunk." - -I have put the story together as it seems to me it must have happened. -The incidents, at all events, are facts. Things have since occurred -to those concerned affording me hope that they will never read it. I -should not have troubled to tell it at all, but that it has a moral. - - *** - -Six persons sat round the great oak table in the wainscoted _Speise -Saal_ of that cosy hostelry, the Kneiper Hof at Konigsberg. It was -late into the night. Under ordinary circumstances they would have -been in bed, but having arrived by the last train from Dantzic, and -having supped on German fare, it had seemed to them discreeter to -remain awhile in talk. The house was strangely silent. The rotund -landlord, leaving their candles ranged upon the sideboard, had wished -them "Gute Nacht" an hour before. The spirit of the ancient house -enfolded them within its wings. - -Here in this very chamber, if rumour is to be believed, Emmanuel Kant -himself had sat discoursing many a time and oft. The walls, behind -which for more than forty years the little peak-faced man had thought -and worked, rose silvered by the moonlight just across the narrow way; -the three high windows of the _Speise Saal_ give out upon the old -Cathedral tower beneath which now he rests. Philosophy, curious -concerning human phenomena, eager for experience, unhampered by the -limitation Convention would impose upon all speculation, was in the -smoky air. - -"Not into future events," remarked the Rev. Nathaniel Armitage, "it is -better they should be hidden from us. But into the future of -ourselves--our temperament, our character--I think we ought to be -allowed to see. At twenty we are one individual; at forty, another -person entirely, with other views, with other interests, a different -outlook upon life, attracted by quite other attributes, repelled by -the very qualities that once attracted us. It is extremely awkward, -for all of us." - -"I am glad to hear somebody else say that," observed Mrs. Everett, in -her gentle, sympathetic voice. "I have thought it all myself so -often. Sometimes I have blamed myself, yet how can one help it: the -things that appeared of importance to us, they become indifferent; new -voices call to us; the idols we once worshipped, we see their feet of -clay." - -"If under the head of idols you include me," laughed the jovial Mr. -Everett, "don't hesitate to say so." He was a large red-faced -gentleman, with small twinkling eyes, and a mouth both strong and -sensuous. "I didn't make my feet myself. I never asked anybody to -take me for a stained-glass saint. It is not I who have changed." - -"I know, dear, it is I," his thin wife answered with a meek smile. "I -was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, when you married me." - -"You were, my dear," agreed her husband: "As a girl few could hold a -candle to you." - -"It was the only thing about me that you valued, my beauty," continued -his wife; "and it went so quickly. I feel sometimes as if I had -swindled you." - -"But there is a beauty of the mind, of the soul," remarked the Rev. -Nathaniel Armitage, "that to some men is more attractive than mere -physical perfection." - -The soft eyes of the faded lady shone for a moment with the light of -pleasure. "I am afraid Dick is not of that number," she sighed. - -"Well, as I said just now about my feet," answered her husband -genially, "I didn't make myself. I always have been a slave to beauty -and always shall be. There would be no sense in pretending among -chums that you haven't lost your looks, old girl." He laid his fine -hand with kindly intent upon her bony shoulder. "But there is no call -for you to fret yourself as if you had done it on purpose. No one but -a lover imagines a woman growing more beautiful as she grows older." - -"Some women would seem to," answered his wife. - -Involuntarily she glanced to where Mrs. Camelford sat with elbows -resting on the table; and involuntarily also the small twinkling eyes -of her husband followed in the same direction. There is a type that -reaches its prime in middle age. Mrs. Camelford, _nee_ Jessica -Dearwood, at twenty had been an uncanny-looking creature, the only -thing about her appealing to general masculine taste having been her -magnificent eyes, and even these had frightened more than they had -allured. At forty, Mrs. Camelford might have posed for the entire -Juno. - -"Yes, he's a cunning old joker is Time," murmured Mr. Everett, almost -inaudibly. - -"What ought to have happened," said Mrs. Armitage, while with deft -fingers rolling herself a cigarette, "was for you and Nellie to have -married." - -Mrs. Everett's pale face flushed scarlet. - -"My dear," exclaimed the shocked Nathaniel Armitage, flushing -likewise. - -"Oh, why may one not sometimes speak the truth?" answered his wife -petulantly. "You and I are utterly unsuited to one another--everybody -sees it. At nineteen it seemed to me beautiful, holy, the idea of -being a clergyman's wife, fighting by his side against evil. Besides, -you have changed since then. You were human, my dear Nat, in those -days, and the best dancer I had ever met. It was your dancing was -your chief attraction for me as likely as not, if I had only known -myself. At nineteen how can one know oneself?" - -"We loved each other," the Rev. Armitage reminded her. - -"I know we did, passionately--then; but we don't now." She laughed a -little bitterly. "Poor Nat! I am only another trial added to your -long list. Your beliefs, your ideals are meaningless to me--mere -narrow-minded dogmas, stifling thought. Nellie was the wife Nature -had intended for you, so soon as she had lost her beauty and with it -all her worldly ideas. Fate was maturing her for you, if only we had -known. As for me, I ought to have been the wife of an artist, of a -poet." Unconsciously a glance from her ever restless eyes flashed -across the table to where Horatio Camelford sat, puffing clouds of -smoke into the air from a huge black meerschaum pipe. "Bohemia is my -country. Its poverty, its struggle would have been a joy to me. -Breathing its free air, life would have been worth living." - -Horatio Camelford leant back with eyes fixed on the oaken ceiling. -"It is a mistake," said Horatio Camelford, "for the artist ever to -marry." - -The handsome Mrs. Camelford laughed good-naturedly. "The artist," -remarked Mrs. Camelford, "from what I have seen of him would never -know the inside of his shirt from the outside if his wife was not -there to take it out of the drawer and put it over his head." - -"His wearing it inside out would not make much difference to the -world," argued her husband. "The sacrifice of his art to the -necessity of keeping his wife and family does." - -"Well, you at all events do not appear to have sacrificed much, my -boy," came the breezy voice of Dick Everett. "Why, all the world is -ringing with your name." - -"When I am forty-one, with all the best years of my life behind me," -answered the Poet. "Speaking as a man, I have nothing to regret. No -one could have had a better wife; my children are charming. I have -lived the peaceful existence of the successful citizen. Had I been -true to my trust I should have gone out into the wilderness, the only -possible home of the teacher, the prophet. The artist is the -bridegroom of Art. Marriage for him is an immorality. Had I my time -again I should remain a bachelor." - -"Time brings its revenges, you see," laughed Mrs. Camelford. "At -twenty that fellow threatened to commit suicide if I would not marry -him, and cordially disliking him I consented. Now twenty years later, -when I am just getting used to him, he calmly turns round and says he -would have been better without me." - -"I heard something about it at the time," said Mrs. Armitage. "You -were very much in love with somebody else, were you not?" - -"Is not the conversation assuming a rather dangerous direction?" -laughed Mrs. Camelford. - -"I was thinking the same thing, "agreed Mrs. Everett. "One would -imagine some strange influence had seized upon us, forcing us to speak -our thoughts aloud." - -"I am afraid I was the original culprit," admitted the Reverend -Nathaniel. "This room is becoming quite oppressive. Had we not -better go to bed?" - -The ancient lamp suspended from its smoke-grimed beam uttered a faint, -gurgling sob, and spluttered out. The shadow of the old Cathedral -tower crept in and stretched across the room, now illuminated only by -occasional beams from the cloud-curtained moon. At the other end of -the table sat a peak-faced little gentleman, clean-shaven, in -full-bottomed wig. - -"Forgive me," said the little gentleman. He spoke in English, with a -strong accent. "But it seems to me here is a case where two parties -might be of service to one another." - -The six fellow-travellers round the table looked at one another, but -none spoke. The idea that came to each of them, as they explained to -one another later, was that without remembering it they had taken -their candles and had gone to bed. This was surely a dream. - -"It would greatly assist me," continued the little peak-faced -gentleman, "in experiments I am conducting into the phenomena of human -tendencies, if you would allow me to put your lives back twenty -years." - -Still no one of the six replied. It seemed to them that the little -old gentleman must have been sitting there among them all the time, -unnoticed by them. - -"Judging from your talk this evening," continued the peak-faced little -gentleman, "you should welcome my offer. You appear to me to be one -and all of exceptional intelligence. You perceive the mistakes that -you have made: you understand the causes. The future veiled, you -could not help yourselves. What I propose to do is to put you back -twenty years. You will be boys and girls again, but with this -difference: that the knowledge of the future, so far as it relates to -yourselves, will remain with you. - -"Come," urged the old gentleman, "the thing is quite simple of -accomplishment. As--as a certain philosopher has clearly proved: the -universe is only the result of our own perceptions. By what may -appear to you to be magic--by what in reality will be simply a -chemical operation--I remove from your memory the events of the last -twenty years, with the exception of what immediately concerns your own -personalities. You will retain all knowledge of the changes, physical -and mental, that will be in store for you; all else will pass from -your perception." - -The little old gentleman took a small phial from his waistcoat pocket, -and, filling one of the massive wine-glasses from a decanter, measured -into it some half-a-dozen drops. Then he placed the glass in the -centre of the table. - -"Youth is a good time to go back to," said the peak-faced little -gentleman, with a smile. "Twenty years ago, it was the night of the -Hunt Ball. You remember it?" - -It was Everett who drank first. He drank it with his little twinkling -eyes fixed hungrily on the proud handsome face of Mrs. Camelford; and -then handed the glass to his wife. It was she perhaps who drank from -it most eagerly. Her life with Everett, from the day when she had -risen from a bed of sickness stripped of all her beauty, had been one -bitter wrong. She drank with the wild hope that the thing might -possibly be not a dream; and thrilled to the touch of the man she -loved, as reaching across the table he took the glass from her hand. -Mrs. Armitage was the fourth to drink. She took the cup from her -husband, drank with a quiet smile, and passed it on to Camelford. And -Camelford drank, looking at nobody, and replaced the glass upon the -table. - -"Come," said the little old gentleman to Mrs. Camelford, "you are the -only one left. The whole thing will be incomplete without you." - -"I have no wish to drink," said Mrs. Camelford, and her eyes sought -those of her husband, but he would not look at her. - -"Come," again urged the Figure. And then Camelford looked at her and -laughed drily. - -"You had better drink," he said. "It's only a dream." - -"If you wish it," she answered. And it was from his hands she took -the glass. - - *** - -It is from the narrative as Armitage told it to me that night in the -Club smoking-room that I am taking most of my material. It seemed to -him that all things began slowly to rise upward, leaving him -stationary, but with a great pain as though the inside of him were -being torn away--the same sensation greatly exaggerated, so he likened -it, as descending in a lift. But around him all the time was silence -and darkness unrelieved. After a period that might have been minutes, -that might have been years, a faint light crept towards him. It grew -stronger, and into the air which now fanned his cheek there stole the -sound of far-off music. The light and the music both increased, and -one by one his senses came back to him. He was seated on a low -cushioned bench beneath a group of palms. A young girl was sitting -beside him, but her face was turned away from him. - -"I did not catch your name," he was saying. "Would you mind telling -it to me?" - -She turned her face towards him. It was the most spiritually -beautiful face he had ever seen. "I am in the same predicament," she -laughed. "You had better write yours on my programme, and I will -write mine on yours." - -So they wrote upon each other's programme and exchanged again. The -name she had written was Alice Blatchley. - -He had never seen her before, that he could remember. Yet at the back -of his mind there dwelt the haunting knowledge of her. Somewhere long -ago they had met, talked together. Slowly, as one recalls a dream, it -came back to him. In some other life, vague, shadowy, he had married -this woman. For the first few years they had loved each other; then -the gulf had opened between them, widened. Stern, strong voices had -called to him to lay aside his selfish dreams, his boyish ambitions, -to take upon his shoulders the yoke of a great duty. When more than -ever he had demanded sympathy and help, this woman had fallen away -from him. His ideals but irritated her. Only at the cost of daily -bitterness had he been able to resist her endeavours to draw him from -his path. A face--that of a woman with soft eyes, full of -helpfulness, shone through the mist of his dream--the face of a woman -who would one day come to him out of the Future with outstretched -hands that he would yearn to clasp. - -"Shall we not dance?" said the voice beside him. "I really won't sit -out a waltz." - -They hurried into the ball-room. With his arm about her form, her -wondrous eyes shyly, at rare moments, seeking his, then vanishing -again behind their drooping lashes, the brain, the mind, the very soul -of the young man passed out of his own keeping. She complimented him -in her bewitching manner, a delightful blending of condescension and -timidity. - -"You dance extremely well," she told him. "You may ask me for -another, later on." - -The words flashed out from that dim haunting future. "Your dancing -was your chief attraction for me, as likely as not, had I but known?" - -All that evening and for many months to come the Present and the -Future fought within him. And the experience of Nathaniel Armitage, -divinity student, was the experience likewise of Alice Blatchley, who -had fallen in love with him at first sight, having found him the -divinest dancer she had ever whirled with to the sensuous music of the -waltz; of Horatio Camelford, journalist and minor poet, whose -journalism earned him a bare income, but at whose minor poetry critics -smiled; of Jessica Dearwood, with her glorious eyes, and muddy -complexion, and her wild hopeless passion for the big, handsome, -ruddy-bearded Dick Everett, who, knowing it, only laughed at her in -his kindly, lordly way, telling her with frank brutalness that the -woman who was not beautiful had missed her vocation in life; of that -scheming, conquering young gentleman himself, who at twenty-five had -already made his mark in the City, shrewd, clever, cool-headed as a -fox, except where a pretty face and shapely hand or ankle were -concerned; of Nellie Fanshawe, then in the pride of her ravishing -beauty, who loved none but herself, whose clay-made gods were jewels, -and fine dresses and rich feasts, the envy of other women and the -courtship of all mankind. - -That evening of the ball each clung to the hope that this memory of -the future was but a dream. They had been introduced to one another; -had heard each other's names for the first time with a start of -recognition; had avoided one another's eyes; had hastened to plunge -into meaningless talk; till that moment when young Camelford, stooping -to pick up Jessica's fan, had found that broken fragment of the -Rhenish wine-glass. Then it was that conviction refused to be shaken -off, that knowledge of the future had to be sadly accepted. - -What they had not foreseen was that knowledge of the future in no way -affected their emotions of the present. Nathaniel Armitage grew day -by day more hopelessly in love with bewitching Alice Blatchley. The -thought of her marrying anyone else--the long-haired, priggish -Camelford in particular--sent the blood boiling through his veins; -added to which sweet Alice, with her arms about his neck, would -confess to him that life without him would be a misery hardly to be -endured, that the thought of him as the husband of another woman--of -Nellie Fanshawe in particular--was madness to her. It was right -perhaps, knowing what they did, that they should say good-bye to one -another. She would bring sorrow into his life. Better far that he -should put her away from him, that she should die of a broken heart, -as she felt sure she would. How could he, a fond lover, inflict this -suffering upon her? He ought of course to marry Nellie Fanshawe, but -he could not bear the girl. Would it not be the height of absurdity -to marry a girl he strongly disliked because twenty years hence she -might be more suitable to him than the woman he now loved and who -loved him? - -Nor could Nellie Fanshawe bring herself to discuss without laughter -the suggestion of marrying on a hundred-and-fifty a year a curate that -she positively hated. There would come a time when wealth would be -indifferent to her, when her exalted spirit would ask but for the -satisfaction of self-sacrifice. But that time had not arrived. The -emotions it would bring with it she could not in her present state -even imagine. Her whole present being craved for the things of this -world, the things that were within her grasp. To ask her to forego -them now because later on she would not care for them! it was like -telling a schoolboy to avoid the tuck-shop because, when a man, the -thought of stick-jaw would be nauseous to him. If her capacity for -enjoyment was to be short-lived, all the more reason for grasping joy -quickly. - -Alice Blatchley, when her lover was not by, gave herself many a -headache trying to think the thing out logically. Was it not foolish -of her to rush into this marriage with dear Nat? At forty she would -wish she had married somebody else. But most women at forty--she -judged from conversation round about her--wished they had married -somebody else. If every girl at twenty listened to herself at forty -there would be no more marriage. At forty she would be a different -person altogether. That other elderly person did not interest her. -To ask a young girl to spoil her life purely in the interests of this -middle-aged party--it did not seem right. Besides, whom else was she -to marry? Camelford would not have her; he did not want her then; he -was not going to want her at forty. For practical purposes Camelford -was out of the question. She might marry somebody else -altogether--and fare worse. She might remain a spinster: she hated -the mere name of spinster. The inky-fingered woman journalist that, -if all went well, she might become: it was not her idea. Was she -acting selfishly? Ought she, in his own interests, to refuse to marry -dear Nat? Nellie--the little cat--who would suit him at forty, would -not have him. If he was going to marry anyone but Nellie he might as -well marry her, Alice. A bachelor clergyman! it sounded almost -improper. Nor was dear Nat the type. If she threw him over it would -be into the arms of some designing minx. What was she to do? - -Camelford at forty, under the influence of favourable criticism, would -have persuaded himself he was a heaven-sent prophet, his whole life to -be beautifully spent in the saving of mankind. At twenty he felt he -wanted to live. Weird-looking Jessica, with her magnificent eyes -veiling mysteries, was of more importance to him than the rest of the -species combined. Knowledge of the future in his ease only spurred -desire. The muddy complexion would grow pink and white, the thin -limbs round and shapely; the now scornful eyes would one day light -with love at his coming. It was what he had once hoped: it was what -he now knew. At forty the artist is stronger than the man; at twenty -the man is stronger than the artist. - -An uncanny creature, so most folks would have described Jessica -Dearwood. Few would have imagined her developing into the -good-natured, easy-going Mrs. Camelford of middle age. The animal, so -strong within her at twenty, at thirty had burnt itself out. At -eighteen, madly, blindly in love with red-bearded, deep-voiced Dick -Everett she would, had he whistled to her, have flung herself -gratefully at his feet, and this in spite of the knowledge forewarning -her of the miserable life he would certainly lead her, at all events -until her slowly developing beauty should give her the whip hand of -him--by which time she would have come to despise him. Fortunately, -as she told herself, there was no fear of his doing so, the future -notwithstanding. Nellie Fanshawe's beauty held him as with chains of -steel, and Nellie had no intention of allowing her rich prize to -escape her. Her own lover, it was true, irritated her more than any -man she had ever met, but at least he would afford her refuge from the -bread of charity. Jessica Dearwood, an orphan, had been brought up by -a distant relative. She had not been the child to win affection. Of -silent, brooding nature, every thoughtless incivility had been to her -an insult, a wrong. Acceptance of young Camelford seemed her only -escape from a life that had become to her a martyrdom. At forty-one -he would wish he had remained a bachelor; but at thirty-eight that -would not trouble her. She would know herself he was much better off -as he was. Meanwhile, she would have come to like him, to respect -him. He would be famous, she would be proud of him. Crying into her -pillow--she could not help it--for love of handsome Dick, it was still -a comfort to reflect that Nellie Fanshawe, as it were, was watching -over her, protecting her from herself. - -Dick, as he muttered to himself a dozen times a day, ought to marry -Jessica. At thirty-eight she would be his ideal. He looked at her as -she was at eighteen, and shuddered. Nellie at thirty would be plain -and uninteresting. But when did consideration of the future ever cry -halt to passion: when did a lover ever pause thinking of the morrow? -If her beauty was to quickly pass, was not that one reason the more -urging him to possess it while it lasted? - -Nellie Fanshawe at forty would be a saint. The prospect did not -please her: she hated saints. She would love the tiresome, solemn -Nathaniel: of what use was that to her now? He did not desire her; -he was in love with Alice, and Alice was in love with him. What would -be the sense--even if they all agreed--in the three of them making -themselves miserable for all their youth that they might be contented -in their old age? Let age fend for itself and leave youth to its own -instincts. Let elderly saints suffer--it was their _metier_--and -youth drink the cup of life. It was a pity Dick was the only "catch" -available, but he was young and handsome. Other girls had to put up -with sixty and the gout. - -Another point, a very serious point, had been overlooked. All that -had arrived to them in that dim future of the past had happened to -them as the results of their making the marriages they had made. To -what fate other roads would lead their knowledge could not tell them. -Nellie Fanshawe had become at forty a lovely character. Might not the -hard life she had led with her husband--a life calling for continual -sacrifice, for daily self-control--have helped towards this end? As -the wife of a poor curate of high moral principles, would the same -result have been secured? The fever that had robbed her of her beauty -and turned her thoughts inward had been the result of sitting out on -the balcony of the Paris Opera House with an Italian Count on the -occasion of a fancy dress ball. As the wife of an East End clergyman -the chances are she would have escaped that fever and its purifying -effects. Was there not danger in the position: a supremely beautiful -young woman, worldly-minded, hungry for pleasure, condemned to a life -of poverty with a man she did not care for? The influence of Alice -upon Nathaniel Armitage, during those first years when his character -was forming, had been all for good. Could he be sure that, married to -Nellie, he might not have deteriorated? - -Were Alice Blatchley to marry an artist could she be sure that at -forty she would still be in sympathy with artistic ideals? Even as a -child had not her desire ever been in the opposite direction to that -favoured by her nurse? Did not the reading of Conservative journals -invariably incline her towards Radicalism, and the steady stream of -Radical talk round her husband's table invariably set her seeking -arguments in favour of the feudal system? Might it not have been her -husband's growing Puritanism that had driven her to crave for -Bohemianism? Suppose that towards middle age, the wife of a wild -artist, she suddenly "took religion," as the saying is. Her last -state would be worse than the first. - -Camelford was of delicate physique. As an absent-minded bachelor with -no one to give him his meals, no one to see that his things were -aired, could he have lived till forty? Could he be sure that home -life had not given more to his art than it had taken from it? - -Jessica Dearwood, of a nervous, passionate nature, married to a bad -husband, might at forty have posed for one of the Furies. Not until -her life had become restful had her good looks shown themselves. Hers -was the type of beauty that for its development demands tranquillity. - -Dick Everett had no delusions concerning himself. That, had he -married Jessica, he could for ten years have remained the faithful -husband of a singularly plain wife he knew to be impossible. But -Jessica would have been no patient Griselda. The extreme probability -was that having married her at twenty for the sake of her beauty at -thirty, at twenty-nine at latest she would have divorced him. - -Everett was a man of practical ideas. It was he who took the matter -in hand. The refreshment contractor admitted that curious goblets of -German glass occasionally crept into their stock. One of the waiters, -on the understanding that in no case should he be called upon to pay -for them, admitted having broken more than one wine-glass on that -particular evening: thought it not unlikely he might have attempted -to hide the fragments under a convenient palm. The whole thing -evidently was a dream. So youth decided at the time, and the three -marriages took place within three months of one another. - -It was some ten years later that Armitage told me the story that night -in the Club smoking-room. Mrs. Everett had just recovered from a -severe attack of rheumatic fever, contracted the spring before in -Paris. Mrs. Camelford, whom previously I had not met, certainly -seemed to me one of the handsomest women I have ever seen. Mrs. -Armitage--I knew her when she was Alice Blatchley--I found more -charming as a woman than she had been as a girl. What she could have -seen in Armitage I never could understand. Camelford made his mark -some ten years later: poor fellow, he did not live long to enjoy his -fame. Dick Everett has still another six years to work off; but he is -well behaved, and there is talk of a petition. - -It is a curious story altogether, I admit. As I said at the -beginning, I do not myself believe it. - -*** End of Project Gutenberg etext of The Philosopher's Joke *** |