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kitchen | Where is Daniel? | Uncouth at least in our opinion; they are scarcely so in the eyes of
the object of these attentions.They please her, and this is all that
is needed.The queen's choice declared, no battle can take place.Admirable are the manners of these good and worthy workmen.The others
retire aggrieved, but with delicacy cherish religiously the right of
liberty.Do the fortunate suitor and his fair one, think you, air their idle
loves wandering through the forests?"Show me thy talents," says she, "and let me see that I have
not deceived myself."From a carpenter he becomes a joiner, a cabinet-maker;
from a cabinet-maker, a geometer!The regularity of forms, that divine
rhythm, appears to him in love.It is exactly the renowned history of the famous blacksmith of Anvers,
Quintin Matsys, who loved a painter's daughter, and who, to win her
love, became the greatest painter of Flanders in the sixteenth century."Of Vulcan swart, love an Apelles made."(D'un noir Vulcain, l'amour fit un Appelle).Thus, one morning the woodpecker develops into the sculptor.With
severe precision, the perfect roundness which the compass might give,
he hollows out the graceful vault of a superb hemisphere.The whole
receives the polish of marble and ivory.All kinds of hygienic and
strategic precautions are not wanting.A narrow winding entry, whose
<DW72> inclines outwards that the water may not penetrate, favours the
defence; it suffices for one head and one courageous bill to close it.Who would not accept this
artist, this laborious purveyor for domestic wants, this intrepid
defender?Who would not believe herself able to accomplish in safety,
behind the generous rampart of this devoted champion, the delicate
mystery of maternity?[Illustration]
So she resists no longer, and behold the pair installed!There is
wanting now but a nuptial chant (Hymen!It is not the
woodpecker's fault if Nature has denied to his genius the muse of
melody.At least, in his harsh voice one cannot mistake the impassioned
accents of the heart.May a young and amiable generation spring into life,
and mature under their eyes!Birds of prey shall not easily penetrate
here.Only grant that the serpent, the frightful black serpent, may
never visit this nest!Oh, that the child's rough hand may not cruelly
crush its sweet hope!And, above all, may the ornithologist, the friend
of birds, keep afar from this spot!If persevering toil, ardent love of family, heroic defence of liberty,
could impose respect and arrest the cruel hand of man, no sportsman
would touch this noble bird.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.A young naturalist, who smothered one
in order to impale it, has told me that he sickened of the brutal
struggle, and suffered a keen remorse; it seemed to him as if he had
committed an assassination."The first time,"
says he, "that I observed this bird, in North Carolina, I wounded him
slightly in the wing, and when I caught him he gave a cry exactly
like an infant's, but so loud and lamentable that my frightened horse
nearly threw me off.I carried him to Wilmington: in passing through
the streets, the bird's prolonged cries drew to the doors and windows
a crowd of people, especially of women, filled with alarm.Mary moved to the office.I continued
my route, and, on entering the court of the hotel, met the master of
the house and a crowd of people, alarmed at what they heard.Judge how
this alarm increased when I asked for what was needed both by my child
and myself.The master remained pale and stupid, and the others were
dumb with astonishment.After having amused myself at their expense for
a minute or two, I revealed my woodpecker, and a burst of universal
laughter echoed around.I ascended with it to my chamber, where I left
it while I paid attention to my horse's wants.I returned at the end of
an hour, and, on opening the door, heard anew the same terrible cry,
which this time appeared to originate in grief at being discovered in
his attempts to escape.He had climbed along the window almost to the
ceiling, immediately above which he had begun to excavate.The bed was
covered with large pieces of plaster, the laths of the ceiling were
exposed for an area of nearly fifteen square inches, and a hole through
which you could pass your thumb was already formed in the skylight;
so that, in the space of another hour, he would certainly have
succeeded in effecting an opening.I fastened round his neck a cord,
which I attached to the table, and left him--I wanted to preserve him
alive--while I went in search of food.On returning, I could hear that
he had resumed his labours, and on my entrance saw that he had nearly
destroyed the table to which he had been fastened, and against which he
had directed all his wrath.When I wished to take a sketch, he cut me
several times with his beak, and displayed so noble and so indomitable
a courage that I was tempted to restore him to his native forests.He
lived with me nearly three days, refusing all food, and I was present
at his death with sincere regret."[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE SONG.][Illustration]
THE SONG.There is no one who will not have remarked that birds kept in a cage
in a drawing-room never fail, if visitors arrive and the conversation
grows animated, to take a part in it, after their fashion, by
chattering or singing.It is their universal instinct, even in a condition of freedom.They
are the echoes both of God and of man.They associate themselves with
all sounds and voices, add their own poesy, their wild and simple
rhythms.By analogy, by contrast, they augment and complete the grand
effects of nature.To the hoarse beating of the waves the sea-bird
opposes his shrill strident notes; with the monotonous murmuring of the
agitated trees the turtle-dove and a hundred birds blend a soft sad
cadence; to the awakening of the fields, the gaiety of the country,
the lark responds with his song, and bears aloft to heaven the joys of
earth.Thus, then, everywhere, above the vast instrumental concert of nature,
above her deep sighs, above the sonorous waves which escape from the
divine organ, a vocal music springs and detaches itself--that of the
bird, almost always in vivid notes, which strike sharply on this solemn
base with the ardent strokes of a bow.Winged voices, voices of fire, angel voices, emanations of an intense
life superior to ours, of a fugitive and mobile existence, which
inspires the traveller doomed to a well-beaten track with the serenest
thoughts and the dream of liberty.Just as vegetable life renews itself in spring by the return of the
leaves, is animal life renewed, rejuvenified by the return of the
birds, by their loves, and by their strains.There is nothing like it
in the southern hemisphere, a youthful world in an inferior condition,
which, still in travail, aspires to find a voice.That supreme flower
of life and the soul, Song, is not yet given to it.The beautiful, the sublime phenomenon of this higher aspect of the
world occurs at the moment that Nature commences her voiceless concert
of leaves and blossoms, her melodies of March and April, her symphony
of May, and we all vibrate to the glorious harmony; men and birds take
up the strain.At that moment the smallest become poets, often sublime
songsters.They sing for their companions whose love they wish to gain.They sing for those who hearken to them, and more than one accomplishes
incredible efforts of emulation.The
song of the one inspires the other with song.Harmony unknown in tropic
climes!The dazzling colours which there replace this concord of sweet
sounds do not create such a mutual bond.In a robe of sparkling gems,
the bird is not less alone.Far different from this favoured, dazzling, glittering being are the
birds of our colder countries, humble in attire, rich in heart, but
almost paupers.Few, very few of them, seek the handsome gardens, the
aristocratic avenues, the shade of great parks.Woods and thickets,
clearings, fields, vineyards, humid meadows, reedy pools, mountain
forests, even the peaks snow-crowned--he has allotted each winged tribe
to its particular region--has deprived no country, no locality, of this
harmony, so that man can wander nowhere, can neither ascend so high,
nor descend so low, but that he will be greeted with a chorus of joy
and consolation.[Illustration]
Day scarcely begins, scarcely does the stable-bell ring out for the
herds, but the wagtail appears to conduct, and frisk and hover around
them.She mingles with the cattle, and familiarly accompanies the hind.She knows that she is loved both by man and the beasts, which she
defends against insects.She boldly plants herself on the head of the
cow, on the back of the sheep.By day she never quits them; she leads
them homeward faithfully at evening.The water-wagtail, equally punctual, is at her post; she flutters round
the washerwomen; she hops on her long legs into the water, and asks for
crumbs; by a strange instinct of mimicry she raises and dips her tail,
as if to imitate the motion of beating the linen, to do her work also
and earn her pay.The bird of the fields before all others, the labourer's bird, is the
lark, his constant companion, which he encounters everywhere in his
painful furrow, ready to encourage, to sustain him, to sing to him
of hope._Espoir_, hope, is the old device of us Gauls; and for this
reason we have adopted as our national bird that humble minstrel, so
poorly clad, but so rich in heart and song.[Illustration]
Nature seems to have treated the lark with harshness.Owing to the
arrangement of her claws, she cannot perch on the trees.She rests on
the ground, close to the poor hare, and with no other shelter than the
furrow.How precarious, how riskful a life, at the time of incubation!What cares must be hers, what inquietudes!Scarcely a tuft of grass
conceals the mother's fond treasure from the dog, the hawk, or the
falcon.She hatches her eggs in haste; with haste she trains the
trembling brood.Who would not believe that the ill-fated bird must
share the melancholy of her sad neighbour, the hare?This animal is sad, and fear consumes her."Cet animal est triste et la crainte le ronge."But the contrary has taken place by an unexpected marvel of gaiety
and easy forgetfulness, of lightsome indifference and truly French
carelessness; the national bird is scarcely out of peril before she
recovers all her serenity, her song, her indomitable glee.Another
wonder: her perils, her precarious existence, her cruel trials, do
not harden her heart; she remains good as well as gay, sociable and
trustful, presenting a model (rare enough among birds) of paternal
love; the lark, like the swallow, will, in case of need, nourish her
sisters.Two things sustain and animate her: love and light.Twice, nay, thrice, she assumes the dangerous happiness
of maternity, the incessant travail of a hazardous education.And when
love fails, light remains and re-inspires her.The smallest gleam
suffices to restore her song.As soon as it dawns, when the horizon
reddens and the sun breaks forth, she springs from her furrow like an
arrow, and bears to heaven's gate her hymn of joy.Hallowed poetry,
fresh as the dawn, pure and gleeful as a childish heart!That powerful
and sonorous voice is the reapers' signal."We must start," says the
father; "do you not hear the lark?"She follows them, and bids them
have courage; in the hot sunny hours invites them to slumber, and
drives away the insects.Upon the bent head of the young girl half
awakened she pours her floods of harmony.John went back to the kitchen.John moved to the office."No throat," says Toussenel, "can contend with that of the lark in
richness and variety of song, compass and _velvetiness_ of _timbre_,
duration and range of sound, suppleness and indefatigability of the
vocal chords.The lark sings for a whole hour without half a second's
pause, rising vertically in the air to the height of a thousand yards,
and stretching from side to side in the realm of clouds to gain a yet
loftier elevation, without losing one of its notes in this immense
flight."What nightingale could do as much?"[Illustration]
This hymn of light is a benefit bestowed on the world, and you will
meet with it in every country which the sun illuminates.There are
as many different species of larks as there are different countries:
wood-larks, field-larks, larks of the thickets, of the marshes, the
larks of the Crau de Provence, larks of the chalky soil of Champagne,
larks of the northern lands in both hemispheres; you will find them,
moreover, in the salt steppes, in the plains of Tartary withered
by the north wind.Preserving reclamation of kindly nature; tender
consolations of the love of God!While the lark gathers behind the plough the
harvest of insects, the guests of the northern countries come to visit
us: the thrush, punctual to our vintage-time; and, haughty under his
crown, the wren, the imperceptible "King of the North."From Norway,
at the season of fogs, he comes, and, under a gigantic fir-tree, the
little magician sings his mysterious song, until the extreme cold
constrains him to descend, to mingle, and make himself popular among
the little troglodytes which dwell with us, and charm our cottages by
their limpid notes.The season grows rough; all the birds draw nearer man.The honest
bullfinches, fond and faithful couples, come, with a short melancholy
chirp, to solicit help.The winter-warbler also quits his bushes; timid
as he is, he grows sufficiently bold towards evening to raise outside
our doors his trembling voice with its monotonous, plaintive accents."When, in the first mists of October, shortly before winter, the poor
proletarian seeks in the forest his pitiful provision of dead wood, a
small bird approaches him, attracted by the noise of his axe; he hovers
around him, and taxes his wits to amuse him by singing in a very low
voice his softest lays.It is the robin redbreast, which a charitable
fairy has despatched to tell the solitary labourer that there is still
some one in nature interested in him."When the woodcutter has collected the brands of the preceding day,
reduced to cinders; when the chips and the dry branches crackle in the
flames, the robin hastens singing to enjoy his share of the warmth, and
to participate in the woodcutter's happiness."When Nature retires to slumber, and folds herself in her mantle of
snow; when one hears no other voices than those of the birds of the
North, which define in the air their rapid triangles, or that of the
north wind, which roars and engulfs itself in the thatched roof of the
cottages, a tiny flute-like song, modulated in softest notes, protests
still, in the name of creative work, against the universal weakness,
lamentation, and lethargy."Open your windows, for pity's sake, and give him a few crumbs, a
handful of grain.If he sees friendly faces, he will enter the room; he
is not insensible to warmth; cheered by this brief breath of summer,
the poor little one returns much stronger into the winter.Toussenel is justly indignant that no poet has sung of the robin.[25]
But the bird himself is his own bard; and if one could transcribe his
little song, it would express completely the humble poesy |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | The one which I have by my side, and which flies about my study, for
lack of listeners of his own species, perches before the glass, and,
without disturbing me, in a whispering voice utters his thoughts to
the ideal robin which he fancies he sees before him.And here is their
meaning, so far as a woman's hand has succeeded in preserving it:--
[Illustration]
"Je suis le compagnon
Du pauvre bucheron."Je le suis en automne,
Au vent des premiers froids,
Et c'est moi qui lui donne
Le dernier chant des bois."Il est triste, et je chante
Sous mon deuil mele d'or.Dans la brume pesante
Je vois l'azur encor."Que ce chant te releve
Et te garde l'espoir!Qu'il te berce d'un reve,
Et te ramene au soir!"Mais quand vient la gelee,
Je frappe a ton carreau.Il n'est plus de feuillee,
Prends pitie de l'oiseau!Daniel travelled to the kitchen."C'est ton ami d'automne
Qui revient pres de toi.Le ciel, tout m'abandonne--
Bucheron, ouvre-moi!"Qu'en ce temps de disette,
Le petit voyageur,
Regale d'une miette,
S'endorme a ta chaleur!"Je suis le compagnon
Du pauvre bucheron."[Illustration]
_Imitated_:--
I am the companion
Of the poor woodcutter.I follow him in autumn,
When the first chill breezes plain;
And I it is who warble
The woodlands' last sweet strain.He is sad, and then I sing
Under my gilded shroud,
And I see the gleam of azure
Glint through the gathering cloud.Oh, may the song inspiring
Revive Hope's flame again,
And at even guide thee homeward
By the magic of its strain!But when the streams are frozen,
I tap at thy window-pane--
Oh, on the bird take pity,
Not a leaf, not a herb remain!It is thy autumn comrade
Who makes appeal to thee;
By heaven, by all forsaken,
Woodman, oh, pity me!Yes, in these days of famine
The little pilgrim keep;
On dainty crumbs regale him,
By the fireside let him sleep!For I am the companion
Of the poor woodcutter![Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE NEST.][Illustration]
THE NEST.I am writing opposite a graceful collection of nests of French birds,
made for me by a friend.I am able thus to appreciate, to verify the
descriptions of authors, to improve them, perhaps, if the very limited
resources of style can give any just idea of a wholly special art, less
analogous to ours than one would be tempted to believe at the first
glance.Nothing in this branch of study can supply the place of actual
sight of the objects.You must see and touch; you will then perceive
that all comparison is false and inaccurate.Shall we say _above_, or _below_ the works of man?Neither
the one nor the other; but essentially different, and whose supposed
similarities (or relations) are only external.Let us recollect, at the outset, that this charming object, so much
more delicate than words can describe, owes everything to art, to
skill, to calculation.The materials are generally of the rudest, and
not always those which the artist would have preferred.The bird has neither the squirrel's hand nor the
beaver's tooth.Having only his bill and his foot (which by no means
serves the purpose of a hand), it seems that the nest should be to him
an insoluble problem.The specimens now before my eyes are for the
most part composed of a tissue or covering of mosses, small flexible
branches, or long vegetable filaments; but it is less a _weaving_
than a _condensation_; a felting of materials, blended, beaten, and
welded together with much exertion and perseverance; an act of great
labour and energetic operation, for which the bill and the claw would
be insufficient.The tool really used is the bird's own body--his
breast--with which he presses and kneads the materials until he has
rendered them completely pliable, has thoroughly mixed them, and
subdued them to the general work.And within, too, the implement which determines the circular form of
the nest is no other than the bird's body.It is by constantly turning
himself about, and ramming the wall on every side, that he succeeds in
shaping the circle.[Illustration]
Thus, then, his house is his very person, his form, and his immediate
effort--I would say, his suffering.The result is only obtained by a
constantly repeated pressure of his breast.Other stones in this region are remarkable for their size and for the
ornamental carving that appears upon them.All the ruins are apparently
of great age.It is not difficult to imagine a time when the city was
the home of thousands of human beings in a very advanced stage of
civilization.PREPARED BY THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ILLUSTRATION FOR THE MENTOR.142
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC._THE MENTOR · DEPARTMENT OF TRAVEL_
_NOVEMBER 1, 1917_
BOLIVIA
By E. M. NEWMAN
_Lecturer and Traveler_
Entered as second-class matter March 10, 1913, at the post-office at
New York, N. Y., under the act of March 3, 1879.Copyright, 1917, by
The Mentor Association, Inc._MENTOR GRAVURES_
A PACK TRAIN OF LLAMAS IN LA PAZ
LA PAZ--FROM THE RIM OF THE HEIGHTS
HOUSE OF CONGRESS LA PAZ
[Illustration]
_MENTOR GRAVURES_
INCA TEMPLE OF THE SUN, ON LAKE TITICACA
ORURO
STREET SCENE AND MARKET, SUCRE
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE NATIVE BOLIVIAN INDIAN]
Bolivia is another Thibet; one of the highest inhabited plateaus in the
world.It is one of the richest mineral sections, as it now produces
about one-third of the world’s supply of tin, and contains vast wealth
in its rich copper, gold, and silver mines.of
its population is of Indian origin, and to this fact may be attributed
its slow progress; as outside of its capital city, almost everything is
still in a primitive state.Mary moved to the office.Since its last war with Chile, it has been shut off from the sea-coast;
and to get to Bolivia one must now cross either Chile or Peru, which
necessitates a long journey by rail; and if the entrance be by way of
the Peruvian gateway, Mollendo, Lake Titicaca must also be crossed.[Illustration: STEAMER ON LAKE TITICACA
The parts of this steamer were carried to the lake by rail and put
together there]
Lying in a valley, at an altitude of more than 12,000 feet above the
level of the sea, is the Bolivian capital, La Paz, the City of Peace.It is picturesquely situated in a huge bowl, cut into the plateau;
and to reach it one must descend in an electric car, 1,300 feet down
the steep <DW72>, where, at the bottom of the cup, lies a city of
more than 150,000 people.In its situation, it is probably the most
remarkable of all capitals.Although called the City of Peace, it has
been the scene of turmoil and strife ever since the Spaniards invaded
these solitudes.Rising high above the city is beautiful Illimani,
one of the highest peaks of the Andes.Perpetually clad in snow,
this magnificent mountain dominates the view, and is one of the most
striking scenic features of Bolivia.In the central square of La Paz rises the cathedral, which has been in
process of building for forty years, and at the rate it is progressing
it will probably not be completed for another century.On this same
central square is the Bolivian House of Congress, nearly all of its
members of Indian origin.This plaza is the center of political life,
and radiating from it are the principal business thoroughfares.Plaza San Francisco is another of the important squares of the city,
and takes its name from the magnificent church, one of the most
artistic structures in South America.Upon this square, at all hours
of the day, there is a fascinating panorama of life; for, passing
constantly, are picturesque Indians, clad in grotesque costumes, many
of them driving burros or the Andean beast of burden, the llama._Native Costumes_
In no other city of the world are the costumes worn by Indians as
elaborate as those seen in the streets of La Paz.The Cholo or
half-breed is resplendent in garments of the brightest colors.The
women in particular are gorgeously arrayed in silk skirts, kid boots
and straw hats.There is a curious custom which is rigidly observed.John went back to the kitchen.Full blooded
Indians must wear felt hats, and are looked upon as inferior in social
standing.The Cholos may always be distinguished by their straw hats,
which are never worn by the others.Having married a Bolivian, or
perhaps a white man, a Cholo woman considers herself quite a superior
being.She delights in patronizing the best shops, where she seeks only
the costliest silks, the gayest of shawls, and kid boots with high
heels, which are imported from France or from the United States.John moved to the office.When fully attired, she is a sight to behold.Arrayed in all her
finery, she promenades like a queen through the streets of the city;
and yet, back of it all, the influence of blood is evident.She may
dress ever so elaborately, but the old customs still cling; she still
insists upon carrying her baby on her back in good old Indian fashion,
and she is not averse to carrying her market basket when she goes to
the market to make her purchases.Most numerous among the Indians
are the Aymaras, who, unlike the Quichua Indians of Peru, are surly
and inclined to hold aloof from the white man.They are seemingly
indifferent to the white man’s influence.For clothing, the Aymará men
wear shirts and trousers of a coarse cotton material; and over their
shoulders is thrown a poncho of heavy woolen cloth.Aside from their
poncho, the most attractive part of their costume is a curious woolen
head-covering, beautifully embroidered with beads in gay colors.In
a climate where it is always cold except at midday, these caps with
their long ear-muffs are very serviceable.Women who are wives of
full-blooded Indians make no pretension in the way of attire, and they
accept without question their social status, which relegates them to an
inferior position.[Illustration: ON LAKE TITICACA]
[Illustration: BALSA BOAT
Native making the boat of reeds]
_Customs and Laws_
Much of the trading carried on with the Indians is done by barter; they
bring their farm and garden produce to the city, and exchange it with
dealers for groceries or wearing apparel.Very few of them accumulate
money, and wealth is very rare.Many of their laws are unique, and are no doubt born of tribal customs
which have been handed down for generations, and yet are usually
rigidly observed.If, for instance, a doctor loses seven patients,
Indian law decrees that the career of the doctor must terminate, and
that his life must be a forfeit for his failure to save the lives of
his patients.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.After the Indian doctor has lost his sixth patient, he
usually departs for some unknown place.Although the Bolivian capital is overwhelmingly Indian in point of
population, in appearance it is decidedly modern.Its streets are
paved with cobblestones, but as a rule are clean and kept in good
condition.The pavements may be rough, but it must be borne in mind
that there are very few level thoroughfares; most of the streets are
very hilly, and would be almost impossible to navigate were it not for
the cobblestones, which permit men and beasts to maintain a foothold.Municipal laws will not permit Indians to make use of the thoroughfares
for their llamas during business hours; they are brought into the city
early in the morning, remaining in some patio or courtyard awaiting the
evening hours, when their owners drive them home.At sunset one may see
long trains of these quaint animals driven through the streets on their
way back to the farms.The llama lends picturesqueness to one of the
most unusual cities on the face of the globe.[Illustration: LA PAZ, VIEWED FROM THE RIM--MT.ILLIMANI IN THE
DISTANCE]
[Illustration: THE EVENINGS ARE COLD IN LA PAZ]
Little or no coal is burned, as it costs $60 per ton, and only the
very wealthy could afford to use it.There is no wood, so few of the
houses are heated.Most of the English and American residents use oil
burners or electric heaters in their homes; but even the principal
hotel is so cold that men usually go to dinner in their overcoats and
the women enveloped in furs.Most visitors usually retire immediately
after dining, as the night air is so cold that it can be endured only
by those acclimated.It is no uncommon thing for a guest at the hotel
to pile upon his bed all the available covering that he can obtain,
including the carpet on the floor of his room.One might imagine that Cholo women are unusually corpulent; but this
is apparent only because of the fact that they don from twelve to
twenty skirts.At times, contests are held between Indian belles as to
which has the more gorgeous petticoats, and also the greater number.A winner is said to have displayed as many as twenty-four, disclosing
a collection of brilliantly petticoats unequaled elsewhere for
variety.[Illustration: A LEADING CITIZEN]
_Religion in Bolivia_
Both Bolivians and Indians are, as a rule, Catholics.On Corpus Christi
day, which is religiously celebrated, there is a curious procession
in which thousands of people take part, and a strange combination of
Cholos, Aymaras and native Bolivians wend their way through the various
thoroughfares.In this parade, the Cholo women discard their straw hats
and wear their shawls instead.Most of them belong to church societies,
and these organizations are indicated by ribbons worn around the neck,
the color denoting the society to which the wearer belongs.[Illustration: THE FAITHFUL, HARDWORKING LLAMAS]
All the dignitaries of the church take part in the Corpus Christi day
procession.Business is practically suspended, and the President of the
Republic, accompanied by the members of the Houses of Congress and all
the officials of the Government, march to the cathedral, where services
are held.On various thoroughfares, altars are erected, and these are
usually decorated by the members of the different ladies’ societies.Religion has a strong hold on the people of Bolivia.One not affiliated
with the church is looked upon with suspicion and becomes a social
outcast.In no other country are the churches better attended._Daniel moved to the office. |
bathroom | Where is Mary? | It is on this thoroughfare that the various legation
buildings are situated.As usual, one may walk along this street and
seek for the most unattractive building and be quite sure that it
is the American legation building.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.Almost every government is here
represented, so that the Alameda might be said to be the center of
diplomatic life.[Illustration: A HILLY STREET IN LA PAZ]
[Illustration: ALAMEDA, LA PAZ
Where the foreign Legation buildings are]
[Illustration: CHURCH OF SAN FRANCISCO, LA PAZ]
La Paz is surprisingly modern in the architecture of its business
structures.Most of the buildings are of brick, plastered over and
painted.Many of its shops would be a credit to an American city.They
are by no means mere country stores, but carry an astonishingly good
class of merchandise, and many of the products of France and the United
States are displayed for sale in the various shop windows.To leave
the capital city, one must ascend by electric railway to the plateau,
where is situated the railway depot.One may go directly south by rail
all the way to Antofagasta, Chile, where steamer connections are made
for Valparaiso.On this journey, one obtains a wonderful view of the
back-bone of the Andes, traveling along a plateau averaging in height
about 14,000 feet above sea level.The snow-clad summits of this mighty
range of mountains are constantly in sight.Perhaps the most important of the Bolivian towns is Oruro,
which is in the center of a very rich salt country, and as the railroad
approaches the Chilean boundary there are rich deposits of borax and
nitrate.[Illustration: LOOKING DOWN THE ALAMEDA, LA PAZ]
Many travelers experience all the terrors of soroche or mountain
sickness when traveling on the high Bolivian plateau.The altitude is
dangerous for some people, and in a few cases results fatally.One
whose heart is weak should not attempt the journey, as it is trying
even upon the strongest constitution, and such evidences of altitude
as nose-bleed and dizzy spells afflict even those who are accustomed to
high altitudes._Sucre_
During the cold winter months, many Bolivians descend the eastern <DW72>
of the Andes to Sucre, which has become a favorite winter resort for
diplomatic representatives.Sucre is several thousand feet lower than
La Paz, and its climate is somewhat milder.Lower down, toward the
Brazilian boundary, there are tropical forests and a wild, uninhabited
country where disease lurks; and here are great jungles and swamps,
making human habitation almost impossible except for the aboriginal
tribes, which seem to be immune to the fevers that infest this
low-lying country.Among other important cities in Bolivia are Potosí,
and Cochabamba, where there is an American school, a branch of the
American Institute of La Paz.A number of young American men and women
have voluntarily left home and friends and have gone to Bolivia to
teach the youth of that country.The best families send their children
to the American schools, and the Bolivian boys and girls are not only
taught the English language, but they are made familiar with the
history of the United States.Mary moved to the office.It is the ambition of many of the sons of
Bolivian parents to acquire the language, so that they may make their
future home in America.The American teachers are unusually capable
young men and women, and the standard of efficiency that one finds in
the American Institute is a credit to the young people who have made
the sacrifice of leaving home and living in Bolivia.The military system is patterned after that of Germany, as the
soldiers of the country have been drilled by German officers, and their
influence is plainly evident in the familiar goose-step and the various
manœuvers that one may observe in military camps.The Bolivian soldiers
have not the fighting qualities of the Chileans, and in past wars have
proved anything but a match for their neighbors to the south._Lake Titicaca and Guaqui_
In going from La Paz to Lake Titicaca, one travels over a level
plateau, nearly three miles above the sea.Little or nothing grows at
this altitude, and the few Indians living on this plain must have their
food supply brought up from the valleys below on the backs of llamas.Other than mines, there is no inducement for even an Indian to make his
home on this lofty plateau.There is no source of income other than
working in some of the gold, silver and copper mines which abound in
these altitudes.[Illustration: BOLIVIAN INDIAN MOTHER]
[Illustration: BOLIVIAN FARMERS]
[Illustration: BOLIVIAN CHILDREN OF THE MOUNTAIN COUNTRY]
Guaqui, a little town on the shores of Lake Titicaca, is the terminus
of the railway.A regiment of cavalry is stationed at this port, as
it in reality forms the boundary line of the country.In this little
place, one obtains his final glimpse of the picturesquely attired
Cholo women, as they are rarely seen outside of Bolivia.In their
native country, their appearance excites no unusual interest; but even
in Peru they are subjected to a certain amount of ridicule, which is
displeasing to these haughty belles.Because of the intense cold, school children are often seen seated in
the open air, where they may enjoy the benefit of the warm sun.This
applies largely to the smaller towns and villages, as in the larger
cities the school houses are now quite comfortable.[Illustration: STREET ALTAR, CORPUS CHRISTI DAY, LA PAZ]
Lake Titicaca is a great inland sea, lying between the two ranges of
the Cordillera, and is very high above the ocean.Its area is about
one-third that of Lake Erie, and its present length is about 120 miles,
while its greatest width is about 41 miles.It is, without doubt, one
of the highest navigable bodies of water in the world.Among the water plants that one sees growing in the lake is a sort of
rush, which abounds in shallow water from two to six feet in depth, and
rises several feet above the surface.It is this material which the Indians, having no wood, use to construct
their boats.In these apparently frail craft, propelled by sails of the
same material, they traverse the lake, carrying with them two or three
men, and in addition, a heavy load of merchandise._Balsa Boats_
There is considerable skill exercised in the making of the balsa, as
these reed-boats are called.Centuries of experience have taught the
Indians the process, which has been developed to a remarkable stage of
perfection, enabling them to defy the storms which are so frequent.The
short, heavy waves make navigation dangerous even for much larger boats
than the native balsa.[Illustration: CAPITOL BUILDING IN SUCRE]
Like the waters of Lake Superior, these are too cold for the swimmer;
but the lack of bathing facilities gives the Indian but little concern.The greatest depth of the lake is said to be about 600 feet.Fish
are plentiful, and the few Indians who live around the shores of the
lake devote themselves principally to fishing.As far as habitation
is concerned, other than Puno on the Peruvian side and Guaqui on the
Bolivian, there are but a few scattered villages.[Illustration: OPEN-AIR SCHOOL--GUAQUI, BOLIVIA]
Four steamers ply to and fro between these ports, connecting with the
train service.These boats were brought from England, taken in sections
by railway and put together on the shores of the lake.They are today
used to transfer freight, which arrives by sea at a Peruvian or Chilean
port, and is carried by rail to Puno, then across the lake to Bolivia.[Illustration: ON THE STATE ROAD FROM POTOSÍ TO SUCRE]
Numerous islands dot the surface of the lake.It has a population of about 300, but
of that number there is but one man who can read and write.In all
Bolivia, only 30,000 children attend school, out of a total population
of 2,000,000.The aborigines do not seem to care for education, and the
Bolivians of European race are few in number._Inca Ruins_
On a small island in Lake Titicaca is the ruined Temple of the
Sun, another reminder of the days of the Incas.When that empire
flourished, this portion of Bolivia was also under the domination of
the Inca ruler; and even today, in some parts of Bolivia, one still
comes upon numerous evidences of Inca rule, such as the ruins of
buildings, temples and stone images, which plainly indicate that they
were the work of that remarkable, ancient people.Inaccessible as is
the country, for one who can stand the journey it affords much of
interest.If there were nothing more in Bolivia than the view afforded
in looking down from the rim of the cup upon La Paz, this alone would
tempt one to visit the country.The buildings of this city have the
appearance of so many tea leaves left in the bottom of a cup, so
tiny do they seem from above.Another glorious scene is that of the
encircling mountains that surround Lake Titicaca, crowning it with a
diadem of snow-covered peaks--a view that is unsurpassed among the
world’s natural wonders._The Interior Waterways_
Although Bolivia has no seaport, the country has a great network of
rivers.The entire length of Bolivia’s navigable streams is about
12,000 miles.These naturally provide excellent means of transportation
and communication.The Paraguay River is navigable for about 1,100
miles for steamers of from eight to ten feet draft.John went back to the kitchen.The Itenes has
about 1,000 miles of navigable water.Another river, the Beni, is
navigable for 1,000 miles for steamers of six feet draft only.John moved to the office.Other
streams, such as the Pilcomayo, Mamoré, Sara, and Paragua Rivers can
accommodate light draft vessels for distances varying from 200 to 1,000
miles.From the ocean Bolivia can be approached through the ports of Mollendo,
in Peru, or Arica and Antofagasta in Chile.These are all regular ports
of call of the steamers between Panama and Valparaiso.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.From these ports
there is railroad communication to Bolivia.Daniel moved to the office.[Illustration: CITY ADMINISTRATION BUILDING, SUCRE]
[Illustration: THE PLAZA IN SUCRE]
_SUPPLEMENTARY READING_
BOLIVIA, THE CENTRAL HIGHWAY OF SOUTH AMERICA _By M. R. Wright_
BOLIVIA _By P. Walle_
PLATEAU PEOPLES OF SOUTH AMERICA _By A. A. Adams_
ACROSS THE ANDES _By C. J. Post_
THE SOUTH AMERICANS _By W. H. Koebel_
A SEARCH FOR THE APEX OF AMERICA _By Annie S. Peck_
THE SOUTH AMERICAN TOUR _By Annie S. Peck_
SOUTH AMERICA _By James Bryce_
THE BOLIVIAN ANDES _By Sir Martin Conway_
⁂ Information concerning the above books may be had on application to
the Editor of The Mentor._THE OPEN LETTER_
Let me tell you about our daily mail.We get letters of appreciation
and letters of suggestion--hundreds of both kinds.Many of them
are addressed to the “Editor of The Mentor,” others to “Dear Mr.Editor”--and some to “Mr.Moffat.” I like the last form best, for I
know that when a member of The Mentor Association writes in a personal
way, with a message of encouragement or a valuable suggestion, The
Mentor has found a real friend.I like to see the spirit of personal
interest growing in our daily mail.It is the best assurance of the
vitality of The Mentor Idea that we could have.Fellowship spirit is
the soul of all mutual endeavor.* * * * *
It is pleasing to see how close an interest some of our members take in
the details of The Mentor work.The following letter came to me a day
or so ago--and it is too good to keep to myself.Moffat_: When I opened the Hawaiian number of The
Mentor, I was delighted to find a greeting from you on the inside
of the front cover page.Now that you have moved over there, why
don’t you stay?Of course, I don’t know anything about the workings
of an editorial office, and it may mean a furious amount of
trouble.You might have to move your desk and your whole staff, and
even have to get out a new copyright, but from an outsider’s point
of view the move looks easy.And to my way of thinking the front
of the magazine is the place for you anyway--if you will permit
me to say so.There you seem to stand as a host at the threshold,
offering a welcome to guests before they enter.”
_SYLVIA._
* * * * *
“Who is Sylvia?Mary went to the bedroom.What is she?”--so Shakespeare and Schubert sang.And
if they couldn’t tell who Sylvia was, how can I?Mary journeyed to the bathroom.Of one thing I feel
sure: she is a faithful reader of The Mentor, for she has taken note of
our goings and comings, and our varied forms of editorial expression.The notion of my being the “host” is an inviting one.It is a role that
one should be proud to fill, especially when the feast to which he
invites his guests is the wealth of the world’s knowledge.The thought
of assuming that role, however, is a bit staggering.Thanks, Miss
Sylvia, but perhaps I had better play the more generally useful part of
planning, preparing and making up The Mentor feast.Your welcome to the
second cover page is appreciated.I have been there many times before,
however, when the page has borne no signature.No number of The Mentor
appears, Miss Sylvia, without my being around somewhere.I have no
preference for one particular page.I find occupation and joy on every
page of The Mentor from cover to cover.* * * * *
Here are some of the things that we do in reply to letters.We answer questions in the various fields of knowledge.We look
up sources of information for our readers and give them full
replies.We have just mailed a letter in which answers were made to
historical questions that called for a |
bedroom | Where is John? | Daniel travelled to the kitchen.We supply programs for reading clubs and lay out schedules for a
whole season of meetings.We supply material extracted from reference works for the benefit
of members who are pursuing courses of reading.We occasionally read essays or papers that have been prepared by
members, and offer helpful editorial suggestions.Aside from club
work, we lay out reading courses for private individuals who are
pursuing special studies.In some cases, where a member lives in a remote spot and cannot
conveniently obtain books, we get them for the member at
publisher’s prices.Occasionally, where books could not be had in
the market, we have lent copies from our library.We give full information and service in art, telling our readers
where and how to get good pictures--we also give travel information.These are but a few of the things that we do.We have a booklet in
which we describe The Mentor Service.If you have not had
the benefit of our service, you will be surprised to see how wide and
varied it is.* * * * *
The Prize Contest Letters have been coming in fast.Mary moved to the office.There are so many
good ones that it will be difficult to make a choice.I am going to
print extracts from some of them.A part of the first letter appears on
the opposite page.It tells of The Mentor as a _friend_.Could there be
any happier note to begin with than that?John went back to the kitchen.Other letters will tell of
the many ways in which The Mentor is or can be made valuable in home,
school and social life.The story of one reader will help another, and
the sum total of the information will be of benefit to all.John moved to the office.[Illustration: W. D. Moffat
EDITOR]
A FRIEND IN THE HOUSE
A MESSAGE FROM A MENTOR READER
“Some time ago a very neat stranger called at my home and made the hour
so pleasant, that he at once became my friend.Now this friend has a
permanent place in my home, and is known throughout the vicinity as
‘The Mentor.’
“The reason why so many are acquainted with this friend of mine is
because of his value and usefulness manifested in every subject and
service.The Mentor has a permanent personal and social value.There
might be added that also of inspiration.The Mentor has a message of
interest and importance.It has a voice with a true ring, that speaks,
as it were, from personal experience.“In company with this companion and friend, one may be charmed as the
story of the distant past or that of unfamiliar and remote things,
people and places is being unfolded.Hardly can there be found any one
so generous, considerate and tactful.“The Mentor calls twice a month to inform, enlarge the vision, to
inspire and encourage old and young, men and women, in all walks of
life.Whether it be in the home or elsewhere,
The Mentor furnishes food for intelligent conversation that has weight
and depth.The personal value is realized more and more as the weeks
come and go.Impressions are left on the mind which in time ripen into
principles.“If I wished to make a friend more friendly, I would give him The
Mentor.If I had an enemy--well--I would send him The Mentor.It might
make him my friend.”
* * * * *
THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION
ESTABLISHED FOR THE DEVELOPMENT OF A POPULAR INTEREST IN ART,
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, HISTORY, NATURE, AND TRAVEL
THE MENTOR IS PUBLISHED TWICE A MONTH
BY THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, INC., AT 222 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK, N.
Y. SUBSCRIPTION, FOUR DOLLARS A YEAR.FOREIGN POSTAGE 75 CENTS EXTRA.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.CANADIAN POSTAGE 50 CENTS EXTRA.SINGLE COPIES TWENTY CENTS.PRESIDENT,
THOMAS H. BECK; VICE-PRESIDENT, WALTER P. TEN EYCK; SECRETARY, W. D.
MOFFAT; TREASURER, J. S. CAMPBELL; ASSISTANT TREASURER AND ASSISTANT
SECRETARY, H. A. CROWE.* * * * *
THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, Inc., 222 Fourth Avenue, New York, N. Y.
Statement of the ownership, management, circulation, etc., required
by the Act of Congress of August 24, 1912, of The Mentor, published
semi-monthly at New York, N. Y., for October 1, 1917.State of New
York, County of New York.Before me, a Notary Public, in and for the
State and county aforesaid, personally appeared Thomas H. Beck, who,
having been duly sworn according to law, deposes and says that he
is the Publisher of The Mentor, and that the following is, to the
best of his knowledge and belief, a true statement of the ownership,
management, etc., of the aforesaid publication for the date shown in
the above caption, required by the Act of August 24, 1912, embodied
in section 443, Postal Laws and Regulations, to wit: (1) That the
names and addresses of the publisher, editor, managing editor, and
business manager are: Publisher, Thomas H. Beck, 52 East 19th Street,
New York; Editor, W. D. Moffat, 222 Fourth Avenue, New York; Managing
Editor, W. D. Moffat, 222 Fourth Avenue, New York; Business Manager,
Thomas H. Beck, 52 East 19th Street, New York.Daniel moved to the office.(2) That the owners
are: American Lithographic Company, 52 East 19th Street, New York; C.
Eddy, L. Ettlinger, J. P. Knapp, C. K. Mills, 52 East 19th Street,
New York; M. C. Herczog, 28 West 10th Street, New York; William T.
Harris, Villa Nova, Pa.M. E. Heppenheimer, 51 East 58th Street,
New York; Emilie Schumacher, Executrix for Luise E. Schumacher and
Walter L. Schumacher, Mount Vernon, N. Y.; Samuel Untermyer, 120
Broadway, New York.(3) That the known bondholders, mortgagees, and
other security holders owning or holding 1 per cent.Mary went to the bedroom.or more of total
amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities, are: None.(4)
That the two paragraphs next above, giving the names of the owners,
stockholders, and security holders, if any, contain not only the list
of stockholders and security holders as they appear upon the books
of the Company, but also, in cases where the stockholder or security
holder appears upon the books of the Company as trustee or in any other
fiduciary relation, the name of the person or corporation for whom
such trustee is acting, is given; also that the said two paragraphs
contain statements embracing affiant’s full knowledge and belief as to
the circumstances and conditions under which stockholders and security
holders who do not appear upon the books of the Company as trustees,
hold stock and securities in a capacity other than that of a bona fide
owner; and this affiant has no reason to believe that any other person,
association, or corporation has any interest direct or indirect in
the said stock, bonds, or other securities than as so stated by him.Sworn to and subscribed before me this 18th
day of September, 1917.J. S. Campbell, Notary Public, Queens County.My commission expires March 30,
1918.THE MENTOR ASSOCIATION, Inc., 222 Fourth Avenue, New York, N. Y.
THE MENTOR
How the Mentor Club Service Helps Clubwomen and Women Who Wish to
Organize Literary Clubs
The success and pleasure of a woman’s club depends on the year’s
program, which should be based on subjects that fascinate and interest,
as well as instruct.The planning of an interesting and helpful club program is a difficult
matter, as you who have served on program committees know, and can
really be done successfully only by experts.The Mentor Club Service Plans the Programs for Hundreds of Clubs, Free
of Charge
The Mentor Service Editors, men and women of high intellectual
attainments and broad experience, will be glad at any time to help
_you_ with suggestions or a completely worked out plan for _your_ club
program, based on any desired subject.They will also supply lists of
reference books for help in the preparation of club papers, and will
be glad to assist further by procuring any necessary books not in your
library, at cost, postage prepaid._Remember--The Mentor Club Service Is Free_
ADDRESS ALL INQUIRIES TO
Editor, The Mentor Association 222 Fourth Avenue, New York City
MAKE THE SPARE MOMENT COUNT
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mentor: Bolivia, vol.TWO LONG-DISTANCE CALLS 76
VII.THE GLEE CLUB CONCERT 94
VIII.A JAPANESE SPREAD 111
IX.VESPERS 126
X. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 140
XI.THE GREAT SLEET OF 19-- 158
XII.THE SKATING CARNIVAL 169
XIII.THE THAW 182
XIV.QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS 196
XV.A RECOVERY AND A VISIT 212
XVI.CHRISTMAS EVE PLOTS 230
XVII.A CHRISTMAS SURPRISE 245
XVIII.BREAKING THE NEWS 258
XIX.HOW O'REILLY'S BECAME QUEEN'S 269
XX.THE TURN OF THE WHEEL 283
XXI.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.IN THE GARDEN 295
Molly Brown's Sophomore Days
CHAPTER I.
THE RETURN OF THE WANDERERS."I never thought I could be so glad to be anywhere except home," thought
Molly Brown as she swung off the 'bus, and, seizing her suit case, ran
into Queen's Cottage without so much as ringing the bell.Two juniors whom Molly had known only by sight the year before and
several freshmen had been in the Wellington omnibus; no one in whom she
could confide her enthusiasm as the 'bus turned a bend in the road and
Wellington's towers came into view.cried a voice from somewhere in the upper regions of
Queen's, and down three flights of stairs rushed a wild figure, her
fluffy light brown hair standing out all over her head and her
voluminous kimono sailing behind her like the tail of a kite."Oh, Judy, it's good to see you again," cried Molly, and the two girls
were instantly folded in each other's arms in a long, loving embrace.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom."You remind me strongly of Meg Merriles," continued Molly, holding her
friend off at arms' length and giving her a joyful little shake."You
look as if you had been running over the moors in the wind.""You'd think I was a bit daffy if you could see my room," replied Julia
Kean, who, those of you who have met her in an earlier story will
recall, was nicknamed "Judy" by her friends.It looks
like the world in the era of chaos: mountains of clothes and islands of
shoes and archipelagoes of hats all jumbled into a hopeless mass.You've got new wall paper
and a fresh coat of paint.And I've
brought some white dimity curtains with ruffled edges to hang at the
windows.I made them last summer when it was ninety-eight in the shade.And where are all the Queen's girls, and
what new ones are here?""One at a time, Miss Brown," laughed Judy, following Molly up to the
third story and into the large room shared by Molly and her friend,
Nance Oldham."How sweet it's going to look," cried Molly, clasping her hands and
gazing around her with all the ardor of a returned wanderer."Is it possible you haven't heard the news about Nance?"cried Molly, taking off her hat and running
her fingers through her rumpled auburn hair, a trick she had when she
was excited and overwrought."Now, tell me at once what has happened to
Nance."Why don't you answer me, Judy?John journeyed to the bedroom.I haven't heard
from her for weeks."I'm going to tell you in a minute," answered Judy."I can't blow my
nose and talk at the same time.I've got
a wretched cold, you see."Julia Kean, you are keeping something from me.I don't care a rap about
your nose.Molly almost fell on her knees in the excess of her anxiety.Judy turned
her face away from those appealing blue eyes and coughed a forced
throaty cough."Suppose I should say she wasn't coming back, Molly?repeated Molly, her eyes filling with tears.Suddenly the closet door was flung open and out rushed Nance."Oh, Molly, forgive me," she cried, throwing her arms around her
roommate's neck."Judy thought it would be a good practical joke, but I
couldn't stand the deception any longer.It was worth it, though, if
only to know you would miss me.""I never did say she wasn't coming," replied Judy."I simply said, 'Is
it possible you haven't heard the news about Nance?'It shows how your
heart rules your head, Molly.You shouldn't take on so until you get at
the real truth.Your impetuous nature needs----"
Here Judy was interrupted by the noise of a headlong rush down the hall.Then the door was burst open and three girls blew into the room all
laughing and talking at once."My goodness, it sounds like a stampede of wild cattle," exclaimed
Judy.It was Margaret Wakefield, last year's class president; her chum, Jessie
Lynch; and Sallie Marks, now a senior, but not in the least set up by
her exalted state."She's moved over to the Quadrangle into a singleton.She wanted to be
nearer the scene of action, she said, and Queen's was too diverting for
her serious life's work," so Margaret explained."I'm one of those nice comfortable home bodies
that likes the family to keep right on just the same forever, but I
suppose we can't expect everybody to be as fond of this old brown house
as we are.Sit down, everybody," she added, hospitably."And--oh, yes,
wait a moment--I didn't open this on the train at all."She |
kitchen | Where is John? | "Ruling passion even strong in death," observed Judy."Of course it's something good to eat," laughed pretty Jessie."Of course," replied Molly, pitching articles of clothing out of her
satchel with all the carelessness of one who pursues a single idea at a
time.My sister made them for me the morning I left and
packed them carefully in a tin box with oiled paper."they cried ecstatically and pounced on the box without
ceremony, while Molly, who, like most good cooks, had a small appetite,
leaned back in a Morris chair and regarded them with the pleased
satisfaction of a host who has provided satisfactory refreshment for his
guests.The summer had made few changes in the faces of her last year's friends.Margaret was a bit taller and more massive, and her handsome face a
little heavier.Already her youthful lines were maturing and she might
easily have been mistaken for a senior.Nance was as round and plump as a partridge and there was a new
happiness in her face, the happiness of returning to the first place she
had ever known that in any way resembled a home.Nance had lived in a
boarding house ever since she could remember; but Queen's was not like a
boarding house; at least not like the one to which she was accustomed,
where the boarders consisted of two crusty old bachelors; a widow who
was hipped about her health and always talked "symptoms"; a spinster who
had taught school for thirty years; and Nance's parents--that is, one of
them, and at intervals the other.Oldham only returned to her
family to rest between club conventions and lecture tours.Judy had a beautiful creamy tan on her face which went admirably with
her dreamy gray eyes and soft light brown hair.There were times when
she looked much like a boy, and she did at this moment, Molly thought,
with her hair parted on one side and a brilliant Roman scarf knotted
around her rolling Byronic collar.Jessie, just now engaged in the pleasing occupation of smiling at her
own image in the mirror over the mantel, was as pretty as ever.As for
Sallie Marks, every familiar freckle was in its familiar place, and, as
Judy remarked later, she had changed neither her spots nor her skin.She
had merely added a pair of eye-glasses to her tip-tilted critical nose
and there was, perhaps, an extra spark of dry humor in her pale eyes.She always "fell-off" after a
ninety-eight-in-the-shade summer; but she was the same old Molly to her
friends, possessed with an indescribable charm and sweetness: the
"nameless charm," it had been called, but there were many who could name
it as being a certain kindly gentleness and unselfishness.she demanded, giving a general all-round smile
like that of a famous orator, which seemed to be meant for everybody at
once and no one in particular."News is scarce; or should I say 'are'?""Epimenides
Antinous Green, 'the handsomest man ever seen,' was offered a chair in
one of the big colleges and refused."cried Molly, round-eyed with amazement."Because he has more liberty at Wellington and more time to devote to
his writings."Molly walked over to the window to hide a smile."He's just published a book, you know, on the 'Elizabethan Drama,'" went
on Margaret, "which is to be used as a text book in lots of private
schools.And he's been on a walking trip through England this summer
with George Theodore----"
"How did you know all that?""Well, to tell you the truth, I came up to Wellington on the train with
Andy McLean and he answered all the questions I asked him," replied
Margaret, laughing."I also answered all the questions he asked me about
a particular young lady----"
Nance pretended to be very busy at this moment with the contents of her
work bag.The other girls began laughing and she looked up, disclosing
a scarlet countenance."Don't you know she never could take a teasing?""Don't you mind, Nance, dear," said Molly, always tender-hearted when it
came to teasing."The rest of us haven't had one 'inquiring friend,' as
Ca'line, our cook, used to call them.When I wrote letters for her to
her family in Georgia, she always finished up with 'Now, Miss Molly,
jes' end with love to all inquirin' friends.'"The dainty little French clock on the mantel, one of Nance's new
possessions, tinkled five times in a subdued, fairy chime and the
friends scattered to their various rooms to unpack.Judy was now in
Frances Andrews' old room, next to the one occupied by Molly and Nance."I think I'll take a gimlet and bore a hole through the wall," she
announced as she lingered a moment after the others had gone, "so that
we can communicate without having to walk ten steps--I counted them
this morning--and open two doors.""You'd never guess in a thousand years, so I'll have to enlighten you,"
answered Judy.cried Molly and Nance in one breath, while Judy,
who loved a climax, sailed from the room without vouchsafing any more
information.Molly and Nance were very busy that night arranging their belongings.Molly's tastes were simple and Nance's were what might be called
complicated.Molly had been reared all her life in large spaces, big,
airy rooms, and broad halls, and the few pieces of heavy old mahogany in
them were of the kind that cannot be bought for a song.Nance had been
reared in an atmosphere of oiled walnut and boarding house bric-a-brac.She was learning because she had an exceedingly observing and
intelligent mind, but she had not learned.Therefore, that night, when Molly hung the white muslin curtains, and
spread out the beautiful blue antique rug left by Frances Andrews, she
devoutly hoped that Nance would "go easy" with the pictures and
ornaments."What we want to try to do this year, Nance," she announced from the top
of the step ladder, "is to keep things empty.We got fairly messy last
winter after Christmas.I'm going to keep all those banners and things
packed this year.""Perhaps I'd better not get out those passe-partouted Gibson pictures,"
began Nance a little doubtfully."Just as you like, Nance, dear," said Molly.She would rather have hung the wall with bill posters than have hurt her
friend's feelings."Honestly, you aren't fond of them, are you?""Oh, it isn't that," apologized Molly."But I think so many small
pictures scattered over a big wall space are--well, rather tiring to the
optic nerves."Nance looked sad, but she had unbounded faith in Molly's opinions."What shall we do with this big empty wall space, then?"she asked,
pausing in her unpacking to regard a sea of blue-gray cartridge paper
with a critical eye.At this juncture there came a light, timid tap, so faint, indeed, that
it might have been the swish of a mouse's tail as he brushed past the
door.Molly paused in her contemplation of blank walls and listened."I thought I heard a tapping
at our chamber door.""Come in," called Nance briskly.Then the space widened and there
stood on the threshold the diminutive figure of a little Japanese girl
who by subsequent measurements proved to be exactly five feet one-half
an inch in height.She was dressed "like white people," to quote Molly,
that is, in a neat cloth suit and a straw turban, and her slanting black
eyes were like highly polished pieces of ebony."I beg the honorable pardon of the young ladies," she began with a prim,
funny accent."I arrive this moment which have passing at the honorable
home of young ladies.I not find no one save serving girl who have
informing me of room of sleeping in.Honorable lady of the house, her
you calling'matronly,' not in at present passing moment.With an almost superhuman effort Molly controlled her face and choked
back the laughter that bubbled up irrepressibly.Nance had buried her
head in her trunk until she could regain her composure."Indeed I do forgive you, poor dear.Just wait until I get down from the ladder and I'll show you your
bedroom.It used to be the room of one of my best friends, so I happen
to know it very well."Molly crawled down from the heights of the step ladder and took the
little Japanese girl's brown hand in hers."Shall we not shake hands and
be friends?"You are just down
there at the end of the hall, you see.My name is Brown, Molly Brown,
and this is my roommate, Nance Oldham.""I with much pleasure feel to making acquaintance of beautiful young
ladies," said the Japanese girl, smiling charmingly and showing two rows
of teeth as pointed and white as a spaniel's.Nance had also risen to the occasion by this time, and now shook Miss
Otoyo Sen's hand with a great show of cordiality, to make up for her
crimson face and mouth still unsteady with laughter.They conducted the
Japanese girl to her room and turned on the lights.There were two
new-looking American trunks in the room and two cases covered with
matting and inscribed with mystic Japanese hieroglyphics.Wired to the
cord wrapping was an express tag with "Miss O. Sen, Queen's Cottage,
Wellington," written across it in plain handwriting."Oh," exclaimed Miss Otoyo, clasping her hands with timid pleasure, "my
estates have unto this place arriving come."Nance turned and rushed from the room and Molly opened the closet door."You can hang all your things in here," she said unsteadily, "and of
course lay some of them in the bureau drawers.Better unpack to-night,
because to-morrow will be a busy day for you.It's the opening day, you
know.If we can help you, don't hesitate to ask.""I am with gratitude much filled up," said the little Japanese, making a
low, ceremonious bow."Don't mention it," replied Molly, hastening back to her room.She found Nance giving vent to noiseless laughter in the Morris chair.Tears were rolling down her cheeks and her face was purple with
suppressed amusement.Molly often said that, when Nance did laugh, she
was like the pig who died in clover.When Nance succumbed to laughter, her entire being was given over to
merriment."Did you ever
imagine such ludicrous English?How do you
suppose she ever made the entrance examinations?""Oh, she's probably good enough at writing.It's just speaking that
stumps her.When she said'my estates
have unto this place arriving come,' I thought I should have to
departing go along with you.I think I'll go over later and see how
she is.But Japan, always beforehand in ceremonious politeness, was again ahead
of America in this respect.Just before ten o'clock the mouse's tail
once more brushed their door and Nance's sharp ears catching the faint
sound, she called, "Come in."Mary went back to the garden.Miss Otoyo Sen entered, this time less timidly, but with the same
deprecating smile on her diminutive face."Begging honorable pardon of beautiful young ladies," she began, "will
condescendingly to accept unworthy gift from Otoyo in gratitude of
favors receiving?"Then she produced a beautiful Japanese scroll at least four feet in
length.In the background loomed up the snow-capped peak of the
ever-present sacred mountain, Fujiyama, and the foreground disclosed a
pleasing combination of sky-blue waters dotted with picturesque little
islands connected with graceful curving bridges, and here and there were
cherry trees aglow with delicate pink blossoms."Oh, how perfectly sweet," exclaimed the girls, delighted."And just the place on this bare wall space!""It's
really a heaven-sent gift, Miss Sen, because we were wishing for
something really beautiful to hang over that divan.Beautiful young ladies do honor by accepting humbly gift.""Let's hang it at once," suggested Molly, "while the step ladder is yet
with us.Queen's step ladder is so much in demand that it's very much
like the snowfall in the river, 'a moment there, then gone forever.'"The two girls moved the homely but coveted ladder across the room, and,
with much careful shifting and after several suggestions timidly made
by Otoyo, finally hung up the scroll.It really glorified the whole room
and made a framed lithograph of a tea-drinking lady in a boudoir costume
and a kitten that trifled with a ball of yarn on the floor, Nance's
possession, appear so commonplace that she shamefacedly removed it from
its tack and put it back in her trunk, to Molly's secret relief."Won't you sit down and talk to us a few minutes?""We
still have a quarter of an hour before bed time."Otoyo timidly took a seat on a corner of one of the divans.The girls
could not help noticing another small package which she had not yet
proffered for their acceptance.But she now placed it in Nance's hand."A little of what American lady call'meat-sweet,'" she said
apologetically.Will beautiful
ladies accept so humbly gift?"The box contained candied ginger and was much appreciated by young
American ladies, the humble giver of this delightful confection being
far too shy to eat any of it herself.By dint of some questioning, it came out that Otoyo's father was a
merchant of Tokio.She had been sent to an American school in Japan for
two years and had also studied under an English governess.She could
read English perfectly and, strange to say, could write it fairly
accurately, but, when it came to speaking it, she clung to her early
participial-adverbial faults, although she trusted to overcome them in a
very little while.She had several conditions to work off before
Thanksgiving, but she was cheerful and her ambition was to be "beautiful
American young lady."She was, indeed, the most charming little doll-like creature the girls
had ever seen, so unreal and different from themselves, that they could
hardly credit her with the feelings and sensibilities of a human being.So correctly polite was she with such formal, stiff little manners that
she seemed almost an automaton wound up to bow and nod at the proper
moment.But Otoyo Sen was a creature of feeling, as they were to find
out before very long."Did many girls come down on the train with you to-night, Miss Sen?"asked Nance, by way of making conversation.John moved to the kitchen.Several young ladies had come, Miss Sen replied in her best participial
manner.All had been kind to Otoyo but one, who had frightened poor
Japanese very, very much.One very kind American gentleman had been
commissioned to bring little Japanese down from big city to University.He had look after her all day and brought her sandwiches.He friend of
her father and most, most kindly.He had receiving letters from her
honorable father to look after little Japanese girl.Across the aisle from Otoyo had sat a "beeg young American lady, beeg as
kindly young lady there with peenk hair," indicating Molly.The "beeg"
young American lady, it seems, had great "beeg" eyes, so: Otoyo made two
circles with her thumbs and forefingers to indicate size of young
American lady's optics.She called Otoyo "Yum-Yum" and she made to
laugh at humble Japanese girl, but Otoyo could see that young American
lady with beeg eyes feeling great anger toward little strange girl.asked Molly, slipping her arm around Otoyo's
plump waist."How could she be unkind to sweet little Japanese
stranger?""Young great-eyed lady laugh at me mostly and I very uncomfortably."She
brought out the big word with proud effort.Here Otoyo gave a delicious melodious laugh for the first time that
evening."She not like kindly gentlemanly friend to be attentionly to humble
Japanese.""What was the gentleman's name, Otoyo?"asked Molly; and somewhat to her
surprise Otoyo, who, as they were to learn later, never forgot a name,
came out patly with:
"Professor Edwin Green, kindly friend of honorable father.""Did the young lady call him 'Cousin'?"asked Nance in the tone |
garden | Where is Mary? | "The same old Judith Blount," laughed Molly.And Nance recalled Judy's prophetic speech on the last day of college in
June: "Can the le-o-pard change his spots?"Then the first stroke of the tower clock began to chime the hour of ten
and they promptly conducted Otoyo to her bedroom with the caution that
all lights must be out at ten, a rule she followed thereafter with
implicit obedience.The next morning, Molly and Nance took Otoyo under their especial care.They introduced her to all the girls at Queen's, placed her between them
at Chapel, showed her how to register and finally took her on a
sight-seeing expedition.It turned out that through Professor Green her room had been engaged
since early the winter before.Why he should have chosen Queen's they
hardly knew, since Otoyo appeared to have plenty of money and might
have lived in more expensive quarters.But Queen's he had selected, and
that very evening he called on Mrs.Markham to see that his little
charge was comfortably settled.Molly caught a glimpse of him as he
followed the maid through the hall to Mrs.Markham's sitting room, and
made him a polite bow.She felt somewhat in awe of the Professor of
English Literature this winter, since she was to be in one of his
classes, Lit.II, and was very fearful that he might consider her a
perfect dunce.But Professor Green would not pass Molly with a bow.He
paused at the door of the living room and held out his hand."I'm glad to see you back and looking so well," he said."My sister
asked to be remembered to you.His brown eyes were as clear as two
brown pools in the forest and there was a healthy glow on his face; but
Molly could not help noticing that he was growing bald about the
temples."Too bad he's so old," she thought, "because sometimes he's really
handsome.""I am commissioned," he continued, "to find a tutor for a young Japanese
girl boarding here, and I wondered if you would like to undertake the
work.She needs lessons in English chiefly, but she has several
conditions to work off and it would be a steady position for anyone who
has time to take it.Her father is a rich man and willing to pay more
than the usual price if he can get someone specially interested who will
take pains with his daughter's education.""I'm willing to do all that," said Molly, "but it goes with the job,
don't you think?I have no right to ask more than is usually asked.""Oh, yes, you have," answered the Professor quickly."What you can give
her means everything to the child.She is naturally very timid and
strange.If you are willing to give up several hours to her, say four
times a week, I will arrange about salary with her father and the
lessons may begin immediately."It was impossible for Molly to disguise her feelings of relief and joy
at this windfall.Her lack of funds was, as usual, an ever-present
shadow in the background of her mind, although, through some fine
investments which Mrs.Brown had been able to make that summer, the
Brown family hoped to be relieved by another year of the pressure of
poverty.Queen's Cottage seemed destined to shelter girls of interesting and
unusual types."They always do flock together, you know," Miss Pomeroy had remarked to
the President, as the two women sat talking in the President's office
one day.The question had come up with the subject of the new Japanese
student, the first of her nation ever to seek learning in the halls of
Wellington."They do," said the President, "but whether it's the first comers
actively persuading the next ones or whether it's a matter of
unconscious attraction is hard to tell.""In this case I understand it's a matter of very conscious attraction on
one side and no persuasion on the other," replied Miss Pomeroy."That
charming overgrown girl from Kentucky, Miss Brown, although she's as
poor as a church mouse and last year even blacked boots to earn a little
money, is one of the chief attractions, I think.But some of the other
girls are quite remarkable.Margaret Wakefield lives there, you know.She makes as good a speech as her politician father.It will be
interesting to watch her career if she only doesn't spoil everything by
marrying."The two spinsters looked at each other and laughed."Then," went on Miss Pomeroy, "there's Julia Kean.She could do almost
anything she wished, and like all such people she doesn't want to do
anything.It's Miss Brown who keeps
her up to the mark.The girl was actually about to run away last winter
just at mid-years.She lost her courage, I believe, and there was a
remarkable scene, but she was induced to stay.""One of them, you recall, is a daughter of the famous suffragette, Mrs.But I fancy the poor daughter has had quite enough of
suffrage.The only other really interesting characters at Queen's,
besides your Japanese, are two sophomores who roomed at Plympton's last
year.They are the Williams sisters, Katherine and Edith, and they are
remarkably bright.They work in a team, and I have not been able to
discover which is the brighter of the two, although I had them to tea
once or twice last year.One is talkative and the other is quiet, but I
suspect the quiet one of doing a deal of thinking."The two women enjoyed these occasional chats about Wellington students.They were accustomed to regard most of the classes as units rather than
the members as individuals.Sometimes it was a colorless, uninteresting
class with no special traits worthy of admiration.Sometimes it was a
snobbish, purse-proud class, as in the case of the present juniors.And
again, as with last year's seniors, it was a class of sterling qualities
made up of big girls with fine minds.Seldom did a class contain more
than one or two brilliant members, often not one.The present sophomore
class was one of those "freak" bodies which appear once in a life time.It was an unusually small class, there being only thirty-eight members.Some twenty of these girls were extremely bright and at least ten gave
promise of something more than ordinary.As the fastest skaters keep
together on the ice, so the brightest girls gradually drifted into
Queen's and became as one family.It was known that there was a good
deal of jealousy in the less distinguished portion of the class because
of this sparkling group.But, all unconscious of the feeling they were
exciting, the Queen's girls settled themselves down to the enjoyment of
life, each in her own peculiar way.The two new sophomores at Queen's were, in fact, a welcome addition, and
Molly and her friends found them exceedingly amusing.They were tall,
rather raw-boned types, with sallow skins and large, lustrous,
melancholy eyes.There was only a year's difference in their ages, and
at first it was difficult to tell one from the other, but Edith, the
younger of the sisters, was an inch taller than Katherine and was very
quiet, while Katherine talked enough for the two of them.Because they
were always together they were called "the Gemini," although
occasionally they had terrific battles and ceased to be on speaking
terms for a day or two.One afternoon, not long after the opening day at college, the Williams
sisters and Mabel Hinton, who now lived in the Quadrangle, paid a visit
to Molly in her room."We came in to discuss with you who you consider would make the best
class president this year, Molly," began Katherine."It's rather hard to
choose one among so many who could fill the place with distinction----"
"But I think Margaret should be chosen," interrupted Molly."She was a
good one last year."Don't you think it looks rather like favoritism?""Some
of the other girls should have a chance."Why, I wouldn't know how to act in a president's
chair."It's very easy to become accustomed
to an exalted state.""It's a question," here remarked the silent Edith, "whether a class
president should be the most popular girl or the best executive.""Margaret is both," exclaimed Molly loyally; "but, after all, why not
leave it to the vote at the class meeting?"Mary went back to the garden."Oh, it will be finally decided in that way, of course," said Katherine,
"but such things are really decided beforehand by a little
electioneering, and I was proposing to do some stump speaking in your
behalf, Molly, if you cared to take the place.""Oh, no," cried Molly, flushing with embarrassment; "it's awfully nice
of you, but I wouldn't for anything interfere with Margaret.John moved to the kitchen.Besides, as Queen's girls, we ought to vote for her.They say we are running the class,
and are sure to ring in one of our own crowd just to have things our
way.""I'm sure I never thought of such a
thing.But if that's the case, why vote for me, then?"John journeyed to the office."Because," replied Mabel, "the Caroline Brinton faction proposed you.They say, if they must have a Queen's girl, they'll take you.""'Must' is a ridiculous word to use at an honest election," broke in
Molly hotly."Let them choose their candidate and vote as they like.We'll choose ours and vote as we like.""That's exactly the point," said Katherine."They are something like
Kipling's monkey tribe, the 'banderlog.'They do a lot of chattering,
but they can't come to any agreement.They need a head, and I propose to
be that head and tell them whom to vote for.Shall it be Molly or
Margaret?""Margaret," cried Molly; "a thousand times, Margaret.I wouldn't usurp
her place for worlds.She's perfectly equipped in every possible way for
the position."Nance and Judy now came into the room.Nance looked a little excited and
Judy was red in the face."Do you know," burst out the impetuous Judy, "that Caroline Brinton has
called a mass meeting of all the sophomores not at Queen's?She has
started up some cock-and-bull tale about the Queen's girls trying to run
the class.We ran in all our
officers last year and we're going to try and do it this year.""Margaret was elected by her
own silver-tongued oratory, and Jessie was made secretary because she
was so pretty and popular and seemed to belong next to Margaret anyway.""But the question is: are the Queen's girls going to sit back and let
themselves be libeled?"John journeyed to the garden."Of course," she said, "let them talk.Don't you know that people who
denounce weaken their own cause always, and it's the people who keep
still who have all the strength on their side?Let them talk and at the
class meeting to-morrow some of us might say a few quiet words to the
point."The girls recognized the wisdom of this decision and concluded to keep
well away from any forced meeting of sophomores that evening.It had not
occurred to simple-hearted Molly that it was jealousy that had fanned
the flame of indignation against Queen's girls, but it had occurred to
some of the others, the Williamses in particular, who were very shrewd
in regard to human nature.As for Margaret Wakefield, she was openly and
shamelessly enjoying the fight."To-morrow we'll have some fun.Just because
they have made such unjust accusations against us they ought to be
punished by being made to vote for us."It was noted that Margaret used the word "us" in speaking of future
votes.She had been too well-bred to declare herself openly as candidate
for the place of class president, but it was generally known that she
would not be displeased to become the successful candidate.The next
morning they heard that only ten sophomores attended the mass meeting
and that they had all talked at once.Later in the day when the class met to elect its president for the year,
as Edith remarked: "The hoi polloi did look black and threatening."Molly felt decidedly uncomfortable and out of it.She didn't know how to
make a speech for one thing and she hoped they'd leave her alone.It was
utterly untrue about Queen's girls.The cleverest girls in the class
happened to live there.Margaret, the Williamses and Judy wore what might be called "pugilistic
smiles."They intended to have a sweet revenge for the things that had
been said about them and on the whole they were enjoying themselves
immensely.They had not taken Molly into their confidence, but what
they intended to do was well planned beforehand.Former President Margaret occupied the chair and opened the meeting with
a charming little speech that would have done credit to the wiliest
politician.She moved her hearers by her reference to class feeling and
their ambition to make the class the most notable that ever graduated
from Wellington.She flattered and cajoled them and put them in such a
good humor with themselves that there was wild applause when she
finished and the Brinton forces sheepishly avoided each other's eyes.Evidently the opposing side did not
feel capable of competing with so much oratory as that."Since no one seems to have anything to say," she said, "I beg to start
the election by nominating Miss Caroline Brinton of Philadelphia for our
next class president."If a bomb shell had burst in the room, there couldn't have been more
surprise.Molly could have laughed aloud at the rebellious and
fractious young woman from Philadelphia, who sat embarrassed and
tongue-tied, unable to say a word.The Brinton forces appeared incapable of
expressing themselves."I second the nomination of Miss Brinton," called Judy, with a bland,
innocent look in her gray eyes.Then Katherine Williams arose and delivered a deliciously humorous and
delightful little speech that caused laughter to ripple all over the
room.She ended by nominating Margaret Wakefield for re-election and
before they knew it everybody in the room was applauding.But, we are sorry to say, the people of this lovely village were not
worthy to dwell in a spot on which Heaven had smiled so beneficently.They were a very selfish and hard-hearted people, and had no pity for
the poor, nor sympathy with the homeless.They would only have laughed,
had anybody told them that human beings owe a debt of love to one
another, because there is no other method of paying the debt of love and
care which all of us owe to Providence.You will hardly believe what I
am going to tell you.These naughty people taught their children to be
no better than themselves, and used to clap their hands, by way of
encouragement, when they saw the little boys and girls run after some
poor stranger, shouting at his heels, and pelting hum with stones.They
kept large and fierce dogs, and whenever a traveller ventured to show
himself in the village street, this pack of disagreeable curs scampered
to meet him, barking, snarling, and showing their teeth.Then they
would seize him by his leg, or by his clothes, just as it happened; and
if he were ragged when he came, he was generally a pitiable object
before he had time to run away.This was a very terrible thing to poor
travellers, as you may suppose, especially when they chanced to be sick,
or feeble, or lame, or old.Such persons (if they once knew how badly
these unkind people, and their unkind children and curs, were in the
habit of behaving) would go miles and miles out of their way, rather
than try to pass through the village again.What made the matter seem worse, if possible, was that when rich persons
came in their chariots, or riding on beautiful horses, with their
servants in rich liveries attending on them, nobody could be more civil
and obsequious than the inhabitants of the village.They would take off
their hats, and make the humblest bows you ever saw.If the children
were rude, they were pretty certain to get their ears boxed; and as for
the dogs, if a single cur in the pack presumed to yelp, his master
instantly beat him with a club, and tied him up without any supper.This would have been all very well, only it proved that the villagers
cared much about the money that a stranger had in his pocket, and
nothing whatever for the human soul, which lives equally in the beggar
and the prince.So now you can understand why old Philemon spoke so sorrowfully, when he
heard the shouts of the children and the barking of the dogs, at the
farther extremity of the village street.There was a confused din,
which lasted a |
bathroom | Where is John? | They sat shaking their heads, one to another, while the noise came
nearer and nearer; until, at the foot of the little eminence on which
their cottage stood, they saw two travellers approaching on foot.Close
behind them came the fierce dogs, snarling at their very heels.A
little farther off, ran a crowd of children, who sent up shrill cries,
and flung stones at the two strangers, with all their might.Once or
twice, the younger of the two men (he was a slender and very active
figure) turned about, and drove back the dogs with a staff which he
carried in his hand.His companion, who was a very tall person, walked
calmly along, as if disdaining to notice either the naughty children, or
the pack of curs, whose manners the children seemed to imitate.Both of the travellers were very humbly clad, and looked as if they
might not have money enough in their pockets to pay for a night's
lodging.And this, I am afraid, was the reason why the villagers had
allowed their children and dogs to treat them so rudely."Come, wife," said Philemon to Baucis, "let us go and meet these poor
people.No doubt, they feel almost too heavy-hearted to climb the
hill.""Go you and meet them," answered Baucis, "while I make haste within
doors, and see whether we can get them anything for supper.A
comfortable bowl of bread and milk would do wonders towards raising
their spirits."Accordingly, she hastened into the cottage.Philemon, on his part, went
forward, and extended his hand with so hospitable an aspect that there
was no need of saying, what nevertheless he did say, in the heartiest
tone imaginable,--
"Welcome, strangers!replied the younger of the two, in a lively kind of way,
notwithstanding his weariness and trouble."This is quite another
greeting than we have met with yonder, in the village.Pray, why do you
live in such a bad neighborhood?"observed old Philemon, with a quiet and benign smile, "Providence
put me here, I hope, among other reasons, in order that I may make you
what amends I can for the inhospitality of my neighbors."cried the traveller, laughing; "and, if the
truth must be told, my companion and myself need some amends.Mary went back to the garden.Those
children (the little rascals!)have bespattered us finely with their
mud-ball; and one of the curs has torn my cloak, which was ragged enough
already.But I took him across the muzzle with my staff; and I think
you may have heard him yelp, even thus far off."Philemon was glad to see him in such good spirits; nor, indeed, would
you have fancied, by the traveller's look and manner, that he was weary
with a long day's journey, besides being disheartened by rough treatment
at the end of it.He was dressed in rather an odd way, with a sort of
cap on his head, the brim of which stuck out over both ears.Though it
was a summer evening, he wore a cloak, which he kept wrapt closely about
him, perhaps because his under garments were shabby.Philemen
perceived, too, that he had on a singular pair of shoes; but, as it was
now growing dusk, and as the old man's eyesight was none the sharpest,
he could not precisely tell in what the strangeness consisted.The traveller was so wonderfully light
and active, that it appeared as if his feet sometimes rose from the
ground of their own accord, or could only be kept down by an effort."I used to be light-footed, in my youth," said Philemen to the
traveller."But I always found my feet grow heavier towards nightfall.""There is nothing like a good staff to help one along," answered the
stranger; "and I happen to have an excellent one, as you see."This staff, in fact, was the oddest-looking staff that Philemon had ever
beheld.It was made of olive-wood, and had something like a little pair
of wings near the top.Two snakes, carved in the wood, were represented
as twining themselves about the staff, and were so very skilfully
executed that old Philemon (whose eyes, you know, were getting rather
dim) almost thought them alive, and that he could see them wriggling and
twisting."A curious piece of work, sure enough!"It would be an excellent kind of stick for a little boy to ride astride
of!"By this time, Philemon and his two guests had reached the cottage-door."Friends," said the old man, "sit down and rest yourselves here on this
bench.My good wife Baucis has gone to see what you can have for
supper.We are poor folks; but you shall be welcome to whatever we have
in the cupboard."The younger stranger threw himself carelessly on the bench, letting his
staff fall, as he did so.And here happened something rather
marvellous, though trifling enough, too.The staff seemed to get up
from the ground of its own accord, and, spreading its little pair of
wings, it half hopt, half flew, and leaned itself against the wall of
the cottage.There it stood quite still, except that the snakes
continued to wriggle.John moved to the kitchen.But, in my private opinion, old Philemon's
eyesight had been playing him tricks again.Before he could ask any questions, the elder stranger drew his attention
from the wonderful staff, by speaking to him."Was there not," asked the stranger, in a remarkably deep tone of voice,
"a lake, in very ancient times, covering the spot where now stands
yonder village?""Not in my day, friend," answered Philemon; "and yet I am an old man,
as you see.There were always the fields and meadows, just as they are
now, and the old trees, and the little stream murmuring through the
midst of the valley.My father, nor his father before him, ever saw it
otherwise, so far as I know; and doubtless it will still be the same,
when old Philemon shall be gone and forgotten!""That is more than can be safely foretold," observed the stranger; and
there was something very stern in his deep voice.He shook his head,
too, so that his dark and heavy curls were shaken with the movement,
"Since the inhabitants of yonder village have forgotten the affections
and sympathies of their nature, it were better that the lake should be
rippling over their dwellings again!"The traveller looked so stern, that Philemon was really almost
frightened; the more so, that, at his frown, the twilight seemed
suddenly to grow darker, and that, when he shook his head, there was
a roll as of thunder in the air.But, in a moment afterwards, the stranger's face became so kindly and
mild, that the old man quite forgot his terror.Nevertheless, he could
not help feeling that this elder traveller must be no ordinary
personage, although he happened now to be attired so humbly, and to be
journeying on foot.Not that Philemon fancied him a prince in disguise,
or any character of that sort; but rather some exceedingly wise man, who
went about the world in this poor garb, despising wealth and all worldly
objects, and seeking everywhere to add a mite to his wisdom.This idea
appeared the more probable, because, when Philemon raised his eyes to
the stranger's face, he seemed to see more thought there, in one look,
than he could have studied out in a lifetime.While Baucis was getting the supper, the travellers both began to talk
very sociably with Philemon.The younger, indeed, was extremely
loquacious, and made such shrewd and witty remarks, that the good old
man continually burst out a-laughing, and pronounced him the merriest
fellow whom he had seen for many a day."Pray, my young friend," said he, as they grew familiar together, "what
may I call your name?""Why, I am very nimble, as you see," answered the traveller."So, if
you call me Quicksilver, the name will fit tolerably well."repeated Philemon, looking in the
traveller's face, to see if he were making fun of him."You must ask the thunder to tell it you!"replied Quicksilver, putting
on a mysterious look.This remark, whether it were serious or in jest, might have caused
Philemon to conceive a very great awe of the elder stranger, if, on
venturing to gaze at him, he had not beheld so much beneficence in his
visage; But, undoubtedly, here was the grandest figure that ever sat so
humbly beside a cottage-door.When the stranger conversed, it was with
gravity, and in such a way that Philemon felt irresistibly moved to tell
him everything which he had most at heart.This is always the feeling
that people have, when they meet with any one wise enough to comprehend
all their good and evil, and to despise not a tittle of it.But Philemon, simple and kind-hearted old man that he was, had not many
secrets to disclose.He talked, however, quite garrulously, about the
events of his past life, in the whole course of which he had never been
a score of miles from this very spot.His wife Baucis and himself had
dwelt in the cottage from their youth upward, earning their bread by
honest labor, always poor, but still contented.John journeyed to the office.He told what excellent
butter and cheese Baucis made, and how nice were the vegetables which he
raised in his garden.He said, too, that, because they loved one
another so very much, it was the wish of both that death might not
separate them, but that they should die, as they had lived, together.As the stranger listened, a smile beamed over his countenance, and made
its expression as sweet as it was grand."You are a good old man," said he to Philemon, "and you have a good old
wife to be your helpmeet.And it seemed to Philemon, just then, as if the sunset clouds threw up a
bright flash from the west, and kindled a sudden light in the sky.Baucis had now got supper ready, and, coming to the door, began to make
apologies for the poor fare which she was forced to set before her
guests."Had we known you were coming," said she, "my good man and myself would
have gone without a morsel, rather than you should lack a better supper.But I took the most part of to-day's milk to make cheese; and our last
loaf is already half eaten.I never feel the sorrow of being
poor, save when a poor traveller knocks at our door.""All will be very well; do not trouble yourself, my good dame," replied
the elder stranger, kindly."An honest, hearty welcome to a guest works
miracles with the fare, and is capable of turning the coarsest food to
nectar and ambrosia.""A welcome you shall have," cried Baucis, "and likewise a little honey
that we happen to have left, and a bunch of purple grapes besides.""Why, Mother Baucis, it, is a feast!"exclaimed Quicksilver, laughing,
"an absolute feast!and you shall see how bravely I will play my part at
it!I think I never felt hungrier in my life."John journeyed to the garden.whispered Baucis to her husband."If the young man has
such a terrible appetite, I am afraid there will not be half enough
supper!"And now, my little auditors, shall I tell you something that will make
you open your eyes very wide?It is really one of the oddest
circumstances in the whole story.Quicksilver's staff, you recollect,
had set itself up against the wall of the cottage.Well; when its
master entered the door, leaving this wonderful staff behind, what
should it do but immediately spread its little wings, and go hopping and
fluttering up the doorsteps!Tap, tap, went the staff, on the kitchen
floor; nor did it rest until it had stood itself on end, with the
greatest gravity and decorum, beside Quicksilver's chair.Old Philemon,
however, as well as his wife, was so taken up in attending to their
guests, that no notice was given to what the staff had been about.As Baucis had said, there was but a scanty supper for two hungry
travellers.In the middle of the table was the remnant of a brown loaf,
with a piece of cheese on one side of it, and a dish of honeycomb on the
other.There was a pretty good bunch of grapes for each of the guests.A moderately sized earthen pitcher, nearly full of milk, stood at a
corner of the board; and when hands had filled two bowls, and set them
before the strangers, only a little milk remained in the bottom of the
pitcher.it is a very sad business, when a bountiful heart finds
itself pinched and squeezed among narrow circumstances.Mary went back to the hallway.Poor Baucis
kept wishing that she might starve for a week to come, if it were
possible, by so doing, to provide these hungry folks a more plentiful
supper.And, since the supper was so exceedingly small, she could not help
wishing that their appetites had not been quite so large.Why, at their
very first sitting down, the travellers both drank off all the milk in
their two bowls, at a draught."A little more milk, kind Mother Baucis, if you please," said
Quicksilver."The day has been hot, and I am very much athirst."John went back to the bathroom."Now, my dear people," answered Baucis, in great confusion, "I am so
sorry and ashamed!But the truth is, there is hardly a drop more milk
in the pitcher.why didn't we go without our
supper?""Why, it appears to me," cried Quicksilver, starting up from table and
taking the pitcher by the handle, "it really appears to me that matters
are not quite so bad as you represent them.Here is certainly more milk
in the pitcher."So saying, and to the vast astonishment of Baucis, he proceeded to fill,
not only his own bowl, but his companion's likewise, from the pitcher,
that was supposed to be almost empty.The good woman could scarcely
believe her eyes.She had certainly poured out nearly all the milk, and
had peeped in afterwards, and seen the bottom of the pitcher, as she set
it down upon the table."But I am old," thought Baucis to herself, "and apt to be forgetful.I
suppose I must have made a mistake.At all events, the pitcher cannot,
help being empty now, after filling the bowls twice over."observed Quicksilver, after quaffing the contents
of the second bowl."Excuse me, my kind hostess, but I must really ask
you for a little more."Now Baucis had seen, as plainly as she could see anything, that
Quicksilver had turned the pitcher upside down, and consequently had
poured out every drop of milk, in filling the last bowl.Of course,
there could not possibly be any left.However, in order to let him know
precisely how the case was, she lifted the pitcher, and made a gesture
as if pouring milk into Quicksilver's bowl, but without the remotest
idea that any milk would stream forth.What was her surprise,
therefore, when such an abundant cascade fell bubbling into the bowl,
that it was immediately filled to the brim, and overflowed upon the
table!The two snakes that were twisted about Quicksilver's staff (but
neither Baucis nor Philemon happened to observe this circumstance)
stretched out their heads, and began to lap up the spilt milk.And then what a delicious fragrance the milk had!It seemed as if
Philemon's only cow must have pastured, that day, on the richest herbage
that could be found anywhere in the world.I only wish that each of
you, my beloved little souls, could have a bowl of such nice milk, at
supper-time!"And now a slice of your brown loaf, Mother Baucis," said Quicksilver,
"and a little of that honey!"Baucis cut him a slice, accordingly; and though the loaf, when she and
her husband ate of it, had been rather too dry and crusty to be
palatable, it was now as light and moist as if but a few hours |
office | Where is John? | Tasting a crumb, which had fallen on the table, she found it
more delicious than bread ever was before, and could hardly believe that
it was a loaf of her own kneading and baking.Yet, what other loaf
could it possibly be?I may just as well let it alone, without trying to
describe how exquisitely it smelt and looked.Its color was that of the
purest and most transparent gold; and it had the odor of a thousand
flowers; but of such flowers as never grew in an earthly garden, and to
seek which the bees must have flown high above the clouds.The wonder
is, that, after alighting on a flower-bed of so delicious fragrance and
immortal bloom, they should have been content to fly down again to their
hive in Philemon's garden.Never was such honey tasted, seen, or smelt.The perfume floated around the kitchen, and made it so delightful, that,
had you closed your eyes, you would instantly have forgotten the low
ceiling and smoky walls, and have fancied yourself in an arbor, with
celestial honeysuckles creeping over it.Although good Mother Baucis was a simple old dame, she could not but
think that there was something rather out of the common way, in all that
had been going on.So, after helping the guests to bread and honey, and
laying a bunch of grapes by each of their plates, she sat down by
Philemon, and told him what she had seen, in a whisper."No, I never did," answered Philemon, with a smile."And I rather
think, my dear old wife, you have been walking about in a sort of a
dream.If I had poured out the milk, I should have seen through the
business, at once.There happened to be a little more in the pitcher
than you thought,--that is all.""Ah, husband," said Baucis, "say what you will, these are very uncommon
people.""Well, well," replied Philemon, still smiling, "perhaps they are.They
certainly do look as if they had seen better days; and I am heartily
glad to see them making so comfortable a supper."Each of the guests had now taken his bunch of grapes upon his plate.Baucis (who rubbed her eyes, in order to see the more clearly) was of
opinion that the clusters had grown larger and richer, and that each
separate grape seemed to be on the point of bursting with ripe juice.It was entirely a mystery to her how such grapes could ever have been
produced from the old stunted vine that climbed against the cottage-wall.observed Quicksilver, as he swallowed one
after another, without apparently diminishing his cluster."Pray, my
good host, whence did you gather them?""From my own vine," answered Philemon."You may see one of its branches
twisting across the window, yonder.But wife and I never thought the
grapes very fine ones.""I never tasted better," said the guest."Another cup of this delicious
milk, if you please, and I shall then have supped better than a prince."This time, old Philemon bestirred himself, and took up the pitcher; for
he was curious to discover whether there was any reality in the marvels
which Baucis had whispered to him.He knew that his good old wife was
incapable of falsehood, and that she was seldom mistaken in what she
supposed to be true; but this was so very singular a case, that he
wanted to see into it with his own eyes.Mary went back to the garden.On taking up the pitcher,
therefore, he slyly peeped into it, and was fully satisfied that it
contained not so much as a single drop.All at once, however, he beheld
a little white fountain, which gushed up from the bottom of the pitcher,
and speedily filled it to the brim with foaming and deliciously fragrant
milk.It was lucky that Philemon, in his surprise, did not drop the
miraculous pitcher from his hand."Who are ye, wonder-working strangers?"cried he, even more bewildered
than his wife had been."Your guests, my good Philemon, and your friends," replied the elder
traveller, in his mild, deep voice, that had something at once sweet and
awe-inspiring in it."Give me likewise a cup of the milk; and may your
pitcher never be empty for kind Baucis and yourself, any more than for
the needy wayfarer!"The supper being now over, the strangers requested to be shown to their
place of repose.The old people would gladly have talked with them a
little longer, and have expressed the wonder which they felt, and their
delight at finding the poor and meagre supper prove so much better and
more abundant than they hoped.But the elder traveller had inspired
them with such reverence, that they dared not ask him any questions.And when Philemon drew Quicksilver aside, and inquired how under the sun
a fountain of milk could have got into air old earthen pitcher, this
latter personage pointed to his staff."There is the whole mystery of the affair," quoth Quicksilver; "and if
you can make it out, I'll thank you to let me know.I can't tell what
to make of my staff.It is always playing such odd tricks as this;
sometimes getting me a supper, and, quite as often, stealing it away.If I had any faith in such nonsense, I should say the stick was
bewitched!"He said no more, but looked so slyly in their faces, that they rather
fancied he was laughing at them.The magic staff went hopping at his
heels, as Quicksilver quitted the room.When left alone, the good old
couple spent some little time in conversation about the events of the
evening, and then lay down on the floor, and fell fast asleep.They had
given up their sleeping-room to the guests, and had no other bed for
themselves, save these planks, which I wish had been as soft as their
own hearts.The old man and his wife were stirring, betimes, in the morning, and the
strangers likewise arose with the sun, and made their preparations to
depart.Philemon hospitably entreated them to remain a little longer,
until Baucis could milk the cow, and bake a cake upon the hearth, and,
perhaps, find them a few fresh eggs, for breakfast.The guests,
however, seemed to think it better to accomplish a good part of their
journey before the heat of the day should come on.They, therefore,
persisted in setting out immediately, but asked Philemon and Baucis to
walk forth with them a short distance, and show them the road which they
were to take.John moved to the kitchen.So they all four issued from the cottage, chatting together like old
friends.John journeyed to the office.It was very remarkable indeed, how familiar the old couple
insensibly grew with the elder traveller, and how their good and simple
spirits melted into his, even as two drops of water would melt into the
illimitable ocean.John journeyed to the garden.And as for Quicksilver, with his keen, quick,
laughing wits, he appeared to discover every little thought that but
peeped into their minds, before they suspected it themselves.They
sometimes wished, it is true, that he had not been quite so quick-witted,
and also that he would fling away his staff, which looked so
mysteriously mischievous, with the snakes always writhing about it.But then, again, Quicksilver showed himself so very good-humored, that
they would have been rejoiced to keep him in their cottage, staff,
snakes, and all, every day, and the whole day long.exclaimed Philemon, when they had walked a little
way from their door."If our neighbors only knew what a blessed thing
it is to show hospitality to strangers, they would tie up all their
dogs, and never allow their children to fling another stone.""It is a sin and shame for them to behave so,--that it is!"cried good
old Baucis, vehemently."And I mean to go this very day, and tell some
of then what naughty people they are!""I fear," remarked Quicksilver, slyly smiling, "that you will find none
of them at home."The elder traveller's brow, just then, assumed such a grave, stern, and
awful grandeur, yet serene withal, that neither Baucis nor Philemon
dared to speak a word.They gazed reverently into his face, as if they
had been gazing at the sky."When men do not feel towards the humblest stranger as if he were a
brother," said the traveller, in tones so deep that they sounded like
those of an organ, "they are unworthy to exist on earth, which was
created as the abode of a great human brotherhood!"Mary went back to the hallway."And, by the by, my dear old people," cried Quicksilver, with the
liveliest look of fun and mischief in his eyes, "where is this same
village that you talk about?Methinks
I do not see it hereabouts."Philemon and his wife turned towards the valley, where, at sunset, only
the day before, they had seen the meadows, the houses, the gardens, the
clumps of trees, the wide, green-margined street, with children playing
in it, and all the tokens of business, enjoyment, and prosperity.There was no longer any appearance of a
village!Even the fertile vale, in the hollow of which it lay, had
ceased to have existence.John went back to the bathroom.In its stead, they beheld the broad, blue
surface of a lake, which filled the great basin of the valley, from brim
to brim, and reflected the surrounding bills in its bosom, with as
tranquil an image as if it had been there ever since the creation of the
world.For an instant, the lake remained perfectly smooth.Then, a
little breeze sprang up, and caused the water to dance, glitter, and
sparkle in the early sunbeams, and to dash, with a pleasant rippling
murmur, against the hither shore.The lake seemed so strangely familiar, that the old couple were greatly
perplexed, and felt as if they could only have been dreaming about a
village having lain there.But, the next moment, they remembered the
vanished dwellings, and the faces and characters of the inhabitants, far
too distinctly for a dream.The village had been there yesterday, and
now was gone!cried these kind-hearted old people, "what has become of our
poor neighbors?""They exist no longer as men and women," said the elder traveller, in
his grand and deep voice, while a roll of thunder seemed to echo it at a
distance."There was neither use nor beauty in such a life as theirs:
for they never softened or sweetened the hard lot of mortality by the
exercise of kindly affections between man and man.They retained no
image of the better life in their bosoms; therefore, the lake, that was
of old, has spread itself forth again, to reflect the sky!""And as for those foolish people," said Quicksilver, with his
mischievous smile, "they are all transformed to fishes.There needed
but little change, for they were already a scaly set of rascals, and the
coldest-blooded beings in existence.John journeyed to the office.So, kind Mother Baucis, whenever
you or your husband have an appetite for a dish of broiled trout, he can
throw in a line, and pull out half a dozen of your old neighbors!""Ah," cried Baucis, shuddering, "I would not, for the world, put one of
them on the gridiron!"Sandra went back to the bathroom."No," added Philemon, making a wry face, "we could never relish them!""As for you, good Philemon," continued the elder traveller,--"and you,
kind Baucis,--you, with your scanty means, have mingled so much
heartfelt hospitality with your entertainment of the homeless stranger,
that the milk became an inexhaustible fount of nectar, and the brown
loaf and the honey were ambrosia.Thus, the divinities have feasted, at
your board, off the same viands that supply their banquets on Olympus.You have done well, my dear old friends.Wherefore, request whatever
favor you have most at heart, and it is granted."Philemon and Baucis looked at one another, and then,--I know not which
of the two it was who spoke, but that one uttered the desire of both
their hearts."Let us live together, while we live, and leave the world at the same
instant, when we die!"Now, look
towards your cottage!"But what was their surprise, on beholding a tall edifice
of white marble, with a wide-open portal, occupying the spot where their
humble residence had so lately stood!"There is your home," said the stranger, beneficently smiling on them
both."Exercise your hospitality in yonder palace, as freely as in the
poor hovel to which you welcomed us last evening."The old folks fell on their knees to thank him; but, behold!neither he
nor Quicksilver was there.So Philemon and Baucis took up their residence in the marble palace, and
spent their time, with vast satisfaction to themselves, in making
everybody jolly and comfortable who happened to pass that way.The
milk-pitcher, I must not forget to say, retained its marvellous quality
of being never empty, when it was desirable to have it full.Whenever
an honest, good-humored, and free-hearted guest took a draught from this
pitcher, he invariably found it the sweetest and most invigorating fluid
that ever ran down his throat.But, if a cross and disagreeable
curmudgeon happened to sip, he was pretty certain to twist his visage
into a hard knot, and pronounce it a pitcher of sour milk!Thus the old couple lived in their palace a great, great while, and grew
older and older, and very old indeed.At length, however, there came a
summer morning when Philemon and Baucis failed to make their appearance,
as on other mornings, with one hospitable smile overspreading both their
pleasant faces, to invite the guests of overnight to breakfast.The
guests searched everywhere, from top to bottom of the spacious palace,
and all to no purpose.But, after a great deal of perplexity, they
espied, in front of the portal, two venerable trees, which nobody could
remember to have seen there the day before.Yet there they stood, with
their roots fastened deep into the soil, and a huge breadth of foliage
overshadowing the whole front of the edifice.One was an oak, and the
other a linden-tree.Their boughs it was strange and beautiful to
see--were intertwined together, and embraced one another, so that each
tree seemed to live in the other tree's bosom, much more than in its own.While the guests were marvelling how these trees, that must have
required at least a century to grow, could have come to be so tall and
venerable in a single night, a breeze sprang up, and set their
intermingled boughs astir.And then there was a deep, broad murmur in
the air, as if the two mysterious trees were speaking.murmured the linden-tree.But, as the breeze grew stronger, the trees both spoke at once,--"Philemon!--as if one were both and both
were one, and talking together in the depths of their mutual heart.It
was plain enough to perceive that the good old couple had renewed their
age, and were now to spend a quiet and delightful hundred years or so,
Philemon as an oak, and Baucis as a linden-tree.And oh, what a
hospitable shade did they fling around them!Whenever a wayfarer paused
beneath it, he heard a pleasant whisper of the leaves above his head,
and wondered how the sound should so much resemble words like these:--
"Welcome, welcome, dear traveller, welcome!"And some kind soul, that knew what would have pleased old Baucis and old
Philemon best, built a circular seat around both their trunks, where,
for a great while afterwards, the weary, and the hungry, and the thirsty
used to repose themselves, and quaff milk abundantly out of the
miraculous pitcher.And I wish, for all our sakes, that we had the pitcher here now!"It did not hold quite a quart," answered the student |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | The truth is, it would run on forever, and not be dry even at
midsummer,--which is more than can be said of yonder rill, that goes
babbling down the hillside.""And what has become of the pitcher now?""It was broken, I am sorry to say, about twenty-five thousand years
ago," replied Cousin Eustace."The people mended it as well as they
could; but, though it would hold milk pretty well, it was never
afterwards known to fill itself of its own accord.So, you see, it was
no better than any other cracked earthen pitcher."The respectable dog Ben had accompanied the party, as did likewise a
half-grown Newfoundland puppy, who went by the name of Bruin, because
he was just as black as a bear.Mary went back to the garden.Ben, being elderly, and of very
circumspect habits, was respectfully requested, by Cousin Eustace, to
stay behind with the four little children, in order to keep them out of
mischief.As for black Bruin, who was himself nothing but a child, the
student thought it best to take him along, lest, in his rude play with
the other children, he should trip them up, and send them rolling and
tumbling down the bill.Advising Cowslip, Sweet Fern, Dandelion, and
Squashblossom to sit pretty still, in the spot where he left them, the
student, with Primrose and the elder children, began to ascend, and were
soon out of sight among the trees.When you have had time to think things over, you will trust me more."A minute ago she would have urged it was not for want of trust, but now
her mind, all so confused, could not rid itself of the idea that he knew
something about Ralph which he had not told her.When he had gone the
idea gave rise to two questions, "What had first made Stephen think
Ralph had left her when not even Bessie knew how he had gone away?"and
"What had given him the idea Ralph had left her in difficulties when the
success of the business had been so widely talked about?"But though she
asked the questions over and over again, no answer would come."Could
Stephen have had any share in persuading Ralph to go away?But the remembrance of the tender, true face made
such thoughts seem wicked.Going to the desk for the paper which Stephen had replaced there she
took it out to study it for herself, and with it, lying just beneath,
she drew out a folded paper, and opening it found it to be--a letter
from Ralph!Had Stephen placed it there?--but she
was in too much of a hurry to read it to pause to reply.John moved to the kitchen."MY DEAR WIFE,
"I know this letter will pain you, it cannot help but do so, and for
this I am very sorry.John journeyed to the office.I would not willingly grieve you, but it all
arises from the painful fact that you have always failed to
understand me.You know that for a long time I have had a great
desire for a larger sphere.You thought this was because my love to
God had grown cold and the love of the world crept into my heart.I
assured you this was not so, but that it was only a leading into
other service.If I can make money and devote it to God's work, am I
not still one of God's servants?John journeyed to the garden.I am now with my face set towards a
foreign land, where I hope to win a fortune.I feel no remorse at
the step I have taken, since I asked you to agree to emigrate and
you would not.I know you will get on pretty well without me,
because, if you fail in the business you can return to your father.The sale of the business will cover all liabilities and more.I
shall let you know from time to time how I get on: it will always
be a great pleasure to report progress to you.Never doubt but that
all I make, which I do not return to God, I shall hasten home with
one day to lay at your feet.Tell my dear children their father
heard a call like Abraham did, and has gone out to seek a name and
a fortune to enrich them with.Mary went back to the hallway.I know I have no need to assure you
that I shall always remain,
"Your own faithful, loving husband,
"RALPH WARING."John went back to the bathroom."P.S.--I did not say 'good-bye' to you for fear you should succeed
in persuading me to stay with you.Some day soon, I will send you an
address where you can write to, as I shall be anxious to hear how
you are getting on."It was strange, but the reading of that letter gave her the calm she had
been struggling to obtain.After reading it a second time, she went out
into the garden, named in the summer-time "Sunshine Patch."But the stars shone down on it
if the sun did not, and it was refreshing to feel the cool breezes on
her face, and to be alone under the pitying skies.Now that she had read this letter a burden of uncertainty had gone; she
knew now something of what she had to face.Surely Stephen had not been the bearer of that open letter; it must have
been in the desk before!But the very doubt about it made it more easy
to resist Stephen's offer.It was impossible for her to return to her father; how could she burden
him with herself and two children when even now he could only just
manage comfortably?But how could she get the three hundred pounds
Stephen said she would need?She had no earthly friend she could go to
and had nothing she could sell or mortgage.But, ah, there was always
one source of help she could go to!There was one way still open--the
upward way!Sitting down in the desolate little arbour, she buried her
face in her hands and prayed, "Dear Lord, I have no one to help me but
Thee.I feel sure of it, just as Bessie did.And now I
am going to carefully watch for the sign that Thou art going to help me.Oh, strengthen me; I feel so lonely!"A flood of tears came, but she
could let them flow unhindered now.CHAPTER VI
THE DARKNESS DEEPENS
Early the next morning, as soon as the shutters were down, Phebe was in
the shop taking a general look round, and examining the stock.With the
help of Reynolds, the shopman who gave her the roses, she got a very
good grasp of the state of things.John journeyed to the office."The stock is very low indeed," said
Reynolds; "some things we are out of altogether.It's not my fault, for
I told master a fortnight ago, and again last week, but he took no
notice--said it was not my business."[Illustration: "PHEBE WAS IN THE SHOP TAKING A GENERAL LOOK ROUND."]Phebe only replied, "We must see to these things as soon as possible;
thank you for helping me," and then went in to breakfast.She had got a clear view of the situation as far as the business was
concerned, but all else was in a mist.When she tried to analyse her own
feelings with regard to Ralph's conduct, what exactly it was that had
prompted him to such a course, how it would appear to outsiders, what
steps she was to take to secure capital to work the business, all seemed
chaos.Breakfast over, she picked up a little Revised Bible from her
book-corner, and went out into the arbour for a few minutes' quiet,
hoping she might gain a little light.She had only just bought this
Revised Bible, indeed it had not been out long.Opening it at random,
her eyes fell on these words, from the prayer of Asa, "We rely on Thee."Surely an angel must have opened the
Book!The sign she had prayed for last night had come.Scanning the page
to find out all the story, the leaf was turned over, and then she caught
sight of this description: "The eyes of the Lord run to and fro
throughout the whole earth to show Himself strong in the behalf of them
whose heart is perfect towards Him.""I must pray for the perfect heart," she said to herself, "and I shall
just rely on God, and I am now going to watch how He will show Himself
strong for me.I feel sure He will, for He knows I am relying on Him."But the angel's work was not over yet.Just then there dropped out of
the Bible a little New Year's card which she had never carefully read as
yet.Picking it up she looked at it in an absent sort of way, and then
feeling that it was in some way specially meant for her she read:
"An inner light, an inner calm,
Have they who trust God's mighty arm,
And hearing, do His will.""For He hath said, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'"And so will I," she said fervently.Just then there was a call from the
shop, and all at once, with hardly a moment's warning, she went from the
golden gate to the busy mart.A commercial traveller was waiting to see her, presenting an account for
twenty-five pounds.With all a woman's wits about her she stood where her face was in the
shadow.Waring is not at home," she answered, "he
is out of town.Can the account stand over till your next visit?"The traveller looked fixedly at her, but was
quite unrewarded for his trouble, through her face being in the shadow.She however saw his uncertainty, but he answered suavely, "Certainly,
madam, Mr.Then added, after
another moment's reflection, "Can I have another order to-day?Turning to Reynolds, she said, "You know better than I do what we are
wanting; just make a list of what we usually have from this gentleman's
firm," and she stood quietly by while this was done."He was quite well when he left home.""I hope I shall have the pleasure of meeting him the next time I call.""I hope so, but, if possible, your cheque shall be sent on before then."When he had gone she said to the shopman, "Reynolds, I think I can trust
you."The man nodded; he wanted to say "Yes," but could not for a lump
in his throat.Waring is, except that he has
gone abroad.If anybody asks you where he is, you had better say frankly
you do not know."It was hard work to keep the voice steady.Waring," said Reynolds, huskily, "I'll stand by you to the best of
my ability," and he put out his hand, which she took in both of hers."I feel sure you will," she said with a choking sob.The thought which was uppermost in her mind that day was how she could
explain her position to any one.Some report must be given to the
outside world--what should that report be?--what could it be?If she did
not give one the world would soon make one.She determined to go that
evening and seek her sister's advice.The first thing on arriving at the old home was to show her sister
Ralph's letter.After it had
been read twice over the sister threw her arms round Phebe's neck,
exclaiming, "You poor child!and then they sobbed
together as they had never done since the time when they were first
motherless."I don't know; I must think," was the sister's answer, who was usually
so clearbrained.Father
wouldn't object to it if I coax him.""No, I am not coming to be a burden on him.But, oh, Lizzie, you don't know all.He has left me deeply in
debt, and taken all my own money, and the stock is so low."Left you in debt!--the rascal!""No, no, don't say that; he asked me to go with him two months ago, and
I would not consent.So you see it's partly my own fault.But I never
thought he would go without me.""Well, you will just have to tell anybody that asks that he has gone to
start a business abroad, and that you may be joining him later.It will
be best to be straight about it."Sandra went back to the bathroom."If he sent for me, should I have to go?"You had better tell father all about it, or he
will be dreadfully angry if he hears of it from anybody else."The old father was sitting by the fire reading his paper.He was good at
heart, and thought no end of his "girls," but he had always considered
it would never do to let them know this, that it was a parent's duty to
do a certain amount of scolding."He's not been to see me for an
age.""He was quite well when I saw him last.""Abroad," in a very low voice.wheeling his chair round towards her in quite a
fierce way.I think he might have come up to bid me
'good-bye,' that I do.Really, Phebe, you are most exasperating."Look here, father," put in Lizzie, "it is like this: Ralph wanted Phebe
to go to Australia and she objected.She didn't want to leave you, for
one thing, so he's gone without her, and the worst of it is, he did not
tell her he was going.""Didn't want to leave _me_!It serves her just right he has left her.Look here,
Phebe," putting his hand sharply on her knee, "I consider you have
brought disgrace upon me.A wife's place is by her husband's side.A
nice talk the town will make of it."exclaimed Lizzie, "do not be so hard on Phebe.You
know very well you wouldn't let anybody else say a word against her.Of
course it is the way of the world to put all the blame upon the woman,
but it is rather hard if her own friends do not stand up for her.""If she had got any fault to find with Ralph she should have come up and
told me all about it."get a wife to tell tales about her husband!""Well, it is no good talking anything more about it at present.It's a good thing, Phebe, my girl, he's left the
business behind him, he couldn't take that with him very well.Of course
he could have sold it, but then if he had done so the cat would have
been out of the bag.You must just tackle things with a brave hand.""Yes, I mean to do so, father," was all Phebe could manage to say.John journeyed to the hallway.Presently she bade him "good-bye" in her usual manner, though her heart
was very full.It was getting late, and there was a lonely bit of road to traverse, but
the two sisters lingered at the garden gate, each loth to part from the
other."You said, Phebe, darling," the elder sister whispered, "your stock was
low and there were debts.But I feel sure God will help me in some way or other."Don't say that, for you don't know how often my faith fails me.But I feel sure the business will go on right
enough."Just now the monetary difficulty seemed a very small one
compared with the fresh shadow which had just fallen on her."Well, look here, dearie, let me help you.Take my money and put it in
the business.Daniel went back to the hallway.And if I never have it
back, it will not matter; I should not make any trouble of it.""You are good, but you know father would not like that, and we should be
obliged to tell him;" then she added, as her sister was about to
remonstrate, "I'll tell you what I'll do: if no other way is shown me, I
will accept your loving offer."And now good-night, and may God bless and
comfort you."All the way home her sister's words kept ringing in her ears, "It is the
way of the world to put all the blame upon the woman."She had thought
the world would wonder, and would doubtless pity her, but it had never
dawned upon |
bathroom | Where is John? | Considering how she had suffered and
patiently endured it was a bitter, galling thought.how could she vindicate herself in the eyes of the world?What a stain would rest on the lives of her children!She had thought it
would be a hard battle to shield them from poverty.Now she had in some
way or other to fight a still harder battle--to shield them from
dishonour.He surely could not have
done so, or he would not have looked so pityingly at her.Neighbour Bessie was waiting when she arrived home."I am so glad you
have come," exclaimed the impetuous girl; "you have just saved me from
such a sad fate."and Phebe, in spite of her heartache, was
obliged to smile at Bessie's dramatic attitude."Mother thinks I am soundly asleep under the blankets by now.But how
could I sleep without one sight of you?--haven't caught a glimpse of you
all day.Mother will lock the door at ten o'clock, and if I am not in
before then I shall have to sleep on the clothes line in the back yard.CHAPTER VII
THE LAME SHEPHERD
Late the next evening Stephen Collins called on Phebe again, still
hoping his offer of help would be accepted.They were alone together in the back parlour.Waring,
you will not think me too interfering, but for old friendship's sake I
could not keep from coming.It grieves me so to think you are placed as
you are and that you will not allow me to help you."He looked her
steadily in the face, and she returned his gaze long enough to be quite
sure he was not one of those who condemned her.Yet, in spite of that,
her woman's heart craved for the assurance of word as well as look.There are plenty of people who
will say it serves me right, and that I must have been to blame"--the
words seemed as if they would not come--"that I was not--that it was not
an easy thing to live with me--to get on with me."Stephen Collins rose from his chair with an impetuous movement, and went
and stood by the fire with his elbow on the mantelpiece."Of course," he
exclaimed, "the world will talk, but any one who knows you would fling
back that accusation as a lie!"Phebe was feeling a relief and
gladness no words she could think of would match.At last she said: "It
makes a difference, too, if it is known that I could have gone with him
if I had chosen.Ralph spoke to me about going two months ago."Sandra travelled to the hallway."It would have been very difficult for Ralph to have taken you and the
children with him, seeing he had no home prepared to take you to.""Yes, that is so; but still he wanted us to go."Stephen was looking intently into the fire, evidently weighing some
thought over."Perhaps I had better tell you, Ralph secured his berth to Sydney three
months ago.""I made inquiries, as I thought it would rest your mind to know exactly
where he had gone.""And you think----" began Phebe."I think," interrupted Stephen, anxious to save her all the pain he
could, "that it was not his intention to take you with him."Only God
knew what it cost that man to say those words; it seemed to him that he
was giving this crushed woman an extra stab, but it was only to save her
all he could of future pain.He wanted to keep her from building on the
hope that her husband would send for her, for he believed in his heart
that Ralph was only too glad to be relieved from the responsibility of
providing for wife and children."Perhaps it was much better he should go with a free hand," was all
Phebe said.She wanted very much to ask Stephen to tell her all he knew,
all he thought, but dared not do so; something held her back--something
which told her there was a wound in that man's heart she might not touch
nor look upon."He will send for me some day," she said, after another pause; but still
Stephen did not answer.It was such a hard struggle to keep himself well
in hand--so hard to keep from cursing the man who had stolen his love
from him, and who, because she had not brought him the dowry he had
hoped for, had basely deserted her!Phebe thought he was busy turning over ways and means as to how she was
to run the business; instead of that he was praying for strength and
calmness.She got up from her seat and, standing by him, put her hand on his arm
and said gently, "Stephen!"--that was how she used to call him--"you
must not trouble about me.See these beautiful words I came across yesterday," and she
picked up the Bible and read the words over again.He took the Bible and looked at the page, but the words were all in a
mist."There is not the slightest doubt but that He will help you," he
managed to say."My heart is not perfect," she continued, "but He knows I want it to
be.""But don't forget, Phebe--Mrs.Waring," he said, turning towards her, as
they both stood facing the fire, "that God works through human
agents--very often does so.""I know He does," she replied, "and I think He prompted my sister last
night to offer me the use of her money.I would have said 'Yes' at once,
only I know it would vex father.Still, if no other way opens I shall
accept her kind offer.So you see things will shape themselves--no, be
shapened--all right.Reynolds is such a good'stay-by' for me, and a
commercial this morning let me order a lot of things, although I could
not pay his account.""Oh, yes," he answered; "I know very well you will be a downright
successful woman of business.Only, you know," with a smile, "I wanted
to have a share in the success!""And so you will have," she exclaimed."Do you think it can ever go for
nothing to have a friend like you--some one who believes in me?"He took her hand in both of his, and, in a voice full of emotion, said:
"Phebe, you were always wise and far-sighted--that was why you always
won in the games we played together.It would
not do for us to be in any way connected--not even in business matters.But promise me if ever you should want my help you will send for me!""I promise," she said, in a low voice; and then they parted: he to go
right out, apparently, from her life for years; and yet, though she was
long in learning it, never a week passed by but in some way or other his
life touched hers.After he had gone it came upon the lonely woman with overwhelming force
the sense of what she had lost, but with a bravery only a pure heart
could know she put the thought of it from her and turned resolutely to
her ledgers.It was the
desire for a little bit of human sympathy which led him to knock at her
door.He could not unburden his heart to his mother--not that she would
be unable or unwilling to understand and comfort, but because he was too
chivalrous to burden her with any fresh trouble.He hardly realised it
was sympathy he was wanting.Perhaps he might have resented such an idea
if it had been presented to him in words, feeling that such a sorrow as
his was too sacred for human sympathy; but at least there was the desire
to talk over some of it with somebody, and to feel the nearness of
sympathy.It surely was this same desire which bade Jesus so earnestly
to request the three disciples to watch with him under the shadow of the
olives!Colston was busy at her work as usual.A big lad was turning the
handle of the mangle, but she sent him home when she saw who her visitor
was.Work at once entirely ceased, and the two sat together by the fire,
each strangely silent.Colston seemed to feel that there was
something on his mind which he wished to unburden to her, but knew no
way in which she could help him to begin.Collins, you have had your supper," she exclaimed,
rising from her chair with a kind of jump."The idea of me not thinking
of that before!and I've got the loveliest pork pie you ever tasted,"
and in a few minutes there was the refreshing fragrance of coffee in the
room and a dainty supper laid on the little round table.Colston
had always a strong belief in keeping the body well nourished because of
its great influence on the mind and heart."So had the Lord Jesus," she
often used to say; "don't you remember how He gave the plain hint to
those parents that the girl would need food, and to the disciples about
the crowd!And it was just lovely what He said to those fishermen on
that early morning when they were cold and wet: 'Come and have something
to eat.'Why, when the Lord wanted to give us a bright bit about Heaven
He had to bring in a supper party."For all that, Stephen did not eat much, though there is no doubt the
fact of a meal being about does help conversation, and to a certain
extent raises the spirits.At last Stephen got near the secret of his visit.Colston"--his
face was turned towards the fire--"suppose a shepherd out walking, who
had become lame--could only walk on crutches--should come across on a
dark night a lost lamb--a lamb he had loved dearly.If
he put the crutches down he could not carry it to its home?If you met a
man like that what would you tell him to do?""I should tell him to speak a few love-words to the lamb, and then hurry
away to the nearest cottage and ask the man there to return with him to
the lamb and get the man to carry it home."The answer was given
straight off, with all a woman's ready tact."I might not be able to carry the lamb," she said, with a little laugh,
"but I would certainly help the poor man all I could, and, at least, I'd
try to carry it."John went back to the bathroom.Collins, you are the shepherd;
but I don't know who the lamb is.I know you trust
me or you wouldn't have come to me; and you know I'll do all I can for
you.""I know you will," and for the second time that evening he stretched out
his hand to grasp another in a close grip."The lamb is not on any
hillside, but in a back parlour.""You don't mean to say it's my Miss Phebe?"bending anxiously towards
him, trying to read all she could from his face."Is she ill?--I must go to her at once.""Not ill in body, but heartsick, and in monetary difficulties.""Oh, dear, dear, what can have caused it all?And me not to know a word
of it!""She has told no one but her father and sister.I got to know of it in
another way; but do not ask me how--some day I may tell you, but not
now."--the tears would not keep back, and
something like a sob came from Stephen as he rose to his feet to go.Colston, putting a detaining hand upon him, "the
shepherd would be sure to give some particulars as to the lamb's
whereabouts and what help it needed.Tell me how it is she is in
difficulties about money, and what you would advise her to do.""You can guess how it is she is in difficulties; the worst reason you
can think of will be the right one.What I want her to do is to accept
my help, but that she refuses to do.If no other way opens up she will
accept her sister's help, but she is rather afraid that would anger her
father.""Three hundred pounds with care would set her upon her feet."In another five minutes the two had parted company outside in the
road--Stephen to go home to the lonely farmhouse; Mrs.Colston to go and
do shepherd-work.CHAPTER VIII
A TWOFOLD PARTNERSHIP
Mrs.Colston found Phebe seated at her books, where she had been ever
since Stephen had left.A brighter look came into her face when she saw
her old friend than had been there since Ralph's disappearance, but it
was the brightness of the rainbow, for in a minute or two she was seated
on a stool at Mrs.murmured the old friend, gently stroking
the brown bowed head and putting her arm lovingly round her neck.She
never sought to check the tears, knowing what a safety-valve they are.And who can say tears are either weak or wicked, since "Jesus wept"?"I am so glad to see you; I did so want you to come, but did not like to
send for you," Phebe managed at length to say."I came off the first minute I knew you were in trouble.I only wish I
had known before," and she put both arms round her then, and kissed
her--just like a mother would have done."Stephen Collins told me, so I may as well tell you."There's a good deal of strength
in them yet.No harm shall come near you that I can keep off.You're not
alone in the world, thank God; there's one friend who'll stand by you if
no one else does, and her name's Susan Colston!"Phebe looked up with quite a smiling face.I cannot tell you how lonely I have been
since Ralph went--just as if I were living in a desert; but such a load
seems gone now you have come."Sometimes the words would hardly come for a
choking sob; but at last it was spread out before her childhood's friend
in all its grim, unromantic baldness.Colston said: "Well, dearie, I'm not going to
say one word against Ralph; I hope I never shall.We will pray for him,
that is all: he must just be left to God's dealings.""But he could not have loved me, could he?"Then Phebe spoke of her fresh trouble: "The world
will blame me, won't it?People will say I was a dreadful sort of woman
that Ralph could not live with.""I dare say they will, but what will that matter?Lots of people are
wrongly judged and wrongly punished.All this goes into the making of a
Christian.You know Job stood the trials of loss and bereavement, but he
could not stand the trial of the loss of his good name.It was then he
opened his mouth and used bad language.Up to that time he had blessed
the Lord--a pretty good difference.Suppose they do take away your good
name, the Lord will give it back to you again.Don't try to vindicate
yourself: you just leave all that to Him, and He'll make all come out
clear.People think it was the washing of those men's feet that showed
how humble Jesus was.I think it was when He'made
Himself of no reputation'--just calmly let people take His character
away.Don't you see, Miss Phebe, dear, that your life is getting a
little bit more like the life of Jesus.Just a little step more, and,
like Paul, you'll glory in tribulation.""I'm afraid I'm a long way from doing that."But there now, I'm afraid my tongue is going on
too fast.What I particularly want to know is how you are going to
manage this business?""I think I can manage very well if I have a little more capital, and if
no other way opens up I can have my sister's money.""I want you to let me open the way for you.You have asked God to open
up the way for you, let God answer your prayer through me."Perhaps you think a poor old mangle-woman could not have a
banking-account, but I have"--this with a pleasant ring of laughter."There now, what do you think of that?I've just got three hundred
pounds in the savings bank._Three hundred pounds!_--just the amount Stephen said she would need."Why, of course I will; am only too delighted.It is the wonder of it
that made me quiet.You are good--so very good--and I'll see to it you
shall never lose the money," lifting up a face full of love-light.If it is lost it is lost; I shall
not mind so long as we're partners.But there is something else I want
to ask you, and this you may not grant because it is asking so much.""I am sure you cannot ask anything I should not be only too happy to
grant.""If you are going to manage |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | Then after a pause: "God, who has helped me thus far so
wondrously, in such an unexpected way, will certainly make that clear
also."jubilantly exclaimed the dear old body."So He will, only
He will let me do it for Him.It's just splendid to be on errands like
this!""I mean this: let me come and live with you and be your housekeeper and
nurse!I am tired of living alone, tired of my musical-box, and tired of
having no one to show bits of love to when I've a mind to.But I don't know if I
ought to let you.You would have to give
up your own little home, and then there's the children----"
"I know what you are going to say: that old folks don't want to be
bothered with children.Perhaps some don't, but what would my life be
worth now if I'd never had anything to do with children?""I'm not old yet," drawing herself up with laughable dignity; "no, not
yet, thank you.As far as you yourself are
concerned, have you any objection to my plan?"There's nothing you could have thought of that
would give me greater joy.""Then it's settled," and a kiss--no, it was more than one--sealed the
bargain.And then those two women involuntarily knelt down, and the
elder one in a quavering voice prayed: "Father, I have followed Your
directions, which You whispered to me as I came along the road to-night.Miss Phebe and I love each other, we are going to help each other; do
bless us both.Let us feel just now You are blessing us."Tighten with Your own hand, dear Father, the knot.And bless
the two dear bairns.Colston said: "Before I go I must
just have a peep at my charges.""Of course you shall," said Phebe, beginning at once to lead the way."How I wish you were not going away from me to-night."I must go to-night, dearie; but I shall not be very long before I'm
back, bag and baggage.Janie won't mind me coming, I know."The two children were in Phebe's bedroom, Queenie in a little cot to
herself.The sight of a sleeping infant always
suggests the thought of angels.It is not always the fear of waking a
sleeping child that makes the heaviest feet go on tip-toe, but the awe
which comes from the near presence of heavenly visitants.To be near a
sleeping child is to be near Heaven.Sandra travelled to the hallway.Jack was a fair-haired, rosy-cheeked, chubby child.One little arm lay
under his head, and a smile seemed playing round his lips.He seemed
almost like a picture of sunshine asleep.Colston stooped down and
kissed him--what woman could have helped doing so?She had once said she
believed Jesus kissed His disciples, because Mark used the words, "When
He had taken leave of them"--and Easterns took leave by kissing.A dark-haired,
sad-faced darling.Colston could hardly have explained how it was
she turned so quickly away from the little crib after ever such a
hurried kiss.Perhaps it was because she had seen a mark on the child.Her father had been a forester, and often when out walking with him
along the forest pathways she had seen a mark on some of the trees and
knew by that sign they would soon be lying prostrate, stripped of all
their green grandeur.It was not so much of the child she was thinking
as of the child's mother.But when she reached the little parlour again, her face was as bright as
ever."I want you," she said to Phebe, "to let me teach the children to
call me 'Nanna.'I had a friend once who was called 'Nanna.'Nothing
could make me more proud than to think I was a second 'Nanna.'""On certain conditions," said Phebe."You are having it all your own way
to-night."That you call me Phebe, and that I call you 'Nanna,' too.I do so want
to be mothered, and no one can do it but you."The little speech began
with a laugh, but ended with something like a sob.How many there are
who want "mothering," and how many could do "mothering" if they chose!It was Neighbour Bessie's voice."Bessie comes in each night to bid me good-night," explained Phebe."You
couldn't guess what good news I have to tell you," she continued,
turning to Bessie."Not that----" stammered Bessie.quickly put in Phebe; and then Bessie was
told the whole story.She was sitting on a little stool near the fire by
the side of Mrs."I am downright glad for your sake, Mrs."It's just what you were wanting; but, oh dear," resting her
chin on her hands, "there's lots of good times a-going, but I'm never in
them.""Why, my dear child, you are always in them," exclaimed Mrs."Well, I should like very much to know how you reckon that sum up.""I reckon it up out of the Bible.You are one of those who have a
continual feast.""A continual pickle, you should say, to be correct."I know one riddle--and only one.What is
the longest feast mentioned in the Bible?""I know," answered Bessie, laughing, "because you've done as good as
tell it already: 'A merry heart is a continual feast.'But I haven't got
the merry heart, you see.Now, why couldn't it have been arranged for me
to be Mrs.Your
Sunshine Patch is all round you already, only you are given to looking
too much over the fence."While More stands firmly before a familiar tradition, his belief in an
infinity of worlds evidently has little immediate connection with any
predecessors.Even Bruno's work, or Thomas Digges,' which could have
occupied an important place, seems to have had little, if any, direct
influence on More.It was Descartes who stimulated his thought at the
most receptive moment: in 1642 to have denied a theory which in 1646 he
proclaimed with such force evidently argues in favor of a most powerful
attachment.More responded enthusiastically to what he deemed a
congenial metaphysical system; as a champion of Descartes, he was first
to make him known in England and first in England to praise the infinity
of worlds, yet Descartes' system could give to him little real solace.More embraces God's plenitude and infinity of worlds, he rejoices in the
variety and grandeur of the universe, and he worships it as he might God
Himself; but Descartes was fundamentally uninterested in such
enthusiasms and found them even repellant--as well as unnecessary--to
his thought.For More the doctrine of infinity was a proper corollary of
Copernican astronomy and neo-Platonism (as well as Cabbalistic
mysticism) and therefore a necessity to his whole elaborate and eclectic
view of the world.In introducing Cartesian thought into England, More emphasized
particular physical doctrines mainly described in _The Principles of
Philosophy_; he shows little interest in the _Discourse on the Method of
Rightly Conducting the Reason_ (1637), or in the _Meditations_ (1641),
both of which were also available to him when he wrote _Democritus
Platonissans_.In the preface to his poem, he refers to Descartes whom
he seems to have read hopefully: surely "infinitude" is the same as the
Cartesian "indefinite.""_For what is his =mundus indefinite extensus=,
but =extensus infinite=?John went back to the bathroom.Else it sounds onely =infinitus quoad nos=, but
=simpliciter finitus=_," for there can be no space "_unstuffd with
Atoms_."More thinks that Descartes seems "to mince it," that difficulty
lies in the interpretation of a word, not in an essential idea.He is
referring to Part II, xxi, of _The Principles_, but he quotes, with
tacit approval, from Part III, i and ii, in the motto to the poem.More
undoubtedly knows the specific discussion of 'infinity' in Part I,
xxvi-xxviii, where he must first have felt uneasy delight on reading
"that it is not needful to enter into disputes regarding the infinite,
but merely to hold all that in which we can find no limits as
indefinite, such as the extension of the world."[4] More asked
Descartes to clarify his language in their correspondence of 1648-49,
the last year of Descartes' life._Democritus Platonissans_ is More's earliest statement about absolute
space and time; by introducing these themes into English philosophy, he
contributed significantly to the intellectual history of the seventeenth
century.Newton, indeed, was able to make use of More's forging efforts;
but of relative time or space and their measurement, which so much
concerned Newton, More had little to say.He was preoccupied with the
development of a theory which would show that immaterial substance, with
space and time as attributes, is as real and as absolute as the
Cartesian geometrical and spatial account of matter which he felt was
true but much in need of amplification.In his first letter to Descartes, of 11 December 1648, More wrote:
".this indefinite extension is either _simpliciter_ infinite, or
only in respect to us.If you understand extension to be infinite
_simpliciter_, why do you obscure your thought by too low and too modest
words?If it is infinite only in respect to us, extension, in reality,
will be finite; for our mind is the measure neither of the things nor of
truth.Unsatisfied by his first answer from Descartes (5 February
1649), he urges his point again (5 March): if extension can describe
matter, the same quality must apply to the immaterial and yet be only
one of many attributes of Spirit.In his second letter to More
(15 April), Descartes answers firmly: "It is repugnant to my concept to
attribute any limit to the world, and I have no other measure than my
perception for what I have to assert or to deny.I say, therefore, that
the world is indeterminate or indefinite, because I do not recognize in
it any limits.John went back to the garden.But I dare not call it infinite as I perceive that God is
greater than the world, not in respect to His extension, because, as I
have already said, I do not acknowledge in God any proper [extension],
but in respect to His perfection.It is repugnant to my mind
.it implies a contradiction, that the world be finite or limited,
because I cannot but conceive a space outside the boundaries of the
world wherever I presuppose them."More plainly fails to understand the
basic dualism inherent in Cartesian philosophy and to sense the
irrelevance of his questions.While Descartes is really disposing of the
spiritual world in order to get on with his analysis of finite
experience, More is keenly attempting to reconcile neo-Platonism with
the lively claims of matter.His effort can be read as the brave attempt
to harmonize an older mode of thought with the urgency of the 'new
philosophy' which called the rest in doubt.More saw this conflict and
the implications of it with a kind of clarity that other men of his age
hardly possessed.But the way of Descartes, which at first seemed to him
so promising, certainly did not lead to the kind of harmony which he
sought.More's original enthusiasm for Descartes declined as he understood
better that the Cartesian world in practice excluded spirits and souls.Because Descartes could find no necessary place even for God Himself,
More styled him, in _Enchiridion Metaphysicum_ (1671), the "Prince of
the Nullibists"; these men "readily acknowledge there are such things as
_Incorporeal Beings_ or _Spirits_, yet do very peremptorily contend,
that they are _no where_ in the whole World [;].because they so
boldly affirm that a Spirit is _Nullibi_, that is to say, _no where_,"
they deserve to be called _Nullibists_.[5] In contrast to these false
teachers, More describes absolute space by listing twenty epithets which
can be applied either to God or to pure extension, such as "Unum,
Simplex, Immobile.Incomprehensible "[6] There is, however,
a great difficulty here; for while Space and Spirit are eternal and
uncreated, they yet contain material substance which has been created by
God.If the material world possesses infinite extension, as More
generally believes, that would preclude any need of its having a
creator.In order to avoid this dilemma, which _Democritus Platonissans_
ignores, More must at last separate matter and space, seeing the latter
as an attribute of God through which He is able to contain a finite
world limited in space as well as in time.In writing that "this
infinite space because of its infinity is distinct from matter,"[7] More
reveals the direction of his conclusion; the dichotomy it embodies is
Cartesianism in reverse.Mary travelled to the bathroom.While More always labored to describe the ineffable, his earliest work,
the poetry, may have succeeded in this wish most of all.Although he
felt that his poetry was aiming toward truths which his "_later and
better concocted Prose_"[8] reached, the effort cost him the
suggestiveness of figurative speech.In urging himself on toward an ever
more consistent statement of belief, he lost much of his beginning
exuberance (best expressed in the brief "Philosopher's Devotion") and
the joy of intellectual discovery.In the search "_to find out Words
which will prove faithful witnesses of the peculiarities of my
Thoughts_," he staggers under the unsupportable burden of too many
words.In trying so desperately to clarify his thought, he rejected
poetic discourse as "slight"; only a language free of metaphor and
symbol could, he supposed, lead toward correctness.Indeed, More soon
renounced poetry; he apparently wrote no more after collecting it in
_Philosophical Poems_ (1647), when he gave up poetry for "more seeming
Substantial performances in solid _Prose_."[9] "Cupids Conflict," which
is "annexed" to _Democritus Platonissans_, is an interesting revelation
of the failure of poetry, as More felt it: he justifies his "rude rugged
uncouth style" by suggesting that sweet verses avoid telling important
truths; harshness and obscurity may at least remind one that there is a
significance beyond mere words.His lament is characteristic: "How ill
alas!with wisdome it accords/ To sell my living sense for liveless
words."In spite of these downcast complaints, More was quite capable of lively
and meaningful poetic ideas.One is the striking image of the cone which
occurs in _Democritus Platonissans_ (especially in stanzas 7-8, 66-67,
and 88) and becomes the most essential symbol to More's expression
of infinitude and extension.The figure first appears in
_Antipsychopannychia_ (II.9) where his purpose is to reconcile the world
Soul with Christian eschatology.In _Democritus Platonissans_, the cone
enables More to adapt the familiar Hermetic paradox:
A Circle whose circumference no where
Is circumscrib'd, whose Centre's each where set,
But the low Cusp's a figure circular,
Whose compasse is ybound, but centre's every where.8)
Every point on the circumference, or base of the cone, relates to the
single point at the top.The world, More wants to say, has no limits, no
center, yet there are bounds in its not having any.More recognizes the
contradiction when he fancies "some strong arm'd Archer" at the wide
world's edge (st.But More hardly seems aware of the inappropriateness of the
cone: he uses a geometrical figure to locate space, time, and numberless
worlds within the universal sight of God, but matter is infinite,
"distinct/ And yet proceeding from the |
bedroom | Where is John? | Obviously, the
archer must forever be sending his arrows through an infinitely
expanding surface.Nevertheless, the cone has great value as a metaphor,
as a richly suggestive and fascinating conception.More, however, does
not want to speak metaphorically; he is attempting to disclose truths,
literal and plain, where pretty words and metaphors have no place.Sandra travelled to the hallway.John went back to the bathroom.Even
as he is writing his most effective poetry, we are aware that More is
denying his poetic office; for he is pleading a reasoned case where the
words crack and strain, where poetic meaning gathers, only to be denied.But these objections momentarily disappear when More forgets himself
enough to let us feel his imagination and does not worry that we might
miss the proofs of his philosophy._Democritus Platonissans_ concludes
with an apocalyptic vision wherein the poet imagines the reconciliation
of infinite worlds and time within God's immensity.He is also
attempting to harmonize _Psychathanasia_, where he rejected infinitude,
with its sequel, _Democritus Platonissans_, where he has everywhere been
declaring it; thus we should think of endless worlds as we should think
of Nature and the Phoenix, dying yet ever regenerative, sustained by a
"centrall power/ Of hid spermatick life" which sucks "sweet heavenly
juice" from above (st.More closes his poem on a vision of harmony
and ceaseless energy, a most fit ending for one who dared to believe
that the new philosophy sustained the old, that all coherence had not
gone out of the world, but was always there, only waiting to be
discovered afresh in this latter age.The University of British Columbia
NOTES TO THE INTRODUCTION
[Footnote 1: The quotations from More's Latin autobiography occur in the
_Opera Omnia_ (London, 1675-79), portions of which Richard Ward
translated in _The Life of.the
modern edition of this work, ed.M. F. Howard (London, 1911), pp.61,
67-68, the text followed here.There is a recent reprint of the _Opera
Omnia_ in 3 volumes (Hildesheim, 1966) with an introduction by Serge
Hutin.The "Praefatio Generalissima" begins vol.One passage in
it which Ward did not translate describes the genesis of _Democritus
Platonissans_.More writes that after finishing _Psychathanasia_, he
felt a change of heart: "Postea vero mutata sententia furore nescio quo
Poetico incitatus supra dictum Poema scripsi, ea potissimum innixus
ratione quod liquido constaret extensionem spacii dari infinitam, nec
majores absurditates pluresve contingere posse in Materia infinita,
infinitaque; Mundi duratione, quam in infinita Extensione spacii"
(p.diss., "Henry More's
_Psychathanasia_ and _Democritus Platonissans_: A Critical Edition,"
(Columbia Univ., 1961), pp.[Footnote 3: Marjorie Hope Nicolson's various articles and books which
in part deal with More are important to the discussion that follows, and
especially "The Early Stage of Cartesianism in England," SP, XXVI
(1929), 356-379; _Mountain Gloom and Mountain Glory_ (Ithaca, 1959), pp.113-143, and _The Breaking of the Circle_ (New York, 1960), pp._The Meditations and Selections from the Principles of
Rene Descartes_, trans.John Veitch (Chicago, 1908), p.The
quotations from the letters which follow occur in Alexandre Koyre's very
helpful book, _From the Closed World to the Infinite Universe_
(Baltimore, 1957), pp.114, 122-123, but the complete and original texts
can be consulted in Descartes, _Correspondance avec Arnaud et Morus_,
ed.[Footnote 5: This passage occurs at the beginning of "The Easie, True,
and Genuine Notion, And consistent Explication Of the Nature of a
Spirit," a free translation of _Enchiridion Metaphysicum_, I.27-28, by
John Collins which he included in Joseph Glanvil's _Saducismus
Triumphatus_ (London, 1681).I quote from the text as given in
_Philosophical Writings of Henry More_, ed.F. I. MacKinnon (New York,
1925), p._Enchiridion Metaphysicum_, VIII.Mary Whiton
Calkins and included in John Tull Baker, _An Historical and Critical
Examination of English Space and Time Theories_.(Bronxville, N.Y.,
1930), p.[Footnote 7: "_Infinitum_ igitur hoc _Extensum_ a Materia distinctum,"
_Enchiridion Metaphysicum_, VIII.9, in _Opera Omnia, loc.cit._ Quoted
by MacKinnon, p.[Footnote 8: This and the following reference appear in _An Explanation
of the grand Mystery of Godliness_ (London, 1660), "To the Reader," pp.[Footnote 9: _Ibid._, II.John went back to the garden.BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
The text of this edition is reproduced from a copy in the Henry E.
Huntington Library.Democritus Platonissans,
Or,
_AN ESSAY_
Upon The
INFINITY OF WORLDS
Out Of
PLATONICK PRINCIPLES.Hereunto is annexed
CUPIDS CONFLICT
together with
THE PHILOSOPHERS DEVOTION:
And a Particular Interpretation
appertaining to the three last books of the
_Song of the Soul_.More_ Master of Arts, and Fellow of
Christs Colledge in Cambridge.+Agathos en to pan tode ho sunistas, agathoi de oudeis peri oudenos
oudepote enginetai phthonos.Mary travelled to the bathroom.Toutou d' ektos on panta hoti malista
eboulethe genesthai paraplesia hautoi.+ Plat._Pythagoras Terram Planetam quendam esse censuit qui circa solem
in centro mundi defixum converteretur, Pythagorans secuti sunt
Philolaus, Seleucus, Cleanthes, &c. imo PLATO jam senex, ut
narrat Theophrastus._ Libert.Fromond, de Orbe terrae immobili._CAMBRIDGE_
Printed by ROGER DANIEL, Printer to
the UNIVERSITIE.READER,
_If thou standest not to the judgement of thine eye more then of thy
reason, this fragment may passe favourably, though in the neglectfull
disguise of a fragment; if the strangenesse of the argument prove no
hinderance.A thing monstrous if assented to, and
to be startled at, especially by them, whose thoughts this one have
alwayes so engaged, that they can find no leisure to think of any thing
else.But I onely make a bare proposall to more acute judgements, of
what my sportfull fancie, with pleasure hath suggested: following my old
designe of furnishing mens minds with varietie of apprehensions
concerning the most weightie points of Philosophie, that they may not
seem rashly to have settled in the truth, though it be the truth:
a thing as ill beseeming Philosophers, as hastie prejudicative sentence
Politicall Judges.But if I had relinquishd here my wonted self, in
proving Dogmaticall, I should have found very noble Patronage for the
cause among the ancients, =Epicurus=, =Democritus=, =Lucretius=, =&c.=
Or if justice may reach the dead, do them the right, as to shew, that
though they be hooted at, by the Rout of the learned, as men of
monstrous conceits, they were either very wise or exceeding fortunate to
light on so probable and specious an opinion, in which notwithstanding
there is so much difficultie and seeming inconsistencie._
_Nay and that sublime and subtil Mechanick too, =DesChartes=, though he
seem to mince it must hold infinitude of worlds, or which is as harsh
one infinite one.For what is his =mundus indefinite extensus=, but
=extensus infinite=?Else it sounds onely =infinitus quoad nos= but
=simpliciter finitus=.But if any space be left out unstuffd with Atoms,
it will hazard the dissipation of the whole frame of Nature into
disjoynted dust.As may be proved by the Principles of his own
Philosophie.And that there is space whereever God is, or any actuall
and self-subsistent Being, seems to me no plainer then one of the
+koinai ennoiai+._
_For mine own part I must confesse these apprehensions do plainly oppose
what heretofore I have conceived; but I have sworn more faithfull
friendship with Truth then with myself.And therefore without all
remorse lay batterie against mine own edifice: not sparing to shew how
weak that is, that my self now deems not impregnably strong.I have at
the latter end of the last Canto of =Psychathanasia=, not without
triumph concluded, that the world hath not continued =ab aeterno=, from
this ground:_
Extension
That's infinite implies a contradiction._And this is in answer to an objection against my last argument of the
souls Immortalitie, =viz.= divine goodnesse, which I there make the
measure of his providence.That ground limits the essence of the world
as well as its duration, and satisfies the curiositie of the Opposer, by
shewing the incompossibilitie in the Creature, not want of goodnesse in
the Creatour to have staid the framing of the Universe.But now roused
up by a new Philosophick furie, I answer that difficultie by taking away
the Hypothesis of either the world or time being finite: defending the
infinitude of both, which though I had done with a great deal of vigour
and life, and semblance of assent, it would have agreed well enough with
the free beat of Poesie, and might have passed for a pleasant flourish:
but the severitie of my own judgement, and sad Genius hath cast in many
correctives and coolers into the Canto it self; so that it cannot amount
to more then a discussion.And discussion is no prejudice but an honour
to the truth: for then and never but then is she Victorious.And what a
glorious Trophee shall the finite world erect when it hath vanquished
the Infinite; a Pygmee a Giant._
_For the better understanding of the connexion of this Appendix, with
the Poem of the souls Immortalitie; I have taken off the last stanza's
thereof, and added some few new ones to them for a more easie and
naturall leading to the present Canto.John moved to the bedroom.4.=_
_Stanz._ 33d.But thou who ere thou art that thus dost strive
With fierce assault my groundwork to subvert,
And boldly dost into Gods secrets dive,
Base fear my manly face note make m' avert.In that odde question which thou first didst stert,
I'll plainly prove thine incapacitie,
And force thy feeble feet back to revert,
That cannot climb so high a mysterie,
I'le shew thee strange perplexed inconsistencie.34
Why was this world from all infinitie
Not made?could it be so made
Say I. For well observe the sequencie:
If this Out-world continually hath wade
Through a long long-spun-time that never had
Beginning, then there as few circulings
Have been in the quick Moon as Saturn sad;
And still more plainly this clear truth to sing,
As many years as dayes or flitting houres have been.35
For things that we conceive are infinite,
One th' other no'te surpasse in quantitie.So I have prov'd with clear convincing light,
This world could never from infinitie
Been made.Certain deficiencie
Doth alwayes follow evolution:
Nought's infinite but tight eternitie
Close thrust into itself: extension
That's infinite implies a contradiction.Daniel went back to the bedroom.36
So then for ought we know this world was made
So soon as such a Nature could exist;
And though that it continue, never fade,
Yet never will it be that that long twist
Of time prove infinite, though ner'e desist
From running still.But we may safely say
Time past compar'd with this long future list
Doth show as if the world but yesterday
Were made, and in due time Gods glory out may ray.37
Then this short night and ignorant dull ages
Will quite be swallowed in oblivion;
And though this hope by many surly Sages
Be now derided, yet they'll all be gone
In a short time, like Bats and Owls yflone
At dayes approch.This will hap certainly
At this worlds shining conflagration.Fayes, Satyrs, Goblins the night merrily
May spend, but ruddy Sol shall make them all to flie.38
The roaring Lions and drad beasts of prey
Rule in the dark with pitious crueltie;
But harmlesse Man is matter of the day,
Which doth his work in pure simplicitie.God blesse his honest usefull industrie.But pride and covetize, ambition,
Riot, revenge, self-love, hypocrisie,
Contempt of goodnesse, forc'd opinion;
These and such like do breed the worlds confusion.39
But sooth to say though my triumphant Muse
Seemeth to vant as in got victorie,
And with puissant stroke the head to bruize
Of her stiff so, and daze his phantasie,
Captive his reason, dead each facultie:
Yet in her self so strong a force withstands
That of her self afraid, she'll not aby,
Nor keep the field.She'll fall by her own hand
As _Ajax_ once laid _Ajax_ dead upon the strand.40
For thus her-self by her own self's oppos'd;
The Heavens the Earth the universall Frame
Of living Nature God so soon disclos'd
As He could do, or she receive the same.All times delay since that must turn |
garden | Where is John? | And what might let but by th' all-powerfull Name
Or Word of God, the Worlds Creation
More suddenly were made then mans swift thought can run?41
Wherefore that Heavenly Power or is as young
As this Worlds date; or else some needlesse space
Of time was spent, before the Earth did clung
So close unto her-self and seas embrace
Her hollow breast, and if that time surpasse
A finite number then Infinitie
Of years before this Worlds Creation passe.Sandra travelled to the hallway.So that the durance of the Deitie
We must contract or strait his full Benignitie.42
But for the cradle of the _Cretian Jove_,
And guardians of his vagient Infancie
What sober man but sagely will reprove?Or drown the noise of the fond _Dactyli_
By laughter loud?Dated Divinitie
Certes is but the dream of a drie brain:
God maim'd in goodnesse, inconsistencie;
Wherefore my troubled mind is now in pain
Of a new birth, which this one Canto'll not contain._Now Reader, thou art arrived to the Canto it self, from which I have
kept thee off by too tedious Preface and Apologie, which is seldome made
without consciousnesse of some fault, which I professe I find not in my
self, unlesse this be it, that I am more tender of thy satisfaction then
mine own credit.John went back to the bathroom.As for that high sullen Poem, =Cupids Conflict=, I must
leave it to thy candour and favourable censure.The =Philosophers
Devotion= I cast in onely, that the latter pages should not be
unfurnished._
H. M.John went back to the garden._Nihil tamen frequentius inter Autores occurrit, quam ut omnia adeo ex
moduli fere sensuum suorum aestiment, ut ea quae insuper infinitis rerum
spatiis extare possunt, sive superbe sive imprudenter rejiciant; quin &
ea omnia in usum suum fabricata fuisse glorientur, perinde facientes ac
si pediculi humanum caput, aut pulices sinum muliebrem propter se solos
condita existimarent, eaque demum ex gradibus saltibusve suis
metirentur.=The Lord Herbert in his De Causis Errorum.=_
_De generali totius hujus mundi aspectabilis constructione ut recte
Philosophemur duo sunt imprimis observanda: Unum ut attendentes ad
infinitam Dei potentiam & bonitatem ne vereamur nimis ampla & pulchra &
absoluta ejus opera imaginari: sed e contra caveamus, ne si quos forte
limites nobis non certo cognitos, in ipsis supponamus, non satis
magnifice de creatoris potentia sentire videamur._
_Alterum, ut etiam caveamus, ne nimis superbe de nobis ipsis sentiamus.Quod fieret non modo, si quos limites nobis nulla cognitos ratione, nec
divina revelatione, mundo vellemus affingere, tanquam si vis nostra
cogitationis, ultra id quod a Deo revera factum est ferri posset; sed
etiam maxime, si res omnes propter nos solos, ab illo creatas esse
fingeremus.=Renatus DesCartes in his Princip.the third
part.=_
THE ARGUMENT._'Gainst boundlesse time th' objections made,
And wast infinity
Of worlds, are with new reasons weigh'd,
Mens judgements are left free._
1
Hence, hence unhallowed ears and hearts more hard
Then Winter clods fast froze with Northern wind.But most of all, foul tongue I thee discard
That blamest all that thy dark strait'ned mind,
Can not conceive: But that no blame thou find;
What e're my pregnant Muse brings forth to light,
She'l not acknowledge to be of her kind,
Till Eagle-like she turn them to the sight
Of the eternall Word all deckt with glory bright.2
Strange sights do straggle in my restlesse thoughts,
And lively forms with orient colours clad
Walk in my boundlesse mind, as men ybrought
Into some spacious room, who when they've had
A turn or two, go out, although unbad.All these I see and know, but entertain
None to my friend but who's most sober sad;
Although the time my roof doth them contain
Their pretence doth possesse me till they out again.Mary travelled to the bathroom.3
And thus possest in silver trump I found
Their guise, their shape, their gesture and array.But as in silver trumpet nought is found
When once the piercing sound is past away,
(Though while the mighty blast therein did stay,
Its tearing noise so terribly did shrill,
That it the heavens did shake, and earth dismay)
As empty I of what my flowing quill
In heedlesse hast elswhere, or here, may hap to spill.4
For 'tis of force and not of a set will.Ne dare my wary mind afford assent
To what is plac'd above all mortall skill.But yet our various thoughts to represent
Each gentle wight will deem of good intent.John moved to the bedroom.Wherefore with leave th' infinitie I'll sing
Of time, Of Space: or without leave; I'm brent
With eagre rage, my heart for joy doth spring,
And all my spirits move with pleasant trembeling.5
An inward triumph doth my soul up-heave
And spread abroad through endlesse'spersed aire.My nimble mind this clammie clod doth leave,
And lightly stepping on from starre to starre
Swifter then lightning, passeth wide and farre,
Measuring th' unbounded Heavens and wastfull skie;
Ne ought she finds her passage to debarre,
For still the azure Orb as she draws nigh
Gives back, new starres appear, the worlds walls 'fore her flie.6
For what can stand that is so badly staid?Well may that fall whose ground-work is unsure.And what hath wall'd the world but thoughts unweigh'd
In freer reason?That antiquate, secure,
And easie dull conceit of corporature;
Of matter; quantitie, and such like gear
Hath made this needlesse, thanklesse inclosure,
Which I in full disdain quite up will tear
And lay all ope, that as things are they may appear.7
For other they appear from what they are
By reason that their Circulation
Cannot well represent entire from farre
Each portion of the _Cuspis_ of the Cone
(Whose nature is elsewhere more clearly shown)
I mean each globe, whether of glaring light
Or else opake, of which the earth is one.If circulation could them well transmit
Numbers infinite of each would strike our'stonishd sight;
8
All in just bignesse and right colours dight
But totall presence without all defect
'Longs onely to that Trinitie by right,
_Ahad_, _AEon_, _Psyche_ with all graces deckt,
Whose nature well this riddle will detect;
A Circle whose circumference no where
Is circumscrib'd, whose Centre's each where set,
But the low Cusp's a figure circular,
Whose compasse is ybound, but centre's every where.9
Wherefore who'll judge the limits of the world
By what appears unto our failing sight
Appeals to sense, reason down headlong hurld
Out of her throne by giddie vulgar might.But here base senses dictates they will dight
With specious title of Philosophie,
And stiffly will contend their cause is right
From rotten rolls of school antiquitie,
Who constantly denie corporall Infinitie.10
But who can prove their corporalitie
Since matter which thereto's essentiall
If rightly sifted's but a phantasie.Daniel went back to the bedroom.And quantitie who's deem'd Originall
Is matter, must with matter likewise fall.What ever is, is Life and Energie
From God, who is th' Originall of all;
Who being everywhere doth multiplie
His own broad shade that endlesse throughout all doth lie.11
He from the last projection of light
Ycleep'd _Shamajim_, which is liquid fire
(It _AEther_ eke and centrall _Tasis_ hight)
Hath made each shining globe and clumperd mire
Of dimmer Orbs.For Nature doth inspire
Spermatick life, but of a different kind.Hence those congenit splendour doth attire
And lively heat, these darknesse dead doth bind,
And without borrowed rayes they be both cold and blind.12
All these be knots of th' universall stole
Of sacred _Psyche_; which at first was fine,
Pure, thin, and pervious till hid powers did pull
Together in severall points and did encline
The nearer parts in one clod to combine.Those centrall spirits that the parts did draw
The measure of each globe did then define,
Made things impenetrable here below,
Gave colour, figure, motion, and each usuall law.13
And what is done in this Terrestriall starre
The same is done in every Orb beside.Each flaming Circle that we see from farre
Is but a knot in _Psyches_ garment tide.From that lax shadow cast throughout the wide
And endlesse world, that low'st projection
Of universall life each thing's deriv'd
What e're appeareth in corporeall fashion;
For body's but this spirit, fixt, grosse by conspissation.14
And that which doth conspissate active is;
Wherefore not matter but some living sprite
Of nimble Nature which this lower mist
And immense field of Atoms doth excite,
And wake into such life as best doth fit
With his own self.As we change phantasies
The essence of our soul not chang'd a whit,
So do these Atoms change their energies
Themselves unchanged into new Centreities.15
And as our soul's not superficially
Colourd by phantasms, nor doth them reflect
As doth a looking-glasse such imag'rie
As it to the beholder doth detect:
No more are these lightly or smear'd or deckt
With form or motion which in them we see,
But from their inmost Centre they project
Their vitall rayes, not merely passive be,
But by occasion wak'd rouze up themselves on high.16
So that they're life, form, sprite, not matter pure,
For matter pure is a pure nullitie,
What nought can act is nothing, I am sure;
And if all act, that is they'll not denie
But all that is is form: so easily
By what is true, and by what they embrace
For truth, their feigned Corporalitie
Will vanish into smoke, but on I'll passe,
More fully we have sung this in another place.17
Wherefore more boldly now to represent
The nature of the world, how first things were
How now they are: This endlesse large Extent
Of lowest life (which I styled whileere
The _Cuspis_ of the _Cone_ that's every where)
Was first all dark, till in this spacious Hall
Hideous through silent horrour torches clear
And lamping lights bright shining over all
Were set up in due distances proportionall.18
Innumerable numbers of fair Lamps
Were rightly ranged in this hollow hole,
To warm the world and chace the shady damps
Of immense darknesse, rend her pitchie stole
Into short rags more dustie dimme then coal.Which pieces then in severall were cast
(Abhorred reliques of that vesture foul)
Upon the Globes that round those torches trac'd,
Which still fast on them stick for all they run so fast.19
Such an one is that which mortall men call Night,
A little shred of that unbounded shade.And such a Globe is that which Earth is hight;
By witlesse Wizzards the sole centre made
Of all the world, and on strong pillars staid.And such a lamp or light is this our Sun,
Whose firie beams the scortched Earth invade.But infinite such as he, in heaven won,
And more then infinite Earths about those Suns do run;
20
And to speak out: though I detest the sect
Of _Epicurus_ for their manners vile,
Yet what is true I may not well reject.Truth's incorruptible, ne can the style
Of vitious pen her sacred worth defile.If we no more of truth should deign t' embrace
Then what unworthy mouths did never soyl,
No truths at all mongst men would finden place
But make them speedie wings and back to Heaven apace.21
I will not say our world is infinite,
But that infinitie of worlds ther be.Daniel went back to the garden.The Centre of our world's the lively light
Of the warm sunne, the visible Deitie
Of this externall Temple.John went to the garden._Mercurie_
Next plac'd and warm'd more throughly by his rayes,
Right nimbly 'bout his golden head doth flie:
Then _Venus_ nothing slow about him strayes,
And next our _Earth_ though seeming sad full spritely playes.22
And after her _Mars_ rangeth in a round
With firie locks and angry flaming eye,
And next to him mild _Jupiter_ is found,
But Saturn cold wons in our utmost skie.The skirts of his large Kingdome surely lie
Near to the confines of some other worlds
Whose Centres are the fixed starres on high,
'Bout which as their own proper Suns are hurld
_Joves_, _ |
office | Where is Mary? | Sandra travelled to the hallway.23
Little or nothing are those starres to us
Which in the azure Evening gay appear
(I mean for influence) but judicious
Nature and carefull Providence her dear
And matchlesse work did so contrive whileere,
That th' Hearts or Centres in the wide world pight
Should such a distance each to other bear,
That the dull Planets with collated light
By neighbour suns might cheared be in dampish night.24
And as the Planets in our world (of which
The sun's the heart and kernell) do receive
Their nightly light from suns that do enrich
Their sable mantle with bright gemmes, and give
A goodly splendour, and sad men relieve
With their fair twinkling rayes, so our worlds sunne
Becomes a starre elsewhere, and doth derive
Joynt light with others, cheareth all that won
In those dim duskish Orbs round other suns that run.25
This is the parergon of each noble fire
Of neighbour worlds to be the nightly starre,
But their main work is vitall heat t' inspire
Into the frigid spheres that 'bout them fare,
Which of themselves quite dead and barren are.But by the wakening warmth of kindly dayes,
And the sweet dewie nights they well declare
Their seminall virtue in due courses raise
Long hidden shapes and life, to their great Makers praise.26
These with their suns I severall worlds do call,
Whereof the number I deem infinite:
Else infinite darknesse were in this great Hall
Of th' endlesse Universe; For nothing finite
Could put that immense shadow unto flight.But if that infinite Suns we shall admit,
Then infinite worlds follow in reason right.A Ballad
dedicated to Mrs.Fly from the World O Bessy to me.(c) "Dublin, Published by F. Rhames, 16 Exchange
Street.Price 3 British Shillings":--
Give me the Harp.A Chorus Glee, with an
Accompaniment for two Performers on one
Piano Forte.John went back to the bathroom.Sung with great applause at the
Irish Harmonic Club on Wednesday, the 4th
May, 1803, when that Society had the Honor
of entertaining His Excellency Earl Hardwicke.The Words translated from Anacreon
by Thomas Moore, Esqr.The Music composed
by Sir John A. Stevenson, Mus.(d) "London, Printed for James Carpenter, Old Bond
Street.John went back to the garden.1805":--
A Canadian Boat Song [Faintly as tolls the
evening chime] Arranged for Three Voices.Epistles, Odes, and other Poems.Corruption and Intolerance: two Poems.The Sceptic: a Philosophical Satire.Intercepted Letters; or, The Twopenny Postbag.A Collection of the Vocal Music of Thomas Moore.Irish Melodies, with a Melologue upon National Music.Irish Melodies, by Thomas Moore, Esq.With an
Appendix, containing the Original Advertisements
and the Prefatory Letter on Music.The Loves of the Angels, a Poem.The Loves of the Angels, an Eastern Romance.Mary travelled to the bathroom.The
Fifth Edition.Fables for the Holy Alliance, Rhymes on the Road,
etc., etc.Memoirs of the Life of the Right Honourable Richard
Brinsley Sheridan.Odes upon Cash, Corn, Catholics, and other Matters.Letters and Journals of Lord Byron: with Notices of
his Life.The Works of Lord Byron: with his Letters and
Journals, and his Life.John moved to the bedroom.Travels of an Irish Gentleman in search of a Religion.Collected by
himself.[19]
[1] I have altered the dates given for the first and second numbers of
Irish Melodies in accordance with Mr.Gibson's recent discoveries.--S.G.[2] Copies of all the editions were exhibited, with the exception of
Nos.[3] A copy of the second edition, 2 vols.8vo., 1802, also was shown.[4] These were only given as a selection.[5] This edition ends at page 68.Copies of the first reprints, ending
at page 51, also were exhibited.It is to be understood that copies of the Dublin editions and the London
editions (both copyright), up to the seventh number, were shown.[6] A copy is in the British Museum.[7] This is advertised in William and James Power's trade lists of the
period.It is thus referred to in a letter from Moore to his mother,
dated "Saturday, May 1811":--"I have been these two or three days past
receiving most flattering letters from the persons to whom I sent my
Melologue."Kent, in his edition of "The Poetical Works of Thomas
Moore," makes the "Melologue" an integral part of the "National Airs,"
and states the following in reference to the latter:--"Another
collection of songs, not unworthy of being placed in companionship with
the Irish Melodies, appeared from the hand of Moore in 1815."But the
"Melologue" was produced in 1811, as has now been shown, and the first
number of the "National Airs" did not make its appearance until 1818,
while the last one was only originally published in 1827.[8] A copy is in the British Museum.[9] In the London edition the Advertisement is dated "Bury-Street, St.James's, Nov., 1811," whereas in the Dublin edition it is dated
"London,--January, 1812."[10] The London and Dublin editions have each the following "Erratum"
annexed to the Advertisement:--"The Reader of the Words is requested to
take notice of an alteration (which was made too late to be conveniently
printed) in the first verse of the first Song, 'Thro' Erin's Isle'; he
will find the verses, in their corrected form, engraved under the Music,
Pages 2 and 3."[11] In the London edition the Advertisement is dated "Mayfield,
Ashbourne, March, 1815."In the Dublin edition it has "April" instead of
"March."[12] The London edition imprint reads:--"London, Published by J. Power,
34, Strand."The Dublin edition imprint reads:--"Dublin.Published by W.
Power 4 Westmorland St."[13] The London edition imprint reads:--"London, Published April 23rd,
1818, by J. Power, "34, Strand."The Dublin edition imprint
reads:--"Dublin, Published 6th July 1818, by W. Power 4 Westmorland
Street."[14] The London edition imprint reads:--"London, Published October 1st
1818, by J. Power, 34, Strand."The Dublin edition imprint
reads:--"Dublin, Published 9th Decr.1818, by W. Power, 4, Westmorland
Street."[15] The Symphonies and Accompaniments in the London edition are by
Henry R. Bishop.Those in the Dublin edition are by Sir John Stevenson.I exhibited copies of both editions, and read to my audience a telling
Advertisement by William Power in the Dublin edition, in which he states
that "with _him_ originated the idea of uniting the Irish Melodies to
characteristic words."Moore had already entered into a new agreement with James Power, who had
not permitted his brother to share in it; and in July 1821, "James
Power, of the Strand, London, Music Seller, obtained an injunction to
restrain William Power, of Westmorland Street, Dublin, from publishing a
pirated edition of the Eighth Number of Moore's Irish Melodies"--_vide_
"Notes from the Letters of Thomas Moore to his Music Publisher, James
Power," page 88.[16] The manuscript of the Dedication and the Preface, in Moore's
handwriting, also was exhibited.[17] The copy shown belongs to Mr.Daniel went back to the bedroom.[18] A copy of the third edition, 3 vols.I
have since obtained a copy of the first edition.[19] Having spoken for nearly two hours, I found it necessary to refrain
from also referring to the following, together with several other
works:--
1.Memoirs, Journals, and Correspondence of Thomas Moore.Edited by the
Right Honourable Lord John Russell, M.P.Notes from the Letters of Thomas Moore to his Music Publisher, James
Power (the publication of which was suppressed in London).Daniel went back to the garden.Prose and Verse, Humorous, Satirical and Sentimental.With suppressed passages from the Memoirs of Lord Byron.Chiefly
from the Author's own Manuscript, and all hitherto inedited and
uncollected.The last-named publication includes the contributions of Moore to the
_Edinburgh Review_, between 1814 and 1834.INDEX
A
"After the Battle" (quotation)._Anacreon, Odes of_ (Moore's Translation).B
_Belfast Commercial Chronicle_._Bride of Abydos, The_ (Byron)._Corsair, The_ (Byron)."Dear Harp of my Country" (quotation)."Drink to her who long" (quotation).<DW18>, Miss E..
-----, Miss H..
E
Edgeworth, Miss._English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_ (Byron)."Erin, the smile and the tear in thine eye"."Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour" (quotation)."Feast of Roses at Cashmere, The" (quotation).John went to the garden."Fire Worshippers, The" (quotation)._Fitzgerald, Lord Edward, Life of_._Giaour, The_ (Byron).I
_Intercepted Letters; or The Twopenny Postbag_._Irish Melodies_ (see _Melodies_)."Irish Peasant to his Mistress, The.L
_Lalla Rookh_.Leigh, Mrs..
_Leinster Journal, The_._Little, Poetical Works of the late Thomas_._Lyrical Ballads_ (Wordsworth).Moore, Thomas,
birth and family history_;
precocious boyhood;
early verses;
schooldays;
Trinity College;
association with Robert Emmet;
entered at Middle Temple;
literary activity;
acquaintances in London;
presented to the Prince of Wales;
increasing social success;
publishes _Odes of Anacreon_;
_Poetical Works of the late Thomas Little_;
_Fragments of College Exercises_;
connection with Lord Moira;
goes to Bermuda;
visits America; widespread fame;
returns to England;
_Epistles, Odes, and Other Poems_;
attacked by _Edinburgh Review_;
challenges Jeffrey to a duel;
returns to Dublin;
inception of the _Irish Melodies_;
_Corruption and Intolerance_;
_The Sceptic_;
writes opera _M.P.Mary journeyed to the garden.or The Blue Stocking_;
marriage;
retires to the country;
commences _Lalla Rookh_;
_Intercepted Letters_;
_Sacred Songs_;
his reputation at its height;
contributes to the _Edinburgh Review_;
_Lalla Rookh_;
retires to Sloperton;
_The Fudge Family in Paris_;
financial troubles;
birth of a son;
begins the _Life of Sheridan_;
leaves England to escape imprisonment for debt;
declines offers of assistance from his friends;
life on the Continent;
visit to Byron;
lionised abroad;
end of his financial embarrassments;
_Loves of the Angels_;
returns to England;
_Odes on Cash, Catholics, and other matters_;
_The Fudges in England_;
_Fables for the Holy Alliance_;
_Rhymes on the Road_;
makes a tour through Ireland;
_History of Captain Rock and his Ancestors_;
difficulties with regard to Byron's Memoirs;
_Life of Sheridan_;
contributes to _The Times_;
death of his father;
story of his quarrel with Byron;
his friendship with Byron;
_Life of Lord Edward Fitzgerald_;
_Travels of an Irish Gentleman in search of a Religion_;
_History of Ireland_;
end of his literary career;
visit to Sir Walter Scott;
honoured in Ireland;
invited to enter Parliament;
receives a pension of L300 a year;
domestic troubles;
culmination of his sorrows;
illness and death; general appreciation;
Reputation on the Continent;
popularity;
causes of his popularity;
his own estimate of his work;
his wide reading;
literary models;
a careful craftsman;
characteristics of his verse;
his failures;
licentiousness of his poetry;
methods of composition;
limitations and defects of his poetry;
essentially an amatory poet;
his satiric verses;
his lyrics;
ease and variety of his rhythms;
source of his rhythms;
his finest lyrics;
an artist in metre;
comparison with other poets;
supremacy in the writing of lighter lyrics;
uses of rhyme;
his poetry understood by all;
connection with Irish literature;
musical gifts;
politics;
religious views;
devotion to his parents and home;
personal appearance;
charm of manner;
friendships;
his acting;
financial affairs;
independence and high-mindedness;
love for Ireland;
a ladies' man;
intimacy with persons of title._Moore, Memoirs of_ (Lord John Russell).-----, Mrs., Bessy, _nee_ <DW18> (wife).O
"O breathe not his name" (quotation)._Odes on Cash, Catholics, and other matters_."Oh, Where's the slave so lowly" (quotation).foul, dishonouring word" (quotation)."Sad one of Sion" (quotation)."She is far from the land" (quotation)."Sheridan, Death of" (quotation)."Sweet was the hour" (quotation)."Time I've lost in wooing, The" (quotation)._Travels of an Irish Gentleman in search of a Religion_.Mary moved to the office."'Twas thus by the shade" (quotation)."'Twas when the world was in its prime" (quotation).V
_Veiled Prophet, The_."When first I met thee" (quotation)."When he who adores thee" (quotation)."Young May moon is beaming, love, The," (quotation)."Sir, this accusation is a groundless calumny; to that I will take my
oath!It is very possible indeed that the girl may fear my vengeance when
she comes to consider her own conduct, but I can assure you that I have
had no such designs hitherto, and I don't think I ever shall."But may I ask your worship the name of my
accuser?""I thought as much; but I have never given her aught but proofs of my
affection.""Then you have no wish to do her any bodily harm?"You can dine at home; but |
office | Where is Daniel? | I must have an assurance from the mouths of two householders
that you will never commit such a crime.""Whom shall I find to do so?""Two well-known Englishmen, whose friendship you have gained, and who
know that you are incapable of such an action.Send for them, and if they
arrive before I go to dinner I will set you at liberty."The constable took me back to prison, where I had passed the night, and I
gave my servants the addresses of all the householders I recollected,
bidding them explain my situation, and to be as quick as possible.They
ought to have come before noon, but London is such a large place!They
did not arrive, and the magistrate went to dinner.I comforted myself by
the thought that he would sit in the afternoon, but I had to put up with
a disagreeable experience.The chief constable, accompanied by an interpreter, came to say that I
must go to Newgate.This is a prison where the most wretched and abject
criminals are kept.I signified to him that I was awaiting bail, and that he could take me to
Newgate in the evening if it did not come, but he only turned a deaf ear
to my petition.The interpreter told me in a whisper that the fellow was
certainly paid by the other side to put me to trouble, but that if I
liked to bribe him I could stay where I was.The interpreter took the constable aside, and then told me that I could
stay where I was for ten guineas."Then say that I should like to see Newgate."A coach was summoned, and I was taken away.When I got to this abode of misery and despair, a hell, such as Dante
might have conceived, a crowd of wretches, some of whom were to be hanged
in the course of the week, greeted me by deriding my elegant attire.I
did not answer them, and they began to get angry and to abuse me.Daniel went to the office.The
gaoler quieted them by saying that I was a foreigner and did not
understand English, and then took me to a cell, informing me how much it
would cost me, and of the prison rules, as if he felt certain that I
should make a long stay.But in the course of half an hour, the constable
who had tried to get ten guineas out of me told me that bail had arrived
and that my carriage was at the door.I thanked God from the bottom of my heart, and soon found myself in the
presence of the blind magistrate.My bail consisted of Pegu, my tailor,
and Maisonneuve, my wine merchant, who said they were happy to be able to
render me this slight service.In another part of the court I noticed the
infamous Charpillon, Rostaing, Goudar, and an attorney.They made no
impression on me, and I contented myself with giving them a look of
profound contempt.My two sureties were informed of the amount in which they were to bail
me, and signed with a light heart, and then the magistrate said,
politely,--
"Signor Casanova, please to sign your name for double the amount, and you
will then be a free man again."I went towards the clerk's table, and on asking the sum I was to answer
for was informed that it was forty guineas, each of my sureties signing
for twenty.I signed my name, telling Goudar that if the magistrate could
have seen the Charpillon he would have valued her beauty at ten thousand
guineas.I asked the names of the two witnesses, and was told that they
were Rostaing and Bottarelli.I looked contemptuously at Rostaing, who
was as pale as death, and averting my face from the Charpillon out of
pity, I said,--
"The witnesses are worthy of the charge."I saluted the judge with respect, although he could not see me, and asked
the clerk if I had anything to pay.He replied in the negative, and a
dispute ensued between him and the attorney of my fair enemy, who was
disgusted on hearing that she could not leave the court without paying
the costs of my arrest.Just as I was going, five or six well-known Englishmen appeared to bail
me out, and were mortified to hear that they had come too late.They
begged me to forgive the laws of the land, which are only too often
converted into a means for the annoyance of foreigners.Mary travelled to the kitchen.At last, after one of the most tedious days I have ever spent, I returned
home and went to bed, laughing at the experience I had undergone.Broad
looked on in undisguised amazement, the pair proceeded to pick up the
fallen articles."If," said the stationer, slowly rubbing his hands, "I were in the habit
of guessing, I should say you are Mr.John Hartland, who was drowned off
Cape Horn."returned the man, smiling pleasantly; "I am John
Hartland, and this is my boy.I heard Jim
was up here, and I've come to borrow him.You see, he has to tell his
mother.I've kept it out of the papers, and no one but the owners of
the _Morning Star_ know I'm still in the land of the living.""Take him, and
good luck to you both!But come to see me, Jim; come to see me!""I'll tide you over the busy time, sir!"exclaimed Jim; "I won't leave
you in the lurch.Oh, _how_ shall I tell mother?"People stopped to look at them in the streets--they were so patently, so
undeniably happy.John Hartland clutched his boy's arm tightly, and
every now and then Jim smiled up into his father's face."We're living in Brook Street now, father," he remarked."She's in the Children's Hospital, and getting better.The doctor says
she is going to walk in a few months.O father, I can hardly believe
you are here!"You
go on, and I'll wait here a bit.But don't be long, Jim, don't be long!I've been burning to get a peep at
her."Jim smiled brightly, ran a few yards, and then walked soberly to the
house.His mother was busy with her work, and she looked up at him in
surprise."It's all right, mother," answered the lad; "there's no bad news.I've something to tell you--something
pleasant, that will make you very happy."she said wonderingly, and looking straight into his eyes."A marvellous thing, mother--more marvellous than you ever dreamed of.Only Susie said it could be true, and even her faith failed."Her face was white, her lips twitched
nervously."Jim," she said pathetically--"Jim, this can only be one thing.Yes, father
is alive; there's news of him.He's coming home--coming to Beauleigh!"Hartland slipped to the floor, clasped her hands, and offered up a
silent prayer to Heaven.She could not speak, but the joy and the praise
and the thanksgiving were all there.Then they heard a click at the little gate, and a firm step
on the path, and the front door was gently pushed open."O mother," cried Jim, "try to bear up!He came along, slowly and with even steps at first; but, in his own
words, his patience bubbled over, his feet broke into a run, and the
next instant he was within the kitchen clasping his wife in his arms.Nothing more than that was heard for a long time, but no words were
required to express their joy.Later in the evening there were numerous
questions to be asked and answered, and the returned sailor's account of
his wonderful escape to be given.I cannot set the story down in his own words, though it was full of
interest to his eager listeners, but the outline is simple enough.The
man Davies's account proved correct in the main, though John Hartland
was astonished to find he had survived.As for himself, being a good
swimmer, he had struck out for the shore, which, for a time, it appeared
he would in all likelihood reach.Then his strength failed, and he
could do no more than turn on his back and endeavour to float in the
rough sea.The waves tossed him where they listed; he was worn out and exhausted by
the prolonged struggle; but for the thought of the loved ones at home,
he would have sunk down, down to the depths, like a weary child laying
its head on the pillows.Only for the sake of his wife and children he
fought on, though with ever-increasing weakness, until the roar of the
sea was meaningless in his ears, and his upturned eyes gazed at the sun,
without sight.He never knew the exact manner of
his rescue or the period of his unconsciousness.He came back to life
in a wretched hut on a desolate coast.They were ill clothed, miserably poor, and, to our way of
thinking, absolutely without the necessities of life.However, they
treated the white man to the best of their ability, lighting a fire for
him, gathering shell-fish for him, even giving up to his wants their
greatest dainty--an occasional bird.From this savage condition he was rescued by an American whaler; and
afterwards, joining a Chilian ship at Valparaiso, he worked his way
round to Rio.Thence he got to the West Indies, where, by a fortunate
accident, he secured a mate's berth in a homeward-bound vessel.Hartland had to tell her story; and as she praised Jim's
unselfishness, the sailor kept patting him on the shoulder and
murmuring, "Good boy!"As to this young schoolmaster," said he, "he's a regular brick!Thank
goodness we can pay him for Jim's upkeep and all that, but we can never
repay his generous thoughtfulness.Money's no good for that part of the
case.""No," remarked his wife; "and money will not repay Dr.We have had much to be thankful for, John."exclaimed the sailor, bringing his great fist down on
the table with a mighty bang, "I did not think, lass, there was so much
kindness in the world.When shall I be able to see Susie?""We must consult the doctor," said his wife."The sudden shock may not
be good for her.""Ah," said he with a sigh, "we must be careful; but my heart's sore to
see the little lass."True to his promise, Jim was early at the shop next morning, and for
several days he toiled early and late until his employer's busy time was
over.It was one way of showing his gratitude, and he had no thought of
reward.The news of his father's return quickly spread through Beauleigh, and he
received the congratulations of all kinds of people.Dick Boden, of
course, found his way to Brook Street, where, it is perhaps hardly
necessary to state, he was warmly welcomed."I shan't forget you in a hurry, my son!"exclaimed the jovial sailor,
"nor what you did for Jim.Just wait till I come
back from my next voyage.""I hope," observed Dick, with the usual innocent expression on his face,
"that it won't take quite as long as the last."He would have felt quite happy now, had his little girl been at home.His heart yearned for the lass, but he was buoyed up by a wonderful
hope.With the doctor's permission, he had seen her at the hospital, and
had come away with the profound conviction that she was gradually
growing stronger.Stewart had said as much, and more also."Next summer," he had said, "in all human probability, Pussy will walk,
and before the end of the year even go a short distance without the aid
of crutches."Laythorne had left the town at the beginning of the holidays, and
Jim could not communicate with him; but at last his letter arrived,
directing the boy to join him at 7 Mortimer Gardens, Portsmouth, on the
following morning.Hartland packed his things, Jim
paid a farewell visit to his sister, went to see Dick, who was now
installed in Sir Thomas Arkell's business, and then spent a quiet hour
with his parents."I'll come with you, my boy," said his father.Laythorne, and to have a little talk with him."The schoolmaster was naturally somewhat surprised by the appearance of
the sturdy, deep-chested sailor; but Jim soon explained matters, and
then his father said,--
"I am a plain man, sir, and not much used to figures of speech, but I
want to thank you from my heart for your kindness.You've been a real
Samaritan to my boy, and none of us will ever forget it.There is just
one thing to be said.The owners
of the _Morning Star_ have behaved very handsomely, so that I can well
afford to pay Jim's shot.Now that his father is home again, the boy
mustn't be a burden on you, sir.Laythorne; "that shall be as you please."And
before Jim's father left, the two drew up a fresh and eminently
satisfactory arrangement."And now," said the sailor, "I'll just slip my moorings and run
back.--Good-bye, my boy.Write often to your mother, and try to show
this gentleman you're worth the care he has bestowed on you.--Good-bye,
sir.If Jim comes to be worth anything in the world we shall have you
to thank for it."They watched him go down the street; and then, turning to the boy, Mr.Laythorne said,--
"This is a happier start than I expected.Now let us go to the school;
there are several things to be done before the boys return.""Yes, sir," replied Jim, anxious to make himself useful, and to begin
his fresh start in life.Seven years have gone by since the events just recorded.It is
Christmas Eve, and the streets of Beauleigh are ablaze with light.People are hurrying to and fro, laughing, talking, pausing now and again
to wish each other the compliments of the season.Children stand at the
shop windows, gazing in wonder and delight at the gorgeous toys, the
pretty picture-books, and the numerous games which make them look like
fairyland.The bright red berries of the holly shine and sparkle in the
brilliant light, the mistletoe hangs temptingly overhead, the turkeys
and geese are garlanded with ribbons and decked with green.Gotch and Parker, the eminent jewellers, a
young man is buying an exquisite brooch."I think, mother, that this will please her," he remarks to the
well-dressed woman seated close by.Look at the laughing blue eyes, the fresh- cheeks, the winning
smile.Surely this young gentleman is an old acquaintance.Boden,
the shopman calls him; but to us he is Dick, or Dicky, or the Angel,
just as memory prompts."Thanks," he says, placing the tiny packet in his pocket."Now, mother,
lean on my arm."Yes, it certainly is our light-hearted Dick, whom we will take the
liberty of following, as he pilots his mother through the crowded
streets, then into the quieter part of the town, and so to the foot of a
fairly steep hill facing the sea.He is evidently well known in Beauleigh, and respected, too, one would
imagine.Many people stop to shake his hand, and to wish him a "merry
Christmas."Some are poor, other well-to-do; but their wealth or
poverty makes no difference in the warmth of his greeting.It is easy
to see that things have prospered with him, but he is just as kind and
generous and simple-hearted as in the old days.he exclaims with a boyish laugh, looking at the hill;
"fancy having this to climb!You'll need a rest, mother, by the time we
reach the top!"Boden smiles, and glances proudly at the handsome young fellow on
whose arm she is leaning.It must needs be a steep hill she could not
climb with him to help her.They are up at last, and a stream of light comes from the open doorway
of a large, old-fashioned house.cries Dick excitedly; and the next instant he is shaking
hands with another young fellow, who pulls him laughingly inside."Come along, old man!--Come along, Mrs."The same to you, Jim, and many of 'em.You're looking well, old chap,
considering that heavy grind.--A merry Christmas, Mrs.You ought to keep a special tramway for your guests--'pon |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | exclaims a deep voice; and a tanned,
bearded man comes into the room with a sailor-like roll."Let me congratulate you on your appointment, Mr."No more ploughing the salt seas for you!"John Hartland has just procured the berth of traffic manager to the
harbour board."It's almost a pity, though," says Mr.Hartland with a laugh, "that the
house is perched up so high.I tell the wife we live in a sort of
eagle's nest.Still, it suits Susie remarkably well; I must admit
that."asks Dick innocently, looking round as if he had
only just discovered her absence."She's upstairs," laughs her father, "putting on a few more fal-lals, I
expect.The lasses are all alike in that respect."Hartland, at the same time slipping something into
her hand, and the others smile at one another as she glides out of the
room.She reappears presently, followed by a young girl, the neck of
whose dress is fastened by an exquisite brooch.she exclaims, running forward, "thank you very much.Dick, looking a trifle shamefaced, murmurs some reply, while Jim can
hardly take his eyes from his sister's face.He has not been at home
much of late years, and he can never quite restrain a thrill of surprise
on seeing the beautiful girl as she passes before him with all the grace
of a young fawn.Presently, when they are all quietly seated, Dick says, with a joyous
laugh,--
"By the way, I have a surprise packet for you.Barton, our manager, has
resigned, and Mr.Leverton has been appointed in his place.That leaves
the under-manager's berth vacant, and--"
"You haven't got it, Dick?""How can a fellow tell his yarn if he's interrupted in this fashion?But, just to relieve your suspense, I beg to state that the new
under-manager for Sir Thomas Arkell is Mr.Richard Boden, whom his
friends call Dick, and sometimes Dicky."How they laugh, and cheer, and congratulate him--almost like a parcel of
school-boys!"I shall
soon begin to look for the altered sign."He has passed through college with
flying colours, has earned the right to place "B.A.after his
name, and now, on returning to Beauleigh, has been appointed one of the
masters at the Deanery School.They are very proud of him at home, for he has more than fulfilled their
expectations, and has brought some amount of credit to the good old
town."Sometimes," he exclaims thoughtfully, "it all seems like a dream, and I
pinch myself to make sure that I am awake.I little imagined, dad, when
we heard of the loss of the _Morning Star_, that things would turn out
like this.We have been very fortunate in finding good friends, and the
best one of all, as far as I am concerned, sits here," he says, pointing
to Dick.* * * * *
Draw the curtains now, light the gas, heap more logs on the roaring
fire, and let us, before saying our final word of farewell, take one
more glance at the merry party.For the elders, the stress and storm of
life's battle has abated; they have glided into a peaceful haven, where
they hear only the echo of the thundering waves outside.As to the younger ones, who shall prophesy?Life holds many storms and
tempests for them yet; but their barks are well manned and stoutly
built, and, I think, are likely to ride triumphantly through life's
seas, until they, too, come to a peaceful anchorage.* * * * * * * *
*Hayens's (Herbert) Books for Boys.*
Price 6s.With
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*Select Library of Historical Tales.*
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*Popular Works by E.*
_*Young Lady's Library.*_
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Khartoum.By HAROLD AVERY, Author of "Frank's First Term," etc.Vandrad the Viking; or, The Feud and the Spell.With Six Illustrations by HUBERT PATON.T. NELSON AND SONS, London, Edinburgh, and New York.XXVI
When you have closed my eyes to the light, kiss
them with a long kiss, for they will have given
you in the last look of their last fervour the
utmost passionate love.Beneath the still radiance of the funeral torch,
bend down towards the farewell in them your sad
and beautiful face, so that the only image they
will keep in the tomb may be imprinted on them
and may endure.And let me feel, before the coffin is nailed up,
our hands meet once again on the pure, white bed,
and your cheek rest one last time against my
forehead on the pale cushions.And let me afterwards go far away with my heart,
which will preserve so fiery a love for you that
the other dead will feel its glow even through
the compact, dead earth!As it is, while
they give variety to one’s journey by road, they do not by any means
permit of “plain sailing” at all times.The great national road from Paris to Brest crosses mid-Brittany, after
leaving Normandy, at Pré-en-Pail just beyond Alençon.It passes through
the great towns of Mayenne, Fougères, and Rennes, where it joins the
highway from Paris by way of Chartres, Le Mans, Laval, and Vitré.24, runs straight, almost as the crow
flies, to the tip of Finistère, by Montfort-sur-Meu, Loudéac, Carhaix,
Huelgoat, and Landerneau to Brest.This takes one through the very heart of Brittany, though by no means
is it the most interesting or the most prosperous.Mayenne, Fougères,
Vitré, and Laval form a quartette of Breton towns which, taken as a
whole, have characteristics quite similar, and yet different from those
in other parts.Virtually, they are all hill-towns, and therein lies
their resemblance, though their careers have been varied indeed.The run down into the valley of the river Mayenne, as one comes into the
town of the same name, is a wonderfully delightful and gentle descent
of perhaps a dozen kilometres.There is nothing very terrific about
it, nor is it of the frankly mountainous order, still the eminence to
the eastward is sufficiently elevated to give a singularly spacious
appearance to the landscape above the river valley itself; indeed, next
to that magnificent run down into Rouen--from the height of Bon
Secours--it is one of the most splendidly scenic roads in all North
France.[Illustration: <u>_Mayenne_</u>]
At the bottom flows the Mayenne, joining the Loire at Angers, and on
its banks is nestled snugly the town of Mayenne itself, with a truly
delightful riverside hotel and church.Just below it is the ancient castle built on a rocky escarpment
overhanging the river.There are five great towers on the riverside, and
three others on the north, of which one alone has preserved its conical
roof.To-day it serves as a prison, but there are yet to be seen in its
interior some fragments of the ornamentation of the thirteenth century.The terrace of the château forms a delightful promenade overlooking the
river.here in 1064, but the most
celebrated siege which the château underwent was that by the Count of
Salisbury in 1424.The Hôtel de Ville is an admirable relic of other days, though by no
means pretentious.It is a small, rectangular structure, its front
ornamented with two enormous solar devices, and the whole surmounted
by a graceful bell-tower.Behind the Hôtel de Ville stands a bronze
statue of Cardinal Cheverus, first Bishop of Boston.The Church of
Notre Dame is really a grand structure, with its fine showing of splayed
buttresses.John moved to the hallway.Its foundation dates from 1110, and it admirably exhibits
the best traditions of its time.Five kilometres away are the remains of the old Cistercian Abbey of
Fontaine-Daniel, founded in 1204 by Juhel III.There are some remarkable
fragments of its old foundation still remaining, but a large part of the
present edifice is of the seventeenth century.From Mayenne to Fougères,
still on the highroad to the west, one passes Ernée, whose name is not
known to many travellers and which is not marked on every map, though it
is a bustling town of five thousand inhabitants.The origin of this place is due to the foundation of a château--on the
site of the present quaint church--by the Lords of Mayenne, who were, in
the sixteenth century, of the house of Lorraine.Henri of Lorraine was killed by a musket-shot at the siege of Montaubon,
and was brought here to die in 1654.Some years later the Seigneury of Mayenne and Ernée passed to the hands
of Cardinal Mazarin, who transmitted it to his niece, and gave the old
château for transformation into the present church.Javron, also on the way to Fougères, is a small town of two thousand
inhabitants, and the former site of a monastery, founded by Clota |
bathroom | Where is Mary? | The present church is built over the tomb
of this saint.The situation of Fougères is truly remarkable.It is, moreover, a
remarkable place in itself, and is to be reckoned as one of these
delightful spots to visit, which, if not exactly popular tourist
resorts, are at least as satisfying to the curiously inclined.Fougères in all ways is this, and more.It is almost the best example
of a walled and fortified town of the middle ages existing in all North
France.Its situation, on a great hill, with its tower-flanked walls and
gates, is one of surpassing impressiveness, although to-day the general
aspect of the little city of twenty thousand inhabitants is modern
enough.Fougères was one of the original nine baronies of Brittany, and owes
its origin to a château which Méen, the son of Juhel Béranger, Count of
Rennes, constructed at the beginning of the ninth century.To-day the city walls, the remains of the château, and the gates and
watch-towers are admirably preserved.The castle itself is nothing more
than a vast ruin, whose entrance, formed by three towers, plainly shows
it to date from the twelfth century.[Illustration: <u>_Plan of the Ancient Walls and Towers of Fougères_</u>]
There is a great tower yet remaining--one of a twin pair--known as the
Tower of Coigny, from a former governor, and within this tower is an
ancient chapel.There are three other celebrated towers, well-nigh as perfect as they
were in the middle ages as far as their general outlines are concerned.The keep was razed in 1630, but the inner wall which surrounded it, with
its three angular towers, is still to be seen.The Tower of Melusine
encloses a museum in which are many relics and curiosities of a period
contemporary with the castle itself.The ramparts of the town are
more or less ruinous, but are still to be seen throughout its whole
circumference.No part of this feature, however, dates from before the
fifteenth century.There are two admirable churches,--relics of the middle ages,--St.Leonard, also the ancient convent of the Urbanists,
dating from 1689, now barracks.There are many fine old houses in wood and stone scattered about the
city, and an octagonal tower, in which is a great clock whose bell was
cast in 1304 by Rolland Chaussière.North of the town is the Forest of Fougères, composed principally of
great beeches.Within the forest are the ruins of an ancient convent of
the Franciscans, and near the little hamlet of Landeau are the famous
“Caverns of Landeau,” constructed, it is said, in 1173 by Raoul II.of
Fougères, to hide his riches and those of his vassals from the rapacity
of the troops of Henry II.Daniel went to the office.Dropping down again to the main route from Paris, which joins with that
by the way of Mayenne and Fougères at Rennes, one enters Laval, the
first Breton town of any magnitude on this route, as one comes westward.It is a veritable local metropolis, and, like Mayenne, farther up the
river, it spreads itself amply on both sides of the stream which flows
southward to join the Loire at Angers, just below the country.Mary travelled to the kitchen.The first Château of Laval was built by the Count Guidon or Guy to
protect the Bretons from the invasion of Charlemagne or his successors.The second Guy received a charter from the Bishop of Mans, dated in the
fifth year of the reign of King Robert (1002), and this designates him
as the real founder of the Château of Laval.The town became the seat of
a barony, afterward a county, of which the possessors were ever famous
for their personal valour and their high lineage.Among them were the
Montmorencys, the Montforts, and the Colignys.When, in the fifteenth century, the English had become virtual masters
of Maine, Laval alone resisted their efforts, thanks to the energy of a
certain Anne of Laval.The historical records of the town and the château are ample and
eventful, even down to as late a day as 1871, when, after the battle of
Mans, General Chanzy retreated upon Laval.It was in the environs of Laval that the four ancient smugglers, the
brothers Jean, François, Pierre, and René Cottereau, known as the
Chouans (because of their owl signal, as the French give it), first
rallied and organized the bands of partisans which gradually adopted the
name.The keep of the château is a great cylindrical tower of the twelfth
century, remarkable for its height, its size, and the wonderful
carpentry of its roof.The great interior court is bordered on two sides
with a magnificent Renaissance structure attributed to Guy XVI., Count
of Laval and Governor of Brittany in 1525.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.The chapel has now been given
up to the prisoners sheltered within the castle.John moved to the hallway.It is the masterpiece
of the whole work, and dates from the eleventh century.The Church of the Trinity, made a cathedral in 1855, was in 1790 the
seat of the Assemblée, but in its most ancient parts dates from the
episcopate of Hildebert of Lavardin (1110).There are some remains of the town’s ancient fortifications yet to
be seen, such as the Renaise Tower and the Spur Tower, which are in
every way as suggestive of former importance as the remains of the
castle itself.The Beucheresse Gate is another fragment of these same
fortifications.In Laval are ten thousand workmen engaged in the production of tent
and awning cloth.Laval is a great wheat market for the prolific
wheat-growing region round about, so its commercial importance of to-day
is quite as firmly established as is its historic past.Laval was the birthplace of Ambroise Paré, the founder of French
surgery.It was he who drew the spear-head from the cheek of Balafré,
and he who declared the malady of Francis I. to be incurable.His statue bears the following inscription, “I dressed the wound, and
God healed it.”
One cannot say too much in praise of Vitré, though it does smack of
the popular tourist resort, with hotels whose runners tout for your
patronage, and picture post-card sellers, who seem to think that you
prefer their wares to viewing the sights themselves; but the hotels are
amply endowed with those creature comforts that most of us value highly,
and, if you wish, you will be put to sleep in a hygienic bedroom,
which is something like a prison-cell, but which must truly be hygienic,
judging from its get-up.[Illustration: <u>_Beucheresse Gate, Laval_</u>]
These rooms, installed by the “Touring Club of France,” are now to
be found sprinkled here and there throughout the land, and, if white
lacquered walls and ceilings and iron beds, and simple draperies and no
carpets,--but highly waxed floors instead,--can ensure a superlative
cleanliness and airiness, why, so much the more welcome they are;
and surely the weary tourist ought not to mind whether he sleeps
in a cubicle or not.Again, the fare of this particular hotel (the
Travellers’) is so excellent that he ought to be willing to sleep on the
proverbial plank.Vitré, in spite of all novelty, is a true city of the past, and one
literally walks the by-paths of history when he traverses its streets.All at once one comes to the ancient and theatrical-looking Château of
the Tremoilles, Vitré’s most noble family of other days.Mary went to the bathroom.captured it, and in
1488 sojourned in it for some days.During the wars of the League, the
Rieux and the Colignys led the revolt, and it served for some years as a
strong place of resort for the Huguenots.Within the two hundred years
following, the Breton Parliament, alternately presided over by the Dukes
of Vitré and of Rohan, met here many times, always amid a great and
joyous festival given by the town.[Illustration: <u>_Plan of Vitré in 1811 Showing City Walls_</u>
A--Château
B--Place du Château
C--Fosses
D--Dependencies of Château (non-existent to-day)
F--Porte d’Enhayt
G--Porte de Gastesel
H--Eglise Notre Dame
]
All the activity in the past has worked for the preservation of many
ancient memorials.The aspect of the town is not so ruinously picturesque as Fougères, nor
again so trim and neat as Mayenne or Laval, but more than either of
these it preserves to-day its ancient outlook at every turn.“_II n’est plus que Vitré en Bretagne, Avignon dans le Midi, qui
conservent au milieu de notre époque leur intacte configuration du
moyen-âge_” (Victor Hugo).The château itself has been recently restored, and ranks as one of the
most perfectly preserved specimens of military architecture in all
Brittany.One may visit the interior of this old fortress-château in the
care of a painstaking porter.The principal mass, known as the châtelet, is the best preserved,
and, flanking it on both sides, are series of crenelated towers and
machicolated walls.In the courtyard is the eleventh-century château,
now incorporated in the later work.On the same side is a charming Renaissance tower, built by Guy XVI., and
known as the “Tribune of Tremoille.” The five sides of this admirable
architectural detail are charmingly decorated in sculptured stone, and
on one is the inscription taken from the Book of Job: “POST TENEBRAS
SPERO LUCEM,” the Tremoille motto.[Illustration: <u>_Château de Vitré_</u>]
Within is a museum with divers collections of many things of an era
contemporary with the structure itself.[Illustration: <u>_Tower of St.Martin, Vitré_</u>]
Opposite the great entrance gateway to the castle is a modest little
house, once the residence (or temporary abode) of Madame de Sévigné, and
now occupied by the “Cercle Militaire.”
In the environs--five kilometres to the south--is the Château of
Rochers, better known as the domicile of Madame de Sévigné, and one of
the stock “sights.” It was from the Château of Rochers that she dated so
large a number of her letters in 1670-71.In a letter bearing date of the twenty-second of July, 1671, she writes
thus to Madame de Grignan:
“Madame de Chaulnes arrived on Sunday, but in what manner think you?On
her beautiful feet, between eleven and twelve at night.One might think
that Vitré was in Bohemia.“She made no ceremony of her coming.... She had come from Nantes by La
Guerche, and her carriage stuck fast between two rocks half a league
from Vitré.”
[Illustration: CHATEAU de ROCHERS]
It was from the Château of Rochers that Madame de Sévigné wrote to her
daughter: “On Sunday last, just as I had sealed my former letter, I saw
enter our courtyard four chariots with six horses, with fifty mounted
guards, many led horses, and many mounted pages.”
These were gallant days at Madame de Sévigné’s Breton home, and to read
all of her letters from Rochers--mainly to her daughter--is to get a
wonderful epitome of the seventeenth-century social life in this part of
France.On the above occasion the company included M. de Chaulnes, M. de Rohan,
M. de Lavardin, M. de Coëtlegon, and M. de Locmaria, the Baron de Guais,
the Bishops of Rennes and St.Malo, “and eight or ten I knew not,” she
continued.Throughout the château and its dependencies, the illusion of Madame de
Sévigné’s time has been well kept up unto to-day.One learns that the
château became the property of the Sévignés upon the marriage of Anne of
Mathefelon, “Lady of Rochers,” with William of Sévigné, chamberlain to
the Duke of Brittany.The kindly and well-meaning concierge, or cicerone, or whatever one
chooses to call him or her who conducts him over the château and its
grounds, is somewhat of a bore, though one has not the courage to cut
off the prattle for fear he may lose something which may not have been
offered to others.[Illustration: <u>_Arms of Madame de Sévigné_</u>]
It is somewhat disconcerting and even annoying to be told,
however,--when about to stroll down a tree-alleyed path,--that “the
marchioness never went there.” Of course it’s pure conjecture on the
part of this twentieth-century guide, since the noble marchioness
has been dead some two hundred years or more, but, as aforesaid, the
interruption fascinates one with its coolness.At the right of the château are the gardens traced by the famous
Lenôtre.In the “Letters” one reads frequent references to these great
gardens with their vast and ancient forests of tall timber.RENNES AND BEYOND
Rennes was once a great provincial capital, as great politically,
perhaps, as Rouen, but it has not a tithe of the fascination or wealth
of attraction of the Norman metropolis, and never had.Pierre is a cold, unfeeling thing, and its eighteenth-century town
hall, its great military barracks, and its palace of a university are in
no way great or lovable architectural monuments.As an offset against
the mediocrity, is the somewhat bare exterior of the court-house, built
in 1618 for the Breton Parliament, and furnished now, as then, in most
luxurious fashion.The Salle des Pas-Perdus is a vast apartment, most delightfully planned
and decorated, and of the Grand Parliamentary Chamber the same may be
said.Above the floor of this chamber are still to be seen the tribunes
where the dames of other days, of the days of Madame de Sévigné,
assisted at the sessions.The town hall contains a library of eighty thousand volumes, of which
one hundred or more are first editions, and six hundred manuscripts.The museums of the university palace are exceedingly rich in treasure,
and are in every way worthy of a great provincial capital.Daniel journeyed to the office.For the rest, Rennes is a most ordinary, uninteresting town, though it
does possess two mediæval monuments of remark: the Porte Mordelaise,
a historic souvenir of the military architecture of the middle
ages, and Church of Our Lady, the ancient chapel and cloister of an
eleventh-century monastery founded by the Bishop St.There are many fine old Renaissance houses scattered here and there
about the town, but the general aspect is modern, and mediocre at that.Rennes would have been called by century-ago travellers “a well-built
town,” and such it certainly is, as becomes the ancient capital of the
duchy of Brittany.In later days it is mostly known to the general reader as the scene
of the famous Dreyfus trial, and its only liveliness comes from the
officers of the tenth army corps, who, of a summer’s night, frequent the
coffee-rooms opposite the court-house or the theatre, or promenade in
the Thabor and the flower-garden, the old gardens of the Benedictine
convent.[ |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | Melaine, Rennes_</u>]
Just previous to the Revolution, there were stirring times in Rennes,
when a marshal of France commanded the troops camped within the city.The discontent of the people had arisen from two distinct causes, the
price of bread and the abolition of its ancient parliament.The former
seems a good enough excuse, but the latter is inexplicable, except,
perhaps, as the snuffing out of an ancient source of local pride.It was
to Rennes that Père Caussin, the father confessor of Louis XIII., was
sent by Richelieu, when he proved himself incapable of becoming the tool
of the cardinal.The prison of state at Rennes was a terrible place in
those days, but the true churchman preferred it to exile as a missionary
in the wilds.All this and much more of political history made Rennes a famous centre
in times past, but to-day it is so much like a bad imitation of Paris,
that in desperation the stranger within the gates finally takes his
departure for more idyllic parts, with the vow that never again will he
seek to learn of present-day Brittany from the cafés and boulevards of
Rennes.One other comment may be made on the unloveliness of Rennes as a place
of temporary sojourn; and that is on its cab-drivers.The driver of a
fiacre in the average Breton large town is like his fellows of Paris.He drives with a loose rein, and rushes helter-skelter down narrow
streets with never a care for other traffic, or for foot-passengers,
save a shouted, “_He, la-bas!_” which is so sudden and unforeseen that
it is quite useless as a warning.There have been those who have said
that the hoot of an automobile’s horn would drive even the “_sense of
traffic_”--a new sense recently discovered by the Parisian medical
journals--from out of the brain of even the most careful of persons!This is as naught compared to the Breton cab-driver’s stentorian “_He,
la-bas!_”
As one comes to the open country again, he leaves all these distractions
behind, and revels in nature, and if he be travelling by road, in the
stubbornness of cows and sheep and the aggressiveness of geese and
ducks, all road-users like himself.Daniel went to the office.Westward of Rennes, twenty kilometres by road, is Montfort-sur-Meu,
a charming small town, situated upon the banks of two tiny rivers.Its origin dates back to an ancient eleventh-century fortress, which
remains to-day in the form of a great cylindrical machicolated tower.The Seigneury of Montfort, since the fifteenth century, has passed
successively, by marriage or by heritage, through the houses of Laval,
Rieux, Coligny, and La Trémouille.Next is Montauban, with a fine, moss-grown ruin of a château, dating
from the fifteenth century; the town itself numbers three thousand
inhabitants, but it does not look it.Mary travelled to the kitchen.Méen, a dozen kilometres farther on, was born of a monastery founded
in the tenth century by a holy man of its name.It was destroyed and
rebuilt many times in the years to follow, but its old abbatial church
still exists, one tower coifed by a dome, and another smaller and flat.But no one comes here to see this fine old monkish relic but the farming
folk from round about, though St.Méen is a town of three thousand souls
and an idyllic artists’ sketching-ground.No colony of painters has yet
settled here, leaving it a wholly new field to exploit by any painter
looking for new worlds to conquer.Loudéac and Pontivy, the one in the Côtes du Nord, and the other in
the Morbihan, are two characteristically Breton towns bearing no
relation whatever to the outside world.It seems doubtful indeed if the
inhabitants of these two centres are aware that there is any outside
world, so taken up are they with their own little affairs.Loudéac has some six thousand inhabitants, but it has no apparent
industries to hold all these people together, and it seems as if they
had simply grouped themselves at the crossing of five great routes and
built a town.Its foundation does not go very far back into antiquity;
its parish church is only 150 years old, but the Chapel of Notre Dame
Vertus dates from the thirteenth century.In October, November, and December are held great cider-apple markets,
which, from their magnitude, would seem to be the chief source of income
of the population.The ancient slogan of Pontivy, born of Revolutionary times, was “Freedom
or Death,” which is not far different from the battle-cry of socialists
the world over to-day.The condition of the inhabitants of Pontivy,
however, does not differ from most folk elsewhere, and the frowning
walls of its old castle ironically point to the fact that the time has
not yet come when a successful social revolution can be steered through
the breakers ahead--not even in France, where indeed there are even
more advanced ideas on the subject than in Germany itself.The memory of this event, though the “Treaty of Pontivy” was sent
broadcast through all the communes of France, has quite died out, and
the serenity of a little Breton market-town long ago settled upon
Pontivy, with nothing but a dim memory existing to neutralize the
admiration one is bound to have for the town’s wonderfully picturesque
castle.It is a grand ruin with crumbled roof and walls, but its
outlines are as clear as ever they were, and if it has not the magnitude
or magnificence of many others of its class, it looks far more imposing,
and forms an exquisite stage setting for any mediæval romance one is
able to conjure up.The history of Pontivy and its castle is this:
The town owes its origin to a monastery built here in the seventh
century by St.The castle, however, was a
foundation of seven hundred years later, by John of Rohan, in 1485.At
the creation of the duchy of Rohan, in 1663, Pontivy became the first
seat of this jurisdiction.At the Revolution the famous Pontivy treaty mentioned came into
being, with the result that in 1802 a consuls’ decree prescribed the
construction of a vast barrack at Pontivy, and the canalization of the
river Blavet, upon which it sits, down to the sea.Napoleon, however, by a decree given at Milan, sought to create a new
town south of the present city, whose name should be Napoleonville.All this because Pontivy had declared for the rights of man.When the
Revolutionists sought power Pontivy had every chance, but with Napoleon
his desire was to efface it.Pontivy is distinctly Breton in every aspect; its manners, customs, and
above all its costumes.Decidedly one’s itinerary in Brittany should be
made to include it.Rostrenen is a delightful old town banked high upon a hillside some
six hundred feet above the valley.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.The old-time collegiate church is a
thirteenth-century foundation, which, though restored in our day, has
all the loveliness of the era of its foundation well preserved.Like the church at Josselin it is called Our Lady of the
Blackberry-bush, from a miraculous Virgin found beneath a
blackberry-bush.The great day of pilgrimage to this shrine is the
fifteenth of August.Carhaix is a little Breton town now all but shorn of its former
importance, though its breed of cattle is prized above all others in
Brittany,--as if that were enough to keep its memory alive.John moved to the hallway.Anciently
Carhaix was the capital of the Vorganium, whose peoples took an active
part in the wars against Cæsar.Seven Roman ways centred here, and there
are yet to be seen the remains of an ancient Roman aqueduct.Vorganium ultimately lost its rank, and was made a part of the realm
of Cornouaille founded by King Grollo, who gave Carhaix its present
name--then Ker-Ahès.Carhaix is the birthplace of La Tour d’Auvergne, “the first Grenadier of
France.” His career was almost legendary, and after his famous infernal
column which went up against the Spaniards in the Pyrenees, he retired
to the city of his birth, and took up the study of the Celtic tongue.In
1796, when the Terror broke out, at the age of fifty-two, he took the
haversack and cartridge-box of a simple soldier, to replace the son of
an old friend who had been drawn by conscription.He would never advance
a single grade, but remained in the ranks from this time forward,
and was killed at the battle of Oberhausen in Bavaria.His heart is
enshrined in the Hôtel des Invalides at Paris, having been brought
there and buried with great pomp in 1904.Carhaix has a real novelty in its horse-market, held before the Church
of St.There is nothing actually profane or sacrilegious
about this perhaps; but yet again, perhaps there is.Certainly it is
incongruous to see a long string of horses tethered to the very church
door-knob itself, with the breeders seated back against the church wall
smoking tobacco and eating and drinking.Huelgoat is in the very heart of Finistère.It is as typical in the
manners and customs of these parts as is Pont l’Abbé in Cornouaille or
Auray in Morbihan.It has one of the finest sites given to a town in all
Brittany, and abounds in quaintness and beauty.There are various ecclesiastical monuments and religious shrines in and
near the town, of which the guide-books tell, and all are well worth
visiting.The market-place of Huelgoat does not differ greatly from other
market-places in Brittany.The costumes are brilliant in magpie
colours,--if white coifs flashing in the sunlight can be said to make
colour,--and the little life and the little affairs of the peasant
people scintillate and fluctuate from day to day as if they were the
most serious and momentous things in all the world.Above, on the right, rises the quaint bell-tower of the
sixteenth-century church, not beautiful of itself, perhaps, but grouping
wonderfully with the moving foreground.Huelgoat is a great place for ducks, evidently, for ducks big, little,
and of all colours of the rainbow are apparently the chief and staple
article of trade.What the value may be to-day, as compared with what it
was last market-day, no one can prognosticate.Two francs is certainly
not much for a nice fat duck, just waiting to be plucked and garnished
with green peas, but two francs for a brace is cheaper still, and two
francs for a whole flock or bevy, or whatever formation ducks group
themselves in, is a still better bargain, and on occasions you may
buy a whole duck and drake family--father and mother and two or three
youngsters--for a matter of _une pièce_, which is the Breton’s way of
counting a hundred sous or five francs.From Huelgoat the highroad branches to Morlaix in the northwest, and
Landerneau, directly to the west, when one comes once more on the
national road, running westward from Alençon by way of Fougères and the
north to Brest.[Illustration: <u>_Huelgoat_</u>]
CHAPTER XII.RELIGIOUS FESTIVALS AND PARDONS
Brittany has been called “the Land of Calvaries and Pardons.” This does
not mean much to one who has never come under the spell of these strange
sights and survivals, but it means a great deal to those who realize to
the full the real significance of the devoutness and religious motives
which inspire the Breton folk to worship God in a manner which, in the
present age of disregard for the Christian religion of our forefathers,
seems to be playing less and less a foremost part.“Venez donc un tour au Pays de St.Mary went to the bathroom.* * *
Au pays du Creizker finement dentelé.Venez donc faire un tour au Pays de Calvaires,
Au Pays des Pardons mystiques et joyeux.”
So sang Theodore Botrèl in a charming series of verses written as an
invitation to his fellow Frenchmen to know more of the ancient province
of Brittany.Since Brittany is so very religious, the most devout of
all the provinces of the France of to-day, the following account of
the disposition of certain observances under the care of the state is
apropos.France is said to be Catholic, because the majority of the people
profess Catholicism, which apparently answers their wants better than
any other.Daniel journeyed to the office.As a matter of fact, however, there is the coëstablishment
of four religions, all of which are recognized by the state and their
ministers paid by the state.So, virtually, there are four state
religions, if they can be so called.In truth, there is no religious
head in France; neither the chief of state, the Archbishop of Paris
(there are three other heads of religions, so manifestly one could not
be chosen), nor the minister of public worship can be called upon to
fill the office, hence there is no national religion, though the Roman
Catholic faith predominates to-day as in the past.Sandra went to the bedroom.Since we are concerned herein with Brittany alone, and since the Breton
is accounted the most devoutly Catholic of all Frenchmen, it is enough
to define the organization of the Roman Catholic religion alone, leaving
the question of the Calvinists, the Lutherans, and the Israelites quite
apart, as they exist not at all in Brittany as a factor of the local
conditions of life.The parish is the unit in the Catholic Church organization in France,
as the _commune_ is the unit in civil administration; the parishes are
divided into _curés_ and _succursales_.The first class, which number forty-five hundred throughout France, have
for their pastor a priest who is immovable, nominated by the bishop with
the approval of the government.The second class have a pastor who is
nominated by the bishop, but who can be removed or replaced.The parish
priest may have one or more assistants.Above the parish priest in rank
is the bishop.Sandra went back to the bathroom.In general the bishoprics correspond with the departments, though there
are eighty-four dioceses and but sixty-seven bishops, the archbishops of
the “ecclesiastical provinces”--which often include several departments
and dioceses--making up the number.In Brittany the Departments of Ille-et-Vilaine, Côtes du Nord,
Finistère, Morbihan, and Loire-Inférieure have a bishopric, with an
archbishopric at Rennes.The bishops are nominated by the chief of the state, but are invested
canonically by the Pope.They are assisted by vicars-general, who
undertake the administrative functions of the diocese.The canonical
chapter of the cathedral, the diocesan seminary, and all other
seminaries are under the authority of the vicar-general.Above the bishops are the archbishops, who administer to the wants of
their diocese in the same way as the bishops, and, in addition, preside
at all provincial councils, ordain the bishops, and in general have a
certain jurisdiction over the bishoprics of their sees.The ecclesiastical provinces, as the great administrative districts of
the Church are known, correspond to-day, in a great part, to the ancient
provinces of the Roman epoch in Gaul, as the bishoprics themselves
correspond with the ancient cities and towns.Higher up even than the archbishops are the cardinals, nominated by the
Pope with the concurrence of the head of the French nation.To-day there
are five cardinals in France, all being titularies of one of the Roman
churches and members of the Sacred College which elects the Pope.Those who know Brittany will |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | It has been said that by nature the Bretons are conservative.Daniel went to the office.This is
indeed true enough, but they are something more, they are superstitious,
not only with regard to certain phases of their religion, but also
with respect to many of their local customs, which have naught to do
with religion.It is said that belief in witchcraft still endures, and
certain it is that folk-lore and fairy-lore are, in some parts, quite as
much of the life of the people as is the case in the bogs of Ireland.Mary travelled to the kitchen.The Celtic imagination, which is the same in both instances, doubtless
accounts for this.What the Bretons really are, or have been, though
they have not often been accused of it, is pagan,--at least some of them
are.It was only in the seventeenth century that the pagan cult--as a
body of magnitude--was suppressed.This again was a survival, of course,
from the barbarous rites and practices of the druids, which indeed were
the same elsewhere, so it need not be laid up against the Bretons alone.Probably those vast colonies of megalithic monuments at Carnac, and
their orphaned brothers and sisters scattered elsewhere throughout
Brittany, did much to keep the flames aglow on pagan altars, and
even to-day it is easy to perceive with what awe and veneration the
simple-minded Breton peasant regards these weird survivals of other
days.At any rate, Breton religion to-day is a devotion to many forms
and ceremonies.Brittany has been called the land of pardons (_pays des pardons_).Every
one knows of these great Breton festivals and of their significance.If
one travel between May and October, scarcely a week will pass without
his falling unawares upon one or another of these great sacred fêtes.All Bretons do not give to these rites the sacred regard with which
they were originally intended to be endowed.Decidedly they have been
profaned only too often, and at times there is a little too much
license.The Breton pardon is by no means to be thought of in the same
manner as the kermess of Flanders, which is a merrymaking pure and
simple, with not even a side-light of religion thrown upon it.The five great pardons of Brittany are held each year as follows:
“The Pardon of the Poor,” at St.Yves; “The Pardon of the Singers,” at
Rumengol; “The Pardon of the Fire,” at St.Jean du Doigt; “The Pardon
of the Mountain,” at Troménie de St.Ronan; “The Pardon of the Sea,” at
Ste.Daniel travelled to the bathroom.It is a moot question as to just how much of romance is in the make-up
of the Breton character.Emotional the people are, but the emotion
that leads them into the enthusiasm which they exhibit at their great
religious festivals and pardons is more superstitious than romantic.The druidism, or paganism, or whatever the religion (_sic_) of the
ancient peoples of the Armorican peninsula may have been, bears not the
least traditional resemblance to the fervour of the devotees of the
pardons of to-day, but one can readily believe that the same spirit, if
with a different motive, does exist even now.The blessing of the boats, the birds, the cows, and what not, which
takes place periodically at different points along the Breton
coast,--for it is mostly along the coast that these observances take
place,--smacks not a little of something that is of more psychological
purport than mere religious devotion.From whatever tradition these great religious observances have
descended, there is no question of the sincerity of the participants,
though there is a wide difference between the “sacred” and “profane”
elements which meet on these occasions.Brittany, perhaps as much as any other of the ancient provinces of
France, has preserved its local customs and traditions, unblushingly
indifferent to the changing conditions round about them.He is present
himself and listening, and he is aware in his own heart whether I
swear falsely.And what will surprise you the more, I can swear
besides, that I have not received even what the other generals have
received, no, nor yet what some of the officers have received.I thought, sirs, the more
I helped him to bear his poverty at the time, the more I should make
him my friend in the day of his power.Whereas, it is just when I see
the star of his good fortune rising, that I have come to divine the
secret of his character."Some one may say, are you not ashamed to be so taken in like a fool?Yes, I should be ashamed, if it had been an open enemy who had so
deceived me.But, to my mind, when friend cheats friend, a deeper
stain attaches to the perpetrator than to the victim of deceit.Whatever precaution a man may take against his friend, that we took in
full.We certainly gave him no pretext for refusing to pay us what he
promised.We were perfectly upright in our dealings with him.We did
not dawdle over his affairs, nor did we shrink from any work to which
he challenged us."But you will say, I ought to have taken security of him at the time,
so that had he fostered the wish, he might have lacked the ability to
deceive.To meet that retort, I must beg you to listen to certain
things, which I should never have said in his presence, except for
your utter want of feeling towards me, or your extraordinary
ingratitude.John moved to the hallway.Try and recall the posture of your affairs, when I 24
extricated you and brought you to Seuthes.Do you not recollect how at
Perinthus Aristarchus shut the gates in your faces each time you
offered to approach the town, and how you were driven to camp outside
under the canopy of heaven?It was midwinter; you were thrown upon the
resources of a market wherein few were the articles offered for sale,
and scanty the wherewithal to purchase them.Yet stay in Thrace you
must, for there were ships of war riding at anchor in the bay, ready
to hinder your passage across; and what did that stay imply?It meant
being in a hostile country, confronted by countless cavalry, legions
of light infantry.A heavy infantry force certainly,
with which we could have dashed at villages in a body possibly, and
seized a modicum of food at most; but as to pursuing the enemy with
such a force as ours, or capturing men or cattle, the thing was out of
the question; for when I rejoined you your original cavalry and light
infantry divisions had disappeared."Supposing that, without making any demands for pay whatever, I had
merely won for you the alliance of Seuthes--whose cavalry and light
infantry were just what you needed--would you not have thought that I
had planned very well for you?I presume, it was through your
partnership with him and his that you were able to find such complete
stores of corn in the villages, when the Thracians were driven to take
to their heels in such hot haste, and you had so large a share of
captives and cattle.from the day on which his cavalry force was
attached to us, we never set eyes on a single foeman in the field,
though up to that date the enemy with his cavalry and his light
infantry used undauntedly to hang on our heels, and effectually
prevented us from scattering in small bodies and reaping a rich
harvest of provisions.But if he who partly gave you this security has
failed to pay in full the wages due to you therefrom, is not that a
terrible misfortune?So monstrous indeed that you think I ought not to
go forth alive (1).the fate of a scape-goat is too good for me."But let me ask you, in what condition do you turn your backs on this 31
land to-day?Have you not wintered here in the lap of plenty?Whatever
you have got from Seuthes has been surplus gain.Mary went to the bathroom.Your enemies have had
to meet the bill of your expenses, whilst you led a merry round of
existence, in which you have not once set eyes on the dead body of a
comrade or lost one living man.Again, if you have achieved any, (or
rather many) noble deeds against the Asiatic barbarian, you have them
safe.And in addition to these to-day you have won for yourselves a
second glory.You undertook a campaign against the European Thracians,
and have mastered them.What I say then is, that these very matters
which you make a ground of quarrel against myself, are rather
blessings for which you ought to show gratitude to heaven."Thus far I have confined myself to your side of the matter.Bear with
me, I beg you, while we examine mine.When I first essayed to part
with you and journey homewards, I was doubly blest.From your lips I
had won some praise, and, thanks to you, I had obtained glory from the
rest of Hellas.I was trusted by the Lacedaemonians; else would they
not have sent me back to you.Whereas to-day I turn to go, calumniated
before the Lacedaemonians by yourselves, detested in your behalf by
Seuthes, whom I meant so to benefit, by help of you, that I should
find in him a refuge for myself and for my children, if children I
might have, in after time.And you the while, for whose sake I have
incurred so much hate, the hate of people far superior to me in
strength, you, for whom I have not yet ceased to devise all the good I
can, entertain such sentiments about me.I am no renegade or
runaway slave, you have got hold of.If you carry out what you say, be
sure you will have done to death a man who has passed many a vigil in
watching over you; who has shared with you many a toil and run many a
risk in turn and out of turn; who, thanks to the gracious gods!has by
your side set up full many a trophy over the barbarian; who, lastly,
has strained every nerve in his body to protect you against
yourselves.Daniel journeyed to the office.And so it is, that to-day you can move freely, where you
choose, by sea or by land, and no one can say you nay; and you, on 37
whom this large liberty dawns, who are sailing to a long desired goal,
who are sought after by the greatest of military powers, who have pay
in prospect, and for leaders these Lacedaemonians, our acknowledged
chiefs: now is the appointed time, you think, to put me to a speedy
death.But in the days of our difficulties it was very different, O ye
men of marvellous memory!and you promised you would bear me ever in mind, 'your benefactor.'Not so, however, not so ungracious are those who have come to you
to-day; nor, if I mistake not, have you bettered yourselves in their
eyes by your treatment of me."With these words he paused, and Charminus the Lacedaemonian got up and
said: "Nay, by the Twins, you are wrong, surely, in your anger against
this man; I myself can bear testimony in his favour.When Polynicus
and I asked Seuthes, what sort of a man he was?Seuthes answered:--he
had but one fault to find with him, that he was too much the soldiers'
friend, which also was the cause why things went wrong with him,
whether as regards us Lacedaemonians or himself, Seuthes."Upon that Eurylochus of Lusia, an Arcadian, got up and said
(addressing the two Lacedaemonians), "Yes, sirs; and what strikes me
is that you cannot begin your generalship of us better than by
exacting from Seuthes our pay.Whether he like it or no, let him pay
in full; and do not take us away before."Polycrates the Athenian, who was put forward by Xenophon, said: "If my
eyes do not deceive me, sirs, there stands Heracleides, yonder, the
man who received the property won by our toil, who took and sold it,
and never gave back either to Seuthes or to us the proceeds of the
sale, but kept the money to himself, like the thief he is.If we are
wise, we will lay hold of him, for he is no Thracian, but a Hellene;
and against Hellenes is the wrong he has committed."When Heracleides heard these words, he was in great consternation; so
he came to Seuthes and said: "If we are wise we will get away from
here out of reach of these fellows."So they mounted their horses and
were gone in a trice, galloping to their own camp.Sandra went to the bedroom.Sandra went back to the bathroom.Subsequently 42
Seuthes sent Abrozelmes, his private interpreter, to Xenophon, begging
him to stay behind with one thousand heavy troops; and engaging duly
to deliver to him the places on the seaboard, and the other things
which he had promised; and then, as a great secret, he told him, that
he had heard from Polynicus that if he once got into the clutches of
the Lacedaemonians, Thibron was certain to put him to death.Sandra went back to the kitchen.Mary went to the hallway.Similar
messages kept coming to Xenophon by letter or otherwise from several
quarters, warning him that he was calumniated, and had best be on his
guard.Hearing which, he took two victims and sacrificed to Zeus the
King: "Whether it were better and happier to stay with Seuthes on the
terms proposed, or depart with the army?"The answer he received was,
"Depart."VII
After this, Seuthes removed his camp to some considerable distance; 1
and the Hellenes took up their quarters in some villages, selecting
those in which they could best supply their commissariat, on the road
to the sea.Now these particular villages had been given by Seuthes to
Medosades.Accordingly, when the latter saw his property in the
villages being expended by the Hellenes, he was not over well pleased;
and taking with him an Odrysian, a powerful person amongst those who
had come down from the interior, and about thirty mounted troopers, he
came and challenged Xenophon to come forth from the Hellenic host.He,
taking some of the officers and others of a character to be relied
upon, came forward.Then Medosades, addressing Xenophon, said: "You
are doing wrong to pillage our villages; we give you fair warning--I,
in behalf of Seuthes, and this man by my side, who comes from Medocus,
the king up country--to begone out of the land.If you refuse,
understand, we have no notion of handing it over to you; but if you
injure our country we will retaliate upon you as foes."Xenophon, hearing what they had to say, replied: "Such language
addressed to us by you, of all people, is hard to answer.Yet for the
sake of the young man with you, I will attempt to do so, that at least
he may learn how different your nature is from ours.We," he
continued, "before we were your friends, had the free run of this
country, moving this way or that, as it took our fancy, pillaging and 5
burning just as we chose; and you yourself, Medosades, whenever you
came to us on an embassy, camped with us, without apprehension of any
foe.As a tribe collectively you scarcely approached the country at
all, or if you found yourselves in it, you bivouacked with your horses
bitted and bridled, as being in the territory of your superiors.Presently you made friends with us, and, thanks to us, by God's help
you have won this country, out of which to-day you seek to drive us; a
country which we held by our own strength and gave to you.No hostile
force, as you well know, was capable of expelling us.It might have
been expected of you personally to speed us on our way with some gift,
in return for the good we did you.Not so; even though our backs are
turned to go, we are too slow in our movements for you.You |
garden | Where is John? | However, why do you address yourself to me?Our generals are the Lacedaemonians, to whom you and yours
delivered the army for withdrawal; and that, without even inviting me
to attend, you most marvellous of men, so that if I lost their favour
when I brought you the troops, I might now win their gratitude by
restoring them."As soon as the Odrysian had heard this statement, he exclaimed: "For
my part, Medosades, I sink under the earth for very shame at what I
hear.If I had known the truth before, I would never have accompanied
you.Never would King Medocus applaud me,
if I drove forth his benefactors."With these words, he mounted his
horse and rode away, and with him the rest of his horsemen, except
four or five.But Medosades, still vexed by the pillaging of the
country, urged Xenophon to summon the two Lacedaemonians; and he,
taking the pick of his men, came to Charminus and Polynicus and
informed them that they were summoned by Medosades; probably they,
like himself, would be warned to leave the country; "if so," he added, 14
"you will be able to recover the pay which is owing to the army.You
can say to them, that the army has requested you to assist in exacting
their pay from Seuthes, whether he like it or not; that they have
promised, as soon as they get this, cheerfully to follow you; that the
demand seems to you to be only just, and that you have accordingly
promised not to leave, until the soldiers have got their dues."The
Lacedaemonians accepted the suggestion: they would apply these
arguments and others the most forcible they could hit upon; and with
the proper representatives of the army, they immediately set off.John moved to the hallway.On their arrival Charminus spoke: "If you have anything to say to us,
Medosades, say it; but if not, we have something to say to you."And
Medosades submissively made answer: "I say," said he, "and Seuthes
says the same: we think we have a right to ask that those who have
become our friends should not be ill-treated by you; whatever ill you
do to them you really do to us, for they are a part of us."replied the Lacedaemonians, "and we intend to go away as soon as those
who won for you the people and the territory in question have got
their pay.Failing that, we are coming without further delay to assist
them and to punish certain others who have broken their oaths and done
them wrong.If it should turn out that you come under this head, when
we come to exact justice, we shall begin with you."Xenophon added:
"Would you prefer, Medosades, to leave it to these people themselves,
in whose country we are (your friends, since this is the designation
you prefer), to decide by ballot, which of the two should leave the
country, you or we?"To that proposal he shook his head, but he
trusted the two Laconians might be induced to go to Seuthes about the
pay, adding, "Seuthes, I am sure, will lend a willing ear;" or if they
could not go, then he prayed them to send Xenophon with himself,
promising to lend the latter all the aid in his power, and finally he
begged them not to burn the villages.Accordingly they sent Xenophon,
and with him a serviceable staff.Being arrived, he addressed Seuthes
thus:--
"Seuthes, I am here to advance no claims, but to show you, if I can, 21
how unjust it was on your part to be angered with me because I
zealously demanded of you on behalf of the soldiers what you promised
them.According to my belief, it was no less to your interest to
deliver it up, than it was to theirs to receive it.I cannot forget
that, next to the gods, it was they who raised you up to a conspicuous
eminence, when they made you king of large territory and many men, a
position in which you cannot escape notice, whether you do good or do
evil.For a man so circumstanced, I regarded it as a great thing that
he should avoid the suspicion even of ungrateful parting with his
benefactors.It was a great thing, I thought, that you should be well
spoken of by six thousand human beings; but the greatest thing of all,
that you should in no wise discredit the sincerity of your own word.For what of the man who cannot be trusted?I see that the words of his
mouth are but vain words, powerless, and unhonoured; but with him who
is seen to regard truth, the case is otherwise.He can achieve by his
words what another achieves by force.If he seeks to bring the foolish
to their senses--his very frown, I perceive, has a more sobering
effect than the chastisement inflicted by another.Or in negotiations
the very promises of such an one are of equal weight with the gifts of
another."Try and recall to mind in your own case, what advance of money you
made to us to purchase our alliance.You know you did not advance one
penny.It was simply confidence in the sincerity of your word which
incited all these men to assist you in your campaign, and so to
acquire for you an empire, worth many times more than thirty talents,
which is all they now claim to receive.Here then, first of all, goes
the credit which won for you your kingdom, sold for so mean a sum.Let
me remind you of the great importance which you then attached to the
acquisition of your present conquests.I am certain that to achieve
what stands achieved to-day, you would willingly have foregone the
gain of fifty times that paltry sum.To me it seems that to lose your
present fortune were a more serious loss than never to have won it;
since surely it is harder to be poor after being rich than never to 28
have tasted wealth at all, and more painful to sink to the level of a
subject, being a king, then never to have worn a crown."You cannot forget that your present vassals were not persuaded to
become your subjects out of love for you, but by sheer force; and but
for some restraining dread they would endeavour to be free again
to-morrow.And how do you propose to stimulate their sense of awe, and
keep them in good behaviour towards you?Shall they see our soldiers
so disposed towards you that a word on your part would suffice to keep
them now, or if necessary would bring them back again to-morrow?while
others hearing from us a hundred stories in your praise, hasten to
present themselves at your desire?Or will you drive them to conclude
adversely, that through mistrust of what has happened now, no second
set of soldiers will come to help you, for even these troops of ours
are more their friends than yours?And indeed it was not because they
fell short of us in numbers that they became your subjects, but from
lack of proper leaders.There is a danger, therefore, now lest they
should choose as their protectors some of us who regard ourselves as
wronged by you, or even better men than us--the Lacedaemonians
themselves; supposing our soldiers undertake to serve with more
enthusiasm, if the debt you owe to them be first exacted; and the
Lacedaemonians, who need their services, consent to this request.It
is plain, at any rate, that the Thracians, now prostrate at your feet,
would display far more enthusiasm in attacking, than in assisting you;
for your mastery means their slavery, and your defeat their liberty."Again, the country is now yours, and from this time forward you have
to make provision for what is yours; and how will you best secure it
an immunity from ill?Either these soldiers receive their dues and go,
leaving a legacy of peace behind, or they stay and occupy an enemy's
country, whilst you endeavour, by aid of a still larger army, to open
a new campaign and turn them out; and your new troops will also need
provisions.Or again, which will be the greater drain on your purse?to pay off your present debt, or, with that still owing, to bid for
more troops, and of a better quality?"Heracleides, as he used to prove to me, finds the sum excessive.But 35
surely it is a far less serious thing for you to take and pay it back
to-day than it would have been to pay the tithe of it, before we came
to you; since the limit between less and more is no fixed number, but
depends on the relative capacity of payer and recipient, and your
yearly income now is larger than the whole property which you
possessed in earlier days."Well, Seuthes, for myself these remarks are the expression of
friendly forethought for a friend.They are expressed in the double
hope that you may show yourself worthy of the good things which the
gods have given you, and that my reputation may not be ruined with the
army.For I must assure you that to-day, if I wished to injure a foe,
I could not do so with this army.Nor again, if I wished to come and
help you, should I be competent to the task; such is the disposition
of the troops towards me.And yet I call you to witness, along with
the gods who know, that never have I received anything from you on
account of the soldiers.John moved to the garden.Never to this day have I, to my private gain,
asked for what was theirs, nor even claimed the promises which were
made to myself; and I swear to you, not even had you proposed to pay
me my dues, would I have accepted them, unless the soldiers also had
been going to receive theirs too; how could I?How shameful it would
have been in me, so to have secured my own interests, whilst I
disregarded the disastrous state of theirs, I being so honoured by
them.Of course to the mind of Heracleides this is all silly talk;
since the one great object is to keep money by whatever means.That is
not my tenet, Seuthes.I believe that no fairer or brighter jewel can
be given to a man, and most of all a prince, than the threefold grace
of valour, justice, and generosity.He that possesses these is rich in
the multitude of friends which surround him; rich also in the desire
of others to be included in their number.While he prospers, he is
surrounded by those who will rejoice with him in his joy; or if
misfortune overtake him, he has no lack of sympathisers to give him
help.However, if you have failed to learn from my deeds that I was,
heart and soul, your friend; if my words are powerless to reveal the
fact to-day, I would at least direct your attention to what the 43
soldiers said; you were standing by and heard what those who sought to
blame me said.They accused me to the Lacedaemonians, and the point of
their indictment was that I set greater store by yourself than by the
Lacedaemonians; but, as regards themselves, the charge was that I took
more pains to secure the success of your interests than their own.They suggested that I had actually taken gifts from you.Was it, do
you suppose, because they detected some ill-will in me towards you
that they made the allegation?Was it not rather, that they had
noticed my abundant zeal on your behalf?"All men believe, I think, that a fund of kindly feeling is due to him
from whom we accept gifts.Before I had
ministered to you in any way, or done you a single service, you
welcomed me kindly with your eyes, your voice, your hospitality, and
you could not sate yourself with promises of all the fine things that
were to follow.But having once achieved your object, and become the
great man you now are, as great indeed as I could make you, you can
stand by and see me degraded among my own soldiers!Well, time will
teach you--that I fully believe--to pay whatever seems to you right,
and even without the lessons of that teacher you will hardly care to
see whose who have spent themselves in benefiting you, become your
accusers.Only, when you do pay your debt, I beg of you to use your
best endeavour to right me with the soldiers.Leave me at least where
you found me; that is all I ask."After listening to this appeal, Seuthes called down curses on him,
whose fault it was, that the debt had not long ago been paid, and, if
the general suspicion was correct, this was Heracleides."For myself,"
said Seuthes, "I never had any idea of robbing you of your just dues.Then Xenophon rejoined: "Since you are minded to pay, I
only ask that you will do so through me, and will not suffer me on
your account to hold a different position in the army from what I held
when we joined you."He replied: "As far as that goes, so far from
holding a less honoured position among your own men on my account, if
you will stay with me, keeping only a thousand heavy infantry, I will
deliver to you the fortified places and everything I promised."The
other answered: "On these terms I may not accept them, only let us go 51
free.""Nay, but I know," said Seuthes, "that it is safer for you to
bide with me than to go away."Then Xenophon again: "For your
forethought I thank you, but I may not stay.Somewhere I may rise to
honour, and that, be sure, shall redound to your gain also."Thereupon
Seuthes spoke: "Of silver I have but little; that little, however, I
give to you, one talent; but of beeves I can give you six hundred
head, and of sheep four thousand, and of slaves six score.These take,
and the hostages besides, who wronged you, and begone."Xenophon
laughed and said: "But supposing these all together do not amount to
the pay; for whom is the talent, shall I say?It is a little dangerous
for myself, is it not?I think I had better be on the look-out for
stones when I return.So for the moment he stayed there, but the next day Seuthes gave up to
them what he had promised, and sent an escort to drive the cattle.The
soldiers at first maintained that Xenophon had gone to take up his
abode with Seuthes, and to receive what he had been promised; so when
they saw him they were pleased, and ran to meet him.And Xenophon,
seeing Charminus and Polynicus, said: "Thanks to your intervention,
this much has been saved for the army.My duty is to deliver this
fraction over to your keeping; do you divide and distribute it to the
soldiers."Accordingly they took the property and appointed official
vendors of the booty, and in the end incurred considerable blame.In fact it was no secret that he was making his
preparations to return home, for as yet the vote of banishment had not
been passed at Athens (1).But the authorities in the camp came to him
and begged him not to go away until he had conducted the army to its
destination, and handed it over to Thibron."at this moment the vote of banishment had not been passed
which would prevent his return to Athens."The natural inference
from these words is, I think, that the vote of banishment was
presently passed, at any rate considerably earlier than the battle
of Coronea in B.C.VIII
From this place they sailed across to Lampsacus, and here Xenophon was 1
met by Eucleides the soothsayer, a Phliasian, the son of Cleagoras,
who painted "the dreams (1)" in the Lycium.Eucleides congratulated
Xenophon upon his safe return, and asked him how much gold he had got?and Xenophon had to confess: "Upon my word, I shall have barely enough
to get home, unless I sell my horse, and what I have about my person."Now when the Lampsacenes
sent gifts of hospitality to Xenophon, and he was sacrificing to
Apollo, he requested the presence of Eucleides; and the latter, seeing
the victims, said: "Now I believe what you said about having no money.But I am certain," he continued, "if it were ever to come, there is an
obstacle in the way.If nothing else, you are that obstacle yourself."Xenophon admitted the force of that |
kitchen | Where is John? | Then the other: "Zeus
Meilichios (2) is an obstacle to you, I am sure," adding in another
tone of voice, "have you tried sacrificing to that god, as I was wont
to sacrifice and offer whole burnt offerings for you at home?"Xenophon replied that since he had been abroad, he had not sacrificed
to that god.John moved to the hallway.Accordingly Eucleides counselled him to sacrifice in the
old customary way: he was sure that his fortune would improve.The
next day Xenophon went on to Ophrynium and sacrificed, offering a
holocaust of swine, after the custom of his family, and the signs
which he obtained were favourable.That very day Bion and Nausicleides
arrived laden with gifts for the army.These two were hospitably
entertained by Xenophon, and were kind enough to repurchase the horse
he had sold in Lampsacus for fifty darics; suspecting that he had
parted with it out of need, and hearing that he was fond of the beast
they restored it to him, refusing to be remunerated.(1) Reading {ta enupnia}, or if {ta entoikhia} with Hug and others,
translate "the wall-paintings" or the "frescoes."Others think
that a writing, not a painting, is referred to.(2) Zeus Meilichios, or the gentle one.The festival
of the Diasia at Athens was in honour of that god, or rather of
Zeus under that aspect.From that place they marched through the Troad, and, crossing Mount
Ida, arrived at Antandrus, and then pushed along the seaboard of Mysia
to the plain of Thebe (3).Thence they made their way through 8
Adramytium and Certonus (4) by Atarneus, coming into the plain of the
Caicus, and so reached Pergamus in Mysia.(3) Thebe, a famous ancient town in Mysia, at the southern foot of Mt.Placius, which is often mentioned in Homer ("Il."The name {Thebes
pedion} preserves the site.above {Kaustrou pedion}, and such
modern names as "the Campagna" or "Piano di Sorrento."(4) The site of Certonus is not ascertained.Some critics have
conjectured that the name should be Cytonium, a place between
Mysia and Lydia; and Hug, who reads {Kutoniou}, omits {odeusantes
par 'Atanea}, "they made their way by Atarneus," as a gloss.Here Xenophon was hospitably entertained at the house of Hellas, the
wife of Gongylus the Eretrian (5), the mother of Gorgion and Gongylus.From her he learnt that Asidates, a Persian notable, was in the plain."If you take thirty men and go by night, you will take him prisoner,"
she said, "wife, children, money, and all; of money he has a store;"
and to show them the way to these treasures, she sent her own cousin
and Daphnagoras, whom she set great store by.So then Xenophon, with
these two to assist, did sacrifice; and Basias, an Eleian, the
soothsayer in attendance, said that the victims were as promising as
could be, and the great man would be an easy prey.Accordingly, after
dinner he set off, taking with him the officers who had been his
staunchest friends and confidants throughout; as he wished to do them
a good turn.A number of others came thrusting themselves on their
company, to the number of six hundred, but the officers repelled them:
"They had no notion of sharing their portion of the spoil," they said,
"just as though the property lay already at their feet."The slaves occupying the precincts of the
tower, with the mass of goods and chattles, slipped through their
fingers, their sole anxiety being to capture Asidates and his
belongings.So they brought their batteries to bear, but failing to
take the tower by assault (since it was high and solid, and well
supplied with ramparts, besides having a large body of warlike
defenders), they endeavoured to undermine it.The wall was eight clay
bricks thick, but by daybreak the passage was effected and the wall
undermined.At the first gleam of light through the aperture, one of 14
the defendants inside, with a large ox-spit, smote right through the
thigh of the man nearest the hole, and the rest discharged their
arrows so hotly that it was dangerous to come anywhere near the
passage; and what with their shouting and kindling of beacon fires, a
relief party at length arrived, consisting of Itabelius at the head of
his force, and a body of Assyrian heavy infantry from Comania, and
some Hyrcanian cavalry (6), the latter also being mercenaries of the
king.There were eighty of them, and another detachment of light
troops, about eight hundred, and more from Parthenium, and more again
from Apollonia and the neighbouring places, also cavalry.(6) The Hyrcanian cavalry play an important part in the "Cyropaedeia."They are the Scirites of the Assyrian army who came over to Cyrus
after the first battle.Their country is the fertile land touching
the south-eastern corner of the Caspian.8,
where the author (or an editor) appends a note on the present
status of the Hyrcanians.It was now high time to consider how they were to beat a retreat.So
seizing all the cattle and sheep to be had, with the slaves, they put
them within a hollow square and proceed to drive them off.Not that
they had a thought to give to the spoils now, but for precaution's
sake and for fear lest if they left the goods and chattels behind and
made off, the retreat would rapidly degenerate into a stampede, the
enemy growing bolder as the troops lost heart.For the present then
they retired as if they meant to do battle for the spoils.As soon as
Gongylus espied how few the Hellenes were and how large the attacking
party, out he came himself, in spite of his mother, with his private
force, wishing to share in the action.Another too joined in the
rescue--Procles, from Halisarna and Teuthrania, a descendant of
Damaratus.By this time Xenophon and his men were being sore pressed
by the arrows and slingstones, though they marched in a curve so as to
keep their shields facing the missiles, and even so, barely crossed the
river Carcasus, nearly half of them wounded.Here it was that Agasias
the Stymphalian, the captain, received his wound, while keeping up a
steady unflagging fight against the enemy from beginning to end.And
so they reached home in safety with about two hundred captives, and
sheep enough for sacrifices.The next day Xenophon sacrificed and led out the whole army under the 20
cover of night, intending to pierce far into the heart of Lydia with a
view to lulling to sleep the enemy's alarm at his proxmity, and so in
fact to put him off his guard.But Asidates, hearing that Xenophon had
again sacrificed with the intention of another attack, and was
approaching with his whole army, left his tower and took up quarters
in some villages lying under the town of Parthenium.Here Xenophon's
party fell in with him, and took him prisoner, with his wife, his
children, his horses, and all that he had; and so the promise of the
earlier victims was literally fulfilled.After that they returned
again to Pergamus, and here Xenophon might well thank God with a warm
heart, for the Laconians, the officers, the other generals, and the
soldiers as a body united to give him the pick of horses and cattle
teams, and the rest; so that he was now in a position himself to do
another a good turn.Meanwhile Thibron arrived and received the troops which he
incorporated with the rest of his Hellenic forces, and so proceeded to
prosecute a war against Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus (7).add: "The following is a list of the governors of the
several territories of the king which were traversed by us during
the expedition: Artimas, governor of Lydia; Artacamas, of Phrygia;
Mithridates, of Lycaonia and Cappadocia; Syennesis, of Cilicia;
Dernes, of Phoenicia and Arabia; Belesys, of Syria and Assyria;
Rhoparas, of Babylon; Arbacus, of Media; Tiribazus, of the
Phasians and Hesperites.Then some independent tribes--the
Carduchians or Kurds, and Chalybes, and Chaldaeans, and Macrones,
and Colchians, and Mossynoecians, and Coetians, and Tibarenians.Then Corylas, the governor of Paphlagonia; Pharnabazus, of the
Bithynians; Seuthes, of the European Thracians.The entire
journey, ascent and descent, consisted of two hundred and fifteen
stages = one thousand one hundred and fifty-five parasangs =
thirty-four thousand six hundred and fifty stades.Computed in
time, the length of ascent and descent together amounted to one
year and three months."The annotator apparently computes the
distance from Ephesus to Cotyora.Most of the cottages were already in darkness, and lights in others went
out as they passed.John moved to the garden."It seems rather hard that we have got to lose a night's rest in order to
convince Barnes of the existence of ghosts," said White."It's in a good cause," said Meagle."A most worthy object; and
something seems to tell me that we shall succeed.You didn't forget the
candles, Lester?""I have brought two," was the reply; "all the old man could spare."There was but little moon, and the night was cloudy.The road between
high hedges was dark, and in one place, where it ran through a wood, so
black that they twice stumbled in the uneven ground at the side of it."Fancy leaving our comfortable beds for this!""Let
me see; this desirable residential sepulchre lies to the right, doesn't
it?""Farther on," said Meagle.They walked on for some time in silence, broken only by White's tribute
to the softness, the cleanliness, and the comfort of the bed which was
receding farther and farther into the distance.Under Meagle's guidance
they turned oft at last to the right, and, after a walk of a quarter of a
mile, saw the gates of the house before them.[Illustration: "They saw the gates of the house before them."]The lodge was almost hidden by overgrown shrubs and the drive was choked
with rank growths.Meagle leading, they pushed through it until the dark
pile of the house loomed above them."There is a window at the back where we can get in, so the landlord
says," said Lester, as they stood before the hall door.He felt for it in the darkness and gave a thundering rat-tat-tat at the
door."Don't play the fool," said Barnes crossly."Ghostly servants are all asleep," said Meagle gravely, "but I'll wake
them up before I've done with them.It's scandalous keeping us out here
in the dark."He plied the knocker again, and the noise volleyed in the emptiness
beyond.Then with a sudden exclamation he put out his hands and stumbled
forward."Why, it was open all the time," he said, with an odd catch in his voice."I don't believe it was open," said Lester, hanging back."Somebody is
playing us a trick."Barnes produced a box and struck one, and Meagle, shielding the candle
with his hand, led the way forward to the foot of the stairs."Shut the
door, somebody," he said, "there's too much draught.""It is shut," said White, glancing behind him.he inquired, looking from one
to the other."I did," said Lester, "but I don't remember shutting it--perhaps I did,
though."John went back to the kitchen.Meagle, about to speak, thought better of it, and, still carefully
guarding the flame, began to explore the house, with the others close
behind.Shadows danced on the walls and lurked in the corners as they
proceeded.At the end of the passage they found a second staircase, and
ascending it slowly gained the first floor.said Meagle, as they gained the landing.He held the candle forward and showed where the balusters had broken
away.Then he peered curiously into the void beneath."This is where the tramp hanged himself, I suppose," he said
thoughtfully."You've got an unwholesome mind," said White, as they walked on."This
place is qutie creepy enough without your remembering that.Now let's
find a comfortable room and have a little nip of whiskey apiece and a
pipe.He opened a door at the end of the passage and revealed a small square
room.Meagle led the way with the candle, and, first melting a drop or
two of tallow, stuck it on the mantelpiece.The others seated themselves
on the floor and watched pleasantly as White drew from his pocket a small
bottle of whiskey and a tin cup."I'll soon get some,"
said Meagle.He tugged violently at the bell-handle, and the rusty jangling of a bell
sounded from a distant kitchen."Don't play the fool," said Barnes roughly."I only wanted to convince you," he said kindly."There
ought to be, at any rate, one ghost in the servants' hall."said Meagle with a grin at the other two."Suppose we drop this game and go back," said Barnes suddenly."I don't
believe in spirits, but nerves are outside anybody's command.You may
laugh as you like, but it really seemed to me that I heard a door open
below and steps on the stairs."His voice was drowned in a roar of laughter."He is coming round," said Meagle with a smirk.Sandra moved to the hallway."By the time I have done
with him he will be a confirmed believer.Well, who will go and get some
water?"If there is any it might not be safe to drink after all these years,"
said Lester.Meagle nodded, and taking a seat on the floor held out his hand for the
cup.Pipes were lit and the clean, wholesome smell of tobacco filled the
room.White produced a pack of cards; talk and laughter rang through the
room and died away reluctantly in distant corridors."Empty rooms always delude me into the belief that I possess a deep
voice," said Meagle."To-morrow----"
He started up with a smothered exclamation as the light went out suddenly
and something struck him on the head.Barnes struck a match and relighting the candle stuck it on the
mantelpiece, and sitting down took up his cards again."Oh, I know; to-morrow I----"
"Listen!"said White, laying his hand on the other's sleeve."Upon my
word I really thought I heard a laugh."I keep fancying that I hear things too; sounds of
something moving about in the passage outside.I know it's only fancy,
but it's uncomfortable.""You go if you want to," said Meagle, "and we will play dummy.Or you
might ask the tramp to take your hand for you, as you go downstairs."He got up and, walking to the
half-closed door, listened."Go outside," said Meagle, winking at the other two."I'll dare you to
go down to the hall door and back by yourself."Barnes came back and, bending forward, lit his pipe at the candle."I am nervous but rational," he said, blowing out a thin cloud of smoke."My nerves tell me that there is something prowling up and down the long
passage outside; my reason tells me that it is all nonsense.He sat down again, and taking up his hand, looked through it carefully |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | "Your play, White," he said after a pause."Why, he is asleep," said Meagle.Lester, who was sitting next to him, took the sleeping man by the arm and
shook him, gently at first and then with some roughness; but White, with
his back against the wall and his head bowed, made no sign.Meagle
bawled in his ear and then turned a puzzled face to the others."He sleeps like the dead," he said, grimacing."Well, there are still
three of us to keep each other company."suppose----"
He broke off and eyed them trembling.White!_"
"It's no good," said Meagle seriously; "there's something wrong about
that sleep.""That's what I meant," said Lester; "and if he goes to sleep like that,
why shouldn't----"
Meagle sprang to his feet.John moved to the hallway."He's tired
out; that's all.Still, let's take him up and clear out.You take his
legs and Barnes will lead the way with the candle."Thought I heard somebody tap,"
he said with a shamefaced laugh.He sprang forward too late; Lester, with his face buried in his arms, had
rolled over on the floor fast asleep, and his utmost efforts failed to
awaken him."He--is--asleep," he stammered.Barnes, who had taken the candle from the mantel-piece, stood peering at
the sleepers in silence and dropping tallow over the floor.[Illustration: "Barnes, stood peering at the sleepers in silence and
dropping tallow over the floor."]"We must get out of this," said Meagle."We
can't leave them here--" he began."We must," said Meagle in strident tones."If you go to sleep I shall
go--Quick!He seized the other by the arm and strove to drag him to the door.Barnes shook him off, and putting the candle back on the mantelpiece,
tried again to arouse the sleepers."It's no good," he said at last, and, turning from them, watched Meagle."Don't you go to sleep," he said anxiously.Meagle shook his head, and they stood for some time in uneasy silence."May as well shut the door," said Barnes at last.Then at a scuffling noise behind
him he turned and saw Meagle in a heap on the hearthstone.John moved to the garden.With a sharp catch in his breath he stood motionless.Inside the room
the candle, fluttering in the draught, showed dimly the grotesque
attitudes of the sleepers.John went back to the kitchen.Beyond the door there seemed to his over-
wrought imagination a strange and stealthy unrest.He tried to whistle,
but his lips were parched, and in a mechanical fashion he stooped, and
began to pick up the cards which littered the floor.He stopped once or twice and stood with bent head listening.The unrest
outside seemed to increase; a loud creaking sounded from the stairs.He crossed to the door and flinging it open, strode
out into the corridor.Show
your faces--your infernal ugly faces!He laughed again and walked on; and the heap in the fireplace put out his
head tortoise fashion and listened in horror to the retreating footsteps.Not until they had become inaudible in the distance did the listeners'
features relax."Good Lord, Lester, we've driven him mad," he said in a frightened
whisper."Stop your fooling now; this is serious.He bent and surveyed them in angry bewilderment."All right," he said in
a trembling voice."You won't frighten me, you know."Sandra moved to the hallway.He turned away and walked with exaggerated carelessness in the direction
of the door.He even went outside and peeped through the crack, but the
sleepers did not stir.He glanced into the blackness behind, and then
came hastily into the room again.The stillness in the house
was horrible; he could not even hear them breathe.With a sudden
resolution he snatched the candle from the mantelpiece and held the flame
to White's finger.Then as he reeled back stupefied the footsteps again
became audible.He stood with the candle in his shaking hand listening.He heard them
ascending the farther staircase, but they stopped suddenly as he went to
the door.He walked a little way along the passage, and they went
scurrying down the stairs and then at a jog-trot along the corridor
below.He went back to the main staircase, and they ceased again.For a time he hung over the balusters, listening and trying to pierce the
blackness below; then slowly, step by step, he made his way downstairs,
and, holding the candle above his head, peered about him.Mary went back to the kitchen.Shaking with fright, he made his
way along the passage, and summoning up all his courage pushed open doors
and gazed fearfully into empty rooms.Then, quite suddenly, he heard the
footsteps in front of him.He followed slowly for fear of extinguishing the candle, until they led
him at last into a vast bare kitchen with damp walls and a broken floor.In front of him a door leading into an inside room had just closed.He
ran towards it and flung it open, and a cold air blew out the candle.[Illustration: "Into a vast bare kitchen with damp walls and a broken
floor."]He stood gazing into the darkness, and all the time
the idea of something close at hand watching was upon him.Then suddenly
the steps broke out overhead again.He drew back hastily, and passing through the kitchen groped his way
along the narrow passages.He could now see better in the darkness, and
finding himself at last at the foot of the staircase began to ascend it
noiselessly.He reached the landing just in time to see a figure
disappear round the angle of a wall.Still careful to make no noise, he
followed the sound of the steps until they led him to the top floor, and
he cornered the chase at the end of a short passage.A small circular window at the end of
the passage just softened the blackness and revealed the dim outlines of
a motionless figure.Meagle, in place of advancing, stood almost as
still as a sudden horrible doubt took possession of him.With his eyes
fixed on the shape in front he fell back slowly and, as it advanced upon
him, burst into a terrible cry.The echoes of his voice left the air quivering, but the figure before him
paid no heed.For a moment he tried to brace his courage up to endure
its approach, then with a smothered cry he turned and fled.The passages wound like a maze, and he threaded them blindly in a vain
search for the stairs.If he could get down and open the hall door----
He caught his breath in a sob; the steps had begun again.At a lumbering
trot they clattered up and down the bare passages, in and out, up and
down, as though in search of him.He stood appalled, and then as they
drew near entered a small room and stood behind the door as they rushed
by.He came out and ran swiftly and noiselessly in the other direction,
and in a moment the steps were after him.He found the long corridor and
raced along it at top speed.The stairs he knew were at the end, and
with the steps close behind he descended them in blind haste.The steps
gained on him, and he shrank to the side to let them pass, still
continuing his headlong flight.Then suddenly he seemed to slip off the
earth into space.Lester awoke in the morning to find the sunshine streaming into the room,
and White sitting up and regarding with some perplexity a badly blistered
finger."Gone, I suppose," said White.Lester arose, and stretching his stiffened limbs, dusted his clothes with
his hands, and went out into the corridor.At the noise
of their approach a figure which had been lying asleep at the other end
sat up and revealed the face of Barnes."Why, I've been asleep," he said
in surprise."Nice place to come for a nap," said Lester, severely, as he pointed to
the gap in the balusters.Another yard and where would you
have been?"He walked carelessly to the edge and looked over.In response to his
startled cry the others drew near, and all three stood gazing at the dead
man below.[Illustration: "All three stood gazing at the dead man below."]End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Toll-House, by W.W._Misera conditio nostra._”[183]
In 1814 Schopenhauer left Weimar to complete his great work.He was
convinced that he could and must open a new and only way to lead men of
mind and heart to truth; he felt in himself something more than mere
science, something demoniacal (_dämonisches_).In 1813 he had already said: “Beneath my hand, and still more in my
head, a work, a philosophy, is ripening, which will be at once an ethic
and a metaphysic, hitherto so unreasonably separated, just as man has
been divided into body and soul.The work grows, and gradually becomes
concrete, like the fœtus in its mother’s womb.I do not know what will
appear at last.I recognize a member, an organ, one part after another.I write without seeking for results, for I know that it all stands on
the same foundation, and will thus compose a vital and organic whole.I
do not understand the system of the work, just as a mother does not
understand the fœtus that develops in her bowels, but she feels it
tremble within her.My mind draws its food from the world by the medium
of intelligence and thought; this nourishment gives body to my work; and
yet I do not know why it should happen in me and not in others who
receive the same food.sovereign of this world, let me live in
peace for a few years yet, for I love my work as a mother loves her
child.When it is ripe and brought to the light, then exercise your
rights, and claim interest for the delay.But if, in this iron century,
I succumb before that hour, may these unripened principles and studies
be received by the world as they are, until perhaps some related mind
appears who will collect and unite the members.”
All the characteristic symptoms of the various steps that lead up to
insanity, the rapid passage from profound grief to excessive joy, may be
found in Schopenhauer.In a moment of tranquil reflection on himself, in
1814, after having found that men were “a soup of bread dipped in water
with a little arsenic,” and after having declared that “their egoism is
like that which binds the dog to his master,” he wrote: “And now do not
except yourself; examine your loves and your friendships; observe if
your objective judgments are not in great part subjective and impure.”
And in another page: “Just as the most beautiful body contains within it
fæcal and mephitic gases, so the noblest character offers traits of
badness, and the greatest genius presents traces of pettiness and
excessive pride.”
The same alternations may be found throughout his life; sometimes, a
keen and contemptuous critic, he shows haughty presumption; at other
times he descends to the lowest literary platitudes; sometimes he
wandered about the delightful suburbs of Dresden lost in the
contemplation of nature; at other times he wallowed in prosaic love
adventures, from which distinguished friends were obliged to save him,
and this while he was elaborating his great work, _Die Welt als Wille
und Vorstellung_, which was to astonish the world.“He thus,” remarks
Von Sedlitz, “gave the example of a _mania puerperii spiritualis_, such
as sometimes takes possession of pregnant women.” Schopenhauer himself
told Frauenstedt that at the time when he was writing his great work he
must have been very strange in his person and behaviour, as people took
him for a madman.One day when he was walking in a conservatory at
Dresden, and, while contemplating the plants, talked aloud to himself
and gesticulated, an attendant came up and asked him who he was.“If you
can tell me who I am,” replied Schopenhauer, “I shall be very much
obliged to you.” And he walked away leaving the astonished attendant
fully persuaded that he was a lunatic.Sandra travelled to the bedroom.With such a disposition it is not
surprising that Schopenhauer, like many prophets, believed that he was
impelled by a demon or spirit.“When my intelligence had touched its
apogee, and was, under favourable conditions, at its point of greatest
tension, it was capable of embracing anything; it could suddenly bring
forth revelations and give birth to chains of thought well worthy of
preservation.”[184] In 1816 he wrote: “It happens to me among men as to
Jesus of Nazareth when he had to awake his disciples always asleep.”
Even in old age he spoke of his great work in such a way as to exclude
all doubt as to the inspiration which had produced it, such a work only
being possible under the influence of inspiration.At that age he gazed
with astonishment at his work, especially at the fourth book, as at a
work written by some other person.It is worth while recalling here the
doubling of personality so common in men of genius.After he had handed his book over to the publisher he set out for Italy,
without awaiting its publication, with the proud faith that he had given
a revelation to the world.His _délire des grandeurs_ at this period
increased, and the mental disturbance he underwent revealed itself
later.He wrote: “In enchanting Venice, Love’s arms held me long
enfettered, until an inner voice bade me break free and lead my steps
elsewhere.” And again: “If I could only satisfy my desire to look upon
this race of toads and vipers as my equals, it would be a consolation to
me.” While oscillating between mental exaltation and depression he heard
of the collapse of his banking-house.It is easy to understand the
grief which this news caused him; he was reduced to the necessity of
living by philosophy, instead of for philosophy, as he had desired to
do.He twice sought to become a _Privatdozent_ in Berlin, but he was
unsuccessful in these attempts.His violent attacks on his
contemporaries displeased his hearers, and his passionate disputations,
and his tenacity in holding strange opinions, which he gave forth as
oracles, rendered precarious his relations with friends and men of
learning.The invasion of cholera, at the beginning of 1831, completed his
troubles.On the last night of 1830 he had already had a dream, which he
looked upon as a prophecy, foretelling his death in the new year.“This
dream,” he wrote in his _Cogitata_, “influenced me in my departure from
Berlin immediately the cholera began in 1831.I had scarcely reached
Frankfort-on-the-Main, when I had a very distinct vision of spirits.They were, as I think, my ancestors, and they announced to me that I
should survive my mother, at that time still living.My father, who was
dead, carried a light in his hand.” That this hallucination was
accompanied by real brain affection is proved by the fact that at that
time he “fell into deep melancholy, not speaking to any one for weeks
together.” The doctors were alarmed, and induced him to go to Mannheim
for change of scene.More than a year later he returned to Frankfort,
when the acute period of his illness had apparently passed.Signs of it
remained, however, in his peculiar bearing, his habit of gesticulating
and talking aloud to himself as he walked through the streets of the
city, or sat at table in the restaurant, and in his fury against “such
philosophasters as Hegel, Schleiermacher, and similar charlatans, who
shine like so many stars in the firmament of philosophy, and rule the
philosophic market.” He accused them of depriving him of the praise and
fame he deserved, by deliberately keeping silence concerning his work.This was a fixed idea with him, like the idea of his own infallibility,
even after he seemed to return |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | His _délire des grandeurs_, his melancholy accompanied by morbid rage,
born of the idea of persecution, had really shown themselves in him from
childhood.At six years of age he believed that his parents wished to
abandon him.One of the things which
caused him most trouble was noise, especially when produced by the whips
of drivers.“To be sensitive to noise,” he wrote, “is one of the
numerous misfortunes which discount the privilege of genius.” “_Qui non
habet indignationem_,” he wrote, “_non habet ingenium_.” But his
indignation was excessive, a morbid rage.One day when his landlady was
chattering in the anteroom he came out and shook her so violently that
he broke her arm, and was fined for damages.He was genuinely
hypochondriacal.He was driven from Naples by the fear of small-pox,
from Verona by the idea that he had been poisoned by snuff, from Berlin
by the dread of cholera, and previously by the conscription.John moved to the hallway.In 1831, he
had a fresh attack of restlessness; at the least sound in the street he
put his hand to his sword; his fear became real suffering; he could not
open a letter without suspecting some great misfortune; he would not
shave his beard, but burnt it; he hated women and Jews and philosophers,
especially philosophers, and loved dogs, remembering them in his will.He reasoned about everything, however unimportant; about his great
appetite, about the moonlight, which suggested quite illogical ideas to
him, &c. He believed in table-turning, and that magnetism could heal his
dog’s paws and restore his own hearing.One night the servant dreamt
that she had to wipe some ink stains; in the morning he spilt some, and
the great philosopher deduced that “everything happens necessarily.”
He was contradiction personified.He placed annihilation, _nirvana_, as
the final aim of life, and predicted (which means that he desired), one
hundred years of life.He preached sexual abstinence as a duty, but did
not himself practise it.He who had suffered so much from the
intolerance of others, insulted Moleschott and Büchner, and rejoiced
when the Government deprived them of their professorial chairs.He lived on the first storey, in case of fire; would not trust himself
to his hairdresser; hid gold in the ink-pot, and letters of change
beneath the bed-clothes.John moved to the garden.“When I have no troubles,” he said (like
Rousseau), “it is then that I am most afraid.” He feared to touch a
razor; a glass that was not his own might communicate some disease; he
wrote business documents in Greek or Latin or Sanskrit, and disseminated
them in books to prevent unforeseen and impossible curiosity, which
would have been much easier avoided by a simple lock and key.Though he
regarded himself as the victim of a vast conspiracy of professors of
philosophy, concerted at Gotha, to preserve silence concerning his
books, he yet dreaded lest they should speak of them; “I would rather
that worms should gnaw my body than that professors should gnaw my
philosophy.” Lacking all affection, he even insulted his mother, and
drew from her example conclusions against the whole female sex, “long of
hair and short of sense.” Yet, while despising monogamy, he recommended
tetragamy, to which he saw but one objection--the four mothers-in-law.The same lack of affection made him despise patriotism, “the passion of
fools, and the most foolish of passions;” he took part with the soldiers
against the people, and to the former and to his dog he left his
property.He was always preoccupied with himself, not only with the self
that was the creator of a new system, but in hundreds of his letters he
speaks with strange complaisance of his photograph, of his portrait in
oils and of a person who had bought it “in order to place it in a kind
of chapel, like the image of a saint.”
No one has, for the rest, maintained more openly than Schopenhauer, the
relationship of genius to insanity.“People of genius,” he wrote, “are
not only unpleasant in practical life, but weak in moral sense and
wicked.” And elsewhere: “Such men can have but few friends; solitude
reigns on the summits.... Genius is closer to madness than to ordinary
intelligence.... The lives of men of genius show how often, like
lunatics, they are in a state of continual agitation.”
* * * * *
Nicolaï Vasilyevitch Gogol (born 1809), after suffering from an unhappy
love affair, gave himself up for many years to unrestrained onanism, and
became eventually a great novelist.Having known Poushkin he was
attracted to the short story, then he fell under the influence of the
Moscow school, and became a humourist of the highest order.In his _Dead
Souls_ he satirises the Russian bureaucracy with so much _vis comica_ as
to show the need of putting an end to a form of government which is a
martyrdom both for the victims and the executioners.On the publication of his historical Cossack romance, _Taras Bulba_, he
reached the summit of his fame.His admirers compared him to Homer; even
the Government patronized him.Then a new idea began to dominate him; he
thought that he painted his country with so much crudity and realism
that the picture might incite to a revolution which would not be kept
within reasonable limits, and might overturn society, religion, and the
family, leaving him the remorse of having provoked it.This idea took
possession of his mind and dominated it, as it had formerly been
dominated by love, by the drama, and by the novel.John went back to the kitchen.He then sought by his
writings to combat western liberalism, but the antidote attracted fewer
readers than the poison.Then he abandoned work, shut himself up in his
house, giving himself up to prayer to the saints, and supplicating them
to obtain God’s pardon for his revolutionary sins.He accomplished a
pilgrimage to Jerusalem, from which he returned somewhat consoled, when
the revolution of 1848 broke out, and his remorse was again aroused.He
was constantly pursued by visions of the triumph of Nihilism, and in his
alarm he called on Holy Russia to overthrow the pagan West, and to found
on its ruins the orthodox Panslavist empire.In 1852, the great novelist
was found dead at Moscow of exhaustion, or rather of tabes dorsalis, in
front of the shrine before which he was accustomed to lie for days in
silent prayer._THE CAUSES OF GENIUS._
CHAPTER I.
METEOROLOGICAL INFLUENCES ON GENIUS.The influence of weather on the insane--Sensitiveness of men of
genius to barometrical conditions--Sensitiveness to thermometrical
conditions._The Influence of Weather on the Insane._--A series of clinical
researches, which I carried on for six consecutive years, has shown me
with certainty that the mental condition of the insane is modified in a
constant manner by barometrical and thermometrical influences.[185] When
the temperature rose above 25°, 30°, and 32° C., especially if the rise
was sudden, the number of maniacal attacks increased from 29 to 50.Sandra moved to the hallway.On
the days on which the barometer showed sudden variations, especially of
elevation--and more particularly two or three days before and after the
variation--the number of maniacal attacks rapidly increased from 34 to
46.This meteoric sensibility, as I term it, increased in an inverse
ratio to the integrity of the nervous tissues, being very great in
idiots and slightest in monomaniacs.The study of 23,602 lunatics has
shown me that the development of insanity generally coincides with the
increase of monthly temperature and with the great barometrical
perturbations in September and March; the onset of heat, acts more
efficaciously, however, than the intense heat which follows; and the
heat which has become habitual in August acts much less harmfully.The
minimum number of outbreaks of insanity is found in the coldest months.This coincidence is seen best in the French lunatics studied by
Esquirol.[186] The French figures present with most clearness the effect
of thermometrical influences, because in France the entry of lunatics
into asylums, being little impeded by red-tapeism, follows closely on
the outbreak.--------+----------------+---------++--------+----------------+----------
| INSANE.Mary went back to the kitchen.| || | INSANE.+-------+--------+ Tempera-|| Month.+-------+--------+ Tempera-
| Italy.| France.| ture.|| | Italy.| France.| ture.--------+-------+--------+---------++--------+-------+--------+---------
June | 2,704 | 55 | 21° 29C.|| October|1,637 | 44 | 12° 77C.May | 2,642 | 58 | 16° 75C.|| Sept.|1,604 | 48 | 19° 00C.July | 2,614 | 52 | 23° 75C.|| Dec.|1,529 | 35 | 1° 01C.August | 2,261 | 45 | 21° 92C.|| Feb.|1,420 | 40 | 5° 73C.April | 2,237 | 50 | 16° 12C.|| Jan.|1,476 | 42 | 1° 63C.March | 1,829 | 49 | 6° 60C.|| Nov.|1,452 | 47 | 7° 17C.--------+-------+--------+---------++--------+-------+--------+--------
Now, a similar influence may be noted in those to whom nature,
benevolently or malevolently, has conceded the power of intellect more
generously than to others.There are few among these who do not confess
that their inspiration is strangely subject to the influence of weather.Those who associate with them, or who read their correspondence, know
that they suffer so greatly from this cause that they often complain to
every one, and struggle, with the help of various artifices, against the
malignant influences which impede the free flight of their thought.Sandra travelled to the bedroom._Sensitiveness to Barometrical Conditions._--Montaigne wrote: “_Si la
santé me sied et la clarté d’un beau jour, me voilà honnête homme_.”
Diderot wrote, “_Il me semble que j’ai l’esprit fou dans les grands
vents_.” Giordani foretold storms two days beforehand.Mary went back to the bathroom.Mary went to the kitchen.[187] Maine de
Biran, a very spiritualistic philosopher, wrote, in his _Journal de ma
Vie Intime_, “I do not know how it is that in bad weather I feel my
intelligence and will so unlike what they are in fine weather;” and
again, “There are days in which my thought seems to break through the
veils which surround it.In some conditions of the weather I feel
delight in good, and adore virtue; at other times I am indifferent to
everything, even to my duties.Are our sentiments, our affections, our
principles, related to the physical condition of our organs?”[188] The
study of his _Journal_ shows us the justice of his doubts.In April we find two periods of good inspiration and four of bad,
although the weather was fine; in May he was constantly sad, and in
November only cheerful during ten days.“_1815, May._--I am suffering from the nervous disposition which I
experience in spring; and though wishing to do too much, I do
nothing....
“_23 May._--I am happy because of the air that I breathe and the birds
that are singing; but inspiration passes away through the senses.Each
season has not merely special forms of sensation, but a certain way of
understanding life which is peculiar to it....
“_17 May._--Irresistible pleasure of thought: inspiration....
“_4, 16, 17 October._--Empty of ideas; sad....
“_1816, 25 January._--Sad and idle.My life is useless....
“_24 April._--I am another man.At this
time of the year something seems to lift the soul to another region, and
to give it strength to surmount all impediments....
“_1817, 13 April._--Excited....
“_7 May._--Working on Condillac....
“_10, 18 July._--Marvellous activity....
“_12 October._--Am transformed; thought turns to commonplace
triviality....
“_22, 23, 28 November._--Sterile agitation.Alteration of all my mental
faculties....
“_1818, 1 April._--Northerly wind.Am weary, sad, suffering, stolid....
“_1820, 31 March._--At this time of the year it always happens to me
that body and mind are alike heavy; I have the consciousness of my
degradation....
“_1821, May._--All this month I am sad, and yield to external causes
like a marionette....
“_21 October._--I feel myself newborn.I was returning to work, but the
weather has changed; the wind has turned to the south; it is strong, and
I am another man.I feel inert, with a distaste for work, and inclined
to those sad and melancholy fantasies which are always so fatal to
me....”
Alfieri wrote, “I compare myself to a barometer.I have always
experienced more or less facility in writing, according to the weight of
the air; absolute stupidity in the great solstitial and equinoxial
winds, infinitely less perspicacity in the evening than in the morning,
and a much greater aptness for creation in the middle of the winter or
of summer than in the intermediate seasons.This has made me humble, as
I am convinced that at these times I have had no power to do otherwise.”
Monod says that the phases of Michelet’s intellectual life followed the
course of the seasons.[189] Poushkin’s poetic inspiration was greatest
during dark and stormy nights.We catch a glimpse in these facts of an appreciable influence of
barometrical conditions upon men of genius as upon the insane._Heat._--Thermometrical influence is much clearer and more evident.Napoleon, who defined man as “a product of the physical atmosphere and
the moral atmosphere,” and who suffered from the faintest wind, loved
heat so much that he would have fires even in July.Voltaire and Buffon
had their studies warmed throughout the year.Rousseau said that the
action of the sun in the dog-days aided him to compose, and he allowed
the rays of the mid-day sun to fall on his head.Byron said that he
feared cold as much as a gazelle.Heine wrote in one of his letters, “It
snows; I have little fire in the room, and my letter is cold.”
Spallanzani, in the Ionian Islands, found himself able to study for
three times as many hours as in misty Pavia.[190] Leopardi confesses in
his letters, “My temperament is inimical to cold.I wait and invoke the
reign of Ormuzd.” Giusti wrote in the spring, “Inspiration is becoming
favourable.... If spring aids me as in all other things....” |
garden | Where is Daniel? | Similar facts are told of Varillas, Méry, and Arnaud.Sylvester tells how, when on board the _Invicta_, beneath the vivifying
rays of a powerful sun, the method of resolving a multiple equation
occurred to him, and he succeeded, without pen or pencil.[192] Lesage,
in his old age, became animated as the sun advanced in the meridian,
gradually gaining his imaginative power, together with his cheerfulness;
as the day declined, his mental activity gradually diminished, until he
fell into a lethargy, which lasted to the following day.[193]
Giordani could only compose in the sun, or in the presence of abundant
light and great heat.[194] Foscolo wrote in November: “I keep near the
fire; my friends laugh at me, but I am seeking to give my members heat
which my heart will concentrate and sublime within.”[195] And in
December he writes: “My natural infirmity, the fear of cold, has
constrained me to live near the fire, and the fire has inflamed my
eyelids.” Milton confessed in his Latin elegies that in winter his muse
was sterile; he could only write from the spring equinox to that of
autumn.In a letter he complains of the cold of 1678, and fears that, if
it lasts, it will hinder the free development of his imagination.Johnson, who tells us this in his _Life of Milton_, may be believed on
this point, for imagination never smiled upon him, only the cold and
tranquil intelligence of criticism, and he adds the commentary that all
this must be the result of eccentricity of character, he, Johnson, never
having experienced any effects from the variations of the weather.Poushkin often said that he found himself most disposed to composition
in autumn; the brilliant spring sunshine produced on him an impression
of melancholy.Salvator Rosa laughed in youth, as Lady Morgan tells us
in her _Life_, at the pretended influence of the weather on works of
genius; but in old age he became incapable of painting or thinking,
almost of living, except in the heat of spring.In reading Schiller’s
correspondence with Goethe one is struck by the singular influence which
the gentle and imaginative poet attributed to the weather.In November,
1817, he wrote: “In these sad days, beneath this leaden sky, I have need
of all my elasticity to feel alive, and do not yet feel capable of
serious work.” And in December: “I am going back to work, but the
weather is so dull that it is impossible to preserve the lucidity of the
soul.” In July, 1818: “Thanks to the fine weather I am better; the lyric
inspiration, which obeys the will less than any other, does not delay.”
In December he complains that the necessity of completing _Wallenstein_
unfortunately coincides with an unfavourable period of the year, “so
that,” he writes, “I am obliged to use all my strength to preserve
mental clearness.” And in May, 1799: “I hope to make progress in my work
if the weather continues fine.”
All these examples allow us to suspect, with some probability, that
heat, with rare exceptions, aids in the productions of genius, as it
aids in vegetation, and also aids, unfortunately, in the stimulation of
mania.John moved to the hallway.John moved to the garden.If historians, who have squandered so much time and so many volumes in
detailing minutely to us the most shameless exploits of kings, had
sought with as much care the memorable epoch in which a great discovery
or a masterpiece of art was conceived, they would no doubt have found
that the hottest months and days have always been most fruitful for
genius, as for nature generally.Let us endeavour to find more precise proofs of this little-suspected
influence.Dante wrote his first sonnet on the 15th of June, 1282; in the spring of
1300 he wrote the _Vita Nuova_; on the 3rd of April he began his great
poem.[196] Darwin had the earliest ideas of his great work first in
March, then in June.[197] Petrarch conceived the _Africa_ in March,
1338.Michelangelo’s great cartoon, the work which so competent a judge
as Cellini considered his most wonderful masterpiece, was imagined and
executed between April and July, 1506.Manzoni wrote his _5 Maggio_ in
summer.Milton’s great poem was conceived in the spring.Galileo
discovered Saturn’s ring in April, 1611.Balzac wrote _La Cousine Bette_
in August and September, _Père Goriot_ in September, _La Recherche de
l’Absolu_ in June to September.Sterne began _Tristram Shandy_ in
January, the first of his sermons in April, the famous one on errors of
conscience in May.[198] Giordano Bruno composed his _Candelajo_ in July;
and in his witty dedication he attributed it to the heat of the
dog-days.Voltaire wrote _Tancred_ in August.Byron wrote the fourth
canto of _Childe Harold_ in September, his _Prophecy of Dante_ in June,
his _Prisoner of Chillon_ during the summer in Switzerland.Giusti wrote
of _Gingillino_ and _Pero_: “Here are the only leaves that April has
drawn out of my head after fourteen months of idleness.” Schiller, it
appears from his letters to Goethe, conceived _Don Carlos_ and
_Wallenstein_ in the autumn, as well as _Fiesco_ and _Wilhelm Tell_;
_Wallensteins Lager_ and _Letters on Æsthetics_ in September; _Kabale
und Liebe_ in winter; the _Magician_, the _Glove_, the _Ring of
Polycrates_, the _Cranes of Ibycus_, and _Nadowessir’s Song_ in June;
the _Jungfrau von Orleans_ in July.Goethe wrote _Werther_ in autumn;
_Mignon_ and other lyric poems in May; _Cellini_, _Alexis_,
_Euphrosyne_, _Metamorphosis of Plants_, and _Parnass_ in June and July;
the _Xenien_, _Hermann und Dorothea_, _Westöstlichen Divan_, and
_Natürliche Tochter_ in winter.In the first days of March, 1788, which,
he wrote, were worth more to him than a whole month, he dictated,
besides other poems, the beginning of _Faust_.[199] Salorno’s hymn to
Liberty was written in May.Rossini composed the _Semiramide_ almost
entirely in February, and in November the last part of the _Stabat
Mater_.[200] Mozart composed the _Mitridate_ in October; Beethoven his
ninth symphony in February.[201] Donizetti composed _Lucia di
Lammermoor_, perhaps entirely, in September; in any case, the famous _Tu
che a Dio spiegasti l’ale_ belongs to that date; the _Figlia del
Reggimento_ was also composed in autumn; _Linda de Chamounix_ in spring;
_Rita_ in summer; _Don Pasquale_ and the _Miserere_ in winter.John went back to the kitchen.[202]
Wagner composed _Der Fliegende Holländer_ in the spring of 1841.Canova
modelled his first work, Orpheus and Eurydice, in October.Sandra moved to the hallway.[203]
Michelangelo conceived his _Pietà_ between September and October,
1498,[204] the design of the Libreria in December, the model in wood of
the tomb of Pope Julius in August.[205] Leonardo da Vinci conceived the
equestrian statue of the Sforza and began his book _Della luce e delle
Ombre_ in April; for we find in his autograph manuscript these words:
“On April the 23rd, 1492, I commenced this book and recommenced the
horse.” On the 2nd of July, 1491, he designed the pavilion of the
Duchess’s Bath; on the 3rd of March, 1509, St.Mary went back to the kitchen.[206]
The first idea of the discovery of America came to Columbus between May
and June, in 1474, in the form of a search for the western passage to
India.[207] Galileo discovered the sun’s spots contemporaneously with,
or before, Scheiner in April, 1611;[208] in December, 1610, and even in
September (since he speaks of his observation having been made three
months previously), he discovered the analogy between the phases of
Venus and those of the moon; in May, 1609, he invented the
telescope;[209] in July, 1610, he discovered two stars, afterwards found
to be the most luminous points of Saturn’s ring, a discovery which,
according to his custom, he expressed in verse:--
“_Altissimum planetam tergeminum observavi._”
In January he found Jupiter’s satellites; in November, 1602, the
isochronism of the oscillations of the pendulum.[210]
Kepler discovered the law which bears his name in May, 1618; the
discovery of Zucchi regarding Jupiter took place in May; that of Tycho
Brahe in November.Fabricius discovered the first changing star in
August, 1546.Sandra travelled to the bedroom.Cassini discovered the spots which indicate the rotation
of Venus in October and April (1666-67), and in October, December, and
March (1671, 1672, 1684) four satellites of Saturn.Herschel discovered
two in March, 1789.Mary went back to the bathroom.In June, 1631, Hevelius conceived the first ideas of
selenography.[211] A satellite of Saturn was discovered by Huygens on
the 25th of March, 1665; another by Dawes and Bond on the night of the
19th of September, 1848.Two satellites of Uranus were discovered by
Herschel in 1787; one of them, considered as doubtful by Herschel, was
again discovered by Struve and Lassel in October, 1847; the last, Ariel,
was discovered by Lassel on the 14th of September, 1847; on the 8th of
July in the same year he had also seen Neptune’s satellite for the first
time.[212] Uranus was discovered by Herschel in March, 1781.The same
astronomer observed the moon’s volcanoes in April.Bradley discovered in
September (1728) the aberration of light, Enke’s and Vico’s fine
observations on Saturn took place in March and April (1735-38).Of the
comets discovered by Gambart, three were in July, two in March and in
May, one in January, April, June, August, October, December.[213] The
last three comets discovered in 1877 were perceived in October,
February, and September; in August Hall observed the satellites of Mars.Schiaparelli’s discovery on falling stars dates from August, 1866.We read in Malpighi’s journal that in July he made his great
discoveries in the suprarenal glands.Mary went to the kitchen.It is curious to observe how some
one month predominates in certain years: for example, January in 1788
and 1790, and June in 1771, during which he made thirteen
discoveries.[214]
The first idea of the barometer came to Torricelli in May, 1645, as may
be seen by his letters to Ricci; in March, 1644, he had made the
discovery, of great moment at that time, of the best way of making
glasses for spectacles.The first experiments of Pascal on the
equilibrium of fluids were made in September, 1645.[215] In March, 1752,
Franklin began his experiments with lightning conductors, and concluded
them in September.Goethe declared that it was in May that his original ideas on the theory
of colours arose, and in June that he made his fine observations on the
metamorphoses of plants.[216] Hamilton discovered the calculus of
Quaternions on the 16th of October, 1843.Volta invented the electric pile in the beginning of winter, 1799-1800.In the spring of 1775 he invented the electrophore.In the first days of
November, 1784, he discovered the production of hydrogen in organic
fermentations.His invention of the eudiometer took place in the spring,
about May.In April of the same year (1777) Volta wrote to Barletta the
famous letter in which he divined the electric telegraph.In the spring
of 1788 he constructed his great conductor.Luigi Brugnatelli found out galvanoplasty in November, 1806, as is shown
by a letter which the advocate Zanino Volta found in the correspondence
of his grandfather.Nicholson discovered the oxydation of metals by
means of the Voltaic pile, in the summer of 1800.From the examination of Galvani’s manuscripts it appears that his
studies on intestinal gases began in December, 1713.His first studies
on the action of atmospheric electricity on the nerves of cold-blooded
animals were undertaken, as he himself writes, “at the 20th hour of the
26th of April, 1776.” In September, 1786, he began his experiments on
the contractions of frogs, whence the origin of galvanism.In November,
1780, he stated his experiments on the contractions of frogs by
artificial electricity.[217]
We see by Lagrange’s manuscripts, published by Boncompagni, that he had
the first idea of the Calculus of Variations on the 12th of June, 1755;
on the 19th of May (1756) he conceived the idea of the _Mécanique
Analitique_; in November, 1759, he found a solution of the problem of
vibrating cords.[218]
From the manuscripts of Spallanzani, which I have been able to examine
in the Communal Library at Reggio, it appears that his observations on
moulds began on the 26th of September, 1770.On the 8th of May, 1780,
Spallanzani started, to use his own words, “the study of animals which
are torpid through the action of cold;” in April and May, 1776, he
discovered the parthenogenesis of certain animals.The 2nd of April,
1780, was the richest day in experiments, or rather deductions, on the
subject of ovulation.“It becomes clear,” he wrote on this same day,
after having made forty-three observations, “that the ova are not
fecundated in the womb; that the sperm cells after emission remain apt
for fecundation for a certain time, that the vesicular fluid fecundates
as well as the seminal, that wine and vinegar are opposed to
fecundation.” “Impatience,” adds this curious manuscript, which enables
us to assist at the incubation of these wonderful experiments, “will not
allow me to draw any more corollaries.” On the 7th of May, 1780, he
discovered that an infinitely small amount of semen sufficed for
fecundation.A letter to Bonnet shows that Spallanzani had, during the
spring of 1771, the idea of studying the action of the heart on the
circulation.Daniel journeyed to the garden.In March, 1773, he undertook his studies on rotifera, and
in his manuscripts for May, 1781, may be found a plan of 161 new
experiments on the artificial fecundation of frogs.John journeyed to the bathroom.Géoffroy Saint-Hilaire had his first ideas on the homologies of
organisms in February.Humboldt made
his first observations on the magnetic needle in November, 1796; in
March, 1793, he observed the irritability of organic fibres.[219] The
prolegomena of the _Cosmos_ was dictated in October.[ |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | [221] In September, 1846, Morton used sulphuric
ether as an anæsthetic in surgery.In October, 1840, Armstrong invented
the first hydro-electric machine.[222]
Matteucci made his experiments with the galvanoscope in July, 1830; on
torpedoes in the spring of 1836; on electro-motor muscles in July, 1837;
on the decomposition of acids in May, 1835, he determined in May, 1837,
the influence of electricity on the weather; in June, 1833, he concluded
his experiments on heat and magnetism.[223]
The reader who has had the patience to follow this wearisome catalogue
to the end, may convince himself that many men of genius have, as it
were, a specific chronology; that is to say, a tendency to make their
most numerous observations, to accomplish their finest discoveries, or
their best æsthetic productions, at a special season or in one month
rather than another: Spallanzani in the spring, Giusti and Arcangeli in
March, Lamartine in August, Carcano, Byron, and Alfieri in September,
Malpighi and Schiller in June and July, Hugo in May, Béranger in
January, Belli in November, Melli in April, Volta in November and
December, Galvani in April, Gambart in July, Peters in August, Luther in
March and April, Watson in September.A more general kind of specific chronology, a sort of intellectual
calendar, is presented when we sum up various intellectual
creations--poetry, music, sculpture, natural discoveries--of which the
date of conception can be precisely fixed.This may be seen from the
following table:--
----------+----------+-----------------+--------------+--------
| | | Physical, |
| Literary | | Chemical, |
Month.| and | Astronomical | and | Total.[224]| Mathematical |
| Works.| | Discoveries.Daniel went to the bedroom.Hence came many calls, and many conferences with Rose in the library,
to Mrs.Van Astrachan’s great satisfaction, and concerning which Mr.Van Astrachan had many suppressed chuckles and knowing winks at Polly.“Now, pa, don’t you say a word,” said Mrs.I see a great deal, but I say nothing,” said
the good gentleman, with a jocular quiver of his portly person.“I
don’t say any thing,—oh, no!by no manner of means.”
Neither at present did Harry; neither do we.Daniel went to the kitchen._SENTIMENT v. SENSIBILITY._
THE poet has feelingly sung the condition of
“The banquet hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled, and garlands dead,” &c.,
and so we need not cast the daylight of minute description on the
Follingsbee mansion.Charlie Ferrola, however, was summoned away at early daylight, just
as the last of the revellers were dispersing, by a hurried messenger
from his wife; and, a few moments after he entered his house, he
was standing beside his dying baby,—the little fellow whom we have
seen brought down on Mrs.Ferrola’s arm, to greet the call of Mrs.It is an awful thing for people of the flimsy, vain, pain-shunning,
pleasure-seeking character of Charlie Ferrola, to be taken at times,
as such people will be, in the grip of an inexorable power, and held
face to face with the sternest, the most awful, the most frightful
realities of life.Charlie Ferrola was one of those whose softness and
pitifulness, like that of sentimentalists generally, was only one form
of intense selfishness.The sight of suffering pained him; and his
first impulse was to get out of the way of it.Suffering that he did
not see was nothing to him; and, if his wife or children were in any
trouble, he would have liked very well to have known nothing about it.But here he was, by the bedside of this little creature, dying in the
agonies of slow suffocation, rolling up its dark, imploring eyes, and
lifting its poor little helpless hands; and Charlie Ferrola broke out
into the most violent and extravagant demonstrations of grief.The pale, firm little woman, who had watched all night, and in whose
tranquil face a light as if from heaven was beaming, had to assume the
care of him, in addition to that of her dying child.He was another
helpless burden on her hands.There came a day when the house was filled with white flowers, and
people came and went, and holy words were spoken; and the fairest
flower of all was carried out, to return to the house no more.“That woman is a most unnatural and peculiar woman!” said Mrs.Follingsbee, who had been most active and patronizing in sending
flowers, and attending to the scenic arrangements of the funeral.“It
is just what I always said: she is a perfect statue; she’s no kind of
feeling.so sick that he had to go to
bed, perfectly overcome, and have somebody to sit up with him; and
there was that woman never shed a tear,—went round attending to every
thing, just like a piece of clock-work.Well, I suppose people are
happier for being made so; people that have no sensibility are better
fitted to get through the world.I can’t understand
such people.There she stood at the grave, looking so calm, when
Charlie was sobbing so that he could hardly hold himself up.Well, it
really wasn’t respectable.I think, at least, I would keep my veil
down, and keep my handkerchief up.he came to me at last;
and I gave way.I was completely broken down, I must confess.he told me there was no conceiving his misery.That baby was
the very idol of his soul; all his hopes of life were centred in it.He said that he really
could not talk with his wife on the subject.He could not enter into
her submission at all; it seemed to him like a want of feeling.He said
of course it wasn’t her fault that she was made one way and he another.”
In fact, Mr.Charlie Ferrola took to the pink satin boudoir with a
more languishing persistency than ever, requiring to be stayed with
flagons, and comforted with apples, and receiving sentimental calls
of condolence from fair admirers, made aware of the intense poignancy
of his grief.A lovely poem, called “My Withered Blossom,” which
appeared in a fashionable magazine shortly after, was the out-come of
this experience, and increased the fashionable sympathy to the highest
degree.Van Astrachan, however, though not acquainted with Mrs.Ferrola, went to the funeral with Rose; and the next day her carriage
was seen at Mrs.“You poor little darling!” she said, as she came up and took Mrs.“You must let me come, and not mind me; for I know
all about it.I lost the dearest little baby once; and I have never
forgotten it.there, darling!” she said, as the little woman
broke into sobs in her arms.it will do your little
heart good.”
There are people who, wherever they move, freeze the hearts of those
they touch, and chill all demonstration of feeling; and there are warm
natures, that unlock every fountain, and bid every feeling gush forth.The reader has seen these two types in this story.* * * * *
“Wife,” said Mr.Van Astrachan, coming to Mrs.V. confidentially a day
or two after, “I wonder if you remember any of your French.What is a
_liaison_?”
“Really, dear,” said Mrs.Van Astrachan, whose reading of late years
had been mostly confined to such memoirs as that of Mrs.Isabella
Graham, Doddridge’s “Rise and Progress,” and Baxter’s “Saint’s Rest,”
“it’s a great while since I read any French.What do you want to know
for?”
“Well, there’s Ben Stuyvesant was saying this morning, in Wall Street,
that there’s a great deal of talk about that Mrs.Follingsbee and that
young fellow whose baby’s funeral you went to.Ben says there’s a
_liaison_ between her and him.I didn’t ask him what ’twas; but it’s
something or other with a French name that makes talk, and I don’t
think it’s respectable!I’m sorry that you and Rose went to her party;
but then that can’t be helped now.Follingsbee is
no sort of a woman, after all.”
“But, pa, I’ve been to call on Mrs.Ferrola, poor little afflicted
thing!” said Mrs.“I couldn’t help it!You know how we
felt when little Willie died.”
“Oh, certainly, Polly!call on the poor woman by all means, and do all
you can to comfort her; but, from all I can find out, that handsome
jackanapes of a husband of hers is just the poorest trash going.They
say this Follingsbee woman half supports him.The time was in New York
when such doings wouldn’t be allowed; and I don’t think calling things
by French names makes them a bit better.So you just be careful, and
steer as clear of her as you can.”
“I will, pa, just as clear as I can; but you know Rose is a friend of
Mrs.Follingsbee’s.”
“Her husband oughtn’t to let her stay there another day,” said Mr.“It’s as much as any woman’s reputation is worth to be
staying with her.To think of that fellow being dancing and capering at
that Jezebel’s house the night his baby was dying!”
“Oh, but, pa, he didn’t know it.”
“Know it?What business has a man to get
a woman with a lot of babies round her, and then go capering off?’Twasn’t the way I did, Polly, you know, when our babies were young.I
was always on the spot there, ready to take the baby, and walk up and
down with it nights, so that you might get your sleep; and I always had
it my side of the bed half the night.I’d like to have seen myself out
at a ball, and you sitting up with a sick baby!I tell you, that if I
caught any of my boys up to such tricks, I’d cut them out of my will,
and settle the money on their wives;—that’s what I would!”
“Well, pa, I shall try and do all in my power for poor Mrs.Ferrola,”
said Mrs.Van Astrachan; “and you may be quite sure I won’t take
another step towards Mrs.Follingsbee’s acquaintance.”
“It’s a pity,” said Mr.Van Astrachan, “that somebody couldn’t put it
into Mr.John Seymour’s head to send for his wife home.“I don’t see, for my part, what respectable women want to be
gallivanting and high-flying on their own separate account for, away
from their husbands!Goods that are sold shouldn’t go back to the
shop-windows,” said the good gentleman, all whose views of life were of
the most old-fashioned, domestic kind.“Well, dear, we don’t want to talk to Rose about any of this scandal,”
said his wife.“No, no; it would be a pity to put any thing bad into a nice girl’s
head,” said Mr.“You might caution her in a general way,
you know; tell her, for instance, that I’ve heard of things that make
me feel you ought to draw off.Why can’t some bird of the air tell
that little Seymour woman’s husband to get her home?”
The little Seymour woman’s husband, though not warned by any particular
bird of the air, was not backward in taking steps for the recall of his
wife, as shall hereafter appear._WEDDING BELLS._
SOME weeks had passed in Springdale while these affairs had been going
on in New York.The time for the marriage of Grace had been set; and
she had gone to Boston to attend to that preparatory shopping which
even the most sensible of the sex discover to be indispensable on such
occasions.Grace inclined, in the centre of her soul, to Bostonian rather than
New-York preferences.She had the innocent impression that a classical
severity and a rigid reticence of taste pervaded even the rebellious
department of feminine millinery in the city of the Pilgrims,—an idea
which we rather think young Boston would laugh down as an exploded
superstition, young Boston’s leading idea at the present hour being
apparently to outdo New York in New York’s imitation of Paris.In fact, Grace found it very difficult to find a milliner who, if left
to her own devices, would not befeather and beflower her past all
self-recognition, giving to her that generally betousled and fly-away
air which comes straight from the _demi-monde_ of Paris.We apprehend that the recent storms of tribulation which have beat
upon those fairy islands of fashion may scatter this frail and fanciful
population, and send them by shiploads on missions of civilization to
our shores; in which case, the bustle and animation and the brilliant
display on the old turnpike, spoken of familiarly as the “broad road,”
will be somewhat increased.Grace however managed, by the exercise of a good individual taste,
to come out of these shopping conflicts in good order,—a handsome,
well-dressed, charming woman, with everybody’s best wishes for, and
sympathy in, her happiness.Lillie was summoned home by urgent messages from her husband, calling
her back to take her share in wedding festivities.She left willingly; for the fact is that her last conversation with her
cousin Harry had made the situation as uncomfortable to her as if he
had unceremoniously deluged her with a pailful of cold water.There is a chilly, disagreeable kind of article, called common sense,
which is of all things most repulsive and antipathetical to all petted
creatures whose life has consisted in flattery.It is the kind of talk
which sisters are very apt to hear from brothers, and daughters from
fathers and mothers, when fathers and mothers do their duty by them;
which sets the world before them as it is, and not as it is painted by
flatterers.Those women who prefer the society of gentlemen, and who
have the faculty of bewitching their senses, never are in the way of
hearing from this cold matter-of-fact region; for them it really does
not exist.Every phrase that meets their ear is polished and softened,
guarded and delicately turned, till there is not a particle of homely
truth left in it.They pass their time in a world of illusions; they
demand these illusions of all who approach them, as the sole condition
of peace and favor.All gentlemen, by a sort of instinct, recognize the
woman who lives by flattery, and give her her portion of meat in due
season; and thus some |
office | Where is Mary? | It is only by some extraordinary power of
circumstances that a man can be found to invade the sovereignty of a
pretty woman with any disagreeable tidings; or, as Junius says, “to
instruct the throne in the language of truth.” Harry was brought up
to this point only by such a concurrence of circumstances.He was in
love with another woman,—a ready cause for disenchantment.He was in
some sort a family connection; and he saw Lillie’s conduct at last,
therefore, through the plain, unvarnished medium of common sense.Moreover, he felt a little pinched in his own conscience by the view
which Rose seemed to take of his part in the matter, and, manlike, was
strengthened in doing his duty by being a little galled and annoyed
at the woman whose charms had tempted him into this dilemma.Daniel went to the bedroom.So he
talked to Lillie like a brother; or, in other words, made himself
disagreeably explicit,—showed her her sins, and told her her duties
as a married woman.The charming fair ones who sentimentally desire
gentlemen to regard them as sisters do not bargain for any of this
sort of brotherly plainness; and yet they might do it with great
advantage.A brother, who is not a brother, stationed near the ear of
a fair friend, is commonly very careful not to compromise his position
by telling unpleasant truths; but, on the present occasion, Harry made
a literal use of the brevet of brotherhood which Lillie had bestowed
on him, and talked to her as the generality of _real_ brothers talk
to their sisters, using great plainness of speech.He withered all
her poor little trumpery array of hothouse flowers of sentiment, by
treating them as so much garbage, as all men know they are.He set
before her the gravity and dignity of marriage, and her duties to her
husband.Last, and most unkind of all, he professed his admiration of
Rose Ferguson, his unworthiness of her, and his determination to win
her by a nobler and better life; and then showed himself to be a stupid
blunderer by exhorting Lillie to make Rose her model, and seek to
imitate her virtues.the world looked dismal and dreary enough to her.Every thing was withered and disenchanted.All
her poor little stock of romance seemed to her as disgusting as the
withered flowers and crumpled finery and half-melted ice-cream the
morning after a ball.In this state, when she got a warm, true letter from John, who always
grew tender and affectionate when she was long away, couched in those
terms of admiration and affection that were soothing to her ear, she
really longed to go back to him.She shrunk from the dreary plainness
of truth, and longed for flattery and petting and caresses once
more; and she wrote to John an overflowingly tender letter, full of
longings, which brought him at once to her side, the most delighted of
men.When Lillie cried in his arms, and told him that she found New
York perfectly hateful; when she declaimed on the heartlessness of
fashionable life, and longed to go with him to their quiet home,—she
was tolerably in earnest; and John was perfectly enchanted.We understand well
that there is not a _woman_ among our readers who has the slightest
patience with Lillie, and that the most of them are half out of
patience with John for his enduring tenderness towards her.But men were born and organized by nature to be the protectors of
women; and, generally speaking, the stronger and more thoroughly
manly a man is, the more he has of what phrenologists call the “pet
organ,”—the disposition which makes him the charmed servant of what is
weak and dependent.He loved to protect; he loved every thing that was
helpless and weak,—young animals, young children, and delicate women.He was a romantic adorer of womanhood, as a sort of divine mystery,—a
never-ending poem; and when his wife was long enough away from him to
give scope for imagination to work, when she no longer annoyed him with
the friction of the sharp little edges of her cold and selfish nature,
he was able to see her once more in the ideal light of first love.After all, she was his wife; and in that one word, to a good man, is
every thing holy and sacred.He longed to believe in her and trust her
wholly; and now that Grace was going from him, to belong to another,
Lillie was more than ever his dependence.On the whole, if we must admit that John was weak, he was weak where
strong and noble natures may most gracefully be so,—weak through
disinterestedness, faith, and the disposition to make the best of the
wife he had chosen.And so Lillie came home; and there was festivity and rejoicing.Grace
found herself floated into matrimony on a tide bringing gifts and
tokens of remembrance from everybody that had ever known her; for all
were delighted with this opportunity of testifying a sense of her
worth, and every hand was ready to help ring her wedding bells._MOTHERHOOD._
IT is supposed by some that to become a mother is of itself a healing
and saving dispensation; that of course the reign of selfishness
ends, and the reign of better things begins, with the commencement of
maternity.But old things do not pass away and all things become new by any such
rapid process of conversion.A whole life spent in self-seeking and
self-pleasing is no preparation for the most august and austere of
woman’s sufferings and duties; and it is not to be wondered at if the
untrained, untaught, and self-indulgent shrink from this ordeal, as
Lillie did.The next spring, while the gables of the new cottage on Elm Street were
looking picturesquely through the blossoming cherry-trees, and the
smoke was curling up from the chimneys where Grace and her husband were
cosily settled down together, there came to John’s house another little
Lillie.For the mother had
trifled fearfully with the great laws of her being before its birth;
and the very shadow of death hung over her at the time the little new
life began.Lillie’s mother, now a widow, was sent for, and by this event installed
as a fixture in her daughter’s dwelling; and for weeks the sympathies
of all the neighborhood were concentrated upon the sufferer.Flowers
and fruits were left daily at the door.Every one was forward in
offering those kindly attentions which spring up so gracefully in
rural neighborhoods.She was little
and pretty and suffering; and people even forgot to blame her for the
levities that had made her present trial more severe.As to John, he
watched over her day and night with anxious assiduity, forgetting every
fault and foible.She was now more than the wife of his youth; she was
the mother of his child, enthroned and glorified in his eyes by the
wonderful and mysterious experiences which had given this new little
treasure to their dwelling.To say the truth, Lillie was too sick and suffering for sentiment.It
requires a certain amount of bodily strength and soundness to feel
emotions of love; and, for a long time, the little Lillie had to be
banished from the mother’s apartment, as she lay weary in her darkened
room, with only a consciousness of a varied succession of disagreeables
and discomforts.Daniel went to the kitchen.Her general impression about herself was, that she
was a much abused and most unfortunate woman; and that all that could
ever be done by the utmost devotion of everybody in the house was
insufficient to make up for such trials as had come upon her.A nursing mother was found for the little Lillie in the person of a
goodly Irish woman, fair, fat, and loving; and the real mother had none
of those awakening influences, from the resting of the little head
in her bosom, and the pressure of the little helpless fingers, which
magnetize into existence the blessed power of love.She had wasted in years of fashionable folly, and in a life led only
for excitement and self-gratification, all the womanly power, all the
capability of motherly giving and motherly loving that are the glory
of womanhood.Kathleen, the white-armed, the gentle-bosomed, had all
the simple pleasures, the tendernesses, the poetry of motherhood; while
poor, faded, fretful Lillie had all the prose—the sad, hard, weary
prose—of sickness and pain, unglorified by love.John did not well know what to do with himself in Lillie’s darkened
room; where it seemed to him he was always in the way, always doing
something wrong; where his feet always seemed too large and heavy, and
his voice too loud; and where he was sure, in his anxious desire to
be still and gentle, to upset something, or bring about some general
catastrophe, and to go out feeling more like a criminal than ever.The mother and the nurse, stationed there like a pair of chief
mourners, spoke in tones which experienced feminine experts seem to
keep for occasions like these, and which, as Hawthorne has said, give
an effect as if the voice had been dyed black.It was a comfort and
relief to pass from the funeral gloom to the little pink-ruffled
chamber among the cherry-trees, where the birds were singing and the
summer breezes blowing, and the pretty Kathleen was crooning her Irish
songs, and invoking the holy virgin and all the saints to bless the
“darlin’” baby.[Illustration: “An’ it’s a blessin’ they brings wid ’em, sir.”]
“An’ it’s a blessin’ they brings wid ’em to a house, sir; the angels
comes down wid ’em.We can’t see ’em, sir; but, bless the darlin’, she
can.Mary went back to the hallway.And she smiles in her sleep when she sees ’em.”
Rose and Grace came often to this bower with kisses and gifts and
offerings, like a pair of nice fairy godmothers.They hung over the
pretty little waxen miracle as she opened her great blue eyes with a
silent, mysterious wonder; but, alas!all these delicious moments, this
artless love of the new baby life, was not for the mother.She was not
strong enough to enjoy it.Its cries made her nervous; and so she kept
the uncheered solitude of her room without the blessing of the little
angel.People may mourn in lugubrious phrase about the Irish blood in our
country.For our own part, we think the rich, tender, motherly nature
of the Irish girl an element a thousand times more hopeful in our
population than the faded, washed-out indifferentism of fashionable
women, who have danced and flirted away all their womanly attributes,
till there is neither warmth nor richness nor maternal fulness left
in them,—mere paper-dolls, without milk in their bosoms or blood in
their veins.Give us rich, tender, warm-hearted Bridgets and Kathleens,
whose instincts teach them the real poetry of motherhood; who can love
unto death, and bear trials and pains cheerfully for the joy that is
set before them.We are not afraid for the republican citizens that
such mothers will bear to us.They are the ones that will come to high
places in our land, and that will possess the earth by right of the
strongest.Motherhood, to the woman who has lived only to be petted, and to be
herself the centre of all things, is a virtual dethronement.Something
weaker, fairer, more delicate than herself comes,—something for her to
serve and to care for more than herself.Mary journeyed to the office.It would sometimes seem as if motherhood were a lovely artifice of
the great Father, to wean the heart from selfishness by a peaceful
and gradual process.It is so
interwoven and identified with the mother’s life, that she passes by
almost insensible gradations from herself to it; and day by day the
distinctive love of self wanes as the child-love waxes, filling the
heart with a thousand new springs of tenderness.But that this benignant transformation of nature may be perfected, it
must be wrought out in Nature’s own way.Any artificial arrangement
that takes the child away from the mother interrupts that wonderful
system of contrivances whereby the mother’s nature and being shade off
into that of the child, and her heart enlarges to a new and heavenly
power of loving.When Lillie was sufficiently recovered to be fond of any thing,
she found in her lovely baby only a new toy,—a source of pride and
pleasure, and a charming occasion for the display of new devices of
millinery.But she found Newport indispensable that summer to the
re-establishment of her strength.“And really,” she said, “the baby
would be so much better off quietly at home with mamma and Kathleen.The fact is,” she said, “she quite disregards me.She cries after
Kathleen if I take her; so that it’s quite provoking.”
And so Lillie, free and unencumbered, had her gay season at Newport
with the Follingsbees, and the Simpkinses, and the Tompkinses, and
all the rest of the nice people, who have nothing to do but enjoy
themselves; and everybody flattered her by being incredulous that one
so young and charming could possibly be a mother._CHECKMATE._
IF ever our readers have observed two chess-players, both ardent,
skilful, determined, who have been carrying on noiselessly the moves
of a game, they will understand the full significance of this decisive
term.Up to this point, there is hope, there is energy, there is enthusiasm;
the pieces are marshalled and managed with good courage.At last,
perhaps in an unexpected moment, one, two, three adverse moves follow
each other, and the decisive words, _check-mate_, are uttered.This is a symbol of what often goes on in the game of life.Here is a man going on, indefinitely, conscious in his own heart that
he is not happy in his domestic relations.There is a want of union
between him and his wife.She is not the woman that meets his wants
or his desires; and in the intercourse of life they constantly cross
and annoy each other.But still he does not allow himself to look the
matter fully in the face.He goes on and on, hoping that to-morrow
will bring something better than to-day,—hoping that this thing, or
that thing or the other thing will bring a change, and that in some
indefinite future all will round and fashion itself to his desires.It is very slowly that a man awakens from the illusions of his first
love.It is very unwillingly that he ever comes to the final conclusion
that he has made _there_ the mistake of a whole lifetime, and that the
woman to whom he gave his whole heart not only is not the woman that he
supposed her to be, but never in any future time, nor by any change of
circumstances, will become that woman,—that the difficulty is radical
and final and hopeless.In “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” we read that the poor man, Christian,
tried to persuade his wife to go with him on the pilgrimage to the
celestial city; but that finally he had to make up his mind to go
alone without her.Such is the lot of the man who is brought to the
conclusion, positively and definitely, that his wife is always to be
a hinderance, and never a help to him, in any upward aspiration; that
whatever he does that is needful and right and true must be done, not
by her influence, but in spite of it; that, if he has to swim against
the hard, upward current of the river of life, he must do so with her
hanging on his arm, and holding him back, and that he cannot influence
and cannot control her.Such hours of disclosure to a man are among the terrible hidden
tragedies of life,—tragedies such as are never acted on the stage.Such
a time of disclosure came to John the year after Grace’s marriage; and
it came in this way:—
The Spindlewood property had long been critically situated.Sundry
financial changes which were going on in the country |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | All now depended upon the
permanency of one commercial house.John had been passing through an
interval of great anxiety.He could not tell Lillie his trouble.He
had been for months past nervously watching all the in-comings and
out-goings of his family, arranged on a scale of reckless expenditure,
which he felt entirely powerless to control.Lillie’s wishes were
importunate.She was nervous and hysterical, wholly incapable of
listening to reason; and the least attempt to bring her to change any
of her arrangements, or to restrict any of her pleasures, brought tears
and faintings and distresses and scenes of domestic confusion which he
shrank from.He often tried to set before her the possibility that they
might be obliged, for a time at least, to live in a different manner;
but she always resisted every such supposition as so frightful, so
dreadful, that he was utterly discouraged, and put off and off, hoping
that the evil day never might arrive.One morning, when he received by mail the
tidings of the failure of the great house of Clapham & Co., he knew
that the time had come when the thing could no longer be staved off.He
was an indorser to a large amount on the paper of this house; and the
crisis was inevitable.It was inevitable also that he must acquaint Lillie with the state of
his circumstances; for she was going on with large arrangements and
calculations for a Newport campaign, and sending the usual orders to
New York, to her milliner and dressmaker, for her summer outfit.It
was a cruel thing for him to be obliged to interrupt all this; for
she seemed perfectly cheerful and happy in it, as she always was when
preparing to go on a pleasure-seeking expedition.All this luxury and indulgence must be cut off at a stroke.He must
tell her that she could not go to Newport; that there was no money for
new dresses or new finery; that they should probably be obliged to move
out of their elegant house, and take a smaller one, and practise for
some time a rigid economy.John came into Lillie’s elegant apartments, which glittered like a
tulip-bed with many sashes and ribbons, with sheeny silks and
misty laces, laid out in order to be surveyed before packing.what on earth is the matter with you to-day?How
perfectly awful and solemn you do look!”
“I have had bad news, this morning, Lillie, which I must tell you.”
“Oh, dear me, John!Nobody is dead, I hope!”
“No, Lillie; but I am afraid you will have to give up your Newport
journey.”
“Gracious, goodness, John!what for?”
“To say the truth, Lillie, I cannot afford it.”
“Can’t afford it?Why, John, what is the matter?”
“Well, Lillie, just read this letter!”
Lillie took it, and read it with her hands trembling.I don’t see any thing in this letter.If they
have failed, I don’t see what that is to you!”
“But, Lillie, I am indorser for them.”
“How very silly of you, John!Now that
is too bad; it just makes me perfectly miserable to think of such
things.I know _I_ should not have done so; but I don’t see why you
need pay it.It is their business, anyhow.”
“But, Lillie, I shall have to pay it.It is a matter of honor and
honesty to do it; because I engaged to do it.”
“Well, I don’t see why that should be!It isn’t your debt; it is their
debt: and why need you do it?I am sure Dick Follingsbee said that
there were ways in which people could put their property out of their
hands when they got caught in such scrapes as this.He told me of plenty of people that had done that, who were
living splendidly, and who were received everywhere; and people thought
just as much of them.”
“O Lillie, Lillie!my child,” said John; “you don’t know any thing of
what you are talking about!That would be dishonorable, and wholly out
of the question.No, Lillie dear, the fact is,” he said, with a great
gulp, and a deep sigh,—“the fact is, I have failed; but I am going to
fail honestly.If I have nothing else left, I will have my honor and
my conscience.But we shall have to give up this house, and move into
a smaller one.Every thing will have to be given up to the creditors
to settle the business.And then, when all is arranged, we must try
to live economically some way; and perhaps we can make it up again.But you see, dear, there can be no more of this kind of expenses at
present,” he said, pointing to the dresses and jewelry on the bed.“Well, John, I am sure I had rather die!” said Lillie, gathering
herself into a little white heap, and tumbling into the middle of the
bed.“I am sure if we have got to rub and scrub and starve so, I had
rather die and done with it; and I hope I shall.”
John crossed his arms, and looked gloomily out of the window.“Perhaps you had better,” he said.“I am sure I should be glad to.”
“Yes, I dare say!” said Lillie; “that is all you care for me.Now there
is Dick Follingsbee, he would be taking care of his wife.Why, he has
failed three or four times, and always come out richer than he was
before!”
“He is a swindler and a rascal!” said John; “that is what he is.”
“I don’t care if he is,” said Lillie, sobbing.“His wife has good
times, and goes into the very first society in New York.People don’t
care, so long as you are rich, what you do.Daniel went to the bedroom.Well, I am sure I can’t do
any thing about it.I don’t know how to live without money,—that’s a
fact!I suppose you would be glad to see me rubbing
around in old calico dresses, wouldn’t you?and keeping only one girl,
and going into the kitchen, like Miss Dotty Peabody?And all just for one of your Quixotic notions, when you might
just as well keep all your money as not.That is what it is to marry
a reformer!I never have had any peace of my life on account of your
conscience, always something or other turning up that you can’t act
like anybody else.I should think, at least, you might have contrived
to settle this place on me and poor little Lillie, that we might have a
house to put our heads in.”
“Lillie, Lillie,” said John, “this is too much!Don’t you think that
_I_ suffer at all?”
“I don’t see that you do,” said Lillie, sobbing.“I dare say you are
glad of it; it is just like you.Oh, dear, I wish I had never been
married!”
“I _certainly_ do,” said John, fervently.You see, it is nothing to you men; you don’t care any
thing about these things.If you can get a musty old corner and your
books, you are perfectly satisfied; and you don’t know when things are
pretty, and when they are not: and so you can talk grand about your
honor and your conscience and all that.I suppose the carriages and
horses have got to be sold too?”
“Certainly, Lillie,” said John, hardening his heart and his tone.“Well, well,” she said, “I wish you would go now and send ma to me.I don’t want to talk about it any more.My head aches as if it would
split.She little thought when I married you that it was going
to come to this.”
John walked out of the room gloomily enough.He had received this
morning his _check-mate_.The woman that
he had loved and idolized and caressed and petted and indulged, in
whom he had been daily and hourly disappointed since he was married,
but of whom he still hoped and hoped, he now felt was of a nature not
only unlike, but opposed to his own.He felt that he could neither love
nor respect her further.And yet she was his wife, and the mother of
his daughter, and the only queen of his household; and he had solemnly
promised at God’s altar that “forsaking all others, he would keep only
unto her, so long as they both should live, for better, for worse,”
John muttered to himself,—“for better, for worse.This is the worse;
and oh, it is dreadful!”
In all John’s hours of sorrow and trouble, the instinctive feeling of
his heart was to go back to the memory of his mother; and the nearest
to his mother was his sister Grace.In this hour of his blind sorrow,
he walked directly over to the little cottage on Elm Street, which
Grace and her husband had made a perfectly ideal home.When he came into the parlor, Grace and Rose were sitting together with
an open letter lying between them.It was evident that some crisis of
tender confidence had passed between them; for the tears were hardly
dry on Rose’s cheeks.Yet it was not painful, whatever it was; for her
face was radiant with smiles, and John thought he had never seen her
look so lovely.At this moment the truth of her beautiful and lovely
womanhood, her sweetness and nobleness of nature, came over him, in
bitter contrast with the scene he had just passed through, and the
woman he had left.“What do you think, John?” said Grace; “we have some congratulations
here to give!Rose is engaged to Harry Endicott.”
“Indeed!” said John, “I wish her joy.”
“But what is the matter, John?” said both women, looking up, and seeing
something unusual in his face.“Oh, trouble!” said John,—“trouble upon us all.Gracie and Rose, the
Spindlewood Mills have failed.”
“Is it possible?” was the exclamation of both.“Yes, indeed!” said John; “you see, the thing has been running very
close for the last six months; and the manufacturing business has been
looking darker and darker.But still we could have stood it if the
house of Clapham & Co.had stood; but they have gone to smash, Gracie.When Roger got his matches and tried to
light one it only made a sick streak of phosphorescence on the side of
the box.To make things worse, Roger turned round, and where the road
crossed the brow of the hill behind us there was the glow of automobile
lamps."They're coming, Clara," he said."That fool of a maid didn't wait until
midnight."The thought of being found like that, waist-deep in water, drove me to
frenzy.I knew how they'd laugh, how they'd keep on laughing for years.They'd call us the Water Babies probably, or something equally hateful."Let them think we're drowned--anything," I said desperately."I will
not be found like this.""There's--there's a house near here on the hill," he said.Afterward I
remembered how he hesitated over it."We could get up there, I'm pretty
sure."Daniel went to the kitchen."They seem to have stopped," he said.He lifted me out and set me on the bank.Mary went back to the hallway.He was not particularly gentle
about it, and I was all he could carry.That's one thing about
Bill--he's as strong as an ox and as gentle as a young gazelle.Well, we scurried up the bank, the water pouring off us, and I lost a
shoe.Roger wouldn't wait until I found it, but dragged me along,
panting.Suddenly I knew that I hated him with a deadly hatred.The
thought of how nearly I had married him made me shiver."I wish you'd let go of me," I said.You can't climb alone in the silly clothes you wear.""Perhaps not, but I don't like you to touch me.""Oh, if you feel like that----" He let me go, and I almost fell."You
know, Clara, I am trying hard to restrain myself, but--this is all your
doing.""I suppose I broke the bridge down," I said bitterly, "and brought on
the rain, and all the rest of it.""Now I recognise the Clara I used to know," he had the audacity to say,
"always begging the question and shifting the responsibility.For
heaven's sake don't stop to quarrel!They've probably found the car by
this time."We got to the house and I fell exhausted on the steps.To my surprise
Roger got out a bunch of keys and fitted one to the lock."I--I sometimes come out in the fall for
a bit of shooting.I didn't want to go in, but
it was raining again and there was nothing else to do."Better overcome your repugnance and give me your hand," he said."If we
turn on a light they'll spot us."Oh, it is all very well to say, looking back, that we should have sat in
the car until we were found, and have carried it all off as a part of
the joke.I couldn't have laughed if I'd been
paid to.We bumped into a square hall and I sat down.Mary journeyed to the office.It was very quiet all at
once, and the only thing to be heard was the water dripping from us to
the hardwood floor."If that's a velvet chair you're on it will be ruined," said Roger's
voice out of the darkness."There is a telephone closet under the stairs.""And you have a key like one of the family!"The chances are when this gets out I won't be."I don't know why now, but it struck me as funny.I sat and laughed like
a goose, and the more I laughed the harder Roger breathed."You've got to see me through this, Clara," he said at last.Mary went back to the kitchen."You can't
telephone Carrie--you've fixed all that.Tell her the circumstances and have her send a car for you.And if you take my advice you'll meet Bill at the train
to-morrow morning and beat Carrie to it.She'll be in town with a line
of conversation by daybreak."He found some dry matches and led me to the telephone.Something in the
way I dripped, or because I padded across the floor in one stocking
foot, made him a trifle more human."I'll close the curtains and light the log fire," he said."Things are
bad enough without your taking pneumonia."The moment I took the receiver off the hook I knew the wires were down
somewhere.I sat for a moment, then I opened the door.Roger was on his
knees lighting the fire.He looked very thin, with his clothes stuck to
him, and the hair that he wore brushed over the bare place had been
washed down, and he looked almost bald."Roger," I said, with the calmness of despair, "the wires are down!"It seemed rather foolish to me at the time.Since they had followed us,
they'd know perfectly well that if Roger was there I was.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom._In walked Maisie Brown and about a dozen other people!_
I can still hear the noise they made coming in, and then a silence,
broken by Maisie's voice."Awfully surprising to see you here--I mean, I expect you are surprised
to see me here," said Roger's voice, rather thin and stringy."The fact |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | "Well, yes," Roger admitted, after a hesitation.He was evidently
weighing every word, afraid of committing himself to anything dangerous."I thought you were at Carrie Smith's."It was about a dozen miles to Roger's road home from
Carrie's."Come on, now, there's a mystery.They demanded how he had got in,
and when he said he had a key they laughed again.Some one told Maisie
she might as well confess.If Roger had a key to the house it required
explanation.If ever I heard cold suspicion in a girl's voice, it was in Maisie's
when she answered:
"Oh, we're engaged all right, if that's what you mean," she said."But I
think Roger and I----"
They didn't give her a chance to finish, the idiots!They gave three
cheers, and then, as nearly as I could make out, they formed a ring and
danced round them.They'd been to a picnic somewhere, and as the bridges
were down they were there for the night.They found some canned things in a pantry, and fixed
some hot drinks and drank to Maisie and Roger.And I sat in the
telephone closet and tried not to sneeze.About two o'clock I heard Maisie say she would have to telephone home,
and if a totally innocent person can suffer the way I did I don't know
how a guilty one could live."I'll do it, honey," he said."I--I was just thinking of telephoning.""Don't call me honey," Maisie said in a tense voice."I know about
Carrie Smith's party and who was there.After the way Clara has schemed
all these years to get you back, to have you fall into a trap like that!She put her hand on the knob of the door."I--I don't care a hang for anyone
but you.I----"
He pulled her hand off the knob of the door and I heard him kiss it."Let me call your mother," he said.Daniel went to the bedroom."She'll know you are all right when
I'm here."The idea of her saying I'd tried to get him back,
when everybody knows how he carried on when I turned him down!I hadn't
given him a thought for years.Look here, Maisie, you can afford to be magnanimous.Clara's a nice woman, but she's years older than you are.You know who
loves you, don't you?""Get mother on the wire," said Maisie curtly.Roger opened the door as soon as she had gone and squeezed in beside me.You'll have to go somewhere else, Clara," he
said."I may be able to collect them in the pantry.Then you can run across
and get out the door.""Well, you can't stay here, can you?"And then get that crowd of flappers upstairs.At the end of that time I'm coming out to
the fire."Then you're going into somebody's room to steal me a pair of dry shoes.Get Maisie's, she's about my size.If anything happened and I was missing----"
When I said nothing he knew I was in earnest.He went out and told them
the telephone was out of order, and somehow or other he shooed them
upstairs.I opened the door of the telephone closet for air, and I
could hear them overhead, ragging Roger about the engagement and how he
happened to get to Maisie's when it was so far from his road home.Every
time I thought they were settled, some fool of a boy or giggling
debutante would come down again and look for soap, or towels, or
matches, or heaven knows what.I could have strangled the lot of them.By three o'clock it was fairly quiet, and I crept out and sat by the log
fire.If I had had a shoe I would have started off then and there.I'm
no coward and I was desperate.But I couldn't go in my silk stockings.And when after a while Roger slipped down the stairs he had no shoes for
me."I've tried all the girls' doors," he said wretchedly, "and they're
locked.Couldn't you tie a towel round your foot, or something?I'm
going to get into trouble over this thing yet."Go up and bring me little Teddy Robinson's shoes," I snapped."It won't
compromise you to go into his room, I daresay.""Tell him you're going to clean them.And, Roger,
don't let Maisie pull the _ingenue_ stunt on you.I may be years older
than she is, but Maisie's no child."Well, with everyone gone and Roger hunting me some boots, I felt rather
better.I went to the pantry and fixed some hot milk and carried it in
to drink by the fire.Roger came down with the boots, and to save time
he laced them on my feet while I sat back and sipped.That, of course, in spite of what Bill pretends to think, is why Roger
was on his knees before me when Peter walked in.Oh, yes, Peter Arundel walked in!It just shows the sort of luck I
played in that night.he said, and stalked over to me and jerked the cup out
of my hand."What sort of an
escapade is this anyhow?""It--it's a joke, Peter," I quavered.He stared at me in speechless
scorn."Positively it is a joke, Peter.""I daresay," he said grimly."Perhaps to-morrow I may see it that way.The question is, will Bill think it's a joke?"He looked round, and luckily for me he saw all the girls' wraps lying
about."If the family's here, Clara," he said in a milder voice, "I--I may be
doing you an injustice."He was standing in front of the fire,
watching the stairs."When we found the note," Peter went on in his awful booming voice,
"saying you were going at last to be true to yourself, and when you and
Roger had disappeared, what were we to think?Especially after the way
you two had fallen into each other's arms from the moment you met."Well, what's the use of going into it again?She gave Roger his ring
instantly, and Roger was positively grey.He went back on me without a
particle of shame--said I'd suggested the whole thing and begged him to
help me; that he'd felt like a fool the whole time."Maisie, darling," he said, "surely you know that there's nobody in all
the world for me but you."He held out the ring to her, but she shook her head."I'm not angry--not any more," she said."I've lost my faith in you,
that's all.One thing I'm profoundly grateful for--that you and Clara
had this--this explosion before we were married and not after."All at once I remembered Bill's letter, which would positively clear us.But Peter said Harry Delaney's coat had been stolen from the machine,
letter and all!Maisie laughed at that, as if she didn't believe there
had been such a letter, and Roger went a shade greyer.All at once it
came to me that now Bill would never forgive me.He is so upright, Bill
is, and he expects everyone to come up to his standard.And in a way
Bill had always had me on a pedestal, and he would never believe that I
had been such a fool as to jump off for a lark.Maisie turned and walked upstairs, leaving the three of us there, Roger
holding the ring and staring at it with a perfectly vacant face.Daniel went to the kitchen.At last
he turned and went to the door."I'm going out to drown myself," he said, and went out.For another, it
seemed better for Bill and me to settle things ourselves without family
interference.Mary went back to the hallway.I went home and went to bed, and all day Monday I watched for Bill.Powell came over and I put on my best negligee and waited, with a water
bottle to keep my feet warm and my courage up.I stayed in bed for three days, and there was not a sign from him.Carrie and Ida telephoned, but only formal messages, and Alice
Warrington sent me a box of flowers with her card.But Bill did not
come home or call up.I knew he must be staying at the club, and I had
terrible hours when I knew he would never forgive me, and then there
would be a divorce, and I wanted to die.Roger never gave a sign, but he
had not drowned himself.By that time I knew it was Bill or
nobody for me.After those terrible two days at Carrie's, the thought of
Bill's ugly, quiet face made me perfectly homesick for him.I didn't
care how much he fell asleep in the evening after dinner.That only
showed how contented he was.And I tried to imagine being married to
Roger, and seeing him fuss about his ties, and brush the hair over the
thin places on top of his head, and I simply couldn't.Mary journeyed to the office.It was Wednesday evening when I heard a car come up the drive.I knew at
once that it was Bill.I had barely time to turn out all the lights but
the pink-shaded one by the bed, and to lay a handkerchief across my
eyes, when he came in."Well, Clara," he said, standing just inside the door, "I thought we'd
better talk this over."I said, from under the handkerchief."I should have come out sooner," he said without moving, "but at first I
could not trust myself.The real issue is between you and me and that--that
nincompoop, Waite.""What has Roger got to do with it?"I looked out from under the
handkerchief, and he was livid, positively."Bill," I said desperately, "will you come over and sit down on the side
of the bed and let me tell you the whole story?""I won't be bamboozled, Clara; this is serious.If you've got anything
to say, say it.He sat down just inside the door on a straight chair and folded his long
arms.I said appealingly, and he came over and sat, very
uncompromising and stiff, on the side of the bed.I put out my hand, and
after a moment's hesitation he took it, but I must say without
enthusiasm.I felt like the guiltiest wretch unhung.That's what makes
me so perfectly furious now.Mary went back to the kitchen."You see, Bill," I said, "it was like this.""It's been an awful lesson, Bill," I ended up."I'll never say a word
again about your enjoying yourself the way you want to.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.You can swim and
play golf and shoot all you like, and--and sleep after dinner, if
you'll only forgive me.Bill, suppose I had married Roger Waite!"We'll put the
whole thing in the discard."And he leaned over and put his arms round
me.* * * * *
That ought to be the end of the story.I'd had a lesson and so had some
of the others.As Carrie Smith said afterward, to have a good time is
one thing, but to be happy is entirely different, and the only way to be
happy is to be smug and conventional and virtuous.I never say anything
when she starts that line of conversation.But once or twice I've caught
her eye, and she has had the grace to look uneasy.There is more to the story, and now and then I eye
Bill, and wonder when he will come and tell me the whole thing.For the
other day, in the back of Bill's chiffonier, I came across the letter to
him Harry Delaney said he had lost.Clamped to it was a note from Peter Arundel, and that
is why I am writing the whole story, using names and everything.It was
a mean trick, and if Bill wants to go to Maisie Brown's wedding he can
go.This is Peter's note:
"_Dear Old Man_: Inclosed is the letter Clara gave Delaney to mail,
which I read to you last night over the long-distance phone.I'm
called away or I'd bring it round."It was easy enough for you to say not to let Clara get away with
it, but for a time during the storm it looked as if she'd got the
bit and was off.Luckily their car got stuck in the creek, and the
rest was easy.We saw them, during a flash of lightning, climbing
the hill to the Brown place for shelter.Luck was with us after
that, for Maisie and a crowd came along, and we told Maisie the
story.I take my hat off to Maisie.If you could
have seen Roger Waite's face when she gave him back the ring!Carrie, who was looking through the windows with the others, was so
sorry for him that she wanted to go in and let him cry on her
shoulder.But
you were quite right.It wasn't only that she'd have had the laugh
on all of us if she got away with it.As you said, it would be a
bad precedent."Burn this, for the love of Mike."Yours,
"PETER."John journeyed to the garden.THE BORROWED HOUSE
I
"And the things the balloon man said!"observed Daphne, stirring her
tea.Daphne is my English cousin, and misnamed."He went too high and
Poppy's nose began to bleed.""It poured," Poppy confirmed plaintively to me."I leaned over the edge
of the basket and it poured.And the next day the papers said it had
rained blood in Tooting and that quantities of people had gone to the
churches!"Poppy is short and wears her hair cut close and curled with
an iron all over her head."Then," Daphne went on, addressing the room in general, "he let some gas
out of the bag and we began to settle.But just when we were directly
over the Tower he grew excited and threw out sand.He said he wasn't
going to hang his balloon on the Houses of Parliament like a penny
ornament on a Christmas tree.And then the wind carried us north and we
missed it altogether."Harcourt-Standish took a tea-cake."I was sea-sick," she remarked
pensively, "and he was unpleasant about that, too.Sandra moved to the bedroom.It was really
mountain sickness, although, of course, there wasn't any mountain.When
we began to throw out the handbills he asked if I had swallowed _them_,
too."Harcourt-Standish plays up the feminine.She is slim and blond, and
wears slinky clothes and a bang--only they call it a fringe--across her
forehead.She has been in prison five times and is supposed to have
influence with the Cabinet.She showed me a lot of photographs of
herself in the dock and in jail, put up in a frame that was made to
represent a barred window.It was Violet Harcourt-Standish, you
remember, who broke up the meeting of the Woman's Liberty League, the
rival Suffragette association, by engaging the suite below their rooms,
burning chemicals in the grates, and sending in a fire alarm when the
smoke poured out of the windows.I had been in England visiting Daphne for four months while Mother went
to Italy, and I had had a very queer time.One was apt to go shopping
with Daphne and end up on a carriage block or the box of a hansom cab,
passing out handbills about votes for women.And once, when we dressed
in our best gowns and went to a reception for the Cabinet, or something
of the kind, Daphne stood on the stairs and began to make a speech.It
turned out that she hadn't been invited at all and they put her out
immediately--politely, but firmly.I slid away into the crowd, quite
pale with the shock and disgrace, and stood in a corner, waiting to be
arrested and searched for the spoons.But for a long time no one noticed
me.Then a sunburned gentleman who was passing |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | "I beg pardon," he said, and my heart turned entirely over, "but I think
you came with Miss Wyndham?If you will allow me----"
"I am afraid you have made a mistake," I replied frigidly, with my lips
stiff with fright.He bowed at that and passed on, but not before he had
looked straight into my eyes and read the lie there.After ages I left the window where I had taken shelter and got somehow
to the dressing-room.Of course, Daphne had taken the carriage, so I
told a sad-eyed maid that I was ill and would not wait for my brougham,
and to call a cab.I was perfectly numb with rage when I got to Daphne's
apartment, and burst in like a whirlwind.She came in at three that morning, maudlin with triumph, and found me
asleep on the floor in my ball-gown, with a half-packed trunk before me.She brought me tea and toast herself the next morning and offered it on
her knees, which means something for Daphne--she is very stout and
almost unbendable--and explained that I had been her patent of
respectability, and that it had been a _coup_; that Mrs.Langley, of the
Woman's Liberty League, had hired as a maid for the reception and had
never got her foot out of the dressing-room!And when I
told Daphne that Mrs.Daniel went to the bedroom.Langley had helped me into my wrap she got up
heavily and hopped three steps one way and three another, which is the
way Daphne dances with joy.Daniel went to the kitchen.It is much harder to write a thing than to
tell it.I used to write stories for our Journal at school and the girls
were mad over them.But they were love stories, and this one deals with
English politics and criminals--yes, you might call it a crime story.Of
course there is love, too, but it comes in rather unexpectedly.I left Daphne hopping three steps each way in triumph.Mary went back to the hallway.Well, after that
she did not take me around with her, although her friends came in and
talked about The Cause to me quite often.And gradually I began to see
that there was something to it, and why, if I paid taxes, shouldn't I
vote?And hadn't I as much intelligence as the cab drivers and street
sweepers?And why couldn't I will my money to my children if I ever had
any?--children, not money.Of course, as Father pointed out afterward, I
should have been using my abilities in America; but most of the
American women I knew were so cravenly and abjectly contented.But even
after my conversion Daphne would not take me in the balloon.Mary journeyed to the office.She said I
represented too much money to risk dumping in the Thames or hanging on a
chimney.The meeting at Daphne's was mainly to talk over the failure of the
balloon ascension and to plan something new.But the actual conspiracy
that followed was really an accident.It came about in the most casual
way.Violet Harcourt-Standish got up and went to the mirror to put on her
veil, and some of the people began to gather their wraps."I'm tired," Daphne said suddenly.We
always come out the door we go in."Mary went back to the kitchen."Sometimes forcibly," Poppy said to me aside."And I haven't been strong, you know, since last summer," Daphne went
on.Daffie had raised a disturbance
when Royalty was laying a cornerstone and had been jailed for it.(They
put her to making bags and she sewed "Votes for Women" in white thread
on every bag she made.)"I am going to take Madge down to Ivry for a
week."Violet turned from the mirror and raised her eyebrows.Do you remember, Daphne, when pressure at the
Hall became too strong for me, how I used to ride over to Ivry and have
hysterics in the Tudor Room?And how once I wept on your Louis-Seize
divan and had to have the purple stains bleached off my face?You lived
a sort of vicarious matrimonial existence in those days, didn't you?"Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.Whatever she may have done to the Louis-Seize divan in earlier days, she
was cheerful enough now, and I hailed her with delight.That is English; I am
frightfully English in my speech after a few weeks in London."It isn't especially feminine to
chuckle, but neither is Daphne.Harcourt-Standish said, turning to me, "Harcourt
Hall is closed.The one is empty,
the other in Canada"--vague, but rhetorical--"I have forgotten them
both.""I recall the house as
miles from everything that was joyful.I shall always regard my being
taken there as nothing short of kidnapping."Then--she stopped short and glanced at Daphne.From Daphne her eyes
travelled to Ernestine Sutcliffe, who put down her teacup with a
clatter.There was a sudden hushed silence in the room; then Lady Jane
Willoughby, who had been tying her motor veil, took it off and folded it
in her lap.The Staffords, Poppy and her mother, exchanged glances.Without in the least understanding it I saw that something psychological
was happening."The house is still
furnished, isn't it, Violet?"I dare say; as I recall it, one could
enter any one of the doors by merely leaning against it.I gave up trying to
understand and took a fresh tea-cake.In
all that militant body, whatever adventure was afoot, hers was the only
craven soul.She was picking at her veil with nervous fingers."I--don't you think it is very radical?"Stafford objected to the word "radical," and she
substituted "revolutionary.""I should not wish anything to happen to
him.He was a great friend of Willoughby's mother while she lived.""That's all right among ourselves, Jane," Mrs.Stafford put in, "but if
I recall the circumstances I wouldn't lay any emphasis on _that_.Anyhow, we don't intend to murder the man.""Of course, you wouldn't mean
to," she retorted, "but there is no use asking me to forget what Poppy
Stafford did to the president of the Board of Trade last summer.""You are envious, Willieboy," she
said, and put four lumps of sugar in her tea."Willieboy" is Lady
Willoughby's affectionate diminutive.John journeyed to the garden.They had started the tea all over
again and I rather edged away from Poppy, but Daphne said afterward it
was only a matter of a chair Poppy threw from the gallery at a public
meeting, and that the man it fell on was only a secretary to the
president of the Board of Trade.Finally, I made out what the plan was, and mentally during the rest of
the meeting I was making bags in jail._They were going to abduct the Prime Minister!_
Lady Jane had stopped looking back and had put her hand to the plow.(This sounds well, so I won't cut it out; but wasn't it Lot's wife that
looked back?And wasn't that before the day of plows?And it
was she who finally settled the whole thing, for it seems that the P. M.
had confided to Lord Willoughby that the town was so noisy with
Suffragettes that he could not find a quiet spot for a rubber of
bridge; that since the balloon incident he slept in his clothes with the
windows shut and locked; and that since the latest kitchen-maid had
turned out to be the Honourable Maude Twombley, who slipped handbills
into his entrees and served warnings in his dessert, he was going to
travel, incognito and alone, to his daughter's place, The Oaks, outside
of West Newbury, and get a little sleep.And West Newbury was only four miles from the empty Harcourt Hall!In
short, as Daphne succinctly put it: "Our Jonah was about to jump
voluntarily overboard from the ship of state into the whaleboned jaws of
the Suffragette whale."Everybody went mad at that point, but as they grew excited I got cold.It began with my toes and went all over me.Ernestine Sutcliffe stood on one of Daphne's tulip-wood and marquetry
chairs and made a speech, gesticulating with her cup and dripping tea on
me.And then somebody asked me to stand up and say what I thought.(I
have never really spoken in public, but I always second the motions in a
little club I belong to at home.It is a current-events club--so much
easier to get the news that way than to read the newspaper.)So I got up and made a short speech.I said: "I am only a feeble voice
in this clamour of outraged womanhood against the oppressor, Man.I
believe in the franchise for women, the ballot instead of the ballet.But at home, in America, when we want to take a bath we don't jump off
the Brooklyn Bridge into the East River to do it.""You are exceedingly vulgar," she said, "but since you insist on that
figure of speech, you in America have waited a long time for the bath,
and if you continue your present methods you won't get it before you
need it."II
Now that they had thought of it, they were all frantic for fear Mrs.Cobden-Fitzjames and the Woman's Liberty League might think of it, too,
kidnap the Prime Minister, and leave us a miserable president of the
Local Government Board or a wretched under-secretary of something or
other.The plan we evolved before the meeting broke up was to send a wire to
Mrs.Gresham, the Premier's daughter, that he had been delayed, and to
meet a later train.Then, Daphne's motor would meet the proper train--he
was to arrive somewhere between seven and eight in the evening--carry
his Impressiveness to Harcourt Hall and deliver him into the hands of
the enemy.As Violet Harcourt-Standish voiced it: the motor gone, the
railway miles away, what can he do?He will keep awake, because he will
have slept in the train going down, and we can give him a cold supper.Perhaps it would be better not to give
him anything.Then, six speeches, each an hour long.At
the end of that time we can promise him something to eat and a machine
to take him to West Newbury on one condition."He
must sign an indorsement of Suffrage for Women.""Why not have a table laid," I suggested, "and show it to him?Let him
smell it, so to speak.You know,--'And the
devil----'"
"This is the Prime Minister, Madge," Daphne broke in shortly, "and you
are not happy in your Scriptural references."Daphne really took the
onus of the whole thing, and, of course, I helped her.We all got new clothes, for everybody knows that if you can attract a
man's eye you can get and maybe hold his ear.And Daphne wrote a fresh
speech, one she had thought out in jail.She wrote a poem, too, called the Song of the Vote, with the
meter of the Song of a Shirt, and she wanted me to recite it, but even
before I read it I refused.The gown Mother had ordered for me at Paquin's on her way to the Riviera
came just in time, a nice white thing over silver, with a square-cut
neck and bits of sleeves made of gauze and silver fringe.Daphne got a
pink velvet, although she is stout and inclined to be florid.She had
jet butterflies embroidered over it, a flight of them climbing up one
side of her skirt and crawling to the opposite shoulder, so that if one
stood off at a distance she had a curiously diagonal appearance, as if
she had listed heavily to one side.By hurrying we got to Ivry on Thursday evening, and I was in a blue
funk.Daphne was militantly cheerful, and, in the drawing-room after
dinner, she put the finishing touches to her speech.It was warm and
rainy, and I wandered aimlessly around, looking at hideous English
photographs and wondering if picking oakum in an English jail was worse
than making bags--and if they could arrest me, after all.Perhaps I
should have been naturalised, or something of that kind!)And I thought
of Mother at Florence, in the villa on the Via Michelangelo--Mother, who
classes Suffragists with Anti-Vaccinationists and Theosophists.I would have gone up to bed, but that meant a candle and queer, shaky
shadows on the wall; so I stayed with Daphne and looked at the picture
of a young man in a uniform."Basil Harcourt," Daphne said absently, with a pen in her mouth, when I
asked about it."Taken years ago before he became an ass.How do you
spell 'Supererogation'?""I haven't an idea," I admitted."I don't even know what it means.I
always confuse it with 'eleemosynary'.""Do you mean
that this is Violet's husband?"Sandra moved to the bedroom.Don't ask me about him: he always gives me
indigestion.Daniel moved to the kitchen.He stood right in this room, where he had
eaten my ginger-cakes all his life and where he came to show me his
first Eton collar and long trousers, and told me that he expected The
Cause for his wife to be himself, and if she would rather raise hell for
women than a family of children she would have to choose at once.And
Violet stood just where you are, Madge, and retorted that maternity was
not a Cause, and that any hen in the barnyard could raise a family."'I suppose you want to crow,' Basil said furiously, and slammed out."Then perhaps he won't like our using his house for such a purpose.If
he isn't in sympathy----"
"Twaddle," Daphne remarked, poising her pen to go on."In the first
place, it isn't a house--it's a rattletrap; and in the second place, he
won't know a thing about it."I was thinking of them when I went out on the
terrace in Daphne's mackintosh.The air was damp and sticky, but it was
better than Daphne's conversation.I stood in the fountain court,
leaning against a column and listening to the spray as it blew over on
to the caladium leaves.Sandra moved to the bathroom.I am not sure just when I saw the figure.First it was part of the
gloom, a deeper shadow in the misty garden.I saw it, so to speak, out
of the tail of my eye.Finally, I called softly over my shoulder to Daphne, but she did not
hear.Instead, the shadow disengaged itself, moved forward and resolved
into Bagsby, Daphne's chauffeur."I wasn't sure at first that you saw me, Miss," he said, touching his
cap."It's my turn until midnight; Clarkson 'as it until three, and the
gardener until daylight.""Do you mean you are guarding the house?""Perhaps it's more what you would call surveillance," he said
cautiously, "the picture gallery being over your head, Miss, and an easy
job from the conservatory roof.We 'aven't told Miss Wyndham, yet, Miss,
but the Wimberley Romney was stolen from the Towers last night, Miss,
and the whole countryside is up.""Cut out of its frame, and worth twenty
thousand pounds!By a gentlemanly-looking chap--a tourist by
appearances, with a bicycle, in tweeds and knickers, Miss."Whether the bicycle or the tourist wore tweeds and knickers was not
entirely clear.Bagsby was saying that the thief was supposed to be
hiding on the moor when Daphne came out, and he disappeared.Poppy Stafford and Ernestine came unexpectedly late that night after I
had gone to bed.I was in my first sleep and dreaming that Poppy was
braining Bagsby with a gilt-framed painting, and that he was shouting
"Votes for Women" instead of "'elp!"It turned out to be Poppy, and she said she thought there was a bat in
her room, and as she was quite pallid with fright I let her get into my
bed.I was full of my dream and I wanted |
kitchen | Where is John? | But she put her head
under the sheet, and as soon as she stopped trembling she went to sleep.Daphne called me early and we went over to the Hall to take a look
around.As Daphne said, it would be night and the grounds would not
matter, but we would have to uncover some of the furniture.'Possum came up with two little barrel staves which he
had been a long time getting, and they all turned and looked at him very
closely, which was a thing they had never done until that time.'Possum noticed it, they saw him chew--a kind of last,
finishing chew--and then give a little swallow--a sort of last,
finishing swallow--and just then he noticed them watching him, and he
stopped right in his tracks and dropped the two little barrel staves and
looked very scared and guilty, which was strange, when he had always
been so willing about the wood.[Illustration: LOOKED STRAIGHT AT MR.'POSSUM AND SAID, "WHAT WAS THAT
YOU WERE CHEWING JUST NOW?"]Then they all got up out of their chairs and looked straight at Mr.'Possum, and said:
"What was that you were chewing just now?"'Possum couldn't say a word.Then they all said:
"What was that you were swallowing just now?"'Possum couldn't say a word.Then they all said:
"Why do you always stay so long when you go for wood?"'Possum couldn't say a word.Then they all said:
"Why is it that you don't get thin, like the rest of us?"'Possum couldn't say a word.Then they all said:
"Why is it you never hear the bark of Old Hungry-Wolf?"'Possum said, very weakly:
"I did think I heard it a little while ago."Then they all said:
"And was that why you went down after wood?"'Possum couldn't say a word.Then they all said:
"What have you got _down there_ to eat?'Possum seemed to think of something, and picked up the two
little barrel staves and brought them over to the fire and put them on,
and looked very friendly, and sat down and lit his pipe and smoked a
minute, and said that climbing the stairs had overcome him a little, and
that he wasn't feeling very well, but if they'd let him breathe a
minute he'd tell them all about it, and how he had been preparing a nice
surprise for them, for just such a time as this; but when he saw they
had found out something, it all came on him so sudden that, what with
climbing the stairs and all, he couldn't quite gather himself, but that
he was all right now, and the surprise was ready.'Possum said, "that I have travelled a good
deal, and have seen a good many kinds of things happen, and know about
what to expect.And when I saw how fast we were using up the food, and
how deep the snow was, I knew we might expect a famine that even Mr.Crow's johnny-cake and gravy wouldn't last through; and Mr.Crow
mentioned something of the kind once himself, though he seemed to forget
it right away again, for he went on giving us just as much as ever.But
I didn't forget about it, and right away I began laying aside in a quiet
place some of the things that would keep pretty well, and that we would
be glad to have when Old Hungry-Wolf should really come along and we had
learned to live on lighter meals and could make things last."'Possum was going right on, but Mr.'<DW53> interrupted him, and said
that Mr.'Possum could call it living on lighter meals if he wanted to
but that he hadn't eaten any meal at all for three days, and that if Mr.'Possum had put away anything for a hungry time he wished he'd get it
out right now, without any more explaining, for it was food that he
wanted and not explanations, and all the others said so too.'Possum said he was just coming to that, but he only wished to
say a few words about it because they had seemed to think that he was
doing something that he shouldn't, when he was really trying to save
them from Old Hungry-Wolf, and he said he had kept his surprise as long
as he could, so it would last longer, and that he had been pretending
not to hear Old Hungry's bark just to keep their spirits up, and he
supposed one of the reasons why he hadn't got any thinner was because he
hadn't been so worried, and had kept happy in the nice surprise he had
all the time, just saving it for when they would begin to need it most.As to what he had been chewing and swallowing when he came up-stairs,
Mr.'Possum said that he had been taking just the least little taste of
some of the things to see if they were keeping well--some nice cooked
chickens, for instance, from a lot that Mr.Crow had on hand and didn't
remember about, and a young turkey or two, and a few ducks, and a bushel
or so of apples, and a half a barrel of doughnuts, and--
But Mr.'Possum didn't get any further, for all the Deep Woods People
made a wild scramble for the stairs, with Mr.'Possum after them, and
when they got down in the store-room he took them behind one of the big
roots of the Hollow Tree, and there was a passageway that none of them
had ever suspected, and Mr.'Possum lit a candle and led them through it
and out into a sort of cave, and there, sure enough, were all the things
he had told them about and some mince-pies besides.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.And there was even
some wood, for Mr.'Possum had worked hard to lay away a supply of
things for a long snowed-in time.Then all the Hollow Tree People sat right down there and had some of the
things, and by-and-by they carried some more up-stairs, and some wood,
too, and built up a fine big fire, and lit their pipes and smoked, and
forgot everything unpleasant in the world.And they all said how smart
and good Mr.'Possum was to save all that food for the very time when
they would need it most, when all the rest of them had been just eating
it up as fast as possible and would have been now without a thing in the
world except for Mr.'Possum asked them if they could hear Old Hungry-Wolf any more,
and they listened but they couldn't hear a sound, and then they went up
into Mr.<DW53>'s room, and into Mr.'Possum's
room, and they couldn't see a thing of him anywhere, though it was just
the time of day to see him, for it was late in the evening--the time
Old Hungry-Wolf is most likely to look in the window.And that night it turned warm, and the big snow began to thaw; and it
thawed, and it thawed, and all the brooks and rivers came up, and even
the Wide Blue Water rose so that the Deep Woods Company had to stay a
little longer in the Hollow Tree, even when all the snow was nearly
gone.Rabbit was pretty anxious to get home, and started out one
afternoon with Mr.But there was too much water to cross and they came back again just at
sunset, and Mr.Crow let them in,[3] so they had to wait several days
longer.'Possum's food lasted, and by the time it was gone they
could get plenty more; and when they all went away and left the three
Hollow Tree People together again, they were very happy because they had
had such a good time; and the '<DW53> and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow
were as good friends as ever, though the gray feathers on the top of Mr.Crow's head never did turn quite black again, and some of the Deep Woods
People call him Silver-Top to this day.The Little Lady looks anxiously at the Story Teller."Did Old Hungry-Wolf ever get inside of the Hollow Tree?""No, he never did get inside; they only saw him through the window, and
heard him bark.""Well, you see, Old Hungry isn't a real wolf, but only a shadow
wolf--the shadow of famine.He only looks in when people dread famine,
and he only barks and gnaws when they feel it.A famine, you know, is
when one is very hungry and there is nothing to eat.'Possum was very hungry, and he had all those nice things laid away, so
he would not care much about that old shadow wolf, which is only another
name for hunger."The Little Lady clings very close to the Story Teller."Will we ever see Old Hungry-Wolf and hear his bark?"The Story Teller sits up quite straight, and gathers the Little Lady
tight."He moved out of our part of the country
before you were born, and we'll take good care that he doesn't come back
any more.""I'm glad," says the Little Lady."You can sing now--you know--the
'Hollow Tree Song.'"FOOTNOTES:
[3] See picture on cover.BEAR
AN EARLY SPRING CALL ON ON MR.'POSSUM'S CURIOUS DREAM AND WHAT CAME OF IT
"What did they do then?""What did the Deep Woods
People all do after they got through being snowed in?"It got to be spring then pretty soon--early spring--of
course, and Mr.Jack Rabbit went to writing poetry and making garden;
Mr.Robin, who had been spending the winter down
South; Mr.Squirrel, who is quite young, went to call on a very nice
young Miss Squirrel over toward the Big West Hills; Mr.Man a good deal with the spring work; Mr.Turtle got out all his
fishing-things and looked them over, and the Hollow Tree People had a
general straightening up after company.They had a big house-cleaning,
of course, with most of their things out on the line, and Mr.'Possum
said that he'd just about as soon be snowed-in for good as to have to
beat carpets and carry furniture up and down stairs all the rest of his
life."But they got through at last, and everything was nice when they were
settled, only there wasn't a great deal to be had to eat, because it had
been such a long, cold winter that things were pretty scarce and hard to
get.'Possum said he had had a dream the night before, and he
wished it would come true.He said he had dreamed that they were all
invited by Mr.Bear to help him eat the spring breakfast which he takes
after his long winter nap, and that Mr.Bear had about the best
breakfast he ever sat down to.He said he had eaten it clear through,
from turkey to mince-pie, only he didn't get the mince-pie because Mr.Bear had asked him if he'd have it hot or cold, and just as he made up
his mind to have some of both he woke up and didn't get either.'<DW53> said he wished he could have a dream like that; that he'd
take whatever came along and try to sleep through it, and Mr.Crow
thought a little while and said that sometimes dreams came true,
especially if you helped them a little.He said he hadn't heard anything
of Mr.Bear this spring, and it was quite likely he had been taking a
longer nap than usual.It might be a good plan, he thought, to drop over
that way and just look in in passing, because if Mr.Bear should be
sitting down to breakfast he would be pretty apt to ask them to sit up
and have a bite while they told him the winter news.'Possum said that he didn't believe anybody in the world but
Mr.Crow would have thought of that, and that hereafter he was going to
tell him every dream he had.They ought to start right away, he said,
because if they should get there just as Mr.Bear was clearing off the
table it would be a good deal worse than not getting the mince-pie in
his dream.So they hurried up and put on their best clothes and started for Mr.Bear's place, which is over toward the Edge of the World, only farther
down, in a fine big cave which is fixed up as nice as a house and nicer.But when they got pretty close to it they didn't go so fast and
straight, but just sauntered along as if they were only out for a little
walk and happened to go in that direction, for they thought Mr.Bear
might be awake and standing in his door.Rabbit about that time and invited him to go along, but Mr.Bear was a rather distant one, and
that he mostly talked to him from across the river or from a hill that
had a good clear running space on the other <DW72>.Bear's
taste was good, for he was fond of his family, but that the fondness had
been all on Mr.[Illustration: THEY WENT ALONG, SAYING WHAT A NICE MAN THEY THOUGHT MR.BEAR WAS]
So the Hollow Tree People went along, saying what a nice man they
thought Mr.Bear was, and saying it quite loud, and looking every which
way, because Mr.But they didn't see him anywhere, and by-and-by they got right to the
door of his cave and knocked a little, and nobody came.Then they
listened, but couldn't hear anything at first, until Mr.'<DW53>, who has
very sharp ears, said that he was sure he heard Mr.Bear breathing and
that he must be still asleep.Then the others thought they heard it,
too, and pretty soon they were sure they heard it, and Mr.'Possum said
it was too bad to let Mr.Bear oversleep himself this fine weather, and
that they ought to go in and let him know how late it was.[Illustration: SLEEP RIGHT WHERE HE WAS]
So then they pushed open the door and went tiptoeing in to where Mr.They thought, of course, he would be in bed, but he wasn't.He
was sitting up in a big arm-chair in his dressing-gown, with his feet up
on a low stool, before a fire that had gone out some time in December,
with a little table by him that had a candle on it which had burned down
about the time the fire went out.His pipe had gone out too, and they
knew that Mr.Bear had been smoking, and must have been very tired and
gone to sleep right where he was, and hadn't moved all winter long.It wasn't very cheerful in there, so Mr.'Possum said maybe they'd
better stir up a little fire to take the chill off before they woke
Mr.'<DW53> found a fresh candle and lighted it, and Mr.Crow put the room to rights a little, and wound up the clock, and set
it, and started it going.Then when the fire got nice and bright they
stood around and looked at Mr.Bear, and each one said it was a good
time now to wake him up, but nobody just wanted to do it, because Mr.Bear isn't always good-natured, and nobody could tell what might happen
if he should wake up cross and hungry, and he'd be likely to do that if
his nap was broken too suddenly.Crow was the
one to do it, as he had first thought of this trip, and Mr.'Possum's place, because it had been in his dream.'<DW53> hadn't done anything at all so far, he
might do that.'<DW53> said that he'd do it quick enough, only he'd been listening to
the way Mr.Bear breathed, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be ready
to wake up for a week yet, and it would be too bad to wake him now when
he might not have been resting well during the first month or so of his
nap and was making it up now.He said they could look around a little
and see if Mr.Bear's things were keeping well, and perhaps brush up his
pantry so it would be nice and clean when he did wake.Crow said he'd always wanted to see Mr.Bear's pantry, for he'd
heard it was such a good place to keep things, and perhaps he could get
some ideas for the Hollow Tree; and Mr.Bear had
the name of having a bigger pantry and more things in it than all the
John went to the kitchen. |
garden | Where is John? | Bear all nice and comfortable, sleeping there by the
fire, and lit another candle and went over to his pantry, which was at
the other side of the room, and opened the door and looked in.Well, they couldn't say a word at first, but only just looked at one
another and at all the things they saw in that pantry.First, on the top
shelf there was a row of pies, clear around.Then on the next shelf
there was a row of cakes--first a fruit-cake, then a jelly-cake, then
another fruit-cake and then another jelly-cake, and the cakes went all
the way around, too, and some of them had frosting on them, and you
could see the raisins in the fruit-cake and pieces of citron.Then on
the next shelf there was a row of nice cooked partridges, all the way
around, close together.And on the shelf below was a row of meat-pies
made of chicken and turkey and young lamb, and on the shelf below that
there was a row of nice canned berries, and on the floor, all the way
around, there were jars of honey--nice comb honey that Mr.Bear had
gathered in November from bee-trees."Well, I never," he said, "never in all my life, saw anything like it!"'Possum both said:
"He can't do it--a breakfast like that is too much for _any_ bear!"Crow said:
"He oughtn't to be _allowed_ to do it.Bear is too nice a man to
lose."'Possum said:
"He _mustn't_ be allowed to do it--we'll help him.""At the top, very likely," said Mr."He's got it arranged in
courses.""I don't care where he begins," said Mr.'Possum; "I'm going to begin
somewhere, now, and I think I will begin on a meat-pie."Crow said he thought he'd begin on a nice partridge, and Mr.'<DW53> said he believed he'd try a mince-pie or two first, as a kind of a
lining, and then fill in with the solid things afterward.'Possum took down his meat-pie, and said he hoped this
wasn't a dream, and Mr.Crow took down a nice brown partridge, and Mr.'<DW53> stood up on a chair and slipped a mince-pie out of a pan on the
top shelf, and everything would have been all right, only he lost his
balance a little and let the pie fall.It made quite a smack when it
struck the floor, and Mr.'Possum jumped and let his pie fall, too, and
that made a good deal more of a noise, because it was large and in a tin
pan.Crow blew out the light quick, and they all stood perfectly
still and listened, for it seemed to them a noise like that would wake
the dead, much more Mr.Bear, and they thought he would be right up and
in there after them.They heard him give a little
cough and a kind of a grunt mixed with a sleepy word or two, and when
they peeked out through the door, which was open just a little ways,
they saw him moving about in his chair, trying first one side and then
the other, as if he wanted to settle down and go to sleep again, which
he didn't do, but kept right on grunting and sniffing and mumbling and
trying new positions.Then, of course, the Hollow Tree People were scared, for they knew
pretty well he was going to wake up.There wasn't any way to get out of
Mr.Bear's pantry except by the door, and you had to go right by Mr.Bear's chair to get out of the cave.So they just stood there, holding
their breath and trembling, and Mr.'Possum wished now it _was_ a dream,
and that he could wake up right away before the nightmare began.Bear he turned this way and that way, and once or twice seemed
about to settle down and sleep again; but just as they thought he really
had done it, he sat up pretty straight and looked all around.Then the Hollow Tree People thought their time had come, and they wanted
to make a jump, and run for the door, only they were afraid to try it.Bear yawned a long yawn, and stretched himself, and rubbed his eyes
open, and looked over at the fire and down at the candle on the table
and up at the clock on the mantel.The '<DW53> and 'Possum and the Old
Black Crow thought, of course, he'd know somebody had been there by all
those things being set going, and they expected him to roar out
something terrible and start for the pantry first thing.Bear didn't seem to understand it at all, or to suppose that
anything was wrong, and from what he mumbled to himself they saw right
away that he thought he'd been asleep only a little while instead of all
winter.they heard him growl, "I must have gone to sleep, and was
dreaming it's time to wake up.I didn't sleep long, though, by the way
the fire and the candle look, besides it's only a quarter of ten, and I
remember winding the clock at half after eight.Funny I feel so hungry,
after eating a big supper only two hours ago.Must be the reason I
dreamed it was spring.guess I'll just eat a piece of pie and go
to bed."Bear got up and held on to his chair to steady himself, and
yawned some more and rubbed his eyes, for he was only about half awake
yet, and pretty soon he picked up his candle and started for the pantry.Then the Hollow Tree People felt as if they were going to die.They
didn't dare to breathe or make the least bit of noise, and just huddled
back in a corner close to the wall, and Mr.'Possum all at once felt as
if he must sneeze right away, and Mr.'<DW53> would have given anything to
be able to scratch his back, and Mr.Crow thought if he could only cough
once more and clear his throat he wouldn't care whether he had anything
to eat, ever again.Bear he came shuffling along toward the pantry with his candle
all tipped to one side, still rubbing his eyes and trying to wake up,
and everything was just as still as still--all except a little scratchy
sound his claws made dragging along the floor, though that wasn't a nice
sound for the Hollow Tree People to hear.And when he came to the pantry
door Mr.Bear pushed it open quite wide and was coming straight in, only
just then he caught his toe a little on the door-sill and _stumbled_ in,
and that was too much for Mr.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.'Possum, who turned loose a sneeze that
shook the world.'<DW53> made a dive under Mr.'Possum did too, and down came Mr.Bear and down came his candle, and
the candle went out, but not any quicker than the Hollow Tree People,
who broke for the cave door and slammed it behind them, and struck out
for the bushes as if they thought they'd never live to get there.But when they got into some thick hazel brush they stopped a minute to
breathe, and then they all heard Mr.as loud
as he could, and when they listened they heard him mention something
about an earthquake and that the world was coming to an end.<DW53> SCRATCHED HIS BACK AGAINST A LITTLE BUSH]
Then Mr.'Possum said that from the sound of Mr.Bear's voice he seemed
to be unhappy about something, and that it was too bad for them to just
pass right by without asking what was the trouble, especially if Mr.Bear, who had always been so friendly, should ever hear of it.So then
they straightened their collars and ties and knocked the dust off a
little, and Mr.'<DW53> scratched his back against a little bush and Mr.Crow cleared his throat, and they stepped out of the hazel patch and
went up to Mr.Bear's door and pushed it open a little and called out:
"Oh, Mr.I've been struck by an
earthquake and nearly killed, and everything I've got must be ruined.Bring a light and look at my pantry!'<DW53> ran with a splinter from Mr.Bear's fire and lit the
candle, and Mr.Bear got up, rubbing himself and taking on, and began
looking at his pantry shelves, which made him better right away."Oh," he said, "how lucky the damage is so small!Only two pies and a
partridge knocked down, and they are not much hurt.I thought everything
was lost, and my nerves are all upset when I was getting ready for my
winter sleep.How glad I am you happened to be passing.Stay with me,
and we will eat to quiet our nerves."Then the Hollow Tree People said that the earthquake had made them
nervous too, and that perhaps a little food would be good for all of
them; so they flew around just as if they were at home, and brought Mr.Bear's table right into the pantry, and some chairs, and set out the
very best things and told Mr.Bear to sit right up to the table and help
himself, and then all the others sat up, too, and they ate everything
clear through, from meat-pie in mince-pie, just as if Mr.'Possum's
dream had really come true.Bear said he didn't understand how he could have such a good
appetite when he had such a big supper only two hours ago, and he said
that there must have been two earthquakes, because a noise of some kind
had roused him from a little nap he had been taking in his chair, but
that the real earthquake hadn't happened until he got to the pantry
door, where he stumbled a little, which seemed to touch it off.He said
he hoped he'd never live to go through with a thing like that again.Then the Hollow Tree People said they had heard both of the shocks, and
that the last one was a good deal the worst, and that of course such a
thing would sound a good deal louder in a cave anyway.John went to the kitchen.And by-and-by,
when they were all through eating, they went in by the fire and sat down
and smoked, and Mr.Bear said he didn't feel as sleepy as he thought he
should because he was still upset a good deal by the shock, but that he
guessed he would just crawl into bed while they were there, as it seemed
nice to have company.So he did, and by-and-by he dropped off to sleep again, and the Hollow
Tree People borrowed a few things, and went out softly and shut the door
behind them.Rabbit's house on the way home, and
told him they had enjoyed a nice breakfast with Mr.Bear had sent a partridge and a pie and a little pot of honey to Mr.Rabbit because of his fondness for the family.Rabbit felt
quite pleased, because it was too early for spring vegetables and hard
to get good things for the table."No, he woke up again pretty soon, for he had finished his nap, and of
course the next time when he looked around he found his fire out and the
candle burned down and the clock stopped, so he got up and went outside,
and saw it was spring and that he had slept a good deal longer than
usual.But when he went to eat his spring breakfast he couldn't
understand why he wasn't very hungry, and thought it must be because
he'd eaten two such big suppers."But why didn't the Hollow Tree People tell him it was spring and not
let him go to bed again?"John travelled to the garden.Well, I s'pose they thought it wouldn't be very polite to tell Mr.Bear
how he'd been fooled, and, besides, he needed a nice nap again after the
earthquake--anyhow, he thought it was an earthquake, and was a good deal
upset.RABBIT THANKED HIM FROM ACROSS THE RIVER]
And it was a long time before he found out what _had really_ happened,
and he never would have known, if Mr.Rabbit hadn't seen him fishing one
day and thanked him from across the river for the nice breakfast he had
sent him by the Hollow Tree People.Rabbit a few questions
about things in general and earthquakes in particular, and the more he
found out and thought about it the more he began to guess just how it
was, and by-and-by when he did find out all about it, he didn't care any
more, and really thought it quite a good joke on himself for falling
asleep in his chair and sleeping there all winter long.CROW'S GARDEN
MR.CROW'S GARDEN
THE HOLLOW TREE PEOPLE LEARN HOW TO RAISE FINE VEGETABLES
One morning, right after breakfast in the Hollow Tree, Mr.Crow said
he'd been thinking of something ever since he woke up, and if the '<DW53>
and the 'Possum thought it was a good plan he believed he'd do it.He
said of course they knew how good Mr.Rabbit's garden always was, and
how he nearly lived out of it during the summer, Mr.Rabbit being a good
deal of a vegetarian; by which he meant that he liked vegetables better
than anything, while the Hollow Tree People, Mr.Crow said, were a
little different in their tastes, though he didn't know just what the
name for them was.He said he thought they might be humanitarians,
because they liked the things that Mr.Man and other human beings liked,
but that he wasn't sure whether that was the right name or not.'Possum said for him to never mind about the word, but to go on
and talk about his plan if it had anything to do with something to eat,
for he was getting pretty tired of living on little picked-up things
such as they had been having this hard spring, and Mr.'<DW53> said so
too.Crow said:
"Well, I've been planning to have a garden this spring like Mr.'Possum, "I thought you were going to start a chicken
farm."Crow said "No," that the Big Deep Woods didn't seem a healthy
place for chickens, and that they could pick up a chicken here and there
by-and-by, and then if they had nice green pease to go with it, or some
green corn, or even a tender salad, it would help out, especially when
they had company like Mr.Mary went back to the kitchen.Rabbit, who
cared for such things.So then the '<DW53> and the 'Possum both said that to have green pease and
corn was a very good idea, especially when such things were mixed with
young chickens with plenty of dressing and gravy, and that as this was a
pleasant morning they might walk over and call on Jack Rabbit so that
the Old Black Crow could find out about planting things.'Possum
said that his uncle Silas Lovejoy always had a garden, and he had worked
it a good deal when he was young, but that he had forgotten just how
things should be planted, though he knew the moon had something to do
with it, and if you didn't get the time right the things that ought to
grow up would grow down and the down things would all grow up, so that
you'd have to dig your pease and pick your potatoes when the other way
was the fashion and thought to be better in this climate.So then the Hollow Tree People put on their things and went out into the
nice April sunshine and walked over to Jack Rabbit's house, saying how
pleasant it was to take a little walk this way when everything was
getting green, and they passed by where Mr.Robin were building
a new nest, and they looked in on a cozy little hollow tree where Mr.Squirrel, who had just brought home a young wife from over by the Big
West Hills, had set up housekeeping with everything new except the
old-fashioned feather-bed and home-made spread which Miss Squirrel had
been given by her folks.Squirrel's house and
said how snug it was, and that perhaps it would be better not to try to
furnish it too much at once, as it was nice just to get things as one
was able, instead of doing everything at the start.Rabbit's house he was weaving a rag carpet for his
front room, and they all stood behind him and watched him weave, and
by-and-by Mr.'<DW53> wanted to try it, but he didn't know how to run the
treadle exactly, and got some of the strands |
office | Where is John? | It was all laid out in rows,
and was straight and trim, and there wasn't a weed anywhere.He had
things up, too--pease and lettuce and radishes--and he had some
tomato-plants growing in a box in the house, because it was too early to
put them out.Rabbit said that a good many people bought their plants, but that he
always liked to raise his own from seed, because then he knew just what
they were and what to expect.He told them how to plant the different
things and about the moon, and said there was an old adage in his family
that if you remembered it you'd always plant at the right time.The
adage, he said, was:
"Pease and beans in the light of the moon--
Both in the pot before it's June."Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.And of course you only had to change "light" to "dark" and use it for
turnips and potatoes and such things, though really it was sometimes
later than June, but June was near enough, and rhymed with "moon" better
than July and August.Crow all the seeds he
wanted, and that when he was ready to put out tomatoes he would let him
have plenty of plants too.'<DW53> said it would be nice to have a few flower seeds, and
they all looked at Mr.'<DW53> because they knew he had once been in love,
and they thought by his wanting flowers that he might be going to get
that way again.Rabbit said he was fond of flowers, too, especially the
old-fashioned kind, and he picked out some for Mr.'<DW53>; and then he
went to weaving again, and the Hollow Tree People watched him awhile,
and he pointed out pieces of different clothes he had had that he was
weaving into his carpet, and they all thought how nice it was to use up
one's old things that way.Then by-and-by the Hollow Tree People went back home, and they began
their garden right away.It was just the kind of a day to make garden
and they all felt like it, so they spaded and hoed and raked, and didn't
find it very easy because the place had never been used for a garden
before, and there were some roots and stones; and pretty soon Mr.'<DW53> might go on with the digging
and he would plant the seeds, as he had been used to such work when he
lived with his uncle Silas as a boy.[Illustration: ONE SAID IT WAS ONE WAY AND THE OTHER THE OTHER WAY]
So then he took the seeds, but he couldn't remember Mr.Rabbit's adages
which told whether beets and carrots and such things as grow below the
ground had to be planted in the dark of the moon or the light of the
moon, and it was the same about beans and pease and the things that
grow above the ground; and when he spoke to Mr.John went to the kitchen.'<DW53> about
it, one said it was one way and the other the other way, and then Mr.'Possum said he wasn't planting the things in the moon anyhow, and he
thought Mr.Rabbit had made the adages to suit the day he was going to
plant and that they would work either way.'Possum planted everything there was, and showed Mr.'<DW53>
how to plant his flower seeds; and when they were all done they stood
off and admired their nice garden, and said it was just about as nice as
Jack Rabbit's, and maybe nicer in some ways, because it had trees around
it and was a pleasant place to work.Well, after that they got up every morning and went out to look at their
garden, to see if any of the things were coming up; and pretty soon they
found a good _many_ things coming up, but they were not in hills and
rows, and Mr.'Possum said they were weeds, because he remembered that
Uncle Silas's weeds had always looked like those, and how he and his
little cousins had had to hoe them.So then they got their hoes and hoed
every morning, and by-and-by they had to hoe some during the day too, to
keep up with the weeds, and the sun was pretty hot, and Mr.'Possum did
most of his hoeing over by the trees where it wasn't so sunny, and said
that hereafter he thought it would be a good plan to plant all their
garden in the shade.And every day they kept looking for the seeds to come up, and by-and-by
a few did come up, and then they were quite proud, and went over and
told Jack Rabbit about it, and Mr.Rabbit came over to give them some
advice, and said he thought their garden looked pretty well for being
its first year and put in late, though it looked to him, he said, as if
some of it had been planted the wrong time of the moon, and he didn't
think so much shade was very good for most things.'Possum said he'd rather have more shade and less things, and he
thought next year he'd let his part of the garden out on shares.Well, it got hotter and hotter, and the weeds grew more and more, and
the Hollow Tree People had to work and hoe and pull nearly all day in
the sun to keep up with them, and they would have given it up pretty
soon, only they wanted to show Jack Rabbit that they could have a garden
too, and by-and-by, when their things got big enough to eat, they were
so proud that they invited Mr.Rabbit to come over for dinner, and they
sent word to Mr.Turtle, too, because he likes good things and lives
alone, not being a family man like Mr.Now of course the Hollow Tree People knew that they had no such fine
things in their garden as Jack Rabbit had in his, and they said they
couldn't expect to, but they'd try to have other things to make up; and
Mr.Crow was cooking for two whole days getting his chicken-pies and his
puddings and such things ready for that dinner.And then when the
morning came for it he was out long before sun-up to pick the things in
the garden while they were nice and fresh, with the dew on them.Crow looked over his garden he felt pretty bad, for, after
all, the new potatoes were little and tough, and the pease were small
and dry, and the beans were thin and stringy, and the salad was pretty
puny and tasteless, and the corn was just nubbins, because it didn't
grow in a very good place and maybe hadn't been planted or tended very
well.Crow walked up and down the rows and thought a good deal,
and finally decided that he'd just take a walk over toward Jack Rabbit's
garden to see if Mr.Rabbit's things were really so much better after
all.Crow knew Jack Rabbit didn't get up
so soon, and he made up his mind he wouldn't wake him when he got there,
but would just take a look over his nice garden and come away again.Rabbit's back fence he climbed through a crack, and
sat down in the weeds to rest a little and to look around, and he saw
that Mr.Rabbit's house was just as still and closed up as could be,
and no signs of Jack Rabbit anywhere.Crow stepped out into the corn patch and looked along at the
rows of fine roasting ears, which made him feel sad because of those
little nubbins in his own garden, and then he saw the fine fat pease and
beans and salads in Jack Rabbit's garden, and it seemed to him that Mr.Y' know, we had a little
bunch of fellers from this section that went down t' Cuba with Colonel
Roos'velt and chased the Spanish some.Wal, y' never heerd _them_
crowin' 'round about what they done.And this Walker, he blowed too
much t' be genuwine."If he's 'lected sheriff, it's goin' t' be risky business gittin'
in to a' argyment with anybody," I says."He'd just _like_ t' git
one of us jugged.Say, what's goin' to be did fer Hank?""Wal," answers Hairoil, mouth screwed up anxious, "we're in a right
serious fix.So they's to be a sorta convention this afternoon, and
we're a-goin' t' cut out whisky whilst the session lasts."_Huh!_"
"Good fer you!We made fer the council-tent at three o'clock--the bunch of us.The
deepot waitin'-room was choosed, that bein', as the boys put it, "the
most _re_spectable public place in town that wouldn't want rent."Wal, we worked our jaws a lot, goin' over the sittywaytion from start
to finish."Gents let's hear what you-all got to say," begun Chub
Flannagan, standin' up."_I ad_vise you to
rope Shackleton," he says, "and lemme give him some hoss liniment t'
put him on his laigs."(We was agreed that the hull business depended
on the _Eye-Opener_.)But the rest of us didn't favour Billy's plan.So we ended by pickin' a 'lection committee.No dues, no by-laws, no
chairman.But ev'ry blamed one of us a sergeant-at-arms with orders t'
keep Hank Shackleton _outen the saloons_.If he could buck
up, and _stay_ straight, and go t' gittin' out the _Eye-Opener,_
Bergin 'd shore win out."Gents," says Monkey Mike, "soon as ever Briggs hears of our
committee, we're a-goin' t' git pop'lar with the nice people, 'cause
we're tryin' t' help Hank.And we're also goin' t' git a black eye
with the licker men account of shuttin' off the Shackleton trade.A-course, us punchers must try t' make it up t' the thirst-parlours
fer the loss, though I _ad_mit it 'll not be a' easy proposition.But things is _desp_'rate.John travelled to the garden.Mary went back to the kitchen.If Walker gits in, we'll have a nasty
deputy-sheriff sent up here t' cross us ev'ry time we make a move.We
got t' _work,_ gents.John travelled to the office.Bergin treated
me square all right over that Andrews fuss."(Y' see, Mike's a
grateful little devil, if he _does_ ride like a fool Englishman.)"Wal," says Buckshot Milliken, "who'll be the first sergeant?All the fellers just kept quiet--but they looked at each other, worried
like."Don't all speak to oncet," says Buckshot."_I'_m willin' t' try my hand," I says.It was Buckshot, earnest as the dickens.Daniel went to the bedroom."But--but we hope you're goin' to go slow with Hank.Don't do
nothin' foolish.""What in thunder's got _into_ you fellers?"I ast, lookin' at 'em."You ain't saw him since he begun t' drink, I reckon," says Chub.By this time, I was so all-fired et up with curiosity t' git a look at
Hank that I couldn't stand it no more.Hank is a turrible tall feller, and thin as a ramrod.He's got hair you
could flag a train with, and a face as speckled as a turkey aig.And when
I come on to him that day, here he was, stretched out on the floor of
Dutchy's back room, mouth wide open, and snorin' like a rip-saw."Here, Hank," I says, "wake up and pay
fer you' keep.Next, he sit up, and fixed a' awful ugly look
on me."My friend," I begun, "Briggs City likes you, and in the present case
it's a-tryin' t' make 'lowances, and not chalk nothin' agin y',
but----"
"Blankety blank Briggs City!""Ish had me shober and ish
had me drunk, and neither way don't shoot.""Now, ole man, I reckon you're wrong," I says.Just try t' realise that they's a 'lection comin', and
that you got t' help.""Walkersh a friend of mine," says Hank, and laid down again.Wal, I didn't want t' be there all day.I wanted t' have _some_ time
to myself, y' savvy, so's I could keep track of Mace.This whack, he got up, straddlin' his feet out like a mad tarantula,
and kinda clawin' the air.They wasn't no gun visible on him, but he
was loaded, all right.Had a revolver stuck under his belt in front, so
's the bottom of his vest hid it.I jerked it out and kicked it clean acrosst the floor.Then I drug him
out and started fer the bunk-house with him._Gosh!_ it was a job!Wal, the pore cuss didn't git another swalla of forty-rod that day;
and by the next mornin' he was calm and had a' appetite.So three
of us sergeant-at-arms happened over to see him.Bill Rawson was there
a'ready, keepin' him comp'ny.And first thing y' know, I was handin'
that editor of ourn great big slathers of straight talk."_I_ know what you done fer me, Cupid," says Hank."And I'm
grateful,--yas, I am.But let me tell you that when I git started
drinkin', I cain't _stop_--never do till I'm just wored out 'r
stone broke.And I git mean, and on the fight, and don't know what
I'm doin'.But," he _con_-tinues (his face was as long as you'
arm), "if you-all 'll fergive me, and let this spree pass, why, I'll
go back t' takin' water at the railroad tank with the Sante Fee
ingines.""Hank," I says, "you needn't t' say nothin' further.But pack
no more loads, m' son, pack no more loads.And _try_ t' git out another
_EyeOpener_.Not only is this sheriff matter pressin', but the lit'rary
standin' of Briggs City is at stake.""And I'll git up a' issue of the
_Opener_ pronto--only you boys 'll have t' help me out some on the
news part.I don't recollect much that's been happenin' lately."So, 'fore long, I was back at the
deepot, settin' on a truck and watchin' the eatin'-house windas,
and the boys--Bergin and all--was lined up 'longside Dutchy's bar,
celebratin'.But our work was a long, l-o-n-g way from bein' done.Hank kept
sober just five hours.Then he got loose from Hairoil and made fer a
thirst-parlour.And when Hairoil found him again, he was fuller'n a tick."I'm blue as all git out about what's happened," says Hairoil."But
I couldn't help it; it was just rotten luck.And I hear that when the
_Tarantula_ come out yesterday it had a hull column about that Walker,
callin' him a brave ex-soldier and the next sheriff of Woodward County.""And just ten days 'fore 'lection!""Cupid,
it's root hawg 'r die!""That's what it is," I says."Wal, I'll go git after Hank again."He was in Dutchy's, same as afore.But not so loaded, this time, and
a blamed sight uglier.Minute he _seen_ me, his back was up!"Here, you
snide puncher," he begun, "you tryin' to arrest _me?_ Wal, blankety
blank blank," (fill it in the worst you can think of--he was beefin'
somethin' _awful_) "I'll have you know that I ain't never 'lowed
_no_ man t' put |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.And his hand went down and begun
feelin' fer the butt of a gun.But I only just walked over and put a' arm 'round Hank."Now, come on
home," I says, like I meant it."'Cause y' know, day after t'-morra
another _Eye-Opener_ has _got_ to rise t' the top.He turned on me then, and give me such a push in the chest that I sit
down on the floor--right suddent, too.And the next thing _he_ knowed, I had him by the back of the collar, and
was a-draggin' him out.I was plumb wored out by the time I got him home, and so Chub, he stayed
t' watch.And I was still a-settin' there,
feelin' lonesome, and kinda put out, too, when here come Buckshot
Milliken towards me."I think Hank oughta be'shamed of hisself," he says, "fer the way
he talks about you.Course, we know why he does it, and that it ain't
true----"
"What's he got t' say about me?""He said you was a ornery hoodlum," answers Buckshot, "and a loafer,
and that he's a-goin' t' roast you in his paper.He'd put Oklahomaw
on to _you,_ he said.""And you been _such_ a good friend t' Hank," goes on Buckshot."Wal,
don't it go to show!""If he puts on single _word_ about me in that paper of hisn," I says,
gittin' on my ear good and plenty, "I'll just natu'ally take him
acrosst my knee and give him a spankin'.""And he'll put enough slugs in you t' make a sinker," answers
Buckshot."Why, Cupid, Hank Shackleton can fight his weight in wildcats.John went to the kitchen._You go slow._"
"But _he_ cain't shoot," I says."He cain't _shoot!_" repeats Buckshot."Why, I hear he was a reg'lar
gun-fighter oncet, and so blamed fancy with his shootin' that he could
drive a two-penny nail into a plank at twenty yards ev'ry bit as good
as a carpenter.""Wal," I says, "I'll be blasted if that's got _me_ scairt any.""I'm right sorry t' see any bad blood 'twixt
y'," he says.Next thing, it was all over town that Hank was a-lookin' fer me.Afterwards, I heerd that it was Hairoil tole Macie about it."You
know," he says to her, "whenever Hank's loaded and in hollerin'
distance of a town, you can shore bet some one's goin' t' git hurt."Mace, she looked a little bit nervous.But she just said, "I reckon
Alec can take keer of hisself."Then off she goes to pick out a trunk
at Silverstein's.I reckon, though, that ole Silverstein 'd heerd about the trouble, too.So when Mace come back to the eatin'-house, she sit down and writ me a
letter."_Friend Alec,_" it said, "_I want to see you fer a minute
right after supper.Macie Sewell._"
It was four o'clock then.But all good things come to a' end--as the feller said when he was
strung up on a rope.And the hands of my watch loped into they places
when they couldn't hole back no longer.Then, outen the door on the
track side of the eatin'-house, here she come!I was hungry t' talk to her, and git holt of one of her
hands.But whilst I watched her walk toward me, I couldn't move, it
seemed like; and they was a lump as big as a baseball right where my
Adam's apple oughta be.She stopped and looked straight at me, and I seen she'd been cryin'."Alec," she says, "I didn't mean t' give in and see you 'fore I
went.But they tole me you and Hank 'd had words.And--and I couldn't
stay mad no longer.""I ain't a-goin' away t' stay," she says."Leastways, I don't
_think_ so.John travelled to the garden.But I want a try at singin', Alec,--a chanst.Paw's down
on me account of that.And he don't even come in town no more.But--_you_ understand, Alec, don't y'?"I _want_ you
should have a chanst.""And if I win out, I want you t' come to Noo York and hear me sing."Ev'ry night, I'll go out under the cottonwoods, by the ditch, and
I'll say, 'Gawd, bless my little gal.'""I won't fergit y', Alec."Off west they was just a little melon-rind of
moon in the sky.As I looked, it begun to dance, kinda, and change shape."I'll allus be waitin'," I says, after a little, "--if it's five
years, 'r fifty, 'r the end of my life.""They won't never be no other man, Alec.Just you----"
"Macie!"That second, we both heerd hollerin' acrosst the street.Then here come
Hairoil, runnin', and carryin' a gun."Cupid," he says, pantin', "take this."(He shoved the gun into my
hand.)"Miss Macie, git outen the way.Quick as I could, I moved to one side, so's she wouldn't be in range."_Ye-e-e-oop!_"
As Hank rounded the corner, he was staggerin' some, and wavin' his
shootin'-iron."I'm a Texas bad man," he yelps; "I'm as ba-a-ad
as they make 'em, and tough as bull beef."Mary went back to the kitchen.Then, he went tearin'
back'ards and for'ards like he'd pull up the station platform."I've put a _lot_ of fellers t' sleep with
they boots on!Come ahaid if you want t' git planted in my private
graveyard!"Next, and whilst Mace was standin' not ten feet back of him, he seen
me.He spit on his pistol hand, and started my way."You blamed polecat," he hollered, "_I'll_ learn you t' shoot off
you' mouth when it ain't loaded!John travelled to the office.You' hands ain't mates and you'
feet don't track, and I'm a-goin' t' plumb lay you out!""What's in you' craw, anyhow?"Wal, sir, I doubled up like a jack-knife, and went down kerflop.The
boys got 'round me--say!talk about you' pale-faces!--and yelled to
Hank to stop.He drawed another gun, and, just as I got t' my feet, went
backin' off, coverin' the crowd all the time, and warnin' 'em not
t' mix in.Quick as a wink, she reached
into a buckboard fer a whip.Next, she run straight up to Hank--and give
him a _turrible_ lick!He dropped his pistols and put his two arms acrosst his eyes.(It'd sobered him, seemed like.)Then, he turned
and took to his heels.That same second, I heerd a yell--Bergin's voice.Next, the sheriff come
tearin' 'round the corner and tackled Hank.The two hit the ground like
a thousand of brick.Mace come runnin' towards me, then.But the boys haided her off, and
wouldn't let her git clost."Blood's runnin' all down this side of him," says Monkey Mike.yells Buckshot, "git Billy Trowbridge!""Don't you cry, ner nothin'," says Hairoil t' Mace.And whilst he
helt her back, they packed me acrosst the platform and up-stairs into one
of them rooms over the lunch-counter.And then, 'fore I could say Jack
Robinson, they hauled my coat off, put a wet towel 'round my forrid,
and put me into bed.After that, they pulled down the curtains, and
bunched t'gether on either side of my pilla.Just then, Monkey Mike come runnin' in with the parson, and the parson
put out a hand t' make me be still."My _dear_ friend," he says,
"I'm _sorry_ this happened."And he was so darned worried lookin'
that I begun t' think somethin' shore _was_ wrong with me, and I laid
quiet.Next, the door opened and in come Mace!The room was so dark she couldn't see much at first.So, she stepped
closter, walkin' soft, like she didn't want to jar nobody.Wal, then she turned to the bunch, speakin' awful anxious."Naw," I begun, "I----"
Monkey Mike edged 'twixt me and her, puttin' one hand over my mouth so
's I couldn't talk."We don't know exac'ly," he answers.she says, like she was astin' 'em to fergive her; and,
"Alec!"Buckshot said afterwards that it _shore_ was a solemn death-bed scene.Daniel went to the bedroom.The parson was back agin the wall, his chin on his bosom; I was chawin'
the fingers offen Mike, and the rest of the fellers was standin'
t'gether, laughin' into they hats fit t' sprain they faces."Doc," says Macie, "save him!""I'll do all I can," promises Billy."Let's hope he'll pull
through.""Mace," he says, "they's one thing you can do
that'd be a _mighty_ big comfort t' pore Cupid."Mary journeyed to the bedroom."I'll do _any_thin'
fer him.""Marry him, Mace," he says, "and try to nuss him back t' health
again.""_Marry!_" I says.But 'fore I could git any more out, Mike shut off my wind!She wasn't skittish no more: She was so tame she'd
'a' et right outen my hand."Parson," she says, goin' towards him,
"will--will you marry Alec and me--now?""Dee-lighted," says the parson, "--if he is able t' go through the
ceremony.""Parson," I begun, pullin' my face loose, "I want----"
Mike give me a dig.Fer a minute, I just laid back, faint shore enough, thinkin' what a
all-fired sucker I was.And whilst I was stretched out that-a-way, Mace
come clost and give me her hand.The parson, he took out a little black
book."_Dearly beloved,_" he begun, "_we are gathered t'gether----_"
It was then I sit up.And to Mace, "Little
gal, I ain't a-goin' t' let 'em take no advantage of you.I _wasn't_
hit in the side.It's my arm, and it's only just creased a little."Mace kinda blinked, not knowin' whether t' be glad 'r not, I reckon."And this hull bsuiness," I goes on, "is a trick."Her haid went up, and her cheeks got plumb white.Then, she begun t'
back--slow.she repeats; "--it's a trick!how _mean!_ I didn't think you was like that!"John went back to the bathroom.It wasn't----"
"A trick!""But I'm glad I found it out--_yas_.This
afternoon when I was talkin' to y', I wanted t' stay right here in
Briggs--I wanted t' stay with you.If you'd just said you wisht I
would; if you'd just turned over you' hand, why, I'd 'a' give up the
trip.My heart was achin' t' think I was goin'.But now, _now--_" And
she choked up.Somehow I was beginnin' t' feel
kinda dizzy and sick."And you was in it, too!--_you!_" she says."I'd do anythin' t' keep you from goin' t' Noo York," he answers,
"and from bein' a' actress.""The hull _town_ was in it!""_Ev'ry_body was ready t' git me fooled; t' make me the josh of the
county!""No, _no,_ little gal," I answers, and got to my feet byside the bed."I don't wonder the rest
of you ain't got nothin' t' say," she says."Why, I ain't never
_heerd_ of anythin' so--so low."And haid down, and sobbin', she went
out.I tried t' foller, but my laigs was sorta wobbley.I got just a step
'r two, and put a' arm on Billy's shoulder.The boys went out then, too, not sayin' a word, but lookin' some sneaky."Bring her back," I called after 'em."Aw, I've hurt my pore little
gal!"I started t' walk again, leanin' on the doc."Boys!----"
Next thing, over I flopped into Billy's arms.* * * * *
When I come to, a little later on, here was Billy settin' byside me, a'
awful sober look on his face."Billy," I says to him, "where is she?""Cupid--don't take it hard, ole man--she's--she's gone.Boarded the
East-bound not half a' hour ago.But, pardner----"
Gone!CHAPTER EIGHT
ANOTHER SCHEME, AND HOW IT PANNED OUT
WAL, pore ole Sewell!_I_ wasn't feelin' dandy them days, you'd better
believe.But, Sewell, he took Macie's goin' _turrible_ bad.Whenever
he come in town, he was allus just as _qui-i-et_.Not a cheep about
the little gal; wouldn't 'a' laughed fer a nickel; and never'd go
anywheres nigh the lunch-counter.Then, he begun t' git peakeder'n the
dickens, and his eyes looked as big as saucers, and bloodshot.He'd heerd all about that Shackleton business,
y' savvy, and was awful down on me; helt me _re_sponsible fer the hull
thing, and tole the boys he never wanted t' set eyes on me again.Hairoil went to him and said I'd been jobbed, and was innocenter'n
Mary's little lamb.But Sewell wouldn't listen even, and said I'd done
him dirt.A-course, I couldn't go back t' my Bar Y job, then,--and me plumb crazy
t' git to work and make enough t' go to Noo York on!But I didn't do
no mournin'; I kept a stiff upper lip."Cupid," I says to myself,
"allus remember that the gal that's hard t' ketch is the best kind
when oncet you've got her."And I sit down and writ the foreman of
the Mulhall outfit.(By now, my arm was all healed up fine.)Wal, when I went over to the post-office a little bit later on, the
post-master tole me that Sewell'd just got a letter from Macie!--but it
hadn't seemed t' chirp the ole man up any.Trowbridge, too, he says; did I want to look at it?It was from her--I'd know her little dinky |
office | Where is Mary? | I helt it
fer a minute--'twixt my two hands.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.It was like I had her fingers, kinda.Then, "S'pose they ain't nothin' fer me t'day," I says."Wal," I goes on "would you mind lettin' me take this over t' Rose?""Why, no,--go ahaid."John went to the kitchen.I went, quick as ever my laigs could carry me, the letter tucked inside
my shirt.Rose read it out loud t' me, whilst I helt the kid.It wasn't a long
letter, but, somehow, I never could recollect afterwards just the
exac' words that was in it.I drawed, though, that Mace was havin'
a _way_-up time.She was seein' all the shows, she said, meetin'
slathers of folks, and had a room with a nice, sorta middle-aged lady,
in a place where a lot of young fellers and gals hung out t' study all
kinds of fool business.Some of 'em she liked, and some she didn't.Some took her fer a greeney, and some was fresh.But she was learnin' a
pile--and 'd heerd Susy's Band!"Does she give her _ad_dress?""Just Gen'ral Deliv'ry."John travelled to the garden.I'm goin' t' have chicken fricassee."I made towards Dutchy's--pretty blue, I was, a-course."Cupid," I
says, "bad luck runs in you' fambly like the wooden laig."But, mind y', I wasn't goin' with the idear of boozin' up, _no,_
ma'am._I_ figger that if a gal's worth stewin' over any, she's a
hull lot _too_ good fer a man that gits _drunk_.I went 'cause I knowed
the boys was there; and them days the boys was _mighty_ nice to me.Wal, this day, I'm powerful glad I went.If I hadn't, it's likely I'd
never 'a' got that bully _po_-sition, 'r played Cupid again (without
knowin' it)--and so got the one chanst I was a-prayin' fer.Now, this is what happened:
I'd just got inside Dutchy's, and was a-standin' behind Buckshot
Milliken, watchin' him bluff the station-agent with two little pair,
when I heerd Hairoil a-talkin' to hisself, kinda.he
says (he was peerin' acrosst the street towards the deepot), "what
blamed funny things I see when I ain't got no gun!"A-course, we all stampeded over and took a squint."Wal, when did _that_
blow in?"goes on one of the Lazy X boys, making believe as if he was weak in
the laigs.Mary went back to the kitchen.A young feller we'd never seen afore was comin' cater-corners from the
station.He was a slim-Jim, sorta salla complected, jaw clean scraped,
and he had on a pair of them tony pinchbug spectacles.He was rigged
out fit t' kill--grey store clothes, dicer same colour as the suit,
sky-blue shirt, socks tatooed green, and gloves.He passed clost, not
lookin' our _di_rection, and made fer the Arnaz rest'rant.Just as he got right in front of it, he come short and begun readin'
the sign that's over the door--
Meals 25c
Start in and It's a Habit
You cain't Quit.Then we seen him grin like he was _turrible_ tickled, and take out a
piece of paper t' set somethin' down."Not a sewin'-machine agent, 'r he'd 'a' wore a duster," says
Hairoil."And a patent medicine man would 'a' had on a stove-pipe," adds
Bergin."Maype he iss a preacher," puts in Dutchy, lookin' scairt as the
dickens."But if he was a drummer, he'd 'a' steered
straight fer a thirst-parlour."Missed it a mile--the hull of us.Minute, and in run Sam Barnes, face
redder'n a danger-signal."Boys," he says, all up in the air, "did y' see It?I was at the Arnaz feed
shop, gassin' Carlota, when It shassayed in.John travelled to the office.Said It was down here fer
the first time in a-a-all Its life, and figgers t' work this town fer
book mawterial.Gents, It's a liter'toor sharp!""Of all the _gall!_" growls Chub Flannagan, gittin' hot."Goin' t'
take a shy outen us!"And I seen that some of the other boys felt like
_he_ did.Buckshot Milliken spit in his hands."I'll go over," he says, "and
just natu'lly settle that dude's hash.I'd _admire_ t' do it.""Gents," I begun,
"ain't you just a little bit hasty?_Con_-sider this subject a little 'fore you act.Sam, I thought you
_liked_ t' read liter'toor books."Sam hauled out "Stealthy Steve"--a fav'-rite of hisn."Shore I do,"
he answers."But, as I tole this Boston feller, no liter'toor's been
happenin' in Briggs lately--no killin's, 'r train hole-ups.""_That's_ right, Sam," I says, sarcastic; "go and switch him over
t' Goldstone,--when they won't be another book writer stray down this
way fer a <DW53>'s age."Gents," I _con_tinues, "don't
you see this is Briggs City's one big chanst?--the chanst t' git
put in red letters on the railroad maps!T' git five square mile of
this mesquite staked out into town lots!You all know how we've had t'
take the slack of them jay-hawk farmers over Cestos way; and they ain't
such a _much,_ and cain't raise nothin' but shin-oak and peanuts and
chiggers.But they tell how _we_ git all the cyclones and rattlesnakes.Listen, gents,--Oklahomaw City's got
element streets, Guthrie's got a Carniggie lib'rary, and Bliss's
got the Hunderd-One Ranch._And we're a-goin' t' cabbage this book!_"
"Wal, that's a hoss of another colour," admits Chub."Yas," says Buckshot, "Cupid's right.We certainly got to attend to
this visitor that's come to our enterprisin' city, and give him a fair
shake.""_But,_" puts in Sam, "we're up a tree."Mawterial," I says, "--I don't just savvy what he means by that.Daniel went to the bedroom.But, boys, whatever it is, we got t' see that he _gits_ it.Now,
s'posin' I go find him, and sorta feel 'round a little, and draw
him out."They was agreed, and I split fer the rest'rant.Boston was there, all
right, talkin' to ole lady Arnaz (but keepin' a' eye peeled towards
Carlota), and pickin' the shucks offen a tamale.I sit down and ast fer
flapjacks.And whilst I was waitin' I sized him up.And from the jump, I seen one thing--they
wasn't _no_ showin' off to him, and no extra dawg ('r he wouldn't
'a' come to a joint where meals is only two-bits).He was a
book-writer, but when he talked he didn't use no ten-dollar-a-dozen
words.And, in place of seegars, he smoked cigareets--and rolled 'em
hisself with _one_ hand, by jingo!Wal, we had a nice, long parley-voo, me gittin' the hull sittywaytion
as _re_gards his book, and tellin' him we'd shore lay ourselves out
t' help him--if we didn't, it wouldn't be white; him, settin' down
things ev'ry oncet in a while, 'r whittlin' a stick with one of them
self-cockin' jackknives.We chinned fer the best part of a' hour.This was it: "Mister Lloyd," he says, "I'd like t' have you with
me all the time I'm down here,--that'll be three weeks, anyhow.You
could _ex_plain things, and--and be a kinda bodyguard.""Why, my friend," I says, "_you_ don't need no bodyguard in
Oklahomaw.But I'll be glad t' _ex_plain anythin' I can.""Course, I want t' pay you," he goes on; "'cause I'd be takin'
you' time----"
"I couldn't take no pay," I breaks in."And if I was t' have to go,
why any one of the bunch could help you just as good.""I like you, and I don't _want_ you
t' go.And you' job won't be a hard one."But, a-course, I didn't swaller that bodyguard
story,--I figgered that what he wanted was t' git in with the boys
through me.Wal, when I got back t' the thirst-parlour, I acted like I was loco._boys!_" I hollered, "I got a job!"And I give 'em all
a whack on the back, and I done a jig.Then, I says, "I ain't a-goin' t' ride fer
Mulhall,--not _this_ month, anyhow.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.This liter'toor gent's hired me
as his book foreman.As I understand it, they's some things he wants,
and I'm to help corral 'em.He says that just now most folks seem
t' be takin' a lot of interest in the West.He don't reckon the
fashion'll keep up, but, a-course a book-writer has t' git on to the
band-wagon.So, it's up t' me, boys, to give him what's got to be
had 'fore the _ex_citement dies down.""Cupid," he says, "the hull kit and boodle
of us'll come in on this.We want t' help, that's the reason.We _owe_
it to y', Cupid.""Boys," I answers, "I appreciate what you mean, and I _ac_cept you'
offer."Wal," I says, "he spoke a good bit about colour----"
"They's shore colour at the Arnaz feed shop," puts in Monkey Mike;
"--them strings of red peppers that the ole lady keeps hung on the
walls.And we can git blue shirts over to Silverstein's.""No, Mike," I says, "that ain't the idear.Colour is _Briggs,_ and
_us._"
"Aw, punk!""What kind of a book is it goin' t' be,
anyhow, with us punchers in it!"John went back to the bathroom."Wait till you hear what I got t' _do,_" I answers."To _con_tinue:
He mentioned char_ac_ters.Course, I had to _ad_mit we're kinda shy on
_them._"
"Wisht we had a few Injuns," says Hairoil."A scalpin' makes _mighty_
fine readin'.Now, mebbe, 'Pache Sam'd pass,--if he was lickered up
proper.""Funny," I says, "but he didn't bring up Injuns.Reckon they ain't
stylish no more.But he put it plain that he'd got to have a bad man.Said in a Western book you _allus_ got t' have a bad man.""Since we strung up them two Foster boys."says Bergin, "Briggs
ain't had what you'd call a bad man.In view of this writin' feller
comin', I don't know, gents, but what we was a little _hasty_ in
the Foster matter.""Wal," I says, "we got t' do our best with what's left.This
findin' mawterial fer a book ain't no dead open-and-shut proposition.'Cause Briggs ain't big, and it ain't what you'd call bad.But let's dig in and make up fer what's lackin'."First off, we togged ourselves out the way
punchers allus look in magazines.(I knowed that was how he wanted
us.)We rounded up all the shaps in town, with orders to wear 'em
constant--and made Dutchy keep 'em on, too!Then, guns: Each of us
carried six, kinda like a front fringe, y' savvy.Next, one of the boys
loped out t' the Lazy X and brung in a young college feller that'd
come t' Oklahomaw a while back fer his health.It 'pears that he'd
been readin' a Western book that was writ by a' Eastern gent somewheres
in Noo Jersey.he was the wildest lookin' cow-punch that's
ever been saw in these parts!We'd no more'n got all fixed up nice when, "Ssh!"says Buckshot,
"here he comes!"I says, "we got t' sing.The sheriff, he struck up----
"Paddy went to the Chinaman with only one shirt."_That's tough!_" we hollers, loud enough to lift the shakes."He lost of his ticket, says, 'Divvil the worse',
How's that?""_That's tough!_"
Mister Boston stopped byside the door.The sheriff goes on----
"Aw, Pat fer his shirt, he begged hard and plead,
But, 'No tickee, no washee', the Chinaman said.Now Paddy's in jail, and the Chinaman's dead!"_That's tough!_"
It brung him.He looked in, kinda edged through the door, took a bench,
and _sur_veyed them shaps, and them guns till his eyes plumb _pro_truded."'That's tough,'" repeats Monkey Mike, winkin' to the boys."Wal,
I should _re_mark it was!--to go t' jail just fer pluggin' a Chink.Irish must 'a' felt like two-bits.""What's two bits," says Rawson.Daniel travelled to the office.Wal, _one_ bit is
what you can take outen the other feller's hide at one mouthful._Two_
bits, a-course, is two of 'em.""And," says that college feller from the Lazy X, "go fer the cheek
allus--the best eatin'."Mary went back to the office."Not a Chinaman's cheek--too tough," says the sheriff."Shy
Locks, by Heaven!"Then to me again, speakin' low and pointin' at the
sheriff, "Mister Lloyd, what kind of a fambly did that man come from?""Don't know a hull lot about him," I answers, "but his mother was
a squaw, and his father was found on a doorstep.""A _squaw,_" he says.And he begun to watch
the sheriff clost."Gents, what you |
garden | Where is Daniel? | ast the Arnaz boy, comin'
our _di_rection."I feel awful caved in," answers Buckshot."Boil 'em hard, so's I can hole 'em in my fingers.And say, cool 'em
off 'fore you dish 'em up.I got blistered _bad_ the last time I et
aigs.""Rawson, what'll _you_ have?"Rawson, he kinda cocked one ear."Wal," he says, easy like, "give me
rattlesnake on toast."Nobody cheeped fer a minute, 'cause the boys was stumped fer somethin'
to go on with.But just as I was gittin' nervous that the conversation
was peterin' out, Boston speaks up.he says; "did he say _rattlesnake?_"
Like a shot, Rawson turned towards him, wrinklin' his forrid and
wigglin' his moustache awful fierce."_That's_ what I said," he
answers, voice plumb down to his number 'levens.I says, "on _this_ side
of the Mississippi, you got to be _keerful_ how you go shoot off you'
mouth!And when you _re_mark on folks's eatin', you don't want t'
look tickled."Wal, that was all the colour he got till night, when I had somethin'
more _pre_pared.We took up a collection fer winda-glass, and Chub
Flannagan, who can roll a gun the _prettiest_ you ever seen, walked up
and down nigh Boston's stoppin'-place, invitin' the fellers t' come
out and "git et up," makin' one 'r two of us dance the heel-and-toe
when we showed ourselves, and shootin' up the town gen'ally.Then, fer a week, nothin' happened.It was just about then that Rose got another letter from Macie.And it
seemed t' me that the little gal 'd changed her tune some.She said
Noo York took a _turrible_ lot of money--clothes, and grub, and so forth
and so on.Said they was so blamed little oxygen in the town that a lamp
wouldn't burn, and they'd got to use 'lectricity.And--that was all
fer _this_ time, 'cause she had t' write her paw."I s'pose," I says to Rose, "that it'd be wastin' my breath t'
ast----"
"Yas, Cupid," she answers, "but it'll be O. K. when she sees you.""_I_ reckon," I says hopeful.He didn't give me such a lot t' do them days--except t' show up at the
feed-shop three times reg'lar.That struck me as kinda funny--'cause
he was as flush as a' Osage chief."Why don't you grub over to the eatin'-house oncet in a while?""They got all _kinds_ of tony things--tomatoes and cucumbers
and as-paragrass, and them little toadstool things.""I s'pose they bring 'em
from other places.""They grow 'em right here--in flower
pots."End of that first week, when I stopped in at the Arnaz place fer supper,
I says to him, "Wal," I says, "book about done?"He was layin' back lazy in a chair,--_as_ usual--watchin' Carlota trot
the crock'ry in.Why, I ain't got only a few notes."(I reckon I
was worryin' over the book worse'n _he_ was.)"Why, say, couldn't
you make nothin' outen that bad man who was a-paintin' the town the
other night?""Just a bad man don't make a book," says Boston; "leastways, only
a yalla-back.But take a bad man, and a _gal,_ and you git a story of
_ad_-venture."Daniel went back to the garden.Yas, you need a gal fer a book.And you need _the_ gal if you want
t' be right happy.Pretty soon, I ast, "Have you picked
on a gal?""_She'd_ make a figger fer a book."Y' see, she's _aw-ful_ pretty.Hair
blacker'n a stack of black cats.Black eyes, too,--big and friendly
lookin'.(That's where you git fooled--Carlota's a blend of tiger-cat
and bronc; she can purr 'r pitch--take you' choice.)Her face is just
snow white, with a little bit of pink--now y' see it, now y' don't
see it--on her cheeks, and a little spot of blazin' red fer a mouth."But what I'm after most now," he goes on, "is a plot."A plot, y' savvy, is a story, and I got him the best I could find.This
was Buckshot's:
"Boston, this is a _blamed_ enterprisin' country,--almost _any_ ole
thing can happen out here.Did you ever hear tell how Nick Erickson
got his stone fence?You could put _that_ in a book.She told him that he was a sinful child, and had done many bad things.But she also told him that God was full of love, and had sent his only
Son Jesus Christ into the world to die for our sins.And God will hear
our prayers for the sake of his dear Son; and if we ask him, he will
pardon our sins, and give us his Holy Spirit to make us holy.When their talk was nearly over, Susan came again, and Albert kissed his
mamma, and jumped off her knee, and bade her good night.And as he went
up-stairs he said,
"I thank God for the soft warm bed
On which I lay my little head;
I thank him for the sweet repose
When my weary eyelids close."THE THIEF IN THE DOLLS' HOUSE.Lucy and Kate had a kind aunt; and one very cold day, when the snow was
on the ground, she sent them a New Year's Gift.It was a little house
for dolls to live in, and there were four rooms in it, and tables and
chairs.Two of the rooms were below, and two of them were above.In each
of the two rooms that were above, there was a little wooden frame for a
bed to lie on, but there was no bed on it, and no pillow, and there were
no sheets, nor anything else of the kind.Their aunt sent word that Lucy
and Kate must make the things that were wanted, and it would help them
to learn to sew.[Illustration]
Their aunt also sent two little wax dolls to be in the house.One of the
dolls had on a pink silk frock, and the other had on a blue frock.So their mother gave them some linen to make the sheets, and to make a
case for each of the beds, and for the pillows.Lucy and Kate said to
each other, "What shall we put into the beds, to make them soft, like
the bed in baby's cot?"And Lucy said, "Nurse has got some bran in a
bag; I will ask her to give us some to put into the beds."Then Kate
said that bran would do very well.They went to ask nurse, and she was very kind, and she said, "I think it
would be better to stuff the beds with wool."The little girls said,
"Yes, give us some bran, if you please, nurse.We have not any wool, and
we do not want to wait till we can get some, for we do not like our
dolls to sit up all night."For a long time after this, Lucy and Kate played with their dolls, and
the pretty house, and every night they took off the silk frocks, and put
on the white caps and the night-gowns, and laid each doll in its own
little bed.And then they shut the door of the house.But one night they
were in a hurry, for their aunt was come to see them, and they did not
shut the door quite fast.The next day, when play-time came, the little girls went into the room
where all their toys were kept.Kate went up to the corner where the
dolls' house stood, for they had a place for everything, and tried to
keep everything in its place.But the door of the house stood open, and
as soon as Kate looked in, she called for Lucy in great haste.There has been a thief in our dolls' house, and here
are our poor dolls lying on the floor!"Lucy ran to look, and she saw the two dolls, each lying on the floor in
its own room, and the rooms in a litter with bits of bran.Lucy and Kate
lifted up the dolls with great care, but they were not hurt, for the
beds were not far from the floor, and so they had not had a very bad
fall.It was plain that some thief had been in the house, for the chairs
and tables were not in their right places, and nearly all the bran that
had been in the beds was gone away.As for the bed-rooms, they were in
such a litter that they were not fit to be seen.Then Lucy and Kate
said, "Who could the thief have been?Now nurse had begun to dress the baby in the nest room, but when she
heard Lucy and Kate call to each other, she laid the baby in his cot,
and came to see what was the matter.The little girls each laid hold of
her hand, and cried out, "O nurse!there has been a thief in our dolls'
house!"So nurse looked in, and when she saw the rooms in a litter, and
the bran lying about on the floor, she began to laugh.And she said,
"Yes, there has been a thief.I can see that some poor little hungry
mouse has been in your house, and has ate up the bran that was in the
beds."The little girls then began to laugh too, and Lucy said, "How could the
mouse get in?"And nurse told them that the door could not have been
shut close the night before, and so the mouse pushed it quite open, and
went in.Then Lucy and Kate ran to tell their mother, and she came to look at
the dolls' house, and to see the litter that the thief had made with the
bran upon the floor.So she gave them some more linen to make new cases
for the beds, and they set to work again that same day.But they took
care this time to stuff the beds and the pillows with nice soft wool,
that the hungry mouse might not eat them up when next he wanted a
supper.Harry was a little boy who lived in a town, and went to school.He went
with some boys who were older than he was, and they took care of him in
the street.Little boys should not run about the street alone, or they
may be hurt.He tried to learn; and one day he got to
the top of his class.This was good news to carry home to his mamma, and
it made Harry feel proud, which was very wrong.Pride is a sin; and when
we give way to sin, it is sure to end in sorrow.Harry said to his mamma, "I like you to praise me, mamma, and to call me
a good boy.I will keep at the top of my class
as long as I can, and I will never do any thing wrong."His mamma said, "You must not say that you will never do wrong, but you
must ask God to help you to be good, for the sake of Jesus Christ his
Son; for that is the way to be kept from sin."But Harry did not know that he had a sinful heart.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.[Illustration]
Now his mamma had told him that when he came from school, he must not
stop to play by the way.The very day after he had this talk with her
about being good, as he was coming home, with his book-bag on his arm,
some of the boys began to play in the street.And Harry put down his
book-bag, to play with them, and they played so long that at last it
grew dusk, and then Harry set off home as fast as he could run.But he
forgot that he had left his book-bag lying in the street.When he got to the door, he rang the bell, and Susan, the maid, let him
in.So Susan said, "Why, master Harry, where have you been till now?"But Harry looked down, and rubbed his shoes very hard upon the mat, as
if he did not hear her.His mamma had put away her work, and the tea-things were ready, and the
urn was on the table, and toast, and bread and butter, and cake.His mamma said, "How is it you are so late, my dear?I
hope you did not stop to play in the street."Then Harry told a lie; for he said that he had not stopped to play.His mamma saw that he did not speak the truth, for his face was very
red, and he looked like a boy that was telling a lie.I cannot tell you
how sad she felt to think that her little Harry should be such a wicked
child.But before she had time to say a word, all at once Harry missed his
book-bag off his arm, and he knew that he had left it lying in the
street.He could no longer hide his fault from his mamma, so he began
to cry, and said, "May I go back and look for my book-bag?I have left
it on a step at some one's door."Then his mamma asked, "How came you to put your book-bag on the step?"And Harry cried more than before, and told her that he had stayed to
play with the other boys.His mamma said, "You have been a very wicked boy, and there are two
things that I must punish you for.I must punish you for not coming home
as you were bid, and then for trying to hide your fault by telling a
lie."So she called Susan, and asked her to go up the street with Harry to
look for his book-bag.By this time it was nearly dark, and Harry took
hold of Susan's hand, and went crying along the street.One or two
people who passed him said, "I wonder what is the matter with that
little boy."When they came to the corner of the street where he had
stayed to play, he said, "This is the place, and I laid my book-bag on
that step."Then Susan looked, and Harry looked; but the book-bag was
not there.Susan said that some one must have stolen it.Harry was afraid that his mamma would be very angry when she knew that
his bag and all his school-books were quite gone.But no, that which
gave her most pain and grief was to know that her little boy had not
spoken the truth.It is a sad thing to tell a lie.God has said that all
liars shall have their part in the lake of fire that burns for ever and
ever.So Harry's mamma had to punish him, very soon after he had told her that
he would be always good.He had now found out that he had a sinful
heart.You also are a sinner, young reader.Do not forget this story about Harry; and if ever you feel proud when
you have tried to do well, go and say this little prayer to your Father
who is in heaven: "O Lord, I am a poor sinful child.Pardon my sins, and give me a meek and humble heart, for the
sake of Jesus Christ my Saviour.Mary lived with her mother in a little house.She often sat by the door
on a long seat, and then would run about the field on the other side of
the road.There was a narrow path in the field, and people used to walk
along it when they came that way from the town.Down at the corner of
the field, near the stile, there were some tall trees, and under the
trees there was a pond.The water in the pond was not very deep, but it
was deep enough to drown a little girl like Mary, so her mother told her
she must never play near the pond, for fear she should slip in.[Illustration]
While Mary was at play, her mother was at work in the house.For her
mother was poor, and had to work to find them food, and things to wear
to keep them warm.So |
garden | Where is Daniel? | Mary's mother came home from market one day, and in her basket she had a
little tin can, with a handle, and she gave it to Mary for her own.So
she always drank her milk and her tea out of this can.Now Mary had seen
her mother go down to the pond to fetch a pail of water, and it came
into her head that she would fetch the water in her own little can, to
fill the kettle for tea.So when her mother was busy at work, she got on
a chair, and took her can off the shelf, and away she ran down to the
pond, not saying a word.Mary went close to the pond with her little can in her hand, to stoop
down and dip it into the water.The
grass at the edge of the pond was muddy and wet, and so, just as she was
going to stoop down, Mary's foot went slip--slip, and she fell into the
water.she gave one loud scream, and that was all that she
could do.[Illustration]
Now not far from the spot where Mary fell into the pond, a kind girl
named Jane, who lived close by, was reading a book as she sat under a
tree.She heard a splash in the water, and saw Mary fall into the pond.She soon threw down her book on the grass, and ran to help the poor
little girl out of the water.She took hold of Mary's frock, and pulled
her out of the pond.Then she took her up in her arms, and ran with her
along the narrow path to the house, for she well knew that the house by
the side of the field was little Mary's home.Mary's mother met them at the door, and when she saw her little girl,
she began to cry.But kind Jane said, "Do not cry.So they took off Mary's wet frock, and put on her a nice dry
nightgown, and laid her in bed.And her mother made her some warm tea,
and then she went to sleep.When she woke up again, she was quite well.Jane went back to the field to pick up her book, but Mary's little can
was nowhere to be seen.It was never heard of again; and Mary had to
drink her milk and her tea out of a tea cup, for the little tin can was
quite gone.I do not think she went near the pond again.It was a lesson
to her ever after, to mind and do as her mother told her.I let baby play
with it, and she has thrown it upon the floor, and broken its nose.[Illustration: MAMMA'S DOLL]
_Mamma._ Poor doll!Daniel went back to the garden._Ellen._ I did not like to be unkind to baby, you know, mamma, and so I
gave it to her for a little while, when she held out her hands to take
it.But I did not think she would throw it upon the floor._Mamma._ Do not cry, my dear.Come and sit upon my knee, and I will tell
you a story.I hope you were not very angry with baby.She is too young
to know that a doll is not to be thrown upon the floor._Ellen._ No, mamma, I was not angry.But I
cannot help crying for my pretty doll._Mamma._ Let me wipe away that tear.I am going to
tell you about my doll, when I was a little girl.mamma, had you a doll, once?Was it a wax doll, mamma?_Mamma._ It was a large wax doll much larger than yours; and it had blue
eyes and dark brown hair.When I was a little older than you are, I went
with my mamma and my aunt to spend some weeks in a fine old city; and
one day while we were there, my mamma took me into a shop, and bought
this doll for me.She said I must dress it myself, and my aunt showed me
the proper way to make its frocks.With this help I was able to dress it
very nicely.And my mamma said to me, "This is the last doll that I
intend to buy for you; for, if you take care of it, it will not spoil
like your other dolls."_Ellen._ And did you take care of it, mamma?_Mamma._ Yes, for my mamma taught me to be neat, and to keep everything
in order, as I try to teach you.So at the end of a year, my doll looked
just as good as new.I used to play with it very often, and I called it
by the name of Jessie.I had a little sister, as you have, whom I loved
very much, and when she was a baby I used to nurse her, and kiss her
little soft cheeks.But when she was two or three years old, she was
taken very ill, and could no longer play about the nursery.She grew
pale and thin, and used to lie all day in the nurse's arms, or in her
little cot.She was too ill to play with any of the toys that she had
been fond of before.But one day I took my doll to the side of her
little cot, where she was lying, and then she gave a very faint smile;
so I laid it by her side, and that seemed to please her.After that,
when she was lying in her cot, the doll always lay there too, for it was
the only thing which seemed to please her, all the time that she was
ill.[Illustration]
One day, when I wanted to go into her room as I had been used to do,
they told me she was dead.I saw her when she was laid in her little
coffin.There were some flowers lying on
her pillow, and a rose-bud in each little hand.The soul of the dear
baby was gone to God; and her body was laid in a grave, under the yew
tree in the churchyard.dear mamma, how sad you must have felt!What should I do if
our dear baby were to die?_Mamma._ I did indeed feel sad, and after that time I could never bear
to play with my pretty doll, for the sight of it seemed to bring back my
grief again.So my mamma put it by with great care, and all the frocks
and other things that I had made.But only think, Ellen, what pain I
should have felt, if I had been unkind to my little sister when she
wished to have my doll.Should not all little girls try to be kind to
each other?_Ellen._ I will try, mamma; and I am glad that I was not cross with
baby when she threw my doll upon the floor._Mamma._ I have not yet done with the story about my doll.It was put by
safe in a drawer, and lay there a great many years, and when I was grown
up, I used to look at it now and then.And should you not like to see my pretty
Jessie?_Ellen._ Yes, mamma, I should like to see her, indeed._Mamma._ Then after dinner we will take a walk, and pay a visit to
grandmamma, and we will ask her to show us the doll that came from the
fine old city so many long years ago._Ellen._ Thank you, mamma, that will be very nice.And may I play with
Jessie a little while, and walk with her round grandmamma's garden?_Mamma._ You may, my love.And since baby, who did not know any better,
has broken your doll's face, it shall be put among her toys for her to
play with.And we will ask grandmamma to let Jessie come home with us.You have been a kind little girl; and so, as I like to see you happy,
you shall have her for your own.Have you ever seen a book of Short Texts in Short Words?It is a book
for a little child, and there is in it a very short and easy text for
every day in the year.A text means some words taken from the Bible,
which is God's own book, that he has given to teach us the way to
heaven.The Bible tells us about our sins, and about the Lord Jesus
Christ, who came to seek and to save us.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.And it also tells us how we may
become holy, by the help of the Holy Spirit.But I was going to tell you about the book of texts.Little Arthur had
one of these books, and he used to learn the text for every day, and
repeat it to his mamma before he began school.Arthur did not go to
school to any one but his mamma.She taught him his lesson each day, and
heard him say it.One day, the text was very short indeed.It was,
"Thou GOD seest me."When Arthur had said it to his mamma, she began to
talk to him; and Arthur stood quietly at the work-table, and looked in
her face.Mary travelled to the garden.[Illustration]
She said to him, "My little boy, when you are left in the room alone,
you may think that no one can see you; but God can see you at all times.When you think you are quite alone, God is near you.When you wake up in
the dark night, God is with you.He loves you, and is your best Friend.You have other friends who are good and kind, but God is better to you
than all.Then try to please him by doing what is right.When you are
alone, and a bad wish comes into your heart, think of this text, 'Thou
GOD seest me,' and put away the bad wish from your heart."Soon after this, Arthur's mamma told him that he might put on his cap
and gloves, and go with her to call at the house of a friend who was
ill.So they had a nice walk; and when they got to the house, Arthur was
shown into a large room, where he was told to sit down and wait, while
his mamma went up-stairs to see her friend.The little boy was left
alone in the room; and at first he sat quite still, and only looked at
the pretty things that were lying on the table just before him.But
after a while, he got up from the stool, and began to walk softly about
the room.There were many pretty things that he liked to look at.There
were some birds under a large glass, and Arthur had never in all his
life seen any birds so gay and bright in colour.But he saw they were
not alive, for not one of them moved when he put his finger upon the
glass.He was very sorry to think that the birds were not alive.But the thing that Arthur liked best of all, better even than the
birds, was a very small china dog which he found on a low table in one
corner of the room.It was a white dog, with a curly tail and long ears;
and it sat up on its hind legs, just as their live dog Carlo did at
home.Arthur took it up and looked at it again and again, and he said in
his own mind, "Oh, how I wish I might keep this little dog for my own!"Now this was a bad wish that came into his mind.But he did not think of
his text, as his mamma had told him, and he did not try to put it away.No; he looked all round the room and out at the window, and then he came
back to the table in the corner; and he felt quite sure that no one
could see him, and so he took up the china dog and put it into the
little pocket at the side of his coat.Arthur then went and sat down again upon the stool.He did not feel
happy, though the little china dog was safe in his pocket and no one
knew.He felt afraid--afraid to hear his mamma's footsteps coming down
the stairs, and yet afraid to stay in the room alone.How was this, when
he had felt so happy, and not in the least afraid, only a little time
before?A thief is always afraid of being found out, and Arthur was now a thief.He could not be happy, for God has put something in our hearts which
will not let us be happy when we have given way to sin.So there Arthur
sat, quite still; and the clock on the mantel-piece, which he had not
heard before, went tick--tick; and Arthur grew more and more afraid, but
still his mamma did not come.He put his hand into his pocket to feel if the little china dog was
there quite safe.Yes, it was there, but Arthur did not want to take it
out and look at it.He did not seem to care about it now.All at once,
while his hand was in his pocket, the short text came into his mind.He
said it out, but with a very low voice, "Thou GOD seest me."Then he
began to think about God, who could see him at all times, even when he
was quite alone; and he felt sorry for the wicked thing that he had
done.His hand was still in his pocket, when he heard his mamma's voice
as she came down-stairs; but he ran across the room, and took the little
dog out of his pocket, and put it back upon the table before she came
in.Oh, how glad was Arthur when this was done!His heart felt light,
and all his fear went away.[Illustration]
He told his mamma about the little china dog as they went home, and how
the short text came into his mind.His mamma shed tears of joy to think
that God had caused her little boy to be sorry for his sin, and to put
back what he had stolen.And when they were at home, she made him kneel
down to thank God, and to ask him to pardon the wicked wish that he had
felt, and the wicked thing that he had done, for the sake of Jesus
Christ his Son."Look at papa," said Frank to little George, one day, as he stood at the
window of their play-room up stairs."I cannot think what he is going to
do with that wooden box.I saw John lift it out of the stable just now,
and put it into that corner.See, papa
stoops down to look inside.[Illustration]
George came when he was called, and looked out of the window as well as
he could; but, being rather short, he had to go back for a stool to
mount upon before he could see into the yard.When this was done, he saw
all three quite plain,--his papa, and old John, and the large wooden
box, with a black handle on the lid."I know, Frank," said George, with a wise look."They are going to put
away some flower-seeds in the box.I heard John tell papa that he had
saved a great many seeds this year; and papa said they must be put away
in a dry place till spring."you silly child," said Frank, who was six years old, and of course
knew a great deal more than little George, who was only four."Do you
think they would want such a large box, just to hold a few flower-seeds?No, no; it is something that papa wants to hide.Mary journeyed to the hallway.I saw him look round,
as much as to say, I do not wish to be seen.Should not you like to know
what it is?""Yes, I should like to know," said little George; "but I cannot see, the
box is so far off.""Wait a little while, and we will have a peep, when papa and John are
gone away."So said Frank, who always liked to pry into every thing."We
will creep softly down stairs, and into the yard, and then lift up the
lid of the box.Papa will be in the house, and John will be in the
stable; so nobody will know."The little boys stayed to watch at the window; and very soon, as Frank
had said, their papa came into the house, and John went to his work in
the stable, and so the box was left alone.Puss, indeed, walked slowly
across the yard, and gave a sniff at the key-hole, as if she too wanted
to see what there was inside; and then she lay down in the sunshine
close by, with her head on her fore-paws: but Frank and George both knew
that puss could tell no tales, and so they did not mind her at all.Their papa
was in his study, and their mamma was in the nursery, and the maids
were busy about their work.Both of these little |
office | Where is Daniel? | They had been
told, often and often, not to meddle with things that did not belong to
them.As Frank was so much older than George, he was the more to blame;
but George was old enough to know better, or why did he put his little
foot so gently on the stairs, and go out on tiptoe into the yard?The two boys went up close to the box, and then looked round to make
sure that there was no one to see them.Not a step was to be heard, and
only puss lay there, with her eyes fixed upon the box.It was long and
low, and the lid was held down by a hasp.Frank and George had both to
stoop down, and then Frank took hold of the hasp and lifted up the lid.Puss darted upon it in
a moment; she caught it in her mouth, and, not caring in the least for
the cries of Frank and George, away she went over the wall, and the
rabbit was seen no more.Old John ran out of the stable, with his fork in his hand, and at sight
of him both Frank and George were still.But both papa and mamma had
heard their cries, and came out of the house; and the maids ran down
stairs in a fright, to see what was the matter.There was no need for
any one to speak a word.The empty box, with its open lid, and the red
faces of Frank and George, with their look of shame, told what they had
been about.Their kind papa had bought the little rabbit for Frank and George; and
John was going that very day to make a rabbit hutch, and fix it up in
the yard, for he was very clever in making such things.Before night, if
they had been wise enough to wait, they would have seen the little grey
rabbit in its hutch, and might have given it green leaves and clover to
nibble.But this was all over now; and it was owing to their fault that
they had lost the young rabbit.But when Frank and George grew to be a little older, their papa gave
them a hutch and four young rabbits.They had learned not to meddle with
things that did not belong to them, and so they had a reward for their
better conduct.[Illustration]
THE LOST BOY.I will tell you of a boy who did not mind what was said to him.He used
to do what he was told must not be done, and that was very sad.He had a dog that he used to play with; and he
had a kite, and he used to fly it in a field by the side of the house.He had many other toys, more than I can tell you of.But he was too fond
of play, and did not love his book; and when he was more than five, he
did not know how to read the most easy lesson.One day, John was by the gate at the end of the lawn.No one was with
him, for Ann the maid was just gone away, and she had told him to wait
till she came back.The gate was half open, so he went to peep into the
lane.He saw a bird hop on the path, and its wing hung down on one side
as if it had been hurt.John did not mind what Ann had said, that he
must wait for her at the gate, and he ran to take hold of the bird.Then
it flew away, but not far, and John ran after it down the road.He put
out his hand to catch it; but the bird rose again, and at last it flew
to a bank high up the lane, and John did not see it any more.[Illustration]
Then he said, "I will go back to Ann at the gate."Daniel went back to the garden.But he did not know
that he had run so far, and a turn was in the lane, so that he could not
see the gate.Then John was in great fear, for he did not know which way
to go to get home.He cried out for Ann as loud as he could; but Ann was
far off, and he was not able to make her hear.John ran very fast down the lane, but he did not see any one to show him
the way home.When he was too much tired to ran any more, he sat down on
the bank and cried.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.Mary travelled to the garden.A bird sang in a tree over his head, and the sun was
up high in the blue sky.It was a fine day, and if John had done as he
was bid, he would have had a nice long walk with Ann.But now he was
very sad, and he sat on the bank and cried.Boys are sure to be made
sad, if they will not mind, and do as they are told.When Ann came back to the gate, and saw that John was not there, she ran
into the lane to look for him, and to call him.But John could not hear
her call him, for you know he was a long way off.Then Ann ran back into
the house, and told John's papa and mamma that he was lost.As soon as
his papa heard this, he laid down his book, and put on his hat to go and
seek him.And his mamma said, "Pray make
haste and bring my dear boy home again."As for Ann, she took the dog
with her down the lane to help to find him, for he was very fond of
John.Dash was the dog's name, and a good dog he was.It was not long till Ann and Dash came to the turn of the lane, and then
they both saw John, who sat upon the bank, very sad.The dog gave a
bark, as if he had said, "There he is!Then Dash ran up to him as fast as he could, and John was very glad to
see him come along the lane; and he said, "Good Dash!So John and Dash went to meet Ann, for she did not run as fast as the
dog had done.John told her that he had been a bad boy and was very
sorry.When Ann saw that he was sorry, she gave him a kiss, and said
that he must not do so any more.Then they went back home, and John soon
saw his papa in the lane.But he did not run to him, and look glad, as
he did at other times.Why did not John run to his papa?Yes, it was that he had not done as he was bid, and he knew his papa did
not like to hear that he had been a bad boy.His papa stood still; and when John, and Ann, and Dash came up to him,
John said, "Papa, I have not been good.I am very sorry, I will try to
be good next time."So his papa said, "I hope you will;" and he took
hold of his hand, and led him back to the house.And his mamma was very
glad to see him, safe and well.John said that it was his wish to be good, and his papa told him that he
must pray to God to help him.No one can
make you good but God.No one can do this for you, but God.Say, "Lord,
help me to be good, for the sake of Jesus, thy dear Son, who died upon
the cross to take away my sins."God can see you now; and if you pray to
him, he will hear you.[Illustration]
What a strange and wondrous story,
From the Book of God is read,
How the Lord of life and glory
Had not where to lay his head;
How he left his throne in heaven,
Here to suffer, bleed, and die,
That my soul might be forgiven,
And ascend to God on high.Father, let thy Holy Spirit
Still reveal a Saviour's love,
And prepare me to inherit
Glory, where he reigns above.There, with saints and angels dwelling,
May I that great love proclaim,
And with them be ever telling
All the wonders of his name.[Illustration]
LONDON: BENJAMIN PARDON, PRINTER, PATERNOSTER ROW.At the same time,
it would be a misuse of these powers and a violation of the Constitution
to undertake to build upon them a great system of internal improvements.And similar reasoning applies to the assumption of any such power as
is involved in that to establish post-roads and to regulate commerce.If the particular improvement, whether by land or sea, be necessary to
the execution of the enumerated powers, then, but not otherwise, it
falls within the jurisdiction of Congress.To this extent only can
the power be claimed as the incident of any express grant to the
Federal Government.But there is one clause of the Constitution in which it has been
suggested that express authority to construct works of internal
improvement has been conferred on Congress, namely, that which empowers
it "to exercise exclusive legislation in all cases whatsoever over such
district (not exceeding 10 miles square) as may by cession of particular
States and the acceptance of Congress become the seat of the Government
of the United States, and to exercise like authority over all places
purchased by the consent of the legislature of the State in which the
same shall be for the erection of forts, magazines, arsenals, dockyards,
and _other needful buildings_..." But any such supposition will be seen
to be groundless when this provision is carefully examined and compared
with other parts of the Constitution.It is undoubtedly true that "like authority" refers back to "exclusive
legislation in all cases whatsoever" as applied to the District of
Columbia, and there is in the District no division of powers as between
the General and the State Governments.In those places which the United States has purchased or retains within
any of the States--sites for dockyards or forts, for example--legal
process of the given State is still permitted to run for some purposes,
and therefore the jurisdiction of the United States is not absolutely
perfect.Mary journeyed to the hallway.But let us assume for the argument's sake that the jurisdiction
of the United States in a tract of land ceded to it for the purpose of a
dockyard or fort by Virginia or Maryland is as complete as in that ceded
by them for the seat of Government, and then proceed to analyze this
clause of the Constitution.It provides that Congress shall have certain legislative authority over
all places purchased by the United States for certain purposes.It
implies that Congress has otherwise the power to purchase.Daniel journeyed to the office.But where
does Congress get the power to purchase?Manifestly it must be from some
other clause of the Constitution, for it is not conferred by this one.Now, as it is a fundamental principle that the Constitution is one of
limited powers, the authority to purchase must be conferred in one of
the enumerations of legislative power; so that the power to purchase is
itself not an unlimited one, but is limited by the objects in regard to
which legislative authority is directly conferred.The other expressions of the clause in question confirm this
conclusion, since the jurisdiction is given as to places purchased
for certain enumerated objects or purposes.Of these the first great
division--forts, magazines, arsenals, and dockyards--is obviously
referable to recognized heads of specific constitutional power.There
remains only the phrase "and other _needful_ buildings."Needful for any possible purpose within the whole range of
the business of society and of Government?Clearly not; but only such
"buildings" as are "needful" to the United States in the exercise of
any of the powers conferred on Congress.Thus the United States need, in the exercise of admitted powers, not
only forts, magazines, arsenals, and dockyards, but also court-houses,
prisons, custom-houses, and post-offices within the respective States.Places for the erection of such buildings the General Government may
constitutionally purchase, and, having purchased them, the jurisdiction
over them belongs to the United States.So if the General Government has
the power to build a light-house or a beacon, it may purchase a place
for that object; and having purchased it, then this clause of the
Constitution gives jurisdiction over it.Still, the power to purchase
for the purpose of erecting a light-house or beacon must depend on the
existence of the power to erect, and if that power exists it must be
sought after in some other clause of the Constitution.From whatever point of view, therefore, the subject is regarded, whether
as a question of express or implied power, the conclusion is the same,
that Congress has no constitutional authority to carry on a system of
internal improvements; and in this conviction the system has been
steadily opposed by the soundest expositors of the functions of the
Government.It is not to be supposed that in no conceivable case shall there be
doubt as to whether a given object be or not a necessary incident
of the military, naval, or any other power.As man is imperfect, so
are his methods of uttering his thoughts.Human language, save in
expressions for the exact sciences, must always fail to preclude all
possibility of controversy.Hence it is that in one branch of the
subject--the question of the power of Congress to make appropriations
in aid of navigation--there is less of positive conviction than in
regard to the general subject; and it therefore seems proper in this
respect to revert to the history of the practice of the Government.John moved to the office.Among the very earliest acts of the first session of Congress was that
for the establishment and support of light-houses, approved by President
Washington on the 7th of August, 1789, which contains the following
provisions:
That all expenses which shall accrue from and after the 15th day of
August, 1789, in the necessary support, maintenance, and repairs of
all light-houses, beacons, buoys, and public piers erected, placed, or
sunk before the passing of this act at the entrance of or within any
bay, inlet, harbor, or port of the United States, for rendering the
navigation thereof easy and safe, shall be defrayed out of the Treasury
of the United States: _Provided, nevertheless_, That none of the said
expenses shall continue to be so defrayed after the expiration of one
year from the day aforesaid unless such light-houses, beacons, buoys,
and public piers shall in the meantime be ceded to and vested in the
United States by the State or States, respectively, in which the same
may be, together with the lands and tenements thereunto belonging and
together with the jurisdiction of the same.Acts containing appropriations for this class of public works were
passed in 1791, 1792, 1793, and so on from year to year down to the
present time; and the tenor of these acts, when examined with reference
to other parts of the subject, is worthy of special consideration.It is a remarkable fact that for a period of more than thirty years
after the adoption of the Constitution all appropriations of this class
were confined, with scarcely an apparent exception, to the construction
of light-houses, beacons, buoys, and public piers and the stakage of
channels; to render navigation "safe and easy," it is true, but only
by indicating to the navigator obstacles in his way, not by removing
those obstacles nor in any other respect changing, artificially, the
preexisting natural condition of the earth and sea.It is obvious,
however, that works of art for the removal of natural impediments to
navigation, or to prevent their formation, or for supplying harbors
where these do not exist, are also means of rendering navigation safe
and easy, and may in supposable cases be the most efficient, as well as
the most economical, of such means.Nevertheless, it is not until the
year 1824 that in an act to improve the navigation of the rivers Ohio
and Mississippi and in another act making appropriations for deepening
the channel leading into the harbor of Presque Isle, on Lake Erie, and
for repairing Plymouth Beach, in Massachusetts Bay, we have any example
of an appropriation for the improvement of harbors in the nature of
those provided for in the bill returned by me to the House of
Representatives.It appears not probable that the abstinence of Congress in this respect
is attributable altogether to considerations of economy or to any
failure to perceive that the removal of an obstacle to navigation might
be not less useful than the indication of it for avoidance, and it may
be well assumed that the course of legislation so long pursued was
induced, in whole or in part, by solicitous consideration in regard to
the constitutional power over such matters vested in Congress.One other peculiarity in this course of legislation is not less
remarkable.It |
hallway | Where is Mary? | And
although for a time this precaution was neglected in the case of new
works, in the sequel it was provided by general laws that no light-house
should be constructed on any site previous to the jurisdiction over the
same being ceded to the United States.Daniel went back to the garden.Constitutional authority for the construction and support of many of the
public works of this nature, it is certain, may be found in the power
of Congress to maintain a navy and provide for the general defense; but
their number, and in many instances their location, preclude the idea of
their being fully justified as necessary and proper incidents of that
power.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.And they do not seem susceptible of being referred to any other
of the specific powers vested in Congress by the Constitution, unless it
be that to raise revenue in so far as this relates to navigation.The
practice under all my predecessors in office, the express admissions of
some of them, and absence of denial by any sufficiently manifest their
belief that the power to erect light-houses, beacons, and piers is
possessed by the General Government.Mary travelled to the garden.In the acts of Congress, as we
have already seen, the inducement and object of the appropriations
are expressly declared, those appropriations being for "light-houses,
beacons, buoys, and public piers" erected or placed "within any bay,
inlet, harbor, or port of the United States for rendering the navigation
thereof easy and safe."If it be contended that this review of the history of appropriations
of this class leads to the inference that, beyond the purposes of
national defense and maintenance of a navy, there is authority in the
Constitution to construct certain works in aid of navigation, it is
at the same time to be remembered that the conclusions thus deduced
from cotemporaneous construction and long-continued acquiescence are
themselves directly suggestive of limitations of constitutionality, as
well as expediency, regarding the nature and the description of those
aids to navigation which Congress may provide as incident to the revenue
power; for at this point controversy begins, not so much as to the
principle as to its application.Mary journeyed to the hallway.In accordance with long-established legislative usage, Congress may
construct light-houses and beacons and provide, as it does, other means
to prevent shipwrecks on the coasts of the United States.But the
General Government can not go beyond this and make improvements of
rivers and harbors of the nature and to the degree of all the provisions
of the bill of the last session of Congress.To justify such extended power, it has been urged that if it be
constitutional to appropriate money for the purpose of pointing out,
by the construction of light-houses or beacons, where an obstacle to
navigation exists, it is equally so to remove such obstacle or to avoid
it by the creation of an artificial channel; that if the object be
lawful, then the means adopted solely with reference to the end must
be lawful, and that therefore it is not material, constitutionally
speaking, whether a given obstruction to navigation be indicated for
avoidance or be actually avoided by excavating a new channel; that if
it be a legitimate object of expenditure to preserve a ship from wreck
by means of a beacon or of revenue cutters, it must be not less so
to provide places of safety by the improvement of harbors, or, where
none exist, by their artificial construction; and thence the argument
naturally passes to the propriety of improving rivers for the benefit
of internal navigation, because all these objects are of more or less
importance to the commercial as well as the naval interests of the
United States.The answer to all this is that the question of opening speedy and easy
communication to and through all parts of the country is substantially
the same, whether done by land or water; that the uses of roads and
canals in facilitating commercial intercourse and uniting by community
of interests the most remote quarters of the country by land
communication are the same in their nature as the uses of navigable
waters; and that therefore the question of the facilities and aids to
be provided to navigation, by whatsoever means, is but a subdivision of
the great question of the constitutionality and expediency of internal
improvements by the General Government.In confirmation of this it is to
be remarked that one of the most important acts of appropriation of this
class, that of the year 1833, under the Administration of President
Jackson, by including together and providing for in one bill as well
river and harbor works as road works, impliedly recognizes the fact that
they are alike branches of the same great subject of internal
improvements.As the population, territory, and wealth of the country increased and
settlements extended into remote regions, the necessity for additional
means of communication impressed itself upon all minds with a force
which had not been experienced at the date of the formation of the
Constitution, and more and more embarrassed those who were most anxious
to abstain scrupulously from any exercise of doubtful power.Hence the
recognition in the messages of Presidents Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe
of the eminent desirableness of such works, with admission that some of
them could lawfully and should be conducted by the General Government,
but with obvious uncertainty of opinion as to the line between such
as are constitutional and such as are not, such as ought to receive
appropriations from Congress and such as ought to be consigned to
private enterprise or the legislation of the several States.This uncertainty has not been removed by the practical working of our
institutions in later times; for although the acquisition of additional
territory and the application of steam to the propulsion of vessels have
greatly magnified the importance of internal commerce, this fact has at
the same time complicated the question of the power of the General
Government over the present subject.In fine, a careful review of the opinions of all my predecessors and of
the legislative history of the country does not indicate any fixed rule
by which to decide what, of the infinite variety of possible river and
harbor improvements, are within the scope of the power delegated by
the Constitution; and the question still remains unsettled.Daniel journeyed to the office.President
Jackson conceded the constitutionality, under suitable circumstances, of
the improvement of rivers and harbors through the agency of Congress,
and President Polk admitted the propriety of the establishment and
support by appropriations from the Treasury of light-houses, beacons,
buoys, and other improvements within the bays, inlets, and harbors of
the ocean and lake coasts immediately connected with foreign commerce.But if the distinction thus made rests upon the differences between
foreign and domestic commerce it can not be restricted thereby to the
bays, inlets, and harbors of the oceans and lakes, because foreign
commerce has already penetrated thousands of miles into the interior
of the continent by means of our great rivers, and will continue so to
extend itself with the progress of settlement until it reaches the limit
of navigability.At the time of the adoption of the Constitution the vast Valley of the
Mississippi, now teeming with population and supplying almost boundless
resources, was literally an unexplored wilderness.John moved to the office.Our advancement has
outstripped even the most sanguine anticipations of the fathers of
the Republic, and it illustrates the fact that no rule is admissible
which undertakes to discriminate, so far as regards river and harbor
improvements, between the Atlantic or Pacific coasts and the great lakes
and rivers of the interior regions of North America.Indeed, it is quite
erroneous to suppose that any such discrimination has ever existed
in the practice of the Government.To the contrary of which is the
significant fact, before stated, that when, after abstaining from all
such appropriations for more than thirty years, Congress entered upon
the policy of improving the navigation of rivers and harbors, it
commenced with the rivers Mississippi and Ohio.The Congress of the Union, adopting in this respect one of the ideas of
that of the Confederation, has taken heed to declare from time to time,
as occasion required, either in acts for disposing of the public lands
in the Territories or in acts for admitting new States, that all
navigable rivers within the same "shall be deemed to be and remain
public highways."Out of this condition of things arose a question which at successive
periods of our public annals has occupied the attention of the best
minds in the Union.This question is, What waters are public navigable
waters, so as not to be of State character and jurisdiction, but of
Federal jurisdiction and character, in the intent of the Constitution
and of Congress?A proximate, but imperfect, answer to this important
question is furnished by the acts of Congress and the decisions of the
Supreme Court of the United States defining the constitutional limits of
the maritime jurisdiction of the General Government.That jurisdiction
is entirely independent of the revenue power.It is not derived from
that, nor is it measured thereby.In that act of Congress which, in the first year of the Government,
organized our judicial system, and which, whether we look to the
subject, the comprehensive wisdom with which it was treated, or the
deference with which its provisions have come to be regarded, is only
second to the Constitution itself, there is a section in which the
statesmen who framed the Constitution have placed on record their
construction of it in this matter.It enacts that the district courts of
the United States "shall have exclusive cognizance of all civil cases
of admiralty and maritime jurisdiction, including all seizures under
the law of impost, navigation, or trade of the United States, when the
seizures are made on waters which are navigable from the sea by vessels
of 10 or more tons burden, within their respective districts, as well
as upon the high seas."In this cotemporaneous exposition of the
Constitution there is no trace or suggestion that nationality of
jurisdiction is limited to the sea, or even to tide waters.The law is
marked by a sagacious apprehension of the fact that the Great Lakes
and the Mississippi were navigable waters of the United States even
then, before the acquisition of Louisiana had made wholly our own the
territorial greatness of the West.It repudiates unequivocally the rule
of the common law, according to which the question of whether a water
is public navigable water or not depends on whether it is salt or not,
and therefore, in a river, confines that quality to tide water--a rule
resulting from the geographical condition of England and applicable to
an island, with small and narrow streams, the only navigable portion of
which, for ships, is in immediate contact with the ocean, but wholly
inapplicable to the great inland fresh-water seas of America and its
mighty rivers, with secondary branches exceeding in magnitude the
largest rivers of Great Britain.At a later period it is true that, in disregard of the more
comprehensive definition of navigability afforded by that act of
Congress, it was for a time held by many that the rule established for
England was to be received in the United States, the effect of which was
to exclude from the jurisdiction of the General Government not only the
waters of the Mississippi, but also those of the Great Lakes.To this
construction it was with truth objected that, in so far as concerns the
lakes, they are in fact seas, although of freshwater; that they are the
natural marine communications between a series of populous States and
between them and the possessions of a foreign nation; that they are
actually navigated by ships of commerce of the largest capacity; that
they had once been and might again be the scene of foreign war; and that
therefore it was doing violence to all reason to undertake by means of
an arbitrary doctrine of technical foreign law to exclude such waters
from the jurisdiction of the General Government.In regard to the river
Mississippi, it was objected that to draw a line across that river at
the point of ebb and flood of tide, and say that the part below was
public navigable water and the part above not, while in the latter the
water was at least equally deep and navigable and its commerce as rich
as in the former, with numerous ports of foreign entry and delivery, was
to sanction a distinction artificial and unjust, because regardless of
the real fact of navigability.We may conceive that some such considerations led to the enactment in
the year 1845 of an act in addition to that of 1789, declaring that--
The district courts of the United States shall have, possess, and
exercise the same jurisdiction in matters of contract and tort arising
in, upon, or concerning steamboats and other vessels of 20 tons burden
and upward, enrolled and licensed for the coasting trade and at the time
employed in business of commerce and navigation between ports and places
in different States and Territories upon the lakes and navigable waters
connecting said lakes, as is now possessed and exercised by the said
courts in cases of the like steamboats and other vessels employed in
navigation and commerce upon the high seas or tide waters within the
admiralty and maritime jurisdiction of the United States.It is observable that the act of 1789 applies the jurisdiction of the
United States to all "waters which are navigable from the sea" for
vessels of 10 tons burden, and that of 1845 extends the jurisdiction to
enrolled vessels of 20 tons burden, on the lakes and navigable waters
connecting said lakes, though not waters navigable from the sea,
provided such vessels be employed between places in different States and
Territories.Sandra travelled to the office.Thus it appears that these provisions of law in effect prescribe
conditions by which to determine whether any waters are public navigable
waters, subject to the authority of the Federal Government.The
conditions include all waters, whether salt or fresh, and whether of
sea, lake, or river, provided they be capable of navigation by vessels
of a certain tonnage, and for commerce either between the United States
and foreign countries or between any two or more of the States or
Territories of the Union.This excludes water wholly within any
particular State, and not used as the means of commercial communication
with any other State, and subject to be improved or obstructed at will
by the State within which it may happen to be.The constitutionality of these provisions of statute has been called
in question.Their constitutionality has been maintained, however,
by repeated decisions of the Supreme Court of the United States, and
they are therefore the law of the land by the concurrent act of the
legislative, the executive, and the judicial departments of the
Government.Regarded as affording a criterion of what is navigable
water, and as such subject to the maritime jurisdiction of the Supreme
Court and of Congress, these acts are objectionable in this, that the
rule of navigability is an arbitrary one, that Congress may repeal
the present rule and adopt a new one, and that thus a legislative
definition will be able to restrict or enlarge the limits of
constitutional power.Yet this variableness of standard seems inherent
in the nature of things.At any rate, neither the First Congress,
composed of the statesmen of the era when the Constitution was adopted,
nor any subsequent Congress has afforded us the means of attaining
greater precision of construction as to this part of the Constitution.This reflection may serve to relieve from undeserved reproach an
idea of one of the greatest men of the Republic--President Jackson.He, seeking amid all the difficulties of the subject for some practical
rule of action in regard to appropriations for the improvement of rivers
and harbors, prescribed for his own official conduct the rule of
confining such appropriations to "places below the ports of entry or
delivery established by law."He saw clearly, as the authors of the
above-mentioned acts of 1789 and 1845 did, that there is no inflexible
natural line of discrimination between what is national and what local
by means of which to determine absolutely and unerringly at what point
on a river the jurisdiction of the United States shall end.He
perceived, and of course admitted, that the Constitution, while
conferring on the General Government some power of action to render
navigation safe and easy, had of necessity left to Congress much of
discretion in this matter.He confided in the patriotism of Congress to
exercise that discretion wisely, not permitting himself to suppose it
possible that a port of entry or delivery would ever be established by
law for the express and only purpose of evading the Constitution.It remains, therefore, to consider the question of the measure of
discretion in the exercise by Congress of the power to provide for the
improvement of rivers and harbors, and also that of the legitimate
responsibility of the Executive in the same relation.In matters of legislation of the most unquestionable constitutionality
it is always material to consider what amount of public money shall be
appropriated for any particular object.Sandra moved to the kitchen.The same consideration applies
with augmented force to a class of appropriations which are in their
nature peculiarly prone to run to excess, and which, being made in the
exercise of incidental powers, have intrinsic tendency to overstep the
bounds of constitutionality.If an appropriation for improving the navigability of a river or
deepening or protecting a harbor have reference to military or naval
purposes, then its rightfulness, whether in amount or in the objects
|
garden | Where is Sandra? | But if the appropriation for such an object have no distinct
relation to the military or naval wants of the country, and is wholly,
or even mainly, intended to promote the revenue from commerce, then the
very vagueness of the proposed purpose of the expenditure constitutes
a perpetual admonition of reserve and caution.Through disregard of
this it is undeniable that in many cases appropriations of this nature
have been made unwisely, without accomplishing beneficial results
commensurate with the cost, and sometimes for evil rather than good,
independently of their dubious relation to the Constitution.Among the radical changes of the course of legislation in these matters
which, in my judgment, the public interest demands, one is a return to
the primitive idea of Congress, which required in this class of public
works, as in all others, a conveyance of the soil and a cession of the
jurisdiction to the United States.I think this condition ought never to
have been waived in the case of any harbor improvement of a permanent
nature, as where piers, jetties, sea walls, and other like works are to
be constructed and maintained.It would powerfully tend to counteract
endeavors to obtain appropriations of a local character and chiefly
calculated to promote individual interests.Daniel went back to the garden.The want of such a provision
is the occasion of abuses in regard to existing works, exposing them to
private encroachment without sufficient means of redress by law.Indeed,
the absence in such cases of a cession of jurisdiction has constituted
one of the constitutional objections to appropriations of this class.It is not easy to perceive any sufficient reason for requiring it in
the case of arsenals or forts which does not equally apply to all other
public works.If to be constructed and maintained by Congress in the
exercise of a constitutional power of appropriation, they should be
brought within the jurisdiction of the United States.There is another measure of precaution in regard to such appropriations
which seems to me to be worthy of the consideration of Congress.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.It is
to make appropriation for every work in a separate bill, so that each
one shall stand on its own independent merits, and if it pass shall
do so under circumstances of legislative scrutiny entitling it to be
regarded as of general interest and a proper subject of charge on the
Treasury of the Union.During that period of time in which the country had not come to look to
Congress for appropriations of this nature several of the States whose
productions or geographical position invited foreign commerce had
entered upon plans for the improvement of their harbors by themselves
and through means of support drawn directly from that commerce, in
virtue of an express constitutional power, needing for its exercise
only the permission of Congress.Harbor improvements thus constructed
and maintained, the expenditures upon them being defrayed by the very
facilities they afford, are a voluntary charge on those only who see fit
to avail themselves of such facilities, and can be justly complained of
by none.On the other hand, so long as these improvements are carried on
by appropriations from the Treasury the benefits will continue to inure
to those alone who enjoy the facilities afforded, while the expenditure
will be a burden upon the whole country and the discrimination a double
injury to places equally requiring improvement, but not equally favored
by appropriations.These considerations, added to the embarrassments of the whole question,
amply suffice to suggest the policy of confining appropriations by the
General Government to works necessary to the execution of its undoubted
powers and of leaving all others to individual enterprise or to the
separate States, to be provided for out of their own resources or by
recurrence to the provision of the Constitution which authorizes the
States to lay duties of tonnage with the consent of Congress.Whereas information has been received by me that an unlawful expedition
has been fitted out in the State of California with a view to invade
Mexico, a nation maintaining friendly relations with the United States,
and that other expeditions are organizing within the United States for
the same unlawful purpose; and
Whereas certain citizens and inhabitants of this country, unmindful
of their obligations and duties and of the rights of a friendly power,
have participated and are about to participate in these enterprises,
so derogatory to our national character and so threatening to our
tranquillity, and are thereby incurring the severe penalties imposed
by law against such offenders:
Now, therefore, I, Franklin Pierce, President of the United States,
have issued this my proclamation, warning all persons who shall connect
themselves with any such enterprise or expedition that the penalties
of the law denounced against such criminal conduct will be rigidly
enforced; and I exhort all good citizens, as they regard our national
character, as they respect our laws or the law of nations, as they
value the blessings of peace and the welfare of their country,
to discountenance and by all lawful means prevent such criminal
enterprises; and I call upon all officers of this Government, civil
and military, to use any efforts which may be in their power to arrest
for trial and punishment every such offender.Given under my hand and the seal of the United States, at Washington,
this 18th day of January, A.D.1854, and the seventy-eighth of the
Independence of the United States.By the President:
W.L.MARCY,
_Secretary of State_.Whereas information has been received that sundry persons, citizens of
the United States and others residing therein, are engaged in organizing
and fitting out a military expedition for the invasion of the island of
Cuba; and
Whereas the said undertaking is contrary to the spirit and express
stipulations of treaties between the United States and Spain, derogatory
to the character of this nation, and in violation of the obvious duties
and obligations of faithful and patriotic citizens; and
Whereas it is the duty of the constituted authorities of the United
States to hold and maintain the control of the great question of peace
or war, and not suffer the same to be lawlessly complicated under any
pretense whatever; and
Whereas to that end all private enterprises of a hostile character
within the United States against any foreign power with which the United
States are at peace are forbidden and declared to be a high misdemeanor
by an express act of Congress:
Now, therefore, in virtue of the authority vested by the Constitution in
the President of the United States, I do issue this proclamation to warn
all persons that the General Government claims it as a right and duty to
interpose itself for the honor of its flag, the rights of its citizens,
the national security, and the preservation of the public tranquillity,
from whatever quarter menaced, and it will not fail to prosecute with
due energy all those who, unmindful of their own and their country's
fame, presume thus to disregard the laws of the land and our treaty
obligations.I earnestly exhort all good citizens to discountenance and prevent any
movement in conflict with law and national faith, especially charging
the several district attorneys, collectors, and other officers of the
United States, civil or military, having lawful power in the premises,
to exert the same for the purpose of maintaining the authority and
preserving the peace of the United States.Given under my hand and the seal of the United States, at Washington,
the 31st day of May, A.D.1854, and the seventy-eighth of the
Independence Of the United States.By the President:
W.L.MARCY,
_Secretary of State_.WASHINGTON, _December 4_, _1854_._Fellow-Citizens of the Senate and of the House of Representatives_:
The past has been an eventful year, and will be hereafter referred to as
a marked epoch in the history of the world.While we have been happily
preserved from the calamities of war, our domestic prosperity has not
been entirely uninterrupted.The crops in portions of the country have
been nearly cut off.Disease has prevailed to a greater extent than
usual, and the sacrifice of human life through casualties by sea and
land is without parallel.But the pestilence has swept by, and restored
salubrity invites the absent to their homes and the return of business
to its ordinary channels.If the earth has rewarded the labor of the
husbandman less bountifully than in preceding seasons, it has left him
with abundance for domestic wants and a large surplus for exportation.In the present, therefore, as in the past, we find ample grounds for
reverent thankfulness to the God of grace and providence for His
protecting care and merciful dealings with us as a people.Although our attention has been arrested by painful interest in passing
events, yet our country feels no more than the slight vibrations of the
convulsions which have shaken Europe.As individuals we can not repress
sympathy with human suffering nor regret for the causes which produce
it; as a nation we are reminded that whatever interrupts the peace or
checks the prosperity of any part of Christendom tends more or less
to involve our own.The condition of States is not unlike that of
individuals; they are mutually dependent upon each other.Amicable
relations between them and reciprocal good will are essential for the
promotion of whatever is desirable in their moral, social, and political
condition.Hence it has been my earnest endeavor to maintain peace and
friendly intercourse with all nations.The wise theory of this Government, so early adopted and steadily
pursued, of avoiding all entangling alliances has hitherto exempted
it from many complications in which it would otherwise have become
involved.It hugs the ground, grows roots from stem
joints where no roots should be, grows a slender leaf or two and twice
as many erect full catkins that rarely, even in that short growing
season, fail of fruit.Dipping over banks in the inlets of the creeks,
the fortunate find the rosy apples of the miniature manzanita, barely,
but always quite sufficiently, borne above the spongy sod.It does not
do to be anything but humble in the alpine regions, but not fearful.Mary travelled to the garden.Mary journeyed to the hallway.I
have pawed about for hours in the chill sward of meadows where one might
properly expect to get one's death, and got no harm from it, except it
might be Oliver Twist's complaint.One comes soon after this to shrubby
willows, and where willows are trout may be confidently looked for in
most Sierra streams.There is no accounting for their distribution;
though provident anglers have assisted nature of late, one still comes
upon roaring brown waters where trout might very well be, but are not.The highest limit of conifers--in the middle Sierras, the white bark
pine--is not along the water border.Daniel journeyed to the office.They come to it about the level of
the heather, but they have no such affinity for dampness as the tamarack
pines.Scarcely any bird-note breaks the stillness of the timber-line,
but chipmunks inhabit here, as may be guessed by the gnawed ruddy cones
of the pines, and lowering hours the woodchucks come down to the water.On a little spit of land running into Windy Lake we found one summer the
evidence of a tragedy; a pair of sheep's horns not fully grown caught in
the crotch of a pine where the living sheep must have lodged them.John moved to the office.The trunk of the tree had quite closed over them, and the skull bones
crumbled away from the weathered horn cases.We hoped it was not too
far out of the running of night prowlers to have put a speedy end to the
long agony, but we could not be sure.I never liked the spit of Windy
Lake again.It seems that all snow nourished plants count nothing so excellent in
their kind as to be forehanded with their bloom, working secretly to
that end under the high piled winters.The heathers begin by the lake
borders, while little sodden drifts still shelter under their branches.I have seen the tiniest of them (Kalmia glauca) blooming, and with
well-formed fruit, a foot away from a snowbank from which it could
hardly have emerged within a week.Somehow the soul of the heather
has entered into the blood of the English-speaking.Sandra travelled to the office.they say; and the most indifferent ends by picking a sprig of
it in a hushed, wondering way.One must suppose that the root of their
respective races issued from the glacial borders at about the same
epoch, and remember their origin.Among the pines where the <DW72> of the land allows it, the streams run
into smooth, brown, trout-abounding rills across open flats that are
in reality filled lake basins.These are the displaying grounds of the
gentians--blue--blue--eye-blue, perhaps, virtuous and likable flowers.One is not surprised to learn that they have tonic properties.But if
your meadow should be outside the forest reserve, and the sheep have
been there, you will find little but the shorter, paler G. newberryii,
and in the matted sods of the little tongues of greenness that lick
up among the pines along the watercourses, white, scentless, nearly
stemless, alpine violets.At about the nine thousand foot level and in the summer there will be
hosts of rosy-winged dodecatheon, called shooting-stars, outlining the
crystal tunnels in the sod.Sandra moved to the kitchen.Single flowers have often a two-inch
spread of petal, and the full, twelve blossomed heads above the slender
pedicels have the airy effect of wings.It is about this level one looks to find the largest lakes with thick
ranks of pines bearing down on them, often swamped in the summer floods
and paying the inevitable penalty for such encroachment.Here in wet
coves of the hills harbors that crowd of bloom that makes the wonder of
the Sierra canons.They drift under the alternate flicker and gloom of the windy rooms
of pines, in gray rock shelters, and by the ooze of blind springs, and
their juxtapositions are the best imaginable.Lilies come up out of fern
beds, columbine swings over meadowsweet, white rein-orchids quake in the
leaning grass.Open swales, where in wet years may be running water, are
plantations of false hellebore (Veratrum californicum), tall, branched
candelabra of greenish bloom above the sessile, sheathing, boat-shaped
leaves, semi-translucent in the sun.A stately plant of the lily family,
but why "false?"It is frankly offensive in its character, and its young
juices deadly as any hellebore that ever grew.Like most mountain herbs, it has an uncanny haste to bloom.One hears
by night, when all the wood is still, the crepitatious rustle of the
unfolding leaves and the pushing flower-stalk within, that has open
blossoms before it has fairly uncramped from the sheath.It commends
itself by a certain exclusiveness of growth, taking enough room and
never elbowing; for if the flora of the lake region has a fault it is
that there is too much of it.John travelled to the garden.We have more than three hundred species
from Kearsarge Canon alone, and if that does not include them all it is
because they were already collected otherwhere.One expects to find lakes down to about nine thousand feet, leading into
each other by comparatively open ripple <DW72>s and white cascades.Below
the lakes are filled basins that are still spongy swamps, or substantial
meadows, as they get down and down.On the east <DW72>s of the middle Sierras
the pines, all but an occasional yellow variety, desert the stream
borders about the level of the lowest lakes, and the birches and
tree-willows begin.The firs hold on almost to the mesa levels,--there
are no foothills on this eastern <DW72>,--and whoever has firs misses
nothing else.It goes without saying that a tree that can afford to take
fifty years to its first fruiting will repay acquaintance.It keeps,
too, all that half century, a virginal grace of outline, but having once
flowered, begins quietly to put away the things of its youth.Sandra moved to the garden.Years by
year the lower rounds of boughs are shed, leaving no scar; year by year
the star-branched minarets approach the sky.A fir-tree loves a water
border, loves a long wind in a draughty canon, loves to spend itself
secretly on the inner finishings of its burnished, shapely cones.Broken
open in mid-season the petal-shaped scales show a crimson satin surface,
perfect as a rose.The birch--the brown-bark western birch characteristic of lower stream
tangles--is a spoil sport.It grows thickly to choke the stream that
feeds it; grud |
kitchen | Where is John? | The
willows do better; painted-cup, cypripedium, and the hollow stalks
of span-broad white umbels, find a footing among their stems.But in
general the steep plunges, the white swirls, green and tawny pools, the
gliding hush of waters between the meadows and the mesas afford little
fishing and few flowers.One looks for these to begin again when once free of the rifted canon
walls; the high note of babble and laughter falls off to the steadier
mellow tone of a stream that knows its purpose and reflects the sky.OTHER WATER BORDERS
It is the proper destiny of every considerable stream in the west to
become an irrigating ditch.They
go as far as they can, or dare, toward the tillable lands in their own
boulder fenced gullies--but how much farther in the man-made waterways.It is difficult to come into intimate relations with appropriated
waters; like very busy people they have no time to reveal themselves.One needs to have known an irrigating ditch when it was a brook, and to
have lived by it, to mark the morning and evening tone of its crooning,
rising and falling to the excess of snow water; to have watched far
across the valley, south to the Eclipse and north to the Twisted <DW18>,
the shining wall of the village water gate; to see still blue herons
stalking the little glinting weirs across the field.Perhaps to get into the mood of the waterways one needs to have seen
old Amos Judson asquat on the headgate with his gun, guarding his
water-right toward the end of a dry summer.Amos owned the half of Tule
Creek and the other half pertained to the neighboring Greenfields ranch.Years of a "short water crop," that is, when too little snow fell on the
high pine ridges, or, falling, melted too early, Amos held that it took
all the water that came down to make his half, and maintained it with
a Winchester and a deadly aim.Jesus Montana, first proprietor
of Greenfields,--you can see at once that Judson had the racial
advantage,--contesting the right with him, walked into five of Judson's
bullets and his eternal possessions on the same occasion.That was the
Homeric age of settlement and passed into tradition.Twelve years later
one of the Clarks, holding Greenfields, not so very green by now, shot
one of the Judsons.Perhaps he hoped that also might become classic, but
the jury found for manslaughter.It had the effect of discouraging the
Greenfields claim, but Amos used to sit on the headgate just the same,
as quaint and lone a figure as the sandhill crane watching for water
toads below the Tule drop.Every subsequent owner of Greenfields bought it with Amos in full view.Along in August of that year came a week
of low water.Judson's ditch failed and he went out with his rifle to
learn why.There on the headgate sat Diedrick's frau with a long-handled
shovel across her lap and all the water turned into Diedrick's ditch;
there she sat knitting through the long sun, and the children brought
out her dinner.It was all up with Amos; he was too much of a gentleman
to fight a lady--that was the way he expressed it.She was a very large
lady, and a long-handled shovel is no mean weapon.The next year Judson
and Diedrick put in a modern water gauge and took the summer ebb in
equal inches.Some of the water-right difficulties are more squalid than
this, some more tragic; but unless you have known them you cannot very
well know what the water thinks as it slips past the gardens and in the
long slow sweeps of the canal.You get that sense of brooding from the
confined and sober floods, not all at once but by degrees, as one might
become aware of a middle-aged and serious neighbor who has had that in
his life to make him so.It is the repose of the completely accepted
instinct.With the water runs a certain following of thirsty herbs and shrubs.The
willows go as far as the stream goes, and a bit farther on the slightest
provocation.They will strike root in the leak of a flume, or the
dribble of an overfull bank, coaxing the water beyond its appointed
bounds.Given a new waterway in a barren land, and in three years the
willows have fringed all its miles of banks; three years more and they
will touch tops across it.It is perhaps due to the early usurpation
of the willows that so little else finds growing-room along the large
canals.The birch beginning far back in the canon tangles is more
conservative; it is shy of man haunts and needs to have the permanence
of its drink assured.It stops far short of the summer limit of waters,
and I have never known it to take up a position on the banks beyond
the ploughed lands.There is something almost like premeditation in the
avoidance of cultivated tracts by certain plants of water borders.The
clematis, mingling its foliage secretly with its host, comes down with
the stream tangles to the village fences, skips over to corners of
little used pasture lands and the plantations that spring up about
waste water pools; but never ventures a footing in the trail of spade or
plough; will not be persuaded to grow in any garden plot.On the other
hand, the horehound, the common European species imported with the
colonies, hankers after hedgerows and snug little borders.It is more
widely distributed than many native species, and may be always found
along the ditches in the village corners, where it is not appreciated.The irrigating ditch is an impartial distributer.It gathers all the
alien weeds that come west in garden and grass seeds and affords
them harbor in its banks.There one finds the European mallow (Malva
rotundifolia) spreading out to the streets with the summer overflow, and
every spring a dandelion or two, brought in with the blue grass seed,
uncurls in the swardy soil.Farther than either of these have come the
lilies that the Chinese coolies cultivate in adjacent mud holes for
their foodful bulbs.The seegoo establishes itself very readily in
swampy borders, and the white blossom spikes among the arrow-pointed
leaves are quite as acceptable to the eye as any native species.In the neighborhood of towns founded by the Spanish Californians,
whether this plant is native to the locality or not, one can always find
aromatic clumps of yerba buena, the "good herb" (Micromeria douglassii).The virtue of it as a febrifuge was taught to the mission fathers by the
neophytes, and wise old dames of my acquaintance have worked astonishing
cures with it and the succulent yerba mansa.This last is native to wet
meadows and distinguished enough to have a family all to itself.Where the irrigating ditches are shallow and a little neglected, they
choke quickly with watercress that multiplies about the lowest Sierra
springs.It is characteristic of the frequenters of water borders near
man haunts, that they are chiefly of the sorts that are useful to
man, as if they made their services an excuse for the intrusion.The
joint-grass of soggy pastures produces edible, nut-flavored tubers,
called by the Indians taboose.The common reed of the ultramontane
marshes (here Phragmites vulgaris), a very stately, whispering reed,
light and strong for shafts or arrows, affords sweet sap and pith which
makes a passable sugar.It seems the secrets of plant powers and influences yield themselves
most readily to primitive peoples, at least one never hears of the
knowledge coming from any other source.The Indian never concerns
himself, as the botanist and the poet, with the plant's appearances and
relations, but with what it can do for him.It can do much, but how do you suppose he finds it out; what instincts
or accidents guide him?How does a cat know when to eat catnip?Why do
western bred cattle avoid loco weed, and strangers eat it and go mad?One might suppose that in a time of famine the Paiutes digged wild
parsnip in meadow corners and died from eating it, and so learned to
produce death swiftly and at will.But how did they learn, repenting in
the last agony, that animal fat is the best antidote for its virulence;
and who taught them that the essence of joint pine (Ephedra nevadensis),
which looks to have no juice in it of any sort, is efficacious in
stomachic disorders.One believes
it to be a sort of instinct atrophied by disuse in a complexer
civilization.I remember very well when I came first upon a wet meadow
of yerba mansa, not knowing its name or use.It looked potent; the
cool, shiny leaves, the succulent, pink stems and fruity bloom.A little
touch, a hint, a word, and I should have known what use to put them to.So I felt, unwilling to leave it until we had come to an understanding.So a musician might have felt in the presence of an instrument known to
be within his province, but beyond his power.It was with the relieved
sense of having shaped a long surmise that I watched the Senora Romero
make a poultice of it for my burned hand.On, down from the lower lakes to the village weirs, the brown and golden
disks of helenum have beauty as a sufficient excuse for being.The
plants anchor out on tiny capes, or mid-stream islets, with the nearly
sessile radicle leaves submerged.The flowers keep up a constant
trepidation in time with the hasty water beating at their stems,
a quivering, instinct with life, that seems always at the point of
breaking into flight; just as the babble of the watercourses always
approaches articulation but never quite achieves it.Although of wide
range the helenum never makes itself common through profusion, and may
be looked for in the same places from year to year.Another lake
dweller that comes down to the ploughed lands is the red columbine.John moved to the kitchen.It requires no encouragement other than shade, but grows
too rank in the summer heats and loses its wildwood grace.A common
enough orchid in these parts is the false lady's slipper (Epipactis
gigantea), one that springs up by any water where there is sufficient
growth of other sorts to give it countenance.It seems to thrive best in
an atmosphere of suffocation.The middle Sierras fall off abruptly eastward toward the high valleys.Peaks of the fourteen thousand class, belted with sombre swathes
of pine, rise almost directly from the bench lands with no foothill
approaches.At the lower edge of the bench or mesa the land falls away,
often by a fault, to the river hollows, and along the drop one looks for
springs or intermittent swampy swales.Here the plant world resembles a
little the lake gardens, modified by altitude and the use the town folk
put it to for pasture.Here are cress, blue violets, potentilla, and, in
the damp of the willow fence-rows, white false asphodels.I am sure we
make too free use of this word FALSE in naming plants--false mallow,
false lupine, and the like.The asphodel is at least no falsifier, but
a true lily by all the heaven-set marks, though small of flower and
run mostly to leaves, and should have a name that gives it credit for
growing up in such celestial semblance.Native to the mesa meadows is a
pale iris, gardens of it acres wide, that in the spring season of full
bloom make an airy fluttering as of azure wings.Single flowers are
too thin and sketchy of outline to affect the imagination, but the full
fields have the misty blue of mirage waters rolled across desert sand,
and quicken the senses to the anticipation of things ethereal.A very
poet's flower, I thought; not fit for gathering up, and proving a
nuisance in the pastures, therefore needing to be the more loved.And
one day I caught Winnenap' drawing out from mid leaf a fine strong fibre
for making snares.The borders of the iris fields are pure gold, nearly
sessile buttercups and a creeping-stemmed composite of a redder hue.I
am convinced that English-speaking children will always have buttercups.Daniel went back to the garden.If they do not light upon the original companion of little frogs
they will take the next best and cherish it accordingly.I find
five unrelated species loved by that name, and as many more and as
inappropriately called cowslips.By every mesa spring one may expect to find a single shrub of the
buckthorn, called of old time Cascara sagrada--the sacred bark.Up
in the canons, within the limit of the rains, it seeks rather a stony
<DW72>, but in the dry valleys is not found away from water borders.In all the valleys and along the desert edges of the west are
considerable areas of soil sickly with alkali-collecting pools, black
and evil-smelling like old blood.Very little grows hereabout but
thick-leaved pickle weed.Curiously enough, in this stiff mud, along
roadways where there is frequently a little leakage from canals, grows
the only western representative of the true heliotropes (Heliotropium
curassavicum).It has flowers of faded white, foliage of faded green,
resembling the "live-for-ever" of old gardens and graveyards, but even
less attractive.After so much schooling in the virtues of water-seeking
plants, one is not surprised to learn that its mucilaginous sap has
healing powers.Last and inevitable resort of overflow waters is the tulares, great
wastes of reeds (Juncus) in sickly, slow streams.The reeds, called
tules, are ghostly pale in winter, in summer deep poisonous-looking
green, the waters thick and brown; the reed beds breaking into dingy
pools, clumps of rotting willows, narrow winding water lanes and sinking
paths.The tules grow inconceivably thick in places, standing man-high
above the water; cattle, no, not any fish nor fowl can penetrate them.Old stalks succumb slowly; the bed soil is quagmire, settling with the
weight as it fills and fills.Too slowly for counting they raise little
islands from the bog and reclaim the land.The waters pushed out cut
deeper channels, gnaw off the edges of the solid earth.The tulares are full of mystery and malaria.That is why we have meant
to explore them and have never done so.So
you would think to hear the redwinged blackbirds proclaim it clear March
mornings.Flocks of them, and every flock a myriad, shelter in the dry,
whispering stems.They make little arched runways deep into the heart
of the tule beds.Miles across the valley one hears the clamor of their
high, keen flutings in the mating weather.Wild fowl, quacking hordes of them, nest in the tulares.Any day's
venture will raise from open shallows the great blue heron on his hollow
wings.Chill evenings the mallard drakes cry continually from the glassy
pools, the bittern's hollow boom rolls along the water paths.Strange
and farflown fowl drop down against the saffron, autumn sky.All day
wings beat above it hazy with speed; long flights of cranes glimmer in
the twilight.By night one wakes to hear the clanging geese go over.One wishes for, but gets no nearer speech from those the reedy fens have
swallowed up.What they do there, how fare, what find, is the secret of
the tulares.NURSLINGS OF THE SKY
Choose a hill country for storms.There all the business of the weather
is carried on above your horizon and loses its terror in familiarity.When you come to think about it, the disastrous storms are on the
levels, sea or sand or plains.There you get only a hint of what is
about to happen, the fume of the gods rising from their meeting place
under the rim of the world; and when it breaks upon you there is no stay
nor shelter.The terrible mewings and mouthings of a Kansas wind have
the added terror of viewlessness.You are lapped in them like uprooted
grass; suspect them of a personal grudge.But the storms of hill
countries have other business.They scoop waterc |
office | Where is John? | John moved to the kitchen.They have habits to be learned, appointed paths, seasons, and warnings,
and they leave you in no doubt about their performances.One who builds
his house on a water scar or the rubble of a steep <DW72> must take
chances.So they did in Overtown who built in the wash of Argus water,
and at Kearsarge at the foot of a steep, treeless swale.After twenty
years Argus water rose in the wash against the frail houses, and the
piled snows of Kearsarge slid down at a thunder peal over the cabins and
the camp, but you could conceive that it was the fault of neither the
water nor the snow.The first effect of cloud study is a sense of presence and intention
in storm processes.It is the visible
manifestation of the Spirit moving itself in the void.It gathers itself
together under the heavens; rains, snows, yearns mightily in wind,
smiles; and the Weather Bureau, situated advantageously for that very
business, taps the record on his instruments and going out on the
streets denies his God, not having gathered the sense of what he has
seen.Hardly anybody takes account of the fact that John Muir, who knows
more of mountain storms than any other, is a devout man.Of the high Sierras choose the neighborhood of the splintered peaks
about the Kern and King's river divide for storm study, or the short,
wide-mouthed canons opening eastward on high valleys.Days when the
hollows are steeped in a warm, winey flood the clouds came walking on
the floor of heaven, flat and pearly gray beneath, rounded and pearly
white above.They gather flock-wise, moving on the level currents that
roll about the peaks, lock hands and settle with the cooler air, drawing
a veil about those places where they do their work.If their meeting or
parting takes place at sunrise or sunset, as it often does, one gets
the splendor of the apocalypse.There will be cloud pillars miles high,
snow-capped, glorified, and preserving an orderly perspective before the
unbarred door of the sun, or perhaps mere ghosts of clouds that dance
to some pied piper of an unfelt wind.But be it day or night, once they
have settled to their work, one sees from the valley only the blank wall
of their tents stretched along the ranges.To get the real effect of a
mountain storm you must be inside.One who goes often into a hill country learns not to say: What if it
should rain?It always does rain somewhere among the peaks: the unusual
thing is that one should escape it.You might suppose that if you took
any account of plant contrivances to save their pollen powder against
showers.Note how many there are deep-throated and bell-flowered like
the pentstemons, how many have nodding pedicels as the columbine, how
many grow in copse shelters and grow there only.There is keen delight
in the quick showers of summer canons, with the added comfort, born
of experience, of knowing that no harm comes of a wetting at high
altitudes.The day is warm; a white cloud spies over the canon wall,
slips up behind the ridge to cross it by some windy pass, obscures your
sun.Next you hear the rain drum on the broad-leaved hellebore, and beat
down the mimulus beside the brook.You shelter on the lee of some strong pine with shut-winged butterflies
and merry, fiddling creatures of the wood.Runnels of rain water from
the glacier-slips swirl through the pine needles into rivulets; the
streams froth and rise in their banks.The sky is white with cloud; the
sky is gray with rain; the sky is clear.Such as these follow each other day by day for weeks in August weather.Sometimes they chill suddenly into wet snow that packs about the
lake gardens clear to the blossom frills, and melts away harmlessly.Sometimes one has the good fortune from a heather-grown headland to
watch a rain-cloud forming in mid-air.Out over meadow or lake region
begins a little darkling of the sky,--no cloud, no wind, just a
smokiness such as spirits materialize from in witch stories.It rays out and draws to it some floating films from secret canons.Rain begins, "slow dropping veil of thinnest lawn;" a wind comes up and
drives the formless thing across a meadow, or a dull lake pitted by the
glancing drops, dissolving as it drives.The same season brings the rains that have work to do, ploughing storms
that alter the face of things.These come with thunder and the play of
live fire along the rocks.They come with great winds that try the pines
for their work upon the seas and strike out the unfit.They shake down
avalanches of splinters from sky-line pinnacles and raise up sudden
floods like battle fronts in the canons against towns, trees, and
boulders.They would be kind if they could, but have more important
matters.Such storms, called cloud-bursts by the country folk, are not
rain, rather the spillings of Thor's cup, jarred by the Thunderer.After
such a one the water that comes up in the village hydrants miles away is
white with forced bubbles from the wind-tormented streams.All that storms do to the face of the earth you may read in the
geographies, but not what they do to our contemporaries.I remember one
night of thunderous rain made unendurably mournful by the houseless cry
of a cougar whose lair, and perhaps his family, had been buried under
a slide of broken boulders on the <DW72> of Kearsarge.We had heard the
heavy detonation of the slide about the hour of the alpenglow, a pale
rosy interval in a darkling air, and judged he must have come from
hunting to the ruined cliff and paced the night out before it, crying a
very human woe.I remember, too, in that same season of storms, a lake
made milky white for days, and crowded out of its bed by clay washed
into it by a fury of rain, with the trout floating in it belly up,
stunned by the shock of the sudden flood.But there were trout enough
for what was left of the lake next year and the beginning of a meadow
about its upper rim.What taxed me most in the wreck of one of my
favorite canons by cloud-burst was to see a bobcat mother mouthing her
drowned kittens in the ruined lair built in the wash, far above the
limit of accustomed waters, but not far enough for the unexpected.After
a time you get the point of view of gods about these things to save you
from being too pitiful.The great snows that come at the beginning of winter, before there is
yet any snow except the perpetual high banks, are best worth while to
watch.These come often before the late bloomers are gone and while the
migratory birds are still in the piney woods.Down in the valley you see
little but the flocking of blackbirds in the streets, or the low
flight of mallards over the tulares, and the gathering of clouds
behind Williamson.First there is a waiting stillness in the wood; the
pine-trees creak although there is no wind, the sky glowers, the firs
rock by the water borders.The noise of the creek rises insistently
and falls off a full note like a child abashed by sudden silence in the
room.Daniel went back to the garden.This changing of the stream-tone following tardily the changes of the
sun on melting snows is most meaningful of wood notes.After it runs
a little trumpeter wind to cry the wild creatures to their holes.Sometimes the warning hangs in the air for days with increasing
stillness.Only Clark's crow and the strident jays make light of it;
only they can afford to.The cattle get down to the foothills and
ground-inhabiting creatures make fast their doors.It grows chill, blind
clouds fumble in the canons; there will be a roll of thunder, perhaps,
or a flurry of rain, but mostly the snow is born in the air with
quietness and the sense of strong white pinions softly stirred.It
increases, is wet and clogging, and makes a white night of midday.There is seldom any wind with first snows, more often rain, but later,
when there is already a smooth foot or two over all the <DW72>s, the
drifts begin.The late snows are fine and dry, mere ice granules at the
wind's will.Keen mornings after a storm they are blown out in wreaths
and banners from the high ridges sifting into the canons.Once in a year or so we have a "big snow."The cloud tents are widened
out to shut in the valley and an outlying range or two and are drawn
tight against the sun.Such a storm begins warm, with a dry white mist
that fills and fills between the ridges, and the air is thick with
formless groaning.Now for days you get no hint of the neighboring
ranges until the snows begin to lighten and some shouldering peak
lifts through a rent.Mornings after the heavy snows are steely blue,
two-edged with cold, divinely fresh and still, and these are times to go
up to the pine borders.There you may find floundering in the unstable
drifts "tainted wethers" of the wild sheep, faint from age and hunger;
easy prey.Even the deer make slow going in the thick fresh snow, and
once we found a wolverine going blind and feebly in the white glare.No tree takes the snow stress with such ease as the silver fir.The
star-whorled, fan-spread branches droop under the soft wreaths--droop
and press flatly to the trunk; presently the point of overloading is
reached, there is a soft sough and muffled drooping, the boughs recover,
and the weighting goes on until the drifts have reached the midmost
whorls and covered up the branches.When the snows are particularly wet and heavy they spread over the young
firs in green-ribbed tents wherein harbor winter loving birds.John moved to the office.All storms of desert hills, except wind storms, are impotent.East and
east of the Sierras they rise in nearly parallel ranges, desertward, and
no rain breaks over them, except from some far-strayed cloud or roving
wind from the California Gulf, and these only in winter.In summer the
sky travails with thunderings and the flare of sheet lightnings to win
a few blistering big drops, and once in a lifetime the chance of a
torrent.But you have not known what force resides in the mindless
things until you have known a desert wind.One expects it at the turn of
the two seasons, wet and dry, with electrified tense nerves.Along the
edge of the mesa where it drops off to the valley, dust devils begin to
rise white and steady, fanning out at the top like the genii out of the
Fisherman's bottle.One supposes the Indians might have learned the
use of smoke signals from these dust pillars as they learn most things
direct from the tutelage of the earth.The air begins to move fluently,
blowing hot and cold between the ranges.Far south rises a murk of sand
against the sky; it grows, the wind shakes itself, and has a smell of
earth.The cloud of small dust takes on the color of gold and shuts out
the neighborhood, the push of the wind is unsparing.Only man of all
folk is foolish enough to stir abroad in it.But being in a house is
really much worse; no relief from the dust, and a great fear of the
creaking timbers.There is no looking ahead in such a wind, and the bite
of the small sharp sand on exposed skin is keener than any insect sting.One might sleep, for the lapping of the wind wears one to the point
of exhaustion very soon, but there is dread, in open sand stretches
sometimes justified, of being over blown by the drift.It is hot, dry,
fretful work, but by going along the ground with the wind behind, one
may come upon strange things in its tumultuous privacy.I like these
truces of wind and heat that the desert makes, otherwise I do not know
how I should come by so many acquaintances with furtive folk.I like
to see hawks sitting daunted in shallow holes, not daring to spread a
feather, and doves in a row by the prickle-bushes, and shut-eyed cattle,
turned tail to the wind in a patient doze.I like the smother of sand
among the dunes, and finding small coiled snakes in open places, but I
never like to come in a wind upon the silly sheep.The wind robs them of
what wit they had, and they seem never to have learned the self-induced
hypnotic stupor with which most wild things endure weather stress.I
have never heard that the desert winds brought harm to any other than
the wandering shepherds and their flocks.Once below Pastaria Little
Pete showed me bones sticking out of the sand where a flock of two
hundred had been smothered in a bygone wind.In many places the
four-foot posts of a cattle fence had been buried by the wind-blown
dunes.It is enough occupation, when no storm is brewing, to watch the cloud
currents and the chambers of the sky.From Kearsarge, say, you look over
Inyo and find pink soft cloud masses asleep on the level desert air;
south of you hurries a white troop late to some gathering of their kind
at the back of Oppapago; nosing the foot of Waban, a woolly mist creeps
south.In the clean, smooth paths of the middle sky and highest up in
air, drift, unshepherded, small flocks ranging contrarily.You will
find the proper names of these things in the reports of the Weather
Bureau--cirrus, cumulus, and the like and charts that will teach by
study when to sow and take up crops.Sandra went to the bathroom.It is astonishing the trouble
men will be at to find out when to plant potatoes, and gloze over the
eternal meaning of the skies.You have to beat out for yourself many
mornings on the windy headlands the sense of the fact that you get the
same rainbow in the cloud drift over Waban and the spray of your garden
hose.And not necessarily then do you live up to it.THE LITTLE TOWN OF THE GRAPE VINES
There are still some places in the west where the quails cry "cuidado";
where all the speech is soft, all the manners gentle; where all the
dishes have chile in them, and they make more of the Sixteenth of
September than they do of the Fourth of July.I mean in particular El
Pueblo de Las Uvas.Where it lies, how to come at it, you will not get
from me; rather would I show you the heron's nest in the tulares.It has
a peak behind it, glinting above the tamarack pines, above a breaker of
ruddy hills that have a long <DW72> valley-wards and the shoreward steep
of waves toward the Sierras.Below the Town of the Grape Vines, which shortens to Las Uvas for
common use, the land dips away to the river pastures and the tulares.It shrouds under a twilight thicket of vines, under a dome of
cottonwood-trees, drowsy and murmurous as a hive.Hereabouts are some
strips of tillage and the headgates that dam up the creek for the
village weirs; upstream you catch the growl of the arrastra.Wild vines
that begin among the willows lap over to the orchard rows, take the
trellis and roof-tree.There is another town above Las Uvas that merits some attention, a town
of arches and airy crofts, full of linnets, blackbirds, fruit birds,
small sharp hawks, and mockingbirds that sing by night.First the sun
shone on it brilliantly, as if it would emphasise its great beauty, and
then a tornado swept down, and the mist seemed to rise up and swallow
it.The Senchi Rapids raise the river thirty-four feet in a furlong or
two, and the water, white and foaming, boils over the brown rocks like
the water churned up in the wake of a great ocean steamer.I could
not believe we were going up there when we faced them, but the expert
canoe-men, stripped to a loin cloth, with shout and song defying the |
garden | Where is Sandra? | We seemed to go
up in a series of spasms; either the men were working for dear life or
they were idling so as to bring down upon them the wrath of Grant who,
after that trip along the Coast, felt himself qualified to speak, and
again and again I had to interfere and explain that if anybody was going
to scold the men it must be me.But indeed they worked so hard they
needed a spell.[Illustration: 0313]
Many a time when the canoe was broadside on and the white water was
boiling up all round her, I thought, “Well, this really looks very
dangerous,” but nobody had told me it was, so I supposed it was only
my ignorance, but I heard afterwards that I was right, it is dangerous.Many a bag of cotton has gone to the bottom here, and many a barrel of
oil has been dashed to pieces against the rocks, and if many a white
man's gear has not gone to the bottom too, it is only because white men
on this river are few and far between.I had one great advantage, I
did not realise the danger till we were right in it, and then it was
pressing, it absorbed every thought till we were in smooth water again,
with the men lying panting at the bottom of the canoe, so that I really
had not time to be afraid till it was all over.Frankly, I don't think
I could enter upon such a journey again so calmy, but I am glad I have
gone once, for it was such a wonderful and enchanting river.Some day
they dream the great waterway will be used to reach Tamale, a ten days'
journey farther north, but money must be spent before that happy end
is arrived at, though I fancy that if the river were in German hands
something would be attempted at once, for the country is undoubtedly
very rich.“Scratch the earth it laughs a harvest.” Cocoa and palm oil and rubber
all come to the river or grow within a short distance of its banks, and
all tropical fruits and native food-stuffs flourish like weeds.Beauty
is perhaps hardly an asset in West Africa, but the Volta is a most
beautiful river.The Gambia is interesting, the Congo grand, but the
Volta is entrancingly lovely.I have heard men rave of the beauty of
the Thames, and it certainly is a pleasant river, with its smooth, green
lawns, its shady trees, and its picturesque houses; but to compare it
to the Volta is to compare a pretty little birch-bark canoe to a
magnificent sailing ship with all her snowy canvas set, heeling over
to the breeze.Sometimes its great, wide, quiet reaches are like still,
deep lakes, in whose clear surface is mirrored the calm, blue sky, the
fleecy clouds, the verdure-clad banks, and the hills that are clothed in
the densest green to their very peaks.Sometimes it is a raging torrent,
fighting its way over the rocks, and beneath the vivid blue sky is the
gorgeous vegetation of the Tropics, tangled, luxuriant, feathery palms,
tall and shapely silk-cotton trees bound together with twining creeper
and trailing vine in one impenetrable mass.A brown patch proclaims a
village, and here are broad-leaved bananas, handsome mangoes, fragrant
orange trees, lighter- cocoa patches, and cassada that from the
distance might be a patch of lucerne.Always there are hills, rising
high, cutting the sky sharply, ever changing, ever reflected faithfully
in the river at their feet.There is traffic, of course, men fishing
from canoes, and canoes laden with barrels of oil or kernels, or cocoa
going down the river, the boats returning with the gin and the
cotton cloths for the factories run by the <DW64> agents of the great
trading-houses; and every three or four hours or so--distance is as
yet counted by time in West Africa--are the stations of the preventive
service.[Illustration: 0317]
This preventive service is rather curious, because both banks of the
river, in the latter part of its course, are owned by the English, and
the service is between the two portions of the Colony.But east of
the Volta, whither I was bound, the country is but little known, and
apparently the powers that be do not feel themselves equal to cope with
a very effective preventive service, so they have there the same duties,
a 4 per cent, one that the Germans have in Togo land, while west of the
Volta they have a 10 per cent.I hope there is not much smuggling on the Volta, for with all apologies
to the white preventive officers, I doubt the likelihood of the men
doing much to stop it.They have been
picturesquely planned--the plans carefully carried out; the houses are
well kept up, and round them are some of the few gardens, in English
hands, on the Gold Coast that really look like gardens.Though I did not
in the course of three days' travel come across him, I felt they marked
the presence of some careful, capable white man.The credit is certainly
not due to the <DW64> preventive men.In the presence of their white
officer they are smart-looking men; seen in his absence they relax their
efforts and look as untidy and dirty as a railway porter after a hard
day's struggle with a Bank Holiday crowd.John moved to the kitchen.After all one can hardly
blame the <DW64> for not exerting himself.Nature has given him all he
absolutely requires; he has but to stretch out his hand and take it,
using almost as little forethought and exertion as the great black
cormorants or the little blue-and-white king-fishers that get their
livelihood from the river.I may have wronged them for they were
quite civil, but I was afraid.Again and again they made me remember, as
the ordinary peasants never did, that I was a woman alone and very very
helpless.Nothing would have induced me to stay two nights at one of
those stations.They had lost all awe of
a white face, and, I felt, were inclined to be presuming.What could I
have done if they had forgotten their thin veneer of civilisation, and
gone back to pure savagery.At Adjena I had
to have my camp-bed put up on the verandah, because I found the house
too stuffy, and the moonlit river was glorious to look upon, but I was
anything but happy in my own mind; I wondered if I wanted help if my
canoe-men, who were very decent, respectable savages, would come to my
help.The
sun rose behind Chai Hill, and flung its shadow all across the river,
and I attempted feebly to reproduce it in a photograph, and gladly and
thankfully I went on my way up the river, and I vowed in my own mind
that never if I could help it would I come up here again by myself.Daniel went back to the garden.If
any adventurous woman feels desirous of following in my footsteps, I
have but one piece of advice to give her--“Don't.” I don't think I
would do it again for all the money in the Bank of England.I may do
him an injustice, but I do not trust the half-civilised black man.John moved to the office.I got
through, I think, because for a moment he was astonished.Next time he
will not be taken by surprise, and it will not be safe.[Illustration: 0321]
At Labolabo I left the river.Dearly I should have loved to have gone
on, to have made my way up to the Northern Territories, but for one
thing, my canoe-men were only engaged as far as Labolabo; for another,
I had not brought enough photographic plates.I really think it was that
last consideration that stopped me.What was the good of going without
taking photographs?Curiously enough, the fact that I was afraid did not
weigh much with me.I suppose we are all built alike, and at moments our
mental side weights up our emotional side.Now, my mental side very much
wanted to go up past the Afram plain.I should have had to stay in the
preventive service houses, which grew farther and farther apart, and I
was afraid of the preventive service men, afraid of them in the sordid
way one fears the low-class ruffian of the great cities, but there was
that in me that whispered that there was a doubt, and therefore it might
be exceedingly foolish to check my search after knowledge for a fear
that might only be a causeless fear.But about the photographic plates
there was no doubt; I had not brought nearly enough with me, and
therefore I landed very meekly at Labolabo.There was rather a desolate-looking factory, but it did not look
inviting enough to induce me to go inside it, so I sat down under a tree
on the high bank of the river and interviewed the black factor to whom
Swanzy's agent had given me a letter.He was mightily surprised, but
I was accustomed to being received with surprise now, and began to
consider the making of a cup of tea.Then the factor brought another
man along and introduced him to me as Swanzy's agent at Pekki Blengo,
Mr Olympia.And once more I feel like apologising to all the African
peoples for anything I may have said against them.Mr Olympia came
from French Dahomey.He was extremely good-looking, and had polished,
courteous manners such as one dreams of in the Spanish hidalgos of old.If you searched the wide world over I do not think you could wish to
find a more charming man than Swanzy's black agent at Pekki Blengo.I only met him casually as I met other black
men, men outside the pale for me, a white woman, but I felt when I
looked at him there might be possibilities in the African race; when
I think of their enormous strength and their wonderful vigour, immense
possibilities.I explained to Mr Olympia that I wanted to get to the rest-house at
Anum, that I had arranged for my canoe-men to carry my kit there, and
that Mr Rowe had told me that he, Mr Olympia, could get me carriers on
to Ho.He said certainly, but he thought I ought at least to go up to
the British Cotton-growing Experimental Farm, about ten minutes' walk
away from the river.He felt that the white man in charge would be much
hurt if I did not at least call and see him.Of course I would go, and
Mr Olympia apologising for the absence of hammock or cart, we set off to
walk.It took me a good forty minutes through the
blazing heat of an African afternoon, and then I was met upon the steps
of the bungalow by a perfectly amazed white man in his shirt sleeves,
who hurriedly explained that when he had seen the luggage coming along
in charge of the faithful Grant, who made the nearest approach to a
slave-driver I have ever seen, he had asked him, “Who be your master?”
“It be no massa,” said Grant, “it be missus.”
“And then,” said my new friend, “I set him at the end of the avenue and
told him he was to keep you off till I found a coat.I don't know where the blamed thing's got to.”
He went on to inquire where I had come from and how I had come.I told
him, “Up the river.”
“But,” he protested, “it requires a picked crew of ten preventive
service men to come up the Volta.”
I assured him, I was ready to take my oath about it, you could do it
fairly easily with six ordinary, hired men, but he went on shaking his
head and declared he couldn't imagine what Rowe was thinking of.He
thought I had really embarked on the maddest journey ever woman dreamt
of, and while getting me a cool drink, for which I blessed him, went on
murmuring, “Rowe must have been mad.” I think his surprise brought home
to me for the first time the fact that I was doing anything unusual.Before that it had seemed very natural to be going up the river, to
be simply wanting to get on and see the great waterway and the country
behind.I did not go on to Anum as I had intended.It was Easter Saturday, and
my new friend suggested I should spend Easter with him.I demurred,
and he said it would be a charity.He had no words to express his
loneliness, and as for the canoe-men, who could not stay to carry my
things to Anum, let them go.He would see about my gear being taken up
there.And so I stayed, glad to see how a man managed by himself in the
wilderness.The British Cotton-growing Experimental Farm at Labolabo is to all
intents and purposes a failure.It was set there in the midst of
gorgeously rich country to teach the native to grow cotton, and the
native seeing that cocoa, with infinitively less exertion, pays him very
much better, naturally firmly declines to do anything of the sort.So
here in this beautiful spot lives utterly alone a solitary white man
who, with four inefficient labourers, tries desperately to keep the
primeval bush from swallowing up the farm and entirely effacing all
the hard work that has been done there.This farm should be a valuable
possession besides being a very beautiful one.Sandra went to the bathroom.The red-roofed bungalow
is set in a bay of the high, green hills, which stretch out verdure-clad
arms, threatening every moment to envelop it.Sandra moved to the garden.The land <DW72>s gently,
and as I sat on the broad verandah, through the dense foliage of the
trees I could catch glimpses of the silver Volta a mile and a half away,
while beyond again the blue hills rose range after range till they were
lost in the bluer distance.Four years ago this man who was entertaining
me so hospitably had planted a mile-long avenue to lead up to his
bungalow, and now the tall grape-fruit and shaddock in front of his
verandah meet and have regularly to be cut away to keep the path clear.I am too ignorant to know what could be grown with profit, only I can
see that the land is rich and fruitful, and should be, with the river
so close, a most valuable possession.As it is, it is one of the most
lonely places in the world.I sympathised deeply with the man living
there alone.If I went to my room I could hear him
tramping monotonously up and down the verandah.“Tramp, tramp, tramp,”
and when I went out he smiled queerly.[Illustration: 0327]
“I can't help doing it,” said he; “it's the lonely man's walk.And when
I can't see those two lines,” he pointed to two boards in the verandah,
“I know I'm drunk and I go to bed.”
It was like the story of the man who kept a frog in his pocket and every
time he had a drink he took it out and looked at it.“What the dickens do you do that for?” asked a companion.“Well, when I see two frogs,” said he, “I know I've had enough.”
Now I don't believe my friend at Labolabo did exceed, judging by his
looks, but if ever man might be excused it was he.Daniel travelled to the office.He had for servants
a very old cook and a slave-boy with a much-scarred face; the marks upon
his face proclaimed his former status, but no man could understand the
unintelligible jargon he spoke, so no man knew where he came from.At any rate, he flitted about
the bungalow a most inadequate steward.And he laid the table in the stone house--or rather the shelter with two
stone walls, a stone floor, and a broken-down thatch roof, where we had
our meals.It was perhaps twenty yards from the bungalow, and on the
garden side grew like a wall great bushes of light-green feathery
justitia with its yellow, bell-like flowers, while on the other side a
little grass-grown plain stretched away to the forest-clad hills behind.“There is nothing to be afraid of in Africa,” said my host, “till the
moment there is something, and then you're done. |
garden | Where is Sandra? | I looked out from the verandah, and when I saw
a black figure slip silently in among the trees I wondered what it
portended.I looked behind me to see if one might not be coming from
behind the kitchen.The fool-bird in the bush crying, “Hoo!hoo!”
all on one note seemed but crying a suitable dirge.Fear hid on the
verandah; I could hear him in the creak of a door, in the “pad, pad” of
the slave-boy's feet; I could almost have sworn I saw him skulking under
the mango tree where were kept the thermometers; and when on Easter
Sunday a tornado swept down from the hills, blotting out the vivid
green in one pall of grey mist, he was in the shrieking wind and in the
shuddering rain.Never was I more impersonally sorry to leave a man alone, for if I saw
my host again I doubt if he would recognise me, but it seemed wicked to
leave a fellow white man alone in such a place.If there had been any
real danger, of course I should only have been an embarrassment, but
at least I was company of his own kind and I kept that haunting fear at
bay.I stayed two days and then I felt go I must.I was also faced with my
own carelessness and the casual manner in which I had dropped into the
wilderness.Anum mountain was a steep climb of five miles, and beyond
that again I had, as far as I could gather, several days' journey in the
wilds before I could hope to reach rail-head in German Togo, and I
had actually never remembered that I should want a hammock.The
Cotton-growing Association didn't possess one, and, like Christian in
the “Pilgrim's Progress,” I “cast about me” what I should do.I could
not fancy myself walking in the blazing noonday sun.He
did not think it was a matter of any great consequence because he felt
sure I could not get through, but he came to my rescue all the same and
sent up a couple of labourers to the Basel Mission at Anum to see what
they could suggest.The labourers came back with a hammock--rather a
dilapidated one--on their heads, and an invitation to luncheon next day.“It's as far as you'll go,” said my friend, “if nothing else stops you;
you can't possibly get carriers.Remember, I'll put you up with pleasure
on your way back.”
But I was not going to face the Volta again by myself, though I did not
tell him that.Those black men insulted me by making me fear them.It was a very hot morning when we started to climb up Anum mountain.The
bush on either side was rather thick, and the road was steep and very
bad going.John moved to the kitchen.Daniel went back to the garden.It was shaded, luckily, most of the way, and there arose that
damp, pleasant smell that comes from moist earth, the rich, sensuous,
insidious scent of an orchid that I could not see, or the mouselike
smell of the great fruitarian bats that in these daylight hours were
hidden among the dense greenery of the roadside.It was a toilsome
journey, and my new friend walked beside me, but at last we reached Anum
town, a mud-built, native town, bare, hot, dirty, unkempt, and we passed
beyond it to the grateful shade once more of the Basel Mission grounds.CHAPTER XIV--INTO THE WILDS
_Anum Mountain--The Basel Mission--A beautiful spot--An old Ashanti
raid--A desolate rest-house--Alone and afraid; also hungry--A long
night--Jakai--Pekki Blengo--The unspeakable Eveto Range--Underpaid
carriers--A beautiful, a wealthy, and a neglected land--Tsito--The
churches and the fetish--Difficulties of lodging in a cocoa-store--The
lonely country between Tsito and the Border--Doubts of the
hammock-boys--The awful road--Butterflies--The Border._
Frankly, my sympathies are not as a rule with the missionaries,
certainly not with African missionaries.I have not learned to
understand spiritual misery, and of material misery there is none in
Africa to be compared with the unutterable woe one meets at every turn
in an English city.But one thing I admire in these Swiss and German
teachers is the way they have improved the land they have taken
possession of.Their women, too, make here their homes and bear their
children.John moved to the office.“A home,” I said as I stepped on to the wide verandah of the
Mission Station at Anum; “a home,” as I went into the rooms decorated
with texts in German and Twi; “a home,” as I sat down to the very
excellent luncheon provided by the good lady whom most English women
would have designated a little scornfully as a _haus-frau_.Sandra went to the bathroom.Most
emphatically “a home” when I looked out over the beautiful gardens that
were nicely planted with mangoes, bananas, palms, and all manner of
pretty shrubs and bright-foliaged trees.It seems to me almost a pity to
teach the little <DW64> since he is so much nicer in his untutored state,
but since they feel it must be done these Basel Mission people are going
the very best way about it by beautifying their own surroundings.From their verandah over the scented frangipanni and fragrant orange
trees you may see far far away the winding Volta like a silver thread
at the bottom of the valley, and the great hills that control his
course standing up on either side.It is an old station, for in the late
sixties the Ashantis raided it, captured the missionary, Mr Ramseyer,
his wife and child, and held them in captivity for several years.The native, even the fierce Ashanti warrior, has
learned that it is well for him that the white man should be here, and
up in the rest-house on the other side of the mountain a white woman may
stay alone in safety.Why do the powers that be overlook Anum mountain?The rest-house to
which my kind friend from Labolabo escorted me after we had lunched
at the Basel Mission was shabby and desolate with that desolation that
comes where a white man has been and is no longer.No one has ever tried
to make a garden, though the larger trees and shrubs have been cleared
from about the house and in their stead weeds have sprung up, and the
vigour of their growth shows the possibilities, while the beauty of
the situation is not to be denied.Away to the north, where not even a
native dwells, spreads out the wide extent of the Afram plain, a
very paradise for the sportsman, for there are to be found numberless
hartebeests, leopards, lions, and even the elephant himself.It lies
hundreds, possibly thousands of feet below, and across it winds the
narrow streak of the Volta, while to the north the hills stretch out as
if they would keep the mighty river for England, barring its passage to
the east and to German territory.And here my friend from Labolabo left me--left me, I think, with some
misgivings.“Come back,” he said; “you know I'll be glad to see you.I know you can't get through.”
But I had my own opinion about that.“What about the carriers Mr Olympia is going to send me to-morrow
morning?”
And he laughed.Why, the missionary said you needn't
expect them.”
The Basel missionary had said I might get through if I was prepared to
wait, and as I said good-bye I was prepared to wait.The rest-house was on top of a mountain in the clouds, far away from
any sign of habitation.The rooms were large, empty, and desolate with a
desolation there is no describing.There was a man in charge living in a
little house some way off, the dispenser at the empty hospital which
was close to the rest-house, and the Basel missionary spoke of him with
scorn.“He was one of my boys,” he said; “such a fool I sent him away, and why
the Government have him for dispenser here I do not know.”
Neither do I, but I suspect he was in a place where he could do the very
minimum of harm, for very few people come to Anum mountain.There is a
Ju-ju upon it, and my first experience was that I could get no food.No sooner were we alone than Grant appeared before me mightily
aggrieved.“This bush country no good, Ma.I no can get chop.”
I hope I would have felt sorry for him in any case, but it was brought
home to me by the fact that he could get no chop for me either.I had come to the end of my stores and there was not a chicken nor an
egg nor bread nor fruit to be bought in the village down the hill.Sandra moved to the garden.The
villagers said they had none, or declined to sell, which came to the
same thing.Daniel travelled to the office.I dined frugally off tea and biscuits, and I presume Grant
helped himself to the biscuits--I told him to--tea he hated--and then as
the evening drew on I prepared to go to bed.but it was lonely, and fear fell upon me.A white mist came softly
up, so that I could not see beyond the broad, empty verandahs.I knew
the moon was shining by the white light, but I could not see her and
I felt shut in and terrified.Where Grant went to I don't know, but he
disappeared after providing my frugal evening meal, and I could hear
weird sounds that came out of the mist, and none of the familiar chatter
and laughter of the carriers to which I had grown accustomed.It was
against all my principles to shut myself in, so I left doors and windows
wide open and listened for the various awful things that might come out
of the bush and up those verandah steps.What I feared I know not, but
I feared, feared greatly; the fear that had come upon me at Labolabo
worked his wicked will now that I was alone on Anum mountain, and the
white mist aided and abetted.I could hear the drip, drip, as of water
falling somewhere in the silence; I could hear the cry of a bird out in
the bush, but it was the silence that made every rustle so fraught with
meaning.It was no good telling myself there was nothing to fear, that
the kindly missionaries would never have left me alone if there had
been.I could only remember that on this mountain had raided those fierce
Ashanti warriors, that terrible things had been done here, that terrible
things might be done again, that if anything happened to me there was no
possibility of help, that I was quite powerless.I wondered if a Savage,
on these occasions one spells Savage with a very large “S,” did come on
to the verandah, did come into my bedroom, what should I do.I felt that
even a bush-cat would be terrifying, and having got so far I realised
that a rabbit would probably send me into hysterics.At the thought
of the rabbit my drooping spirits recovered themselves a little, but
I spent a very unpleasant night, dozing and listening, till my own
heart-beats drowned all other sounds.I don't suppose I should have given up in any case, it is against
family tradition, but if I had, there was the Volta behind me, and those
preventive service men made it imperative to go on.But when morning dawned I felt a little better.True, I did not like the
thought of tea and biscuits for breakfast, but I thought hopefully of
the Basel Mission gardens.Mary travelled to the hallway.I was sure, if I had to stay here, those
hospitable people would give me plenty of fruit, and probably a good
deal more than that, so I was not quite as depressed as Grant when I
dressed and stood on the verandah, looking across the mysterious mist
that still shrouded the valley of the Volta.And before that mist had cleared away, up the steps of the rest-house
came the Basel missionary, and at their foot crowded a gang of lightly
clad, chattering men and women.Mr Olympia had been as good
as his word, the missionary kindly came to interpret, and I set out for
Pekki Blengo, away in the hills to the east.It was all hill-country through which we passed; range after range
of hills, rich in cocoa and palm oil, while along the track, that we
English called a road, might be seen rubber trees scored with knives, so
that the milky rubber can be collected.Very little of this rich country
is under cultivation, the vegetation is dense and close, and the vivid
green is brightened here and there by scarlet poinsettas and flamboyant
trees, then at the beginning of the rains one mass of flame-
blossom.It was a tangle of greenery, like some great, gorgeous
greenhouse, and the native, when he wants a clearing, burns off a small
portion and plants cocoa or cassada, yams, bananas, or maize, with
enough cotton here and there, between the lines of food-stuffs, to give
him yarn for his immediate needs.When the farmer has used up this land,
he abandons it to the umbrella trees and other tropical weeds, and with
the wastefulness of the native takes up another piece of land, burning
and destroying, quite careless of the value of the trees that go to feed
the fire.Such reckless destruction is not allowed by the Germans, but
a few miles to the east.There a native is encouraged to take up a farm,
but he must improve it year by year.Our thrifty neighbours will have no
such waste within their borders.In the course of the morning I arrived at Jakai, and the whole of the
village turned out to interview me, and I in my turn took a photograph
of as few as I could manage of the inhabitants under the principal tree.When they grasped I was going to take
a picture, and there was generally some much-travelled man ready to
instruct the others, they all crowded together in one mass in front of
the camera--if they did not object altogether, when they ran away--and
I always had to wait, and perjure myself, and say the picture was taken
long before it was done.If I grew afraid
at night I always reminded myself of the uniform goodwill of the
villages through which I passed; their evident desire that I should be
pleased with my surroundings.And at Jakai Grant, with triumph, bought
so many eggs that I trembled for my future meals.I foresaw a course of
“fly” egg, hard-boiled egg, and egg and breadcrumbs, but after all that
was better than tea and biscuits, and when I saw a pine-apple and a
bunch of bananas I felt life was going to be endurable again.At Pekki Blengo, an untidy, disorderly village, where the streets
are full of holes and hillocks, strewn with litter and scarred with
waterways, Mr Olympia met me, and conducted me to an empty chiefs house,
where I might put up for the night.It was a twostoried house of mud,
with plenty of air, for there were great holes where the doors and
windows would have been, and I slept peacefully once more with the hum
of human life all around me again.But I can hardly admire Pekki Blengo.It is like all these villages of the English Eastern Province.The
houses are of mud, the roofs of thatch, and fowls, ducks, pigs, goats,
and little happy, naked children alike swarm.That is one comfort
so different from travelling in the older lands--these villagers are
apparently happy enough.Mary moved to the bathroom.They are kindly and courteous, too, for though
a white woman was evidently an extraordinary sight equal in interest to
a circus clown, or even an elephant, and they rushed from all quarters
to see her, they never pushed or crowded, and they cuffed the children
if they seemed likely to worry her.And beyond Pekki Blengo the road reached its worst.Mr Olympia warned
me I should have to walk across the Eveto Range as no hammock-boys could
possibly carry me, and I decided therefore that the walking had better
be done very early in the morning, |
bathroom | Where is Mary? | The traveller is always allowed the privilege of arranging in Africa.If
he does not he will certainly not progress at all, but at the same time
it is surprising how seldom his well-arranged plans come off.True to
promise my hammock-boys and carriers turned up some time a little before
six in the morning, and the carriers, swarming up the verandah, turned
over the loads, made a great many remarks that I was incapable
of understanding, and one and all departed.Then the hammock-boys
apparently urged me to get into the hammock and start, as they were in a
hurry to be off and earn the four shillings they were to have for taking
me to Ho in German territory.I pointed out, whether they understood I
did not know, that I could not stir without my gear, and I went off to
interview Mr Olympia, who was sweetly slumbering in his house about a
mile away.He, when he was aroused, said they thought I was not giving
them enough; that they said they would not carry loads to Ho for one
shilling and sixpence and two shillings a load.I said that that was the
sum he had fixed.I was perfectly willing to give more; and he set out
to interview the Chief, and see if he could get fresh carriers, but he
was not very hopeful about getting any that day.I retired to my
chiefs house, grew tired of making mental notes of the people and the
surrounding country, and got out a pack of cards and solaced myself with
one-handed bridge, which may be educational, but is not very exciting.My hammock-boys again pleaded to be taken on, but I was firm.It was
useless moving without my gear; and finally when I was about giving
up hope Mr Olympia returned.He had found eight men and women who
were bound across the Eveto Range to get loads at Tsito.Sixpence, he
explained, was the ordinary charge for a load to Tsito, but if I would
rise to say ninepence for my heavier loads--he hesitated as if such an
enormous expenditure might not commend itself to my purse.John moved to the kitchen.But naturally
I assented gladly, and off went my loads at sixpence and ninepence
a head.For a moment I rejoiced, and as usual began to purr over my
excellent management.It was my turn now, and where
were my hammock-boys?Daniel went back to the garden.Inquiry elicited the awful fact that they had gone
to their farms and could not be prevailed upon to start till next day;
Mr Olympia was sure I could not hope to move before to-morrow morning.I had had nothing to eat
since earliest dawn.I had now not even a chair to sit upon, nor a pack
of cards to solace the dull hours.I dare not eat and, worse still,
dare not drink.John moved to the office.Then I sent word to Mr Olympia that if he would get me a
couple of men to carry my hammock I would walk.I sat on the steps of that house and waited, I walked down the road and
waited, and the tropical day grew hotter and hotter, the sun poured down
pitilessly, and I was weary with thirst, but still I would not drink
the native water.At last, oh triumph, instead of two, eight grinning
hammock-boys turned up, and about 1.30 on a blazing tropical afternoon
we started.Ten minutes later I was set down at the foot of the
unspeakable Eveto Range, and my men gave me to understand by signs they
could carry me no longer.I cannot think that the Eveto Range is perpendicular, but it seemed
pretty nearly so.It was thickly wooded, as is all the country, and the
road was the merest track between the walls of vegetation, a track that
twisted and turned out of the way of the larger obstacles, the smaller
ones we negotiated as best we might, holes, and roots, and rocks, and
waterways, that made the distance doubly and trebly great.In five
minutes I felt done; in ten it was brought home to me forcibly that I
was an unutterable fool ever to attempt to travel in Africa.In addition
to the roughness there was the steepness of the way to be taken into
consideration, and the constant strain of going up, up compelled me
again and again to lie down flat on my back to recover sufficient
strength and breath to go on.What matter if the view was delightful--it
was--when I had neither time, nor strength, nor energy to raise my eyes
from the difficulties that beset my feet.But there was nothing to
be done except to crawl painfully along with the tropical sun pouring
pitilessly down, and not a breath of wind stirring.We came across a bunch of bananas, laid
beside the track, and my men offered me one by way of refreshment, but
I was too done to eat, and I thought what a fool I was not to carry a
flask.When I had given up all hope of surviving, and really didn't much
care what became of me so long as I died quickly, we reached the top
where were native farms with cotton bushes now in full bloom planted
among the food-stuffs, and I rested a little and gathered together my
energies for the descent.And if the going up was bad, the going down
was worse.There were great rocks and boulders that I would never
have dared in England, and when I could spare time from my own woes I
reflected that the usual charge for taking a load to Tsito was sixpence,
and decided between my own gasps it was the most iniquitous piece of
slave-driving I had ever heard of.Twenty pounds, I felt, would never
pay me for carrying myself across this awful country, and there were
those wretched carriers toiling along for a miserable sixpence, or at
most ninepence.Before us, in the evening light, lay the wealthy land where
no white man goes, and the beautiful, verdure-clothed hills dappled with
shadow and sunshine.The light was going, but, weary as I was, I had to
stop and look, for never again might I see a more lovely view.And at last, just as the darkness was falling, we had crossed the range,
and I thankfully and wearily tumbled into my hammock and was carried
through the village of Tsito to the trader's store.Sandra went to the bathroom.It was a humble
store, presided over by a black man who spoke English, and here they
bought cotton and cocoa, and sold kerosene and trade gin, cotton cloths,
and the coarsest kinds of tinned fish.I had a letter from Mr Olympia
to this black man, and he offered me the hospitality of the cocoa-store;
that is to say, a space was cleared among the cocoa and cotton and
other impedimenta, my bed and table and bath set up.All this conversation between the two was overheard by the muleteer at
whose side Don Luis lay, and rising, he went to report what had taken
place to Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the others, who had by this time
dressed themselves; and told them how the man had addressed the youth as
"Don," and what words had passed, and how he wanted him to return to his
father, which the youth was unwilling to do.With this, and what they
already knew of the rare voice that heaven had bestowed upon him, they
all felt very anxious to know more particularly who he was, and even to
help him if it was attempted to employ force against him; so they
hastened to where he was still talking and arguing with his servant.Dorothea at this instant came out of her room, followed by Dona Clara all
in a tremor; and calling Cardenio aside, she told him in a few words the
story of the musician and Dona Clara, and he at the same time told her
what had happened, how his father's servants had come in search of him;
but in telling her so, he did not speak low enough but that Dona Clara
heard what he said, at which she was so much agitated that had not
Dorothea hastened to support her she would have fallen to the ground.Cardenio then bade Dorothea return to her room, as he would endeavour to
make the whole matter right, and they did as he desired.All the four who
had come in quest of Don Luis had now come into the inn and surrounded
him, urging him to return and console his father at once and without a
moment's delay.He replied that he could not do so on any account until
he had concluded some business in which his life, honour, and heart were
at stake.The servants pressed him, saying that most certainly they would
not return without him, and that they would take him away whether he
liked it or not.Sandra moved to the garden."You shall not do that," replied Don Luis, "unless you take me dead;
though however you take me, it will be without life."By this time most of those in the inn had been attracted by the dispute,
but particularly Cardenio, Don Fernando, his companions, the Judge, the
curate, the barber, and Don Quixote; for he now considered there was no
necessity for mounting guard over the castle any longer.Cardenio being
already acquainted with the young man's story, asked the men who wanted
to take him away, what object they had in seeking to carry off this youth
against his will."Our object," said one of the four, "is to save the life of his father,
who is in danger of losing it through this gentleman's disappearance."Upon this Don Luis exclaimed, "There is no need to make my affairs public
here; I am free, and I will return if I please; and if not, none of you
shall compel me.""Reason will compel your worship," said the man, "and if it has no power
over you, it has power over us, to make us do what we came for, and what
it is our duty to do.""Let us hear what the whole affair is about," said the Judge at this; but
the man, who knew him as a neighbour of theirs, replied, "Do you not know
this gentleman, Senor Judge?He is the son of your neighbour, who has run
away from his father's house in a dress so unbecoming his rank, as your
worship may perceive."The judge on this looked at him more carefully and recognised him, and
embracing him said, "What folly is this, Senor Don Luis, or what can have
been the cause that could have induced you to come here in this way, and
in this dress, which so ill becomes your condition?"Tears came into the eyes of the young man, and he was unable to utter a
word in reply to the Judge, who told the four servants not to be uneasy,
for all would be satisfactorily settled; and then taking Don Luis by the
hand, he drew him aside and asked the reason of his having come there.But while he was questioning him they heard a loud outcry at the gate of
the inn, the cause of which was that two of the guests who had passed the
night there, seeing everybody busy about finding out what it was the four
men wanted, had conceived the idea of going off without paying what they
owed; but the landlord, who minded his own affairs more than other
people's, caught them going out of the gate and demanded his reckoning,
abusing them for their dishonesty with such language that he drove them
to reply with their fists, and so they began to lay on him in such a
style that the poor man was forced to cry out, and call for help.The
landlady and her daughter could see no one more free to give aid than Don
Quixote, and to him the daughter said, "Sir knight, by the virtue God has
given you, help my poor father, for two wicked men are beating him to a
mummy."Daniel travelled to the office.To which Don Quixote very deliberately and phlegmatically replied, "Fair
damsel, at the present moment your request is inopportune, for I am
debarred from involving myself in any adventure until I have brought to a
happy conclusion one to which my word has pledged me; but that which I
can do for you is what I will now mention: run and tell your father to
stand his ground as well as he can in this battle, and on no account to
allow himself to be vanquished, while I go and request permission of the
Princess Micomicona to enable me to succour him in his distress; and if
she grants it, rest assured I will relieve him from it.""Sinner that I am," exclaimed Maritornes, who stood by; "before you have
got your permission my master will be in the other world.""Give me leave, senora, to obtain the permission I speak of," returned
Don Quixote; "and if I get it, it will matter very little if he is in the
other world; for I will rescue him thence in spite of all the same world
can do; or at any rate I will give you such a revenge over those who
shall have sent him there that you will be more than moderately
satisfied;" and without saying anything more he went and knelt before
Dorothea, requesting her Highness in knightly and errant phrase to be
pleased to grant him permission to aid and succour the castellan of that
castle, who now stood in grievous jeopardy.The princess granted it
graciously, and he at once, bracing his buckler on his arm and drawing
his sword, hastened to the inn-gate, where the two guests were still
handling the landlord roughly; but as soon as he reached the spot he
stopped short and stood still, though Maritornes and the landlady asked
him why he hesitated to help their master and husband.Mary travelled to the hallway.Mary moved to the bathroom."I hesitate," said Don Quixote, "because it is not lawful for me to draw
sword against persons of squirely condition; but call my squire Sancho to
me; for this defence and vengeance are his affair and business."Thus matters stood at the inn-gate, where there was a very lively
exchange of fisticuffs and punches, to the sore damage of the landlord
and to the wrath of Maritornes, the landlady, and her daughter, who were
furious when they saw the pusillanimity of Don Quixote, and the hard
treatment their master, husband and father was undergoing.But let us
leave him there; for he will surely find some one to help him, and if
not, let him suffer and hold his tongue who attempts more than his
strength allows him to do; and let us go back fifty paces to see what Don
Luis said in reply to the Judge whom we left questioning him privately as
to his reasons for coming on foot and so meanly dressed.To which the youth, pressing his hand in a way that showed his heart was
troubled by some great sorrow, and shedding a flood of tears, made
answer:
"Senor, I have no more to tell you than that from the moment when,
through heaven's will and our being near neighbours, I first saw Dona
Clara, your daughter and my lady, from that instant I made her the
mistress of my will, and if yours, my true lord and father, offers no
impediment, this very day she shall become my wife.Daniel went back to the bedroom.For her I left my
father's house, and for her I assumed this disguise, to follow her
whithersoever she may go, as the arrow seeks its mark or the sailor the
pole-star.She knows nothing more of my passion than what she may have
learned from having sometimes seen from a distance that my eyes were
filled with tears.You know already, senor, the wealth and noble birth of
my parents, and that I am their sole heir; if this be a sufficient
inducement for you to venture to make me completely happy, accept me at
once as your son; for if my father, influenced by other objects of his
own, should disapprove of this happiness I have sought for myself, time
has more power to alter and change things, than human will."John went back to the hallway.With this the love-smitten youth was silent, while the Judge, after
hearing him, was astonished, perplexed, and surprised, as well at the
manner and intelligence with which Don Luis had confessed the secret of
his heart, as at the position in which he found himself, not knowing what
course to take in a matter so sudden and unexpected.All the answer,
therefore, he gave him was to bid him to make his mind easy for the
present, and arrange with his servants not to take him back that day, so
that there might be time to consider what was best for all parties.Don
Luis kissed his hands by force, nay |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | The guests had by this time made peace with the landlord, for, by
persuasion and Don Quixote's fair words more than by threats, they had
paid him what he demanded, and the servants of Don Luis were waiting for
the end of the conversation with the Judge and their master's decision,
when the devil, who never sleeps, contrived that the barber, from whom
Don Quixote had taken Mambrino's helmet, and Sancho Panza the trappings
of his ass in exchange for those of his own, should at this instant enter
the inn; which said barber, as he led his ass to the stable, observed
Sancho Panza engaged in repairing something or other belonging to the
pack-saddle; and the moment he saw it he knew it, and made bold to attack
Sancho, exclaiming, "Ho, sir thief, I have caught you!hand over my basin
and my pack-saddle, and all my trappings that you robbed me of."Sancho, finding himself so unexpectedly assailed, and hearing the abuse
poured upon him, seized the pack-saddle with one hand, and with the other
gave the barber a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood.The barber,
however, was not so ready to relinquish the prize he had made in the
pack-saddle; on the contrary, he raised such an outcry that everyone in
the inn came running to know what the noise and quarrel meant."Here, in
the name of the king and justice!"he cried, "this thief and highwayman
wants to kill me for trying to recover my property.""You lie," said Sancho, "I am no highwayman; it was in fair war my master
Don Quixote won these spoils."Don Quixote was standing by at the time, highly pleased to see his
squire's stoutness, both offensive and defensive, and from that time
forth he reckoned him a man of mettle, and in his heart resolved to dub
him a knight on the first opportunity that presented itself, feeling sure
that the order of chivalry would be fittingly bestowed upon him.In the course of the altercation, among other things the barber said,
"Gentlemen, this pack-saddle is mine as surely as I owe God a death, and
I know it as well as if I had given birth to it, and here is my ass in
the stable who will not let me lie; only try it, and if it does not fit
him like a glove, call me a rascal; and what is more, the same day I was
robbed of this, they robbed me likewise of a new brass basin, never yet
handselled, that would fetch a crown any day."At this Don Quixote could not keep himself from answering; and
interposing between the two, and separating them, he placed the
pack-saddle on the ground, to lie there in sight until the truth was
established, and said, "Your worships may perceive clearly and plainly
the error under which this worthy squire lies when he calls a basin which
was, is, and shall be the helmet of Mambrino which I won from him in air
war, and made myself master of by legitimate and lawful possession.With
the pack-saddle I do not concern myself; but I may tell you on that head
that my squire Sancho asked my permission to strip off the caparison of
this vanquished poltroon's steed, and with it adorn his own; I allowed
him, and he took it; and as to its having been changed from a caparison
into a pack-saddle, I can give no explanation except the usual one, that
such transformations will take place in adventures of chivalry.To
confirm all which, run, Sancho my son, and fetch hither the helmet which
this good fellow calls a basin.""Egad, master," said Sancho, "if we have no other proof of our case than
what your worship puts forward, Mambrino's helmet is just as much a basin
as this good fellow's caparison is a pack-saddle.""Do as I bid thee," said Don Quixote; "it cannot be that everything in
this castle goes by enchantment."Mary went back to the kitchen.Sancho hastened to where the basin was, and brought it back with him, and
when Don Quixote saw it, he took hold of it and said:
"Your worships may see with what a face this squire can assert that this
is a basin and not the helmet I told you of; and I swear by the order of
chivalry I profess, that this helmet is the identical one I took from
him, without anything added to or taken from it."John went to the bedroom."There is no doubt of that," said Sancho, "for from the time my master
won it until now he has only fought one battle in it, when he let loose
those unlucky men in chains; and if had not been for this basin-helmet he
would not have come off over well that time, for there was plenty of
stone-throwing in that affair."IN WHICH THE DOUBTFUL QUESTION OF MAMBRINO'S HELMET AND THE PACK-SADDLE
IS FINALLY SETTLED, WITH OTHER ADVENTURES THAT OCCURRED IN TRUTH AND
EARNEST
"What do you think now, gentlemen," said the barber, "of what these
gentles say, when they want to make out that this is a helmet?""And whoever says the contrary," said Don Quixote, "I will let him know
he lies if he is a knight, and if he is a squire that he lies again a
thousand times."Our own barber, who was present at all this, and understood Don Quixote's
humour so thoroughly, took it into his head to back up his delusion and
carry on the joke for the general amusement; so addressing the other
barber he said:
"Senor barber, or whatever you are, you must know that I belong to your
profession too, and have had a licence to practise for more than twenty
years, and I know the implements of the barber craft, every one of them,
perfectly well; and I was likewise a soldier for some time in the days of
my youth, and I know also what a helmet is, and a morion, and a headpiece
with a visor, and other things pertaining to soldiering, I meant to say
to soldiers' arms; and I say-saving better opinions and always with
submission to sounder judgments--that this piece we have now before us,
which this worthy gentleman has in his hands, not only is no barber's
basin, but is as far from being one as white is from black, and truth
from falsehood; I say, moreover, that this, although it is a helmet, is
not a complete helmet.""Certainly not," said Don Quixote, "for half of it is wanting, that is to
say the beaver.""It is quite true," said the curate, who saw the object of his friend the
barber; and Cardenio, Don Fernando and his companions agreed with him,
and even the Judge, if his thoughts had not been so full of Don Luis's
affair, would have helped to carry on the joke; but he was so taken up
with the serious matters he had on his mind that he paid little or no
attention to these facetious proceedings.exclaimed their butt the barber at this; "is it possible
that such an honourable company can say that this is not a basin but a
helmet?Why, this is a thing that would astonish a whole university,
however wise it might be!That will do; if this basin is a helmet, why,
then the pack-saddle must be a horse's caparison, as this gentleman has
said.""To me it looks like a pack-saddle," said Don Quixote; "but I have
already said that with that question I do not concern myself.""As to whether it be pack-saddle or caparison," said the curate, "it is
only for Senor Don Quixote to say; for in these matters of chivalry all
these gentlemen and I bow to his authority.""By God, gentlemen," said Don Quixote, "so many strange things have
happened to me in this castle on the two occasions on which I have
sojourned in it, that I will not venture to assert anything positively in
reply to any question touching anything it contains; for it is my belief
that everything that goes on within it goes by enchantment.The first
time, an enchanted Moor that there is in it gave me sore trouble, nor did
Sancho fare well among certain followers of his; and last night I was
kept hanging by this arm for nearly two hours, without knowing how or why
I came by such a mishap.So that now, for me to come forward to give an
opinion in such a puzzling matter, would be to risk a rash decision.As
regards the assertion that this is a basin and not a helmet I have
already given an answer; but as to the question whether this is a
pack-saddle or a caparison I will not venture to give a positive opinion,
but will leave it to your worships' better judgment.Perhaps as you are
not dubbed knights like myself, the enchantments of this place have
nothing to do with you, and your faculties are unfettered, and you can
see things in this castle as they really and truly are, and not as they
appear to me.""There can be no question," said Don Fernando on this, "but that Senor
Don Quixote has spoken very wisely, and that with us rests the decision
of this matter; and that we may have surer ground to go on, I will take
the votes of the gentlemen in secret, and declare the result clearly and
fully."To those who were in the secret of Don Quixote's humour all this afforded
great amusement; but to those who knew nothing about it, it seemed the
greatest nonsense in the world, in particular to the four servants of Don
Luis, as well as to Don Luis himself, and to three other travellers who
had by chance come to the inn, and had the appearance of officers of the
Holy Brotherhood, as indeed they were; but the one who above all was at
his wits' end, was the barber basin, there before his very eyes, had been
turned into Mambrino's helmet, and whose pack-saddle he had no doubt
whatever was about to become a rich caparison for a horse.All laughed to
see Don Fernando going from one to another collecting the votes, and
whispering to them to give him their private opinion whether the treasure
over which there had been so much fighting was a pack-saddle or a
caparison; but after he had taken the votes of those who knew Don
Quixote, he said aloud, "The fact is, my good fellow, that I am tired
collecting such a number of opinions, for I find that there is not one of
whom I ask what I desire to know, who does not tell me that it is absurd
to say that this is the pack-saddle of an ass, and not the caparison of a
horse, nay, of a thoroughbred horse; so you must submit, for, in spite of
you and your ass, this is a caparison and no pack-saddle, and you have
stated and proved your case very badly.""May I never share heaven," said the poor barber, "if your worships are
not all mistaken; and may my soul appear before God as that appears to me
a pack-saddle and not a caparison; but, 'laws go,'-I say no more; and
indeed I am not drunk, for I am fasting, except it be from sin."The simple talk of the barber did not afford less amusement than the
absurdities of Don Quixote, who now observed:
"There is no more to be done now than for each to take what belongs to
him, and to whom God has given it, may St.But said one of the four servants, "Unless, indeed, this is a deliberate
joke, I cannot bring myself to believe that men so intelligent as those
present are, or seem to be, can venture to declare and assert that this
is not a basin, and that not a pack-saddle; but as I perceive that they
do assert and declare it, I can only come to the conclusion that there is
some mystery in this persistence in what is so opposed to the evidence of
experience and truth itself; for I swear by"--and here he rapped out a
round oath-"all the people in the world will not make me believe that
this is not a barber's basin and that a jackass's pack-saddle.""It might easily be a she-ass's," observed the curate."It is all the same," said the servant; "that is not the point; but
whether it is or is not a pack-saddle, as your worships say."On hearing this one of the newly arrived officers of the Brotherhood, who
had been listening to the dispute and controversy, unable to restrain his
anger and impatience, exclaimed, "It is a pack-saddle as sure as my
father is my father, and whoever has said or will say anything else must
be drunk.""You lie like a rascally clown," returned Don Quixote; and lifting his
pike, which he had never let out of his hand, he delivered such a blow at
his head that, had not the officer dodged it, it would have stretched him
at full length.The pike was shivered in pieces against the ground, and
the rest of the officers, seeing their comrade assaulted, raised a shout,
calling for help for the Holy Brotherhood.The landlord, who was of the
fraternity, ran at once to fetch his staff of office and his sword, and
ranged himself on the side of his comrades; the servants of Don Luis
clustered round him, lest he should escape from them in the confusion;
the barber, seeing the house turned upside down, once more laid hold of
his pack-saddle and Sancho did the same; Don Quixote drew his sword and
charged the officers; Don Luis cried out to his servants to leave him
alone and go and help Don Quixote, and Cardenio and Don Fernando, who
were supporting him; the curate was shouting at the top of his voice, the
landlady was screaming, her daughter was wailing, Maritornes was weeping,
Dorothea was aghast, Luscinda terror-stricken, and Dona Clara in a faint.The barber cudgelled Sancho, and Sancho pommelled the barber; Don Luis
gave one of his servants, who ventured to catch him by the arm to keep
him from escaping, a cuff that bathed his teeth in blood; the Judge took
his part; Don Fernando had got one of the officers down and was
belabouring him heartily; the landlord raised his voice again calling for
help for the Holy Brotherhood; so that the whole inn was nothing but
cries, shouts, shrieks, confusion, terror, dismay, mishaps, sword-cuts,
fisticuffs, cudgellings, kicks, and bloodshed; and in the midst of all
this chaos, complication, and general entanglement, Don Quixote took it
into his head that he had been plunged into the thick of the discord of
Agramante's camp; and, in a voice that shook the inn like thunder, he
cried out:
"Hold all, let all sheathe their swords, let all be calm and attend to me
as they value their lives!"All paused at his mighty voice, and he went on to say, "Did I not tell
you, sirs, that this castle was enchanted, and that a legion or so of
devils dwelt in it?In proof whereof I call upon you to behold with your
own eyes how the discord of Agramante's camp has come hither, and been
transferred into the midst of us.See how they fight, there for the
sword, here for the horse, on that side for the eagle, on this for the
helmet; we are all fighting, and all at cross purposes.Come then, you,
Senor Judge, and you, senor curate; let the one represent King Agramante
and the other King Sobrino, and make peace among us; for by God Almighty
it is a sorry business that so many persons of quality as we are should
slay one another for such trifling cause."The officers, who did not
understand Don Quixote's mode of speaking, and found themselves roughly
handled by Don Fernando, Cardenio, and their companions, were not to be
appeased; the barber was, however, for both his beard and his pack-saddle
were the worse for the struggle; Sancho like a good servant obeyed the
slightest |
kitchen | Where is John? | The landlord
alone insisted upon it that they must punish the insolence of this
madman, who at every turn raised a disturbance in the inn; but at length
the uproar was stilled for the present; the pack-saddle remained a
caparison till the day of judgment, and the basin a helmet and the inn a
castle in Don Quixote's imagination.All having been now pacified and made friends by the persuasion of the
Judge and the curate, the servants of Don Luis began again to urge him to
return with them at once; and while he was discussing the matter with
them, the Judge took counsel with Don Fernando, Cardenio, and the curate
as to what he ought to do in the case, telling them how it stood, and
what Don Luis had said to him.It was agreed at length that Don Fernando
should tell the servants of Don Luis who he was, and that it was his
desire that Don Luis should accompany him to Andalusia, where he would
receive from the marquis his brother the welcome his quality entitled him
to; for, otherwise, it was easy to see from the determination of Don Luis
that he would not return to his father at present, though they tore him
to pieces.On learning the rank of Don Fernando and the resolution of Don
Luis the four then settled it between themselves that three of them
should return to tell his father how matters stood, and that the other
should remain to wait upon Don Luis, and not leave him until they came
back for him, or his father's orders were known.Thus by the authority of
Agramante and the wisdom of King Sobrino all this complication of
disputes was arranged; but the enemy of concord and hater of peace,
feeling himself slighted and made a fool of, and seeing how little he had
gained after having involved them all in such an elaborate entanglement,
resolved to try his hand once more by stirring up fresh quarrels and
disturbances.It came about in this wise: the officers were pacified on learning the
rank of those with whom they had been engaged, and withdrew from the
contest, considering that whatever the result might be they were likely
to get the worst of the battle; but one of them, the one who had been
thrashed and kicked by Don Fernando, recollected that among some warrants
he carried for the arrest of certain delinquents, he had one against Don
Quixote, whom the Holy Brotherhood had ordered to be arrested for setting
the galley slaves free, as Sancho had, with very good reason,
apprehended.Suspecting how it was, then, he wished to satisfy himself as
to whether Don Quixote's features corresponded; and taking a parchment
out of his bosom he lit upon what he was in search of, and setting
himself to read it deliberately, for he was not a quick reader, as he
made out each word he fixed his eyes on Don Quixote, and went on
comparing the description in the warrant with his face, and discovered
that beyond all doubt he was the person described in it.As soon as he
had satisfied himself, folding up the parchment, he took the warrant in
his left hand and with his right seized Don Quixote by the collar so
tightly that he did not allow him to breathe, and shouted aloud, "Help
for the Holy Brotherhood!and that you may see I demand it in earnest,
read this warrant which says this highwayman is to be arrested."The curate took the warrant and saw that what the officer said was true,
and that it agreed with Don Quixote's appearance, who, on his part, when
he found himself roughly handled by this rascally clown, worked up to the
highest pitch of wrath, and all his joints cracking with rage, with both
hands seized the officer by the throat with all his might, so that had he
not been helped by his comrades he would have yielded up his life ere Don
Quixote released his hold.Mary went back to the kitchen.The landlord, who had perforce to support his
brother officers, ran at once to aid them.The landlady, when she saw her
husband engaged in a fresh quarrel, lifted up her voice afresh, and its
note was immediately caught up by Maritornes and her daughter, calling
upon heaven and all present for help; and Sancho, seeing what was going
on, exclaimed, "By the Lord, it is quite true what my master says about
the enchantments of this castle, for it is impossible to live an hour in
peace in it!"Don Fernando parted the officer and Don Quixote, and to their mutual
contentment made them relax the grip by which they held, the one the coat
collar, the other the throat of his adversary; for all this, however, the
officers did not cease to demand their prisoner and call on them to help,
and deliver him over bound into their power, as was required for the
service of the King and of the Holy Brotherhood, on whose behalf they
again demanded aid and assistance to effect the capture of this robber
and footpad of the highways.Don Quixote smiled when he heard these words, and said very calmly, "Come
now, base, ill-born brood; call ye it highway robbery to give freedom to
those in bondage, to release the captives, to succour the miserable, to
raise up the fallen, to relieve the needy?Infamous beings, who by your
vile grovelling intellects deserve that heaven should not make known to
you the virtue that lies in knight-errantry, or show you the sin and
ignorance in which ye lie when ye refuse to respect the shadow, not to
say the presence, of any knight-errant!Come now; band, not of officers,
but of thieves; footpads with the licence of the Holy Brotherhood; tell
me who was the ignoramus who signed a warrant of arrest against such a
knight as I am?Who was he that did not know that knights-errant are
independent of all jurisdictions, that their law is their sword, their
charter their prowess, and their edicts their will?Who, I say again, was
the fool that knows not that there are no letters patent of nobility that
confer such privileges or exemptions as a knight-errant acquires the day
he is dubbed a knight, and devotes himself to the arduous calling of
chivalry?What knight-errant ever paid poll-tax, duty, queen's pin-money,
king's dues, toll or ferry?What tailor ever took payment of him for
making his clothes?What castellan that received him in his castle ever
made him pay his shot?What king did not seat him at his table?What
damsel was not enamoured of him and did not yield herself up wholly to
his will and pleasure?And, lastly, what knight-errant has there been, is
there, or will there ever be in the world, not bold enough to give,
single-handed, four hundred cudgellings to four hundred officers of the
Holy Brotherhood if they come in his way?"OF THE END OF THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE OFFICERS OF THE HOLY
BROTHERHOOD; AND OF THE GREAT FEROCITY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT, DON QUIXOTE
While Don Quixote was talking in this strain, the curate was endeavouring
to persuade the officers that he was out of his senses, as they might
perceive by his deeds and his words, and that they need not press the
matter any further, for even if they arrested him and carried him off,
they would have to release him by-and-by as a madman; to which the holder
of the warrant replied that he had nothing to do with inquiring into Don
Quixote's madness, but only to execute his superior's orders, and that
once taken they might let him go three hundred times if they liked."For all that," said the curate, "you must not take him away this time,
nor will he, it is my opinion, let himself be taken away."In short, the curate used such arguments, and Don Quixote did such mad
things, that the officers would have been more mad than he was if they
had not perceived his want of wits, and so they thought it best to allow
themselves to be pacified, and even to act as peacemakers between the
barber and Sancho Panza, who still continued their altercation with much
bitterness.In the end they, as officers of justice, settled the question
by arbitration in such a manner that both sides were, if not perfectly
contented, at least to some extent satisfied; for they changed the
pack-saddles, but not the girths or head-stalls; and as to Mambrino's
helmet, the curate, under the rose and without Don Quixote's knowing it,
paid eight reals for the basin, and the barber executed a full receipt
and engagement to make no further demand then or thenceforth for
evermore, amen.John went to the bedroom.These two disputes, which were the most important and
gravest, being settled, it only remained for the servants of Don Luis to
consent that three of them should return while one was left to accompany
him whither Don Fernando desired to take him; and good luck and better
fortune, having already begun to solve difficulties and remove
obstructions in favour of the lovers and warriors of the inn, were
pleased to persevere and bring everything to a happy issue; for the
servants agreed to do as Don Luis wished; which gave Dona Clara such
happiness that no one could have looked into her face just then without
seeing the joy of her heart.Zoraida, though she did not fully comprehend
all she saw, was grave or gay without knowing why, as she watched and
studied the various countenances, but particularly her Spaniard's, whom
she followed with her eyes and clung to with her soul.The gift and
compensation which the curate gave the barber had not escaped the
landlord's notice, and he demanded Don Quixote's reckoning, together with
the amount of the damage to his wine-skins, and the loss of his wine,
swearing that neither Rocinante nor Sancho's ass should leave the inn
until he had been paid to the very last farthing.The curate settled all
amicably, and Don Fernando paid; though the Judge had also very readily
offered to pay the score; and all became so peaceful and quiet that the
inn no longer reminded one of the discord of Agramante's camp, as Don
Quixote said, but of the peace and tranquillity of the days of
Octavianus: for all which it was the universal opinion that their thanks
were due to the great zeal and eloquence of the curate, and to the
unexampled generosity of Don Fernando.Finding himself now clear and quit of all quarrels, his squire's as well
as his own, Don Quixote considered that it would be advisable to continue
the journey he had begun, and bring to a close that great adventure for
which he had been called and chosen; and with this high resolve he went
and knelt before Dorothea, who, however, would not allow him to utter a
word until he had risen; so to obey her he rose, and said, "It is a
common proverb, fair lady, that 'diligence is the mother of good
fortune,' and experience has often shown in important affairs that the
earnestness of the negotiator brings the doubtful case to a successful
termination; but in nothing does this truth show itself more plainly than
in war, where quickness and activity forestall the devices of the enemy,
and win the victory before the foe has time to defend himself.All this I
say, exalted and esteemed lady, because it seems to me that for us to
remain any longer in this castle now is useless, and may be injurious to
us in a way that we shall find out some day; for who knows but that your
enemy the giant may have learned by means of secret and diligent spies
that I am going to destroy him, and if the opportunity be given him he
may seize it to fortify himself in some impregnable castle or stronghold,
against which all my efforts and the might of my indefatigable arm may
avail but little?Therefore, lady, let us, as I say, forestall his
schemes by our activity, and let us depart at once in quest of fair
fortune; for your highness is only kept from enjoying it as fully as you
could desire by my delay in encountering your adversary."Don Quixote held his peace and said no more, calmly awaiting the reply of
the beauteous princess, who, with commanding dignity and in a style
adapted to Don Quixote's own, replied to him in these words, "I give you
thanks, sir knight, for the eagerness you, like a good knight to whom it
is a natural obligation to succour the orphan and the needy, display to
afford me aid in my sore trouble; and heaven grant that your wishes and
mine may be realised, so that you may see that there are women in this
world capable of gratitude; as to my departure, let it be forthwith, for
I have no will but yours; dispose of me entirely in accordance with your
good pleasure; for she who has once entrusted to you the defence of her
person, and placed in your hands the recovery of her dominions, must not
think of offering opposition to that which your wisdom may ordain.""On, then, in God's name," said Don Quixote; "for, when a lady humbles
herself to me, I will not lose the opportunity of raising her up and
placing her on the throne of her ancestors.And down below in the morning the porter found the little dead body of the
frozen child on the woodstack; they sought out his mother too.... She had
died before him.Why have I made up such a story, so out of keeping with an ordinary diary,
and a writer's above all?And I promised two stories dealing with real
events!But that is just it, I keep fancying that all this may have
happened really--that is, what took place in the cellar and on the
woodstack; but as for Christ's Christmas tree, I cannot tell you whether
that could have happened or not.THE PEASANT MAREY
It was the second day in Easter week.The air was warm, the sky was blue,
the sun was high, warm, bright, but my soul was very gloomy.I sauntered
behind the prison barracks.I stared at the palings of the stout prison
fence, counting the movers; but I had no inclination to count them, though
it was my habit to do so.This was the second day of the "holidays" in the
prison; the convicts were not taken out to work, there were numbers of men
drunk, loud abuse and quarrelling was springing up continually in every
corner.There were hideous, disgusting songs and card-parties installed
beside the platform-beds.Several of the convicts who had been sentenced by
their comrades, for special violence, to be beaten till they were half
dead, were lying on the platform-bed, covered with sheepskins till they
should recover and come to themselves again; knives had already been drawn
several times.John moved to the kitchen.For these two days of holiday all this had been torturing me
till it made me ill.And indeed I could never endure without repulsion the
noise and disorder of drunken people, and especially in this place.On
these days even the prison officials did not look into the prison, made no
searches, did not look for vodka, understanding that they must allow even
these outcasts to enjoy themselves once a year, and that things would be
even worse if they did not.At last a sudden fury flamed up in my heart.A
political prisoner called M. met me; he looked at me gloomily, his eyes
flashed and his lips quivered."_Je hais ces brigands!_" he hissed to me
through his teeth, and walked on.I returned to the prison ward, though
only a quarter of an hour before I had rushed out of it, as though I were
crazy, when six stalwart fellows had all together flung themselves upon
the drunken Tatar Gazin to suppress him and had begun beating him; they
beat him stupidly, a camel might have been killed by such blows, but they
knew that this Hercules was not easy to kill, and so they beat him without
uneasiness.Now on returning I noticed on the bed in the furthest corner of
the room Gazin lying unconscious, almost without sign of life.Mary journeyed to the garden.He lay
covered with a sheepskin, and every one walked round him, without speaking;
though they confidently hoped that he would come to himself next morning,
yet if luck was against him, maybe from a beating like that, the man would
die.I made my way to my own place opposite the window with the iron
grating, and |
hallway | Where is John? | I liked to lie like that; a sleeping man is not molested, and meanwhile one
can dream and think.But I could not dream, my heart was beating uneasily,
and M.'s words, "_Je hais ces brigands!_" were echoing in my ears.But why
describe my impressions; I sometimes dream even now of those times at
night, and I have no dreams more agonising.Perhaps it will be noticed that
even to this day I have scarcely once spoken in print of my life in prison._The House of the Dead_ I wrote fifteen years ago in the character of an
imaginary person, a criminal who had killed his wife.I may add by the way
that since then, very many persons have supposed, and even now maintain,
that I was sent to penal servitude for the murder of my wife.Gradually I sank into forgetfulness and by degrees was lost in memories.During the whole course of my four years in prison I was continually
recalling all my past, and seemed to live over again the whole of my life
in recollection.These memories rose up of themselves, it was not often
that of my own will I summoned them.It would begin from some point, some
little thing, at times unnoticed, and then by degrees there would rise up a
complete picture, some vivid and complete impression.I used to analyse
these impressions, give new features to what had happened long ago, and
best of all, I used to correct it, correct it continually, that was my
great amusement.On this occasion, I suddenly for some reason remembered an
unnoticed moment in my early childhood when I was only nine years old--a
moment which I should have thought I had utterly forgotten; but at that
time I was particularly fond of memories of my early childhood.I
remembered the month of August in our country house: a dry bright day but
rather cold and windy; summer was waning and soon we should have to go to
Moscow to be bored all the winter over French lessons, and I was so sorry
to leave the country.I walked past the threshing-floor and, going down the
ravine, I went up to the dense thicket of bushes that covered the further
side of the ravine as far as the copse.And I plunged right into the midst
of the bushes, and heard a peasant ploughing alone on the clearing about
thirty paces away.I knew that he was ploughing up the steep hill and the
horse was moving with effort, and from time to time the peasant's call
"come up!"I knew almost all our peasants, but I did
not know which it was ploughing now, and I did not care who it was, I was
absorbed in my own affairs.I was busy, too; I was breaking off switches
from the nut trees to whip the frogs with.Nut sticks make such fine whips,
but they do not last; while birch twigs are just the opposite.I was
interested, too, in beetles and other insects; I used to collect them, some
were very ornamental.I was very fond, too, of the little nimble red and
yellow lizards with black spots on them, but I was afraid of snakes.Snakes, however, were much more rare than lizards.There were not many
mushrooms there.To get mushrooms one had to go to the birch wood, and I
was about to set off there.And there was nothing in the world that I loved
so much as the wood with its mushrooms and wild berries, with its beetles
and its birds, its hedgehogs and squirrels, with its damp smell of dead
leaves which I loved so much, and even as I write I smell the fragrance of
our birch wood: these impressions will remain for my whole life.Suddenly
in the midst of the profound stillness I heard a clear and distinct shout,
"Wolf!"I shrieked and, beside myself with terror, calling out at the top
of my voice, ran out into the clearing and straight to the peasant who was
ploughing.I don't know if there is such a name, but every
one called him Marey--a thick-set, rather well-grown peasant of fifty, with
a good many grey hairs in his dark brown, spreading beard.I knew him, but
had scarcely ever happened to speak to him till then.He stopped his horse
on hearing my cry, and when, breathless, I caught with one hand at his
plough and with the other at his sleeve, he saw how frightened I was.He flung up his head, and could not help looking round for an instant,
almost believing me."A shout... some one shouted: 'wolf'..." I faltered out.But I was trembling all over, and still
kept tight hold of his smock frock, and I must have been quite pale.He
looked at me with an uneasy smile, evidently anxious and troubled over me."Why, you have had a fright, _aie, aie_!""There,
dear.... Come, little one, _aie_!"He stretched out his hand, and all at once stroked my cheek."Come, come, there; Christ be with you!The corners of my mouth were twitching, and I
think that struck him particularly.He put out his thick, black-nailed,
earth-stained finger and softly touched my twitching lips."_Aie_, there, there," he said to me with a slow, almost motherly smile."Dear, dear, what is the matter?Mary went back to the kitchen.I grasped at last that there was no wolf, and that the shout that I had
heard was my fancy.Yet that shout had been so clear and distinct, but such
shouts (not only about wolves) I had imagined once or twice before, and I
was aware of that.(These hallucinations passed away later as I grew
older.)"Well, I will go then," I said, looking at him timidly and inquiringly."Well, do, and I'll keep watch on you as you go.I won't let the wolf get
at you," he added, still smiling at me with the same motherly expression.Come, run along then," and he made the sign of
the cross over me and then over himself.I walked away, looking back almost
at every tenth step.Marey stood still with his mare as I walked away, and
looked after me and nodded to me every time I looked round.I must own I
felt a little ashamed at having let him see me so frightened, but I was
still very much afraid of the wolf as I walked away, until I reached the
first barn half-way up the <DW72> of the ravine; there my fright vanished
completely, and all at once our yard-dog Voltchok flew to meet me.With
Voltchok I felt quite safe, and I turned round to Marey for the last time;
I could not see his face distinctly, but I felt that he was still nodding
and smiling affectionately to me.I waved to him; he waved back to me and
started his little mare.John went to the bedroom.I heard his call in the distance again,
and the little mare pulled at the plough again.All this I recalled all at once, I don't know why, but with extraordinary
minuteness of detail.I suddenly roused myself and sat up on the
platform-bed, and, I remember, found myself still smiling quietly at my
memories.When I got home that day I told no one of my "adventure" with Marey.And
indeed it was hardly an adventure.When I
met him now and then afterwards, I never even spoke to him about the wolf
or anything else; and all at once now, twenty years afterwards in Siberia,
I remembered this meeting with such distinctness to the smallest detail.So
it must have lain hidden in my soul, though I knew nothing of it, and rose
suddenly to my memory when it was wanted; I remembered the soft motherly
smile of the poor serf, the way he signed me with the cross and shook his
head."There, there, you have had a fright, little one!"And I remembered
particularly the thick earth-stained finger with which he softly and with
timid tenderness touched my quivering lips.Of course any one would have
reassured a child, but something quite different seemed to have happened in
that solitary meeting; and if I had been his own son, he could not have
looked at me with eyes shining with greater love.He was our serf and I was his little master, after all.No one would
know that he had been kind to me and reward him for it.Was he, perhaps,
very fond of little children?It was a solitary meeting in
the deserted fields, and only God, perhaps, may have seen from above with
what deep and humane civilised feeling, and with what delicate, almost
feminine tenderness, the heart of a coarse, brutally ignorant Russian serf,
who had as yet no expectation, no idea even of his freedom, may be filled.Was not this, perhaps, what Konstantin Aksakov meant when he spoke of the
high degree of culture of our peasantry?John moved to the kitchen.And when I got down off the bed and looked around me, I remember I suddenly
felt that I could look at these unhappy creatures with quite different
eyes, and that suddenly by some miracle all hatred and anger had vanished
utterly from my heart.I walked about, looking into the faces that I met.That shaven peasant, branded on his face as a criminal, bawling his
hoarse, drunken song, may be that very Marey; I cannot look into his heart.he could have no memories of
Russian peasants, and no other view of these people but: "_Je hais ces
brigands!_" Yes, the Polish prisoners had more to bear than I.
THE CROCODILE
AN EXTRAORDINARY INCIDENT
_A true story of how a gentleman of a certain age and of
respectable appearance was swallowed alive by the crocodile
in the Arcade, and of the consequences that followed._
Ohe Lambert!I
On the thirteenth of January of this present year, 1865, at half-past
twelve in the day, Elena Ivanovna, the wife of my cultured friend Ivan
Matveitch, who is a colleague in the same department, and may be said to be
a distant relation of mine, too, expressed the desire to see the crocodile
now on view at a fixed charge in the Arcade.As Ivan Matveitch had already
in his pocket his ticket for a tour abroad (not so much for the sake of his
health as for the improvement of his mind), and was consequently free from
his official duties and had nothing whatever to do that morning, he offered
no objection to his wife's irresistible fancy, but was positively aflame
with curiosity himself."We'll have a look
at the crocodile!On the eve of visiting Europe it is as well to acquaint
ourselves on the spot with its indigenous inhabitants."And with these
words, taking his wife's arm, he set off with her at once for the Arcade.I
joined them, as I usually do, being an intimate friend of the family.I
have never seen Ivan Matveitch in a more agreeable frame of mind than he
was on that memorable morning--how true it is that we know not beforehand
the fate that awaits us!On entering the Arcade he was at once full of
admiration for the splendours of the building, and when we reached the shop
in which the monster lately arrived in Petersburg was being exhibited, he
volunteered to pay the quarter-rouble for me to the crocodile owner--a
thing which had never happened before.Walking into a little room, we
observed that besides the crocodile there were in it parrots of the species
known as cockatoo, and also a group of monkeys in a special case in a
recess.Near the entrance, along the left wall stood a big tin tank that
looked like a bath covered with a thin iron grating, filled with water to
the depth of two inches.Mary journeyed to the garden.In this shallow pool was kept a huge crocodile,
which lay like a log absolutely motionless and apparently deprived of all
its faculties by our damp climate, so inhospitable to foreign visitors.This monster at first aroused no special interest in any one of us.said Elena Ivanovna, with a pathetic cadence of
regret."Why, I thought it was... something different."Most probably she thought it was made of diamonds.The owner of the
crocodile, a German, came out and looked at us with an air of extraordinary
pride."He has a right to be," Ivan Matveitch whispered to me, "he knows he is the
only man in Russia exhibiting a crocodile."This quite nonsensical observation I ascribe also to the extremely
good-humoured mood which had overtaken Ivan Matveitch, who was on other
occasions of rather envious disposition."I fancy your crocodile is not alive," said Elena Ivanovna, piqued by the
irresponsive stolidity of the proprietor, and addressing him with a
charming smile in order to soften his churlishness--a manoeuvre so
typically feminine."Oh, no, madam," the latter replied in broken Russian; and instantly
moving the grating half off the tank, he poked the monster's head with a
stick.Then the treacherous monster, to show that it was alive, faintly stirred
its paws and tail, raised its snout and emitted something like a prolonged
snuffle."Come, don't be cross, Karlchen," said the German caressingly, gratified in
his vanity.I am really frightened," Elena Ivanovna
twittered, still more coquettishly."I know I shall dream of him now.""But he won't bite you if you do dream of him," the German retorted
gallantly, and was the first to laugh at his own jest, but none of us
responded."Come, Semyon Semyonitch," said Elena Ivanovna, addressing me exclusively,
"let us go and look at the monkeys.I am awfully fond of monkeys; they are
such darlings... and the crocodile is horrid.""Oh, don't be afraid, my dear!"Ivan Matveitch called after us, gallantly
displaying his manly courage to his wife."This drowsy denison of the
realms of the Pharaohs will do us no harm."What is more, he took his glove and began tickling the crocodile's nose
with it, wishing, as he said afterwards, to induce him to snort.The
proprietor showed his politeness to a lady by following Elena Ivanovna to
the case of monkeys.So everything was going well, and nothing could have been foreseen.Elena
Ivanovna was quite skittish in her raptures over the monkeys, and seemed
completely taken up with them.John travelled to the hallway.With shrieks of delight she was continually
turning to me, as though determined not to notice the proprietor, and kept
gushing with laughter at the resemblance she detected between these monkeys
and her intimate friends and acquaintances.I, too, was amused, for the
resemblance was unmistakable.The German did not know whether to laugh or
not, and so at last was reduced to frowning.And it was at that moment
that a terrible, I may say unnatural, scream set the room vibrating.Not
knowing what to think, for the first moment I stood still, numb with
horror, but noticing that Elena Ivanovna was screaming too, I quickly
turned round--and what did I behold!I saw--oh, heavens!--I saw the
luckless Ivan Matveitch in the terrible jaws of the crocodile, held by them
round the waist, lifted horizontally in the air and desperately kicking.Then--one moment, and no trace remained of him.But I must describe it in
detail, for I stood all the while motionless, and had time to watch the
whole process taking place before me with an attention and interest such as
I never remember to have felt before."What," I thought at that critical
moment, "what if all that had happened to me instead of to Ivan
Matveitch--how unpleasant it would have been for me!"Sandra journeyed to the office.The crocodile began by turning the unhappy Ivan
Matveitch in his terrible jaws so that he could swallow his legs first;
then bringing up Ivan Matveitch, who kept trying to jump out and clutching
at the sides of the tank, sucked him down again as far as his waist.Then
bringing him up again, gulped him down, and so again and again.In this way
Ivan Matveitch was visibly disappearing before our eyes.At last, with a
final gulp, the crocodile swallowed my cultured friend entirely, this time
|
hallway | Where is John? | From the outside of the crocodile we could see the
protuberances of Ivan Matveitch's figure as he passed down the inside of
the monster.I was on the point of screaming again when destiny played
another treacherous trick upon us.The crocodile made a tremendous effort,
probably oppressed by the magnitude of the object he had swallowed, once
more opened his terrible jaws, and with a final hiccup he suddenly let the
head of Ivan Matveitch pop out for a second, with an expression of despair
on his face.In that brief instant the spectacles dropped off his nose to
the bottom of the tank.It seemed as though that despairing countenance
had only popped out to cast one last look on the objects around it, to take
its last farewell of all earthly pleasures.But it had not time to carry
out its intention; the crocodile made another effort, gave a gulp and
instantly it vanished again--this time for ever.This appearance and
disappearance of a still living human head was so horrible, but at the
same--either from its rapidity and unexpectedness or from the dropping of
the spectacles--there was something so comic about it that I suddenly quite
unexpectedly exploded with laughter.But pulling myself together and
realising that to laugh at such a moment was not the thing for an old
family friend, I turned at once to Elena Ivanovna and said with a
sympathetic air:
"Now it's all over with our friend Ivan Matveitch!"I cannot even attempt to describe how violent was the agitation of Elena
Ivanovna during the whole process.After the first scream she seemed rooted
to the spot, and stared at the catastrophe with apparent indifference,
though her eyes looked as though they were starting out of her head; then
she suddenly went off into a heart-rending wail, but I seized her hands.At
this instant the proprietor, too, who had at first been also petrified by
horror, suddenly clasped his hands and cried, gazing upwards:
"Oh my crocodile!_Oh mein allerliebster Karlchen!Mutter, Mutter,
Mutter!_"
A door at the rear of the room opened at this cry, and the _Mutter_, a
rosy-cheeked, elderly but dishevelled woman in a cap made her appearance,
and rushed with a shriek to her German.Elena Ivanovna kept shrieking out the same
phrase, as though in a frenzy, "Flay him!apparently entreating
them--probably in a moment of oblivion--to flay somebody for something.The
proprietor and _Mutter_ took no notice whatever of either of us; they were
both bellowing like calves over the crocodile.He will burst himself at once, for he did swallow a
_ganz_ official!""_Unser Karlchen, unser allerliebster Karlchen wird sterben_," howled his
wife.clamoured Elena Ivanovna, clutching at the
German's coat.For what did your man tease the crocodile?"cried the German, pulling away from her."You will if _Karlchen wird_
burst, therefore pay, _das war mein Sohn, das war mein einziger Sohn_."I must own I was intensely indignant at the sight of such egoism in the
German and the cold-heartedness of his dishevelled _Mutter_; at the same
time Elena Ivanovna's reiterated shriek of "Flay him!troubled
me even more and absorbed at last my whole attention, positively alarming
me.I may as well say straight off that I entirely misunderstood this
strange exclamation: it seemed to me that Elena Ivanovna had for the moment
taken leave of her senses, but nevertheless wishing to avenge the loss of
her beloved Ivan Matveitch, was demanding by way of compensation that the
crocodile should be severely thrashed, while she was meaning something
quite different.Looking round at the door, not without embarrassment, I
began to entreat Elena Ivanovna to calm herself, and above all not to use
the shocking word "flay."Mary went back to the kitchen.For such a reactionary desire here, in the midst
of the Arcade and of the most cultured society, not two paces from the hall
where at this very minute Mr.John went to the bedroom.Lavrov was perhaps delivering a public
lecture, was not only impossible but unthinkable, and might at any moment
bring upon us the hisses of culture and the caricatures of Mr.To
my horror I was immediately proved to be correct in my alarmed suspicions:
the curtain that divided the crocodile room from the little entry where the
quarter-roubles were taken suddenly parted, and in the opening there
appeared a figure with moustaches and beard, carrying a cap, with the upper
part of its body bent a long way forward, though the feet were scrupulously
held beyond the threshold of the crocodile room in order to avoid the
necessity of paying the entrance money.John moved to the kitchen."Such a reactionary desire, madam," said the stranger, trying to avoid
falling over in our direction and to remain standing outside the room,
"does no credit to your development, and is conditioned by lack of
phosphorus in your brain.You will be promptly held up to shame in the
_Chronicle of Progress_ and in our satirical prints...."
But he could not complete his remarks; the proprietor coming to himself,
and seeing with horror that a man was talking in the crocodile room without
having paid entrance money, rushed furiously at the progressive stranger
and turned him out with a punch from each fist.For a moment both vanished
from our sight behind a curtain, and only then I grasped that the whole
uproar was about nothing.Elena Ivanovna turned out quite innocent; she
had, as I have mentioned already, no idea whatever of subjecting the
crocodile to a degrading corporal punishment, and had simply expressed the
desire that he should be opened and her husband released from his interior.the proprietor yelled,
running in again.let your husband be perished first, before my
crocodile!..._Mein Vater_ showed crocodile, _mein Grossvater_ showed
crocodile, _mein Sohn_ will show crocodile, and I will show crocodile!I am known to _ganz Europa_, and you are not known to
_ganz Europa_, and you must pay me a _strafe_!""_Ja, ja_," put in the vindictive German woman, "we shall not let you go._Strafe_, since Karlchen is burst!""And, indeed, it's useless to flay the creature," I added calmly, anxious
to get Elena Ivanovna away home as quickly as possible, "as our dear Ivan
Matveitch is by now probably soaring somewhere in the empyrean.""My dear"--we suddenly heard, to our intense amazement, the voice of Ivan
Matveitch--"my dear, my advice is to apply direct to the superintendent's
office, as without the assistance of the police the German will never be
made to see reason."These words, uttered with firmness and aplomb, and expressing an
exceptional presence of mind, for the first minute so astounded us that we
could not believe our ears.But, of course, we ran at once to the
crocodile's tank, and with equal reverence and incredulity listened to the
unhappy captive.His voice was muffled, thin and even squeaky, as though it
came from a considerable distance.It reminded one of a jocose person who,
covering his mouth with a pillow, shouts from an adjoining room, trying to
mimic the sound of two peasants calling to one another in a deserted plain
or across a wide ravine--a performance to which I once had the pleasure of
listening in a friend's house at Christmas."Ivan Matveitch, my dear, and so you are alive!""Alive and well," answered Ivan Matveitch, "and, thanks to the Almighty,
swallowed without any damage whatever.I am only uneasy as to the view my
superiors may take of the incident; for after getting a permit to go abroad
I've got into a crocodile, which seems anything but clever.""But, my dear, don't trouble your head about being clever; first of all we
must somehow excavate you from where you are," Elena Ivanovna interrupted."I will not let my crocodile be
excavated.Now the _publicum_ will come many more, and I will _funfzig_
kopecks ask and Karlchen will cease to burst."Mary journeyed to the garden."_Gott sei dank!_" put in his wife."They are right," Ivan Matveitch observed tranquilly; "the principles of
economics before everything."I will fly at once to the authorities and lodge a complaint, for
I feel that we cannot settle this mess by ourselves.""I think so too," observed Ivan Matveitch; "but in our age of industrial
crisis it is not easy to rip open the belly of a crocodile without economic
compensation, and meanwhile the inevitable question presents itself: What
will the German take for his crocodile?And with it another: How will it be
paid?For, as you know, I have no means...."
"Perhaps out of your salary...." I observed timidly, but the proprietor
interrupted me at once."I will not the crocodile sell; I will for three thousand the crocodile
sell!I will for four thousand the crocodile sell!Now the _publicum_ will
come very many.I will for five thousand the crocodile sell!"In fact he gave himself insufferable airs.Covetousness and a revolting
greed gleamed joyfully in his eyes.I shall go to Andrey Osipitch himself.I will soften him
with my tears," whined Elena Ivanovna."Don't do that, my dear," Ivan Matveitch hastened to interpose.He had long
been jealous of Andrey Osipitch on his wife's account, and he knew she
would enjoy going to weep before a gentleman of refinement, for tears
suited her."And I don't advise you to do so either, my friend," he added,
addressing me."It's no good plunging headlong in that slap-dash way;
there's no knowing what it may lead to.You had much better go to-day to
Timofey Semyonitch, as though to pay an ordinary visit; he is an
old-fashioned and by no means brilliant man, but he is trustworthy, and
what matters most of all, he is straightforward.Give him my greetings and
describe the circumstances of the case.And since I owe him seven roubles
over our last game of cards, take the opportunity to pay him the money;
that will soften the stern old man.In any case his advice may serve as a
guide for us.And meanwhile take Elena Ivanovna home.... Calm yourself, my
dear," he continued, addressing her."I am weary of these outcries and
feminine squabblings, and should like a nap.It's soft and warm in here,
though I have hardly had time to look round in this unexpected haven."cried Elena Ivanovna in a tone of
relief."I am surrounded by impenetrable night," answered the poor captive; "but I
can feel and, so to speak, have a look round with my hands.... Good-bye;
set your mind at rest and don't deny yourself recreation and diversion.And you, Semyon Semyonitch, come to me in the evening, and
as you are absent-minded and may forget it, tie a knot in your
handkerchief."I confess I was glad to get away, for I was overtired and somewhat bored.Hastening to offer my arm to the disconsolate Elena Ivanovna, whose charms
were only enhanced by her agitation, I hurriedly led her out of the
crocodile room."The charge will be another quarter-rouble in the evening," the proprietor
called after us."Oh, dear, how greedy they are!"said Elena Ivanovna, looking at herself in
every mirror on the walls of the Arcade, and evidently aware that she was
looking prettier than usual."The principles of economics," I answered with some emotion, proud that
passers-by should see the lady on my arm."The principles of economics," she drawled in a touching little voice."I
did not in the least understand what Ivan Matveitch said about those horrid
economics just now.""I will explain to you," I answered, and began at once telling her of the
beneficial effects of the introduction of foreign capital into our country,
upon which I had read an article in the _Petersburg News_ and the _Voice_
that morning."How strange it is," she interrupted, after listening for some time."But
do leave off, you horrid man.What nonsense you are talking.... Tell me, do
I look purple?"I observed, seizing the opportunity to
pay her a compliment."Poor Ivan Matveitch," she added a
minute later, putting her little head on one side coquettishly.she cried suddenly, "how is he going to
have his dinner... and... and... what will he do... if he wants
anything?""An unforeseen question," I answered, perplexed in my turn.To tell the
truth, it had not entered my head, so much more practical are women than we
men in the solution of the problems of daily life!how could he have got into such a mess... nothing to amuse
him, and in the dark.... How vexing it is that I have no photograph of
him.... And so now I am a sort of widow," she added, with a seductive
smile, evidently interested in her new position.It was, in short, the expression of the very natural and intelligible grief
of a young and interesting wife for the loss of her husband.John travelled to the hallway.I took her
home at last, soothed her, and after dining with her and drinking a cup of
aromatic coffee, set off at six o'clock to Timofey Semyonitch, calculating
that at that hour all married people of settled habits would be sitting or
lying down at home.Having written this first chapter in a style appropriate to the incident
recorded, I intend to proceed in a language more natural though less
elevated, and I beg to forewarn the reader of the fact.II
The venerable Timofey Semyonitch met me rather nervously, as though
somewhat embarrassed.He led me to his tiny study and shut the door
carefully, "that the children may not hinder us," he added with evident
uneasiness.There he made me sit down on a chair by the writing-table, sat
down himself in an easy chair, wrapped round him the skirts of his old
wadded dressing-gown, and assumed an official and even severe air, in
readiness for anything, though he was not my chief nor Ivan Matveitch's,
and had hitherto been reckoned as a colleague and even a friend.Sandra journeyed to the office."First of all," he said, "take note that I am not a person in authority,
but just such a subordinate official as you and Ivan Matveitch.... I have
nothing to do with it, and do not intend to mix myself up in the affair."I was surprised to find that he apparently knew all about it already.In
spite of that I told him the whole story over in detail.I spoke with
positive excitement, for I was at that moment fulfilling the obligations of
a true friend.He listened without special surprise, but with evident signs
of suspicion."Only fancy," he said, "I always believed that this would be sure to happen
to him.""Why, Timofey Semyonitch?It is a very unusual incident in itself...."
"I admit it.But Ivan Matveitch's whole career in the service was leading
up to this end.He was flighty--conceited indeed.It was always 'progress'
and ideas of all sorts, and this is what progress brings people to!""But this is a most unusual incident and cannot possibly serve as a general
rule for all progressives."Daniel went to the hallway.You see, it's the effect of over-education, I assure
you.For over-education leads people to poke their noses into all sorts of
places, especially where they are not invited.Though perhaps you know
best," he added, as though offended."I am an old man and not of much
education.Daniel went to the office.I began as a soldier's son, and this year has been the jubilee
of my service.""Oh, no, Timofey Semyonitch, not at all.On the contrary, Ivan Matveitch is
eager for your advice; he is eager for your guidance.He implores |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | Those are crocodile's tears and one cannot
quite believe in them.Tell me, what possessed him to want to go abroad?"He had saved the money from his last bonus," I answered plaintively."He
only wanted to go for three months--to Switzerland... to the land of
William Tell.""He wanted to meet the spring at Naples, to see the museums, the customs,
the animals...."
"Hm!We have museums, menageries, camels.And here he's got inside a
crocodile himself...."
"Oh, come, Timofey Semyonitch!The man is in trouble, the man appeals to
you as to a friend, as to an older relation, craves for advice--and you
reproach him.Have pity at least on the unfortunate Elena Ivanovna!"A charming little lady," said Timofey
Semyonitch, visibly softening and taking a pinch of snuff with relish.And so plump, and always putting her pretty
little head on one side.... Very agreeable.Andrey Osipitch was speaking of
her only the other day."Such a bust, he said, such eyes, such
hair.... A sugar-plum, he said, not a lady--and then he laughed.He is
still a young man, of course."Timofey Semyonitch blew his nose with a loud
noise.Mary went back to the kitchen."And yet, young though he is, what a career he is making for
himself.""That's quite a different thing, Timofey Semyonitch.""Well, what do you say then, Timofey Semyonitch?""Give advice, guidance, as a man of experience, a relative!John went to the bedroom.Go to the authorities and..."
"To the authorities?Certainly not," Timofey Semyonitch replied hurriedly."If you ask my advice, you had better, above all, hush the matter up and
act, so to speak, as a private person.It is a suspicious incident, quite
unheard of.John moved to the kitchen.Unheard of, above all; there is no precedent for it, and it is
far from creditable.... And so discretion above all.... Let him lie there a
bit.We must wait and see...."
"But how can we wait and see, Timofey Semyonitch?I think you told me that he made himself fairly
comfortable there?"Timofey Semyonitch pondered.he said, twisting his snuff-box in his hands.It would be difficult,
indeed, to think of an oratorio or requiem written by a scoffer or a
sceptic.With such exalted requisites, so intense a power, and so extensive a
range of influence, it is strange that the composer should not have
taken the rank and relative dignity to which he seems entitled in the
province of the arts.But honour and fame are chiefly dispensed by
poets and literary men; and it is impossible not to feel that,
generally speaking, the musician is treated by men of letters as an
alien from their own lineage.Music may be praised in vague and
evasive terms; but the individual composer is not deemed deserving of
mention.All the great masters of the pencil have been cordially
commended in immortal verse; but of the great composers' names scarce
a notice is to be found.It is not wonderful that the poet should
prize above all others his own form of art.Poetry, as the mouthpiece
of practical wisdom, as the clearest interpreter of all instruction,
must ever hold an undisputed pre-eminence.Painting, too, as nearest
akin to poetry in the objects it presents and the effects it produces,
may be allowed at least to contest the palm for the second rank.But
that music in the person of her most inspired sons, should have been
sternly excluded from a participation in the honours awarded to her
sister arts, seems an injustice which can be defended on no pleadable
grounds.Mary journeyed to the garden.The explanation of it seems to be, that most of our great
poets--and this has certainly been the case in England--have had no
love or knowledge, and no true appreciation, of high musical
composition.Milton alone seems to have been an exception; and, we
cannot doubt, that if he had lived in the same age with Handel, he
would have given utterance to his admiration in strains worthy of them
both.The rest of our _vates sacri_, on whom immortality is
proverbially said to depend, seem, generally speaking, to have been
ignorance itself in this department.Several of them, indeed, have
written odes for St Cecilia's day, but this does not prove that they
had a taste for more than rhythm.John travelled to the hallway.Pope had the tact to call Handel a
giant, and speaks cleverly of his "hundred hands" as sure to be fatal
to the reign of Dulness.giant Handel stands,
Like bold Briareus, with his hundred hands,
To stir, to rouse, to shake the soul he comes,
And Jove's own thunders follow Mars's drums.But no reference is made to the exquisite beauty of his compositions.The loudness is all that seems to be praised, and we suspect, that in
private Pope was inclined to laugh with Swift in his disparaging
comparison between Tweedledum and Tweedledee.Wordsworth has written
on the "Power of Sound;" but the small part of it that touches on the
musical art, does not impress us with the idea of his knowing or
caring much about it, though in this, as in other things, he has the
sense and philosophy to sacrifice a cock to Esculapius, and to bow
down to what others worship, even where he does not himself feel the
influence of a warm devotion.Collins and Moore, and perhaps a few
others whom we have overlooked, ought to be excluded from this
condemnation; but they have not been led to speak of individual
musicians, or have not had courage to leave the beaten track.Thus neglected by those who would have been its most faithful
depositaries and most effective champions, the fame of the musical
composer has been left to the guardianship of the few sound and
enlightened judges who thoroughly comprehend him, to the humble but
honest admiration of professional performers, to the practice and
imitation of effeminate amateurs, to the cant of criticism of the
worthies on the free list, and to the instinctive applause of the
popular voice.Sandra journeyed to the office.Even with these humbler hands to build up his monument,
the great master of music has a perpetual possession within the hearts
of men, that the poet and the painter may well envy.Every chord in
the human frame that answers to his strains, every tear that rises at
the bidding of his cadences, every sob that struggles for an outlet at
his touches of despairing tenderness, or at the thunders of his
massive harmony, is a tribute to his power and his memory, enough to
console his spirit if it can still be conscious of them, or to have
rewarded his living labours in their progress by a bright anticipation
of their effects.Daniel went to the hallway.If nobles, and even nations, do not contend for the
possession of his works, or offer a ransom for their purchase, such as
is daily given for the masterpieces of the painter's power; it is the
pride of his genius that his compositions cannot be appropriated or
possessed.An oratorio of Handel, or an opera of Mozart, cannot become
property like a picture of Raphael or Guido.They belong to mankind at
large, open to all, and enjoyable by all who have the faculty to
perceive, and delight in, their beauties; and in every theatre and
public place, in every church and in every chamber throughout
Christendom, a portion of their divine and various influence, suited
to the scene and occasion, is always within reach, to make men gentler
and better, happier and holier, than they would otherwise be without
such manifestations of their Maker's wondrous gifts.Daniel went to the office.Nowhere can the views we have above suggested be better illustrated,
than in the fate and character of the singular man who, if not the
first, was yet only second to one other, among those on whom music has
shed her fullest inspiration.It is not our intention to follow minutely the events of Mozart's
life.They are generally well known; and to those who wish to have a
clear, complete, and judicious view of them, we can safely recommend
the book noticed at the outset of this article.Mozart was born at Salzburg in 1756, and died at Vienna in 1791, in
his thirty-sixth year.But into that short space were compressed as
many proofs and compositions of genius, as much joy and sorrow, as
much triumph and humiliation, as would have crowded a much longer
lifetime.His early indications of genius are well known, and were
indeed wonderful, even as compared with those of other great
composers--for Handel, Haydn, and Beethoven, all gave proofs of their
musical powers in boyhood--though none of them as children showed that
full maturity of mind which distinguished Mozart, and which only a few
of those who witnessed it could fully appreciate.Mozart's
organization was obviously of the finest and tenderest texture; but he
had also many advantages in his nurture, and, among others, the
inestimable blessing of a happy home, where harmony reigned in the
hearts, as well as upon the lips and fingers of the inmates.His
father was a man of sense and education, as well as of musical talent,
and in all respects did his duty to his son throughout life, amidst
many difficulties and disappointments, resulting partly from his own
dependent situation at Salzburg, and partly from an over-estimate of
the worldly prosperity which his son's genius should have commanded.His mother seems also to have been an excellent person; and from the
remarkable letters which Mozart wrote from Paris to prepare his father
for her death, after the event had happened, she appears to have been
the object of the tenderest affection to her family.Mozart uniformly
discharged towards his parents all the offices of pious devotion; and
he was always affectionately attached to his sister, who was a few
years older than himself, and whose early and distinguished skill as a
performer must have been useful in assisting her brother's tastes.In
1829 the Novello family saw this lady at Salzburg, a widow and in
narrow circumstances.Sandra went to the bathroom."We found Madame Sonnenberg, lodged in a small but clean room,
bed-ridden and quite blind.Hers is a complete decay of nature;
suffering no pain, she lies like one awaiting the stroke of
death, and will probably expire in her sleep.... Her voice was
scarcely above a whisper, so that I was forced to lean my face
close to hers to catch the sound.In the sitting-room still
remained the old clavichord, on which the brother and sister had
frequently played duets together; and on its desk were some pieces
of his composition, which were the last things his sister had
played over previous to her illness."With becoming delicacy, the fruits of an English subscription were
presented to her on her name-day, as a remembrance from some friends
of her brother.The bane of Mozart's fortunes was the patronage on which he was
dependent.His father had got into the trammels of the Archbishop of
Salzburg--a sordid, arrogant, and ignorant man, who saw Mozart's value
in the eyes of others, though he could not himself estimate it, and
would neither pay him nor part with him.When in his twentieth year,
and already a great composer and an efficient performer, Mozart was in
the receipt, from this princely prelate, for the liberal use of his
musical talents, of a salary equal in amount to about L1, 1s."Among a multitude of compositions that he wrote for the
archbishop's concerts, in 1775, are five concertos for the violin,
which he probably performed himself.Mary moved to the bathroom.His gentle disposition made
him easily comply with any proposal to augment pleasure, however
out of his usual course.During the following year, 1776, he seems
to have made his last great effort to awaken the archbishop to
some sense of his desert, and a due generosity of acknowledgment,
by producing masses, litanies, serenades, divertimentos for
instruments, clavier concertos, &c., too numerous for detail.But
in vain; and what aggravated the injury of this monstrous
appropriation of labour was, that the father, whose household
economy was now somewhat pinched, on applying for permission to
remedy these circumstances by a tour, was refused.From that hour
Wolfgang threw by his pen in disgust--at least as far as it
concerned voluntary labour."It was now resolved that Mozart should leave Salzburg with his mother,
and try his fortune in the world.He was every where admired; but the
wonder of his childhood had passed away, and empty praise was all that
he could, for the most part, earn.After lingering, in the sickness of
hope deferred, at several of the German courts, his destination was at
last fixed for Paris.His chance of success as a courtier was probably
diminished by the blunt though kindly frankness of his opinions, and
by his inability to stoop to unworthy means of rising.He had also
many rivals to encounter, particularly those of the more slender
school of Italian melody; and few of the public had knowledge or
independence enough to forsake the inferior favourites that were in
vogue.In approaching Paris, Mozart became alarmed at the prospect of his
being there compelled to resort to the drudgery of tuition for his
support."I am a composer," he said, "and the son of a kapell-meister,
and I cannot consent to bury in teaching the talent for composition
which God has so richly bestowed upon me."His father, more
experienced in the world, and more prudential in his ideas,
endeavoured to modify his alarm, and urge him to perseverance in any
honourable course of employment.The father's letter at this time to
his son, to apprize him of the true position of the family, and
preserve him against the dangers in his path, is honourable to both,
and worthy of perusal."This being in all probability the last letter that you will
receive from me at Mannheim, I address it to you alone.How deeply
the wider separation which is about to take place between us
affects me, you may partly conceive, though not feel it in the
same degree with which it oppresses my heart.If you reflect
seriously on what I have undergone with you two children in your
tender years, you will not accuse me of timidity, but, on the
contrary, do me the justice to own that I am, and ever have been,
a man with the heart to venture every thing, though indeed I
always employed the greatest circumspection and precaution.Against accidents it is impossible to provide, for God only sees
into futurity.Up to this time we cannot be said to have been
either successful or unsuccessful; but, God be thanked, we have
steered between the two.Every thing has been attempted for your
success, and through you for our own.We have at least endeavoured
to settle you in some appointment on a secure footing; though fate
has hitherto decreed that we should fail in our object.This last
step of ours, however, makes my spirit sink within me.You may see
as clearly as the sun at noonday, that, through it, the future
condition of your aged parents, and of your affectionately
attached sister, entirely depends upon you.From the time of your
birth, and indeed earlier, ever since my marriage, I have found it
a hard task to support a wife, and, by degrees, a family of seven
children, two relatives by marriage, and the mother, on a certain
income of twenty-five florins a month, out of this to pay for
maintenance and the expenses of child-bed, deaths, and sicknesses;
which expenses |
bedroom | Where is Mary? | I devoted all my time
to you two, in the hope and indeed reliance upon your care in
return; that you would procure for me a peaceful old age, in which
I might render account to God for the education of my children,
and, without any other concern than the salvation of my soul,
quietly await death.But Providence has so ordered, that I must
now afresh commence the ungrateful task of lesson-giving, and in a
place, too, where this dreary labour is so ill paid, that it will
not support one from one end of the year to the other; and yet it
is to be thought a matter of rejoicing if, after talking oneself
into a consumption, something or other is got by it."I am far, my dear Wolfgang, from having the least mistrust in
you--on the contrary, on your filial love I place all confidence
and every hope.Every thing now depends upon fortunate
circumstances, and the exercise of that sound understanding which
you certainly possess, if you will listen to it; the former are
uncontrollable--but that you will always take counsel of your
understanding I hope and pray....
"You are now a young man of twenty-two years of age; here is none
of that seriousness of years which may dissuade a youth, let his
condition be what it may--an adventurer, a libertine, a
deceiver--be he old or young, from courting your acquaintance, and
drawing you into his society and his plans.One may fall into this
danger unawares, and then not know how to recede.Of the other sex
I can hardly speak to you, for there the greatest reserve and
prudence are necessary, Nature herself being our enemy; but
whoever does not employ all his prudence and reserve in his
intercourse, will with difficulty extricate himself from the
labyrinth--_a misfortune that usually ends in death_.How blindly,
through inconsiderate jests, flattery, and play, one may fall into
errors at which the returning reason is ashamed, you may perhaps
have already a little experienced, and it is not my intention to
reproach you.I am persuaded that you do not only consider me as
your father, but as your truest and most faithful friend, and that
you know and see that our happiness or unhappiness--nay, more, my
long life or speedy death is, under God, so to speak, in your
hands.If I know you aright, I have nothing but pleasure to expect
in you, which thought must console me in your absence for the
paternal pleasure of seeing, hearing, and embracing you.Lead the
life of a good Catholic Christian; love and fear God; pray to him
with devotion and sincerity, and let your conduct be such, that
should I never see you more, the hour of my death may be free from
apprehension.Sandra went to the office.The Parisians were
scarcely done with the "faction fight" in which the rivalry of Gluck
and Piccini had involved them; but none of the partisans were inclined
to be enthusiastic about the new-comer.His only great admirer, and
his best friend, seems to have been his acute and accomplished
countryman Grimm, who prophesied that monarchs would dispute for the
possession of Mozart.The prediction was fulfilled, but not in
sufficient time to benefit the unhappy subject of their competition."Baron Grimm and myself often vent our indignation at the state of
music here, that is to say, between ourselves; but in public it is
always '_bravo!bravissimo!_' and clapping till the fingers burn.What most displeases me is, that the French gentlemen have only
so far improved their taste as to be able to _endure_ good things;
but as for any perception that their music is bad--Heaven help
them!--and the singing--_oime!_"
Again he writes--
"You advise me to visit a great deal, in order to make new
acquaintances, or to revive the old ones.That is, however,
impossible.The distance is too great, and the ways too miry to go
on foot; the muddy state of Paris being indescribable; and to take
a coach, one may soon drive away four or five livres, and all in
vain, for the people merely pay you compliments, and then it is
over.They ask me to come on this or that day--I play, and then
they say, '_O c'est un prodige, c'est inconcevable, c'est
etonnant_;' and then '_a Dieu_.'""All this, however," Mr Holmes observes, "might have been endured,
so far as mere superciliousness and _hauteur_ to the professional
musician were involved, if these people had possessed any real
feeling or love for music; but it was their total want of all
taste, their utter viciousness, that rendered them hateful to
Mozart.He was ready to make any sacrifice for his family, but
longed to escape from the artificial and heartless Parisians."If I were in a place," he writes, "where people had ears to hear,
hearts to feel, and some small degree of perception and taste, I
should laugh heartily over all these things--but really, as it
regards music, I am living among mere brute beasts.How can it be
otherwise?It is the same in all their passions, and, indeed, in
every transaction of life; no place in the world is like Paris.Do
not think that I exaggerate when I speak thus of the state of
music here--ask any one except a native Frenchman, and if he be
fit to answer the question, he will tell you the same.I must
endure out of love to you--but I shall thank God Almighty if I
leave this place with my healthful natural taste.It is my
constant prayer that I may be enabled to establish myself, that I
may do honour to the German nation, and make fame and money, and
so be the means of helping you out of your present narrow
circumstances, and of our all living together once more,
cheerfully and happily."Take the following vivid sketch of his task in teaching composition to
a young lady:--
"Among these pupils one is daughter of the Duc de Guines, with
whom I am in high favour, and I give her two hours' instruction in
composition daily, for which I am very liberally paid.He plays
the flute incomparably, and she magnificently on the harp.She
possesses much talent and cleverness, and, in particular, a very
remarkable memory, which enables her to play all her pieces, of
which there are at least two hundred, without book.She is
doubtful whether she has genius for composition--particularly with
respect to thoughts or ideas; her father (who, between ourselves,
is a little too much in love with her) affirms that she certainly
has ideas, and that nothing but modesty and a want of confidence
in herself prevent their appearing.If she
really have no ideas, and I must say I have as yet seen no
indication of them, it will be all in vain, for God knows I can
give her none.It is not her father's intention to make any very
great composer of her.'I do not wish her,' he says, 'to write any
operas, airs, concertos, or symphonies, but merely grand sonatas
for her instrument, as I do for mine.'"I gave her the fourth lesson to-day, and, as far as the rules of
composition go, am tolerably satisfied with her; she put the bass
to the first minuet which I placed before her, very correctly.We
now commenced writing in three parts.She tried it, and fatigued
herself in attempts, but it was impossible to help her; nor can we
move on a step further, for it is too early, and in science one
must advance by the proper gradations.If she had genius--but
alas!there is none--she has no thoughts--nothing comes.I have
tried her in every imaginable way; among others it occurred to me
to place a very simple minuet before her, to see whether she could
make a variation upon it.Now, thought
I, she does not know how to begin; so I varied the first bar for
her, and told her to continue the variation pursuing that idea;
and at length she got through tolerably well.I next requested her
to begin something herself--the first part only--a melody; but
after a quarter of an hour's cogitation nothing came.I then wrote
four bars of a minuet, and said, 'What a stupid fellow I am, I
have begun a minuet, and cannot finish the first part of it.Have
the goodness to do it for me.'She distrusted her ability, but at
last, with much labour, something came to light.I rejoiced that
we got something at last.She had now to complete the entire
minuet, that is to say, the melody only.On going away, I
recommended her to alter my four bars for something of her own; to
make another beginning even if she retained the same harmony, and
only altered the melody.Mary moved to the bedroom.I shall see to-morrow how she has
succeeded."In the midst of this irksome labour, Mozart's beloved mother expired
at Paris in the summer of 1778, after a fortnight's illness.He then
wrote to his father that she was "very ill," and to a family friend at
Salzburg, desiring him to prepare his father and sister for the truth.The letter to
the Abbe Bullinger is in these words:--
"Sympathize with me on this the most wretched and melancholy day
of my life.I write at two o'clock in the morning to inform you
that my mother--my dearest mother--is no more!God has called her
to himself.I saw clearly that nothing could save her, and
resigned myself entirely to the will of God; he gave, and he can
take away.Picture to yourself the state of alarm, care, and
anxiety in which I have been kept for the last fortnight.She died
without being conscious of any thing--her life went out like a
taper.Three days ago she confessed, received the sacrament and
extreme unction; but since that time she has been constantly
delirious and rambling, until this afternoon at twenty-one minutes
after five, when she was seized with convulsions, and immediately
lost all perception and feeling.I pressed her hand and spoke to
her; but she neither saw me, heard me, nor seemed in the least
sensible; and in this state she lay for five hours, namely, till
twenty-one minutes past ten, when she departed, no one being
present but myself, M. Haine, a good friend of ours whom my father
knows, and the nurse."I cannot at present write you the whole particulars of the
illness; but my belief is, that she was to die--that it was the
will of God.Let me now beg the friendly service of you, to
prepare my poor father by gentle degrees for the melancholy
tidings.I wrote to him by the same post, but told him no more
than that she was very ill; and I now await his answer, by which I
shall be guided.through the especial grace of God I have been enabled to
endure the whole with fortitude and resignation, and have long
since been consoled under this great loss.In her extremity I
prayed for two things: a blessed dying hour for my mother, and
courage and strength for myself; and the gracious God heard my
prayer, and richly bestowed those blessings upon me.Pray,
therefore, dear friend, support my father.Say what you can to
him, in order that when he knows the worst, he may not feel it too
bitterly.I commend my sister also to you from the bottom of my
heart.Call on both of them soon, but say no word of the
death--only prepare them.You can do and say what you will; but
let me be so far at ease as to have no new misfortune to expect.Comfort my dear father and my dear sister, and pray send me a
speedy answer."The letter to his father is curiously circumstantial; but if on such
occasion it is allowable to deceive at all, it is allowable to make
the deception complete."The cause of my having left your letter of the 11th of June so
long unanswered is, that I have very unpleasant and melancholy
intelligence to communicate.At the
beginning of her illness she was, as usual, bled, and this seemed
to relieve and do her good; but in a few days she began to
complain of sudden chills and heats, which were accompanied by
headach and diarrhoea.We began now to use the remedy that we
employ at home--the antispasmodic powder.We wished that we had
brought the black, but had it not, and could not get it here,
where even its name, _pulvis epilepticus_, is unknown.But as she
got worse continually, spoke with difficulty, and so far lost her
hearing, that it was necessary to call out in speaking to her,
Baron Grimm sent us his physician.She is still very weak, and is
also feverish and delirious.They want to give me hope; but I have
not much.I have been long already--for days and nights
together--between hope and fear; but I have now entirely resigned
myself to the will of God, and I hope that you and my dear sister
will do the like.What are the means then to give us calm and
peace, in a degree, if not absolutely?I am resigned, let the end
be what it may, because I know that God, who, however mysteriously
he may proceed to human eyes, ordains every thing for the best, so
wills it; and I am not easily persuaded out of the belief, that
neither physician nor any other man, neither misfortune nor
accident, can either take or give life, but God alone, though
these are the means which he mostly employs; but even these not
always.We see people constantly sinking and dying around us; but
I do not say, on that account, that my mother must and will die,
or that we have lost all hope.She may recover, if it be the will
of God.I, however, find consolation in these reflections, after
praying to God as earnestly as I am able for my dear mother's
health and life; they strengthen, encourage, and console me, and
you must needs |
bedroom | Where is John? | Let us now change the
subject, and quit these melancholy thoughts.Let us hope, if not
much, and put our trust in God, consoling ourselves with the
reflection, that every thing is well ordered which the Almighty
orders, and that he best knows what is essential to our temporal
happiness and our eternal salvation."The elder Mozart had, in the mean time, without knowing of her
illness, begun a letter to his wife, designed to reach her on her
name-day; but, before its conclusion, he had received his son's
letter, and seen the Abbe, and had thus learned not only her danger
but its result."M. Bullinger found us, as every one else did, in deep affliction;
I handed him your letter without saying a word; he dissembled very
well; and having read it, enquired what I thought about it.I
said, that I firmly believed my dear wife was no more.He almost
feared the same thing, he told me--and then, like a true friend,
entered upon consolatory topics, and said to me every thing that I
had before said to myself.We finished our conversation, and our
friends gradually left us with much concern.Sandra went to the office.M. Bullinger,
however, remained behind, and when we were alone, asked me whether
I believed that there was any ground for hope after such a
description of the illness as had been given.Mary moved to the bedroom.I replied, that I
not merely believed her dead by this time--but that she was
already so on the very day that the letter was written; that I had
resigned myself to the will of God, and must remember that I have
two children, who I hoped would love me, as I lived solely and
entirely for them; indeed, that I felt so certain, as to have
taken some pains to write to, and remind you of the consequences,
&c. Upon this he said, 'Yes, she is dead,' and in that instant the
scales fell from my eyes; for the suddenness of the accident had
prevented my perceiving, what I else should have suspected, as
soon as I had read your letter--namely, how probable it was that
you had privately communicated the real truth to M. Bullinger.In
fact, your letter stupified me--it at first was such a blow as to
render me incapable of reflection.Do
not be anxious on my account, I shall bear my sorrow like a man.Remember what a tenderly loving mother you have had--now you will
be able to appreciate all her care--as in your mature years, after
my death, you will mine, with a constantly increasing affection.If you love me, as I doubt not but you do, take care of your
health--on your life hangs mine, and the future support of your
affectionate sister.How incomprehensibly bitter a thing it is,
when death rends asunder a happy marriage--can only be known by
experience."In a few days, Mozart wrote to his father again:--
"I hope that you are now prepared to receive with firmness some
intelligence of a very melancholy and distressing character;
indeed, my last letter, of the 3d, will not have encouraged you to
expect any thing very favourable.On the evening of the same day
(the 3d,) at twenty-one minutes after ten at night, my mother fell
happily asleep in God, and was already experiencing the joys of
heaven at the very moment that I wrote to you.All was over--I
wrote to you in the night, and I trust that you and my sister will
pardon this slight but very necessary artifice;--for when, after
all the distress that I had suffered, I turned my thoughts towards
you, I could not possibly persuade myself to surprise you all at
once with the dreadful and fatal news.Now, however, I hope that
you have both prepared yourselves to hear the worst; and after
giving way to the reasonable and natural impulses of your grief,
to submit yourselves at last to the will of God, and to adore his
inscrutable, unfathomable, and all-wise providence.* * * * *
"I write this in the house of Madame d'Epinay and M. Baron de
Grimm, with whom I am now staying, and where I have a pretty
little room with a pleasant prospect, and am, as far as
circumstances will permit, happy.It would be a great additional
comfort were I to hear that my dear father and sister had resigned
themselves with fortitude and submission to the will of God;
trusting him entirely, in the full conviction that every thing is
ordered for our good.Dearest
sister--be comforted!--you know not the kind intentions of your
brother towards you; because hitherto they have not been in his
power to fulfil."I hope that you will both be careful of your health.Remember
that you have still a son--a brother--who will exert himself to
the utmost for your happiness, well knowing what sacrifices you
are both ready to make for him, and that when the time shall come,
neither of you will oppose the fulfilment of his honourable
wishes.then we will lead a life as peaceful and happy as is
attainable in this world; and at length, in God's time, meet all
together again in the enjoyment of that object for which we were
created."We have given these letters at some length, as we think they show the
worth, affection, and right feeling of the whole family.Sandra moved to the hallway.The disconsolate state in which his father was thus left, decided
Mozart, however reluctant, to return to the hated service of the
Archbishop at Salzburg.The terms on which he was received back were
somewhat improved, for his absence had rendered his value more
perceptible; and a greater latitude was allowed him in visiting, and
composing for other courts.In the winter of 1780-1, he made use of
his leave of absence by writing and bringing out at Munich, with
triumphant success, the splendid serious opera of _Idomeneo_, always
so great a favourite with himself, and which is still regarded as a
masterpiece."With this work, the most important in its influence on music,
Mozart crowned his twenty-fifth year.The score is still a picture
to the musician.It exhibits consummate knowledge of the theatre,
displayed in an opera of the first magnitude and complexity; which
unites to a great orchestra the effects of a double chorus on the
stage and behind the scenes; and introduces marches, processions,
and dances, to various accompaniments in the orchestra, behind the
scenes, or under the stage.This model opera, in which Mozart
rises on the wing from one beauty to another through long acts,
was completed, as we have seen, within a few weeks, and ever since
has defied the scrutiny of musicians to detect in it the slightest
negligence of style."In March 1781, Mozart followed the Salzburg court to Vienna, where he
was subjected to such indignity by his patron, as finally to terminate
their connexion.The author of _Idomeneo_ was required to take his
meals at the same table with his grace's valets, confectioner, and
cooks.This was too much, even for Mozart's good-nature; and,
aggravated by the Archbishop's refusal to allow the display of his
talents to the public, gave him courage to insist for his dismissal."The step, however, of resigning a pension, and of throwing
himself entirely upon the public for fame and support, was a more
important one than his sanguine imagination and excitement of
feeling permitted him at the time to contemplate.How far his
being an _unappointed_ composer may have hastened the production
of his immortal works, is open to question; but that his life was
sacrificed in struggling against the difficulties in which he was
thereby involved, is beyond a doubt."In the absence of any immediate design of a new dramatic
composition, and delighted at the effect which his public
performance on the pianoforte had created at Vienna, Mozart forgot
all the fears he had expressed previously to his journey to Paris;
thought no more that teaching would interfere with the higher
vocation of his muse; and was content to become the fashionable
performer, teacher, and pianoforte composer of the day.This mode
of life for a time had its temptations and its success; and he
hoped that he might still better assist his father at Vienna than
at Salzburg, as he was at intervals able to remit to him sums of
from ten to thirty ducats.But here commenced the precarious
existence which the composer was for the future destined to lead.For, not only was the taste of Vienna then, as now, proverbially
variable and flippant--not only was concert-giving an uncertain
speculation, and teaching an inconstant source of income--but in a
man, who, like Mozart, had, from time to time, strong impulses to
write for the theatre, it frequently happened that the order and
regularity of his engagements were made to yield to the object
which engrossed him; and that the profits of his time were
sacrificed on the one hand, without any proportionate advantage on
the other."Let it be observed that Mozart's payment for teaching among the
Austrian nobility, was, at the rate of five shillings a lesson!Impossible to move
or leave my wife sooner.’”
How intimately Lowell connected the change with the condition of his
wife, and how her state subdued any exhilaration he might have felt,
appears further from a letter written 13 February, 1880, to a friend who
had been moving in the matter at home.“I did not know that you had any
hand in it when I wrote to Mr.Evarts and told him that had I been
consulted I should have had grave doubts about accepting.Accordingly I
wish you would contrive to let them know at Washington that I was in
utter ignorance of what my friends were doing.Indeed, I hardly know
even now what I shall (or rather what I can) do.When the telegram came
Fanny had been going on well for six weeks, but about a fortnight ago
came another relapse and she is now in a very nervous state again,--not
absolutely out of her head, but incapable of controlling herself.... If
this relapse should prove transitory like the others, I shall probably
be obliged to leave Fanny here, and go to London for my presentation,
and then come back on leave.For I cannot very well renounce the
appointment now after having consented to accept it.Fanny was so well
when the telegram came that I did not hesitate to consult her about it.She was very much pleased and insisted on my accepting, but now I have
the dreadful suspicion that it was the excitement of this news that
upset her again.It is true that the change did not show itself for more
than a week, and there are reasons for attributing it to physical
causes, but I cannot shake off the bitter reproach of having been
imprudent.The doctor had told me that in a
month at farthest I should be able to move her, and she was so perfectly
herself then that I had no fears.It is now twelve o’clock (noon) and
she is still asleep.She woke for a few
moments, took some beef tea, and dropped off again.I hope it is a good sign that this relapse has not been so bad
as the last before it.Before that she had been better for a few days
only and I was never sure that the excitement of the brain was more than
diminished.John moved to the bedroom.But when this began she had been perfectly self-possessed
for weeks, and we took great comfort together in the twenty-third psalm.I am glad I was born long enough ago to have some _superstitions_ left.They stand by one somehow, and the back feels that it has a brother
behind it.[73] I long to be at home again, and it will not be a great
while now.If we get to England, it is more than half way.”
Lowell carried out the plan he had outlined.John W. Field, were in Madrid, and he left Mrs.Lowell under their
watchful supervision, and went reluctantly to England, reaching London 7
March, 1880.His friends kept him informed daily by telegraph and letter
of the condition of the invalid, and it so chanced that she had another
relapse shortly after he had left her.He was in despair, and heaped
reproaches upon himself for having gone; yet when he reasoned, he saw he
had done only what he must do.A more reassuring telegram came on the
9th of March, and on the 14th he was persuaded that Mrs.Lowell had
issued from this crisis and come fairly out on the other side.In a week
more, he had had his audience with the Queen, and taking brief leave of
absence, had set out for Madrid, whence he was now able to remove his
wife to England.The life of both of them was brightened during the
summer that followed by the coming of Mr.Burnett on a brief
visit from America.CHAPTER XV
THE ENGLISH MISSION
1880-1885
The two and a half years that Lowell passed at Madrid formed an
excellent preparation for the more important post which he was to occupy
near the Court of St.The etiquette of a high diplomatic position
does not differ greatly in the different capitals; if anything, more
punctilio would be observed in Madrid than in London.It was something,
at any rate, to have become wonted to the function of a minister
plenipotentiary.But this was a trifle compared with the advantage which
Lowell enjoyed in the possession now of self-confidence.He had tried on
the coat and found it fitted him well; he could wear it in London where
he would be in a far more conspicuous position.He had practised the
diplomatic art in a country where the language was foreign and the race
unfamiliar, and if in his short residence he could, with some assurance,
analyze the internal political conditions, he might hope more quickly to
be able to apprehend nice discriminations in the current politics of a
country where he was at home in language, literature, and history.It is scarcely to be doubted that his performance of diplomatic duties
in Spain had made it easy for the President to appoint him to the
highest foreign station.But it is also likely that the choice was made
mainly upon the ground of Lowell’s fitness to act as a mediator between
the two countries.With the exception of Motley, there never had been an
American minister to England who was first and foremost a man of
letters, and yet in no other field of human endeavor was there so great
a community of intelligence.Literature had been honored in its
representatives in many courts of Europe and in consular offices, but
the presumption is that heretofore political and commercial relations
with England had been of so complex a character that it was thought
desirable to have a trained man of affairs or of law and statesmanship
at the post.Moreover, it was a great political prize, and men of
letters are, as a rule, non-combatants in politics.But Lowell had been
initiated in Spain, and it was a far more simple process, so far as
political effect might be considered, to transfer him to England than to
have made that a direct appointment.The educated men of America were |
bathroom | Where is John? | They
felt at once that they had a spokesman.And it may fairly be said that
Americans generally were gratified; for a man of letters who has won
high recognition, especially if his work has been in the field of
poetry, history, or general literature, occupies a secure place in the
regard of his countrymen, and is subject to less suspicion or jealousy
than one in any other conspicuous position.By its very nature a
literary reputation is widespread and not local.A very great lawyer,
unless he has also been in the public eye as a member of government, is
taken on trust by all but his professional brethren.A great author
through the process of growing great has become known to increasing
numbers of his countrymen.Sandra went to the office.It is doubtful if any other author, save
Longfellow, would at once have been so accepted by Americans as their
proper representative in London.On the other side, though the English as a great reading body are not
very familiar with American literature, the leaders of opinion, the
class that stands nearest the government, know it generously, and while
it would be necessary to make the acquaintance of a representative of
American law, business, or politics, a representative of American
letters and scholarship would already be a familiar name.Certain it is
that Lowell in going to London went at once into the midst of friends.He had been there but two or three days when he wrote: “I am overwhelmed
already with invitations though I have not put my arrival in the
papers;” and a few days later: “I lunched with Tennyson yesterday.He is
getting old and looks seedy.I am going in to take a pipe with him the
first free evening.Pipes have more thawing power than anything else.”
And yet it must not be forgotten that Lowell himself had been a frank
critic of England and carried in his own mind a temper which it might
seem would be in the way of a perfectly cordial relation.In his
political papers and in the second series of the “Biglow Papers” he had
been very outspoken.His well-known article on “A Certain Condescension
in Foreigners,” with its pungent sentences, was not easily to be
overlooked, and there is a letter[74] which Mr.Norton prints, written
in 1865, that may be taken as a truthful report of the attitude held by
Lowell toward England during the great war, and modified only slightly
by time.There was therefore a little consciousness on his part as if he
were not wholly a _persona grata_, and also that he must stand by his
colors, which gave him a certain brusqueness in his early public
appearances.It did not take long, however, for him to adjust himself in
his new relations, for after all it was the greater England to which he
was sent, and the world with which he came immediately into contact was
very hospitable.At the same time, throughout his stay in England he
showed a certain vigilance as the champion of American institutions,
speech, and manners which gave him the air of combativeness.An
Englishman who was often his host said: “I like Mr.I keep him as long as I can, and I am always in terror
lest somebody shall say something about America that would provoke an
explosion.” Mr.Smalley, who quotes this, adds that Lowell had seen the
inside of more country houses in England than any American who ever
lived; and that there was not one in which he had not let fall some
good American seed.[75]
“Sometimes,” says Max Müller, “even the most harmless remark about
America would call forth very sharp replies from him.Everybody knows
that the salaries paid by America to her diplomatic staff are
insufficient, and no one knew it better than he himself.But when the
remark was made in his presence that the United States treated their
diplomatic representatives stingily, he fired up, and discoursed most
eloquently on the advantages of high thoughts and humble living.”[76]
The official business which occupies an American minister in England is
the formal occasion for accrediting him to the Court; but there has been
a growing disposition to treat this as after all a secondary
consideration beside the less tangible one of increasing good feeling
between the peoples of the two countries.Special envoys, telegrams, and
despatches might serve for the transaction of business, but just as the
countless personal letters which pass between correspondents on both
sides of the Atlantic go to make the invisible web which unites the two
nations, so the personal intercourse which the American minister has
with Englishmen may have a weighty effect in preserving an _entente
cordiale_.The English more than any other nation have cultivated the dinner-table
and the social meeting for the purpose of exchanging ideas regarding
public affairs.Where an American public man will send for a reporter
of a widely read newspaper if he has some important message to deliver
to his constituents or the people at large, the Englishman will accept
an invitation to a dinner of some society, and take that occasion for
making a speech which will be reported and commented on in all the great
dailies of the city and the provinces.Dinners, unveilings,
cornerstones, meetings of societies,--these all become the accepted
occasions for the propagation of ideas, and the most unrhetorical people
in civilization blurt out their views at such times with a certain scorn
of eloquence and admiration of candor.Moreover, the smallness of the
great legislative chambers conduces to the conversational tone, and thus
public speakers are trained to the disuse of oratory.It was natural that Lowell should be in demand on such occasions, and it
was inevitable that he should make a remarkable impression.He had for
years cultivated the art of speaking to small assemblies when he had a
congenial subject and a responsive audience.He had the readiness of a
practised writer, and he had above all a spontaneousness of nature which
made him one of the best of conversationalists.It was but a slight
remove from his lecture-room at Harvard, or his study at Elmwood, to an
English dinner-table, and the themes on which he was called upon to
speak were very familiar to him.Literature, the common elements of
English and American life, the distinctiveness of America, these were
subjects on which he was at home, and he brought to his task a manner
quiet yet finished by years of practice.Had set orations been his
business, he would scarcely have made so remarkable an impression as he
made by his off-hand speeches.Yet it must not be supposed that these
were careless, impromptu affairs.He was helped by his readiness, but he
did not rely upon it.He thought out carefully his little address, and
sometimes wrote it out in advance even when he made no use of
manuscript.“I am to speak at the Academy
dinner to-morrow,” he writes to a friend, after he had had a couple of
years practice in such functions, “which does not make me happy,--and
not a fit word to say has yet occurred to me.They think I like to
speak, I ‘do it so easily.’” He was not one to rise with the declaration
that he had nothing to say, and then to say it.He respected his
audience, and above all, with all his bonhomie, he never forgot that he
was not a private guest, but the representative of a great nation.Not
that he always harped on the one string of a community of nature and
interest in the two countries, but he remembered that he was invited not
simply as a man of letters but as the American minister.When Lowell went to England he apprehended difficulty in maintaining the
position of an American minister on his salary, which could not greatly
be increased from his modest fortune.Indeed, he said frankly that it
would have been quite impossible to play the host as it should be
played, except for the unhappy fortune which compelled Mrs.His friends told him, with that candor which
makes English society at once so refreshing and so amusing, that since
Mrs.Lowell could not entertain, he was quite at liberty to accept all
manner of invitations, and be under no obligation to return them.So his
public duties called him in many directions socially, and he was able,
besides doing a little business by the way in these diversions, to see
the best of the intellectual life of the day.He had a choice group of
friends who had known him before he was a public man, and his position
gave shim the entrée in all society, but he whispered: “I think on the
whole I find no society so good as what I have been accustomed to at
home.”
All this brought him, moreover, an endless correspondence which quite
effectually interfered with the friendly letters which had been so
natural an outlet of his moods.“Did you ever happen,” he writes to Mr.Field, 20 August, 1880, “to be watching the top of a post when a
snowstorm was beginning?You would have seen first a solitary flake come
wavering down and make a lodgment, then another and another, till
finally a white nightcap covered the whole knob.My head is very like
that wooden protuberance, and that’s the way letters descend upon it.While I am answering one a dozen more have fallen, and if I let a day go
by, I am overwhelmed.Mary moved to the bedroom.You tell
Mabel that five have passed since you wrote--which is simply absurd.I
think it was about fifteen minutes ago that I got it.”
“During Mr.Sandra moved to the hallway.Lowell’s service as Minister to England,” writes Mr.R. R.
Bowker, who was at this time resident in London, “Mrs.Lowell was
constantly an invalid, as the after effect of typhus fever while in
Spain, and it was delightful to see Mr.Lowell’s gallantry--for no other
word expresses it--as she was brought down in her invalid chair to the
dining-room or drawing-room.But she never lost the happy laugh so
characteristic of her, and her charm of direct and pleasant manner.Lowell to give receptions or large
dinners, so that his household guests were confined to a few Americans.In an invitation to dine on Christmas day of 1880, he writes: ‘We shan’t
be very jolly, but there will be a spice of home.’ It was at that
dinner, I think, that Mrs.John moved to the bedroom.Lowell had quite set her heart on having
cranberry sauce with the turkey, and so had obtained from that wonderful
American storehouse at 45 Piccadilly a supply of cranberries.But the
servants, who had mostly come with the Lowells from Spain, could not be
made to understand what was wanted, and it was only when, two or three
courses after the turkey, Mrs.Lowell hit upon calling for the ‘compote
rouge’ that we obtained our cranberry sauce as a separate course....
“Mr.Lowell was always charmingly gallant, and on one occasion at the
house in Lowndes Square there was present a young American actress from
whom he asked some recitation.Sandra went back to the bathroom.She offered to read the balcony scene
from ‘Romeo and Juliet’ but said she had no Romeo, whereupon Mr.Lowell
volunteered, the Juliet reciting from behind the sofa, and the most
charming of Romeos, though somewhat elderly for the part, reading from
in front.”
The duties of his office in the first part of his service were not
onerous except as multitudinous details bring weariness, but the long
illness of President Garfield during the summer of 1881 brought a strain
upon the emotions, and called for the constant exercise of a refined
courtesy.For, aside from the formal exchange of sympathy which would be
inevitable under such circumstances, there was that spontaneous and
varied expression of grief on all sides, to which Lowell refers with so
much feeling and such exquisite reserve of speech in the address on
Garfield which was given at the Memorial Meeting in Exeter Hall, 24
September, 1881, and is preserved in “Literary and Political Addresses.”
Lowell was there speaking to Americans in the presence, as it were, of
all England, and the note of sobriety and deep feeling and strong faith
which he struck still has the beauty and richness with which it fell on
the ears of his sympathetic audience.He was constantly called upon
during that anxious season of the President’s illness to respond to
letters of sympathy.A despatch which he sent to the Secretary of State
a fortnight after the blow shows the same dignity in his official
communication, and illustrates also the atmosphere in which he was
living throughout the summer.219, and is dated 16 July,
1881:--
“Warm expressions of sympathy with the President, with Mrs.Garfield,
and with the people of the United States, and of abhorrence of the
atrocious attempt on the President’s life have reached this Legation
from all parts of England and Scotland.John journeyed to the bathroom.From the Queen to the artisan,
the feeling has been universal and very striking in its manifestation.The first question in the morning and the last at night for the first
ten days after the news came was always: ‘How is the President?’ Had the
President’s life not been spared, the demonstration of feeling would
have been comparable with that which followed the assassination of Mr.“The interest of the Queen was shown in an unusually marked way, and was
unmistakable in its sincerity and warmth.By her special request all our
telegrams were at once forwarded to her at Windsor.At Marlborough
House, on the 14th she sent for me, in order to express in person her
very great satisfaction that the condition of the President was so
encouraging.“I need not waste words in telling you with what profound anxiety your
telegrams were awaited, nor how much encouragement and consolation were
brought by the later ones.I may be permitted to thank you, however, for
the entire composure which characterized them, and which enabled me to
maintain my own while prophets of evil were hourly sending me imaginary
news.“The impression produced here by the President’s dignity and fortitude
may be almost called a political event, for I believe that it has done
more to make a juster estimate of American character possible here than
many years of commercial or even social intercourse would have done.”
It was with a great sense of relief from tension, after the death of the
President, that Lowell took a leave of absence, and made a short trip to
Italy.“I am just starting,” he writes to T. W. Higginson, 8 October,
1881, “for the continent on a leave of absence which I sorely need.Wish
me joy, I am going to Italy!Whether I may not find somebody else in my
chair at the Legation when I come back is one of those problems that I
cannot solve, and care little about, though now that I have made
friendships here I should like to stay on a little longer.Did you know
that I have five grandchildren?”
Unfortunately Mrs.Lowell was not sufficiently restored to health to
accompany him, but he had the good fortune to find Mr.“We reached Flushing,” he wrote Mrs.Lowell from
Frankfort, 10 October, “at half-past six in the morning and there took
the train for this place.We travelled several thousand miles, as it
seemed to me, through Holland, every now and then seeing a hunchbacked
church gathering its village under its wings like a clucking hen when
she sees the hawk in the air, at every turn a windmill and low fields
bordered with trees that always look just beginning to grow--Heaven
knows why.After crossing the Prussian frontier, the dead level
continued as far as Cologne.The only difference was that the trees
were larger and often one saw pretty linden-alleys leading up to the
little towns.The railway officials had a more close-buttoned military
air, and were always saluting invisible superiors.”
On the 12th he wrote from Weimar: “I left Frankfort at noon on Monday
and got here towards seven in the evening.The first half of the journey
was through one of the loveliest valleys (of the broad and basking kind)
I ever saw.The only name I recognized in this part of the way was
Offenbach, where Goethe had his adventures with Lilli a hundred and more
years ago, but after passing Elm the names grew more familiar and
famous._Fulda_, Gotha, Erfurt, _E |
garden | Where is John? | Weimar is a neat little
capital which looks about as large as Salem, and where the one stranger
is as much stared at as there._Why_ it is a capital, and especially why
it should be where it is, puzzles me.The park is really delightful,
with fine trees and one of the most beautiful streams running through it
I ever saw.The water is so clear as to seem almost luminous, the
water-mosses are as green as those of the sea, and some horse-chestnuts
that had fallen in shone like live coals.I walked about the town all
the forenoon.”
He paid a visit to Goethe’s house and the next day went on to Dresden,
where he reflected that it was just twenty-five years since he was
living there, a young man then, an old man now, but that he should find
the Sistine Madonna and a few other old friends as young as ever.From
Dresden he went to Venice, and there he found his friend Mr.Sandra went to the office.“He
is as young and social as ever,” he wrote to Mr.Norton, 31 October;
“has made the acquaintance here of everybody he didn’t know before, and
goes with me to Florence on Thursday.Mary moved to the bedroom.The Brownings have also been here,
but go to-morrow morning.The weather has been _brutto assai_, only two
partly fine days during the time I have been here, and to-day it rains.We hear of three inches of snow at Vicenza, and I can well believe it,
so cold has it been._Che tempo straongante!_ Still, Venice has been
beautiful and dear for all that.Browning begins to show his seventy
years (he will be seventy next February) a little, though his natural
[force] be not abated.I hear that I am to stay in England, all rumors
to the contrary notwithstanding.She did not
venture to come with me.I shall probably go on as far as Rome, and get
back to London in time for the best fogs.”
To Mrs.Lowell be wrote from Venice, 1 November: “To-day the sky is
bright for the third time since my arrival.All the other days have been
cloudy or rainy, with a cold _tramontana_ blowing steadily and
strongly.... You remember that Lady Gordon told me I should find a
_bateau mouche_ plying on the Grand Canal.I did not expect to be
personally inconvenienced by it; but as it lessened the custom of the
gondoliers they have all struck work this morning, and one can’t get a
_barca_ for love or money.Poor fellows, they will find, as others have
done, that steam is stronger than they.... I have given up Rimini owing
to the cold, and shall start for Florence day after to-morrow with
Field, who is younger and livelier than ever,--and makes more
acquaintances every day than I should in a year.”
The two spent a week in Florence and then went to Rome where they
foregathered with Story, and after a few days there Lowell set out alone
on his return to London.He made a brief stay in Paris, and wrote thence
to Mr.Field, 29 November, 1881: “I walked a good deal yesterday and
felt very well, but to-day my head aches and things have come back.I
met young Longfellow, who was to start for London last evening; also
Thornton Lothrop, who came back with me to my hotel (where, by the way,
I have a small suite--drawing-room, dining-room, two bedrooms with their
own door of entrance on the staircase--first floor--for twenty-five
francs, _service y compris_), and gave me heaps of Boston and Cambridge
news.I am going to breakfast with him at the Bristol presently.I
called at the Hôtel de Lorraine[78] and met the Revolution in person.Sandra moved to the hallway.The whole Hôtel de France part--the whole inside that is--was a heap of
rubbish in the street.With some trouble I penetrated to Madame
Guillaume, who led me into a tiny cavern in the rear, where I found
Madame Garrier transformed into a cave-dweller.I expected to hear the
growl of the _ursus speluncæ_, or whatever they call him.The darkness
of a pocket (without any _chink_ in it) would be illumination compared
with it.... But Madame was very cordial.Presently Marie came in grown a
tall girl and with very pretty manners.I took her out into the light
and found her the image of her father.Doubtless he
was talking politics or taking snuff with some gossip or other of his.I
remember he always disappeared in moments of crisis like the repair of
the _salle à manger_ which took place in my time.He is a singed cat,
having seen two revolutions and the Commune.”
It was after his return to London that Lowell was in the thickest of the
contention which began not long after his appointment to the post of
American minister and continued through more than half of his term, as
long, that is, as the period of acute disturbance of the relations
between England and Ireland.Other international questions arose during
his term of service, but none that called for the exercise of so much
sound diplomatic discretion, or gave rise to so much angry criticism.Lowell’s judgment regarding Irish affairs was not the result merely of
what he now saw and heard in London.No American who had followed public
questions at home could escape the formation of some opinion respecting
the Irish character and the relation in which Ireland stood to England,
and through her emigrants to America.John moved to the bedroom.Sandra went back to the bathroom.In 1848, when Smith O’Brien,
Meagher, and other Irish leaders were agitating for reform through
insurrection, Lowell commented on the situation in one of his editorial
articles in the _National Anti-Slavery Standard_.He had no faith in the
measures which these leaders proposed; he thought the only radical cure
for the evils of Ireland lay in peasant proprietorship and education.“The only permanent safeguard,” he writes, “against famine is to give
the people a deeper interest in the soil they cultivate and the crops
they raise.It is the constant sense of insecurity that has made the
Irish the shiftless and prodigal people which they are represented to be
by all travellers.Education will be of no avail unless at the same time
something be given them on which they can bring it to a practical
bearing.Take away English opposition and the present insurrection is
directed against--what?We confess ourselves at a loss for an answer.The only insurrection which has done Ireland any real service was the
one headed by Father Mathew.The true office of the Irish Washington
would be to head a rebellion against thriftlessness, superstition, and
dirt.The sooner the barricades are thrown up against these the better.Ireland is in want of a revolution which shall render troops less
necessary rather than more so.”
When Lowell was earnestly opposing the suicidal course of the South
before the actual outbreak of the war for the Union, secession being
then the shibboleth, he took Scotland and Ireland in their relation to
Great Britain for parallel historic instances in support of his
position.John journeyed to the bathroom.“There is no such antipathy,” he wrote, “between the North
and the South as men ambitious of a consideration in the new republic,
which their talents and character have failed to secure them in the old,
would fain call into existence by asserting that it exists.The
misunderstanding and dislike between them is not so great as they were
within living memory between England and Scotland, as they are now
between England and Ireland.There is no difference of race, language,
or religion.Yet, after a dissatisfaction of near a century and two
rebellions, there is no part of the British dominion more loyal than
Scotland, no British subjects who would be more loath to part with the
substantial advantages of their imperial connection than the Scotch; and
even in Ireland, after a longer and more deadly feud, there is no sane
man who would consent to see his country irrevocably cut off from power
and consideration to obtain an independence which would be nothing but
Donnybrook Fair multiplied by every city, town, and village in the
island.The same considerations of policy and advantage, which render
the union of Scotland and Ireland with England a necessity, apply with
even more force to the several States of our Union.”[79]
When, therefore, Lowell found himself in England as the representative
of the United States at a period when the chronic irritation between
England and Ireland was at an acute stage through the operation of the
so-called coercion act, it is not surprising that be should take a very
lively interest in affairs.As a part of his diplomatic duty, he kept
his government informed not so much of the facts which were the news of
the day, as of the interpretation to be put upon the political
situation.Accordingly, on 7 January, 1881, he wrote to Mr.Evarts, then
Secretary of State:--
“Seldom has a session of Parliament begun under more critical
circumstances.The abnormal condition of Ireland and the question of
what remedy should be sought for it have deeply divided and embittered
public opinion.Mary went back to the garden.Not only has the law been rendered powerless and order
disturbed (both of them things almost superstitiously sacred in
England), but the sensitive nerve of property has been rudely touched.The opposition have clamored for coercion, but while they have persisted
in this it is clear that a change has been gradually going on in their
opinion as to how great concessions would be needful.It seems now to be
granted on all sides that the Irish people have wrongs to be redressed
and just claims for rights to be granted.I think that the government
have at least gained so much by the expectant and humane policy which
they have persevered in under very great difficulties, and in spite of a
criticism the more harassing as it seemed to have some foundation in
principles hitherto supposed to be self-evident.“Added to this was the fact (at least I believe it to be a fact) that
there was a division of opinion in the Cabinet itself.This probably led
to the one mistake in policy that has been made by the prosecution of
Mr.Parnell and some of his associates--a mistake, because, in the
exceedingly improbable contingency of the jury agreeing to convict, the
belief will be universal in Ireland that they have been packed, and the
government will have a dozen martyrs on its hands of whom it would be at
a loss how to dispose,--a half-ludicrous position which could not fail
to involve a loss of prestige.“There can be no doubt that Mr.Parnell was unpleasantly surprised by
the land league, and has been compelled to identify himself with a
movement having other and more comprehensive (perhaps more desperate)
aims than that which he originated.So far as can be judged, a great
deal of the agitation in Ireland is factitious, and large numbers of
persons have been driven by timidity to profess a sympathy with it which
they do not feel.This, of course, strengthens the probability of its
being possible to allay it by generally acceptable measures of reform.I
am sure that the reasonable leaders or representatives of Irish opinion
see the folly of expecting that England would ever peaceably consent to
the independence of Ireland; that they do not themselves desire it; and
that they would be content with a thorough reform of the land laws and a
certain amount of local self-government.Both of these measures, you
will observe, are suggested in the speech from the throne.You will
readily divine that one of the great difficulties with which the
ministry has had to struggle has been the presentiment that a change in
the conditions of land tenure in Ireland will be followed by something
similar, certainly by an agitation for something similar, on this aide
the Irish channel.“The Cabinet, I am safe in saying, are earnestly desirous of doing
justice to Ireland, and not only that, but of so shaping reform as to
make the cure as lasting as such a cure can be.No government can
consent to revolution (though this was deemed possible in some quarters
as respects some governments twenty years ago), but the present ministry
are willing to go all lengths that are feasible and wise in the way of
reform and reparation.Their greatest obstacle will be the overweening
expectations and inconsiderate temper of the Irish themselves, both of
them the result of artificial rather than natural causes.For no reform
will be effectual that does not gradually nullify the unhappy effects
produced by the influence, through many generations, of the pitiable
travesty of feudal relations between landlord and tenant, making that
relation personal instead of mercantile, and thus insensibly debauching
both.“The condition of Ireland is not so disturbed now as it has been at
several periods during the last eighty years, and precisely the same
system of organization was brought to bear against the collection of
tithes fifty years ago that has now been revived to resist the payment
of what are considered excessive rents.The landlords are represented as
the minions of a foreign and hated domination, and the use of the
epithet _foreign_ has at least this justification, that there is
certainly an imperfect sympathy between the English and Irish characters
which prevents each from comprehending either the better qualities of
the other or, what is worse, the manner of their manifestion.“I cannot perceive that the public opinion of the country has withdrawn
itself in any appreciable measure from sympathy with the Cabinet, though
there is considerable regret among thoughtful liberals that coercion
should have been deemed necessary and that the proposed reforms should
not have gone farther.If the Irish could only be brought to have as
much faith in Mr.Gladstone as he has desire for their welfare, there
might be more hope than I can now see for a permanent solution of the
Irish question.”
Mr.Evarts acknowledged the despatch with commendation for its lucid
treatment of the subject, but Lowell soon found himself involved in
something closer at hand than academic discussion.About three weeks
after this despatch, he had occasion to write again of the state of
affairs, and to note the final passage of the so-called coercion bill.At the close of this despatch his wrote: “The wild and whirling words of
some Irishmen and others from America have done harm to something more
than the cause of Irish peasantry, by becoming associated in the public
mind with the country whose citizenship they put off or put on as may be
most convenient.In connection with this, I beg leave to call your
attention to an extraordinary passage in the letter of Mr.Parnell to
the Irish National Land League, dated Paris, February 18, 1881, in which
he makes a distinction between ‘the American people’ and ‘the Irish
nation in America.’ This double nationality is likely to be of great
practical inconvenience whenever the coercion bill becomes law.The same
actor takes alternately the characters of a pair of twins who are never
on the stage simultaneously.”[80]
In his capacity of critic, Lowell heartily condemned the measure taken
by the British government.In a letter to the American consul in Cork,
he wrote: “The ‘coercion act,’ so-called, is an exceptional and
arbitrary measure.Its chief object is to enable the authorities to
arrest persons whom they suspect of illegal conduct, without being
obliged to produce any proof of their guilt.Its very substance and main
purpose are to deprive suspected persons of the speedy trial they
desire.Granger still
gave her to understand that Dent was not in Liverpool.He would find
him--yes, he said, he was certain to find him; but Bet did not know
that he had done so, and her terrors were proportionately great.John went to the garden.She
could not sit still for a moment--but paced up and down, up and down
the small room where her mother had died, like a caged animal.The captain and the general were off on expeditions of their own; hours
passed, but no one came near the unhappy girl.At last, when her impatience had almost burst bounds, Granger arrived."I ha' done it, Bet," he said."It rests with you now--Dent is found."She fell on her knees before
her father and clasped his hands."Feel how my heart beats," she
said--"I were nearly going mad.Father, there'll never be a better
daughter to you than me in all Christendom, from this time out.You ha'
found |
bathroom | Where is Mary? | "I ha' found Dent," continued Granger, rubbing his rough sleeves across
his mouth in a furtive manner."I told him about Will, and he's willing
to go to the police-court to-morrow--that is, ef you're agreeable.""You know my mind on
that; and so does Dent.Why, I could almost find it in my heart to call
him a good feller, ef he saves my lad.""Ay, Bet--that's just it."Granger shuffled again, and would not meet
his daughter's eye."He wants you to call him a good feller; he wants
you to be werry particular kind to him, seeing as he won't stir hand
nor foot to save Will Scarlett until you takes yer oath as you'd wed
with him.Ay, that's it, Bet--you ha' got to face it; by no other means
can you set that lad of yourn free.You ha' got to face it, and Dent
must have his answer to-night."Bet did not speak at all for about a minute."I feared as this might come," she said at last In a queer voice."I
did hope as God Almighty might have spared me.It's miles worse nor giving up my life."She had been kneeling by her father; now she started to her feet, and
wrapped the plaid shawl about her head and shoulders."I'm going to Hester," she said.Sandra went to the office."I'll give you your answer when I
comes back."Mary moved to the bedroom.Sandra moved to the hallway.She pushed back her hair under
her plaid shawl: her eyes looked bright, and her step was once more
firm and erect."There are all kinds of love," she kept muttering to herself--"all
kinds-there's the love that gives, and the love that gets.Seems to me
that mine must be the love that gives."A queer little smile came over her face as this thought entered her
brain.She walked still more quickly, and clenched her strong hand,
while resolution and the noble determination of self-sacrifice gave her
a false strength.Bet was not ignorant of certain verses of the Bible.She had never read the Bible, for her mother's form of religion had
rendered the idea of looking into its pages distasteful to her; but
words from it had been quoted many times in her poor home, and one of
its verses now floated into her memory: _"Greater love hath no man than
this--that a man lay down his life for his friend."_ The words brought
with them a healing sense of comfort.She really did not know from
where they were taken, but she found herself repeating them, and she
knew that if she really agreed to marry Dent, she would give up far
more than her life for Will.No questionings as to the right or the
wrong of this action came to perplex her--she never for an instant
supposed it possible that Will could prefer prison with the thought of
her waiting for him at the end, to liberty with her lost to him
forever.No, no; sailors, of all men, must be free--free as the wind or
the air.Will must once more go where he pleased, and taste the briny
ocean in salt spray on his lips.Confinement would kill a roving spirit
like his.He would be sorry to have lost her--Bet; but by-and-bye he
would find another lass to comfort him.Just at present Bet had a sense of exaltation that caused her scarcely
to feel any pain.The worst had now come and was over--her heart beat
calmly; she had nothing further to dread; and she ran quickly up the
stairs to Hester's room, and looked in with almost a bright face."I ha' come," she said, drawing her breath fast,--"Dent is found,
Hetty, and Will will be free to-morrow night."She had been making up her fire and
tidying the room before going to rest.John moved to the bedroom.She went straight up to Bet,
now, and put one arm round her neck, and raised herself a little to
kiss the taller girl."You'll be happy, yet, Bet," she said; "and God knows I'm glad of it."Bet did not respond to Hester's kiss.She held herself very erect, and
looked down calmly into the singer's eager, enthusiastic face."It's a good thing Dent is found," she repeated."I came to you Hetty,
to ask you ef you'd help me to write a letter to Will.You're more of a
scholard than I am, and I thought maybe atween us I might make my mind
known to the lad.""For sure, Bet, I'll help you to write," said Hester."But ef Dent is
found, and witnesses for Will, you'll see him in a few hours, honey;
and it don't seem worth while to put into writing what can be told with
the lips.""I'll see Will to-morrow," repeated Bet, "for I'll be in the
police-court; but, all the same, it's my mind to put a few words in
writing, so that the lad may know clear what my meaning is.You'll help
me, won't you, Hetty, seeing as you're more of a scholard than me?""To be sure I will," said Hester.And going to a drawer, she took out a
penny bottle of ink, an old pen, and a sheet or two of very thin, poor
writing paper.Sandra went back to the bathroom.she said, looking up at the girl, who
stood still and upright in the middle of the room."Set down, Bet, dear, and take the pen in your own fingers--ef the
letter's for Will, he'd like to have the writing yours.Set down, and
I'll help you to spell out the words.""No," said Bet; "I ain't a scholard, and my hand shakes.I'll say
what's in my heart, and you'll write it for me, Hetty, dear."She moved over now to the fireplace, and leaned one elbow on the tiny
mantel-shelf; her face was quiet, but Hester could not help remarking
the absence of hope in her eyes."Are you sure that Dent will appear in the witness box?""Seems to me as if he'd scarce dare to; for he'll have to say how he
come by the notes.You know, Bet, and so do I, that he's the real
thief; and ef he appears to clear Will, seems to me he must confess his
own share.John journeyed to the bathroom.Are you sure as he'll do it, Bet?""He's deep, and he'll find a way.Mary went back to the garden.He
said as he'd do it for a price--it were a heavy one--he wouldn't do it
for nought else; he named his price, and he promised that for that he'd
clear Will.""I don't see how he's to do it," repeated Hester, looking more and more
dissatisfied."Dent ain't the man to pop himself into the jail.You and Granger han't got any money.It's deceived you are, I
fear me, Bet.""No," said Bet--"the price is _me_--there ain't no deceit, and his
meaning's quite plain.When Dent saves Will, he's to have me.I'm to
wed him--them's the terms--there ain't no use argufying, Hester; but
it's all plain--Dent will clear Will, and keep out of prison hisself,
for he's as clever as he's bad."That I won't," said Hester, flinging down her pen."Ef you think I'm
going to break Will's heart, and yourn, too, you're fine and mistook.Dent is playing the fool on you, Bet Granger; and you're no true lass
to give up Will on any terms."Hester spoke with great vehemence and passion.She was horrified at
what she considered sacrilege.Rising
from her seat, she pushed her writing materials away, and stooped over
the hearth."There," she said, as she poked the little fire--"I'm glad as you has
spoke out your mind.You hate Dent, and you'll marry him; and you'll
give Will his liberty, but you'll break his heart.No, no--I won't
write that letter.""I'll do the best that I can myself," replied Bet.She was not the
least angry or excited.She sat down by Hester's table, and taking up
the pen dipped it in the ink, and with difficulty began to put her
words on paper.Her head was bent low, and her hand labored; but she
did not pause, nor glance again at Hester.Minutes passed into
half-hours: one--two--three of these went by before Bet, with a burning
flush on one cheek, and the other deadly white, finished her letter."You don't understand me, Hetty, but I ha' made it
all clear to Will.Seal it up for nought but him to
see.When he's free to-morrow, give it to him, Hetty, and don't think
harder than you can help of poor Bet Granger."She laid the letter on the mantel-piece by Hester's side, wrapped her
shawl again about her head, and went out."You ha' got the promise of the girl?""Yes, yes--that's sure and certain.""All right; then I'll go to the police-court.Now look you here,
Granger--you don't s'pose as I'm _really_ going to give that chap his
liberty?""You won't wed Bet else," replied Granger.We has half-an-hour afore us, and
I've got to think one or two things out.Are you quite aware, or must I
make it plainer to yer, the only way in which I could let Will out?"John went to the garden."It don't seem over clear, for sartin," replied Granger."But you're a
clever chap, Dent, and I trusts yer.You'll let the lad out, and you'll
wed my gel, and you'll give me my share of the siller.Come,
now--that's plain enough, ain't it?""_This_ is plain," said Dent, knocking the ashes out of his pipe-the
two men were loafing together near one of the quays--"this is plain,
and this only--that when Will comes out of prison I goes in.I can't
prove Will Scarlett innocent without proving myself t'other thing.Is
it likely now--you tell me as it's likely--ef I'll lend myself to that
sort of plan?""And for sartin my gel won't wed
you else.""And," continued Dent, "when I'm locked up, it won't look too nice for
you.John moved to the kitchen.There are a few things as 'ull come out about that money as I
stole.Ef I'm took up, Liverpool 'ull be a sight too hot for you,
Granger.Mary went to the bathroom.Granger's bloated and red face turned pale.He did not speak at all for
a moment.Then he said, slowly: "You has a plan in your head, Isaac
Dent; and the sooner you outs with it the better it'll be for you and
for me."I has a
plan, and this is it--I mean to go to the police-court to-day--I means
to witness there; but not for Will Scarlett, but _agin_' him.He'll
swear as I give him the notes; I'll swear tother way.His case looks
black now--I'll make it of a double-dyed darkness.It's
nought to me how long he stays in prison.But how'll you get Bet to wed
you, ef you treats the lad so, is more nor I can make out."That's where
you can help me, Granger--and five pound, not in notes, but gold, for
the job.""Bet's going to the police-court," he said."She mustn't go--no, not on no account.Look here, Granger, you wern't,
so to say, special tender and fatherly to them boys o' yourn, were you?""I want you to take them boys, and
manage so as Bet shall have a hint of it, and pretend as you're going
to do bad by them.She'll follow--she'll
spend all the time, while Will's little business is being settled,
looking for the boys.It can be done, and we'll lure her out of
Liverpool, and we'll pretend as Will is free, until such time as I can
wed her.Come into the 'Star and
Garter,' mate--we'll have a drink, and soon fix up this yer business."It sometimes happens that a very valiant and resolute spirit is
contained in a small body.Bet Granger's little brothers, known in the
slums as the captain and the general, were as thin, as lanky, as
under-grown little chaps as could be found in Liverpool.Not a scrap of
superfluous flesh had they, and certainly not an iota of superfluous
growth.They were under-fed, under-sized; but nevertheless brave
spirits shone out of their eyes, and valiant and even martial ideas
animated their small frames.The "Cap'n" and the "Gen'ral" were
considered so plucky by the other boys--and girls of the neighborhood
that as a rule they were asked to take the command in a fight, and to
assume leading and distinguished positions in a general fray.Most
valiantly then would they strike out left or right--regardless of black
eyes, indifferent to bumps or blows.They looked like little furies on
these occasions, and the other children applauded and admired.It was
well known in Sparrow Street, and it was even beginning to be
recognized as a certain fact in Paradise Row, that when both the
captain and the general were engaged together in one encounter there
was not the smallest chance of the opposite side winning.These untrained and somewhat desperate little bravos had also certain
instincts which taught them to espouse the cause of those weaker than
themselves: and it was often a ludicrous as well as a pathetic sight to
see these small champions leading the van, and eagerly supporting girls
and boys a great deal bigger than themselves.Their mother had
certainly told them that fighting was sinful; but it was the breath of
life to them, and when Thady was once asked what he liked best in the
world, he answered promptly, "Punchin' another feller's head."These
small boys were quite little braves in their way; but, as there is a
weak point in the most invincible armor, so were there conditions under
which the general and his gallant captain would undoubtedly show the
white feather.There was a presence which could effectually quench the
ardor of two pairs of keen eyes, could cause two little faces to blanch
to an unwholesome and sickly hue, could cause two little hearts to beat
anxiously, and could so affect the moral equilibrium of two very
steadfast little souls, that lies would fall glibly from their lips,
and the coward's weapons of deceit and subterfuge would be gladly used
by them in self-defence.It was a father who had this effect upon his children; and the
torturing and ruining of these young child-lives was being effected in
the civilized England of our nineteeth century.Granger represented a
not too uncommon type of man, and Nat and Thady did not suffer more
than hundreds of other boys when exposed to his influence.On the morning after Bet had written her letter to Will, she rose
early, and was preparing to go to the police-court, to look her last on
her lover, when the door of their one little room in Sparrow Street was
burst rudely open, and Granger, his face red and bloated, and his whole
manner indicating that he had reached the quarrelsome stage of
insobriety, entered the room with heavy strides.He was a big man,
powerfully made, and when in his present condition even Bet thought it
wisest to let him alone.He entered the room and glared about him
savagely.A great deal of this manner was put on, for he was acting a
part under Dent's instructions; but none of his children knew this, and
when striding across the room, he caught the poor little blue-eyed
captain by his ragged collar, the boy uttered a scream, and the
general, basely deserting his brother, rushed to Bet for protection."Give up that lad," shouted Granger, ho |
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | They are my lads, and you have played the fool with 'em long enough.I
have got work as 'ull suit them, away in Warrington, and I'm going to
take 'em by an early train.There--hands off, Bet--give me the lads."She looked like a wild creature about to be
deprived of her young.Holding one arm firmly round the general, she
gripped the little captain by the other hand."Gi' them up to me, father!You shan't have them--you shan't touch
them--there!You take 'em away to work at I knows not
what?--and they no more nor seven years old!Let 'em be--they're my
lads, and you shan't harm a hair of their heads."The boys clung to her, with white faces.The man, savage and amazed at
this unexpected resistance, stood wavering for an instant.At that
moment it seemed to Bet as if a thousand furies possessed her, and a
thousand strengths were given to her.All the accumulated anguish of
the past week seemed to gather vehemence now, and to lend iron force to
her muscular arms.She wrenched the little captain quite away from the
red-faced, bloated man; and then, both arms freed for a moment, she
actually pushed him before her to the door, and, before he could utter
a word, or collect his scattered forces, she locked him out.lads," she said, turning round with a triumphant half laugh,
"you see as Bet's as good as her word.""You're a born fighter," said the captain, in a tone of admiration.He
recovered his spirits and his courage on the spot, and in a few moments
he and the general were amusing themselves in acting the scene which
Bet had just gone through."Boys," said their sister's voice, after ten minutes had passed, and no
attack been made on the door, she concluded that Granger had for the
present withdrawn himself--"Boys, I'm a wanting to go out.""Oh, no, Bet, no--father'll come back."I'll lock it from the outside, and make
off with the key.I won't be long, boys; I'm a hungered to see
somebody--my heart draws me, and I'm in pain.You won't be in any
danger, dear lads, and I'll be back werry soon.I jest want to set eyes
on one face that I'll never see no more.You won't be afeard, ef
there's a locked door between you and father."The rare tears which scarcely ever came to her stood in Bet's eyes."No, we won't be afeard," said the captain, running up to his
sister--"there ain't nought to be afeard of.You're wanting to see your
sweetheart--ain't yer, Bet?""No," said Bet, with an almost-cry--"I han't got a sweetheart now.All
the same, I hungers for the sight of a face.Don't you be fretting, lads.There'll be a locked door atween you and
harm."She wrapped her shawl about her, waited for no further words, locked
the door on the little prisoners, and rushed downstairs.As she said,
her heart was drawing her.Nothing but that passionate hunger would
have caused her to forsake the children at this supreme moment.The
house was intensely quiet, for most of the lodgers had gone out on
their day's avocations.Not a sign of Granger was to be seen.Bet walked fast, and presently reached the police-court, where Will was
to be tried.A crowd of people were waiting outside; a few policemen
stood about.The doors of the building were not yet open.Bet saw
Hester Wright standing very near the entrance.She made an effort to
get to her, and called her name over the heads of the crowd; but
Hester, after looking at her coldly, turned her back without making any
response.She found the tears again
springing to her eyes.for one glance, if only the last, of Will's
kind face.The minutes dragged themselves along; the crowd increased;
but as the right hour had not yet come, the doors remained fast shut.At last, at the stroke of ten, they were opened, and Bet was pressing
in with the rest, when she felt a hand laid heavily on her arm.She
turned, to see the coarse black-eyed girl who had bought her beat from
Granger."Ef I was you, I'd go home, Bet," said the girl."You mind your own business," said Bet, shaking her off roughly."Well--there's a mischief brewing, and I saw what I saw.Don't you say
as you wasn't warned; and ef the two little chaps come to grief, it
ain't Louisa Perkins' fault.""Say out yer say at once," she answered, clutching the girl now, and
forcing her back against the crowd who were pushing their way into the
building,--"say your say and have done," she repeated."What has come
to the lads?I left them safe not an hour agone.""You didn't--that's a lie!I left them locked up safe in my room.""Granger was hurrying off with them," repeated Louisa, "werry red in
the face, and mad like.The captain was crying, and t'other chap had a
red mark down his cheek--it's not a quarter of an hour by St.Giles'
clock as I saw him.""Tell me quick, or I'll shake you.""Down Castle Street, making for Lime Street and the railway station, I
expect."Bet ceased to push inwards with the crowd.They went past her, and the
little police-court was soon filled to overflowing.Isaac Dent almost
rubbed against her shoulder as he went by.He winked at Louisa, but Bet
never noticed him.Hester had not yet gone into the police-court.She was standing against
one of the posts of the door, watching the crowd as they filed past.Come and speak to me for a
minute!I must go, but I want to send a message.Just one word,
Hetty,--Hetty, come!"At any rate, she neither turned nor
heeded.Bet gave a low despairing cry; then, flinging her shawl off her
shoulders, she ran as fast as if there were wings to her feet in the
direction of Sparrow Street.The smooth-faced landlord was
standing at the door.You might stop a minute to pass a civil good-morning with a chap.Bet flew past him like a whirlwind, and his last words were addressed
to the empty air.Three pairs up she ran, her breath coming quicker and
quicker.On the landing she paused, and pressed her hand to her wildly
beating heart.Louisa Perkins had not told her a
lie.The room door stood wide open; the room itself was empty.she called, when she could gather breath to speak."Little
lads, I ha' come back to you!You needn't hide no more, for Bet's yere."But she knew as she said the words that the boys were not hiding.They
had fallen into the clutches of the oppressor--they had gone.She went
slowly now into the deserted room.She was waiting for her breath to
return, for her heart to beat easily, to commence her search.Yes: that
was the only duty left to her in life--to find the boys and redeem her
promise to her mother.She sat down on a chair, and wiped her heated
forehead, and gradually made her plans.First of all she would go to
Mother Bunch--and then, then--away to Warrington.Warrington was not a
big place; it would be impossible for Granger to elude her long there.Could she once again find the lads she need not greatly fear her
father.After all she had nearly, if not quite, his physical strength;
and she believed that if it came to a personal encounter between them,
her muscles, joined to her woman's wit, would give her the victory.Opening the front of her dress, she pulled out a handkerchief, and,
unknotting it, looked at the little money in her possession.The
handkerchief only contained a few pence--certainly not the price of a
third-class fare to Warrington.As she was leaving the room, however,
she caught a hidden gleam on the little deal dresser.She ran to it and
picked up half-a-crown.She had no time to think
of that; it was hers now, to use as she thought best.She would go to
Mother Bunch first.That worthy was offended with her; but what of
that, she must soothe Mother Bunch's temper, make her once more her
friend, get her to look out for any tidings of the boys, and then go on
her wild goose chase to Warrington.Whenever Mother Bunch was not eating, sleeping, or scolding some one,
she was engaged over the wash-tub.It might have puzzled an outsider to
know what results she achieved from such arduous labor, for she scorned
to take in washing as a profession; and neither she nor her good man, a
certain lanky-looking Patrick O'Flaherty, were remarkable for the
whiteness of their linen, or the general cleanliness of their apparel.Mother Bunch washed and washed, hanging out numerous garments to dry,
rinsing the suds from her own arms, rendering her small kitchen damp
and messy at all hours, and during all seasons.She scarcely raised her
head when Bet entered.The soft sound of the soapy water and the gentle
splash of the dripping garments greeted the girl as an accustomed
sound, and Mother Bunch's broad back was reassuring.O'Flaherty," said Bet, running up to her, putting her arms
round her neck, and imprinting a kiss on her soapy forehead."I'm in a
sight of trouble, and I've come to you to help me."child, don't stand right in the way of the soap suds!There you
go--splashing all the clothes, and I'll have to wash 'em all over
again.Oh, dearie, dearie me--my heart's broke, and that's the truth
I'm telling ye.Well, honey--and so ye comes back to Mother Bunch when
you want a rale drop of consolation.You know as the old Irishwoman's
your frind, and don't bear no malice."I think now I did wrong to take the lads
away from you--only I did it for the best.""Well, now, honey, I wouldn't say that ef I was you.You did it for
love, and love's contrairey.But don't talk to me of doing it for the
best.How's that broth of a boy, Scarlett?Have you got your own way
about him, lovey?""We won't talk of that; there was a price to be paid and it's
paid."But there's a sore thrubble on ye, honey.Ef they consailed a lad
like that in prison--why it would have been the death of him, my dear.Will's the boy that must have his liberty.I expect you'll find him
quare and altered, even after one week of prison, Bet."Bet's face brightened, "I'm glad that you, too, understand Will," she
said."I knew that the prison would kill my lad."And why arn't you with him, honey?Why, it's an iligant wedding you
ought to be having together, and Mother Bunch dancing an Irish jig, and
pouring down blessings on the heads of two of yez.Come now, Bet,
what's up?Spake your mind free to the old Irishwoman.""I have nothing to tell, and I can't wait," said Bet."Father have took
away the two lads, and I'm follering of him.He said he would take them
to Warrington.I'm a-going arter him, and I'll fetch them back; only I
thought I'd tell you, Mother Bunch, so as you might keep your ears
open, and let me know ef there's any tidings or news going.Father may
have said Warrington jest to deceive me, for he's awful deep, and the
lads may be here all the time.You keep your eyes open, and your ears
too, Mother Bunch, and I'll come back to you in a day or so ef I can't
find them.Now, good-bye--I'm off, I want to catch a train."Bet found herself at Warrington soon after one o'clock.She was landed on the platform and stood looking round her in a
bewildered way.The place was totally strange, and she felt like a
deserted vessel cast adrift from its usual moorings.There was no part
of Liverpool where she would not know what to do and how to act; but
here, standing on this lonely, deserted platform, with scarcely any
money in her pocket, her head aching, her tired brain dull and
confused, she scarcely knew where to turn.If her father were really
here with the children, it might not be such a very easy task to find
them.She was startled by a familiar, half-mocking, half-exultant voice at
her elbow.She turned quickly, and there stood the sailor, Isaac Dent."I wasn't long in a-follering of you
up--was I?And you're mine now, my beautiful Bet.You're mine, and no
mistake."Bet's eyes flashed, and her face grew crimson,--it was as much as she
could do to restrain the impulse to raise her hand, and strike Dent.After all, she did belong to this
man, and Will's liberty was the price."You know my terms," she said,
when she could find her voice to speak.Ef my lad's
not free as the air--I'll--!Tell me that afore I have any more words
with you."Dent laughed; he was in exuberant spirits."It seems to me as I'm your lad.Name the
feller you mean in some other way afore I answers any saucy questions.You're a fine young woman, Bet, but you has to go Isaac Dent's way now.What's the name of the feller you wants me to tell you about?"Daniel travelled to the kitchen."Will Scarlett--is he out of prison?"She swallowed a
deep breath, and her face was white and cold as marble."Yes; Will Scarlett's free," answered Dent "He's out of prison, in
course, and he's free as the air.All owing to that good feller Dent
standing up for him, and witnessing for him, and proving him as
innercent as the babe unborn.My word!--worn't he glad to get his
liberty.And didn't he wring my hand, and say, 'God bless you, my boy!'You sent him a letter, Bet, and he read it, and gived me a line or two
to take to you.You'd know Will's fist ef you see'd it on an envelope
now--wouldn't you?""All in good time, my pretty--all in werry good time!Shall we walk
down the street a bit?You're obliged to poor Isaac Dent, now, ain't
you, Bet?He have done his part by Will Scarlett, haven't he?"I'm much obleeged to yer.Give
me the letter what he writ to me, please.""I will, by-and-bye.You're mine
now--you remember as that's the bargain?""Yes, Isaac, I remember--I'll wed you as soon as you can fix up the
license.Oh, I'm glad that Will is free!Did he look awful bad and
changed, Isaac?""Yaller as a guinea,--awful, he look--but he'll
be better soon.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.He said to me, 'Another week o' this, and I'd ha' been
a dead man, Dent--bless you, Dent, old pal' said Will--'and take the
gel and my blessing too.She was right, Bet wor--liberty's more nor
anything else to a sailor chap.Oh, yes--I'll miss her; for she was
rare and handsome; but, lord there's plenty of other good fish in the
sea;' and then he writ this letter, and give it me--jest a line or two,
to make it all square atween you and me, as he said.And he'll come and
see us arter his next voyage, he said.Here's the letter, Bet--and
obleeged you ought to be to me, sweetheart."She took Will's letter with a hand that trembled, and thrust it
unopened into the bosom of her dress." |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | "All the
same I'm stunned like.Isaac, I ha' come here to find father and the
lads.Father has made off with the two boys, and he dropped a hint
about bringing 'em here.""Werry like he did," replied Dent."He dropped a hint to me about
making a tidy penny or so out of them boys round yere.Ef you stay for
a day or two, Bet, you'll most likely find them.And Warrington ain't a bad place to stop in.We might be married
here--why not?I know a decent gel here what'll share her room with
you--we'll go and find her now."Dent soon made terms with the girl who was to accommodate Bet with half
her room.Her terms were half-a-crown a week, which Dent offered to
provide.Bet, however, scowled at him."I ain't your wife yet--and I can't be,
neither, thank goodness, for a fortnight.Jenny here says I may go
round with her and help her to hawk her basket.I'll help Jenny with
her bits of cress and vegetables-and I want no help from you.""You're a proud 'un," said Dent, "but I'll break yer in yet."Bets cheeks grew white; he was
turning away, but she followed him."I'm not your wife yet; and by the laws of
England I can't be for a fortnight.It was them laws as parted me and
Will--cruel, I thought them--bitter cruel.Him and me would have been
mated together, and safe and happy--oh, yes!we two would have been
happy but for them laws which we mustn't break, if we was to be honest
and true man and woman.And them same laws stand good still, Isaac
Dent; and I can't come to you to be wedded to you under a fortnight.They was cruel once--now they're kind; they gives me a fortnight afore
I steps into a state what will be worse nor death to me--ay, worse than
the cold grave!We must wait a fortnight, Dent--you must wait a whole
fourteen days afore you take to bullying me.And, listen, Dent--I'm a
despert girl.I have lost all that makes life worth anything.You trust
me 'cause you know it's said everywhere as Bet Granger keeps true to
her word through all things.But I ha' broke a promise already made
most solemn to my mother when she lay a-dying; and ef you tries me too
far, and don't do what I wish for the next fortnight afore we can come
together--why, I'll fling my word back in your face, and dare you to do
your worst.I'm despert--evn my word ain't much to me, now.And I'll do
it, Isaac, I'll do it; I'll declare as I'll never, never be wed to you!You can't harm me--you can't force me.You could
never touch me at all except through Will.And now my lad's free, and
the salt sea will soon blow the prison look out of his face.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.You
haven't got me yet, Isaac Dent: so you had better humor me for the next
fortnight."Dent's unwholesome face became much mottled and disturbed in hue during
Bet's speech.When she spoke of Will being free, his lips took an ugly
sneer, and he found extreme difficulty in restraining himself.He was
well aware, however, that if he disclosed the fact of his own treachery
his last hope of winning this proud lass was over.After all, nothing
held her to him but her promise; and if she came to regard promises in
the same light in which he did, all his pains and troubles would be
thrown away.If he wished to win her, it behoved him, therefore, to be
cautious, and, as she put it very plainly, to humor her.After the
wedding day all the self-restraint which he must at present exhibit
might be withdrawn.His feelings for Bet contained a curious mixture of
anger and fierce admiration.It never occurred to him for a moment even
to try to make her a good husband; but get her he would--oh,
yes--possess her he must.When she harangued him thus, with her eyes flashing, and a world of
scorn curving her beautiful lips, he replied gently, drawing close to
her, but not offering to touch her."I'll do anything in my power to please you, Bet," he said."I ain't a
bad sort--my bark's worse nor my bite.But
ef I don't make you a good husband, and ef you and me won't have the
jolliest little house in Liverpool together, my name ain't Dent--no--my
name ain't Dent.You trust me, Bet--I'll not anger you either now nor
in the future."To leave me alone," said Bet, "until you can fetch the license and
bring me to church with you.Ef I was to see too much of you atween now
and our wedding, no promise that ever was would bind me.You keep away,
Isaac, and leave me my fortnight in peace, and I'll do what I said I'd
do--yes, I'll do it--I'll pay the price.You go back to Liverpool,
Isaac, and leave me yere--I has to find father and the lads.And ef
Jenny's a good sort, I'll stay with her.Ef she ain't, I'll find my own
lodging.But in no case will I walk with you, or talk with you, until
the day as we is wed.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.Ef I stays here for a fortnight we can be wed
here, but you must go back to Liverpool.Them's my terms, and if you
don't humor me for the present,--why, you know what to look for.""Oh, I'm agreed," answered Dent, "I'll humor you now, and I'll humor
you in the future.I suppose we can be married before the register.You
don't want no church words over yer,--do you, Bet?""No, not when I stand by _your side_," said Bet, shuddering."Well, I'll do yer pleasure.I'll go now, and make inquiries, and enter
our names to be wed as soon as may be.Liverpool 'ull suit me a deal
better than this dull hole of a Warrington.Goodbye, my fine lady
Bet--when next we meets, it 'ull be never to part."He kissed the tips of his fingers to her, and could not resist a laugh
which sounded between mockery and triumph.As Dent turned away, Bet's attention was arrested by the girl called
Jenny, who had been standing by during this colloquy, and plucked her
by the sleeve.she said, in a tone of sincere admiration.Sturgess, I haven't seen anything, and I don't
suspect anything._Matt._ Yes--yes----
_Renie._ [_Clasping his hand eagerly._] Thank you so much.Friendship
between a man and a woman is _so_ misunderstood._Dolly._ Yes, Lucas had a friendship with a governess here which we all
misunderstood--till afterwards._Lucas._ I say, Dolly, don't you----
_Renie._ Now that there is no chance of your misjudging our friendship,
I don't mind saying---- [_Shows signs of breaking down._] You won't
misunderstand me?[_Clinging to his hand._
_Matt._ No, no!_Renie._ My life has not been altogether a happy one._Matt._ I'm sure it hasn't!_Renie._ Under other circumstances--let that pass![_Wrings_ MATT'S
_hands._] Thank you, thank you!Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.Captain Wentworth, I
shall always be proud to have known you._Dolly._ I've told him all that![MATT _hushes_ DOLLY _with a gesture._
_Renie._ I shall always cherish the memory of our friendship, but it
might be misunderstood, and so [_breaking down, but bearing up with an
effort_], you will behave like the gallant gentleman I know you to be,
and say good-bye to me for ever!_Lucas._ Well, if you insist----
_Renie._ I do![_They have a long hand-shake._
_Renie._ Good-bye.[_Tears herself away from him and tragically throws herself on
sofa._ LUCAS _follows her up._
_Lucas._ I say, Mrs.Sturgess----
_Renie._ [_Face buried in hands, moans out._] Go, go!In pity's name
don't make it harder for me!_Matt._ In pity's name don't make it harder for her._Dolly._ [_Looking off at door._] They'll be coming out of the
billiard-room directly._Matt._ Now, Lucas----
CRIDDLE _appears at door._
_Criddle._ Your horse is waiting for you, sir._Criddle._ Yes, sir, just outside._Lucas._ What on earth do they mean?A valuable horse like that--just
clipped--standing about on a night like this--who told them?The horse is waiting to take you back to Aldershot._Lucas._ I can't go back to Aldershot in this kit.[_Pointing to his
dress-clothes._] Tell them to take it back to the Red Lion!_Dolly._ And Criddle, give the man Captain Wentworth's portmanteau to
take to the Red Lion at the same time._Criddle._ Yes, ma'am.[_Exit._
_Lucas._ [_Grumbling._] Well, of all----Good-bye, Mrs._Dolly._ You've said good-bye----
_Renie._ [_Still tragic on sofa._] Farewell--for ever!_Lucas._ Good-night, Dolly!_Dolly._ Farewell--for a good long time.[_Shaking hands._
_Lucas._ Good-night, Uncle.[_Shaking hands._
_Lucas._ [_Turns at door._] Happen to have your cigar-case handy?[MATT _takes out cigar-case, offers it._
_Lucas._ Could you spare two?_Lucas._ I've got a jolly long ride, I'll take three if you don't mind.[MATT _gets_ LUCAS _off, closes door after him._
_Renie._ [_Rouses herself from sofa._] Has he gone?[_Goes and rings bell twice._
_Renie._ [_Goes to_ MATT _impulsively--and seizes his hand._] At least
this bitter experience has gained me one true friend._Matt._ [_Embarrassed._] Yes----
_Renie._ [_Wrings his hand in gratitude._] Thank you so much----
[_He gets away from her and shows relief; takes out cigar and
prepares to light it._
_Renie._ [_Standing in the middle of the room, pitying herself._] That's
where we get the worst of it, we women who have hearts!We must feel, we
must show our feelings, and then we get trampled down in the fight.Oh,
Dolly, how I envy you your nature!_Dolly._ [_Very chilly._] Are you going into the spare room, dear?PETERS, DOLLY'S _maid, appears at door._
_Dolly._ Peters, will you bank up the fire in the spare room and make
everything comfortable for Mrs._Peters._ Yes, ma'am.[_Exit._
_Renie._ [_Still in the middle of the room, pitying herself._] So my
poor little tragedy is ended!Well, let's be thankful no bones are broken!_Renie._ No bones, but how about hearts?[_With a
weary smile._] Mustn't I?[_Wrings his hand with gratitude._] Good-night![_Gets away from her, and busies himself with his cigar, lights
it._
_Renie._ Good-night, Dolly!_Dolly._ I'll come up with you, and stay till you're quite comfortable._Renie._ Shall I ever be comfortable again?[_Goes off mournfully and tragically at back with a prolonged
sigh._ MATT _has seated himself on sofa and taken up paper._
_Dolly._ [_Calls his attention to_ RENIE'S _exit and makes a furious
gesture after her._] I know she'll be here next Christmas![_Marches
down enraged to_ MATT _and repeats in an angry, aggrieved way,
emphasizing each word._] I know that woman will be here next
Christmas!_Matt._ [_Seated comfortably with his cigar and paper_] I daresay she
will----
[DOLLY _marches indignantly and decisively to door and exit._
CURTAIN.(_Half an hour passes between Acts II and III._)
ACT III.Discover_ MATT _in the same seat and attitude, with
paper and cigar._ DOLLY _enters._
_Matt._ Well??_Dolly._ I've had an awful time with her----
_Matt._ How?_Dolly._ [_Seated._] First she had another fit of hysterics--then she
longed to go out into the night air to cool her fevered brow--then she
moaned out something about her noble Lucas----
_Matt._ And now?_Dolly._ I've persuaded her to let Peters undress her.I've got her off
my hands at last._Dolly._ I won't have her here next Christmas._Dolly._ [_Repeats in a slow, aggrieved, enraged way, emphasizing each
syllable._] Whatever happens, I will not have that woman in my house
next Christmas._Dolly._ I mean it, this time.And I won't have Lucas here again for a
very long time._Dolly._ [_Seated beside him._] Dad, please put away that paper.You're
going over to Aldershot to-morrow to try to get Lucas exchanged?_Dolly._ Where can you get him sent?Daniel went to the office._Matt._ Gibraltar--India--South Africa--according as an appointment
happens to be vacant._Dolly._ The further the better, and the longer.PETERS _appears at door._
_Dolly._ Well, Peters, have you made Mrs._Peters._ I'm trying to, ma'am._Dolly._ Is she in bed yet?_Peters._ No, ma'am._Peters._ No, ma'am, but she seems rather quieter._Dolly._ She let you undress her, I suppose?_Peters._ I'm just going to, ma'am.She says her brain is still
throbbing._Peters._ And could you lend her your hop-pillow?_Dolly._ You'll find it in my wardrobe._Peters._ Yes, ma'am._Dolly._ Peters, pat up the hop-pillow for her, and insist on undressing
her----
_Peters._ Yes, ma'am.[_Going._
_Dolly._ Don't leave her till you've seen her comfortably in bed._Peters._ No, ma'am.A gust of wind and a little rattle of hail on the
conservatory window._
_Matt._ Whew!_Dolly._ And so do I, as Lucas will find out._Matt._ He is finding it out, on that heath![_A louder gust and
rattle of hail._] Listen!And he might have been here
playing a comfortable rubber by the fire--if he'd simply behaved
himself!_Matt._ If he'd "simply behaved" himself!What we all miss through not
"simply behaving" ourselves.[_Another gust._
_Dolly._ [_Laughs._] Ah!I shall insist on Renie
driving out with me to-morrow afternoon._Dolly._ Then she can't meet Lucas.That will be another sell for
him--[_Another furious gust and rattle._] Listen![_A noise of something being knocked over in the conservatory,
which is lighted._
_Matt._ [_Goes to the conservatory door, looks in; is startled._] Hillo!LUCAS _enters from |
bathroom | Where is Mary? | _Lucas._ It's all right--don't make a fuss!_Dolly._ [_Furious._] Why aren't you on the way to Aldershot?_Lucas._ I didn't like the look of the weather!I didn't like the look
of it at all!So I got them to give me a shake-down at the Red Lion----
_Dolly._ [_Indignantly._] Shake-down at the Red Lion!_Lucas._ Yes, on their sofa!I asked you
first, to let me have a shake-down here--on that sofa----
_Dolly._ But why have you come back here?_Lucas._ Well, I must have dropped those cigars uncle Matt gave me.I
put them carefully in my side pocket, and when I got down to the Red
Lion, lo and behold, they weren't there!_Dolly._ You could have got a cigar at the Red Lion----
_Lucas._ [_Turns to_ MATT _for sympathy._] I could have got a cigar at
the Red Lion!So I thought I'd just stroll
up here in the hope----
_Dolly._ In the hope of seeing Mrs.But she's safely in bed
this time, and there's no possible chance of your seeing her._Lucas._ In the hope of getting Harry to give me a decent smoke.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.Well, I
came into the Hall and not wishing to rile you by my hated presence--I
slipped into the conservatory----
_Enter_ HARRY._Harry._ [_Surprised at the riding-clothes._] Hillo, Lu, going back to
Aldershot to-night?_Lucas._ No, not unless the weather takes a turn.No, Dolly said that as
the spare room was occupied, would I mind getting a shake-down at the
Red Lion.Mary journeyed to the bathroom.So I did, and as I've got nothing to smoke, may I cadge a
cigar?[_Taking out cigar-case._
_Dolly._ [_Intercepting._] You said I should take charge of your cigars,
in case you should be tempted to smoke more than two a day----
_Harry._ By Jove, I forgot all about two per diem--I've been smoking all
day.[_About to throw cigar-case to_ LUCAS.]You'd better take
the lot and keep me out of temptation![_Takes the cigar-case, looks angrily at_ LUCAS, _goes to
writing-desk, puts it in._
PETERS _appears at door._
_Peters._ I beg pardon, ma'am, Mrs.Sturgess----
_Dolly._ What about her?_Peters._ When I got back with the hop-pillow she wasn't there.I've
looked all over the house, and I can't find her anywhere.[_Glancing
off into the conservatory._] Oh, there she is!RENIE _enters, fully dressed from conservatory, very languidly,
with handkerchief and smelling-salts._ PETERS _goes off._
_Dolly._ Renie![_Looks at_ MATT, _who is inclined to laugh, checks it, shrugs his
shoulders and goes over to fire._
_Renie._ My head was racking, I had to rush out--I've been pacing up and
down under the veranda, up and down, up and down, up and down--[DOLLY
_makes a little grimace of angry incredulity_] it's a little easier now,
so I'll take advantage of the lull, and try to get some sleep._Renie._ Good-night, dear._Dolly._ [_Severely._] Good-night once more._Renie._ Good-night, Mr.[_Offering hand._
_Harry._ Good-night, I'm awfully sorry----
_Renie._ [_With her weary smile._] Oh, it's only a headache.[_Wringing his hand in fervent
gratitude._] Good-night, Mr.I hope we sha'n't have any more little tragedies,
eh?_Renie._ [_Very fervently._] I hope not, oh, I hope not![_To_ LUCAS
_very casually and distantly._] Good-night, Captain Wentworth._Lucas._ [_Same tone._] Good-night, Mrs.PETERS _is seen to join her in the hall.A little
pause._
_Lucas._ Well, I'll be toddling back to the Red Lion.[DOLLY _looks at him, furious, turns away._ HARRY _looks a little
surprised._] Good-night, Harry.Seems a pity for you to turn out on a night
like this.Dolly, can't we give him a shake-down----?Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.[HARRY _shows surprise at her tone.A little pause of
embarrassment._
_Lucas._ Good-night, Uncle Matt.Daniel went to the office._Matt._ [_Comes up to him, in a low voice._] Cut it, my dear lad.Well, good-night, Dolly, once more.[_She
doesn't reply._] Oh well, if you're going on the rampage--[_Goes off
muttering._] Infernal nuisance--night like this---- [_Exit._
_Harry._ Is anything the matter?_Dolly._ Lucas has offended me very much._The_ PROFESSOR _enters at back._
_Matt._ Well, who was the victor?_Harry._ The Professor won all four games._Prof._ I ascribe the increased accuracy of my stroke at billiards to my
increased nerve force, now I have made Pableine my staple article of
diet in place of meat._Matt._ Flies to the gray matter, eh?_Prof._ I hope you'll try it.Shall I send a tin to your room?CRIDDLE _appears at door._
_Criddle._ I've put the spirits in the hall, sir._Harry._ You can take them away, Criddle.In the future we shall not
require spirits at night, only soda water and tea.[_Exit._
_Dolly._ [_Who has been sitting wearily on sofa, rises._] Well, I'm
going to bed.[HARRY _taps the writing-desk._] Oh, my dear Harry, we
won't go into them to-night._Harry._ Yes, my dear, if you please.[_Very firmly._ DOLLY _makes an
impatient gesture and pouts._] Please don't look like that.If I'm to
help you in paying off these bills, it must be to-night, or not at all._Dolly._ Oh, very well, but---- [_Sits down wearily._
_Prof._ [_Taking out watch._] Five minutes past my usual hour._Dolly._ Renie has one of her bad headaches, so I've put her in the
spare room.I'm afraid she's a little wilful.I can never get her
to see that life can yield us no real satisfaction unless we regulate
all our actions to the most minute point.[_Shaking hands._
_Prof._ Good-night, Telfer.[_Shaking hands._
_Matt._ Good-night, Harry.[_Shaking hands._
_Matt._ [_To_ DOLLY.]_Dolly._ Night-night, Dad.[_Kissing him._
_Prof._ [_Has been waiting at door._] I might perhaps show you the
precise way of mixing the Pableine.On certain occasions I have taken as much as
four tablespoonfuls._Matt._ Wasn't that rather--going it?It's quite tasteless, except for a very slight beany
flavor._Matt._ Sounds just the thing for a New Year's drink, to brace up good
resolutions.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.I'll have a regular night-cap of it.[_Exeunt_ MATT _and_ PROFESSOR._Harry._ Now we can have our cosy half hour.You put it off after tea----
_Dolly._ But our heads will be so much clearer in the morning----
_Harry._ [_Very solemnly and severely._] My darling, remember what
Pilcher said about procrastination.If we break them on the first night of the year, where shall we
be on the thirty-first of December?_Dolly._ I'm horribly fagged.Think how delightful it will be to put your head on
the pillow to-night, without a single anxiety, without a single
thought----
_Dolly._ Except my gratitude to you!_Harry._ Come, dear, no time like the present!_Dolly._ [_Jumps up very briskly._] No time like the present![_Looking
at him with great admiration._] Oh, Harry, what a dear, kind, good
husband you've always been to me![_Modestly._] I've done my best----
_Dolly._ How I must have tried you!_Harry._ No, dear--at least a little sometimes._Dolly._ When I think what patience you've had with me, and never
reproached me----
_Harry._ Well, not often.We've had our little tiffs--That day at
Goodwood--eh?_Dolly._ Don't speak of it!I was to blame----
_Harry._ No, dear, I can't let you accuse yourself._Dolly._ No, dear, it was my fault entirely!_Harry._ Well, we won't quarrel about that.Now these bills----
_Dolly._ And what good pals we've been![_Kissing her._
_Dolly._ [_Hugging him._] Oh, you dear!_Dolly._ [_Going up to writing-desk._] What a lucky woman I am!_Harry._ [_Seated at table._] Bring them all._Dolly._ [_Has opened desk and taken up some bills--she looks round
dubiously at_ HARRY.]What a splendid thing it must be to be a husband
and have it in your power to make your wife _adore_ you, by simply
paying a few bills.[_She comes down with a bundle of about
fifteen, hands them to him._] Is this all?_Dolly._ All, of any importance._Harry._ I want to see them all._Dolly._ So you shall, but we'll go through these first, because
[_lamely_] if you want to ask any questions we can settle them on the
spot, can't we?_Harry._ [_Reading from the bill._] Maison Recamier, Court and artistic
millinery.[_Looks up._
_Dolly._ What!_Harry._ One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine--nine
hats!_Harry._ Yedda straw hat, four guineas, ostrich feather ruffle, twelve
pounds ten----
_Dolly._ That was the one--you remember--when I came into the room you
said, "Stay there!_Harry._ Yes, but twelve pounds ten--Moss green chip hat, four,
fourteen, six.Heliotrope velvet toque----
_Dolly._ That's the dear little toque you admire so much!Hat in white Tegal with
plumes of Nattier Bleu--fifteen guineas--Fifteen guineas?!_Dolly._ Oh, the woman's a fearful swindler!But what are you to do with
such people?_Harry._ [_With bill._] Total, sixty-four, seven, six.And I get my one
silk topper a year, at a guinea, and three and six for doing it up.Total for me, one, four, six.Total for you----
_Dolly._ My dear Harry, don't make absurd comparisons!_Harry._ [_Takes another bill._] John Spearman, artistic gown maker,
ball gowns, reception gowns, race gowns--Good heavens!_Harry._ Total, five hundred and fifty-six pounds--that can't be right!_Dolly._ [_Frightened._] No, it can't be!_Harry._ [_Reading._] Tea gown of chiffon taffeta--
_Dolly._ The one I took to Folkestone, you remember?Sandra travelled to the hallway.[_With a little attempt at a kiss._
_Harry._ [_Gently repulsing her._] No, I don't.[_She puts her arms
round his neck; he gently pushes her aside._] Business first, please.[_Reads._] Gown of white cloth with Postillion coat of Rose du Barri
silk, motifs of silver, forty-five guineas----
_Dolly._ You won't grumble at that, for when I first put it on, you
stood and looked at me and said, "I want to know how it is, Doll, that
the moment a dress gets on to your shoulders, it seems to brisk up, and
be as cocky and proud of itself----"
[_Again attempting to embrace him._
_Harry._ [_Again repulsing her._] Yes, well now I do know!Jolly proud
and cocky your dresses ought to feel at this price![_Reads._] "Evening
cloak of strawberry satin charmeuse, trimmed silk passementerie, motifs
and fringed stoles of dull gold embroidery, thirty-five guineas."_Dolly._ It's a trimming--a lot of little touches--a sort
of--a--a--a--[_making a little descriptive gesture_] a suggestion--a
motif----
_Harry._ And Mr.John Spearman's motif is that I should pay him five
hundred and fifty-six pounds.John Spearman's
motifs, and I'm not going to fall in with them.[_Puts the bill on the
table rather angrily, takes up another, reads._] "Artistic lingerie!"I
wonder why all these people call themselves artists!"Underwear of
daintiness and distinction."_Dolly._ Well, you've always praised----
_Harry._ Yes.In future, I'm going to be very careful what articles of
your dress I praise."Three pairs of blue silk garters, forty-five
shillings."[_She has settled herself in the armchair, looking a little
sulky and obstinate, leaning back and pettishly swinging one leg over
the other._] What have you got to say to that?_Dolly._ The garters can speak for themselves!Garters that can speak for themselves can pay for
themselves![_Dashes the bill on the table, takes up another.Reading._]
Three bottles coeur de Janette--three bottles Souffle de
Marguerite--fifteen pounds for scent--and I have to smoke sixpenny
cigars!_Dolly._ Well, if you will smoke those horrid strong things you can't
wonder I have to disinfect the house for you._Harry._ Disinfect the house _for_ me!You'll very soon disinfect the
house _of_ me![_Glances through the remaining bills, groans, puts them
on the table, and walks about in despair._ DOLLY _rises and is going
off._] Where are you going?_Harry._ [_Stopping her._] No!Now we've begun, we'll go through to the
bitter end, if you please.I want you to explain----
_Dolly._ My dear Harry, it will be quite useless for me to try to
explain in your present state----
_Harry._ [_Getting furious._] In my present state----
_Dolly._ Dancing about the room and shouting!----
_Harry._ I'm not shouting!_Harry._ No, and if I am, isn't it enough to make a man shout when his
wife----
MATT _appears at the door in his dressing-gown and slippers._
_Matt._ Excuse my interrupting.But you know my room is just above this,
and if you could manage to pitch your voices in rather a softer key----
_Harry._ By Jove, I'd forgotten!The Professor gave me rather a stiff go of his
Pableine, and I fancy it hasn't agreed with me [_tapping his chest_] for
I can't get a wink of sleep._Harry._ On the side |
hallway | Where is Sandra? | [_Tapping his chest._] Harry, when you get over fifty,
don't change your nightcap, or any of your other bad habits.Now, Dolly----
_Matt._ [_Anxiously._] You won't perhaps be very long now?_Dolly._ No, we'd nearly finished----
_Matt._ Nothing serious, I hope?_Dolly._ Harry doesn't approve of my using scent._Harry._ Not in pailfuls._Dolly._ I had three small bottles----
_Matt._ Montaigne says that the sweetest perfume a woman can have, is to
have none at all.Daniel travelled to the kitchen.[_Exit._
_Harry._ Now, my darling, we shall best arrive at an understanding if we
avoid all temper, and discuss it in a calm, business-like way._Dolly._ [_A little frightened._] Ye-es----
_Harry._ Very well then, bring up your chair, and let us go into it,
figure by figure, item by item, and see how we stand.[_Bringing a chair a little way._] Harry, you aren't
going to be as business-like as all that?_Dolly._ I can't discuss it while you keep me at a distance![_Suddenly
rushes at him, seats herself on his knee, puts his arm round her waist,
kisses him._] There!_Harry._ Very well [_kisses her_], so long as we do discuss it
thoroughly._Dolly._ I began to get quite frightened of you, Mr.Pilcher had to get a money-box for, because he
swore at his wife!_Dolly._ You got so angry--and shouted----
_Harry._ Well, there was no reason for that, especially as getting out
of temper is _the_ one thing I'm quite resolved to conquer this New
Year----
_Dolly._ [_Kissing him._] Don't forget that!_Harry._ [_Kisses her._] Now, business, business![_Takes up a bill._]
What have we here?Carchet, gantier et bonnetier, artiste--Hillo, here's
another artist!_Dolly._ [_Frightened._] Eh?_Harry._ [_Points to an item in bill._] Come now, Dolly--this is really
too bad--this really is too bad!_Dolly._ [_Frightened._] What?![_Getting off his knee._
_Harry._ One dozen pairs best silk hose, with clocks----
_Dolly._ Yes--how much does that come to?_Harry._ Eleven pounds two----
_Dolly._ It does seem rather a high price, but----
[_Drawing up her dress and showing an inch or two of silk
stocking._
_Harry._ You're wearing them about the house?Mary journeyed to the bathroom._Dolly._ I can't go about the house without stockings.And I put them on
for your especial benefit.[_He utters a contemptuous exclamation._]
They're a lovely quality----
[_Drawing up her dress an inch or two higher._
_Harry._ I daresay.[_Turning away._] I'm not going to admire your
stockings, or your ostrich ruffles, or your blue silk garters, or your
motifs, or anything that is yours!_Dolly._ [_Dress an inch higher, looking down at her stockings._] It's
the clocks you have to pay for----
_Harry._ I beg your pardon, it's the clocks I haven't got to pay for!And don't mean to--if I can help it.Idiotic thing to go and put clocks
on stockings--[_muttering_] damned silly idiotic----
_Dolly._ Ah![_Goes to table, brings the hospital box and puts it in
front of him._] Double fine this time._Dolly._ Naughty swear word, and getting out of temper._Harry._ Oh well--[_fumbling in his pocket_] I did say d----, but I
didn't get out of temper!_Dolly._ You didn't get out of temper?!?[_Sulkily puts a shilling in the
box._] There![_Seats himself at table._] Now we'll go quietly and
methodically through the remainder---- [_Taking up a bill, looks at it,
exclaims._] Good heavens!_Harry._ [_In a low exhausted tone with groans._] Good heavens!Sandra journeyed to the bathroom.[_Coming up, looking over._
_Harry._ [_Points to bill._] Four more hats!Nine on the other
bill--four more here._Dolly._ No, one was a toque.You said yourself that Madame Recamier was horribly
expensive, so I left her and went to Jacquelin's--just to save your
pocket----
_Harry._ Never save my pocket again, please._Dolly._ Very well, I won't._Harry._ No, I daresay you won't, but I shall!I shall draw the strings
very tightly in future.[_He is walking about
distractedly._] Save my pocket.[_Groans._
_Dolly._ Now, Harry, it's useless to take it in this way--you knew when
you married me I hadn't got the money sense----
_Harry._ [_Groans._] I hadn't got any sense at all!Run a little into debt, solely to please you._Harry._ Yes; well, now run out of it, and I shall be better pleased
still._Dolly._ After all, running into debt is a positive virtue beside the
things that some wives do!_Harry._ Oh, it's a positive virtue, is it?_Dolly._ A husband is very lucky when his wife spends most of her time
running up a few bills.Daniel went to the office.I'm sure you ought
to feel very glad that I'm a little extravagant![_He sits at table, takes out a pencil, hurriedly puts down the
amounts of the various bills--she creeps up behind him._
_Dolly._ What are you doing?_Harry._ I'm totting up to see how lucky I am!Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.Forty-one, one, six----
[_Groans._] Ninety-four---- [_Groans._
_Dolly._ [_Has crept up behind him, puts her arms round his neck._] Now,
Harry, will you take my advice----?[_Trying to take the pencil out of his hand._
_Harry._ [_Disengaging her arms, speaking very sternly._] Will you have
the goodness to let me have all your bills, so that I may know what help
I shall need from my banker?_Dolly._ Harry, you don't mean that?_Harry._ Will you have the goodness to do as I say, and at once, please?She stands still in the middle of the
room._] Did you hear me?He turns round and shows symptoms of
relenting towards her, but steels himself and turns to the bills.He goes on figuring._
_Dolly._ [_Piteously._] Harry![_Goes up to him and plucks his
sleeve._] Harry![_He turns and looks at her, is about to yield, but resists, turns
away from her, settles resolutely to his figures._
_Dolly._ And on the first night of the New Year, too!Just as we were
going to be so happy![_Holds out her arms appealingly._] Harry![HARRY _suddenly turns round and clasps her._] How could you be so
unkind to me?Dry your tears, and help me
reckon this up----
_Dolly._ Ye-es._Harry._ But first of all let me have the remainder of the bills----
_Dolly._ Yes._Harry._ At once, my darling--it's getting late.[_Goes up to desk._] You won't reproach me?_Dolly._ I can bear anything except your reproaches.Promise you won't
reproach me._Harry._ I won't, unless----
_Dolly._ Unless what?_Dolly._ Oh, it isn't.[_Goes up to the desk,
brings down about ten more bills with great affected cheerfulness._]
There!_Harry._ [_Hastily looking at the totals._] Nothing?_Dolly._ Nothing to speak about--nothing awful!How any woman with the least care for her
husband, or her home---- [_looking at one total after another_] how any
woman with the least self-respect---- [DOLLY _goes to him, puts her arms
round him, tries to embrace--he repulses her._] No, please.I've had
enough of that old dodge._Harry._ I remember that last two hundred pounds and how you sweedled me
out of it!_Dolly._ There's no such word!_Harry._ No, but there's the thing![_Referring
to one bill after another, picking out items._] Lace coat, hand-made!En-tout-cas, studded cabochons of lapis lazuli--studded
cabochons--studded cabochons!_Dolly._ [_Has quietly seated herself, and is looking at the ceiling._]
Couldn't you manage to pitch your voice in rather a softer key?Sandra travelled to the hallway._Harry._ [_Comes angrily down to her, bills in hand, speaks in a
whisper, very rapidly and fiercely._] Yes!And I say that a woman who
goes and runs up bills like these, [_dashing the back of one hand
against the bills in the other_] while her husband is smoking threepenny
cigars, will very soon bring herself and him to one of those new
palatial workhouses where, thank heaven, the cuisine and appointments
are now organized with a view of providing persons of your tastes with
every luxury at the ratepayers' expense.[_Returns angrily to the bills,
turns them over._] Irish lace bolero![_Turns to another._] Fur motor
coat, fifty-five guineas----
_Dolly._ [_Calmly gazing at the ceiling._] You told me to look as smart
as Mrs.If I'd known what that motor tour would cost
by Jove!I'd----
_Dolly._ You're getting noisy again._Harry._ He ought to be waked!He ought to know what his daughter is
saddling me with._Dolly._ Very well, if you don't care how shabby I look----
_Harry._ Shabby![_Referring to bills._] Lace demi-toilette!Point de
Venise lace Directoire coat!_Dolly._ My dear Harry, do you suppose we shall ever agree as to what
constitutes shabbiness?_Harry._ No, I'm hanged if we ever shall!_Dolly._ Then suppose we drop the subject.For the future I shall
endeavor to please you entirely._Dolly._ By dressing so that you'll be ashamed to be seen in the same
street with me.I shall make myself a perfect fright--a perfect dowdy--a
perfect draggletail!_Harry._ Then I shall not be seen in the same street with you._Dolly._ You'll be seen with somebody else, perhaps?_Dolly._ Have you met Miss Smithson again?_Dolly._ Have you seen her since we were at Folkestone?_Harry._ What's that to do with your bills?That night at dinner she told you her dress
allowance was a hundred and twenty a year, and you said you wished she'd
give me a few lessons in economy._Dolly._ Pardon me, you did!_Harry._ Pardon me, I did not.I said she might give _some_ women a
lesson in economy.I heard every word of your conversation, and you
distinctly asked her to give me, your wife, a few lessons in economy._Harry._ I'll swear I didn't!I'll ask him the first thing in the morning._Dolly._ No, to-night!You've accused me of deliberately saying what
isn't true, and I----
_Harry._ I have not!And I insist on having it cleared up to-night![_Exit._
_Dolly._ [_Paces furiously up and down._] Me!_Harry._ He'll be down in a minute!Meantime, [_very angry_] I want to
know what any woman in this world wants with two dozen cache corsets?[_Banging his free hand on the bills._
_Dolly._ We'll clear up Miss Smithson first----
_Harry._ No, we will not clear up Miss Smithson----
_Dolly._ Because you can't clear up Miss Smithson----
_Harry._ I can clear up Miss Smithson----
_Dolly._ You cannot clear up Miss Smithson----
MATT _appears at door in dressing-gown, rubbing his eyes and
looking very sleepy._
Dad, you remember Miss Smithson----
_Matt._ [_Coming in, very sleepy._] Smithson?_Dolly._ The girl at the hotel at Folkestone, that Harry paid so much
attention to._Harry._ I paid no more attention to Miss Smithson than was absolutely
necessary.Dad, you remember----
_Matt._ Not for the moment----
_Dolly._ Not the disgraceful way Harry--there's no other word--carried
on!_Harry._ I did not carry on--Mr._Matt._ My dear, I certainly did not notice----
_Dolly._ No, he was far too careful to let anyone notice it, except his
own wife!_Harry._ You lay your life when I do carry on my wife will be the last
person I shall allow to notice it![_Rousing himself a little._] Now, Harry, what about this
Miss Smithson?_Harry._ That's what I want to know!_Dolly._ Surely you remember that lanky girl----
_Harry._ Miss Smithson is not lanky----
_Dolly._ Not lanky?_Harry._ That's what I've often thought----
_Dolly._ [_Explodes._] Oh!_Matt._ Come, Harry, let's clear this up.The girl who sat on your left at your dinner party----
_Dolly._ That's the one!_Matt._ I should call her a trifle lanky, Harry.You remember that dinner party----
_Matt._ [_Cautiously._] Ye-es.Daniel moved to the hallway._Dolly._ You remember how she waited for a lull in the talk, and then
she said with that silly, simpering, appealing look----
_Harry._ Miss Smithson's look is not silly or simpering._Dolly._ Well, it's appealing, isn't it?_Harry._ [_With a little chuckle._] Oh, yes, it's appealing._Dolly._ [_Enraged._] Oh!_Matt._ [_Quiets her._] Shush!--What did she say?_Dolly._ She said with a very marked glance at me, "My dress allowance
is a hundred and twenty a year, and I don't understand how any
reasonable woman can wish for more!"_Matt._ Well, if she did say that, and if she glanced at you, it----
_Dolly._ Yes?_Matt._ It wasn't very nice of her.A direct, intentional, abominable
insult, wasn't it?_Matt._ Yes, yes, decidedly, under the circumstances----
_Dolly._ And Harry ought to have resented it?_Matt._ At his own dinner table he couldn't, could he?At least, if he couldn't resent it, he ought to have
_shown_ that he resented it.Instead of that, he actually asked her to
give me a few lessons in economy!_Dolly._ Pardon me, you did!_Harry._ And a thundering good thing if she had given you a few before
you ran up these bills![_Dashes his hand on to the bills._
_Dolly._ There!The wind had lashed their blood to a warm glow, the exercise had
sent it coursing through their veins.Love was reborn of their embrace
until drowsiness overtook them.John journeyed to the bathroom.And Mathilde thought that she had found
him again and Addie thought that he had found her again, because their
kisses had sealed one to the other, because their arms had clasped one
to the other, but they lost each other again at once, as ever and
always, |
bathroom | Where is John? | Mathilde sat down quietly in a corner, sitting a little way from the
others, to catch the light of a lamp on her book; and Addie remained for
only a moment, saying that he had work to do.And, as he went out of the
door, there was a sudden draught, so that the lamps flickered and smoked
and nearly went out."There's something open," said Constance."I'll look," said Addie, closing the door."You see," said Gerdy, pursing up her mouth and turning to Aunt
Constance, "you see it's not always _my_ fault when there's a draught."Silence fell; there was not a sound but the hard tap of the dice on the
backgammon-board and the rustle of the cards as they were played, while
Constance, Adeline, Emilie and Mathilde read or worked, and the evening
hours in the soft light of the sitting-room dozed away as with
soft-trailing minutes and quarters, dull reflexions in the mirrors,
faint lamplight on the furniture and the rhythmical ticking of the clock
in the almost entire silence, broken only now and again by an occasional
word, at the card-table, or when Guy said:
"It's blowing... and thawing.... There'll be no skating to-morrow...."
A piercing scream rang through the house; and the scream so suddenly and
unexpectedly penetrated the silence of the stairs and passages of the
great house, outside the room in which they were sitting, that all of
them started, suddenly:
"What's that?...Daniel travelled to the kitchen.They all sprang up; the cards, thanks to Gerdy's fright, fell on the
floor, and lay flat with their gaudy pictures.When Van der Welcke
opened the door, there was no longer any draught; the maids were running
into the hall, anxiously, through the open door of the kitchen.They heard Addie come down a
staircase; and the hurried creaking of his firm step on the stairs
reassured the women.They called out to him, he to them; and, amid their
confusion, they at last heard his voice, clearly:
"Help me!...And Constance saw that the partition door was standing ajar at the end
of the long passage.She gave a cold shiver and she heard Mathilde
suddenly say:
"Oh, nothing... nothing will induce me to go up that staircase!"But she forced herself and went; and the others followed her.They found Addie on the small, narrow back-staircase; and he was
carrying Marietje, Mary, in his arms.She hung against him unconscious,
like a white bundle of clothes, with her nerveless arms hanging slack
and limp."I heard her call out.... The staircase-door above was open.... I expect
she meant to go downstairs... to fetch something... and was taken ill
on the stairs.... Help me, can't you?"Mary journeyed to the bathroom.The women helped him carry Marietje upstairs.They all went up now, to
their rooms; the maids, still pale and trembling, put out the lamps in
the sitting-room; and silence and darkness fell over the house, as they
went creaking up the stairs, with candles in their hands.The wind outside increased in violence; and the dripping thaw pattered
against the panes.The three sisters were together in their bedrooms: Marietje and Gerdy in
their room, Adeletje in her own room, with the door open between them.And they spoke very low, in whispering voices:
"I'm getting used to it," said Marietje, sensibly; "I'm no longer
frightened.""I heard it quite lately," said Gerdy.And Adeletje answered:
"Yes, I hear it nearly every evening.""Uncle and Aunt don't speak about it."Sandra journeyed to the bathroom."It's always the same sound: like the dragging of heavy footsteps, in
the garret, under the roof...."
"And then it goes downstairs.""Addie has been up there, with Guy.""I'm getting so used to it," said Marietje."Aunt Constance is afraid of the little staircase.""She doesn't like the house at all.""Uncle and Addie wouldn't like to leave the house.""And it's a nice house," said Gerdy."I... I'm frightened myself lately
... and yet I'm fond of the house.""I love the house too," said Adeletje.Daniel went to the office."It's so brown, so dark... like
something safe and something very dear... around us all.I should be
very sorry to leave the house.Sandra journeyed to the bedroom.I shall never marry--shall I?--because
I'm ugly and delicate... and I shall always remain with Uncle and
Aunt...."
Gerdy took her in her arms."_You_ won't," Adeletje went on."You'll marry one day, Gerdy... and so
will Marietje.""Do stop, Adeletje!...I'm ugly as well; nobody likes me!""Oh, I'm frightened, I'm frightened!""I'm not frightened," said Marietje."The maids say...."
"What?""That it's...."
"Who?""The old man...."
"Hush!""It may be nothing at all," said Marietje."It may be the wind, making a
draught.""Old houses have queer draughts sometimes, for all that.""There's the same trailing sound in the wind sometimes, blowing round
the house.Sandra travelled to the hallway.I'm getting used to it," said Marietje."Yes," said Adeletje, "one gets used, one gets used to everything.... I
shall always remain in this house, with Uncle and Aunt."Mathilde, how frightened _she_ is!""It's the wind... taking the draught upstairs.""In an old house... it's as though the old wood were alive.""What can have been the matter with Mary?""She wanted to fetch something.... She fainted.... She's very ill, I
believe, very weak.""Addie says that she's not so very ill.""Could it really be... the old man?""And, if it were the old man... what then?""I... I
shall remain in the house.I shall die, here, I think, at Uncle and
Aunt's.""Oh, do hush, Adeletje!"said Gerdy, limply, nestling in her sister's
arms."Oh, Adeletje, do hush, do hush!"Like a draught sucking in the air.""Yes," said Adeletje, "I expect it's the old man.""He can't tear himself away from the house.""He was always implacable...."
"To poor Aunt Constance."Daniel moved to the hallway."No, it's the draught, it's only the draught.... And the house,
creaking.""But perhaps we imagine... because we hear...."
"We all feel... a sort of fear... because we hear.""Come, girls, let's go to bed.""Do you dare sleep alone in your room, Adeletje?""Yes, Gerdy... but leave the door open between us.""Good-night then, darlings."John journeyed to the bathroom."Adeletje... you won't think any more of dying, will you?"said Gerdy,
moist-eyed."Perhaps I shall be dead before you are."I'm delicate and ugly....
You're strong, you're pretty.""I may be dead first, for all that!""Gerdy, don't excite yourself so," said Marietje."That's because we've
been talking about it."I dare say I shall be frightened to-night," said Gerdy.Sandra moved to the garden."If so, I'll
wake you, Marietje, and creep into bed beside you.""Very well, do.... And don't worry...."
"Good-night, then...."
"Good-night...."
"Good-night...."
Round the house the thaw wept; and in the night the sinewed grain of the
ice broke and melted in weeping melancholy, with the added melancholy of
the west wind blowing up heavy clouds, the west wind which came from
very far and moaned softly along the walls and over the roof, rattling
the tight-closed windows of the night....
Inside the house reigned the darkness of repose and the shadow of
silence; and the inmates slept.Only Gerdy could not fall sleep: she lay
thinking with wide-open eyes, as she listened vaguely to the wind
blowing and the thaw pattering, thinking that she hated... and loved
... that she hated Mathilde... and loved... him... Johan....
CHAPTER XIV
"Yes," said Paul, as he followed Constance out of her own sitting-room,
while she, with her key-basket over her arm, went down the stairs with
Marietje and Gerdy, "yes, I'm not ashamed to confess it: I've come to
see how the country suits me.The Hague is becoming so dirty that I
can't stand it any longer.It's much
cleaner in the country.... You're fortunate, you people.But I daresay I
should have stayed on at the Hague--I'm not really a man for the
country--if my landlady wasn't getting so old, if she wasn't always
changing the servants, if those servants weren't so unspeakably slovenly
and dirty.... She produced such specimens lately that I gave her
notice.... I'd had those rooms fourteen years.... It'll be a great
change for me.... But I couldn't stand it any longer.I had to see to
everything myself; and I'm getting too old for that.... Yes, I still do
my wash-hand-stand myself.... But look here, Constance, when it came to
making my bed--because the servant's hands were dirty and my sheets one
night smelt of onions--you know, that was really too much to expect.I'm
no longer a young man: I'm forty-six.Yes, that's right, you young
baggages, laugh at your old uncle!I'm forty-six, forty-six.Lord, what
a lot of dirt I've seen in those years!...As the years go by, filth
heaps itself around you like a mountain: there's no getting through it.Politics, people, servants, bedclothes, everything you eat, everything
you touch, everything you do, say, think or feel: it's a beastly
business, just one sickening mass of filth.... The only pure, unsullied
thing that I have found in the world is music.Ah, what a pure thing
music is!...""Paul, I must just go down to the store-room and have a talk with my
cook about the filth which I'm to give you this evening," said
Constance; and the girls laughed."All right, I'll come with you... I sha'n't be in the way.Ah, what a
pure thing music is!"he continued, in the store-room, while the cook
opened wide eyes."Look at painting, for instance, how dirty:
oil-colours, turpentine, a palette, paint-brushes, water, all equally
messy.Sculpture: clay and damp cloths; literature: what's more
loathsomely dirty than ink, the oceans of ink which an author pours
forth?...But music: that's tone, that's purity, that's sheer
Platonism.... Oh, no, since they've taken to building public
conveniences at the street-corners in the Hague, I can't go on living
there!"said Constance, warningly; but he was too much worked up to
understand that she was rebuking him."Run away now, with the girls and
leave me with Keetje.[1] Look at her, staring at you and not minding a
word I say.... Keetje, listen to me, I want to order the dinner; and
you, Paul, ajo,[2] be off!"said Marietje, "Keetje, at Driebergen, isn't
accustomed to hear everything called so dirty.""Keetje's proud of her kitchen, aren't you, Keetje?""Oh, well," said Keetje, "I expect meneer doesn't mean all he says."Paul shouted at the servant, who stood calmly
with her arms akimbo."One can do a lot with scrubbing, sir, to keep things nice and clean.""And I tell you," Paul blazed out, "that everything's dirty, except
music...."
"And except my kitchen!""I don't know
what sort of servants meneer's had.But we're good cleaners here, aren't
we, ma'am?...Yes, I know, old Mie[3] is very old and mevrouw only keeps
her on out of kindness... and we've got young help besides.... But
dirty!""There's no dirt here... though
it is an old house... and a big family...."
"Girls!"I've no time to stand in my
store-room arguing about what's dirty and what not in the world or in
Keetje's kitchen.... Get out of this!...And you, Keetje, listen to _me_
and answer _me_.""We'll show you Keetje's kitchen.""Well, meneer can inspect that with pleasure!"said Keetje, by way of a
last shot.The girls dragged Paul off to the kitchen, where they were joined by
Adeletje and even by Marietje van Saetzema; and they screamed with
merriment when Paul examined the pans one after the other:
"But look, Uncle... they're shining like silver and gold!""Well, we _can_ have our dinner out of them to-night.... Still,
children, music, music is the only pure thing in the world!""Of course it mustn't be false.... Have you a good piano here?""Yes, Uncle, Mathilde has hers upstairs and here's mine, in the
conservatory," said Gerdy.Sandra journeyed to the office.Paul sat down at the piano, struck a few chords:
"The tone is fairly good.... Ah, music, music!..."He played _Wotan's Farewell,_ followed by the _Fire
Magic_.... He played very well, by heart: his pale, narrow features
became animated, his long fingers quivered, his eyes lit up.In the
conservatory the old mother listened, heard merely a flow of soothing
sound.At her feet, Klaasje listened, playing with her toys.Mathilde
came from upstairs; after her came Guy, deserting his books.Paul
played, went on playing... he had forgotten all about them.Suddenly he
stopped:
"You mustn't think," he said abruptly, "that I am an unconditional
Wagner-worshipper.His music is delightful; his poetry is crude,
childish and thin; his philosophy is very faulty and horribly German and
vague.... Proofs?Take the Rheingold: did you
ever see such gods?With no real strength, no real marrow in their
coarse thieves' souls, their burglars' souls full of filth.... Is that
the beginning of a world?No, a world begins in a purer fashion.... And
so childishly and crudely: the world's treasure, the gold, the pure gold
guarded by three dirty Lorelei, with their hair full of sea-weed, who,
the moment they set eyes upon a dwarf, start giggling and making fun....
Are those the pure guardians of the pure gold?But the music in itself,
the purity of tone: oh, in that purity of tone he is a master!..."And he played the prelude to the Rheingold, played it twice
consecutively.Suddenly he stopped once more:
"Oh, Gerdy, how dusty your piano is!...Does no one ever wipe the
keys?..."Uncle dear, do go on playing!"No, look here, Keetje's pans may shine
like silver and gold, but your piano is a sounding-board of dirt."Well, first find me a clean towel.""The towel is clean, sir," said Truitje, who happened to be passing."No, I want a towel fresh from the wash, folded in nice, clean folds."And it was great fun: Marietje ran hunting for Constance, to get the
keys of the linen-press.said Van der Welcke, who came down while
|
kitchen | Where is Daniel? | "Yes, I had a sudden, irresistible impulse to move to Driebergen.I was
feeling a little lonely at the Hague," he confessed.And it's cleaner in the country; the air is less foul,
though I'm not lucky with this thaw.The road outside was one great
puddle.But I have found two airy rooms, in a villa.... It's strange, I
should never have believed that I could ever come and live at Driebergen
... and in the winter too!..."He inspected his hands, which were now clean:
"Imagine," he said, "if there were no water left!He was a great deal at the house, very soon
got into the habit of dining there every evening and, because he felt
scruples at always taking his meals at Van der Welcke's expense, he made
handsome presents, as a set-off for his sponging, he said, so that in
the end it cost him more than if he had dined every day at home.He
ordered fine flowers and fruit from the Hague; on Van der Welcke's
birthday, he gave him a case of champagne; on Constance' birthday, a
parcel of caravan tea, because he came and had tea with them every
afternoon.In this way he contributed generously to the house-keeping
and relieved his scruples.He brightened up considerably, after his
recent years of loneliness, talked away lustily, broached his
philosophies, played Wagner; and even Mathilde accepted him as a
pleasant change, with a touch of the Hague about him.Constance would rebuke him at times and say:
"Paul, I won't have you constantly ordering that expensive fruit for me
from the Hague.""My dear Constance," he would answer, "I'm saving the cost of it on my
ties; for my dandyism is gradually wearing away."In the evening, in the great sitting-room--while the wind blew round the
house and the dice fell hard on the backgammon-board and the gaudy
colour of the cards flickered in the hands of the bridge-players--Paul's
music came as a new sound, driving away the grey melancholy, tinkling in
drops of silver harmony.He played everything by heart; and the only
thing that his attentive audience couldn't stand was his habit of
suddenly breaking off in the most delightful passages to defend some
philosophical thesis which no one at that instant was thinking of
attacking, with which everyone agreed at the time.Nevertheless, despite
his playing and his new-found cheerfulness, he felt old, lonely and
aimless.Whenever he had an opportunity of talking quietly to Constance
for a moment, without having to run after her downstairs, to the
store-room, he would say, sadly:
"I?I'm an old bachelor, an old boy."You ought to get married, Paul," she said, one day.He gave a violent start:
"Constance," he said, "if ever you try to lay a trap for me, I swear
I'll run away and you shall never set eyes on me again!...Where should
I find a wife who would be as tidy as I?And then I'm so difficult to
please that the poor child would have a terrible life of it....
Sometimes, yes, sometimes I do cherish the illusion... of marriage with
a very young girl, one whom I could train according to my ideas, my
philosophy, my ideas and philosophy of purity... of which the loftiest
is the idea of purity in soul and life...."
"That's a regular old bachelor's idea, Paul: getting married to a very
young girl, training her in your ideas.A fine woman of thirty or over:
that's better.""A woman of thirty is not old for a man of forty-six.""No, Constance, don't trouble your head.No, it's a good thing that I never got married.... But I do feel lonely
sometimes.I'm glad I came to live here.... It's you who are providing,
the family-picture now.... Poor Mamma!But she thinks that I am still very, very young.... Yes, the
family-picture is with you now, not on Sunday evenings, but every day of
the week.... Now that I'm growing old, I feel myself becoming more
pastoral than I used to be.Daniel went back to the kitchen.Do you remember how I used to abuse the
family and deny family-affection and how angry poor Gerrit used to get?Now I'm growing very idyllic and I'm throwing back and longing for the
family in the desert.... I'm glad that your house has become a centre
for the family, Constance.But for that, there would be nothing to keep
us together.Oh, it's a melancholy thing to grow so old, lonely as I am!Nothing.... Well, with you, I am still at least
a sort of rich uncle, one from whom the children may have expectations:
I dare say I shall leave each of my nephews and nieces a trifle.I must
have a talk with my solicitor one day.It won't be much for them, but
I'll leave them enough to buy a clock, or some other ornament for their
mantelpiece..... And your old friend Brauws is back at the Hague, you
know.... Oh, didn't you know?He's sure to soon.... I
met him the other day: the fellow's grown old.He always had an old
face: wrinkles are things that need looking after; they want massage....
I used to massage mine, but I've given it up: my personal vanity has
gone.As you see, I wear the same tie always.I
have it steamed from time to time: that keeps it fresh.It's a nice tie;
but I no longer have such a collection as I used to.... Yes, the family
no longer cling together at the Hague.Karel and Cateau still do nothing
but eat good dinners by themselves.For years and years they have done
nothing but eat good meals together.Lord, Lord, what a disgusting pair
to find their pleasure in that!...Saetzema and Adolphine: that's a sad
case; you people have been very kind to Marietje.... Otto and Frances
have a heap of children now and that good Louise looks after them, while
Frances makes a scene one day and embraces her the next with a great
display of emotion and loads of tears.And that has lasted for years
too.... Yes, the years pass.I simply couldn't bear it any longer,
especially with those sluts of servants whom my landlady started
engaging lately.I yearned for cleanliness and... for my family.It's a
sign that I'm growing very old, Constance._My_ dotage is always marked
by that idyllic longing.... That's why I take so much pleasure in
immersing myself amid you all in family-affection.It's a great thing
that none of you quarrel; even you and your husband don't quarrel any
more.CHAPTER XV
And the hard-braced north-east winds, which had brought the nipping
frost with them, came no more; they had passed; and it was no longer the
strong, boisterous winds, but the angry winds, the winds that brought
with them the clouds of grey melancholy, in eternal steady-blowing
sadness, as though in the west, yonder, there were a dark realm of
mysterious sorrow, whence blew huge howling cohorts of gigantic woes,
titanic griefs, overshadowing the small country and the small people.The sky and the clouds now seemed bigger and mightier than the small
country and the small people; the sky now seemed to be the universe; and
houses, roads, trees and people, horizons of woods and moors, lastly,
human souls all seemed to shrink under the great woes that drowned the
small country and the small people from horizon to horizon.Curtains of
streaming water cloaked the vistas and a damp fog blurred the distant
wavering line of trees; a rainy mist washed out the almost spectral
gestures, the silent, despairing movements of the windmill-sails; and
the low-lying world, feeble, small, sombre and bowed down, endured the
crushing, oppressive force of rain and wind lasting night and day and
all day long.Constance and Brauws were sitting once more in her own sitting-room,
which was a replica of the little boudoir in the Kerkhoflaan at the
Hague.Along the curving folds of the curtains, through the grey,
clouded panes, they watched the grey rain falling, now in vertical
streaks, now aslant, driven by the raging wind."I so well remember this weather," he said, "in the old days, when I
used to sit chatting with you at the Hague, in your room which was so
like this room.""I would come late in the afternoon, find you sitting in the dark and
scold you because you had not been out; and we used to talk about all
sorts of things...."
"It's a long time ago."Do you remember, we used to fight a little, both of
us, against the years that were overtaking us, against the years that
would make us old?"She laughed:
"Yes," she said.And yet what an amount of youth a human being
possesses!As we grow older, we always think, 'Now we are growing old.'And, when we are older than when we thought that, we feel... that we
have always remained the same as we were from a child.""Only all his joys and all his sorrows change and become blurred; but we
ourselves do not."Then why should there be joy and sorrow... when,
after many years, we have remained the same as we were from childhood?""Because we remain the same... and yet do not remain the same."We remain the
same from childhood... and yet... yet we change.It is like a game of
riddles.I... I am the same... and I am changed."My soul still recognizes in itself my former child's soul...
and yet... yet I am changed.... Tell me: I believe things are running
smoothly with you...."
"Sometimes.""I am so glad to see... that things are going well as between you and
Henri.""We are growing so old... Everything gets blunted.""You have grown used to each other...."
"Without talking about it."John journeyed to the office."You set store by each other by now...."
"Perhaps.... Gradually...."
"Hans is a good sort.""You have so much to make you happy: Addie always with you...."
"My poor boy!""I am frightened...."
"What of?"On days like the last few days, I am sensitive to every
sort of fear, I always have been.""A melancholy which is a presentiment... on days like these...."
"And everything is well.""Be happy in that your life is so richly filled, both yours and
Hans'.... It's a life of the richest security... with all that you do.""You do a great deal... for people who are small!"She shook her head:
"I don't.... Hans does: he is good.""Just simply good.... Tell me, is it merely because of the weather that
things don't seem to run smoothly?"She put both her
hands to her heart."It's always liable to come, a day...."
"Yes.""A day of sorrow, illness, wretchedness... of misfortune... of
disaster.""I often think it: now there's a misfortune coming, a disaster.... I sit
and wait for it.... Oh, I've been waiting for it for months!...The
children look at me, ask me what's the matter, whether anything has
happened... with Mathilde.... No, nothing ever happens.... There is no
sympathy between us... but I, I am calm and I wish her every good...
my son's wife...."
"You must get over that oppression."I see nothing
but love all around you.""It's very difficult, when there is no sympathy.""But, apart from that, there is nothing but love around you.Really, you
are wrapped about with silent happiness."She shook her head:
"They are fond of me... but there are things slumbering...."
"There are always slumbering things."No, perhaps not... for later, for later.But... there are things that
slumber, silent, sorrowful things."And I too am glad to see that things are going so
well with you... even though there are sorrowful things that slumber.""There is much love... and much living for others."She laughed softly:
"So simply... with no great effort!""When we are not great... why should we act as though we were?We are
small; and we act accordingly.If we do good in a small way... isn't
that a beginning?""A striving...."
"For later.""I, I can't even say... that I am doing good in a small way."Thinking, living, seeking... always
seeking.... There has been nothing besides.""Then do as we do," she laughed, softly."Do good in a small way... as
you say that we do.""I shall try.... But I am disheartened.I should like
to live quietly, with a heap of books around me."Yes, the struggle to seek and find.Little by little, it has conquered
me."You rank that conquest too high.... And you, why are you conquered?""Because... because I have never achieved anything.... I may sometimes
have found, but never, never achieved.... And now I want to rest...
with a heap of books around me... and, if I can, follow your example
... and do good in a small way.""I will help you," she said, jesting, very sadly.They were silent; and between her and him the room was full of bygone
things.The furniture was the same, certain lines and tones were the
same as years ago.... Out of doors, the unsparing night of the
clattering rain and raging wind was the same as years ago.Life went on
weaving its long woof of years, like so many grey shrouds.They both
smiled at it; but their hearts were very sad.CHAPTER XVI
And the melancholy of bygone things seemed to swell on the loud moaning
of the wind during the following days, when the rain poured down; the
house these days seemed full of the melancholy of bygone things.They
were days of shadow and half-light reflected around the old, doting
woman in the conservatory; Adeline, the silent, mournful mother; Emilie,
a young woman, but broken... like all the greyness exuding from human
souls that are always living in the past and in the melancholy of that
past; and now that Brauws also saw it as a thing of shadows and twilight
round Alex--because the boy could never forget the horror of his
father's death--he also understood within himself that bygone things are
never to be cast off and that they perhaps hang closer in clouds of
melancholy, around people under grey skies--the small people under the
great skies--than in bright countries of mountains and sunshine and blue
sky.And that there were sorrowful things of the soul that slumbered:
did he not see it in Addie's knitted brows, in ailing Marietje's dreamy
stare, in Mathilde's glances brooding with envy and secret bitterness
and malice?Did he not see it in the sudden melancholy moods of Gerdy,
usually so cheerful?And did he not understand that in between their
young lives there was weaving a woof of feelings that were most human
but exceedingly intense, perhaps so intense because the feelings of
small souls under big skies can be deeply sorrowful between the brown
walls of a house, between the dark curtains of a room, which the grey
daylight enters as a tarnish of pain, mingling its tarnish with the
reflexion which lingers from former years in dull mirrors, as though all
feeling and all life were quiveringly mirrored in the atmosphere amid
which life has lived and palpitated?Brauws was now living at Zeist and he had collected his heap of books
around him and lived there quietly, conquered, as he said.But he was
with them a great deal and was hardly surprised when, one morning,
intending to come for lunch, he heard unknown children's voices in the
hall, saw in the hall a young woman whom he did not know at first, heard
her say in a very soft voice of melancholy, with a sound in it like a
little cracked bell of silvery laughter:
"Don't you recognize me, Mr.She put out her hand to him:
"Do you mean to say you really don't know me?Brauws
doesn't know me; and yet we used |
kitchen | Where is John? | "Freule... Freule van Naghel... Freule Marianne!"van Vreeswijk," said Marianne, correcting him, gently.Daniel went back to the kitchen.And she showed him a little girl of eight and two boys of seven and six;
and he was hardly surprised, but he felt the melancholy of the past
rising in the big house when Van der Welcke came down the stairs and
said:
"Ah, Marianne!"Yes, Uncle, we have been to Utrecht to look up Uncle and Aunt van
Vreeswijk: they are so fond of the children.... Charles may come on
this afternoon... but he wasn't quite sure."And, turning to Brauws, she continued, very, easily:
"We are living near Arnhem.Won't you come and see us in the summer?Vreeswijk would be very glad, I know."She spoke quite easily and it was all very prosaic and ordinary when
they all sat down round the big table in the dining-room and Marianne
quietly chatted on:
"And Marietje--Lord, what a lot of Marietjes we have in the
family--_our_ Marietje is soon coming to introduce her young soldier to
you.""I thought Uncle van Naghel
didn't approve.""He's given in," said Marianne, shrugging her shoulders."But the dear
boy hasn't a cent; and we none of us know how they're going to live on
his subaltern's pay.And Marietje who always used to swear that she
would only marry a rich man!... And we have good news from India: Karel
is really doing well...."
How prosaic life was!How prosaically it rolled along its steady drab
course, thought Brauws, silently to himself, as he looked on while Guy
carved the beef in straight, even slices.... And, prosaically though it
rolled, what a very different life it always became from what any man
imagined that his life would be, from the future which he had pictured,
from the illusion, high or small, which he had gilded for himself, with
his pettily human fancy ever gilding the future according to its pettily
human yearning after illusions.... Oh, if the illusion had come about
which, in the later life reborn out of themselves, he and Constance had
conceived, without a word to each other, in a single, brightly
glittering moment, oh, if Henri's illusion had come about and that of
this young woman, now the little mother of three children, would it all
have been better than it now was?And, though the dreamy reflecting upon all this brought back all the
melancholy of the past, yet this melancholy contained an assurance that
life, as it went on, knew everything better than the people who pictured
the future to themselves.... There they all were, sitting so simply
round the big table at the simple meal for which Constance apologized,
saying that Marianne had taken her unawares; and Brauws was but mildly
astonished to find that Marianne was married to Van Vreeswijk: he had
not heard of it and it was a surprise to him to see her suddenly
surrounded by children; he was but mildly astonished to see her and Hans
talking together so simply, as uncle and niece, as though there had
never been a shred of tenderness between them; he was but mildly
astonished when he himself talked to Constance so simply, while he felt
depressed about Addie, whose eyes looked so dark and sombre.When Addie
was still a child, he had conceived an enthusiasm for him, perceiving in
him a certain future which he himself would never achieve.The germs of
cholera and yellow fever are now well enough known to be controlled by
sanitary measures, and the doctors are hot on the track of the bacillus
of consumption.What relief the world will have when these germs are
killed before they have had time to do their deadly work!A DESERT LIGHT.--In Arizona there is an important well which stands
in the desert where its presence would not readily be known, but for
the fact that a light now swings from a tall cotton-wood pole so as
to light travelers who are within several miles of it in the night.Before the lantern used to be hung there many people died when they
might have reached its waters if they had only known how near and in
which direction the well really was.Some have died horrible deaths of
thirst when only a short distance from its refreshing waters.In order
to pass that point travelers have to carry large loads of water to
quench their thirst until they reach this well.John journeyed to the office.The number of gallons a
company has means either life or death to all.Some time ago a German
boy staggered up to the tanks shortly after dark.He had lain down
expecting to die with thirst in despair of getting to water, when he
saw the light of the cabin of the keeper of the well.So Joe Drew keeps
his lantern up at night that others may see the signal from afar and
come without delay to the waters.MINER'S LUCK.--One of the most profitable mines in South America is the
Penny mine in Bolivia.Penny was a run-away Scotchman from a man-o'-war
who had nothing and hoped for nothing but to keep away from service on
the sea.He did odd jobs about the country for awhile and was brought
low with fever.Daniel went back to the office.He was faithfully nursed through the disease by a
native woman who could not speak a word of English.Out of gratitude
he married her and treated her well.She rewarded him by taking him
into the mountains and showing him an old Spanish mine that had been
hidden for years.With a
fellow-workman by the name of Mackenzie he brought the mine into a good
state of productiveness, and then left for the old country.Mackenzie
was made superintendent of his mine, and Mackenzie's son went with Mr.He arrayed his Indian wife in the most
costly attire, and made his visit to Scotland memorable by his many
acts of generosity.He adopted a nephew and insisted that both young
men should take his name and become his heirs.He suddenly died and
left his wealth all to his wife, with directions that the two sons
should be amply provided for.Complications followed, and the Indian
mother died under suspicious circumstances, while the boys contended
for possession of the mines.With all the good fortune and excellent
intentions of the father the two boys proved to be bad Pennies.They sold out their interests for $500,000 each and are now killing
themselves with drink.+----------------------------------------------------------------- +
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.|
| |
| Other correction: De-Quincy changed to De Quincey (page 133).|
| |
| Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant |
| form was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.|
| |
| Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.|
| |
| Mid-paragraph illustrations have been moved between paragraphs |
| and some illustrations have been moved closer to the text that |
| references them.|
| |
| Italicized words are surrounded by underline characters, |
| _like this_.|
| |
| The Contents table was added by the transcriber.|
+------------------------------------------------------------------+
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Birds and all Nature Vol VII, No.THE PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE OF DIPPING, BURNISHING, LACQUERING AND
BRONZING BRASS WARE.HOUSE DECORATING AND PAINTING.; India and Colonies,
4s.A HANDBOOK ON JAPANNING AND ENAMELLING FOR CYCLES, BEDSTEADS, TINWARE,
ETC.THE PRINCIPLES OF HOT WATER SUPPLY.By JOHN W. HART, R.P.C.; India and Colonies,
8s.Water Circulation--The Tank System--Pipes and Joints--The Cylinder
System--Boilers for the Cylinder System--The Cylinder System--The
Combined Tank and Cylinder System--Combined Independent and Kitchen
Boiler--Combined Cylinder and Tank System with Duplicate Boilers--
Indirect Heating and Boiler Explosions--Pipe Boilers--Safety Valves--
Safety Valves--The American System--Heating Water by Steam--Steam
Kettles and Jets--Heating Power of Steam--Covering for Hot Water
Pipes--Index.HOPS IN THEIR BOTANICAL, AGRICULTURAL AND TECHNICAL ASPECT, AND AS AN
ARTICLE OF COMMERCE.By EMMANUEL GROSS, Professor at the Higher
Agricultural College, Tetschen-Liebwerd.; India
and Colonies, 13s.HISTORY OF THE HOP--THE HOP PLANT--Introductory--The Roots--The Stem--
and Leaves--Inflorescence and Flower: Inflorescence and Flower of the
Male Hop; Inflorescence and Flower of the Female Hop--The Fruit and
its Glandular Structure: The Fruit and Seed--Propagation and Selection
of the Hop--Varieties of the Hop: (_a_) Red Hops; (_b_) Green Hops;
(_c_) Pale Green Hops--Classification according to the Period of
Ripening: Early August Hops; Medium Early Hops; Late Hops--Injuries to
Growth--Leaves Turning Yellow, Summer or Sunbrand, Cones Dropping Off,
Honey Dew, Damage from Wind, Hail and Rain; Vegetable Enemies of the
Hop; Animal Enemies of the Hop--Beneficial Insects on Hops--
CULTIVATION--The Requirements of the Hop in Respect of Climate, Soil
and Situation; Climate; Soil; Situation--Selection of Variety and
Cuttings--Planting a Hop Garden; Drainage; Preparing the Ground;
Marking-out for Planting; Planting; Cultivation and Cropping of the
Hop Garden in the First Year--Work to be Performed Annually in the Hop
Garden; Working the Ground; Cutting; The Non-cutting System; The
Proper Performance of the Operation of Cutting; Method of Cutting:
Close Cutting, Ordinary Cutting, The Long Cut, The Topping Cut; Proper
Season for Cutting: Autumn Cutting, Spring Cutting; Manuring; Training
the Hop Plant: Poled Gardens, Frame Training; Principal Types of
Frames; Pruning, Cropping, Topping, and Leaf Stripping the Hop Plant;
Picking, Drying and Bagging--Principal and Subsidiary Utilisation of
Hops and Hop Gardens--Life of a Hop Garden; Subsequent Cropping--Cost
of Production, Yield and Selling Prices.Preservation and Storage--Physical and Chemical Structure of the Hop
Cone--Judging the Value of Hops.Statistics of Production--The Hop Trade--Index.TIMBER: A Comprehensive Study of Wood in all its Aspects (Commercial and
Botanical), showing the Different Applications and Uses of Timber in
Various Trades, etc.Translated from the French of PAUL CHARPENTIER.; India and Colonies,
13s.Physical and Chemical Properties of Timber--Composition of the
Vegetable Bodies--Chief Elements--M. Fremy's Researches--Elementary
Organs of Plants and especially of Forests--Different Parts of Wood
Anatomically and Chemically Considered--General Properties of Wood--
Description of the Different Kinds of Wood--Principal Essences with
Caducous Leaves--Coniferous Resinous Trees--Division of the Useful
Varieties of Timber in the Different Countries of the Globe--European
Timber--African Timber--Asiatic Timber--American Timber--Timber of
Oceania--Forests--General Notes as to Forests; their Influence--
Opinions as to Sylviculture--Improvement of Forests--Unwooding and
Rewooding--Preservation of Forests--Exploitation of Forests--Damage
caused to Forests--Different Alterations--The Preservation of Timber--
Generalities--Causes and Progress of Deterioration--History of
Different Proposed Processes--Dessication--Superficial Carbonisation
of Timber--Processes by Immersion--Generalities as to Antiseptics
Employed--Injection Processes in Closed Vessels--The Boucherie System,
Based upon the Displacement of the Sap--Processes for Making Timber
Uninflammable--Applications of Timber--Generalities--Working Timber--
Paving--Timber for Mines--Railway Traverses--Accessory Products--
Gums--Works of M. Fremy--Resins--Barks--Tan--Application of Cork--The
Application of Wood to Art and Dyeing--Different Applications of
Wood--Hard Wood--Distillation of Wood--Pyroligneous Acid--Oil of
Wood--Distillation of Resins--Index.THE UTILISATION OF WOOD WASTE.Translated from the German of ERNST
HUBBARD.; India
and Colonies, 5s.General Remarks on the Utilisation of Sawdust--Employment of Sawdust
as Fuel, with and without Simultaneous Recovery of Charcoal and the
Products of Distillation--Manufacture of Oxalic Acid from Sawdust--
Process with Soda Lye; Thorn's Process; Bohlig's Process--Manufacture
of Spirit (Ethyl Alcohol) from Wood Waste--Patent Dyes (Organic
Sulphides, Sulphur Dyes, or Mercapto Dyes)--Artificial Wood and
Plastic Compositions from Sawdust--Production of Artificial Wood
Compositions for Moulded Decorations--John went back to the kitchen. |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | THE PREVENTION OF DAMPNESS IN BUILDINGS; with Remarks on the Causes,
Nature and Effects of Saline, Efflorescences and Dry-rot, for Architects,
Builders, Overseers, Plasterers, Painters and House Owners.By ADOLF
WILHELM KEIM.Translated from the German of the second revised Edition by
M. J. SALTER, F.I.C., F.C.S.Eight Coloured Plates and Thirteen
Illustrations.Daniel went back to the kitchen.The Various Causes of Dampness and Decay of the Masonry of Buildings,
and the Structural and Hygienic Evils of the Same--Precautionary
Measures during Building against Dampness and Efflorescence--Methods
of Remedying Dampness and Efflorescences in the Walls of Old
Buildings--The Artificial Drying of New Houses, as well as Old Damp
Dwellings, and the Theory of the Hardening of Mortar--New, Certain and
Permanently Efficient Methods for Drying Old Damp Walls and
Dwellings--The Cause and Origin of Dry-rot: its Injurious Effect on
Health, its Destructive Action on Buildings, and its Successful
Repression--Methods of Preventing Dry-rot to be Adopted During
Construction--Old Methods of Preventing Dry-rot--Recent and More
Efficient Remedies for Dry-rot--Index.HANDBOOK OF TECHNICAL TERMS USED IN ARCHITECTURE AND BUILDING, AND THEIR
ALLIED TRADES AND SUBJECTS.By AUGUSTINE C. PASSMORE.THE MANUFACTURE OF PRESERVED FOODS AND SWEETMEATS.John journeyed to the office.Translated from the German of the third
enlarged Edition.; India and
Colonies, 8s.The Manufacture of Conserves--Introduction--The Causes of the
Putrefaction of Food--The Chemical Composition of Foods--The Products
of Decomposition--The Causes of Fermentation and Putrefaction--
Preservative Bodies--The Various Methods of Preserving Food--The
Preservation of Animal Food--Preserving Meat by Means of Ice--The
Preservation of Meat by Charcoal--Preservation of Meat by Drying--The
Preservation of Meat by the Exclusion of Air--The Appert Method--
Preserving Flesh by Smoking--Quick Smoking--Preserving Meat with
Salt--Quick Salting by Air Pressure--Quick Salting by Liquid
Pressure--Gamgee's Method of Preserving Meat--The Preservation of
Eggs--Preservation of White and Yolk of Egg--Milk Preservation--
Condensed Milk--The Preservation of Fat--Manufacture of Soup Tablets--
Meat Biscuits--Extract of Beef--The Preservation of Vegetable Foods in
General--Compressing Vegetables--Preservation of Vegetables by
Appert's Method--The Preservation of Fruit--Preservation of Fruit by
Storage--The Preservation of Fruit by Drying--Drying Fruit by
Artificial Heat--Roasting Fruit--The Preservation of Fruit with
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Manufacture--The Manufacture of Fruit Jellies--The Making of Gelatine
Jellies--The Manufacture of "Sulzen"--The Preservation of Fermented
Beverages--The Manufacture of Candies--Introduction--The Manufacture
of Candied Fruit--The Manufacture of Boiled Sugar and Caramel--The
Candying of Fruit--Caramelised Fruit--The Manufacture of Sugar Sticks,
or Barley Sugar--Bonbon Making--Fruit Drops--The Manufacture of
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Essences--The Manufacture of Filled Bonbons, Liqueur Bonbons and
Stamped Lozenges--Recipes for Jams and Jellies--Recipes for Bonbon
Making--Dragees--Appendix--Index.THE ART OF DYEING AND STAINING MARBLE, ARTIFICIAL STONE, BONE, HORN, IVORY
AND WOOD, AND OF IMITATING ALL SORTS OF WOOD.A Practical Handbook for the
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19 LUDGATE HILL, LONDON, E.C.The boy pressed the triggers as he drew up the cocks of his piece, so
that the clicking made was extremely faint, and then stood ready and
expectant.For almost directly there was
a dull sound as of footsteps; a heavy breathing, and hands tugged at the
tightly fastened canvas at the back of the wagon.Then there was a low
whispering.Whoever it was passed along to the front of the wagon, and
then there was a heavy breathing as the visitors swung themselves up on
to the wagon-box, <DW18> judging from the sounds that either three or four
people had climbed up.Then the canvas was dragged back, and as <DW18>
pointed his gun, hesitating about firing, and then deciding to shoot
overhead to startle the marauders, one crept in.At that moment there was a whizz and the sound of a tremendous blow,
followed by a loud yell of pain and a perfect shower of blows delivered
with wonderful rapidity upon the attacking party, who sprang out and
fell from the wagon front.It was all almost momentary, and then <DW18> was leaning out through the
canvas, and fired twice at random."It won't hit, only frighten them," he thought; and then he turned cold,
for at the second report there was a yell, the sound of a fall, a
scuffling noise, and a series of cries almost such as would be uttered
by a dog, and growing more and more distant, as the boy listened,
feeling convinced that he had shot Duke."Dat Jack," she said, laughing softly.<DW18> was silent for a few moments.He was thinking about what
cartridges he had placed in his gun, and remembered that they were
Number 6, which he had intended for the guinea-fowl."Those wouldn't kill him," he muttered, "and he was a long way off.""No get mealies now," said the woman, interrupting the boy's musings."Baas <DW18> go bed?"She climbed out on to the box and held the canvas aside for <DW18> to
follow, which he did, and then tied the opening up again, and leaped
down to stand listening to the dog's barking within the house."Tant go sleep," said the woman; and she hurried off, while <DW18> opened
the door for the dog to bound out growling, and ready to rush off at a
word, but <DW18> called him in and shut the door, fastening it now; the
fact of the dog sleeping inside being, he thought, sufficient
protection--the coming of the woman not being noticed by Duke, who, of
course, set her down as a friend.But <DW18> did not lie down for some time after assuring himself that the
noise had not roused his brother from his heavy sleep.The boy was
uneasy about the woman.She had told him that Jack had threatened to
kill her.Suppose he came back now with his companions to take revenge
upon her for betraying their plans."She wouldn't know," he said to himself, after carefully weighing the
matter over in his mind, to decide that they would be afraid to come
again after such a reception.Daniel went to the bedroom.So, concluding at last that the woman would be quite safe, <DW18> reloaded
his gun, placed it ready, and lay down once more, conscious of the fact
now that the dog was awake and watchful.Five minutes after he was asleep, and did not wake till the Kaffir woman
came and tapped at the door, to show him, with a look of triumph, four
assegais left behind by the visitors of the past night.John journeyed to the bedroom."Dat Jack," she said, holding up one.Tant Sal don't want any
more."The days glided peacefully by, with <DW18> kept busy enough supplying the
larder, especially for his brother's benefit, and under his treatment
the poor fellow grew better.But so slowly; and he was the mere ghost of his former self when he
began to crawl out of the house by the help of a stick, to sit in the
shade and watch <DW18> as he was busy about the place.There was very little to vary the monotony of their life.A lion came
one night, but did not molest horse or bullock.They had visits, too,
from the jackals, but Tanta Sal was right--Jack came no more, and they
saw nothing of the Kaffirs who had |
bathroom | Where is Sandra? | In fact, Jack had had a very severe peppering, and felt not the
slightest inclination to risk receiving another.The subject of giving up Kopfontein was often discussed, but even if it
were done, it seemed evident that many months must elapse before Emson
would be fit to travel; so the subject was talked of less often, though
one thing was evident both to <DW18> and his brother--their scheme of
ostrich-farming had completely broken down, and unless a bold attempt
were made to start afresh, they would gradually become poorer and
poorer, for alone, all <DW18>'s efforts to collect valuable skins were
disposed to be rather unfruitful, try hard as he would.Months had passed, and they had had no more black visitors, but one day
Tanta Sal rushed into the house where the brothers were seated at
dinner, with such a look of excitement upon her features, that <DW18>
sprang up, seized one of the guns and handed another to his brother, who
stood up, looking weak, but determined to help if danger were at hand.But Tanta gesticulated, pushed the guns away, and signed to <DW18> to
follow.The cause of the woman's excitement was evident directly, for there, a
mile away, was a wagon drawn by a long team of oxen, and it was evident
that they were to have visitors at the farm."Some poor wretch going up in the wilds to seek his fortune," said Emson
rather sadly."I wish him better luck than ours, young un.""Oh, I say, Joe, don't talk in that doleful way," cried <DW18> excitedly.It's like being Robinson Crusoe and seeing a sail.<DW18> returned the next minute with his hands trembling so that he could
hardly focus and steady the "optic tube."Then he shouted in his
excitement, and handed the telescope to his brother.Daniel went back to the kitchen."Why, it's that fat old Dutchman, Morgenstern!Sure enough it was the old trader, seated like the Great Mogul in the
old woodcuts.He was upon the wagon-box, holding up an enormously long
whip, and two black servants were with him--one at the head of the long
team of twelve oxen, the other about the middle of the double line of
six, as the heavy wagon came slowly along, the bullocks seeming to
crawl."I am glad," cried <DW18>."I say, Joe, see his great whip?He looked in
the glass as if he were fishing.""Tant make fine big cake--kettle boil--biltong tea?"asked the Kaffir
woman hospitably."But," he continued, as Tanta Sal ran off to
the back of the house, "it may not be Morgenstern, young un.Fat
Germans look very much alike.""Oh, but I feel sure this is the old chap.--I say, what's the German for
fat old man?""No, bube:--boy," said Emson, smiling.They stood watching the wagon creeping nearer and nearer for a minute or
two, <DW18> longing to run to meet the visitors; but he suddenly recalled
the orderly look at Morgenstern's, and rushed back into the house to try
to make their rough board a little more presentable; and he was still in
the midst of this task, when, with a good deal of shouting from the
Kaffir servants, and sundry loud cracks of the great whip, the wagon,
creaking and groaning, stopped at the fence in front of the house, and
the old German shouted:
"Ach!mein goot vrient Emzon, how you vas to-day?said <DW18> between his teeth, and hurriedly brushing
away some crumbs, and throwing a skin over the chest in which various
odds and ends were kept, he listened to the big bluff voice outside as
Morgenstern descended."It is goot to shack hant mit an Englander.Bood you look tin, mein
vrient.You haf been down mit dem vever?"Bood you ged besser now.mein goot liddle bube, ant how you vas?"<DW18>'s hands were seized, and to his horror the visitor hugged him to
his broad chest, and kissed him loudly on each cheek."Oh, I'm quite well," said <DW18> rather ungraciously, as soon as he could
get free.Grade, pig, oogly, shtrong poy.I am clad to zee
you again.I haf been zo busy as neffer vas.Now you led mein two poys
outspan, eh?""Of course," said Emson warmly.--"Show them where the best pasture is,
toward the water, <DW18>.--Come in, Herr.I am sehr hot, and you give me zomeden to drink.I haf zom
peaudivul dea in dem vagons.An hour later, with the visitor and his men refreshed, Morgenstern
smiled at <DW18>, and winked both his eyes."Ja, I wand mein bibe.You gom mit me do god mein bibe und mein dobacco
din; und den I light oop, und shmoke und dalk do you, und you go all
round, und zhow me den ostridge-bird varm."They all went out together, the visitor noticing everything; and laying
his hand upon Emson's shoulder, he said: "You muss god besser, mein
vrient.You are nod enough dick--doo tin.""Oh, I'm mending fast," said Emson hastily, and then they stopped by the
wagon, with Morgenstern's eyes twinkling as he turned to <DW18>."You haf been zo goot," he said; "you make me ead und trinken zo mooch,
dat I gannod shoomp indo den vagon.You shoomp
in, and get me mein bibe und dobacco din."<DW18> showed him that he could; fetched it out, and after the old man had
filled, lit up, and begun to form smoke-clouds, he said: "You dake me
now do see if mein pullocks and my poys is ead und trink.""Oh, they're all right," cried <DW18>.Bood I always like do zee for meinzelf.Zom beobles ist nod as
goot as you vas, mein vrient.A good draveller ist kind do his beast
und his plack poy."The visitor was soon satisfied, for he was taken round to where Tanta
Sal was smiling at her two guests, who, after making a tremendous meal,
had lain down and gone to sleep, while the oxen could be seen at a
distance contentedly grazing in a patch of rich grass."You haf no lions apout here," said the old man, "to gom und shdeal mein
gattle?--Ah, vot ist das?"he cried, turning pale as he heard a peculiar
noise from somewhere close at hand."You ged der goon und
shoot, or der lion gom und preak von of der oxen's pack.""It's all right," cried <DW18>, laughing.The old man looked rather wild and strange, for, as <DW18> threw open a
rough door in the side of one of the sheds, the two lion cubs, now
growing fast towards the size of a retriever dog, came bounding out.Do not led them ead der poor alter pecause he is zo nice
und vat.cried <DW18>; "look here: they are as tame and playful as kittens."<DW18> proved it by dropping on his knees and rolling the clumsy, heavy
cubs over, letting them charge him and roll him over in turn.id is vonterful," said the old man, wiping the perspiration from
his face."I did tought dey vas go to eat den alt man.You make dem
dame like dot mit dem jambok."No," cried <DW18>; "with kindness.Look here: pat them and
pull their ears.You should see them play
about with the dog.""Boor liddle vellows den," said the old man, putting out his hand
nervously."Ach, no; id is doo bat, you liddle lion.Vot you mean py
schmell me all over?<DW18> laughed, for the cubs turned away and sneezed.They did not
approve of the tobacco."There, come along," he cried; and the cubs bounded to him."I'll shut
them up for fear they should frighten your oxen.""Das is goot," said the old man with a sigh of satisfaction, as he saw
the door closed upon the two great playful cats."Bood you zhall mind,
or zom day I zhall gom ant zee you, but vind you are not ad home, vor
die young lion haf grow pig und ead you all oop.""Yes," said Emson; "we shall have to get rid of them before very long.I dell you vot, mein vrient Emzon, I puy dose lion ov you, or you
led me shell dem, to go do Angland or do Sharmany."Ja, I do drade in effery dings.I gom now to puy
iffory und vedders.You shell me all you vedders, und I gif you good
brice.""I have a very poor lot, Morgenstern, but I'll sell them to you.John journeyed to the office.<DW18>
and I have done very badly."I zaid do myself I vould go und zee
mein vrient Emzon und den bube.He zay I am honest man.--You droost
me?""I know you for what you are,
Morgenstern."Daniel went back to the office.The old man lowered his pipe, and held out his fat hand."I dank you, Herr Emzon," he said, shaking his host's hand warmly."Id
is goot do veel dot von has a vrient oud here in der desert land.Bood
I am gonzern apout you, mein vrient.You do
look sehr krank; unt you zay you haf tone padly."We've been very unlucky," said Emson, as the old man seated himself
upon a block of granite, close to one of the ostrich-pens, while an old
cock bird reached over and began inspecting his straw-hat.Bood vy do you not dry somedings else?Hund vor skins
or vor iffory?Und not dry do keep den ostridge-bird in
dem gage, bood go und zhoot him, und zell die vedders do me.You bube: did you dell den bruders apout den
diamonts?""Oh yes, I told him," said <DW18> sadly; "but he has been so ill.I
thought once he was going to die."what vor you no gom und vetch me und mine old vomans?Die frau gom und vrighten avay das vevers."I was all alone, and couldn't leave him," said <DW18>."I was afraid he
would die if I did."You vas quite right, mein young vrient Van <DW18>.You are a
goot poy, unt I loaf you.The process was gone through, <DW18> shrinking a little for fear he would
be kissed."Und zo die pirts do nod get on?"said Morgenstern after a pause, during
which he sat smoking."No, in spite of all our care," said Emson.cried the old man, looking sharply round, as his hat
was snatched off by the long-necked bird which had been inspecting it."You vill gif dot pack to me, shdupit.Id ist nod goot do eat, und I am
sure id vould not vid your shdupid liddle het.--Dank you, bube," he
continued, as Duke rescued and returned the hat.Vell, it vas a goot hat; bud you go avay und schvallow shdones, und
make vedders for me to puy.dey are vonny pirts, Van <DW18>."We lost a great many through the Kaffir boy we had," said <DW18>, as they
walked slowly back to the house."We saw that the birds had enough to eat," said <DW18>; "but he used to
knock their heads with a stone."Shdones are goot for die pirts to schvallow,
bud nod for outside den het.I dink, mein younger vrient, I should haf
knog dot shentleman's het outside mit a shdone, und zay do him, `You go
avay, und neffer gom here again, or I zhall bepper your black shkin mid
small shot.'""That's what <DW18> did do," said Emson, smiling.sighed the old man as he sank upon a stool in the house."Now I
zhall shmoke mein bibe, und den go do mein wagon und haf a big long
schleep, vor I am dire."He refilled his pipe, and smoked in silence for a few minutes, and then
said thoughtfully:
"Emzon, mein vrient, I am zorry to zee you veak und krank, und I am
zorry do zee your varm, und I should not be a goot vrient if I did not
dell you die truth."John went back to the kitchen."Of course not," said Emson; and <DW18> listened."All dese has been a misdake.You dake goot advice, mein vrient.You
led die long-legged pirts roon vere dey like, und you go ant look for
diamonts.""No," he said, "I am no diamond hunter.Daniel went to the bedroom.It would not be fair for my
brother, either.I have made up my mind what to do.I am weak and ill,
and I shall clear off and go back home."Dot is pecause you are krank.Bube, you make your bruder
quite vell und dry again.You shall nod go home to
your alt beobles und say, `Ve are gom pack like die pad shillings."That's what I say," cried <DW18> eagerly."I want to hunt for diamonds,
and collect feathers, and skins, and ivory."John journeyed to the bedroom.Sandra went to the bathroom.Mary went to the office.Und gom und shell all to alt Oom Morgenstern.""I say: help me to make my brother think as I do.""Of goorse I will, bube; I know," said the old man, winking his eyes."It ist pecause he has got das vevers in his pones; bud I haf in mein
wagon zix boddles of vizzick to vrighten avay all dot.I zhall give him
all die boddles, und I shall bud indo each zom quinines.Id ist pord
wein, und he vill dake two glass, effery day, und fery zoon he vill
laugh ad dem vevers und zay: `Hi!Van <DW18>, get on your horse and go
mit me to get iffory, und vedders, und skins, und diamonts, till we haf
got a load, und den we vill go und shell dem to alt Oom Morgenstern--do
dem alt ooncle, as you gall him.'--Vot haf you got dere, bube?""Two or three of the ostrich skulls that I found with the marks made in
them by the Kaffir with a stone," said <DW18>, who had just been and
opened the door of his case of curiosities."Ah, und negs time you see dot Kaffir poy you
make zome blace like dot upon der dop of his het.Und vot else have you
there?--any dings to zell me?""Oh no; only a few curiosities I picked up.I took these all out
of the gizzard of an old cock ostrich we were obliged to kill, because
he broke his leg."<DW18> handed a rough little wooden bowl to the old man.And here's a great piece of rusty iron
that he had swallowed too; I |
garden | Where is Sandra? | Daniel went back to the kitchen.cried the old man again, and he let his pipe fall and
break on the rough table.<DW18> laughed as the visitor turned over the stones and the bit of rusty
iron."One would have thought it would kill them to swallow things like that,
but they're rare birds, Herr Morgenstern; they'll try and swallow
anything, even straw-hats.""Und so, bube, you did
vind all dose--dose dings in dem gizzard ov dot pirt?"I've got another bowlful that I picked up myself."You vill let me loog ad dem, mein younger vrient?""Of course," said <DW18>, and he fetched from the case another rough
little bowl that he had obtained from one of the Kaffirs.There were about ten times as many of the stones, and with them pieces
of quartz, shining with metallic traces, and some curious seeds.Morgenstern turned them over again and again, and glanced at Emson, who
looked low-spirited and dejected.cried the old man; then, with his voice
trembling: "Und zo there are blendy of dose shdones apout here?""Yes; I've often seen the ostriches pick them up and swallow them.I
suppose it's because they are bright.""Yes, I suppose it ist pecause they are zo bright," said the old man,
pouring out a handful of the stones into his hand, and reverently
pouring them back into the rough wooden bowl.Then rising, he shook
hands silently with <DW18>."No, mein younger vrient, nod yed.I haf somedings to zay to your
bruder," and turning to Emson, who rose to say good-night to him, he
took both his hands in his own, and pumped them up and down."Yoseph Emzon," he said, in a deeply moved voice, "I like you when you
virst game into dese barts, und I zay dot man is a shentleman; I loaf
him, unt den bube, his bruder.Now I gom here und vind you ill, my
heart ist zore.John journeyed to the office.I remember, doo, you zay I vas honest man, ant I dank
den Lord I am, und dot I feel dot I am, und can say do you, mein young
vrient, zom beobles who know what I know now would sheat und rob you,
but I vould not.I vont zom days to die, und go ver der Lord vill say,
`Vell done, goot und vaithful zervant.'Yoseph Emzon, I am honest man,
und I zay do you, all your droubles are over.You haf been zick, but
you vill zoon be quide vell und shdrong, vor you vill not haf das sore
heart, und de droubles which make do hair drop out of your het."I hope I shall soon be well enough to go,"
said Emson, sadly."Bood you vill not go, mein vrient," cried the old man."You vill not
leave here--mein cracious, no!You vill shdop und get all die ostridge
you gan, und shend dem out effery day to big oop zom shdones, und den
you vill dig oop der earth vor die pirts to vind more shdones, und when
dey haf shvallowed all dey gan, you und der bube here vill kill dem, und
empty die gizzards into die powls of water to vash dem.""No, no, no: what nonsense!"cried Emson, while <DW18> suddenly dashed to
the table, seized one bowl, looked at its contents, and banged them down
again.Herr Morgenstern, is it real?"For like a
light shot from one of the crystals, he saw the truth."Id is drue wisdom, as
goot as der great Zolomon's.Yoseph Emzon, I gongradulade you.You haf
had a hart shdruggle, but it is ofer now.Die ostridge pirts haf made
you a ferry rich man, und I know dot it is right, for you vill always do
goot."Daniel went back to the office.Are those--those--"
"Yes, Joe," roared <DW18>, springing at his brother."There is no more
room for despair now, old chap, for you are rich; and to think we never
thought of it being so when you were so unhappy, and--and--Oh, I can't
speak now.I don't care for them--only for the good they'll do to you,
for they're diamonds, Joe, and there's plenty more diamonds, and all
your own.""Yes, und pig vons, too," said the old trader, with a look of triumph;
"und now I must haf somedings to trink.I haf dalk so much, I veel as I
shall shoke.Here, bube, you go und shoomp indo dem vagon, und bring
one of die plack poddles out of mein box py vere I shleep.Id is der
bruder's vizzick, bud ve vill trink a trop to-night do gongradulade him,
und you dwo shall trink do der health of dis honesd alt manns."The bottle of port was fetched, a portion carefully medicated with
quinine, and Morgenstern handed it to the invalid."Mein vrient," he said, "das is wein dot maketh glad das heart of man.A few minutes later the old trader said softly:
"I go now to say mein brayer und get mein schleep.Goot-night, mein
vrients, und Gott pless you both."John went back to the kitchen.Daniel went to the bedroom.It was about an hour later, when the faint yelping of the jackals was
heard in the distance, that Emson said softly:
"Asleep, young un?"John journeyed to the bedroom."No, Joe; I can't get off nohow.I say, am I dreaming, or is all this
true?""It is true, lad, quite true; and I suppose that you and I are going to
be rich men.""More thankful than pleased, <DW18>, for now, when we like, we can start
for home.""Without feeling shamefaced and beaten, eh, Joe?I
didn't quite know before, but I do know now; and we can make the old
people at home happy, too, Joe.""As far as money can make them so, little un."cried <DW18>; "you are a bit happy after all, Joe.""You called me `little un' just in your old way, and I can feel that,
with all the worry and disappointment gone now, you'll be able to get
well."Emson was silent for a few minutes, and then he said softly:
"Yes: I feel as if I can get better now; not that I care for the riches
for riches' sake, <DW18>, but because--Are you listening, little un?"<DW18> was fast asleep, and a few minutes later Emson was sleeping too,
and dreaming of faces at home in the old country welcoming him back, not
for the sake of the wealth he brought, but because he was once more a
hale, strong man."It's to-morrow morning, little un."<DW18> did not stir, but he seemed to hear the words.Sandra went to the bathroom.Let's have a
comfortable meal when he joins us.Certainly he was not, for <DW18> had sprung up, and was staring across the
place at where, half-turned from him, Emson lay gazing at the golden
east, where the sun was about to rise."Little un: are you going to get up?"Mary went to the office.<DW18> sprang from his bed, darted to his brother, caught him by the
shoulder and pulled him round so as to look him in the face."Why, it's himself again," cried <DW18> excitedly.Mary went to the bedroom."Oh Joe, old man, you
are better and no mistake.I haven't heard you speak like that since I
went to old Morgenstern's.--Oh!"Yes I am, but I forgot that he was here, and
about the diamonds; and--Joe, Joe, old chap, I don't believe precious
stones ever did so much good before.""Don't talk about them, boy," said Emson, holding his brother's hand
tightly in his."But I do seem as if a terrible load had been taken off
body and brain.I feel this morning that I shall see home again; and I
have talked about going, but never felt that I should see it till now.""Suppose any one one should come and rob us now.""The first trouble that attends wealth, little un.There, we've borne
sorrow and disappointment like men.""Like men, <DW18>, for you have been a better man than I. Now then, we'll
bear prosperity, please God, as patiently and well.""Why, of course," cried <DW18>; "but what did you do with the jolly old
stones?""Put them in your bowl, and then in the case.Now see that the
breakfast is got ready.I'm far better, but I feel too weak to help.""Ah, but you won't long, if you go on like this," cried <DW18>, dressing
hurriedly, and beginning to have his morning wash in the bucket."I say
Joe, though, let's have some luxuries, now, as soon as we can.What do
you say to a wash-hand basin?"Here, I say: I wonder whether old Morningstar has got
any sponges: we'll buy one.New boots, too: mine are getting like
Paddy's ride in the sedan-chair; I'm on the ground.""All in good time, little un; all in good time: the first thing now is
breakfast for our good old visitor.""Ah, we'll have another spoonful of coffee in the pot this morning,
Joe."The old trader met them at breakfast and smiled as he shook hands.he cried, "but you haf geschlafen wohl, mein vrient.Der
beace of mind is a goot ding.You need not speak, for
your eyes are delling me all der dime what dey dink, bube.""I'm sure he's better," said <DW18> eagerly."Und he vill zoon be guite himselfs again.I zee you half been do mein
oxen, Van <DW18>.""Oh yes, I had a look at them; they were feeding well.""Ja; die poys dell me zo.Now I go do ask you do let me shday dill
do-morrow, und den die peasts vill pe rested, und I go on again.""Don't hurry, Herr Morgenstern," said Emson."You and I must have a
long talk about--about--"
"Die shdones?Nein, mein good vrient, you go do zay you must share zom
mid me, but I zhall dake none.Look at me: I am zeventy jahrs alt, und
I have blenty do leave my old vomans ven I die, zo should I dake what
vill do you zo much good?"You have work hart, und you have got your goot
dimes ad last.I zhall dake noding bood
die hant of mein vrients.""Oh, but you ought to have a good share, Herr Morgenstern," cried <DW18>.what for you go shpeak like dot, you bube.You wand to make
me gross, und get in a big passion.No, I vill dot dake von
shingle shdone.You shpeak again, I go away in a gross anger.you
see, mein vrient Yoseph, I zoon zed die dot imbudend bube, who go to
shpoil my breakfass.I do not wand my breakfass shpoil.You say diamont again, I gall my poys, und inspan und go
away."He frowned, as if he meant all he said, went on eating fiercely for a
few moments, and then with his mouth full:
"I have blenty," he cried, "und I am glad you have blendy, doo.Now,
von vort, von leedle vort, und I haf done.You dake a long shdocking
und pud die shdones in, and den you vind all you gan.You make mooch as
you gan before die beoble gom.It is got to be know dot dere are blenty
diamonts in der veldt, und tousands und tousands gom to vind.Vell, you
are virst; you pick oop all you gan pefore dey gom, und nopody know, for
you shoot oop your mouth and hold your dongue.Wise man don't cry `Look
here!'Dot is all, und I have
enshoy der bess breakfass I effer vas haf.""But, really, Morgenstern."I am going to get in soch a big passion!""I gom here und vind you all down in die doomps.I gif you
vizzick do make you shdrong, und I dell you you are ridge mans; und now
you vill not led me haf any beace.I haf not mooch hair left upon mein
het: do you vant me to dear it all oud; zo as mein old vomans zhall nod
know me when I go pack?""No, no, no; but--"
"Nod anoder vort.I am going to shmoke mein bibe.--Ah, you bube, Van
<DW18>, you laugh pecause I preak him last night!You dink I haf nod god
anoder?Sandra moved to the garden.I haf god zigs, und one made of wood zo as he gannod
preak.--Now, mein tear vrient Yoseph Emzon, led me rest und enshoy
myself.--You bube, go und dell dot plack vomans do <DW58> me a goot
tinner.I zhall go und shmoke mein bibe und shdudy close long,
shdupid-looking pirts, und you gan both gom und dalk do me."Old Morgenstern had his own way, sitting about in different parts of the
farm where there were suitable resting-places, and longest in the chasm
of the granite by the water spring in the kopje."So dis vas a vavoride blace of yours, eh, bube?"he said, as he sat and
smoked in the shade."Yes; it is so nice, and moist, and cool."You are nod a shtupid poy at all.Bood look here, dot vos a
goot tinner: und I enshoy him mooch pecause I shall nod ged anoder dill
I go pack to mein old vomans.Now I do nod dink you and der pig bruder
vill shdop ferry long at Kopfontein."Oh yes, some day, of course," said <DW18>.When you haf vound blenty of shdones.When you go pack, you
vill nod dake dot voman?"Poor old Tanta Sal; we shall be sorry to leave her behind.""Den you do nod go to leave her pehind.You shall gom py me to go
home.--Ah, heim!I zhall neffer go pack to her, bube: I
am doo alt und dick.I shall go vrom here do der great vaterland--do
Himmel, I hope.Bood you shall bring Tanta Sal to alt Oom Morgenstern.My alt vomans shall pe fery goot to her, und she shall <DW58> tinners, und
help.Bood she vill haf to vear more glothes.Mein alt voman vill nod
led her go apout like dot."The next morning that plan regarding Tanta Sal's future was ratified,
subject to the woman's agreement, and Emson thought that as they would
go very slowly, he might be able to sit upon his horse, and ride with
old Morg |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | The old man beamed with satisfaction, and Emson and <DW18> mounted, and
walked their horses, one on each side of the wagon-box, where the old
fellow sat holding his big whip.They went to the first water, where the oxen were refreshed, a good six
miles from Kopfontein, and then departed, the old man blessing them both
in patriarchal manner, ending by kissing <DW18> on each cheek."Dill we meed again, mein sohn," he said, and the great team of oxen
slowly moved away, guided by the two Kaffir boys.Emson and <DW18> sat watching the wagon for some time, but the old man did
not look back, and as <DW18> sat gazing, he said to himself:
"I suppose it is the German custom.It seems queer to me, but I don't
think I minded it so much just then.""What are you thinking about, little un?""That old Morgenstern must be a very good old man.Daniel went to the hallway.I wish he wouldn't
kiss me, all the same, and make me laugh at his ways.""It is only at his words and looks, <DW18>.We neither of
us smile at him in our hearts."The sun was setting as they walked their horses up toward the
shabby-looking corrugated iron buildings; but now, in the evening light,
everything seemed glorified, and they drew rein to look around, neither
speaking for some time.It was <DW18> who broke the silence."You are tired out and done up, Joe," he said."Let's get in, so that
you can have some tea, and lie down and rest."Emson started from his reverie, and there was a bright light in his
eyes, a smile upon his lip, which made <DW18>'s heart leap with pleasure,
while, when he spoke, his words sounded almost as they did of old."Tired, little un," he said, "and so stiff that you'll have to help me
off the horse; but it is the good, honest weariness that makes rest one
of the greatest pleasures of life.Look here, old chap, I feel as if I
am going to be a man again."He held out his hand, which <DW18> caught and gripped without a word,
listening as his brother went on."We've found wealth, little un, and I suppose that is good, but it seems
to me like nothing compared to health and strength.One wants to have
been pulled down very low to know what he is worth."<DW18> said nothing, but sat looking round him still at the wide veldt,
and skies one scene of glory, as the sun illumined the great granite
kopje, and seemed to crown it with rays of gold."Joe, old chap," he said at last, "I used to sit over there and sulk,
and hate the hot old place and everything here, but--I don't think I
shall like to leave it after all.""The time for leaving has not come yet, boy," said Emson quietly.It was three years later when they rode away, with their wagon lightly
laden with the curiosities they wished to take back.The stones they
had collected were safely there before, sent home from time to time.For old Morgenstern had prophesied correctly.The news had spread fast
enough, and by degrees the country was overrun, and a busy city sprang
up not many miles away.They saw it with sorrow, certainly not from
sordid motives--for within three months of the night when the old man
visited Kopfontein, <DW18> and his brother had picked up here and there
all they cared to seek--but from a liking for the quiet life and their
home on the veldt.But as it grew more and more changed, the time seemed to draw nearer for
saying good-bye to the little farm, where, from old associations, they
still bred ostriches, and with far better fortune, leading a simple
life, tended by Tanta Sal and a Kaffir whom they found that they could
trust."Yes: Old England now," said the great strapping fellow six feet high."Everything has changed, and I don't like the people who come always
hanging about."So they rode away one day, with Duke and the Kaffir at the head of the
team, and Tanta Sal seated in the wagon-box behind, smiling and happy at
the thought of the change, and giving the two young lions in their cage
a scrap from time to time.The homeward-bound pilgrims reached old Morgenstern's farm, where they
were warmly welcomed, Tanta Sal arriving just at the right time."Vor you see we are gedding ferry old beobles now, mein sohn," said
Morgenstern; "und as I am a ridge man, I do not like to zee mein old
vomans vork zo hart.--Aha!und zo yo dake die gubs mit you?""Yes," said <DW18>, "we are going to try and get them to England as a
present for the Zoo."Tanta Sal smiled contentedly when they rode off, a week later.She had
no compunction about staying, while the Kaffir man was to come back with
the empty wagon and team when the pilgrims reached the big town, from
whence travelling was easy to the Cape.And as the brothers mounted to go, Emson said:
"This is cutting the last string, little un?"The stalwart "little un" nodded his head gravely."Yes, old chap," he said, "but the Kopfontein of the past is gone.It
only lives in one's memory now."There was rejoicing in Hellelil's court,
They rejoiced in many a way;
Back to their friends her children are come,
Who had been so long away.THE WICKED-STEPMOTHER
No.{23}
Sir Peter o'er to the island strayed--
_All underneath a linden wide_.He weds Mettelil, so fair a maid--
_In such peril with her through the forest ride_.Bracelets of gold he given her hath,
That fills his mother's breast with wrath."If thou wed a maid against my desire,
With her first babe she shall expire!"He weds her and home he her has ta'en,
To meet her his mother will not deign.When they together a year had dwelt,
Herself with child proud Mettelil felt.Out and in they Mettelil bear,
Death has to her approached so near."Since neither live nor die I may,
Take me whence a maid ye brought me away."Thereto the Stepmother made reply,
She was tow'rds her disposed maliciously:
"The horses graze upon the mead,
And the coach swains heavy they sleep in bed."Sir Peter he stood a little apart,
Mettelil has so grieved his heart.The coach to her country was turned in haste,
And the horses before it were quickly placed.And when they came to the verdant moor,
Her chariot broke into pieces four."What mighty crime can I have done,
That my own coach 'neath me will not run?"Sir Peter at no great distance hied,
He was so near he all espied."We forthwith will find a remedy,
Thou shalt ride and walk will I.""Each noble Dame will know how fit,
I am in this plight in the saddle to sit."Proud Mettelil came to her father's abode,
Her father abroad to receive her strode."Welcome, Mettelil, daughter mine,
How speedest thou with that burden of thine?""So speeding am I, such plight I am in,
That upon this earth no rest can I win."Little Kirsten a may was of goodness rife,
Dearly she loved her brother's wife.She to her brother was true of heart,
Of wax two babes she formed with art.She wrapt them up in the linen fair,
And took them beneath her cloak with care.She took them beneath her cloak with care,
And them to her mother she straightway bare."My dearest mother, no longer grieve,
The babes of your son in your arms receive.""Has Mettelil forth these little sons brought?Then my dark Runes have availed nought."Air and earth I have spelled, save the spot alone,
The little spot, my chest stood upon."Oh I enchanted have as wide
As she could either walk or ride."I have enchanted both earth and wood,
Save the spot whereon my chest it stood."No sooner she the words had said,
Than proud Mettelil on the place was laid.And when she had come where stood the chest,
Straight of two sons was she released.That Sir Peter's mother so mortified,
Full quickly of rage and spite she died.* * * * *
LONDON:
Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W._Edition limited to Thirty Copies_
Footnotes:
{14} This is a much later, and greatly improved, version of the ballad
which first appeared in _Romantic Ballads_, 1826, pp.136-138, and
afterwards in _Targum_, 1835, pp.{16} This ballad should be read in conjunction with _Rosmer_, printed in
_The Mermaid's Prophecy_, _and other Songs relating to Queen Dagmar_,
1913, pp.{23} This ballad should be compared with _The Wicked Stepmother_,
printed in _The Dalby Bear and Other Ballads_, 1913, pp.It is to save you from the frightful termination of your journey, that I
now address you.""I neither care for your cant, nor your companionship.Begone, and leave
me to pursue my own way," and Gilbert turned fiercely round, and struck
Mr.Fitzmorris a heavy blow with his left hand.You
see," and he laughed bitterly, "though I am drunk and have only one
hand, I have some strength left.""Gilbert Rushmere," said Gerard very quietly, "I do not mean to resent
your blow.Though now a _canting_ parson, I was for five years a
_soldier_.Those who fight under the banner of the Prince
of Peace must use other weapons than those wielded by the arm of
flesh--patience, temperance and brotherly love.I cannot be angry with
you, I pity you from my very heart, and would save you, if you would
allow me to do so.""If I had known you had been a soldier, Mr.Fitzmorris, and fought and
bled for old England, I should have been the last man in the world to
strike you."The blow I gave you was a severe one.""Rather, I could have returned it with interest.I was once a good
boxer, but I wish to be your friend.Cannot I persuade you, Rushmere, to
renounce this vile habit, and escape from the ruin which it involves."The sooner it kills me,
the sooner I shall get rid of this wretched world.I hate and loathe my
life, and want to die.""That would be all very well, if you could kill your soul.But though
you may sinfully abuse and destroy the machine in which it dwells, to
destroy that, is beyond your power.It is only the God who made it, that
can destroy both body and soul in hell.Suppose that you succeed in
killing yourself, you will find the second state worse than the first, a
whole eternity of misery, instead of a few years spent on earth.Don't
push me off, Rushmere, I can't see you perish in this foolish way,
without trying to convince you of your sin.""I will listen to you some other time.If you could tell me how to get rid of my wife, I would listen to
you patiently all day."He brushed hastily past, his foot caught on a stone, and he measured his
length upon the dusty road."See, you are not in a fit state to guide yourself."And Gerard once
more set him on his feet.If you knew how jolly a
glass makes me feel, you would get drunk too," and he staggered on
singing at the top of his voice:
"Which is the properest day to drink?"That, parson, won't do for your shop."Unhappy man," said Gerard, "what good angel can arrest your downward
course?if he will not be persuaded by me, I must try what Dorothy can
do.I could almost love the fellow, for having had taste enough to love
her."Several weeks passed away, happily enough for Dorothy and her lover, who
every day became better acquainted with each other, and more deeply
sensible of the congeniality of character, which though different in
many trifling points, yet harmonized so well together.While they
advanced hand in hand, along that narrow path, whose steep ascent
towards perfection no human being ever trod unrewarded or in vain, a
very different line of conduct had been adopted by Gilbert Rushmere and
his wife.Private quarrels had increased to public brawls, insulting language, and
mutual recriminations, and the house was kept in such a miserable state,
that few of the old friends and associates of the family ventured across
the threshold.Lawrence Rushmere had cause enough to repent of his
interference between Dorothy Chance and his son, and found, to his cost,
that little peace or comfort remained for him in his old age.The farm was going to ruin; Gilbert was never home until late at night,
when he generally was conducted to the house by some neighbouring toper,
as fond of losing his senses in the bowl, but in a lesser degree of
brutal intoxication.Gilbert raved, and her mother reviled and scorned; and the wretched
old man, if he attempted to make his voice heard in the domestic uproar,
was silenced by Mrs.Gilbert telling him to hold his tongue, that she
wanted no advice from such a superannuated dotard.The report of these doings at Heath Farm were not long in reaching the
ears of the Vicar, and gave great pain to Dorothy.What was to be done
to rescue Gilbert from ruin?Fitzmorris tried to obtain an interview with him, and for that
purpose called several times at the house, but always received the same
answer from Martha Wood, "that young Mr.Perhaps at Jonathan Sly's, at the 'Plough and
Harrow,' may be at Storby, where he was looking for a man, to whom he
had sold a team of horses."So to Storby the Vicar went, and inquired of every likely and unlikely
place in the town for Lieutenant Rushmere.At one low tavern the
landlord told him that he had been there with a horse jockey, that they
had some liquor, and went out again, he believed, to bet in the
cock-pit.I did not know that you had such an abomination in
the town," said Mr."Well, it's not zactly in the town, sir.Daniel went back to the bathroom.There's a little low hedge ale
house, by the road side, as you come in by the back way.A hole, kept by
old Striker, that was a smuggler, and made to suffer some years agone.It is a bad place, only resorted to by thieves
and swindlers; and a dreadful pity that the Leaftenant ha' got in with
such a set.He'll soon bring the old man to a gaol, and hisself is going
to the devil as fast as he can."Fitzmorris perceived the great urgency of getting Gilbert out of
the clutches of these men, and after thinking over the matter for some
minutes, he proposed to the landlord to go with him to the "Game Cock,"
and tell young Rushmere that a friend wanted to speak to him on a matter
of great importance."Na, na, I would not venture my nose in amongst them wild chaps for a
crown piece.You see, sir, I'm but a little man of a quiet turn.I never
could fight in my life, an' it's only farm labourers that ever frequents
my tap, an' they have but little money to spend, and are too heavy and
loompish to quarrel, and kick up a bobbery.They only laughs and grins,
and jokes one with the tother, whiles they drinks a glass of beer or
yeats a mouthful of bread an' cheese, on their way down with their teams
to the wharf, |
office | Where is Daniel? | These poor creturs are just harmless as lambs.The fellows that
Rushmere has got in with are a set of noisy dare devils, who'll knock a
man down as soon as look at him.I think yer Reverence had better not go
near them.""My duty lies in such places, and while in the performance of it, I feel
afraid of no man.Can you give me directions as to the situation of the
cock-pit, without the necessity of my going into the house?""Just beside the house there runs a high brick wall.Open a low door
about the middle of it, and you'll find yourself in a shed, with a set
of rude fellows swarming round it, looking down upon the pit with the
cocks.It's exciting work, sir, that fighting with the bonnie birds,"
continued the little man, with a knowing twinkle in his eye."But 'tis
reckoned a vulgar, low pastime now.In my young days, lauk a mercy,
sir, it was played by high and low, and fortins have been won an' lost
on a game cock."I have seen, my friend, more than is good in my short life, when I
foolishly thought more of the amusements of this world, than of the
endless happiness and glory of the next.""Ah, sir, a man can't allers be thinking of Heaven and reading the
Bible, and saying prayers all the time.I'm sure if I were your
Reverence I should find it very dull work."Fitzmorris smiled good-naturedly."There are many ways, my friend, of serving God besides reading the
Bible and praying.When we endeavour to follow our Blessed Lord's
example, in trying to do good to our fellow-creatures, we award Him the
best praise of which our nature is capable; and the man who loves Him,
and does all for His sake, without claiming any merit for himself,
enjoys in acts of love and charity the most exquisite pleasure."Laying his hand emphatically on the little publican's shoulders, he
continued, "Seek the Lord earnestly, diligently, and with your whole
heart, and serve Him faithfully, and you will know the truth of what I
say, and experience such joy and inward satisfaction as you never
dreamed of before.The Heaven of a true Christian commences on earth.If His Spirit dwells in you, old
things pass away, and all things become new."Before he had finished the sentence, a farm-servant came up to the
little tavern in hot haste.he cried, "can yer tell 'un aught o' young Measter
Rushmere?The bully-bailiffs are in the house--old measter raging like
a wild bull--mistress crying an' wringing her hands--the old 'un
scolding and fussing; the blackguard of a servant-girl laughing in her
sleeve, to hear what she calls the fun--an' the old man threatening to
blow the fellows' brains out with the rusty old blunderbuss that has na'
been fired off since King George came to the crown.If Measter Gilbert
does na' come whome quick, there'll be the devil to pay an' no pitch
hot.""It seems hot enough, Joe, by your account already," returned Master
Barnaby."This will be a good excuse for your Reverence to get him away
from that sink o' iniquity.""Let us lose no time," said Mr.Fitzmorris, turning to the man who was
standing gaping at him with open mouth and eyes."My good fellow, can
you show me the way to the 'Game Cock?'"It's on our way whome, supposing yer goes round the
back o' the Heath.Yer sartainly won't find Measter Gilbert there?"And Gerard swung his strong oak stick in the air, and
followed his conductor at a rapid pace down a narrow footpath that led
across the marshes to Hadstone.It was a lonely, desolate tract, intersected with wide ditches, full of
stagnant water, generally crossed by a single plank.The sluggish river crept its lazy length to the sea, between high banks
of mud, and when the tide was out, its dimensions contracted to a tiny
stream, which flowed through a wide bed composed of the same alluvial
deposit that filled the air for miles with a rank, fishy smell.A
footpath ran along the top of the mud-bank, and Mr.Fitzmorris and his
guide followed this till they came to a low stone bridge with one arch,
of very ancient structure, which crossed the main-road to London, where
the heath sank down to the level of the salt flats.A few paces from the
bridge, and below the heath, a low dwelling, composed of wattle and
daub, bore the ostentatious sign of a large, fiery, red game cock, in
the act of crowing, as if to give notice to the tired pedestrian that he
could get refreshments for man and beast, at the house kept by Jonas
Striker."Well, Measter Fitzmorris, this be the place.An' yer wud know't by the
uproar that's going on in the shed, without the help o' the bird that's
allers crowing, but never do crow, outside the door.But don't yer hear
the crowing an' clapping o' wings o' the bully birds within, an' the
shouts o' the men that ha' won on the conqueror!"He pushed open the door of which Barnaby
had spoken, and entering the yard with a firm, decided step, walked up
to the drunken and noisy crowd.Some drew back as he advanced, as if ashamed of being caught by the
parson in such a disreputable place, while others turned and faced him
with an audacious stare.Gilbert Rushmere, who was leaning on the rail,
cried out in a sneering tone:
"You are too late for the main, parson, but just in time to perform the
funeral service over the black cock.There he lies--his last battle
ended.As brave a knight as ever wore steel spurs.I'll be chief
mourner, for I ventured upon him my last guinea."Without taking the least notice of this speech, or the ribald crew by
whom he was surrounded, Gerard went up to Gilbert, and drew him forcibly
apart."Rushmere, I have bad news for you.The bailiffs are
in the house, and everything in confusion at Heath Farm.You know what
the feelings of the proud, independent old man must be in such
circumstances.Leave this disgusting place and your vicious companions,
and I will see what I can do to save your family from disgrace."Gilbert looked in Gerard's face with a half-stupefied stare of blank
incredulity."Now, parson, you are only funning me--this is one of your pious dodges
to get me out of this.I know I'm a fool to be here--but having once
passed the Rubicon, I don't mean to go back."Here is your man-servant, ask him.Rushmere, you have enough of manhood left in you not
to suffer your wife and poor old father to bear the weight of such a
calamity alone?""As to father, let him take it.But for him, you
would not be in my shoes, rejoicing that the woman who ought to have
been my wife will shortly be yours.You might be contented, I think,
without following me like my shadow, to triumph over me."Fitzmorris, very gravely, "I never saw
Dorothy until after you were the husband of another.Your desertion of
her, when you knew how much she loved you, was no deed of your father's,
but your own voluntary act, for he never knew of your marriage until a
few days before you came down to Heath Farm.And let me tell you, that
any man who could desert such a noble woman as Dorothy Chance for the
sake of a few thousand pounds, was most unworthy to be her husband.But
she has nothing to do with the matter now in hand.It is profanation to
breathe her name in such an assemblage as this.Do you mean to come home
with me, or not?""I won't go home in your company.I
believe you to be an honourable man and a gentleman, but I hate you for
supplanting me in the affections of the only woman I ever loved.The
very sight of you makes me wish to break the sixth commandment.""Why act the part of the dog in the manger?Why entertain such uncharitable feelings towards me, because I
have taste enough to prize a jewel that you cast from you.Come,
Rushmere, let better feelings prevail, dismiss this unreasonable
jealousy, and listen to the advice of one who sincerely wishes to be
your friend.Can you tell me the amount of this execution?If it is
within my power, I will try and settle it, for Dorothy's sake.""You'll be a--fool for your pains if you do," and he laughed scornfully."It is the first, but it will not be the last.I want no man, especially
you of all men, to ruin himself for me.Every thing has gone wrong with
me since I married that woman.If she would have put her shoulder to the
wheel, and worked for me, I would have forgiven her the folly and
wickedness of deceiving me.But she does nothing but run up bills, and
make me miserable.She's not a bad looking woman, and I might have
learned to love her in time, but there's no chance of that now.I'm not
sorry for this business, for I hope it will be the means of my getting
rid of her.Go home, I won't; they may fight it out the best way
they can."Daniel went to the hallway.And turning suddenly on his heel, he disappeared among the
crowd.Full of grief at his want of success, Mr.Fitzmorris took the
road that led to Heath Farm.Here to his grief and indignation, he was informed by Martha Wood that
the old man had been taken off to prison for debt, and the ladies were
shut up in their own room, and could not receive visitors.Tired with a
long fruitless walk, and feeling sad at heart, he determined to visit
Lawrence Rushmere early the next morning, and, if possible, to pay the
amount of his debt.Anxious to save Dorothy from useless distress, he did not inform her of
the cause that had kept him away so long.She only remarked, as he
kissed her cheek, "My dear Gerard looks tired and paler than usual.""It is a sad world; one is never allowed to
feel happy in it long.If it were always the paradise that you have made
it for the last few weeks, I should never like to leave it.All things,
darling, are for the best.The purest pleasures are born in the lap of
sorrow, as the brightest sunshine succeeds the darkest storm."Directly after breakfast he ordered his horse and gig, and telling Mrs.Martin that he could not be home before night, drove over to the town of
----, in which the gaol was situated.Before going to visit the old man, he went to the lawyer, at the suit of
whose client he had been incarcerated, to discover the amount of the
debt, which he found to be under three hundred pounds, including the law
costs.Fitzmorris, having expended all he could well
spare from his own income in settling his brother's affairs, paying
funeral and law expenses, and other items.Any thought of his own
comfort or convenience seldom stayed the too generous hand, that was
never held back by selfish motives, if it could possibly relieve the
necessity of a fellow creature."It was only retrenching a few needless
luxuries," he would say, "for a few months or years, and the interest
would be amply repaid.There was no bank in which a man could invest his
means, which made such ample returns, as the bank of Heaven, in which
there was no fear of losing your capital, as it was chartered for
eternity."He wrote a check upon his banker for the sum, and received the release
from Mr.Fitzmorris, that you have sacrificed this large sum of
money to little purpose.This, though certainly the largest claim
against the Rushmere estate, is not the only one.It would require more
than a thousand pounds to keep the place from the hammer.""I thought that Lawrence Rushmere had been a person who had saved
money?""He had to the amount of a few hundred pounds, but the farm is a very
poor one, which, for half a century past, has barely supplied the
necessary outlay to continue its cultivation.When the lieutenant
returned, the father sacrificed his little earnings, to enter into a
speculation with his son, for furnishing horses to the Government, for
the use of the army.Such a traffic requires large means, and constant
attention.Daniel went back to the bathroom.The young man who was the sole manager, got among dissipated
companions, from buying horses, to betting upon them, and has not only
lost all the money advanced by the father, but has involved himself
irretrievably.Daniel moved to the office.The creditors thought it better to bring things to a
crisis, as the sale of the property might possibly leave a small
overplus, to keep the old man from the workhouse.""He is such an impatient, obstinate creature," observed Mr.Fitzmorris,
"that he may choose to remain in prison rather than pay these creditors,
that he will be sure to regard not as the injured party, but as personal
enemies to himself.""In that case, you had better retain in your possession the draft you
have just given me, until after you have seen and conversed with
Lawrence Rushmere.""Would it be possible to stay proceedings against the estate, until
after Lord Wilton's return, which is expected daily, and remove the old
man from prison?He is so proud and independent, the disgrace of having
been inside a gaol will kill him.""The creditors, who are all decent yeomen, might be inclined to serve
the old man, who has always been respected in the county as an honest
fellow.But being associated in this horse traffic with the son, whom
they look upon as a great scoundrel, throws more difficulties in the
way.The father was unprepared, nay, never expected this blow, or he
might have arranged matters to save himself.I could, perhaps, stave off
the other creditors, if this first claim were settled, for two or three
months, and a bond were given that they should receive their money at
the end of that term.The old man who is honest as daylight, might
indemnify you by turning over to you the estate, and continue to farm it
for your benefit."Hodson, that I do not exactly wish to sacrifice my
money, for the benefit of Gilbert Rushmere, without he were a reformed
character.If the estate were mine, I could give it to Lawrence Rushmere
rent free for his life."The lawyer promised to make all the necessary arrangements to secure Mr.Fitzmorris from unnecessary loss, and he left him to communicate to the
prisoner the result of his morning's work, and to relieve him from
durance.He found the old man in the debtors' room, pacing to and fro with a
restless stride, which proved how much vigour still remained in the
tough heart of oak.Fitzmorris, the caged lion
suddenly came to a stand still, and confronted him with a gloomy brow,
and proud defiant eye, as he said in a low voice,
"Are you come, Parson, to speak to Lawrence Rushmere in a den like this,
to seek an honest man among felons an' thieves?I was allers laughed at
for holding my head so high.I must carry it a foot higher here to look
above a lawless set of ruffians and ragamuffins."In spite of his affected bravado, the tears stood in the old man's eyes,
and, staggering to a bench, he sunk down helplessly upon it, and covered
his face with his hands."I came to seek a friend," said Gerard, laying his hand on the old man's
shoulder, "one whom I esteem, or I should not be here.""Oh, dang it," cried Rushmere.No
offence, I hope, but it do put me in mind o' the tap that rascal gave
me; he said, in the king's name, as if the king, God bless him, had ever
a hand in sending a honest loyal subject like me to prison.I had the
satisfaction, however, of knocking the fellow down.ItSandra journeyed to the garden. |
office | Where is Sandra? | The cold, clear blue eye was lighted up with a gleam of fire, which cast
an angry glare around, like a flash of summer lightning leaping from
the dark clouds."The man was only in the performance of his duty.Daniel went to the hallway.It was expending your
wrath upon a wrong object."None but a rascal would ever fill such a
post, none but rascals ever do fill it, men far worse in moral character
than the villains they take.An honest man would sweep the streets
before he'd earn his living in such a mean way."Gerard could scarcely forbear a smile at this tirade, when Rushmere
asked him abruptly the cause of his visit."To take you out of this place, and carry you back to your own home."What business ha' you wi' paying my debts?If Lawrence Rushmere
can't do that, he must content himsel' to stay here.""You must not refuse me this great favour.Consider me as a son, willing
and anxious to serve you."At the mention of the word son, the old man sprang to his feet, and,
clenching his fist, exclaimed,
"I have no son!The rascal who has brought me to this, wi' his drinking
and gambling, is no son of mine.I disown him now and for ever--and may
my curse--"
Mr.Fitzmorris put his hand before the old man's mouth, and, in a solemn
voice that made him fall back a few paces, said,
"Who are you that dare curse a fellow creature, especially a son, though
he has rebelled against you?It is committing an outrage against your
own soul--against the excellent mother that bore him--against the most
High God, who, through his blessed Son, has told us, that only as we
forgive those that injure us can we ourselves hope to be forgiven."it is only for your sake I revoke my
curse.He be your child, but oh, he has wounded me in the tenderest
part."Again the old man sank down upon the bench, and, for a few minutes,
Gerard thought it best to leave him to his own thoughts.When he seemed
more calm, he urged him more earnestly to accompany him back to
Hadstone."To go back to that she-cat?No, a' won't, I tell you.Why, gaol is a
paradise compared to living wi' her.If I
don't curse the scamp that has brought me to this--I fear I should kill
him if we met!"Daniel went back to the bathroom."But you would not refuse to live with Dorothy?""Ah, Dolly--she was a good lass.I have naught to do wi' her now.It
would ha' been well for me if a' had never set eyes on her.""What, after I have used her so ill?Howsomever, it was a great service
I rendered her, when I hindered her from marrying that scoundrel.""Unintentionally on your part, my friend.Your son might have turned out a noble character but for that
act."It was of no use urging the old man to leave the gaol.His pride was
offended at the idea of Mr.Fitzmorris paying his debts; he was hurt,
too, that Gilbert had sent no message, to let him know how matters
really stood, or if there remained any chance of paying the creditors by
the sale of the property.Fitzmorris, I trusted all to him.Daniel moved to the office.I never thought that my
own son would neglect the business and ruin me.No, no, I deserve to be
here for my folly, and here I will remain until all the creditors are
paid."Seeing that he was obstinately bent on adhering to his purpose, Gerard
told him that he would send Mr.Hodson to talk the matter over with him,
and he would come and see him again when he heard that he had come to a
decision.He was willing to give him a fair price for the estate, and
let him remain in it rent-free for his life.The old man seemed struck with this last suggestion, and promised to
listen to reason, and so they parted.Fitzmorris' return to Hadstone, the first news that met his ears
was, that Gilbert Rushmere had gone off to parts unknown with Martha
Wood, who had dexterously fomented the quarrels between him and his wife
to further this object; and that Mrs.Gilbert and her mother had packed
up and left for London, "never," they said, "to return to a beggarly
place like Hadstone."CHAPTER X.
A LONG CHAPTER.The various plans formed by Gerard Fitzmorris for the future comfort of
Lawrence Rushmere, were temporarily suspended by the receipt of a letter
from Lord Wilton, who had just landed in Liverpool with his sad freight.He earnestly requested his cousin to meet him in London, and join in the
melancholy cortege that would accompany the mortal remains of the young
viscount to their last resting-place, in the family vault in Hadstone
church."I have much to say to you, my dear Gerard," he wrote, "upon the
important subject which formed the leading topic in the letters received
from you and Dorothy just as I was about to sail for England.But while
the arrow rankles in my heart, for the death of a justly beloved son, I
cannot yet bring my mind to dwell upon marrying and giving in marriage.This must suffice you both till time has cicatrized the wound.The
marriage of my daughter, Dorothy, with the last male representative of
our ancient house, cannot fail to be regarded by me with entire
satisfaction.Gerard folded the Earl's letter and sat for some minutes in deep
thought.Most men in his position would have felt more joy than sorrow
for the death of a relative they had scarcely known, which made them
heir to a title and vast wealth.Gerard Fitzmorris cared very little
for either distinction.He had for some time past felt a deep and
growing interest in Lord Wilton, and he sympathised with him most
sincerely in the loss of a noble and deserving son.He was much struck by the decided manner in which he had avowed, without
entering into the particulars of the case, that Dorothy Chance was his
daughter.If legitimately he would have no claim to the earldom, which
came through a Granville, and would only be entitled to the baronetcy
held by his descent from Sir Thomas Fitzmorris, their mutual
grandfather.Dorothy would be Countess of Wilton in her own right.He could not bring himself to believe, if this were the case, that the
Earl would have suffered her to remain so long ignorant of her just
position.Time would explain all, but he could not fathom the mystery.He
instantly complied with the Earl's request to meet him in London.Before he left Hadstone, Dorothy begged, as a great favour, that she
might accompany him on his journey as far as ---- to take Mr.Rushmere
out of gaol, and bring him back to Heath Farm."It would be better for me, Gerard, to break to him the elopement of his
son, and if he will return with me, to stay with him at the old place,
till you come back.""Just like my own Dorothy," he cried, pressing her to his heart."Go
like a good angel, as you are, and my blessing go with you."During their journey, Gerard gave his betrothed the Earl's letter to
read, and watched her countenance during the perusal.There was no other
passenger inside the coach but themselves.They could talk to each other
without reserve.He saw her start, and her cheeks crimson, when she
came to the paragraph in which his lordship spoke of her as his
daughter."Oh, Gerard," she said, bursting into tears, as her head sank upon his
shoulder."Had I not better go with you to London, to comfort him in his
sorrow?I can never supply to him the loss of
his dear son."Sandra journeyed to the garden."Had he wished it, my sweet cousin, he would have made the request.Public taste has dispensed with the presence of female mourners at the
funerals of relations and friends.Sandra moved to the office.The gentle hearts that loved the
truest and the best are denied by the tyrant fashion the blessed
privilege of seeing the last sad rites performed for the beloved dead.After Lord Fitzmorris' funeral your presence will be more needed.It is
not until the earth closes her bars for ever on the loved and lost, that
we can fully realize the fact that they can no more return to us."On reaching the county town, Dorothy and her lover parted--one to act as
chief mourner in a solemn and useless pageant, which the good sense of
mankind ought to banish from the earth, with all its artificial
trappings and hired mourners; the other to visit that grave of the
living, a prison, and carry hope and comfort to the care-worn heart of
the victim of a cruel and oppressive law, which demands of a man to pay
his debts, while it deprives him of the chance of doing so.Following the directions she had received from Gerard, Dorothy went
first to Mr.Hodson, and learned from him that the debt for which her
foster-father was in gaol, had been settled by her lover; that
everything had been satisfactorily arranged with the other creditors,
Rushmere having concluded to sell Heath Farm to Mr.Fitzmorris for the
sum of two thousand pounds, which would pay all the demands upon the
estate, and leave the old man at liberty.The dry man of business was much struck by the extraordinary beauty of
the young lady, who had deigned to visit his dusty office in behalf of
the prisoner, and being a widower of some years' standing, without any
incumbrance in the shape of children, it struck him that so charming a
girl would make him an excellent second wife.With this wise project in his head, he cross-questioned her very
closely, on their way to the gaol, as to her parentage and station, to
all which questions she gave such frank and straightforward answers,
that he soon became acquainted with her private history.Hodson had been employed to make old Mrs.Knight's will, and well
remembered the remarkable clause it contained with regard to the child
of the poor vagrant found on the Heath, which, if proofs could be
actually obtained that Dorothy was the daughter of Alice Knight, whether
legitimately or illegitimately, would entitle her to a fortune of thirty
thousand pounds, with all its immense accumulations of interest and
compound interest, for so many years.The old woman's death-bed confession, which had been made in his
presence, to Mr.Martin, fully established a fact only known to
them--that the conscience-stricken murderess of the mother had
discovered in the corpse of the poor vagrant, her grandchild; so that
all that was now required to entitle her child to inherit this large
fortune was the registration of its birth.If it had taken place in any
workhouse, or public charitable institution, this might be obtained
by offering suitable rewards, without the said Alice Knight had adopted
a fictitious name.As the light began gradually to dawn upon his mind that this lovely girl
was no other than Mrs.Knight's heiress, he rubbed his hands gleefully
together, and told his fair visitor, that if she made him her friend, he
might be able to put her in the way of obtaining a handsome fortune.Dorothy laughed, and looked incredulously at the plain, matter-of-fact
lawyer."Not at present, my dear; but you can bestow upon me more than the worth
of money, this dear little white hand!"said Dorothy, snatching her hand from him, before he could convey
it to his lips, and without adopting the affectation of pretending not
to understand his meaning, "I cannot do that, for it is given away
already."The lawyer's fine castle of a moment's building evaporated slowly into
air, as he asked in a disconcerted tone:
"To whom?"It was
he that directed me to you."The gentleman that was here a few days ago, Lord Wilton's
cousin, and successor to the titles and estates.That is, in case the
Earl does not marry again.Young lady, I offer you my sincere
congratulations, on your prospect of becoming a countess, and I hope,"
he continued, with great emphasis, "that you will forgive me, for
wishing to secure the affections of such a charming young lady."Mary travelled to the office.You are not much to be pitied, on so short an
acquaintance," and Dorothy laughed merrily."Had not the fortune
something to do with it?"and she looked archly up in his face."No, upon my honour, I was struck with your appearance before you told
me who you were.But really, Miss Chance, or Knight, or whatever we can
prove your name to be, we must not lose sight of this fortune, and if
you will pay me say five thousand pounds provided I am able to establish
your claims, will you empower me to take the necessary steps?""In that case, I should not claim a farthing."Martin," said Dorothy, who thought that
this might bring about proofs of her identity, that would satisfy Lord
Wilton, and she felt in high spirits at the possible result of such a
legal inquiry.So, quite forgetful of the sly lawyer's proposal to make
her his second wife, she chatted with him during their way to the gaol,
in the most friendly and confidential manner.She found Lawrence Rushmere, moping in the corner of the debtor's room,
looking pale and haggard, with beard unshaven, and his uncombed locks
falling round his face in tangled confusion.Running up to him, Dorothy
flung her arms about his neck and tenderly embraced him.Rushmere looked
up, and clasped her to his heart."My dear girl, I be hearty glad to see thee.But what brought'ee, Dolly,
to this confounded place?"he asked, lowering his voice, and looking cautiously
round lest the other debtors should hear him ask after his unworthy
son."Gone, father, no one knows whither.He went off with that bad girl,
Martha Wood, who, I believe, has been at the bottom of all the
mischief."And what has
become of the wife?""Joy go with her, she was a bad 'un.An' the cunning old witch, the
mother?""It is open to receive you, father, when you return with me.I will soon
make it bright and cosy again.""Ah, well a day, Dolly.It will only
remind me o' happier days, o' a wife that I loved with my whole heart,
o' a son that I can consider mine no longer.Who would ha' thought
that such an excellent mother could ha' been parent to such a graceless
bairn; that a good beginning should make such a sorry ending?Na,
Dorothy, I cannot go back; even the bright black eyed lass, who might
ha' been my daughter, but for my folly, is going to carry joy an'
sunshine into another home.Let me bide, Dorothy, where I be!I can die
as well here as in the old homestead.""I cannot lose my dear old father yet.Where I am, there shall always be
a warm nook by the fireside for him.""Dolly, my darling, thou art one in a thousand.The shrewd man of business thought with the yeoman that Dorothy was one
in a thousand, and was not a little affected by her filial piety.He
then accompanied Dorothy and her charge to the inn, and ordered a good
dinner at his own expense, for the refreshments of the travellers.Over
a glass of excellent home brewed, he told Rushmere of the hopes he
entertained of securing Mrs.Knight's large bequest for the beautiful
foundling.As he and I were parting, a lusty Country lasse being among the people,
cal'd him faint hearted lout, saying, "If I had begun to daunce, I would
haue held out one myle though it had cost my life.""Nay," saith she, "if the Dauncer will lend me a leash of his
belles, Ile venter to treade one mile with him my selfe."I lookt vpon
her, saw mirth in her eies, heard boldnes in her words, and beheld her
ready to tucke vp her russet petticoate; I fitted her with bels, which
[s]he merrily taking, garnisht her thicke short legs, and with a smooth
brow bad the Tabrer begin.The Drum stru |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | There parting with her, I gaue her (besides
her skinfull of drinke) an English crowne to buy more drinke; for, good
wench, she was in a pittious heate: my kindnes she requited with
dropping some dozen of short courtsies, and bidding God blesse the
Dauncer.I bad her adieu; and to giue her her due, she had a good eare,
daunst truely, and wee parted friendly.But ere I part with her, a good
fellow, my friend, hauin writ an odde Rime of her, I will make bolde to
set it downe.A Country Lasse, browne as a berry,
Blith of blee{10:15}, in heart as merry,
Cheekes well fed, and sides well larded,
Euery bone with fat flesh guarded,
Meeting merry Kemp by chaunce,
Was Marrian in his Morrice daunce.Her stump legs with bels were garnisht,
Her browne browes with sweating varnish[t];
Her browne hips, when she was lag
To win her ground, went swig a swag;
Which to see all that came after
Were repleate with mirthfull laughter.Yet she thumpt it on her way
With a sportly hey de gay{10:27}:
At a mile her daunce she ended,
Kindly paide and well commended.At Melford diuers Gentlemen met mee, who brought me to one Master
Colts, a very kinde and worshipfull Gentleman, where I had vnexpected
entertainment till the Satterday.From whose house, hauing hope somewhat
to amend my way to Bury, I determined to goe by Clare, but I found it to
be both farther and fouler.The sixt dayes iourney, being Satterday of the second weeke.From Wednesday night til Satterday hauing bin very troublesome but much
more welcome to master Colts, in the morning I tooke my leaue, and was
accompanied with many Gentlemen a myle of my way.Which myle master
Colts his foole would needs daunce with me, and had his desire, where
leauing me, two fooles parted faire in a foule way; I keeping on my
course to Clare, where I a while rested, and then cheerefully set
forward to Bury.Passing from Clare towards Bury, I was inuited to the house of a very
bountifull widdow, whose husband during his life was a Yeoman of that
Countrie; dying rich no doubt, as might well appeare, by the riches and
plentie that abounded in euery corner of the house.She is called the
widdow Eueret.At her house were met aboue thirty Gentlemen.Such, and so plentifull
variety of good fare I haue very sildome seene in any Commoners house.Her behauiour being very modest and freendly, argued her bringing vp not
to be rude.She was a woman of good presence, and, if a foole may iudge,
of no smal discretion.From this widdowes I daunst to Bury, comming in on the Satterday in the
afternoone, at what time the right Honorable the Lord Chiefe
Justice{11:25} entred at an other gate of the towne.The wondring and
regardles multitude making his honor cleere way, left the streetes where
he past to gape at me; the throng of them being so great that poore Will
Kemp was seauen times stayed ere hee could recouer his Inne.Daniel went to the hallway.By reason
of the great snow that then fell, I stayd at Bury from Satterday in the
second week of my setting foorth til Thursday night the next weeke
following.Daniel went back to the bathroom.The seauenth dayes iourney, being Friday of the third weeke.Vpon Fryday morning I set on towardes Thetford, dauncing that tenne mile
in three houres; for I left Bury somewhat after seauen in the morning,
and was at Thetford somewhat after ten that same forenoone.But, indeed,
considering how I had been booted the other iourneys before, and that
all this way, or the most of it, was ouer a heath, it was no great
wonder; for I far'd like one that had escaped the stockes, and tride the
vse of his legs to out-run the Constable: so light was my heeles, that I
counted the ten mile no better than a leape.At my entrance into Thetford the people came in great numbers to see
mee; for there were many there, being Size time.The noble Gentleman,
Sir Edwin Rich{12:13}, gaue me entertainment in such bountifull and
liberal sort, during my continuance there Satterday and Sunday, that I
want fitte words to expresse the least part of his worthy vsage of my
vnworthines; and to conclude liberally as hee had begun and continued,
at my departure on Munday his worship gaue me fiue pound.The eyght dayes iourney, being Munday of the fourth weeke.On Munday morning I daunst to Rockland ere I rested, and comming to my
Inne, where the Hoast was a very boone companion, I desired to see him;
but in no case he would be spoken with till he had shifted himselfe from
his working dayes sute.Being armed at all poyntes, from the cap to the
codpeece, his blacke shooes shining and made straght with copper buckles
of the best, his garters in the fashion, and euery garment fitting
Corremsquandam (to use his owne word), hee enters the Hall, with his
bonnet in his hand, began to crye out:
"O Kemp, deere Master Kemp!you are euen as welcome as--as--as--," and
so stammering he began to study for a fit comparison, and, I thanke him,
at last he fitted me; for saith he, "thou art euen as welcome as the
Queenes best grey-hound."Daniel moved to the office.After this dogged yet well-meaning salutation,
the Carrowses were called in; and my friendly Hoast of Rockland began
withall this, blessing{13:5} the houre vppon his knees, that any of the
Queenes Maiesties well-willers or friends would vouchsafe to come within
his house; as if neuer any such had been within his doores before.I tooke his good meaning, and gaue him great thankes for his kindenesse;
and hauing rested mee well, began to take my course for Hingham, whether
my honest Hoast of Rockland would needs be my guide: but, good true
fat-belly, he had not followed mee two fieldes, but he lyes all along,
and cryes after me to come backe and speake with him.I fulfild his
request: and comming to him, "Dauncer," quoth hee, "if thou daunce a
Gods name, God speede thee!Sandra journeyed to the garden.I cannot follow thee a foote farther; but
adieu, good dauncer; God speed thee, if thou daunce a Gods name!"I, hauing haste of my way, and he being able to keep no way, there wee
parted.Farewell he: he was a kinde good fellow, a true Troyan; and if
euer be my lucke to meete him at more leasure, Ile make him full amendes
with a Cup full of Canarie.But nowe I am a little better aduis'd, wee
must not thus let my madde Hoast passe; for my friend, late mentioned
before, that made the odde rime on my Maide-marian, would needes
remember my Hoast.Such as it is, He bluntly set downe.He was a man{13:26} not ouer spare;
In his eyebals dwelt no care."Anon, anon," and "Welcome{13:28}, friend,"
Were the most words he vsde to spend,
Saue sometime he would sit and tell
What wonders once in Bullayne fell{13:31},
Closing each Period of his tale
With a full cup of Nut-browne Ale.Turwin and Turneys siedge were hot{14:1},
Yet all my Hoast remembers not:
Kets field{14:3} and Muscleborough{14:3} fray
Were battles fought but yesterday."O, 'twas a goodly matter then
To see your sword and buckler men!Sandra moved to the office.They would lye heere, and here and there,
But I would meete them euery where:
And now a man is but a pricke;
A boy, arm'd with a poating sticke{14:10},
Will dare to challenge Cutting Dicke{14:11}.O 'tis a world{14:12} the world to see!Mary travelled to the office.But twill not mend for thee nor mee."By this some guest cryes "Ho, the house!"A fresh friend hath a fresh carouse:
Still he will drinke, and still be dry,
And quaffe with euery company.Saint Martin send him merry mates,
To enter at his hostree gates!For a blither lad than he
Cannot an Inkeeper be.Well, once againe farewell mine Hoast at Rockland.After all these
farewels, I am sure to Hingham I found a foule way, as before I had done
from Thetford to Rockland.Yet, besides the deep way, I was much hindred by the desire people had
to see me.For euen as our Shop-keepers will hayle and pull a man with
"Lack ye?"{14:27} "My ware is best," cryes
one, "Mine best in England," sayes an other, "Heere shall you haue
choyse," saith the third; so was the dyuers voyces of the young men and
Maydens, which I should meete at euerie myles ende, thronging by
twentie, and sometime fortie, yea, hundreths in a companie; one crying
"The fayrest way was thorow their Village," another, "This is the
nearest and fayrest way, when you haue past but a myle and a halfe;" an
other sort{15:2} crie "Turne on the left hand," some "On the right
hand;" that I was so amazed I knewe not sometime which way I might best
take; but haphazard, the people still accompanying me, wherewith I was
much comforted, though the wayes were badde; but as I said before at
last I ouertooke it.The ninth dayes iourney, being Wednesday of the second weeke.The next morning I left Hingham, not staying till I came to
Barford-bridge, fiue young men running all the way with me, for
otherwise my pace was not for footemen.From Barford bridge I daunst to Norwich; but comming within sight of the
Citty, perceiuing so great a multitude and throng of people still
crowding more and more about me, mistrusting it would be a let{15:15} to
my determined expedition and pleasurable humour, which I long before
conceiued to delight this Citty with (so far as my best skill and
industry of my long trauelled sinewes could affoord them), I was
aduised, and so tooke ease by that aduise, to stay my Morrice a little
aboue Saint Giles his gate, where I tooke my gelding, and so rid into
the Citty, procrastinating my merry Morrice daunce through the Citty
till better opportunitie.Being come into the Citty, Master Roger Wiler the Maior{15:23}, and
sundry other of his worshipfull Brethren, sent for me; who perceiuing
howe I intended not to daunce into the Cittye that nyght, and being well
satisfied with the reasons, they allotted me time enough not to daunce
in till Satterday after; to the end that diuers knights and Gentlemen,
together with their wiues and children (who had beene many dayes before
deceyued with expectation of my comming), might nowe haue sufficient
warning accordingly by satterday following.In the meane space, and during my still continuaunce in the Cittye
afterwardes, they not onely very courteously offered to beare mine owne
charges and my followers, but very bountifully performed it at the
common charges: the Mayor and many of the Aldermen often times besides
inuited vs priuately to theyr seuerall houses.To make a short end of this tedious description of my entertainment;
Satterday no sooner came but I returned without the Citty through Saint
Giles his gate, and beganne my Morrice where I left at that gate, but I
entred in at Saint Stephens gate, where one Thomas Gilbert in name of
all the rest of the Cittizens gaue me a friendly and exceeding kind
welcome; which I haue no reason to omit, vnlesse I would condemne my
selfe of ingratitude, partlye for the priuate affection of the writer
towardes me, as also for the generall loue and fauour I found in them
from the highest to the lowest, the richest as the poorest.It followes
in these few lynes.W With hart, and hand, among the rest,
E Especially you welcome are:
L Long looked for as welcome guest,
C Come now at last you be from farre.Sandra went back to the bedroom.O Of most within the Citty, sure,
M Many good wishes you haue had;
E Each one did pray you might indure,
W With courage good the match you made.I Intend they did with gladsome hearts,
L Like your well willers, you to meete:
K Know you also they'l doe their parts,
E Eyther in field or house to greete
M More you then any with you came,
P Procur'd thereto with trump and fame.your well-willer,
T. G.
Passing the gate, Wifflers{17:1} (such Officers as were appointed by
the Mayor) to make me way through the throng of the people which prest
so mightily vpon me, with great labour I got thorow that narrow
preaze{17:4} into the open market place; where on the crosse, ready
prepared, stood the Citty Waytes, which not a little refreshed my
wearines with toyling thorow so narrow a lane as the people left me:
such Waytes (under Benedicite be it spoken) fewe Citties in our Realme
haue the like, none better; who, besides their excellency in wind
instruments, their rare cunning on the Vyoll and Violin, theyr voices be
admirable, euerie one of them able to serue in any Cathedrall Church
in Christendoome for Quiristers.Mary travelled to the hallway.Passing by the Market place, the presse still increasing by the number
of boyes, girles, men and women, thronging more and more before me to
see the end; it was the mischaunce of a homely maide, that, belike, was
but newly crept into the fashion of long wasted peticotes tyde |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | I was
sorry for her, but on I went towards the Maiors, and deceiued the people
by leaping ouer the church-yard wall at S. Johns, getting so into M.
Mayors gates a neerer way; but at last I found it the further way about,
being forced on the Tewsday following to renew my former daunce, because
George Sprat, my ouer-seer, hauing lost me in the throng, would not be
deposed that I had daunst it, since he saw me not; and I must confesse I
did not wel, for the Cittizens had caused all the turne-pikes to be
taken vp on Satterday that I might not bee hindred.But now I returne
againe to my Jump, the measure of which is to be seene in the Guild-hall
at Norwich,{18:2} where my buskins, that I then wore and daunst in from
London thither, stand equally deuided, nailde on the wall.The plenty of
good cheere at the Mayors, his bounty and kinde vsage, together with the
general welcomes of his worshipful brethren, and many other knights,
Ladies, Gentlemen and Gentlewomen, so much exceeded my expectation, as I
adiudg'd my selfe most bound to them all.The Maior gaue me fiue pound
in Elizabeth angels{18:10}; which Maior (faire Madame, to whom I too
presumptuously dedicate my idle paces) is a man{18:11} worthy of a
singuler and impartiall admiration, if our criticke humorous mindes
could as prodigally conceiue as he deserues, for his chast life,
liberality, and temperance in possessing worldly benefits.He liues
vnmarried, and childlesse; neuer purrchased house nor land, the house he
dwels in this yeere being but hyred: he liues vpon marchandies, being a
Marchant venturer.Daniel went to the hallway.If our marchants and gentlemen wold take example by
this man, Gentlemen would not sell their lands to become banckrout
Marchants, nor Marchants liue in the possessions of youth-beguiled
gentlemen, who cast themselues out of their parents heritages for a few
out-cast commodities{18:22}.But, wit, whither wilt thou?{18:22} What
hath Morrice tripping Will to do with that?it keeps not time w^t his
dance; therefore roome, you morral precepts, giue my legs leaue to end
my Morrice, or, that being ended, my hands leaue to perfect this
worthlesse poore tottered{18:26} volume.Pardon me, Madame, that I am thus tedious; I cannot chuse but commend
sacred liberality, which makes poore wretches partakers of all
comfortable benefits: besides the loue and fauour already repeated, M.
Weild the mayor{18:30} gaue me 40.s.Daniel went back to the bathroom.yeerely during my life, making me a
free man of the marchant venterers.This is the substance of al my
iourney; therefore let no man beleeue, how euer before by lying ballets
and rumors they haue bin abused, y^t either waies were laid open for me,
or that I deliuered gifts to her Maiesty.Daniel moved to the office.Its good being merry, my
masters, but in a meane, and al my mirths, (meane though they be) haue
bin and euer shal be imploi'd to the delight of my royal Mistris; whose
sacred name ought not to be remembred among such ribald rimes as these
late thin-breecht lying Balletsingers haue proclaimed it.It resteth now that in a word I shew what profit I haue made by my
Morrice.True it is I put out some money to haue threefold gaine at my
returne{19:8}: some that loue me, regard my paines, and respect their
promise, haue sent home the treble worth; some other at the first sight
haue paide me, if I came to seek them; others I cannot see, nor wil
they willingly be found, and these are the greater number.If they had
al usd me wel, or al ill, I would haue boldly set downe the true sum of
my smal gain or losse; but I wil haue patience, some few daies longer:
at y^e end of which time, if any be behinde, I wil draw a cattalogue of
al their names I ventur'd with; those y^t haue shewne themselues
honest men, I wil set before them this Caracter, H. for honesty; before
the other Bench-whistlers{19:19} shal stand K. for ketlers and
keistrels{19:19}, that wil driue a good companion without need in them
to contend for his owne; but I hope I shall haue no such neede.If I
haue, your Honourable protection shall thus far defend your poore
seruant, that he may, being a plain man, call a spade a spade.Thus
fearing your Ladyship is wearier with reading this toy then I was in all
my merry trauaile, I craue pardon; and conclude this first Pamphlet that
euer Will Kemp offred to the Presse, being thereunto prest on the one
side by the pittifull papers, pasted on euery poast, of that which was
neither so nor so, and on the other side vrg'd thereto in duety to
expresse with thankefulnes the kind entertainment I found.Your honors poore seruant,
W. K.
Kemps humble request to the impudent generation of Ballad-makers
and their coherents; that it would please their rascalities to
pitty his paines in the great iourney he pretends{20:3}, and not
fill the country with lyes of his neuer done actes, as they did in
his late Morrice to Norwich.Sandra journeyed to the garden.To the tune of Thomas Delonies Epitaph.My notable Shakerags, the effect of my sute is discouered in the Title
of my supplication; but for your better vnderstandings, for that I know
you to be a sort{20:9} of witles beetle-heads that can understand
nothing but what is knockt into your scalpes, These are by these
presentes to certifie vnto your block-headships, that I, William Kemp,
whom you had neer hand rent in sunder with your vnreasonable rimes, am
shortly, God willing, to set forward as merily as I may; whether I my
selfe know not.Wherefore, by the way, I would wish ye, imploy not your
little wits in certifying the world that I am gone to Rome, Jerusalem,
Venice, or any other place at your idle appoint.I knowe the best of ye,
by the lyes ye writ of me, got not the price of a good hat to couer your
brainles heads: if any of ye had come to me, my bounty should haue
exceeded the best of your good masters the Ballad-buiers, I wold haue
apparrelled your dry pates in party bonnets, and bestowd a
leash of my cast belles to haue crown'd ye with cox-combs.I haue made a
priuie search what priuate Jigmonger{20:24} of your jolly number hath
been the Author of these abhominable ballets written of me.Sandra moved to the office.I was told
it was the great ballet-maker T. D., alias Tho.Deloney, Chronicler of
the memorable liues of the 6. yeomen of the west, Jack of Newbery, the
Gentle-craft{20:26}, and such like honest men, omitted by Stow,
Hollinshead, Grafton, Hal, froysart, and the rest of those wel
deseruing writers; but I was giuen since to vnderstand your late
generall Tho.Mary travelled to the office.dyed poorely, as ye all must do, and was honestly buried,
which is much to bee doubted of some of you.The quest of inquiry
finding him by death acquited of the Inditement, I was let to wit y^t
another Lord of litle wit, one whose imployment for the Pageant was
vtterly spent, he being knowne to be Eldertons immediate heyre{21:7},
was vehemently suspected; but after due inquisition was made, he was at
that time knowne to liue like a man in a mist, hauing quite giuen ouer
the mistery{21:11}.Still the search continuing, I met a proper vpright
youth, onely for a little stooping in the shoulders, all hart to the
heele, a penny Poet, whose first making{21:14} was the miserable stolne
story of Macdoel, or Macdobeth{21:15}, or Macsomewhat, for I am sure a
Mac it was, though I neuer had the maw to see it; and hee tolde me there
was a fat filthy ballet-maker, that should haue once been his Journeyman
to the trade, who liu'd about the towne, and ten to one but he had thus
terribly abused me and my Taberer, for that he was able to do such a
thing in print.I found him about the
bankside{21:21}, sitting at a play; I desired to speake with him, had
him to a Tauerne, charg'd a pipe with Tobacco, and then laid this
terrible accusation to his charge.He swels presently, like one of the
foure windes; the violence of his breath blew the Tobacco out of the
pipe, and the heate of his wrath drunke dry two bowlefuls of Rhenish
wine.At length hauing power to speake, "Name my accuser," saith he, "or
I defye thee, Kemp, at the quart staffe."I told him; and all his anger
turned to laughter, swearing it did him good to haue ill words of a
hoddy doddy{21:29}, a habber de hoy{21:30}, a chicken, a squib, a
squall{21:30}, one that hath not wit enough to make a ballet, that, by
Pol and Aedipol, would Pol his father, Derick{21:32} his dad, doe anie
thing, how ill so euer, to please his apish humor.Sandra went back to the bedroom.I hardly beleeued
this youth that I tooke to be gracious had bin so graceles; but I heard
afterwards his mother in law was eye and eare witnes of his fathers
abuse by this blessed childe on a publique stage, in a merry Hoast of an
Innes part.Yet all this while could not I finde out the true
ballet-maker, till by chaunce a friend of mine puld out of his pocket a
booke in Latine, called Mundus Furiosus{22:6}, printed at Cullen,
written by one of the vildest and arrantest lying Cullians{22:7} that
euer writ booke, his name Jansonius, who, taking vpon him to write an
abstract of all the turbulent actions that had beene lately attempted or
performed in Christendome, like an vnchristian wretch, writes onely by
report, partially, and scoffingly of such whose pages shooes hee was
vnworthy to wipe, for indeed he is now dead: farewell he!euery dog must
haue a day.But see the luck on't: this beggerly lying busie-bodies name
brought out the Ballad-maker{22:13}, and, it was generally confirmd, it
was his kinsman: he confesses himselfe guilty, let any man looke on his
face; if there be not so redde a colour that all the sope in the towne
will not washe white, let me be turned to a Whiting as I passe betweene
Douer and Callis.Well, God forgiue thee, honest fellow, I see thou hast
grace in thee; I prethee do so no more, leaue writing these beastly
ballets, make not good wenches Prophetesses, for litle or no profit, nor
for a sixe-penny matter reuiue not a poore fellowes fault thats hanged
for his offence; it may be thy owne destiny one day; prethee be good to
them.Call vp thy olde Melpomene, whose straubery quill may write the
bloody lines of the blew Lady, and the Prince of the burning crowne; a
better subiect, I can tell ye, than your Knight of the Red Crosse.So,
farewel, and crosse me no more, I prethee, with thy rabble of bald
rimes, least at my returne I set a crosse on thy forehead that all men
may know thee for a foole.FOOTNOTES:
[3:1] Sion neere Brainford, and Mount Surrey by Norwich _(Marg.[4:1] A great spoone in Ilford, holding aboue a quart _(Marg.Page 1, line 2, Mistris Anne Fitton, Mayde of Honour to... Queene
Elizabeth.]Mary travelled to the hallway.--A _Mary_ Fitton, daughter to Sir Edward Fitton, of
Gawsworth, and _maid of honour to Queen Elizabeth_, is mentioned by
Ormerod, _Hist.293; and "_Mrs._ Fitton" is noticed
as holding that office in several letters of Rowland Whyte, printed
among the _Sydney Papers_.It seems unlikely that the Queen should have
had two maids of honour called Fitton; and yet we can hardly suppose
that Kemp mistook the Christian name of his patroness.I may add, that
an examination of Sir E. Fitton's will in the Prerogative Court has
proved to me that his daughter was named _Mary_.11, Kery, mery, Buffe.]--Compare Nash's _Haue with you to
Saffron-walden_, 1596, "Yea, without _kerry merry buffe_ be it spoken,"
&c. Sig.4; and Middleton's _Blurt Master Constable_, "Tricks,
tricks; _kerry merry buff_."Mary went to the kitchen.--a boisterous sort of dance to a lively tune
in triple time.8, I could flye to Rome (at least hop to Rome, as the olde
Proverb is) with a morter on my head.]--So in Fletcher's _Fair Maid of
the Inn_, "He did measure the stars with a false yard, and may now
_travel to Rome with a mortar on's head_, to see if he can recover his
money that way," Act v. sc.Weber; and in
Middleton and Rowley's _Spanish Gipsy_, "A cousin of mine in _Rome,
I['ll] go to him with a mortar_," Act ii.2, Middleton's _Works_,
iv.--a tune played to rouse the sportsmen in a
morning.--A relation, probably, of William Slye,
the actor.--A cant term, which is also used by Nash:
"Canonizing euerie _Bel-shangles_ the water-bearer for a Saint."--_Haue
with you to Saffron-walden_, 1596, Sig.--a kind of rural dance: the word is
variously written.13, a noted Cut-purse, such a one as we tye to a poast on our
stage, for all people to wonder at, when at a play they are taken
pilfring.]--Mr.Daniel went back to the hallway.Collier, who has cited the present passage, observes,
that this method of treating cutpurses, when detected at theatres, is no
where else adverted to by any writer.--_Hist.--scurvy fellows--a play on the word.7, Sir Thomas Mildmay |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | --Sir
Thomas Mildmay, Knt., of Moulsham-hall.He married the Lady Frances,
only daughter, by his second wife, of Henry Ratcliffe, Lord Fitzwalter
and Earl of Sussex; from which marriage his descendants derived their
title and claim to the Barony of Fitzwalter.He died in 1608.--Morant's
_Hist.2; Dugdale's _Baron._ ii.9, being my ordinary marchandize, that I put out to venter
for performance of my merry voyage.]--This "marchandize" was instead of
a deposit in money: but we learn from a passage towards the end of the
tract (p.19), that our Morrice-dancer had also "put out some money to
have threefold gain at his return,"--it being then a common custom for
those who undertook expeditions to put out sums of money on condition of
receiving them back trebled, quadrupled, or quintupled, at the
completion of the voyages or journies.Kemp (_ibid._) complains that the
greater number of those with whom he had deposited money would not
"willingly be found:" compare _A Kicksey Winsey, or, A Lerry
Come-twang; Wherein John Taylor hath Satyrically suted seuen hundred and
fifty of his bad debtors, that will not pay him for his returne of his
iourney from Scotland_.Taylor the Water-poet's _Workes_, 1630, p.--"The number of bells round each leg of the
morris-dancers amounted from twenty to forty.They had various
appellations, as the fore-bell, the second bell, the treble, the tenor,
the base, and the double-bell.Sometimes they used trebles only; but
these refinements were of later times.The bells were occasionally
jingled by the hands, or placed on the arms or wrists of the
parties."The same writer
mentions that in the time of Henry the Eighth the Morris-dancers had
"garters to which bells were attached," 473.26, the olde fashion, with napking on her armes.]--"The
handkerchiefs, or napkins, as they are sometimes called, were held in
the hand, or tied to the shoulders."Douce, _ubi supra_, 475.--When the present tract
was written, the Puritans, by their preachings and invectives, had
succeeded in banishing this prominent personage from the Morris-dance,
as an impious and pagan superstition.The expression in our text seems
to have been almost proverbial; besides the well-known line cited in
Shakespeare's _Hamlet_, Act iii.2, (and in his _Love's Labours
Lost_, Act iii."For, O, for, O, the hobby-horse is forgot,"
parallel passages are to be found in various other early dramas.As the
admirable scene in Sir Walter Scott's _Abbot_, I. ch.must be familiar to every reader, a description of the
hobby-horse is unnecessary.--Sir John Popham: he was
appointed Chief Justice of the King's Bench in 1592.--Third son of Robert Lord Rich, was
knighted at Cadiz in June 1596: see Account of the expedition to Cadiz
in Hakluyt's _Voyages_, I.1599 (where, by mistake, he is
called Sir _Edmund_), and Stow's _Annales_, p.About
three years after, he purchased the manor of Mulbarton in Norfolk from
William Gresham, Esq.In 1604, when Sir Anthony Shirley went as
ambassador from the Emperor of Germany to the King of Morocco, in his
suite was Sir Edwin Rich, "whose behauiour was good, and well spoken of
in euery place where he came," &c. He married Honora, daughter of
Charles Worlick, Esq.; and died, and was buried (I know not in what
year) at Hartlepool.A monument is erected to his memory, and to that of
his sons, Robert and Sir Edwin, in Mulbarton church.1741; Le Neve's _Mon.113; Purchas's
_Pilgrimes_, Sec.1625; Blomefield's _Hist.5, began withall this, blessing, &c.]John journeyed to the kitchen.All this: blessing," &c.
P.26, He was a man, &c.]--Warton thinks that this description
of the Innkeeper at Rockland, "which could not be written by Kemp, was
most probably a contribution from his friend and fellow player
Shakespeare [?].He may vie with our Host of the Tabard."--"coming," apud Warton (ubi supra, 64,) by
mistake.31, What wonders once in Bullayne fell.]--At the siege of
Boulogne: on the 14th of Sept.1544, it surrendered to Henry the Eighth,
who entered it in triumph on the 18th of the month.1, Turwin and Turneys siedge were hot.]--After the Battle of
the Spurs, which took place August 16th, 1513, Terouenne surrendered to
Henry the Eighth on the 22nd of that month, and on the 27th its defences
were razed to the ground: Tournay surrendered to the English monarch on
the 29th of the ensuing September.Historians differ somewhat as to the
dates of these events: I have followed Lingard.--The battle near Norwich, August 27th, 1549,
when the Earl of Warwick routed Ket and the Norfolk rebels.--The battle of Pinkey, in which the
Protector Somerset defeated the Scots with great slaughter, September
10th, 1547.--Or _poking-stick_, an instrument for
setting the plaits of ruffs.Poting-sticks were originally made of wood
or bone; afterwards of steel, that they might be used hot.--Is thus mentioned by Wither:
"Yet this is nothing; if they looke for fame,
And meane to haue an everlasting name
Amongst the Vulgar, let them seeke for gaine
With Ward the Pirat on the boisterous maine;
Or else well mounted keepe themselues on land,
And bid our wealthy trauellers to stand,
Emptying their full-cram'd bags; for that's a tricke
Which sometimes wan renoune to _Cutting Dicke_."_Abvses Stript and Whipt_, Lib.From the following entry by Henslowe we learn that this worthy figured
in a play: "Pd.unto Thomas Hewode, the 20th of september [1602], for
the new adycions of _Cutting Dick_, the some of xxs."Malone's
_Shakespeare_, (by Boswell,) III.--Equivalent to--it is a wonder.--The usual
address of the London tradesmen to those who passed by their shops,
which were formerly open like booths or stalls at a fair.23, Master Roger Wiler the Maior.]--An error, it would seem,
not of the author, but of the printer, for afterwards (p.18), the name
is given more correctly, _Weild_.In the list of Mayors of Norwich
during Elizabeth's reign, drawn up by Blomefield, we find--
"1598, Francis Rugg, 2.--Persons who clear the way for a procession:
see Douce's _Ill.I may just notice that when
Grose compiled his _Prov.Gloss._, the word _whifflers_ had not become
obsolete in the city of which Kemp is now speaking.2, my Jump, the measure of which is to be seene in the
Guild-hall at Norwich, &c.]--It is hardly necessary to inform the
reader that no memorial of Kemp is now extant in that building.--goods, in which needy prodigals took
either part or whole of the sum they wanted to borrow, and for which
they gave a bond: these commodities (sometimes consisting of brown
paper!)Our early writers have
innumerable allusions to the custom.22, wit, whither wilt thou?]--A kind of proverbial
expression, by no means unfrequent: see, for instance, Shakespeare's _As
you like it_, Act iv.8, I put out some money to haue threefold gaine at my
returne.]--perhaps, sottish idlers on ale-house
benches; see Gifford's note in B. Jonson's _Works_, i.19, ketlers and keistrels.]--The first of these terms I am
unable to explain; but it occurs in Middleton's _Black Book_, "So,
drawing in amongst bunglers and _ketlers_ under the plain frieze of
simplicity, thou mayest finely couch the wrought velvet of knavery;" and
in his _Father Hubburd's Tales_, we find "like an old cunning bowler to
fetch in a young _ketling_ gamester:" see Middleton's _Works_, v._Keistrels_ are hawks of a worthless and degenerate
breed.26, the great ballet-maker T. D., alias Tho.Deloney,
Chronicler of the memorable liues of the 6. yeomen of the west, Jack of
Newbery, the Gentle-craft.]--Thomas Deloney succeeded Elderton as the
most popular ballad-writer of the time: for an account of his poetical
pieces, see Ritson's _Bibl.Poet._ and Collier's _Hist.The pleasing ballad of _Fair Rosamond_, reprinted in
Percy's _Rel.1794, is probably the
composition of Deloney, as it is found in more than one of his
publications."Get off that netting at once and go
below, both of you.Master-at-arms, take those boys' names down and put
them in the report, and bring them up on the deck after `divisions' to-
morrow!"The `Jaunty,' who was standing below the break of the poop, looked up at
the scowling lieutenant, saluting him."Very good, sir," said he, with another touch of his hat, in recognition
of the authority of the speaker.But, a `Deus ex machina,' or `God from the bathing-machine,' as our old
captain of the _Saint Vincent_ would have said in his Latin lingo, just
then intervened on our behalf.Mick Donovan and I were sneaking down the main hatch, like a pair of
whipped dogs with their tails between their legs--though I must say we
were more chagrined at losing the best part of the fight going on in the
water, which was rapidly approaching a climax, than dismayed at having
incurred the displeasure of the lieutenant--when, if you please, we
heard somebody shout out something behind us, and the master-at-arms,
who had followed in our wake, called out to us to stop."Belay there, you boys," he shouted down the hatchway.In obedience to this order, we ascended the ladder-way again, retracing
our steps at an even slower pace than we had gone down at; for we both
expected, the same thought having flashed across our minds when the
`Jaunty' hailed us, that Lieutenant Robinson had, on more mature
consideration, fancied he had let us off too lightly for the heinous
offence we had committed, and had ordered us to be brought back to give
us `four dozen' apiece at least, there and then!The result, however, was very different to our sad anticipations; for
when we reached the deck the old commodore was standing by the poop
rail, close to the ladder on the port side leading down from thence into
the waist of the ship."Lieutenant Robinson," said he to our persecutor, who looked ill at ease
as he stood before him, the sextant which he had snatched up in a hurry
to calculate the angle of distance of the whale and its antagonists now
hanging listlessly in his hand, "be good enough, sir, to tell those boys
that they may remain on the upper deck and look over the side, but that
they must not stand on the hammock nettings.I like discipline to be
preserved on board the ship I may have the honour to command, but I
never allow any unnecessary severity being shown to the men or boys of
the ship's company!"Much against his will, the lieutenant, thus rebuked on the quarter-deck
in the presence not only of his own brother-officers, but in that of all
of us on the deck below as well, had now to `eat humble pie' and give us
the commodore's message; and, though Mick and I could not repress a grin
on his bowing to us with mock politeness, we could see from the look in
his underhung eyes that he intended to pay us out bye-and-bye when he
had the chance for having been obliged to beg our pardon, as he had to
do almost then.Unhappily, though, the permission for us to look over the side again
came too late; for the thrasher and the swordfish had been too much for
the poor whale, whose huge lifeless body was now floating away to
leeward, half a cable's length astern of the ship, surrounded by an eddy
of bloody water, while its assailants had both disappeared."Begorrah," cried Mick, much disgusted at this, "sure, we're jist in
toime to be too late!"In our passage from Madeira to the Canary Islands we steered south by
west, in order to avoid the Salvages.These are a number of rocky islets, named the `Great Piton,' the `Little
Piton,' and `Ilha Grande,' lying in latitude 30 degrees 8 minutes north,
and longitude 15 degrees 55 minutes west.The largest island is covered
with bushes, amongst which thousands of sea-fowl make their nests; and,
from the fact of its not being seen until a ship be close in to it, when
these very birds tell of its propinquity, by darkening the air almost as
they rise, it is a great danger to mariners.A little farther to the eastward is Lanzarote, which is very
mountainous, possessing a volcano of its own, where a violent eruption
took place not very long ago, when a stream of lava from two hundred to
three hundred yards broad spread out into the sea like a river, the
floating pumice-stone being picked up by passing vessels miles away.For this piece of information I am indebted to the navigating officer,
who happened to be telling one of the young midshipmen all about the
place as I was attending to a job the boatswain had set me to aft.I also heard him tell the same young gentleman a queer yarn about a
buried treasure which is supposed to be concealed near a little cove on
the southern extremity of the island, called `Janubio.'The story goes
that, in the beginning of the century--I think the navigator said it was
in the year 1804, but I am not quite certain--the crew of a South
American Spanish treasure ship, bound to Cadiz from Lima with produce
and which had besides over two millions of dollars in chests aboard,
mutinied, and murdered their captain and officers; the rascals then
making off in the long boat with this treasure towards an island, which,
from the description given, must have been either Lanzarote or one of
the Salvages.On this island, whichever it was, the dollars were carried ashore and
buried above high-water mark in a snug little bay to the south; the
mutineers, according to the prevailing superstition of such gentry,
burying the body of their murdered captain on top of the treasure, so
that his ghost might prevent any unprivileged intruders from meddling
with their cache.The navigator said, just as I was going down below after finishing my
job, that this tale was told to an English sailor by one of the
surviving mutineers; and he added that the Admiralty were so much
impressed by its appearance of truth that Admiral Hercules Robinson, the
grandfather, I believe, of our present High Commissioner at the Cape of
Good Hope, was actually sent out to make a search for the treasure when
in command of HMS _Prometheus_, in 1813.We coaled at Teneriffe, putting into the harbour of Santa Cruz for this
purpose; and Mick and I were much struck by the fact of the black ladies
who carried the baskets of coal on their heads along the jetty from the
shore to the ship, doing theDaniel went to the bedroom. |
garden | Where is John? | exclaimed Mick, after watching these dusky belles with much
interest for some time, the lot of them chattering and laughing away,
showing their teeth, which a dentist would have given something to
possess for his showcase, "Oi'd loike Father O'Flannagan jist for to say
thim quare craychurs, Tom, me hearty, if ownly to say him toorn oop the
whoites ov his oyes.Bedad, he'd be afther sprinklin' 'em wid howly
wather an' exorcisin' on 'em, ez if he'd sayn the divvle, sure!"Jones the signalman, who was standing near when Mick said this, laughed."Your old priest would have his work cut out for him in more ways than
that," said he, with a very significant wink to one of the other hands,
"if he'd only go to Grand Canary instead of Teneriffe!"John journeyed to the kitchen.The name he mentioned at once made Mick cock his ear."Grand Canary," repeated my chum after the signalman, with a puzzled
look on his face."Ain't thet the place, Tom, whare thim yaller burds
yer sisther Jenny has, sure, at home comes from?She s'id they wor
canaries, Oi'd take me davy!""Of course, they are, Mick," said I, in reply to this."Why, mother
must have a hundred of them in the shop at this very minute, besides
those little ones she brought up herself which Jenny used to act as
nurse to!""Och, sure, Oi rimimber thim will enuff," answered Mick, with a
melancholy look on his face, as if his mind had turned back from Santa
Cruz to Bonfire Corner all of a sudden and to our little house there."An' thet little chap ov a canary thet had a crist on the top ov his
hid, loike a crown, sure, thet yer sisther Jenny used fur to make so
much ov--the little darlint!"Whether this term of endearment of his was meant by Mick to apply to
Jenny or the bird, I can't say; but I could see clearly enough in what
direction his thoughts were concentrated."Begorrah, Tom," he said after a pause, during which his eyes were
apparently fixed on the celebrated `Peak' for which Teneriffe is better
known in the present day than on account of its canaries; for it is over
four hundred years since these little songsters were first discovered by
the Spaniards and imported into Europe, so that any novelty that might
have been attached to them has long since disappeared, "Oi'll git some
ov the purty craychurs fur yer sisther if we're 'lowed ashore afore we
lave.""I don't think you will be able to do that," said the signalman, who had
remained alongside of us looking at the darkeys passing to and fro on
the jetty below, from which a gangway of planks led through one of the
midship ports to the coal-bunkers."We're not likely to stop here after
we've coaled ship."Mr Jones was mistaken, however; for we remained at Santa Cruz some
four-and-twenty hours longer, so that Mick and I had the opportunity of
landing with the wardroom steward the next morning, when he went to buy
some fresh milk and other things for the officers' mess.We then, during a short walk we had in the vicinity of the town, saw
numbers of canaries flitting about amid the trees, just like you see
sparrows at home; and it seemed very strange, to me especially,
accustomed as I was to mother's bird-shop and its live stock, that the
little things should be uncaged and roaming about there free, at their
own will and pleasure!The birds, though, did not have anything like the bright plumage of
those bred in captivity at home; and I would have backed, so far as
their looks went, a splendid little chap Jenny had called `Tubby,'
against the lot of them; while `Corry,' another canary of a more
reflective character and retiring disposition than the first, could have
afforded a dust of the golden hue of his feathers to make his
Teneriffean cousins more presentable without being much less yellow
himself--their hue, so far as Mick and I noticed, being more of a dingy
white than chrome.As to bringing any of them to England, however, that we found an
impossibility; for there were so many young midshipmen and other
youngsters aboard the various ships of the squadron, that if all of them
had been free to take birds into their cabins, the ships would have been
so many floating aviaries!So, to prevent this, the commodore had issued strict orders that no pets
of any description were to be taken on board by any one."I s'pose, though, my corns don't count," observed the wardroom steward,
as we were stepping into the boat on our return to the ship and one of
his assistants trod on his foot."I've a favourite one on my starboard
toe, Smith, as might be called a pet o' mine; and, by jingo, you lubber,
you just then made marmalade of it.You wait till we get aboard and
I'll put you on short rations!Daniel went to the bedroom.Later on in the afternoon the squadron sailed for Barbados, starting off
out of Santa Cruz harbour before a spanking ten-knot breeze in line of
single column ahead, the old _Active_ leading and showing her heels to
our less speedy consorts.This was early in the month of December, the weather being beautiful and
balmy, as it continued all the time we were bowling across the Atlantic
on our way to our goal, the West Indies; and, as we enjoyed the warmth
of the southern latitudes through which our good ship ploughed her way,
Mick and I could not help contrasting our surroundings with those of the
poor folk at home shivering in all the dreariness of an English mid-
winter, when, if it isn't freezing or snowing or hailing, it is bound to
be raining--a cold, raw, nasty sort of rain--and damp and foggy and
dirty, at all events, such being the pleasurable conditions of our
delightful climate usually at that time of year!With us, now, things were very different!A blue sky above, unflecked by a single cloud, was reflected in a sea
that was yet more blue, its hue turning to azure as we approached
farther west in the tropics; until, on reaching the confines of the
Caribbean Sea, the colour of the water verged into that of the purest
ultramarine.Day after day the scene was ever the same--blue sky above, blue sea
below; while a bright sun shone down, ever lighting up both sky and sea
with a sort of opal glow and lending warmth to the buoyant,
exhilarating, champagne air.Under these circumstances, washing decks every morning used to be a
positive pleasure to everybody on board, as we careered about in our
bare feet with our trousers rolled up above the knee, when the cold
water, instead of being `moighty onpleasint,' as Mick would have said,
was gratifying in the extreme.Such of the officers, too, who had not been on duty keeping the middle
watch, used to turn out in their oldest pyjamas, accompanied by most of
the midshipmen, when we were at this task and have a regular sluice down
on the forecastle; some of them catching hold of the hose and playing it
on each other in turn, skylarking and making no end of fun.Our drills, of course, went on all the time in the usual clockwork
fashion observed on board ship, `quarters' and `divisions' and all the
rest; all of the men and boys belonging to the ship's company being
polished up quite as smartly as the brasswork and drilled to the highest
state of efficiency.It was not all work, though, on board the _Active_; for our commodore,
taut disciplinarian as he was and as anxious to lick us all into shape
as he was to make the ships of his squadron manoeuvre handily,
exercising them at all hours both of day and night to this end, did not
forget the old adage that a bow should not always be bent.No, he always allowed us plenty of time for relaxation and enjoyment,
besides permitting us to fish overboard, which some commanders would not
have allowed.This was rare sport, I can tell you, the bonetta, a fish common to the
tropics and eating uncommonly well when fried, biting freely at a piece
of white bunting or any other attractive object attached to a hook, as
did the many-hued dolphin, and many a hearty supper did we have on the
lower deck through the kindly aid of these beneficent denizens of the
deep.One of the foretopmen who hailed from Newfoundland was an expert with
the harpoon, spearing with that weapon as many dolphins as he liked;
these beggars being in the habit of plying to and fro under the
corvette's cutwater as she sailed onward, delighting apparently in
showing us the dexterity with which they could wheel about and leap
athwart the ship's course as they pleased, keeping up with her or going
ahead according to their bent.John went back to the garden.We saw lots of flying-fish also; and they, when we had the chance of
catching the few that came aboard, were even better fare for hungry
sailor-boys of an evening than the dolphins and bonetta.These latter used to hunt the poor flying-fish like a pack of hounds
after some prey on land, the fish leaping out of the sea and making
short flights by the aid of the membraneous fins they have, which they
extended like wings, flying for some twenty yards or so till exhaustion
compelled their return to their native element--a characteristic feature
that has gained the `flying-fish' its name.Unfortunately for the poor beggars, however, they have an enemy aloft as
well as one below; and, when they leave the water to escape the bonetta,
they fall into the clutches of the sea-hawks that hover over the surface
on the watch for them; and so, thus situated `between two stools,' as it
were, `their lot,' like that of the `Bobby' in the song, being `not a
happy one!'Amid such varied changes of life and scene, our three weeks' voyage from
Teneriffe to Barbados passed quickly and pleasantly enough, all hands
being surprised one fine morning when we cast anchor in Carlisle Bay,
the harbour of `Little England,' as the Barbadians proudly style their
happy island, which is of the same size and shape nearly as the Isle of
Wight and is the gem of the Antilles!Here we had a rare time of it for a week, it being Christmastide, and
the inhabitants, who are English to the backbone, black, mongrel, and
copper-, as well as white, keeping up that festival with like
enthusiasm to what we do at home.As at Madeira, the ship's company were allowed leave to go on shore,
watch and watch in turn: so, belonging as we both did to the starboard
division, Mick and I were amongst those who had the first go-off.I recollect, as if it were but yesterday, our landing alongside the
jetty on the carenage, right in front of one of Da Costa's big
warehouses, whose green jalousies relieved the effect of the staring
white building under the hot West Indian sun; the glare of which, cast
back by the rippling translucent water that laved the stone jetty,
through which one could see the little fishes gliding about as clearly
as in the Brighton Aquarium, almost blinded us with its intensity.There were a lot of <DW64> women hanging round the wharf in front of Da
Costa's place, all of whom had big baskets, either balanced on their
heads or put down on the ground by their side, which were filled with
huge melons and pine-apples and bananas, besides many other tropical
fruits the names of which are unknown to me.Of course, we made for these at once; and there was a lot of chaffering
and bargaining between our fellows and the negresses, who were all
laughing and showing their white teeth, trying their best to wheedle the
`man-o'-war buckras' to buy their luscious wares at double the price,
probably, such would fetch in open market from regular customers in
Bridgetown.Presently, we all got skylarking and pitching the fruit about; when a
big mulatto, who was along with one of the fruit-sellers--her husband
most likely and doing nothing just as likely, like most of his colour,
for the household of which he was the head, save to collect the money
his better half in every respect earned--seemed very much aggrieved at
some damage Mick did to a bunch of ripe bananas, claiming a `bit' or
fourpence as compensation.Mick, who, you must know, had grown a strapping fellow by now, took the
tawny-complexioned gentleman's demand very good-humouredly."All roight, ould Patchwork," he called out, with a laugh."Thare's a
shellin' fur ye, which is more, bedad, than yer howl sthock-in-thrade is
worth!Changee fur changee, black dog fur whoite moonkey, sure, as my
ould fayther used fur to say!"Whatever mollifying effect the sight of the silver coin might have
produced on the mulatto's mind was entirely swamped by Mick's
unfortunate quotation from his paternal archives."Say, you sailor buckra, who dat you call one black dog, hi!"said he,
coming up to my chum in a threatening manner, brandishing his arms and
working his head about like a teetotum in a fit."I'se no niggah slabe,
you white trash!I'se free 'Badian born, an' 'low no man make joke ob
me!""Faith, ye oogly yaller-faced raskil," he cried, putting up his fists in
the scientific way we had learnt from long practice on board with the
gloves under our gymnasium instructor, "Oi'll knock ye into the middle
of nixt Soonday wake, ef ye don't kape a civil toongue in yer hid an'
put yer owld dhrumsticks behint ye!"Instead of acting on Mick's advice, however, the mulatto, screaming with
rage, and his whole face distorted with passion, made a wild rush at
him, trying to butt him in the stomach.shouted out Mr Jones
the signalman, who had come ashore with us, wishing to see the battle
between our representative and the darkey conducted in regular shipshape
fashion, in accordance with the rules observed in polite pugilistic
circles at home."Form a ring, my lads, and let 'em fight it out fair.If any of them blooming <DW65>s tries to h'interfere, boys, you jest
fetch 'em a crack on the shins with yer dancing pumps; it's no good
trying to hit 'em on their nobs, as they're made of the same stuff of
the cocoa-nuts, and you might hit at 'em till doomsday without ever
their feelin' on it, jist the same as if ye were hammerin' at the
watertight bulkhead forrud!"With the help of the other bluejackets who had come ashore with us in
the second cutter, the ring which the signalman suggested was at once
formed, our chaps artfully manoeuvring so as to shut out all the black
and gentry who instantly flocked to the scene of action, the
news of the fight having got abroad in some mysterious way or other.Before this had been done, however, Mick Donovan received and repulsed
the mulatto's first onslaught in a highly satisfactory manner for our
side.Lifting his left knee suddenly as the infuriated beggar rushed in upon
him in catapult fashion, with his body doubled and his head bent low,
Mick at the same time, with all the force of his good right arm, struck
downwards at the darkey's exposed ear, which was about the size of a
small plate, catching him thus between his knee and fist like a piece of
iron a blacksmith might be at work on at the forge beaten flat between
hammer and anvil.Result--down dropped the mulatto as if he wereSandra travelled to the bathroom. |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | yelled out all the Actives; while there was a groan and a rush
from the surrounding compatriots of Mick's opponent to pick up their
champion."Give the bloomin' <DW65> fits, me boy!You've pretty nearly
done for him already."But, the mulatto was not by any means settled yet.Encouraged by his sympathising backers, of whom we allowed some five or
six to enter the ring, wishing to play fair and not to have it all to
ourselves, the mulatto shook himself as if he had just come out of the
water; and, standing up in a proper manner now, he faced Mick, who
smilingly beckoned him to come on.John journeyed to the kitchen."Hit 'im in de eyeball, Bim!"cried one of the dark ladies, who indeed
was the cause of the fray, as generally is the case, I have been told,
when menfolk fall out.Mash um face fo' um, de imperent
man-o'-war buckra!""Land him one in his bloomin' bread-basket!"A very pretty bit of sparring now ensued, the two being well matched;
for, though the mulatto was the taller and had the longer reach of arm,
Mick had a better guard, holding his right well out across his chest,
and dodging in his left every now and then, keeping moving about on his
pins as lightly as an opera-dancer.Once `Mr Bim' got in a roundabout blow that landed on Mick's left
cheek, which drew blood, and sent him all of a stagger into the corner
where the signalman and I stood officiating as bottle-holders.Daniel went to the bedroom.This raised a wild yell of excited enthusiasm from all the assembled
darkeys, both ladies and gentlemen alike.John went back to the garden."Golly, dat fetch um, Bim!""Gib um goss, Bim!'Badian
too brabe; um beat all de buckra sailor trash in de whole world, you
bet!""Stow that, you ugly black devil!"interposed one of our men, fetching
the mulatto's partisan a crack on the shins with the cutter's boathook,
which he held in his hand, he being bowman and left in charge of the
boat."You just keep out o' the ring if ye know what's good for you!"cried the poor <DW65>, hopping about on one leg and rubbing
his shin, writhing with pain at being thus assaulted on his tenderest
point; grabbing up some missile or other from the roadway, whither he
retreated, "I'se crack yo' tam skull wid um rockstone, fo' suah!"Mick did not `come up smiling' as he advanced to meet his foe after the
knock-down blow he had received; but, from the look on his face, with
his lips tight set and his eyes fixed on the mulatto, I could see he
`meant business.'Parrying another wild whirl of `Mr Bim's' arms, which he swung out
right and left, Mick dropped his; and with a step forward he grasped the
mulatto round the waist, when, going down on one knee, he sent him
flying over his shoulder completely outside the ring.Fortunately for the poor beggar, his head went plump into one of the
baskets of fruit, squashing its contents together into the semblance of
jam, which probably saved the mulatto's life; for, had he fallen
headlong on the stone jetty, his cranium would most likely have
resembled the bananas and ripe melons in the black lady's basket that he
had spoilt, and his neck, as likely as not, broken.As it was, `Mr
Bim' had enough of it, coming up quite dazed when he recovered his
senses; then retiring from the combat without a single further word,
either of apology or of defiance.His compatriots bore no malice to Mick or ourselves, as might have been
expected from their champion having got the worst of it.On the contrary, they raised a cheer when we turned to leave the scene
of action, accompanying us into the town, and dancing round us in their
amusing way, and making quite a triumphal procession of our progress up
Roebuck Street.one of them shouted out to another of their number, who
evidently was the local poet of the party."You makee singsong ob de
lilly buckra sailor!"Thereupon, the poet, who was clearly a man of vivid imagination and
spontaneous genius, at once struck up a doggerel rhyme; all of them
taking up the chorus as they marched along on either side of us:--
"Man ob war buckra, man ob war buckra,
Jus' come ashore, jus' come ashore,
Jus' come ashore!"'Badian gen'leman, 'Badian gen'leman,
He make um roar, he make um roar,
He make um roar!"Man ob war buckra an' 'Badian gen'leman,
Dey hab a shindy, dey hab a shindy,
Dey hab a shindy!"'Badian gen'leman, he mash um mout';
Man ob war buckra, um bash um snout;
Golly, yah, yah,
Um bash um snout!"exclaimed Mick, none the worse for the fray, beyond a slight
cut on his port cheek, which had been caused by the scrape of the
mulatto's long nails and not by his fist, as he burst into a roar of
laughter on the darkeys bringing out this impromptu musical account of
the recent fight--in which all hands joined, making most of the passers-
by we met on our route to one of the hotels recommended by Mr Jones,
who had been to Bridgetown before, look round to see what was the
matter--"it bates Bannagher an' Donnybrook Fair all rowled into one,
sure!"It need hardly be said after this, that, on our presently reaching the
favourite hostelry of our guide, the signalman, we stood treat to all
the darkeys; and then, having had enough of their somewhat too marked
attentions, we parted company, with the most friendly feelings on both
sides.The people altogether received us very kindly, all sorts of festivities
being held in our honour, officers and men alike having balls and
dinners and picnics and cricket-matches all got up especially for their
pleasure; so that our fortnight's stay at Barbados was one long holiday
from the first day to the last, for, if we did not happen to be ashore,
parties of ladies and gentlemen used to come off to see the ship and be
entertained in their turn.We sailed from our anchorage, near the lighthouse at Needham Point to
the north-east of the bay, somewhere in the second week of January,
making first for Tobago, which lies more to the southward of the
Windward Islands.After this we visited Trinidad and most of the other
colonies, calling also at the French possessions of Guadaloupe and
Martinique, before returning for a final look in at Barbados on our way
home again to England.After leaving Carlisle Bay for the second time, the squadron made for
Bermuda, the commodore hoping to pick up the light westerly winds which
are to be met with at this season of the year hereabouts; but, when to
the south of the thirtieth parallel, we encountered a terrific gale from
the north-west, which was as child's play in comparison to the one we
experienced in the Bay of Biscay.Up to then we had experienced very fair weather, being able to carry all
our upper sail and stun'sails as well; but, all at once, without any
warning, save that the heavens suddenly darkened overhead, obscuring the
sun, and the barometer began to fall, as I heard the navigating officer
say to the commodore, whom he passed on his way on deck from the
wardroom below, a storm broke over us!The next moment, the whistles of the boatswain's mates were ringing
through the ship, with the customary hoarse hail down the hatchways--
"Watch, shorten sail!"Then, as we tumbled up to our stations, it became a case of let go and
clew up.sang out the commodore from the break of the poop, in
sharp, piercing accents that rose above the whistle of the wind through
the rigging and the dull roar of the sea, which had assumed now a leaden
appearance, instead of the bright blue which it boasted the moment
before, while its surface began to work into short choppy waves that
tossed their crests like horses champing the bit."Take in the
to'gallants and royals!"Up we all raced aloft; but no sooner had these sails been furled and we
reached the deck than the commodore was at us again."Away
aloft--take in one reef!"Mick and I scrambled up, almost out of breath, into the mizzen-top;
which we hardly reached before we heard the commodore give the next
order necessary to enable us to take in the reef--
"Weather tops'l braces, round in!Next followed our own especial order--
"Trice up and lay out!"In obedience to this, we made our way out on the foot-ropes, Mick
securing the weather earring, when we began knotting the points and
reefing in earnest; after which, the topsail halliards were manned below
and the yards run up again.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.The wind now shifted from the northward to the north-east, coming on to
blow pretty hard; so the courses were clewed up and furled and the jib
hauled down, the ship presently running under her close-reefed topsails
and fore-topmast staysail.By Six Bells, however, the storm had increased to such an extent, that,
after trying what treble-reefing would do, we had to take in our
topsails altogether, laying-to under storm staysails and easy steam, the
engine-fires had been lit and the screw lowered on the first break of
the storm, so as to keep the ship-head to wind and provide for any
eventuality that might come.The sea at this time was a terrible sight, the big billows racing madly
past us and jostling each other, tossing their spray and spent water
right over the main-yard; while, anon, the corvette would be lifted
bodily up on top of what seemed a high mountain, from whence we viewed
the wide stretch of broken waves extending as far as the eye could
reach; anon, plunging us down into a deep dark watery abyss, as if she
were going to founder!We rolled so, that preventer stays were rigged to make sure of our masts
and the guns were secured with double lashings round the breech; while
lifelines were rove fore and aft to assist us in keeping our footing
along the deck.So far, we had been all alone; the other ships of the squadron having
parted company early in the afternoon, each making shift as best she
could for herself.Not a sail was in sight anywhere on the horizon.But, presently, careering onwards before the heavy storm clouds ahead,
out of which she emerged all in a moment like some spirit of the deep, a
large full-rigged ship appeared, bearing down upon us at the rate of
twenty knots an hour, I should think, judging by the way she rapidly
rose out of the water.It looked as if she were going to run us down.roared out the lookout-man forwards, his voice borne back
inboard by the wind and seeming all the louder in consequence.Mary journeyed to the bedroom."She's
a-coming down end on to us, sir!"The commodore aft, however, had seen our peril, even before the lookout-
man spoke; and almost at the same instant that his words of warning
reached our ears--the while the hands on deck stared with horror at the
surging ship, nearing us now closer and closer as we looked at her--the
gallant, ready-witted sailor had taken effective measures to avoid the
imminent danger threatening us."Stand by, the watch forrud!"he sang out, in a voice of thunder,
putting his hands to his mouth so as to form a speaking-trumpet, as he
leant against the poop rail, and pitching his key so high that his order
triumphed over the noise of both wind and sea.In the meantime the engine-room bell had been rung and rapid directions
given to go astern full speed, our screw being down and steam got up
long since, as I have already mentioned, so as to be prepared for a
similar emergency.now shouted the commodore, who seemed to have
taken the management of the ship for the moment entirely in his own
hands; and then, looking forwards, he roared again to us on the
forecastle, "Haul taut your jib sheet!"The sail served its turn, with the backing of the screw, to make the
corvette's head pay off as we wore ship; but the strength of the nor'-
east gale was such, that hardly had we made the sheet fast, ere the jib
blew clean away from its lacing, with the sound of a gun going off,
while a big wave came over our weather side at the same time, and nearly
washed every man-jack off the forecastle, beside flooding the waist, the
sea rushing down in a torrent below through the after-hatchway which had
not been battened down as yet.It was a ticklish operation wearing with such a wind and sea on, and
might have been attended with even worse peril than happened; for, if
caught in the trough of some wave, broadside on, we might have capsized,
instead of merely taking a hundred tons of water or so on board, which
we could have very well dispensed with.However, it was our only chance of getting out of the way of the
approaching vessel--at least so our old commodore deemed, and he ought
to have been, and was too, the best judge.None of us for a second or two thought of looking for her, the men all
rushing to their stations, and the port watch having been called on
deck, as well as us chaps belonging to the starboard division, who were
already there, in case of our broaching-to and our masts going by the
board--which everybody believed, I think, barring the commodore, would
have occurred.Now, therefore, on our succeeding in paying off so handsomely without
any serious mishap, the _Active_ scudding and running before the wind
like a racehorse under her bare poles, so to speak, the scraps of storm
staysails we carried being not worth taking into account, the eyes of
every one were turned at once to windward to see what had become of the
stranger vessel.Whether she had luffed up too suddenly on seeing the danger of a
collision between us, or had gone down all standing as she careered
onward, no one will ever know; for, though lookouts were sent aloft and
the horizon scanned in every direction, not a single trace of her was to
be seen anywhere in sight, albeit the billowy surface of the tempest-
tossed sea was so white with foam that any dark object would at once
have been distinguished on its tumid bosom.Not a trace was to be seen of the fine ship, which a moment ago was
riding the waters like a thing of life, even if impelled to run before
the fury of the gale--either astern of us, or ahead; or on our starboard
beam, as she should have been by rights if matters had turned out
differently; nor yet to port.All of us seemed, really, to feel as if we had lost somebody or
something; and when, presently, the watch was piped down, we all went
below with saddened hearts.Sandra travelled to the garden."Oi wondther now," said Mick, when we were having our supper at our
messing-place aft on the lower deck a little later on, "if thet theer
vissil wor a raal ship, Tom, or a banshee?"A man at the mess-table next ours heard his remark and burst out
laughing."I've heard tell o' the Flying Dutchman being seen in stormy weather
when going round the Cape," he said, speaking across the table in our
direction; "but I can't say as how I ever heard before of a banshee
adrift on the wide Atlantic Ocean!""Bedad, Oi say no rayson agin it," replied Mick, standing up for the
superstitions of his country like a man."Faith, a banshee can go |
garden | Where is Sandra? | John journeyed to the kitchen."What is a banshee, my lad?""Begorrah," answered Mick, crossing himself, "thet's more'n ony one
knows, may the saints presairve us fur mintionin' on 'em!They'll be
sperrits, Oi thinks, if Oi don't misremimber, ez can take ony shape they
plaizes!"exclaimed the other man chaffingly, thinking he was going
to pull Mick's leg a bit."What sort o' spirits, my lad--is it rum, or
gin, or whisky, now, you mean?"Mick did not reflect a bit, but came out pat with his answer.Daniel went to the bedroom.said he drily, setting the table in a roar as he winked from
one to the other of the mess opposite, though this wink of his was
hardly necessary, the habits and character of his questioner being very
well known throughout the ship, "it's a rum tasthe ye'd foind thim
sperrits, Oi'm afther thinkin', Misther Sharp!to run wild upon a set of formals,
who think one brainless, only because one is not drowsy.Do you know any
fogrums of that sort, brother?'The merriment that this question, which they meant to be personal,
occasioned, extremely confused Sir Marmaduke; and his evident
consciousness flung them into such immoderate laughter, that the new
mistress was forced to desist from all attempt at instruction, till it
subsided; which was not till their brother, shrugging his shoulders,
with shame and mortification, left the room.Yawning, then, with exhausted spirits, they desired to be set to work.John went back to the garden.Proficiency they had no chance, for they had no wish to make; but Ellis,
from this time, attended them twice a-week; and Sir Marmaduke was
gratified by the assurances of Miss Arbe, that all the world praised his
taste, for choosing them so accomplished an instructress.The fourth scholar that the same patronage procured for Ellis, was a
little girl of eleven years of age, whose mother, Lady Arramede, the
nearly ruined widow of a gamester peer, sacrificed every comfort to
retain the equipage, and the establishment, that she had enjoyed during
the life of her luxurious lord.Her table, except when she had company,
was never quite sufficient for her family; her dress, except when she
visited, was always old, mended, and out of fashion; and the education
of her daughter, though destined to be of the first order, was
extracted, in common with her gala dinners, and gala ornaments, from
these daily savings.Ellis, therefore, from the very moderate price at
which Miss Arbe, for the purpose of obliging her own various friends,
had fixed her instructions, was a treasure to Lady Arramede; who had
never before so completely found, what she was always indefatigably
seeking, a professor not more cheap than fashionable.On the part of the professor, the satisfaction was not quite mutual.Lady Arramede, reduced by her great expences in public, to the most
miserable parsimony in private, joined, to a lofty desire of high
consideration in the world, a constant alarm lest her pecuniary
difficulties should be perceived.The low terms, therefore, upon which
Ellis taught, though the real inducement for her being employed, urged
the most arrogant reception of the young instructress, in the
apprehension that she might, else, suspect the motive to her admission;
and the instant that she entered the room, her little pupil was hurried
to the instrument, that she might not presume to imagine it possible,
that she could remain in the presence of her ladyship, even for a
moment, except to be professionally occupied.Yet was she by no means more niggardly in bestowing favour, than
rapacious in seeking advantage.Her thoughts were constantly employed in
forming interrogatories for obtaining musical information, by which her
daughter might profit in the absence of the mistress; though she made
them without troubling herself to raise her eyes, except when she did
not comprehend the answer; and then, her look was of so haughty a
character, that she seemed rather to be demanding satisfaction than
explication.The same address, also, accompanied her desire to hear the pieces, which
her daughter began learning, performed by the mistress: she never made
this request till the given hour was more than passed; and made it then
rather as if she were issuing a command, for the execution of some
acknowledged duty, than calling forth talents, or occupying time, upon
which she could only from courtesy have any claim.Miss Brinville, the fifth pupil of Ellis, was a celebrated beauty, who
had wasted her bloom in a perpetual search of admiration; and lost her
prime, without suspecting that it was gone, in vain and ambitious
difficulties of choice.Yet her charms, however faded and changed,
still, by candle-light, or when adroitly shaded, through a becoming
skill in the arrangement of her head-dress, appeared nearly in their
first lustre; and in this view it was that they were always present to
herself; though, by the world, the altered complexion, sunk eyes, and
enlarged features, exhibited by day-light, or by common attire, were
all, except through impertinent retrospection, that were any more
noticed.She was just arrived at Brighthelmstone, with her mother, upon a visit
to an acquaintance, whom that lady had engaged to invite them, with a
design of meeting Sir Lyell Sycamore, a splendid young baronet, with
whom Miss Brinville had lately danced at a private ball; where, as he
saw her for the first time, and saw her to every advantage which well
chosen attire, animated vanity, and propitious wax-light could give, he
had fallen desperately enamoured of her beauty; and had so vehemently
lamented having promised to join a party to Brighthelmstone, that both
the mother and the daughter concluded, that they had only to find a
decent pretence for following him, to secure the prostration of his
title and fortune at their feet.And though similar expectations, from
gentlemen of similar birth and estate, had already, at least fifty
times, been disappointed, they were just as sanguine, in the present
instance, as if, new to the world, and inexperienced in its ways, they
were now receiving their first lessons, upon the fallaciousness of
self-appreciation: so slight is the impression made, even where our
false judgment is self-detected, by wounds to our vanity!and so elastic
is the re-bound of that hope, which originates in our personal estimation
of our deserts!The young Baronet, indeed, no sooner heard of the arrival at
Brighthelmstone of the fair one who had enchanted him, than, wild with
rapture, he devoted all his soul to expected extacies.But when, the
next morning, fine and frosty, though severely cold, he met her upon the
Steyn, her complexion and her features were so different to those yet
resting, in full beauty, upon his memory, that he looked at her with a
surprise mingled with a species of indignation, as at a caricature of
herself.Miss Brinville, though too unconscious of her own double appearance to
develope what passed in his mind, was struck and mortified by his change
of manner.The bleak winds which blew sharply from the sea, giving
nearly its own blue-green hue to her skin, while all that it bestowed of
the carnation's more vivid glow, visited the feature which they least
become, but which seems always the favourite wintry hot-bed of the ruddy
tints; in completing what to the young Baronet seemed an entire
metamorphosis, drove him fairly from the field.The wondering heroine
was left in a consternation that usefully, however disagreeably, might
have whispered to her some of those cruel truths which are always
buzzing around faded beauties,--missing no ears but their own!--had she
not been hurried, by her mother, into a milliner's shop, to make some
preparations for a ball to which she was invited for the evening.There,
again, she saw the Baronet, to whose astonished sight she appeared with
all her first allurements.Again he danced with her, again was
captivated; and again the next morning recovered his liberty.Yet Miss
Brinville made no progress in self-perception: his changes were
attributed to caprice or fickleness; and her desire grew but more urgent
to fix her wavering conquest.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.At the dinner at Lady Kendover's, where Miss Arbe brought forward the
talents and the plan of Ellis, such a spirit was raised, to procure
scholars amongst the young ladies of fashion then at Brighthelmstone;
and it seemed so youthful to become a pupil, that Miss Brinville feared,
if left out, she might be considered as too old to enter such lists.Yet
her total ignorance of music, and a native dull distaste to all the
arts, save the millinery, damped her wishes with want of resolution;
till an exclamation of Sir Lyell Sycamore's, that nothing added so much
grace to beauty as playing upon the harp, gave her sudden strength and
energy, to beg to be set down, by Miss Arbe, as one of the first
scholars for her _protegee_.Ellis was received by her with civility, but treated with the utmost
coldness.The sight of beauty at its height, forced a self-comparison of
no exhilarating nature; and, much as she built upon informing Sir Lyell
of her lessons, she desired nothing less than shewing him from whom they
were received.To sit at the harp so as to justify the assertion of the
Baronet, became her principal study; and the glass before which she
tried her attitudes and motions, told her such flattering tales, that
she soon began to think the harp the sweetest instrument in the world,
and that to practise it was the most delicious of occupations.Ellis was too sincere to aid this delusion.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.Of all her pupils, no one
was so utterly hopeless as Miss Brinville, whom she found equally
destitute of ear, taste, intelligence, and application.The same
direction twenty times repeated, was not better understood than the
first moment that it was uttered.Naturally dull, she comprehended
nothing that was not familiar to her; and habitually indolent, because
brought up to believe that beauty would supply every accomplishment, she
had no conception of energy, and not an idea of diligence.Ellis, whose mind was ardent, and whose integrity was incorrupt, felt an
honourable anxiety to fulfil the duties of her new profession, though
she had entered upon them merely from motives of distress.She was
earnest, therefore, for the improvement of her pupils; and conceived the
laudable ambition, to merit what she might earn, by their advancement.And though one amongst them, alone, manifested any genius; in all of
them, except Miss Brinville, she saw more of carelessness, or idleness,
than of positive, incapacity.But here, the darkness of all musical
apprehension was so impenetrable, that not a ray of instruction could
make way through it; and Ellis who, though she saw that to study her
looks at the instrument was her principal object, had still imagined
that to learn music came in for some share in taking lessons upon the
harp, finding it utterly vain to try to make her distinguish one note
from another, held her own probity called upon to avow her opinion;
since she saw herself the only one who could profit from its
concealment.Gently, therefore, and in terms the most delicate that she could select,
she communicated her fears to Mrs Brinville, that the talents of Miss
Brinville were not of a musical cast.Sandra travelled to the garden.Mrs Brinville, with a look that said, What infinite impertinence!declared herself extremely obliged by this sincerity; and summoned her
daughter to the conference.Miss Brinville, colouring with the deepest resentment, protested that
she was never so well pleased as in hearing plain truth; but each made
an inclination of her head, that intimated to Ellis that she might
hasten her departure: and the first news that reached her the next
morning was, that Miss Brinville had sent for a celebrated and expensive
professor, then accidentally at Brighthelmstone, to give her lessons
upon the harp.Miss Arbe, from whom Ellis received this intelligence, was extremely
angry with her for the strange, and what she called unheard-of measure
that she had taken.'What had you,' she cried, 'to do with their manner
of wasting their money?Every one chooses to throw it away according to
his own taste.Daniel moved to the office.If rich people have not that privilege, I don't see how
they are the better for not being poor.'The sixth scholar whom Ellis undertook, was sister to Sir Lyell
Sycamore.She possessed a real genius for music, though it was so little
seconded by industry, that whatever she could not perform without labour
or time, she relinquished.Thus, though all she played was executed in a
truly fine style, nothing being practised, nothing was finished; and
though she could amuse herself, and charm her auditors, with almost
every favourite passage that she heard, she could not go through a
single piece; could play nothing by book; and hardly knew her notes.Nevertheless, Ellis found her so far superiour, in musical capacity, to
every other pupil that had fallen to her charge, that she conceived a
strong desire to make her the fine player that her talents fitted her
for becoming.Her utmost exertions, however, and warmest wishes, were insufficient for
this purpose.The genius with which Miss Sycamore was endowed for music,
was unallied to any soft harmonies of temper, or of character: she was
presumptuous, conceited, and gaily unfeeling.If Ellis pressed her to
more attention, she hummed an air, without looking at her; if she
remonstrated against her neglect, she suddenly stared at her, though
without speaking.She had a haughty indifference about learning; but it
was not from an indifference to excel; 'twas from a firm self-opinion,
that she excelled already.If she could not deny, that Ellis executed
whole pieces, in as masterly a manner as she could herself play only
chosen passages, she deemed that a mere mechanical part of the art,
which, as a professor, Ellis had been forced to study; and which she
herself, therefore, rather held cheap than respected.Ellis, at first, seriously lamented this wayward spirit, which wasted
real talents; but all interest for her pupil soon subsided; and all
regret concentrated in having such a scholar to attend; for the manners
of Miss Sycamore had an excess of insolence, that rather demanded apathy
than philosophy to be supported, by those who were in any degree within
her power.Ellis was treated by her with a sort of sprightly defiance,
that sometimes seemed to arise from gay derision; at others, from
careless haughtiness.Miss Sycamore, who gave little attention to the
rumours of her history, saw her but either as a Wanderer, of blighted
fortune, and as such looked down upon her with contempt; or as an
indigent young woman of singular beauty, and as such, with far less
willingness, looked up to her with envy.Twice a-week, also, Selina, with the connivance, though not with the
avowed consent of Mrs Maple, came from Lewes, to continue her musical
lessons, at the house of Lady Kendover, or of Miss Arramede.Such was the set which the powerful influence of Miss Arbe procured for
the opening campaign of Ellis; and to this set its own celebrity soon
added another name.It was not, indeed, one which Miss Arbe would have
deigned to put upon her list; but Ellis, who had no pride to support in
her present undertaking, save the virtuous and right pride of owing
independence to her own industry, as readily accepted a preferred
scholar from the daughter of a common tradesman, as she had accepted the
daughter of an Earl, whom she taught at Lady Kendover's.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.Mr Tedman, a grocer, who had raised a very large fortune, was now at
Brighthelmstone, with his only daughter and heiress, at whose desire he
called at Miss Matson's, to enquire for the famous music-teacher.Ellis, hearing that he was an elderly man, |
garden | Where is Sandra? | Much surprised by her youthful appearance,
'Good now, my dear,' he cried, 'why to be sure it can't be you as
pretends to learn young misses music?and even misses of quality, as I
am told?It's more likely it's your mamma; put in case you've got one.'When Ellis had set him right, he took five guineas from his purse, and
said, 'Well, then, my dear, come to my darter, and give her as much of
your tudeling as will come to this.And I think, by then, she'll be able
to twiddle over them wires by herself.'The hours of attendance being then settled, he looked smirkingly in her
face, and added, 'Which of us two is to hold the stakes, you or I?'shaking the five guineas between his hands.But when she assured him
that she had not the most distant desire to anticipate such an
appropriation, he assumed an air of generous affluence, and assuring
her, in return, that he was not afraid to trust her, counted two guineas
and a half a guinea, upon the table, and said, 'So if you please, my
dear, we'll split the difference.'Ellis found the daughter yet more innately, though less obviously,
vulgar; and far more unpleasant, because uncivil, than the father.In a
constant struggle to hide the disproportion of her origin, and early
habits, with her present pretensions to fashion, she was tormented by an
incessant fear of betraying, that she was as little bred as born to the
riches which she now possessed.John journeyed to the kitchen.This made her always authoritative with
her domestics, or inferiours, to keep them in awe; pert with gentlemen,
by way of being genteel; and rude with ladies, to shew herself their
equal.Daniel went to the bedroom.Mr Tedman conceived, immediately, a warm partiality for Ellis, whose
elegant manners, which, had he met with her in high life, would have
distanced him by their superiority, now attracted him irresistibly, in
viewing them but as good-nature.He called her his pretty tudeler, and
bid her make haste to earn her five guineas; significantly adding, that,
if his daughter were not finished before they were gone, he was rich
enough to make them ten.CHAPTER XXV
With these seven pupils, Ellis, combating the various unpleasant
feelings that were occasionally excited, prosperously began her new
career.Her spirits, from the fulness of her occupations, revived; and she soon
grew a stranger to the depression of that ruminating leisure, which is
wasted in regret, in repining, or in wavering meditation.Miss Arbe reaped, also, the fruits of her successful manoeuvres, by
receiving long, and almost daily instructions, under the pretence of
trying different compositions; though never under the appellation of
lessons, nor with the smallest acknowledgement of any deficiency that
might require improvement; always, when they separated, exclaiming,
'What a delightful musical regale we have enjoyed this morning!'So sincere, nevertheless, was the sense which Ellis entertained of the
essential obligations which she owed to Miss Arbe, that she suffered
this continual intrusion and fatigue without a murmur.Miss Bydel, also, who was nearly as frequent in her visits as Miss Arbe,
claimed constantly, however vainly, in return for paying the month's
hire of the harp, the private history of the way of life, expences,
domestics, and apparent income, of every family to which that instrument
was the means of introduction.And but that these ladies had personal
engagements for their evenings, Ellis could not have found time to keep
herself in such practice as her new profession required; and her credit,
if not her scholars, might have been lost, through the selfishness of
the very patronesses by whom they had been obtained.Another circumstance, also, somewhat disturbed, though she would not
suffer it to interrupt what she now deemed to be her professional study:
she no sooner touched her harp, than she heard a hurrying, though heavy
step, descend the stairs; and never opened her door, after playing or
singing, without perceiving a gentleman standing against it, in an
attitude of listening.He hastened away ashamed, upon her appearance;
yet did not the less fail to be in waiting at her next performance.Displeased, and nearly alarmed by the continual repetition of this
curiosity, she complained of it to Miss Matson, desiring that she would
find means to put an end to so strange a liberty.Miss Matson said, that the person in question, who was a gentleman of
very good character, though rather odd in his ways, had taken the little
room which Ellis had just relinquished: she was sure, however, that he
meant no harm, for he had often told her, as he passed through the shop,
that he ought to pay double for his lodging, for the sake of hearing the
harp, and the singing.Miss Matson remonstrated with him, nevertheless,
upon his indiscretion; in consequence of which, he became more
circumspect.From Selina, whose communications continued to be as unabated in
openness, as her friendship was in fondness, Ellis had the heartfelt
satisfaction of receiving occasional intelligence, drawn from the
letters of Mrs Howel to Mrs Maple, of the inviolable attachment of Lady
Aurora Granville.She heard, also, but nearly with indifference, that the two elder ladies
had been furious with indignation, at the prosperity of the scheme of
Miss Arbe, by which Ellis seemed to be naturalized at Brighthelmstone;
where she was highly considered, and both visited and invited, by all
who had elegance, sense, or taste to appreciate her merits.Of Elinor nothing was positively known, though some indirect information
reached her aunt, that she had found means to return to the continent.About three weeks passed thus, in the diligent and successful practice
of this new profession, when a morning concert was advertised at the New
Rooms, for a blind Welsh harper, who was travelling through the
principal towns of England.All the scholars of Ellis having, upon this occasion, taken tickets of
Lady Kendover, who patronized the harper, Ellis meant to dedicate the
leisure thus left her to musical studies; but she was broken in upon by
Miss Bydel, who, possessing an odd ticket, and having, through some
accident, missed joining her party, desired Ellis would immediately get
ready to go with her to the concert.Ellis, not sorry to hear the
harper, consented.The harper was in the midst of his last piece when they arrived.John went back to the garden.Miss
Bydel, deaf to a general buz of 'Hush!'at the loud voice with which,
upon entering the room, she said, 'Well, now I must look about for some
acquaintance,' straitly strutted on to the upper end of the apartment.Ellis quietly glided after her, concluding it to be a matter of course
that they should keep together.Here, however, Miss Bydel comfortably
arranged herself, between Mrs Maple and Selina, telling them that,
having been too late for all her friends, and not liking to poke her way
alone, she had been forced to make the young music-mistress come along
with her, for company.Ellis, though both abashed and provoked, felt herself too justly under
the protection of Miss Bydel, to submit to the mortification of turning
back, as if she had been an unauthorised intruder; though the averted
looks, and her consciousness of the yet more disdainful opinions of Mrs
Maple, left her no hope of countenance, but through the kindness of
Selina.Sandra travelled to the bathroom.She sought, therefore, the eyes of her young friend, and did not
seek them in vain; but great was her surprise to meet them not merely
unaccompanied by any expression of regard, but even of remembrance; and
to see them instantaneously withdrawn, to be fixed upon those of Lady
Barbara Frankland, which were wholly occupied by the blind harper.Disappointed and disconcerted, she was now obliged to seat herself,
alone, upon a side form, and to strive to parry the awkwardness of her
situation, by an appearance of absorbed attention to the performance of
the harper.A gentleman, who was lounging upon a seat at some distance, struck by
her beauty, and surprised by her lonely position, curiously loitered
towards her, and dropt, as if accidentally, upon the same form.He was
young, tall, handsome, and fashionable, but wore the air of a decided
libertine; and her modest mien, and evident embarrassment, rendered her
peculiarly attractive to a voluptuous man of pleasure.To discover,
therefore, whether that modesty were artificial, or the remains of such
original purity as he, and such as he, adore but to demolish, was his
immediate determination.It was impossible for Ellis to escape seeing how completely she
engrossed his attention, sedulously as she sought to employ her own
another way.But, having advanced too far into the room, by following
Miss Bydel, to descend without being recognized by those whose good
opinion it was now her serious concern to preserve, all her scholars
being assembled upon this occasion; she resolved to sustain her credit,
by openly joining, or, at least, closely following, Miss Bydel, when the
concert should be over.When the concert, however, was over, her difficulties were but
increased, for no one retired.Lady Kendover ordered tea for herself and
her party; and the rest of the assembly eagerly formed itself into
groups for a similar purpose.A mixt society is always jealous of its
rights of equality; and any measure taken by a person of superiour rank,
or superiour fortune to the herd, soon becomes general; not humbly, from
an imitative, but proudly, from a levelling spirit.The little coteries thus every where arranging, made the forlorn
situation of Ellis yet more conspicuous.All now, but herself, were
either collected into setts to take tea, or dispersed for sauntering.She felt, therefore, so awkward, that, hoping by a fair explanation, to
acquit herself to her scholars at their next lessons, she was rising to
return alone to her lodging, when the gentleman already mentioned,
planting himself abruptly before her, confidently enquired whether he
could be of any service in seeing her out.She gravely pronounced a negative, and re-seated herself.Mary journeyed to the bedroom.Sandra travelled to the garden.He made no
attempt at conversation, but again took his place by her side.In the hope of lessening, in some degree, her embarrassment, Ellis, once
more, sought the notice of Selina, whose behaviour appeared so
extraordinary, that she began to imagine herself mistaken in believing
that she had yet been seen; but when, again, she caught the eye of that
young lady, a low and respectful courtesy vainly solicited return, or
notice.Daniel moved to the office.The eye looked another way, without seeming to have heeded the
salutation.She grew, now, seriously apprehensive, that some cruel calumny must have
injured her in the opinion of her affectionate young friend.Her ruminations upon this unpleasant idea were interrupted, by the
approach of Mrs and Miss Brinville, who, scornfully passing her, stopt
before her lounging neighbour, to whom Mrs Brinville said, 'Do you take
nothing Sir Lyell?We are just going to make a little tea.'Sir Lyell, looking negligently at Miss Brinville, and then, from her
faded beauty, casting a glance of comparison at the blooming prime of
the lovely unknown by his side, carelessly answered, that he took tea
but once in a day.Miss Brinville, though by no means aware of the full effect of such a
contrast, had not failed to remark the direction of the wandering eye;
nor to feel the waste and inadequacy of her best smiles to draw it back.She was compelled, however, to walk on, and Ellis now concluded that her
bold and troublesome neighbour must be Sir Lyell Sycamore, who, seldom
at home but to a given dinner, had never been present at any lesson of
his sister's.The chagrin of being seen, and judged, so unfavourably, by a friend of
Lord Melbury, was a little softened, by the hope that he would soon
learn who she was from Miss Sycamore; and that accident, not choice, had
placed her thus alone in a public room.Miss Brinville had not more keenly observed the admiring looks of Sir
Lyell, than the Baronet had remarked her own of haughty disdain, for the
same object.Daniel journeyed to the bathroom.This confirmed his idea of the fragile character of his
solitary beauty; though, while it fixed his pursuit, it deterred him
from manifesting his design.His quietness, however, did not deceive
Ellis; the admiration conveyed by his eyes was so wholly unmixt with
respect, that, embarrassed and comfortless, she knew not which way to
turn her own.Daniel journeyed to the kitchen.Mr Tedman, soon after, perceiving her to be alone, and unserved, came,
with a good humoured smirk upon his countenance, to bring her a handful
of cakes.It was in vain that she declined them; he placed them, one by
one, till he had counted half a dozen, upon the form by her side,
saying, 'Don't be so coy, my dear, don't be so coy.Young girls have
appetites as well as old men, for I don't find that that tudeling does
much for one's stomach; and, I promise you, this cold February morning
has served me for as good a whet, as if I was an errand boy up to this
moment--put in case I ever was one before;--which, however, is neither
here nor there; though you may as well,' he added, lowering his voice,
and looking cautiously around, 'not mention my happening to drop that
word to my darter; for she has so many fine Misses coming to see her,
that she got acquainted with at the boarding-school, where I was
over-persuaded to put her--for I might have set up a good smart shop for
the money it cost me; but she had a prodigious hankering after being
teached dancing, and the like; and so now, when they come to see us, she
wants to pass for as fine a toss up as themselves!put
in case I was to let the cat out of the bag--.'Steadily as Ellis endeavoured to avoid looking either to the right or to
the left, she could not escape observing the surprise and diversion,
which this visit and whisper afforded to Sir Lyell; yet the good humour
of Mr Tedman, and her conviction of the innocence of his kindness, made
it impossible for her to repulse him with anger.Daniel travelled to the office.Advancing, next, his mouth close to her ear, he said, 'I should have
been glad enough to have had you come and drink a cup of tea with I and
my darter; I can tell you that; only my darter's always in such a fuss
about what the quality will think of her; else, we are dull enough
together, only she and me; for, do what she will, the quality don't much
mind her.So she's rather a bit in the sulks, poor dear.And, at best,
she is but a so so hand at the agreeable.Though indeed, for the matter
of that, I am no rare one myself; except with my particulars;--put in
case I am then.'He now, good-humouredly nodding, begged her not to spare the cakes, and
promising she should have more if she were hungry, returned to his
daughter.Sir Lyell, with a scarcely stifled laugh, and in a tone the most
familiar, enquired whether she wished for any further refreshment.Ellis, looking away from him, pronounced a repulsive negative.An elderly gentleman, who was walking up and down the room, now bowed to
her.Not knowing him, she let his salutation pass apparently
disregarded; when, some of her cakes accidentally falling from the form,
he eagerly picked them up, saying, as he grasped them in his hand,
'Faith, Madam, you had better have eaten them at once.These
cakes are no more improved by being mottled with the dirt of the floor,
than a pretty woman is by being marked with the small pox.I know
nothing that i'n't the worse for a put-off,... unless it be a quarrel.'Ellis, then, through his voice and language, discovered her fellow |
office | Where is Sandra? | Additional disturbance now seized her, lest he should recur to the
suspicious circumstances of her voyage and arrival.While he still stood before her, declaiming upon the squeezed cakes,
which he held in his hand, Mr Tedman, coming softly back, and gently
pushing him aside, produced, with a self-pleased countenance, a small
plate of bread and butter, saying, 'Look, here, my dear, I've brought
you a few nice slices; for I see the misfortune that befel my cakes, of
their falling down; and I resolved you should not be the worse for it.But I advise you to eat this at once, for fear of accidents; only take
care,' with a smile, 'that you don't grease your pretty fingers.'He did not smile singly; Sir Lyell more than bore him company, and Riley
laughed aloud saying,
''Twould be pity, indeed, if she did not take care of her pretty
fingers, 'twould, faith!I can't
imagine how the lady could sit so patiently, to hear that old Welsh man
thrum the cords in that bang wang way, when she can touch them herself,
like a little Queen David, to put all one's feelings in a fever.I have
listened at her door, till I have tingled all over with heat, in the
midst of the hard frost.And, sometimes, I have sat upon the stairs, to
hear her, till I have been so bent double, and numbed, that my nose has
almost joined my toes, and you might have rolled me down to the
landing-place without uncurbing me.Ellis now further discovered, that Mr Riley was the listening new
lodger.Her apprehensions, however, of his recollection subsided, when
she found him wholly unsuspicious that he had ever seen her before; and
called to mind her own personal disguise at their former meeting.Sir Lyell, piqued to see her monopolized by two such fogrums as he
thought Messieurs Riley and Tedman, was bending forward to address her
more freely himself, when Lady Barbara Frankland, suddenly perceiving
her, flew to take her hand, with the most cordial expressions of partial
and affectionate regard.Sir Lyell Sycamore, after a moment of extreme surprise, combining this
condescension with what Riley had said of her performance, surmized that
his suspicious beauty must be the harp-mistress, who had been
recommended to him by Miss Arbe; who taught his sister; and whose
various accomplishments had been extolled to him by Lord Melbury.Daniel moved to the garden.That
she should appear, and remain, thus strangely alone in public, marked
her, nevertheless, in his opinion, as, at least, an easy prey; though
her situation with regard to his sister, and a sense of decency with
regard to her known protectors, made him instantly change his demeanour,
and determine to desist from any obvious pursuit.Lady Barbara had no sooner returned to her aunt, than Sir Marmaduke
Crawley, in the name of that lady, advanced with a request, that Miss
Ellis would be so obliging as to try the instrument of the Welsh harper.Though this message was sent by Lady Kendover in terms of perfect
politeness, and delivered by Sir Marmaduke with the most scrupulous
courtesy, it caused Ellis extreme disturbance, from her unconquerable
repugnance to complying with her ladyship's desire; but, while she was
entreating him to soften her refusal, by the most respectful
expressions, his two sisters came hoydening up to her, charging him to
take no denial, and protesting that they would either drag The Ellis to
the harp, or the harp to The Ellis, if she stood dilly dallying any
longer.And then, each seizing her by an arm, without any regard to her
supplications, or to the shock which they inflicted upon the nerves of
their brother, they would have put their threat into immediate
execution, but for the weakness occasioned by their own immoderate
laughter at their merry gambols; which gave time for Lady Kendover to
perceive the embarrassment and the struggles of Ellis, and to suffer her
partial young admirer, Lady Barbara, to be the bearer of a civil
apology, and a recantation of the request.To this commission of the well-bred aunt, the kind-hearted niece added a
positive insistance, that Ellis should join their party; to which she
rather drew than led her, seating her, almost forcibly, next to herself,
with exulting delight at rescuing her from the turbulent Miss Crawleys.Lady Kendover, to whom the exact gradations of _etiquette_ were always
present, sought, by a look, to intimate to her niece, that while the
Hon.Miss Arramede was standing, this was not the place for Ellis: but
the niece, natural, inconsiderate, and zealous, understood not the hint;
and the timid embarrassment of Ellis shewed so total a freedom from all
obtrusive intentions, that her ladyship could not but forgive, however
little she had desired the junction; and, soon afterwards, encouragingly
led her to join both in the conversation and the breakfast.Selina, now, ran to shake hands with her dear Ellis, expressing the
warmest pleasure at her sight.Ellis as much, though not as disagreeably
surprised by her notice now, as she had been by the more than neglect
which had preceded it, was hesitating what judgment to form of either,
when Miss Sycamore, from some distance, scornfully called out to her,
'Don't fail to stop at our house on your way back to your lodgings, Miss
Ellis, to look at my harp.Lady Kendover, whose invariable politeness made her peculiarly sensible
of any failure of that quality in another, perceiving Ellis extremely
disconcerted, by the pointed malice of this humiliating command, at the
moment that she was bearing her part in superiour society, redoubled her
own civilities, by attentions as marked and public as they were
obliging; and, pleased by the modest gratitude with which they were
received, had again restored the serenity of Ellis; when a conversation,
unavoidably overheard, produced new disturbance.Mr Riley, who had just recognized Ireton and Mrs Maple, was loud in his
satisfaction at again seeing two of his fellow-voyagers; and, in his
usually unceremonious manner, began discoursing upon their late dangers
and escape; notwithstanding all the efforts of Mrs Maple, who knew
nothing of his birth, situation in life, or fortune, to keep him at a
distance.'And pray,' cried her, 'how does Miss Nelly do?She is a prodigious
clever girl; she is faith!I took to her mightily; though I did not much
like that twist she had got to the wrong side of my politics.I longed
prodigiously to give her a twitch back to the right.David leaned back in the motor, totally unconscious of his surroundings,
as he realised how great a conquest for his King was this winning of
Diana.Her immense wealth, her influence, her position in the county,
her undoubted personal charm, would all now be consecrated, and become a
power on the side of right.The very fact that he himself
was so soon leaving England, and would have no personal share in that
future, made his joy all the purer because of its absolute selflessness.Like the Baptist of old, standing on the banks of Jordan, he had pointed
to the passing Christ, saying: "Behold!"She had beheld; she had
followed; she had found Him; and the messenger, who had brought about
this meeting, might depart.All true heralds of the King rejoice when the souls they have
striven to win turn and say: "Now we believe, not because of thy saying;
for we have heard Him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the
Christ, the Saviour of the world."This test was now David's; and being
a true herald, he did not fail before it.When Diana had risen from her knees, she had turned to him and said,
gently: "Cousin David, do you mind if I order the motor now?I could not
speak or think to-night of other things; and I just feel I want to be
alone."During the few moments which intervened before the car was announced,
they sat in silence, one on either side of the fireplace.There was a
radiance of joy on both young faces, which anyone, entering
unexpectedly, would doubtless have put down to a very different cause.Diana was not thinking at all of David; and David was thinking less of
Diana than of the Lord Whose presence with them, in that evening hour,
had made of it a time of healing and of power.As he rose to go, she put her hand in his."Cousin David," she said, "more than ever now, I need your counsel and
your help.If I send over, just before one o'clock, can you come to
luncheon to-morrow, and afterwards we might have the talk which I cannot
manage to-night?"The weddings at which he had to officiate were at eleven
o'clock."I will be ready," he said, "and I will come.I am afraid my
advice is not worth much; but, such as it is, it is altogether at your
service.""Good-night, Cousin David," she said, "and God bless you!Doesn't it say
somewhere in the Bible: 'They that turn many to righteousness shall
shine as the stars for ever and ever'?"David now remembered this farewell remark of Diana's, as he stood for a
moment at the Rectory gate, looking upward to the clear frosty sky.But
the idea did not suit his mood."Ah, no, my Lord," he said."Thou art the bright and morning Star.Why
should I want, for myself, any glory or shining?I am content forever to
be but a follower of the Star."CHAPTER IX
Uncle Falcon's Will
Luncheon would have been an awkward affair, owing to David's nervous awe
of Mrs.Marmaduke Vane and his extreme trepidation in her presence, had
it not been for Diana's tact and vivacity.She took the bull by the horns, explaining David's mistake, and how it
was entirely her own fault for being so ambiguous and inconsequent in
her speech--"as you have told me from my infancy, dear Chappie"; and she
laughed so infectiously over the misunderstanding and over the picture
she drew of poor David's dismay and horror, that Mrs.Marmaduke Vane
laughed also, and forgave David."And to add to poor Cousin David's confusion, he had made sure, at first
sight, that you were at least a duchess," added Diana tactfully; "and
they don't have them in Central Africa; so Cousin David felt very shy.Vane began to like "Diana's
missionary.""I have often noticed," pursued Miss Rivers, "that the very people who
are the most brazen in the pulpit, who lean over the side and read your
thoughts; who make you lift your unwilling eyes to theirs, responsive;
who direct the flow of their eloquence full upon any unfortunate person
who is venturing at all obviously to disagree--are the very people who
are most apt to be shy in private life.You should see my Cousin David
fling challenge and proof positive at a narrow-minded lady, with an
indignant rustle, and a red feather in her bonnet.I believe her husband
is a tenant-farmer of mine.I intend to call, in order to discuss Cousin
David's sermons with her.I shall insist upon her showing me the passage
in _her_ Bible where it says that there were three Wise Men."Then Diana drew David on to tell of his African congregations, of the
weird experiences in those wild regions; of the perils of the jungle,
and the deep mystery of the forest.And he made it all sound so
fascinating and delightful, that Mrs.Marmaduke Vane became quite
expansive, announcing, as she helped herself liberally to
_pate-de-foie-gras_, that she did not wonder people enjoyed being
missionaries."You should volunteer, Chappie dear," said Diana."I daresay the society
sends out ladies.Only--fancy, if you came back as thin as Cousin
David!"In the drawing-room, she sent him to the piano; and Mrs.Vane allowed
her coffee to grow cold while she listened to David's music, and did not
ask Diana to send for more, until David left the music stool.Then Diana reminded her chaperon of an engagement she had at Eversleigh."The motor is ordered at half-past two, dear; and be sure you stay to
tea.They can but say: '_Must_ you stay?And they won't do
that, because they are inordinately proud of your presence in their
abode."Vane rose reluctantly, expressing regret that she had unwittingly
made this engagement, and murmuring something about an easy postponement
by telegram.Such a disappointment must not be inflicted upon any
family on Boxing-day.Marmaduke Vane took David's hand in both her plump ones, and patted
it, kindly.Rivers," she said with _empressement_."And I
hope you will have a quite delightful time in Central Africa.And mind,"
she added archly, "if Diana decides to come out and see you there, _I_
shall accompany her.""It is no place for women," he said, helplessly."I assure you, Miss Rivers, it is no place for women.""Never fear, Cousin David," laughed Diana.Vane
with a desire to rough it; but I do not share her ardour, and she could
not start without me.She turned to the fire, with an air of dismissal, and pushed a log into
place with her toe.David opened the door, waited patiently while Mrs.Vane hoarsely
whispered final farewell pleasantries; then closed it behind her portly
back.When he returned to the hearthrug, Diana was still standing gazing
thoughtfully into the fire, one arm on the mantel-piece."She hopes you will
have a quite delightful time; and, as a matter of fact, you are going
out to die!Cousin David, do you _really_ expect never to return?""In all probability," said David, "I shall never see England again.They tell me I cannot possibly live through another five years out
there.They think two, or at most three, will see me through."Do you consider it right, deliberately to sacrifice a young life, and a
useful life, by returning to a place which you know must cost that life?"Because," said David, quietly, "my call is there.Some one must go; and
who better than one who has absolutely no home-ties; none to miss or
mourn him, but the people for whom he gives his life?"Let us sit down," said Diana, "just as we sat last night, in those
quiet moments before the motor came round.Only now, I can talk--and,
oh, Cousin David, I have so much to say!But first I want you to tell
me, if you will, all about yourself.We have the whole afternoon before us, unless you
have anything to take you away early."She motioned him to an easy chair, and herself sat on the couch, leaning
forward in her favourite attitude, her elbow on her knee, her chin
resting in the palm of her hand.The
firelight played on her soft hair."Begin at the beginning, Cousin David," she said."There is not much to tell of my beginnings," said David, simply.I was their only child--the son of their
old age.My home was always a little heaven upon earth.They were not
well off; we only had what my father earned by his practice, and village
people are apt to be slack about paying a doctor's bills.But they made
great efforts to give me the best possible education; and, a generous
friend coming to their assistance, I was able to go to Oxford.""I wish you could know all that that means," he said; "being
able to go to Oxford.""I can imagine what it would mean--to you," said Diana."While I was at Oxford, I decided to be ordained; and, almost
immediately after that decision, the call came.Sandra went back to the office.I held a London curacy
for one year, but, as soon as I was priested, by special leave from my
Bishop, and arrangement with my Vicar, I went out to Africa.During the
year I was working in London, I lost both my |
office | Where is Mary? | Did 'Amy' want to go out to Central Africa?""No," said David; "nor would I have dreamed of taking her there.Amy and
I had lived in the same village all our lives.Our mothers had wheeled us out in a double pram.We were just
brother and sister, until I went to college; and then we thought we were
going to be--more.Daniel moved to the garden.But, when the call came, I knew it must mean
celibacy.No man could take a woman to such places.I knew, if I
accepted, I must give up Amy.But, when at last I
plucked up courage and told her, Amy did not mind very much, because a
gentleman-farmer in the neighbourhood was wanting to marry her."No," she said; "you could not do that.""I thought it best not to correspond during the five years," continued
David, "considering what we had been to one another.But when I was
invalided home, I looked forward, in the eager sort of way you do when
you are very weak, to seeing Amy again.As soon as I
could manage the journey, I went down--home; and--and called at Amy's
house.A very
masculine noisy lady, whom I had never seen before, walked into the room
where I stood awaiting Amy.She had just come in from hunting, and
flicked her boot with her hunting-crop as she asked me what I wanted.I
said: "I have called to see Mrs.Sandra went back to the office.Robert Carsdale," and stared at me, in astonishment.She told me where to--to find Amy, and opened the
hall door.I found Amy's grave, in our little churchyard, quite near my own
parents'.It was all that was left of
Amy; and, do you know, she had named her little son 'David.'"But, do you know, I
think Amy in heaven was better for you, than Amy on earth."Yes, I had cared a good deal," replied David, in a low voice; "but as
a boy cares, I think.Not as I should imagine a man would care.A man
who really cared _could_ not have left her to another man, could he?""I don't hold with matrimony," said Diana again; and she said it with
forceful emphasis."Nor do I," said David; "and my people out in Africa are all the family
I shall ever know.I faced that out, when I accepted the call.No man
has a right to allow a woman to face nameless horrors and hardships, or
to make a home in a climate where little children cannot live.""Ah, I do so agree with you!""I once attended a missionary
meeting where a returned missionary from India told us how she and her
husband had had to send their little daughter home to England when she
was seven years old, and had not seen her again until she was sixteen.'When we returned to England,' she told the meeting, 'I should not have
known my daughter had I passed her in the street!'And every one thought
it so pathetic, and so devoted.But it seemed to me false pathos, and
unpardonable neglect of primary duties.Who could take that mother's
place to that little child of seven years old?And, from the age of
seven to sixteen, how a girl needs her own mother.What call could come
before that first call--her own little child's need of her?And what do
you think that missionary-lady's work had been?Managing a school for
heathen children!All the time she was giving an account of these
children of other people and her work among them, I felt like calling
out: 'How about your own?'Cousin David, I didn't put a halfpenny in the
plate; and I have hated missionaries ever since!""That is not quite just," said David."But I do most certainly agree
with you, that first claims should come first.And therefore, a man who
feels called to labour where wife and children could not live, must
forego these tender ties, and consider himself pledged to celibacy.""It is the better part," said Diana.It had not struck him in that light before.He had
always thought he was foregoing an unknown but an undoubted joy.He was pondering her last remark; she was
considering him, and trying to fathom how much sincerity of conviction,
strength of will, and tenacity of purpose, lay behind that gentle
manner, and straightforward simplicity of character.Diana was a fearless cross-country rider.She never funked a fence, nor
walked a disappointed horse along, in search of a gap or a gate.But
before taking a high jump she liked to know what was on the other side.So, while David pondered Diana's last remark, Diana studied David.At length she said: "Do you remember my first appearance at Brambledene
church, on a Sunday evening, about five weeks ago?""I walked up the church to blasts of
psalmody from that noisy choir.""You were never late again," he said."You gave one the impression of being the
sort of person who might hold up the entire service, while one
unfortunate late-comer hurried abashed into her pew.Are many parsons so
acutely conscious of the exact deportment of each member of their
congregations?""I suppose the keen look-out one has to
keep for unexpected and sometimes dangerous happenings, at all
gatherings of our poor wild people, has trained one to it.I admit, I
would sooner see the glitter of an African spear poised in my direction
from behind a tree trunk, than see Mrs.Smith nudge her husband, in
obvious disagreement with the most important point in my sermon.""Well," continued Diana, "I came.David had no suggestion to make as to what had brought Diana."Why, after you had come down for an interview with my god-father and
spent a night at the Rectory, I motored over to see him, just before he
went for his cure.He told me all about you; and, among other things,
that you were going back knowing that the climate out there could only
mean for you a very few years of life; and I came to church because I
wanted to see a man whose religion meant more to him than even life
itself--I, who rated life and health as highest of all good; most
valuable of all possessions."I came to _see_--wondering, doubting, incredulous.I stayed to
_listen_--troubled, conscience-stricken, perplexed.First, I believed in
_you_, Cousin David.Then I saw the Christ-life in you.Then I longed to
have what you had--to find Him myself.To-day, I
can humbly, trustfully say: 'I know Whom I have believed, and am
persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him
against that day.'I am far from being what I ought to be; my life just
now is one tangle of perplexities; but the darkness is over, and the
true light now shineth.I hope, from this time onward, to be a follower
of the Star.""And now," continued Diana, after a few moments of happy silence, "I am
going to burden you, Cousin David, with a recital of my difficulties;
and I am going to ask your advice.Let me tell you my past history, as
shortly as possible."This dear old place is my childhood's home.My earliest recollection is
of living here with my mother and my grandfather.My father, Captain
Rivers, who was heir to the whole property, died when I was three years
old.The property was entailed on male heirs, and
failing my father, it came to a younger brother of my grandfather, a
great-uncle of mine, a certain Falcon Rivers, who had fallen out with
most of his relations, gone to live in America, and made a large fortune
out there.My grandfather and my mother never spoke of Uncle Falcon, and
I remember, as a child, having the instinctive feeling that even to
think of Uncle Falcon was an insidious form of sin."Toward the close of his life, my grandfather became involved in money
difficulties.Mary moved to the office.I was too young and
heedless to understand details, but it all resulted in this: that when
my grandfather died, he was unable to leave much provision for my
mother, or for me.We had to turn out of Riverscourt; Uncle Falcon was
returning to take possession.So we went to live in town, on the merest
pittance, and in what, after the luxuries to which I had always been
accustomed, appeared to me abject poverty.My
mother, who had been older than my father, was over fifty.Uncle Falcon wrote to my mother; but
she refused to see him, or to have any communication with him.We were absolutely cut off from the old home,
and all our former surroundings.Once or twice we heard, in roundabout
ways, how much Uncle Falcon's wealth was doing for the old place.Mortgages were all paid off; tumbled-down cottages were being rebuilt;
the farms were put into proper order, and let to good tenants.American
money has a way of being useful, even in proud old England."Any mention of all this, filled my mother with an extreme bitterness,
to which I had not then the key, and which I completely failed to
understand."One morning, at breakfast, she received an envelope, merely containing
a thin slip of paper.Her beautiful face--my mother was a very lovely
woman--went, as they say in story-books, whiter than the table-cloth.She tore the paper across, and across again, and flung the fragments
into the fire.They missed the flames, and fluttered down into the
fender.Daniel went to the hallway.I picked them up, and, right before her, pieced them together.It was a cheque from Uncle Falcon for a thousand pounds.I was so tired of running after omnibuses, and pretending
we liked potted meat lunches."She snatched the fragments out of my fingers, and dropped them into the
heart of the fire."'Anyway, it was kind of Uncle Falcon,' I said."'Do not mention his name,' cried my mother, with white lips; and I
experienced once more the fascination of the belief, which had been mine
in childhood, that Uncle Falcon, and the Prince of Darkness, were
somehow akin."To cut a long story short, at the end of those two hard years, my
mother died.A close friend of ours was matron in the Hospital of the
Holy Star--ah, yes, how curious!I had forgotten the name--a beautiful
little hospital in the Euston Road, supported by private contributions.I found the work interesting, and soon
got on.You may have difficulty in believing it, Cousin David, but I
make a quite excellent nurse.I studied every branch, passed various
exams., looked quite professional in my uniform, and should have been a
ward Sister before long--when the letter came, which again changed my
whole life.He had kept himself informed of my movements
through our old family lawyer, Mr.Inglestry, who, during those years,
had never lost sight of poor mamma, nor of me.I can remember Uncle
Falcon's letter, word for word."'My Dear Niece,' he wrote, 'I am told you are by now a duly qualified
hospital nurse.My body is in excellent health, but my brain--which I
suppose I have worked pretty strenuously--has partially given way; with
the result that my otherwise healthy body is more or less helpless on
the right side.My doctor tells me I must have a trained nurse; not in
constant attendance--Heaven protect the poor woman, if _that_ were
necessary!--but somewhere handy in the house, in case of need."'Now why should I be tended in my declining years, by a stranger, when
my own kith and kin is competent to do it?And why should I bring a
stray young woman to this beautiful place, when the girl whose rightful
home it is, might feel inclined to return to it?"'I hear from old What's-his-name, that you bear no resemblance whatever
to your father, but are the image of what your mother was, at your age.That being the case, if you like to come home, my child, I will make
your life as pleasant as I can, for her sake."'Your affectionate unknown uncle,
"'FALCON RIVERS.'"I arrived in uniform, not sure what my standing was to be in the house,
but thankful to be back there, on any terms, and irresistibly attracted
by the spell of Uncle Falcon."Our own old butler opened the door to me.The housekeeper, who had known me from infancy, took me up to my room.They wept and laughed, and seemed to look upon my uniform as one of Miss
Diana's pranks--half funny, half naughty.Truth to tell, I did feel
dressed up, when I found myself inside the old hall again."In twenty-four hours, Cousin David, I was installed as the daughter of
the house."Of Uncle Falcon's remarkable personality, there is not time to tell
you now.We took to each other at once, and, before long, he felt it
right to put away, at my request, the one possible cause of
misunderstanding there might have been between us, by telling me the
true reason of his alienation from home, and his breach with my
grandfather and my parents."Uncle Falcon was ten years younger than my grandfather.My mother, then
a very lovely woman, in the perfection of her beauty, was ten years
older than my father, a young subaltern just entering the army.My
mother was engaged to Uncle Falcon, who loved her with an intensity of
devotion, such as only a nature strong, fiery, rugged as his, could
bestow."During a visit to Riverscourt, shortly before the time appointed for
her marriage to Uncle Falcon, then a comparatively poor man with no
prospects--my mother met my father.My father fell in love with her, and
my mother jilted Uncle Falcon in order to marry the young heir to the
house and lands of Riverscourt.How well I could understand
it, remembering her love of luxury, and of all those things which go
with an old country place and large estates.Uncle Falcon never spoke to
her again, after receiving the letter in which she put an end to their
engagement; but he had a furious scene with my grandfather, who had
connived at the treachery toward his younger brother; and then
horsewhipped the young subaltern, in his father's presence."Shortly afterwards, he sailed for America, and never returned.After three years of married life, the young
heir died, without a son, and Uncle Falcon stood to inherit Riverscourt,
as the last in the entail."Meanwhile everything he touched had turned to gold, and he only waited
my grandfather's decease to return as master to the old home, with the
large fortune which would soon restore it to its pristine beauty and
grandeur."How well I could now understand my grandfather's silent fury, and my
mother's remorseful bitterness!By her own infidelity, she had made
herself the _niece_ of the man whose wife she might have been, and whose
wealth, position, and power would all have been laid at her feet.Also,
I am inclined to think she had not been long in realising and regretting
the treasure she had lost, in the love of the older man.I always knew
mamma had few ideals, and no illusions.Many of my own pronounced views
on the vital things in life are the product of her disillusionising
philosophy.Oh, Cousin David, I see it hurts you each time
I say '_poor_ mamma'!Yet you cannot know what it means, when one's
kindest thoughts of one's mother must needs be prefixed by the adjective
'poor.'Yes, I know it is a sad state of things when pity must be called
in to soften filial judgment.But then life is full of these sad things,
isn't it?Had my mother left me one single
illusion regarding men and marriage, I might not now find myself in the
difficult position in which I am placed to-day."However, for one thing I have always been thankful--one hour when I can
remember my mother with admiration and respect: that morning at
breakfast, in our humble suburban villa, when she tore up and flung to
the flames Uncle Falcon's cheque for a thousand pounds."A close intimacy, and a deep, though undemonstrative, affection, soon
arose between Uncle Falcon and myself.His |
kitchen | Where is Mary? | He insisted upon allowing me a thousand a year, merely as pocket-money,
while still defraying all large expenses for me, himself.Hunters,
dogs, everything I could wish, were secured and put at my disposal.His
last gift to me was the motor-car which brought you here to-day."His sense of humour was delightful; his shrewd keen judgment of men and
things, instructive and entertaining.So
sure was he of his own discernment, and so accustomed to bend others to
his iron will, that if one held a different view from his and ventured
to say so, he could never rest until he had won in the argument and
brought one round to his way of thinking.He was never irritable over
the point; he kept his temper, and controlled his tongue.But he never
rested until he had convinced and defeated a mental opponent."He and I agreed upon most subjects, but there was one on which we
differed; and Uncle Falcon could never bring himself to let it be.Daniel moved to the garden.In
spite of his own hard experience and consequent bachelorhood,--perhaps
because of it,--he was an ardent believer in marriage.He held that a
woman was not meant to stand alone; that she missed her proper vocation
in life if she refused matrimony; and that she attained her full
perfection only when the marriage tie had brought her to depend, for her
completion and for her happiness, upon her rightful master--man."On the other hand, I, as you may have discovered, Cousin David, regard
the whole idea of marriage with abhorrence.I hold that, as things now
stand in this civilization of ours, a woman's one absolute right is her
right to herself.Why should she
give herself up to a man; becoming his chattel, to do with as he
pleases?Why should she lose all right over her own person, her own
property, her own liberty of action and regulation of circumstance?Why
should she change her very name for his?If the two could stand on a
platform of absolute independence and equality, the thing might be
bearable--for some.But, as the law
and social usage now stand, marriage is--to the woman--practically
slavery; and, therefore, an unspeakable degradation!"Diana's eyes flashed; her colour rose; her firm chin seemed more than
ever to be moulded in marble.David, sole representative of the tyrant man, quailed beneath the lash
of her indictment.He felt he ought to say that
marriage was scriptural; and that woman was intended, from the first, to
be in subjection to man.But he had not the courage of his convictions;
nor could he brook the thought of any man attempting to subjugate this
glorious specimen of womanhood, invading her privacy, or in any way
presuming to dispute her absolute right over herself.So he shrank into
his large armchair, and took refuge in silence."When I proclaimed my views to Uncle Falcon," continued Diana, "he would
hear me to the end, and then say: 'My dear girl, after the manner of
most women orators, you mount the platform of your own ignorance, and
lay down the law from the depths--or, perhaps I should say, shallows--of
your own absolute inexperience.Get married, child, and you will tell a
different story.'"Then Uncle Falcon set himself to compass this result, but without
success.However profound might be my inexperience, I knew how to keep
men at arm's length, thank goodness!But, as the happy years went by, we
periodically reverted to our one point of difference.At the close of
each discussion, Uncle Falcon used to say: 'I shall win, Diana!Some day
you will have to admit that I have won.'His eyes used to gleam beneath
his shaggy brows, and I would turn the subject; because I could not give
in, yet I felt it was becoming almost a mania with Uncle Falcon."It was the only thing in which I failed to please him.His pride in my
riding, and in anything else I could do, was touching beyond words.He
remodelled the kennels, and financed the hunt in our neighbourhood, on
condition that I was Master."One day his speech suddenly became thick and difficult.Inglestry, our old family friend and adviser, and was closeted with him
for over an hour.Inglestry came out of the library, his face was grave; his
manner, worried."'Go to your uncle, Miss Rivers,' he said.'He has been exciting himself
a good deal, over a matter about which I felt bound to expostulate, and
I think he needs attention.'"Uncle Falcon's eyes were brighter than ever, though his lips twitched.'I shall win, Diana,' he said.'Some day you will have to admit that I
have won.You will have to say: "Uncle Falcon, you have won."'"I knelt down in front of him.'No other man will ever win me, dear.he said; then looked at me with inexpressible
affection.'I w-want you to be happy,' he said.'I w-want you to be as
h-happy as I would have made Geraldine.'"On the following day, Uncle Falcon sent for another lawyer, a young man
just opening a practice in Riversmead.He arrived with his clerk, but
only spent a very few minutes in the library, and as we have never heard
from him since, no transaction of importance can have taken place.Inglestry had the will and the codicil."A few nights later, I was summoned to my uncle's room.He neither spoke
nor moved again; but his eyes were still bright beneath the bushy
eyebrows.Those living eyes, in the already dead
body, seemed to say: 'Diana, I shall win.'"At dawn, the brave, dauntless soul left the body, which had long
clogged it, and launched out into the Unknown.Sandra went back to the office.My first conscious prayer
was: that he might not there meet either my father or my mother, but
some noble kindred spirit, worthy of him.Cousin David, you would have
liked Uncle Falcon.""I am sure I should have," said David Rivers."Go into the library," commanded Diana, "the door opposite the
dining-room, and study the portrait of him hanging over the
mantel-piece, painted by a famous artist, two years ago."Diana rang, and sent for a glass of water; went to the window, and
looked out; crossed to a mirror, and nervously smoothed her abundant
hair.Hitherto she had been cantering smoothly over open country.Mary moved to the office.She must keep her nerve--or she would find
herself riding for a fall."Yes," he answered; "wonderful eyes; bright, as golden amber.You must
not be offended--you would not be, if you could know how beautiful they
were--but the only eyes I ever saw at all like them, belonged to a
_Macacus Cynomolgus_, a little African monkey--who was a great pet of
mine.""I know the eyes of that species of
monkey.Did Uncle Falcon's amber eyes say anything to
you?""It must have been simply owing to all you have told
me.But, the longer I looked at them--the more clearly they said: 'I
shall win.'""Well, now listen," said Diana, "if my history does not weary you.Inglestry produced Uncle Falcon's will, he had left everything to
me: Riverscourt, the whole estate, the four livings of which he held the
patronage, and--his immense fortune.Cousin David, I am so rich that I
have not yet learned how to spend my money.I
have indeed the gift of gold to offer to the King.I wish you to have,
at once, all you require for the church, the schools, the
printing-press, and the boat, of which you spoke.And then, I wish you
to have a thousand a year--two, if you need them--for the current
expenses of your work, and to enable you to have a colleague.Will you
accept this, Cousin David, from a grateful heart, guided by you, led by
the Star, and able to-day to offer it to the King?"He sat quite silent, his head thrown back,
his hands clasping his knee; and Diana knew, as she watched the working
of the thin white face, that he was striving to master an emotion such
as a man hates to show before a woman.Then he sat up, loosing his knee, and answered very simply:
"I accept--for the King and for His work, Miss Rivers; and I accept on
behalf of my poor eager waiting people out there.Ah, if you could know
how much it means----!"Diana felt the happy tears welling up into her own eyes.Daniel went to the hallway."And we will call the church," said David, presently, "the Church of the
Holy Star."You have helped me with
my first gift, Cousin David.Now you must advise and help me about the
second.And, indeed, the possibility of offering the first depends
almost entirely upon the advice you give me about the second.You know
you said the frankincense meant our ideals--the high and holy things in
our lives?I want you to advise me as
to how to keep them.John went back to the bedroom.There was a codicil to Uncle Falcon's
will--a private codicil known only to Mr.Inglestry and myself, and only
to be made known a year after his death, to those whom, if I failed to
fulfil its conditions, it might then concern.Riverscourt, and all this
wealth, are mine, only on condition that I am married, within twelve
months of Uncle Falcon's death.said David Rivers; and it was not a careless exclamation.It
was a cry of protest from his very soul."No stipulation was made as to that," replied Diana.Mary moved to the kitchen."But Uncle Falcon
had three men in his mind, all of whom he liked, and each of whom
considers himself in love with me: a famous doctor in London, a
distinguished cleric in our cathedral town, and a distant cousin, Rupert
Rivers, to whom the whole property is to go, if I fail to fulfil the
condition."David sat forward, with his elbows on his knees, and rumpled his hair
with his hands.Horror and dismay were in his honest eyes."That he should really care for you, and
wish your happiness, and yet lay this burden upon you after his death.His mind must have been affected when he made that codicil."Inglestry says; but not sufficiently affected to enable us to
dispute it.The idea of bending me to matrimony, and of forcing me to
admit that it was the better part, had become a monomania with Uncle
Falcon."David sat with his head in his hands, his look bent upon the floor.Now
that he knew of this cruel condition imposed upon the beautiful girl
sitting opposite to him, he could not bring himself to lift his eyes to
hers.She should be looked at only with admiration and wonder; and now a
depth of pity would be in his eyes."So," said Diana, "you see how I am placed.If I refuse to fulfil the
condition, on the anniversary of Uncle Falcon's death we must tell
Rupert Rivers of the codicil; I shall have to hand over everything to
him; leave my dear home, and go back to the life of running after
omnibuses, and pretending to enjoy potted meat lunches!The detective was on his feet, hat settled and stick in hand.He had
already decided that in the universal darkness of his mind he could
only follow the first odd finger that pointed; and this finger was odd
enough.Paying his bill and clashing the glass doors behind him, he was
soon swinging round into the other street.It was fortunate that even in such fevered moments his eye was cool and
quick.Something in a shop-front went by him like a mere flash; yet
he went back to look at it.The shop was a popular greengrocer and
fruiterer's, an array of goods set out in the open air and plainly
ticketed with their names and prices.In the two most prominent
compartments were two heaps, of oranges and of nuts respectively.On
the heap of nuts lay a scrap of cardboard, on which was written in bold,
blue chalk, "Best tangerine oranges, two a penny."On the oranges was
the equally clear and exact description, "Finest Brazil nuts, 4d.M. Valentin looked at these two placards and fancied he had met this
highly subtle form of humour before, and that somewhat recently.He
drew the attention of the red-faced fruiterer, who was looking
rather sullenly up and down the street, to this inaccuracy in his
advertisements.The fruiterer said nothing, but sharply put each
card into its proper place.The detective, leaning elegantly on his
walking-cane, continued to scrutinise the shop.At last he said, "Pray
excuse my apparent irrelevance, my good sir, but I should like to ask
you a question in experimental psychology and the association of ideas."The red-faced shopman regarded him with an eye of menace; but he
continued gaily, swinging his cane, "Why," he pursued, "why are two
tickets wrongly placed in a greengrocer's shop like a shovel hat that
has come to London for a holiday?Or, in case I do not make myself
clear, what is the mystical association which connects the idea of nuts
marked as oranges with the idea of two clergymen, one tall and the other
short?"The eyes of the tradesman stood out of his head like a snail's; he
really seemed for an instant likely to fling himself upon the stranger.At last he stammered angrily: "I don't know what you 'ave to do with it,
but if you're one of their friends, you can tell 'em from me that I'll
knock their silly 'eads off, parsons or no parsons, if they upset my
apples again.""One of 'em did," said the heated shopman; "rolled 'em all over the
street.I'd 'ave caught the fool but for havin' to pick 'em up.""Up that second road on the left-hand side, and then across the square,"
said the other promptly."Thanks," replied Valentin, and vanished like a fairy.On the other side
of the second square he found a policeman, and said: "This is urgent,
constable; have you seen two clergymen in shovel hats?""I 'ave, sir; and if you arst
me, one of 'em was drunk.He stood in the middle of the road that
bewildered that--"
"Which way did they go?""They took one of them yellow buses over there," answered the man; "them
that go to Hampstead."Valentin produced his official card and said very rapidly: "Call up two
of your men to come with me in pursuit," and crossed the road with such
contagious energy that the ponderous policeman was moved to almost agile
obedience.In a minute and a half the French detective was joined on the
opposite pavement by an inspector and a man in plain clothes."Well, sir," began the former, with smiling importance, "and what
may--?""I'll tell you on the top of
that omnibus," he said, and was darting and dodging across the tangle of
the traffic.When all three sank panting on the top seats of the yellow
vehicle, the inspector said: "We could go four times as quick in a
taxi.""Quite true," replied their leader placidly, "if we only had an idea of
where we were going."Valentin smoked frowningly for a few seconds; then, removing his
cigarette, he said: "If you know what a man's doing, get in front of
him; but if you want to guess what he's doing, keep behind him.Stray
when he strays; stop when he stops; travel as slowly as he.Then you may
see what he saw and may act as he acted.All we can do is to keep our
eyes skinned for a queer thing.""What sort of queer thing do you mean?""Any sort of queer thing," answered Valentin, and relapsed into
obstinate silence.The yellow omnibus crawled up the northern roads for what seemed like
hours on end; the great detective would not explain further, and perhaps
his assistants felt a silent and growing doubt of his errand.Perhaps,
also, they felt a silent and growing desire for lunch, for the hours
crept long past the normal luncheon hour, and the long roads of the
North London suburbs seemed to |
hallway | Where is John? | It was one of those journeys on which a man
perpetually feels that now at last he must have come to the end of the
universe, and then finds he has only come to the beginning of Tufnell
Park.London died away in draggled taverns and dreary scrubs, and then
was unaccountably born again in blazing high streets and blatant hotels.It was like passing through thirteen separate vulgar cities all
just touching each other.But though the winter twilight was already
threatening the road ahead of them, the Parisian detective still sat
silent and watchful, eyeing the frontage of the streets that slid by on
either side.By the time they had left Camden Town behind, the policemen
were nearly asleep; at least, they gave something like a jump as
Valentin leapt erect, struck a hand on each man's shoulder, and shouted
to the driver to stop.They tumbled down the steps into the road without realising why they
had been dislodged; when they looked round for enlightenment they found
Valentin triumphantly pointing his finger towards a window on the left
side of the road.It was a large window, forming part of the long
facade of a gilt and palatial public-house; it was the part reserved for
respectable dining, and labelled "Restaurant."Daniel moved to the garden.This window, like all the
rest along the frontage of the hotel, was of frosted and figured glass;
but in the middle of it was a big, black smash, like a star in the ice."Our cue at last," cried Valentin, waving his stick; "the place with the
broken window.""Why, what proof
is there that this has anything to do with them?"Valentin almost broke his bamboo stick with rage.Why, of
course, the chances are twenty to one that it has nothing to do with
them.Don't you see we must either follow one
wild possibility or else go home to bed?"He banged his way into the
restaurant, followed by his companions, and they were soon seated at a
late luncheon at a little table, and looked at the star of smashed glass
from the inside.Not that it was very informative to them even then."Got your window broken, I see," said Valentin to the waiter as he paid
the bill."Yes, sir," answered the attendant, bending busily over the change, to
which Valentin silently added an enormous tip.The waiter straightened
himself with mild but unmistakable animation."Ah, yes, sir," he said.Tell us about it," said the detective with careless curiosity."Well, two gents in black came in," said the waiter; "two of those
foreign parsons that are running about.They had a cheap and quiet
little lunch, and one of them paid for it and went out.The other was
just going out to join him when I looked at my change again and found
he'd paid me more than three times too much.'Here,' I says to the chap
who was nearly out of the door, 'you've paid too much.''Oh,' he says,
very cool, 'have we?''Yes,' I says, and picks up the bill to show him."Well, I'd have sworn on seven Bibles that I'd put 4s.But
now I saw I'd put 14s., as plain as paint."Sandra went back to the office.cried Valentin, moving slowly, but with burning eyes, "and
then?""The parson at the door he says all serene, 'Sorry to confuse your
accounts, but it'll pay for the window.''The
one I'm going to break,' he says, and smashed that blessed pane with his
umbrella."All three inquirers made an exclamation; and the inspector said under
his breath, "Are we after escaped lunatics?"The waiter went on with
some relish for the ridiculous story:
"I was so knocked silly for a second, I couldn't do anything.The man
marched out of the place and joined his friend just round the corner.Then they went so quick up Bullock Street that I couldn't catch them,
though I ran round the bars to do it.""Bullock Street," said the detective, and shot up that thoroughfare as
quickly as the strange couple he pursued.Their journey now took them through bare brick ways like tunnels;
streets with few lights and even with few windows; streets that seemed
built out of the blank backs of everything and everywhere.Dusk was
deepening, and it was not easy even for the London policemen to guess
in what exact direction they were treading.The inspector, however, was
pretty certain that they would eventually strike some part of Hampstead
Heath.Abruptly one bulging gas-lit window broke the blue twilight like
a bull's-eye lantern; and Valentin stopped an instant before a little
garish sweetstuff shop.After an instant's hesitation he went in; he
stood amid the gaudy colours of the confectionery with entire gravity
and bought thirteen chocolate cigars with a certain care.He was clearly
preparing an opening; but he did not need one.An angular, elderly young woman in the shop had regarded his elegant
appearance with a merely automatic inquiry; but when she saw the door
behind him blocked with the blue uniform of the inspector, her eyes
seemed to wake up."Oh," she said, "if you've come about that parcel, I've sent it off
already."repeated Valentin; and it was his turn to look inquiring."I mean the parcel the gentleman left--the clergyman gentleman."Mary moved to the office."For goodness' sake," said Valentin, leaning forward with his first
real confession of eagerness, "for Heaven's sake tell us what happened
exactly.""Well," said the woman a little doubtfully, "the clergymen came in about
half an hour ago and bought some peppermints and talked a bit, and then
went off towards the Heath.But a second after, one of them runs
back into the shop and says, 'Have I left a parcel!'Well, I looked
everywhere and couldn't see one; so he says, 'Never mind; but if it
should turn up, please post it to this address,' and he left me the
address and a shilling for my trouble.And sure enough, though I thought
I'd looked everywhere, I found he'd left a brown paper parcel, so I
posted it to the place he said.I can't remember the address now; it
was somewhere in Westminster.But as the thing seemed so important, I
thought perhaps the police had come about it.""So they have," said Valentin shortly."Straight on for fifteen minutes," said the woman, "and you'll come
right out on the open."Valentin sprang out of the shop and began to
run.The other detectives followed him at a reluctant trot.The street they threaded was so narrow and shut in by shadows that when
they came out unexpectedly into the void common and vast sky they were
startled to find the evening still so light and clear.A perfect dome
of peacock-green sank into gold amid the blackening trees and the dark
violet distances.The glowing green tint was just deep enough to pick
out in points of crystal one or two stars.All that was left of the
daylight lay in a golden glitter across the edge of Hampstead and that
popular hollow which is called the Vale of Health.The holiday makers
who roam this region had not wholly dispersed; a few couples sat
shapelessly on benches; and here and there a distant girl still shrieked
in one of the swings.The glory of heaven deepened and darkened around
the sublime vulgarity of man; and standing on the <DW72> and looking
across the valley, Valentin beheld the thing which he sought.Among the black and breaking groups in that distance was one especially
black which did not break--a group of two figures clerically clad.Though they seemed as small as insects, Valentin could see that one of
them was much smaller than the other.Though the other had a student's
stoop and an inconspicuous manner, he could see that the man was well
over six feet high.He shut his teeth and went forward, whirling his
stick impatiently.By the time he had substantially diminished the
distance and magnified the two black figures as in a vast microscope,
he had perceived something else; something which startled him, and yet
which he had somehow expected.Whoever was the tall priest, there could
be no doubt about the identity of the short one.It was his friend of
the Harwich train, the stumpy little cure of Essex whom he had warned
about his brown paper parcels.Now, so far as this went, everything fitted in finally and rationally
enough.Valentin had learned by his inquiries that morning that a Father
Brown from Essex was bringing up a silver cross with sapphires, a
relic of considerable value, to show some of the foreign priests at the
congress.This undoubtedly was the "silver with blue stones"; and Father
Brown undoubtedly was the little greenhorn in the train.Now there
was nothing wonderful about the fact that what Valentin had found out
Flambeau had also found out; Flambeau found out everything.Also there
was nothing wonderful in the fact that when Flambeau heard of a sapphire
cross he should try to steal it; that was the most natural thing in all
natural history.And most certainly there was nothing wonderful about
the fact that Flambeau should have it all his own way with such a silly
sheep as the man with the umbrella and the parcels.He was the sort of
man whom anybody could lead on a string to the North Pole; it was not
surprising that an actor like Flambeau, dressed as another priest, could
lead him to Hampstead Heath.So far the crime seemed clear enough; and
while the detective pitied the priest for his helplessness, he almost
despised Flambeau for condescending to so gullible a victim.But when
Valentin thought of all that had happened in between, of all that had
led him to his triumph, he racked his brains for the smallest rhyme or
reason in it.What had the stealing of a blue-and-silver cross from a
priest from Essex to do with chucking soup at wall paper?What had it
to do with calling nuts oranges, or with paying for windows first and
breaking them afterwards?He had come to the end of his chase; yet
somehow he had missed the middle of it.When he failed (which was
seldom), he had usually grasped the clue, but nevertheless missed the
criminal.Here he had grasped the criminal, but still he could not grasp
the clue.The two figures that they followed were crawling like black flies
across the huge green contour of a hill.They were evidently sunk in
conversation, and perhaps did not notice where they were going; but they
were certainly going to the wilder and more silent heights of the Heath.As their pursuers gained on them, the latter had to use the undignified
attitudes of the deer-stalker, to crouch behind clumps of trees and
even to crawl prostrate in deep grass.By these ungainly ingenuities the
hunters even came close enough to the quarry to hear the murmur of the
discussion, but no word could be distinguished except the word "reason"
recurring frequently in a high and almost childish voice.Once over
an abrupt dip of land and a dense tangle of thickets, the detectives
actually lost the two figures they were following.Daniel went to the hallway.They did not find the
trail again for an agonising ten minutes, and then it led round the brow
of a great dome of hill overlooking an amphitheatre of rich and desolate
sunset scenery.Under a tree in this commanding yet neglected spot was
an old ramshackle wooden seat.On this seat sat the two priests still in
serious speech together.The gorgeous green and gold still clung to
the darkening horizon; but the dome above was turning slowly from
peacock-green to peacock-blue, and the stars detached themselves more
and more like solid jewels.Mutely motioning to his followers, Valentin
contrived to creep up behind the big branching tree, and, standing there
in deathly silence, heard the words of the strange priests for the first
time.After he had listened for a minute and a half, he was gripped by a
devilish doubt.Perhaps he had dragged the two English policemen to the
wastes of a nocturnal heath on an errand no saner than seeking figs on
its thistles.For the two priests were talking exactly like priests,
piously, with learning and leisure, about the most aerial enigmas of
theology.The little Essex priest spoke the more simply, with his round
face turned to the strengthening stars; the other talked with his
head bowed, as if he were not even worthy to look at them.But no more
innocently clerical conversation could have been heard in any white
Italian cloister or black Spanish cathedral.The first he heard was the tail of one of Father Brown's sentences,
which ended: "... what they really meant in the Middle Ages by the
heavens being incorruptible."The taller priest nodded his bowed head and said:
"Ah, yes, these modern infidels appeal to their reason; but who can
look at those millions of worlds and not feel that there may well be
wonderful universes above us where reason is utterly unreasonable?""No," said the other priest; "reason is always reasonable, even in the
last limbo, in the lost borderland of things.I know that people charge
the Church with lowering reason, but it is just the other way.John went back to the bedroom.Alone
on earth, the Church makes reason really supreme.Alone on earth, the
Church affirms that God himself is bound by reason."The other priest raised his austere face to the spangled sky and said:
"Yet who knows if in that infinite universe--?""Only infinite physically," said the little priest, turning sharply
in his seat, "not infinite in the sense of escaping from the laws of
truth."Mary moved to the kitchen.Valentin behind his tree was tearing his fingernails with silent fury.He seemed almost to hear the sniggers of the English detectives whom
he had brought so far on a fantastic guess only to listen to the
metaphysical gossip of two mild old parsons.In his impatience he lost
the equally elaborate answer of the tall cleric, and when he listened
again it was again Father Brown who was speaking:
"Reason and justice grip the remotest and the loneliest star.Don't they look as if they were single diamonds and
sapphires?Well, you can imagine any mad botany or geology you please.Think of forests of adamant with leaves of brilliants.Think the moon
is a blue moon, a single elephantine sapphire.John went to the hallway.But don't fancy that all
that frantic astronomy would make the smallest difference to the reason
and justice of conduct.Daniel moved to the bathroom.On plains of opal, under cliffs cut out of
pearl, you would still find a notice-board, 'Thou shalt not steal.'"Valentin was just in the act of rising from his rigid and crouching
attitude and creeping away as softly as might be, felled by the one
great folly of his life.But something in the very silence of the tall
priest made him stop until the latter spoke.When at last he did speak,
he said simply, his head bowed and his hands on his knees:
"Well, I think that other worlds may perhaps rise higher than our
reason.The mystery of heaven is unfathomable, and I for one can only
bow my head."Then, with brow yet bent and without changing by the faintest shade his
attitude or voice, he added:
"Just hand over that sapphire cross of yours, will you?We're all alone
here, and I could pull you to pieces like a straw doll."The utterly unaltered voice and attitude added a strange violence to
that shocking change of speech.But the guarder of the relic only seemed
to turn his head by the smallest section of the compass.He seemed still
to have a somewhat foolish face turned to the stars.Or, perhaps, he had understood and sat rigid with terror."Yes," said the tall priest, in the same low voice and in the same still
posture, "yes, I am Flambeau."Then, after a pause, he said:
"Come, will you give me that cross?""No," said the other, and the monosyllable had an odd sound.Flambeau suddenly flung off all his pontifical pretensions.The great
robber leaned back in his seat and laughed low but long."No," he cried, "you won't give it me, you proud prelate.You won't give
it me, you little celibate simpleton.Shall I tell you why you won't
give it me?Because I've got it already in my own breast-pocket."The small man from Essex turned what seemed to be a dazed face in the |
office | Where is John? | "Really, you're as good as a three-act farce," he cried."Yes, you
turnip, I am quite sure.I had the sense to make a duplicate of the
right parcel, and now, my friend, you've got the duplicate and I've got
the jewels.An old dodge, Father Brown--a very old dodge.""Yes," said Father Brown, and passed his hand through his hair with the
same strange vagueness of manner."Yes, I've heard of it before."The colossus of crime leaned over to the little rustic priest with a
sort of sudden interest."Well, I mustn't tell you his name, of course," said the little man
simply."He was a penitent, you know.He had lived prosperously for
about twenty years entirely on duplicate brown paper parcels.And so,
you see, when I began to suspect you, I thought of this poor chap's way
of doing it at once.""Did you really have the gumption to suspect me just because I brought
you up to this bare part of the heath?""No, no," said Brown with an air of apology."You see, I suspected you
when we first met.It's that little bulge up the sleeve where you people
have the spiked bracelet.""How in Tartarus," cried Flambeau, "did you ever hear of the spiked
bracelet?"Daniel moved to the garden."Oh, one's little flock, you know!"said Father Brown, arching his
eyebrows rather blankly."When I was a curate in Hartlepool, there were
three of them with spiked bracelets.So, as I suspected you from the
first, don't you see, I made sure that the cross should go safe, anyhow.I'm afraid I watched you, you know.So at last I saw you change the
parcels.Then, don't you see, I changed them back again.And then I left
the right one behind."repeated Flambeau, and for the first time there was
another note in his voice beside his triumph."Well, it was like this," said the little priest, speaking in the same
unaffected way."I went back to that sweet-shop and asked if I'd left a
parcel, and gave them a particular address if it turned up.Well, I knew
I hadn't; but when I went away again I did.So, instead of running after
me with that valuable parcel, they have sent it flying to a friend of
mine in Westminster."Then he added rather sadly: "I learnt that, too,
from a poor fellow in Hartlepool.He used to do it with handbags he
stole at railway stations, but he's in a monastery now.Oh, one gets to
know, you know," he added, rubbing his head again with the same sort of
desperate apology.Sandra went back to the office.Flambeau tore a brown-paper parcel out of his inner pocket and rent it
in pieces.There was nothing but paper and sticks of lead inside it.He
sprang to his feet with a gigantic gesture, and cried:
"I don't believe you.I don't believe a bumpkin like you could manage
all that.I believe you've still got the stuff on you, and if you don't
give it up--why, we're all alone, and I'll take it by force!""No," said Father Brown simply, and stood up also, "you won't take it
by force.First, because I really haven't still got it.And, second,
because we are not alone."Flambeau stopped in his stride forward."Behind that tree," said Father Brown, pointing, "are two strong
policemen and the greatest detective alive.How did they come here, do
you ask?Why, I'll tell
you if you like!Lord bless you, we have to know twenty such things
when we work among the criminal classes!Well, I wasn't sure you were
a thief, and it would never do to make a scandal against one of our
own clergy.So I just tested you to see if anything would make you show
yourself.A man generally makes a small scene if he finds salt in his
coffee; if he doesn't, he has some reason for keeping quiet.I changed
the salt and sugar, and you kept quiet.A man generally objects if
his bill is three times too big.If he pays it, he has some motive for
passing unnoticed.I altered your bill, and you paid it."The world seemed waiting for Flambeau to leap like a tiger.But he was
held back as by a spell; he was stunned with the utmost curiosity."Well," went on Father Brown, with lumbering lucidity, "as you wouldn't
leave any tracks for the police, of course somebody had to.At every
place we went to, I took care to do something that would get us talked
about for the rest of the day.I didn't do much harm--a splashed wall,
spilt apples, a broken window; but I saved the cross, as the cross will
always be saved.Mary moved to the office.I rather wonder you didn't
stop it with the Donkey's Whistle.""I'm glad you've never heard of it," said the priest, making a face.I'm sure you're too good a man for a Whistler.I
couldn't have countered it even with the Spots myself; I'm not strong
enough in the legs.""Well, I did think you'd know the Spots," said Father Brown, agreeably
surprised."Oh, you can't have gone so very wrong yet!""How in blazes do you know all these horrors?"The shadow of a smile crossed the round, simple face of his clerical
opponent."Oh, by being a celibate simpleton, I suppose," he said."Has it never
struck you that a man who does next to nothing but hear men's real sins
is not likely to be wholly unaware of human evil?But, as a matter of
fact, another part of my trade, too, made me sure you weren't a priest."And even as he turned away to collect his property, the three policemen
came out from under the twilight trees.Flambeau was an artist and a
sportsman.He stepped back and swept Valentin a great bow."Do not bow to me, mon ami," said Valentin with silver clearness."Let
us both bow to our master."And they both stood an instant uncovered while the little Essex priest
blinked about for his umbrella.The Secret Garden
Aristide Valentin, Chief of the Paris Police, was late for his dinner,
and some of his guests began to arrive before him.These were, however,
reassured by his confidential servant, Ivan, the old man with a scar,
and a face almost as grey as his moustaches, who always sat at a table
in the entrance hall--a hall hung with weapons.Valentin's house was
perhaps as peculiar and celebrated as its master.It was an old house,
with high walls and tall poplars almost overhanging the Seine; but the
oddity--and perhaps the police value--of its architecture was this: that
there was no ultimate exit at all except through this front door, which
was guarded by Ivan and the armoury.The garden was large and elaborate,
and there were many exits from the house into the garden.But there was
no exit from the garden into the world outside; all round it ran a tall,
smooth, unscalable wall with special spikes at the top; no bad garden,
perhaps, for a man to reflect in whom some hundred criminals had sworn
to kill.As Ivan explained to the guests, their host had telephoned that he
was detained for ten minutes.He was, in truth, making some last
arrangements about executions and such ugly things; and though these
duties were rootedly repulsive to him, he always performed them with
precision.Ruthless in the pursuit of criminals, he was very mild about
their punishment.Since he had been supreme over French--and largely
over European--policial methods, his great influence had been honourably
used for the mitigation of sentences and the purification of prisons.He was one of the great humanitarian French freethinkers; and the only
thing wrong with them is that they make mercy even colder than justice.When Valentin arrived he was already dressed in black clothes and the
red rosette--an elegant figure, his dark beard already streaked with
grey.He went straight through his house to his study, which opened on
the grounds behind.The garden door of it was open, and after he had
carefully locked his box in its official place, he stood for a few
seconds at the open door looking out upon the garden.A sharp moon
was fighting with the flying rags and tatters of a storm, and Valentin
regarded it with a wistfulness unusual in such scientific natures as
his.Perhaps such scientific natures have some psychic prevision of the
most tremendous problem of their lives.From any such occult mood,
at least, he quickly recovered, for he knew he was late, and that his
guests had already begun to arrive.A glance at his drawing-room when he
entered it was enough to make certain that his principal guest was not
there, at any rate.He saw all the other pillars of the little party;
he saw Lord Galloway, the English Ambassador--a choleric old man with a
russet face like an apple, wearing the blue ribbon of the Garter.He
saw Lady Galloway, slim and threadlike, with silver hair and a face
sensitive and superior.He saw her daughter, Lady Margaret Graham, a
pale and pretty girl with an elfish face and copper- hair.Michel, black-eyed and opulent, and with
her her two daughters, black-eyed and opulent also.Daniel went to the hallway.Simon,
a typical French scientist, with glasses, a pointed brown beard, and a
forehead barred with those parallel wrinkles which are the penalty
of superciliousness, since they come through constantly elevating
the eyebrows.He saw Father Brown, of Cobhole, in Essex, whom he had
recently met in England.He saw--perhaps with more interest than any
of these--a tall man in uniform, who had bowed to the Galloways without
receiving any very hearty acknowledgment, and who now advanced alone to
pay his respects to his host.This was Commandant O'Brien, of the
French Foreign Legion.He was a slim yet somewhat swaggering figure,
clean-shaven, dark-haired, and blue-eyed, and, as seemed natural in an
officer of that famous regiment of victorious failures and successful
suicides, he had an air at once dashing and melancholy.He was by birth
an Irish gentleman, and in boyhood had known the Galloways--especially
Margaret Graham.He had left his country after some crash of debts, and
now expressed his complete freedom from British etiquette by swinging
about in uniform, sabre and spurs.When he bowed to the Ambassador's
family, Lord and Lady Galloway bent stiffly, and Lady Margaret looked
away.But for whatever old causes such people might be interested in each
other, their distinguished host was not specially interested in them.No
one of them at least was in his eyes the guest of the evening.Valentin
was expecting, for special reasons, a man of world-wide fame, whose
friendship he had secured during some of his great detective tours and
triumphs in the United States.He was expecting Julius K. Brayne, that
multi-millionaire whose colossal and even crushing endowments of small
religions have occasioned so much easy sport and easier solemnity for
the American and English papers.Brayne was an atheist or a Mormon or a Christian Scientist; but he was
ready to pour money into any intellectual vessel, so long as it was
an untried vessel.One of his hobbies was to wait for the American
Shakespeare--a hobby more patient than angling.He admired Walt Whitman,
but thought that Luke P. Tanner, of Paris, Pa., was more "progressive"
than Whitman any day.He liked anything that he thought "progressive."He thought Valentin "progressive," thereby doing him a grave injustice.The solid appearance of Julius K. Brayne in the room was as decisive
as a dinner bell.He had this great quality, which very few of us
can claim, that his presence was as big as his absence.He was a huge
fellow, as fat as he was tall, clad in complete evening black, without
so much relief as a watch-chain or a ring.His hair was white and well
brushed back like a German's; his face was red, fierce and cherubic,
with one dark tuft under the lower lip that threw up that otherwise
infantile visage with an effect theatrical and even Mephistophelean.Not
long, however, did that salon merely stare at the celebrated American;
his lateness had already become a domestic problem, and he was sent with
all speed into the dining-room with Lady Galloway on his arm.John went back to the bedroom.Except on one point the Galloways were genial and casual enough.Mary moved to the kitchen.So long
as Lady Margaret did not take the arm of that adventurer O'Brien, her
father was quite satisfied; and she had not done so, she had decorously
gone in with Dr.Nevertheless, old Lord Galloway was restless and
almost rude.He was diplomatic enough during dinner, but when, over the
cigars, three of the younger men--Simon the doctor, Brown the priest,
and the detrimental O'Brien, the exile in a foreign uniform--all melted
away to mix with the ladies or smoke in the conservatory, then the
English diplomatist grew very undiplomatic indeed.John went to the hallway.He was stung
every sixty seconds with the thought that the scamp O'Brien might be
signalling to Margaret somehow; he did not attempt to imagine how.He
was left over the coffee with Brayne, the hoary Yankee who believed
in all religions, and Valentin, the grizzled Frenchman who believed in
none.They could argue with each other, but neither could appeal to
him.After a time this "progressive" logomachy had reached a crisis of
tedium; Lord Galloway got up also and sought the drawing-room.He lost
his way in long passages for some six or eight minutes: till he heard
the high-pitched, didactic voice of the doctor, and then the dull voice
of the priest, followed by general laughter.They also, he thought with
a curse, were probably arguing about "science and religion."But the
instant he opened the salon door he saw only one thing--he saw what
was not there.He saw that Commandant O'Brien was absent, and that Lady
Margaret was absent too.Rising impatiently from the drawing-room, as he had from the
dining-room, he stamped along the passage once more.His notion of
protecting his daughter from the Irish-Algerian n'er-do-well had become
something central and even mad in his mind.As he went towards the back
of the house, where was Valentin's study, he was surprised to meet his
daughter, who swept past with a white, scornful face, which was a second
enigma.If she had been with O'Brien, where was O'Brien!If she had
not been with O'Brien, where had she been?Daniel moved to the bathroom.With a sort of senile and
passionate suspicion he groped his way to the dark back parts of the
mansion, and eventually found a servants' entrance that opened on to the
garden.The moon with her scimitar had now ripped up and rolled away all
the storm-wrack.The argent light lit up all four corners of the garden.A tall figure in blue was striding across the lawn towards the study
door; a glint of moonlit silver on his facings picked him out as
Commandant O'Brien.He vanished through the French windows into the house, leaving Lord
Galloway in an indescribable temper, at once virulent and vague.John moved to the office.The
blue-and-silver garden, like a scene in a theatre, seemed to taunt him
with all that tyrannic tenderness against which his worldly authority
was at war.The length and grace of the Irishman's stride enraged him as
if he were a rival instead of a father; the moonlight maddened him.Mary travelled to the hallway.He was trapped as if by magic into a garden of troubadours, a Watteau
fairyland; and, willing to shake off such amorous imbecilities by
speech, he stepped briskly after his enemy.As he did so he tripped over
some tree or stone in the grass; looked down at it first with irritation
and then a second time with curiosity.The next instant the moon and the
tall poplars looked at an unusual sight--an elderly English diplomatist
running |
bedroom | Where is John? | His hoarse shouts brought a pale face to the study door, the beaming
glasses and worried brow of Dr.Simon, who heard the nobleman's first
clear words.Lord Galloway was crying: "A corpse in the grass--a
blood-stained corpse."John went back to the hallway.O'Brien at last had gone utterly out of his mind."We must tell Valentin at once," said the doctor, when the other had
brokenly described all that he had dared to examine.What parts of the body are most
sensitive to touch?What home-making habits do you observe in the rabbit?What habits
relating to secrecy, comfort, and safety, do you observe?How do you distinguish
between fur and hair?What variations do you find in the fur and
hair?What are the various
functions of the fur and hair covering of rabbit?Notice and describe anything in the behavior of the rabbits which
may be classed as social,--such as play, fondness for company,
display of affection, homing instincts, care of young, etc.Supplementary Study of Wild Rabbits
If you cannot answer these questions from observations of wild
rabbits, the answers may be obtained by reading some good natural
history.Ernest Thompson Seton's story of a rabbit's life is good for
the purpose.What method of locomotion is more highly developed in wild rabbits
than in domestic rabbits?In what ways do they
sometimes do damage in feeding?What senses will probably be more alert than those of the domestic
rabbit?John journeyed to the bedroom.How do they
guard against being cornered in their homes?In what ways do they guard against surprise when feeding?What devices do they employ to
escape enemies when pursued by them?How many young rabbits are usually produced at one time?How long does it take a young rabbit to mature?How are the young of rabbits guarded against danger from enemies
and weather?What are the various causes that tend to keep down the
numbers of rabbits?Give an account of the plagues of rabbits in Colorado and
Australia, including the reasons for the great increase in numbers
and the methods used to destroy the rabbits.Summary of the Study of Rabbits
1.What has been the general effect of domestication upon rabbits?What are the most important characters and habits that fit the
wild rabbit for its life?The Guinea Pig or White Rat
_Materials._
Living animals.What is the relative
length of the neck, ears, legs?Is it protective or the
result of breeding?Describe the method and rate of locomotion.Would this method of
locomotion enable the animal to escape from enemies (_e.g._ dogs)?What is the shape and length of the
claws?What is the appearance and shape of the eye?State the size and shape of the external ear.What motions of the nostrils do you see?State any
facts you observed, to show that it has or has not a choice as to
food.Watch the animal for some time to determine its mental
characteristics.What is the relation between mental development and success in
the struggle for existence?What are some of the characteristics that make the animal a good
pet?The Squirrel
_Materials._
Living specimens in cages, mounted specimens, pictures, charts,
lantern slides, etc._Directions._
Before taking up the study of the squirrel in the laboratory a trip
should be made to some park or wooded region and the habits of
squirrels noted.Take your camera and try to take some snapshots.After the laboratory exercise visit some museum or zoological garden
and study the relatives of the squirrel._Observations based upon field work._
1.What use have the forelegs other than locomotion?State all the forms of locomotion you have noticed.What is the position of the
tail when the squirrel is sitting?Describe any
motions of the tail you noticed.Is there anything expressed by these
motions or are they without meaning?State the evidence that leads
you to think that the squirrel is alert, timid, curious.Do you
think the squirrel acts most from instinct or as the result of
intelligence?In what various ways does a squirrel attempt to escape notice?_Observations in the laboratory._
1.What is the relative length of the legs as compared with the body?How does the length of the front and hind legs compare?Does the animal walk on its toes or on the sole of its foot?Offer the squirrel various kinds of food and see if it has a
choice.Note the position of the eyes, the shape of their surface, and the
shape and size of the pupil.Why do
the squirrel's eyes appear so "bright"?Are eyebrows, eyelashes, or
tear glands present?Note the size, shape, and appearance of the squirrel's external
ears.What movements of the nostrils do you notice?For what does a
squirrel chiefly use his nostrils?What explanation can you suggest
for the nostrils, eyes, and ears having the same relative position in
all vertebrates?Smear the feet of a squirrel with ink and allow it to run over
a roll of clean paper as in the case of the rabbit.How do its
tracks differ from those of the rabbit?What adaptations has the squirrel to protect it from its enemies?Show how variation in habitat depends upon structure among rodents
by comparing, for example, squirrels, beavers, and woodchucks.What are the causes of this
variation?The beaver--their habits and sagacity.Prairie dogs--their habits and economic importance.Make a list of rodents in a column, and in another column
opposite each name write the various ways the animal is of economic
importance.Sum up with a statement showing the most important ways
rodents are of value to man and harmful to man.Defend the proposition that rodents are on the whole harmful
animals and should be exterminated.How some rodents contribute to the science of medicine, more
especially to bacteriology.The Cat or Dog--Carnivora
_Materials._
Living specimens of cats or dogs.Pictures, books, lantern slides,
etc.Supplement the laboratory study with trips to museums and
zoological gardens to observe the relatives of the cat._Definitions._
_Carnivora._ An order of mammals, chiefly flesh-eating, with claws
and well-developed canine teeth._Carnivorous_, flesh-eating._Herbivorous_, plant-eating._Omnivorous_, eating both plants and animal food._Digitigrade_, walking on the toes._Plantigrade_, walking on the soles of the feet._Vibrissae_, long hairs on the face--"whiskers."What is the shape of the head and the length of the neck?How do the front and hind
legs compare in length?Is the cat
digitigrade or plantigrade?How many pads on the sole of the foot?What use can you suggest
for these structures?What is the size and shape of the claws?Are
they retractile or nonretractile?For what purposes may the claws be
used?Describe the tail as to length and appearance.What is the size and appearance of the external ears?What is the shape and direction of the pupil?Does it chew or "fletcherize" its food?Is the movement of the jaws simply up
and down, or is there a lateral movement as well?Try to find out some of the mental characteristics of the animal,
_i.e._ is it sluggish or active?_Supplementary studies._
a. Smear the feet of a cat with ink and allow it to run on a sheet of
clean paper.Do the same in case of a
dog.b. What is the difference between a cat and a dog as to the manner of
eating a bone?c. As you see dogs and cats outside do you see any evidence in either
case of a tendency to gather in packs (gregariousness)?d. What different emotions are expressed by a dog's tail?e. What sounds do cats and dogs make?f. Contrast the sleeping habits of cats and dogs.g. How large is the litter in case of dogs and cats?How long before the eyes of the young are open?_Summary._
To what kind of life does a cat or dog seem best adapted: (a) as to
food?Carnivora; Review and Library Exercise
_Characteristics._
1._Morphology and physiology._
3.The dentition of the cat, the dog, and the bear.Variation in the
"chewing teeth."Three types of paired appendages among carnivora.The difference in structure and use of the posterior legs of the
seal and walrus.The alimentary canal of a cat and rabbit compared.The tongue of cats and dogs contrasted as to structure and use.Carnivora of the United
States.The hunting habits of the dog and cat family.The habits and distribution of the raccoons.The color schemes of the more important families of the
carnivora.Distribution and habits of the ferrets and weasels.Which carnivora
have been most successful in resisting man's advance?Peculiar and interesting carnivora to be seen in museums and
zoological gardens.Coyotes and their relation to stock raising, etc.The Ungulates
_Materials._
Pictures, charts, lantern slides, and books showing cow, sheep, hog,
goat, horse, etc._Directions._
Since it is impossible to have living ungulates in the laboratory,
this study should be supplemented by trips to a museum and to a
zoological garden.Observe also such hoofed animals as may be common
in your neighborhood.Use your camera and make "snapshots," showing
characteristic attitudes of these animals._Definitions._
_Ungulates_, an order of mammals characterized by the possession of
hoofs._Ruminant_, a division of ungulates, which "chew the cud."_Perissodactyl_, a division of ungulates with an odd number of toes._Artiodactyl_, a division of ungulates with an even number of toes._Carnivorous_, flesh-eating._Herbivorous_, plant-eating._Omnivorous_, eating both plant and animal food._Observations in the laboratory._
_Note._--Answer the following questions for one or more of the
following: The cow, sheep, goat, hog, and horse.If desired, the
questions may be answered in the form of a table.What is its direction
with reference to the body?Of what importance is this length and
direction?What is the length and appearance of the tail?Locate the heel, knee,
and elbow.(Reference should be made to a diagram of a skeleton.)When the leg is long, in which bone is this lengthening accomplished
(compared with human skeleton)?Is the animal an artiodactyl or a
perissodactyl?Is it plantigrade or digitigrade?What is the relative size and position of the ears (external ear)?What is the relative size and position of the eyes?If so, note the size, shape, and
direction.If
in both, note any differences distinguishing the sexes._Suggested drawings._
a. Head, side view._Observations in the field or at home._
1.Note how the animal uses its lips, tongue, and teeth in feeding.In what order does the animal use its feet?Look up the definition
of _walk_, _run_, _gallop_, _canter_, _trot_, _lope_, _single foot_,
_pace_.Which of these forms of locomotion are optional with the
animal?Describe the process when the animal lies down and gets up.Describe the covering of the animal, noting its length, fineness,
etc.What mental characteristics are most marked, _e.g._
curiosity, fear, suspicion.What is the shape and direction
of the pupil?What means has the animal for getting away from its enemies._Observations based upon museum trip or natural history._
1.Identify as many ungulates as you can; for example, buffalo, musk
ox, big-horn sheep, Rocky Mountain goat, chamois, antelope, giraffe,
red deer, elk, moose, reindeer, wild boar, peccary, rhinoceros,
zebra, hippopotamus.Answer the following questions about each:--
a. What is the family, scientific name?b. What is the size of the animal?the relative length of the hind
and fore legs?c. What is the nature of the covering of the animal?If present, what is their size, shape,
direction, and appearance?e. What is the habitat of the animal?_Summary._
In a short thesis summarize the facts you have found out about
ungulates, using the following outline:--
1.General fact about the food of ungulates.The native ungulates of the United States.Ungulates: Review and Library Exercise
_Characteristics._
1.Classification of ungulates based upon number of toes, kind of
horns, "chewing the cud," etc.Some of the more important families
with examples._Morphology and physiology._
2.The variation in the number and kinds of teeth.The dentition (or
dental formula) of horse and cow.Shedding of horns and sexual
variation.The structure and function of the stomach of a ruminant.Meaning
of the cud-chewing habit.Breeds of cattle--their distinguishing marks and valuable points.Breeds of horses--their distinguishing marks and valuable points.Breeds of sheep--their distinguishing marks and valuable points.Breeds of hogs--their distinguishing marks and valuable points.Cattle ranches and "round-ups."Cattle raising in your state; in other countries.How, when, and by whom cattle and horses were introduced into
America.Methods of protection from enemies among ungulates.Breeding habits and care of young in case of ungulates.Strange and peculiar ungulates to be seen in museums and
zoological gardens.The Horse
The pupil is expected to study carefully the account of Eohippus or
Hyracotherium in his text or any other available reference book, and
to supplement that work and this brief sketch with original
observations upon horses on the street, at a local store, or wherever
possible or convenient.From the early horses which migrated from North America there arose
in Asia and Africa the ass, famous in the history of early
civilization and still used in some localities as beasts of burden or
for the breeding of mules, which are the crosses between ass and
horse.There also arose the zebra and the most primitive of modern
horses, Przewalskii's horse, a wild pony of western China, about
forty inches high and almost identical with the drawings of the horse
made by early man, 30,000 years ago.Doubtless the modern ponies of
Ireland, Iceland, and Shetland are descendants of the original
Przewalskii type and not, as is often claimed, true horses stunted by
rigors of climate and scant fare.The horse is characterized largely by the presence of a lock of hair
between the ears, a full mane and tail, small ears, large hoofs, and
peculiar neigh.The ass has no forelock, a scanty mane and tail, long
ears, small hoofs, and a distinct bray.By means of various crusades and raids, the modern horse was
introduced into Europe from Asia, where it is clearly traced in
history to the reign of King Solomon.Here, in Europe, because of
local conditions and demands, it assumed differing type forms.The
roadster type is closest to the Arabian in character.The draft or
heavy type was bred in western Europe when heavy armor came into use
for rider and horse, and the coach or carriage type was developed
when armor was abandoned for gunpowder.Finally explorers and
colonists brought the horse back to America, its original home.The various types and varieties may be briefly described._A._ The draft type has short legs, short neck, large round body, and
ranges in weight from 1400 pounds to 2000 pounds._Varieties:--_
1._Percheron_: generally about 1700 pounds in weight, 16 hands (64
inches) high, gray or black, blocky body, steep rump, clean legs, and
quick action._Shire_: generally about 1800 pounds in weight, 17 hands high, bay
or brown, white marked feet and face, hairy legs and feet, and slow
action._Belgian_: generally about 1800 pounds in weight, 16 hands high,
chestnut or roan in color, compact body, short, steep rump, and small
feet._B._ The coach or carriage type has legs and neck of medium length, a
body full-chested but not blocky, and a weight varying from |
bathroom | Where is John? | _Varieties:--_
1._Hackney_: generally of full, broad, powerful body, short legs and
back, high action and high carriage of neck and head, bay or chestnut
in color, 15 hands high, and 1400 pounds in weight._Coach_: generally lighter than the Hackney, with longer legs and
long stride; height, 16 hands; weight, 1300 pounds._Cleveland bay_: averaging 16-1/2 hands in height, 1350 pounds in
weight, high, broad hips, strong action, and bay color._C._ The roadster type is long and lean of limb and body, and
averages about 1100 pounds in weight._Varieties:--_
1._Thoroughbred_: of small head, long neck, level back, of variable
color, 14-1/2--16-1/2 hands high, about 1000 pounds in weight._American saddle_: an American production; not a distinct breed,
but a roadster of high quality._American trotter_: a superior type of good speed.The off
forefoot and the nigh hind foot act together, the nigh fore and the
off hind feet together, giving a two-beat gait._Pacer_: similar to the trotter, but using both off feet and both
nigh feet together, giving a swinging gait.The horse is very similar to man in its physical and mental
character, being subject to the same ailments and treatment and
having the same impulses of affection, hatred, fear, jealousy,
obedience, willfulness, memory, and perhaps reason.It is of all
animals most careful in its eating and drinking; because its stomach
is small, the food should not be bulky but concentrated, grain
forming a goodly portion of the ration.Perhaps the most important point in the structure of the horse is the
form of the leg and foot.The shoulder should <DW72> slightly backward
and the pastern joint, immediately above the hoof, slightly backward.The hips, or "quarters," should <DW72> downward somewhat, and the
hock should be comparatively wide to afford ample leverage for the
pulling muscles.The legs should be straight as pillars when seen
from front or rear.The outer walls of the hoof support most of the
weight though the frog should normally touch the ground.In nature
the hoof wears away properly of itself, but the shod hoof needs
regular trimming attention, while the frog must not be trimmed, for
it is the soft growing part that nourishes the hoof.In this
treatment the foot is comparable with the human finger and finger
nail._Observations._
If access to a living animal is impossible or inconvenient, the pupil
may use reference book or pictures for most of these points.A
measuring tape or ruler should be at hand, and the assistance of an
experienced person is a valuable aid.If several horses are studied,
they should be distinguished by name or number.Record the color, condition, weight, and height of the horse at the
shoulder.(Height is given in "hands," a hand being the breadth of
the palm, or 4 inches.)Note the <DW72> of the shoulder, of the back
and the hips, the general form of the head and neck, and the facial
expression.Find the chestnuts, warty growths on the inside of each
leg.Examine the foot, finding the V-shaped frog in the center,
surrounded by the horny hoof.Find the pulse by passing the fingers downward from the upper curve
of the neck, along the inside of the jaw; count the pulse.Notice the
position and motion of the ears with their lining of hair, and the
position of the eyes, the form of the pupil, and the probable range
of vision.Watch the horse use its lips, and examine the mouth and
teeth, finding the grinding teeth far back in the mouth, the incisors
in front, and the space where the canines are missing.The male may have canines in the upper jaw.On the surfaces of the incisors are the depressions, or "cups," by
means of which age is determined.At six years the cups leave the lower center teeth; at seven the
adjoining teeth; and at eight, the outer lower teeth.At nine
years they leave the upper center incisors; at ten, the adjoining
teeth; and at eleven, the outer teeth above.At the age of ten
years a spot appears in the outer upper incisors, at fifteen
years the groove has worn to the center of the tooth, and at
twenty-one years the groove is worn to the bottom of the tooth.Describe the horse you studied as to its name or number, its
color, markings, weight, and size.Of what type and breed is it a
specimen?Upon how much of the foot does the horse walk?How does this
affect ease or speed of action?How does an athlete imitate this in
sprinting?What advantage or disadvantage can
you see in this unusual structure?How is the hoof constructed to distribute the weight over a
surface broader than the leg?How general is this among terrestrial
animals?John went back to the hallway.What is the difference in the position of the chestnuts of the
fore and hind legs?Where in the foreleg is a springiness permitted by curvature?Where does the back leg accomplish the same thing?How do you account for the elongating of the face?Explain the uses of the lips, telling how they are fitted for
their work.Tell where the bit lies in the horse's mouth, and how the
structure permits this.How does this peculiar position
affect the range of hearing and general alertness?Of how much
movement are they capable?Describe the lining of the ear, and state
its use.Measure the height at shoulder and at croup, length of body from
withers to rump, of head, of neck; thickness of body from the
shoulder to the chest and of distance of chest from ground.Point out
any equalities or ratios you find.The meaning of the terms _gee_, _haw_, _nigh_, _off_, _run_,
_gallop_, _trot_, _pace_, _single foot_, _rack_.The location, cause, and effect of these troubles: heaves, blind
staggers, knee sprung, shoe boil, quitter, ring bone, spavin, capped
hock, flat foot, hoof bound, glanders, mange, sweeny, hide bound, and
thrush.The record time for a trotted and a paced mile.How much a horse can pull on
good roads.Current prices for horses; for ponies; for mules.The origin and the use of the mule.The number and care of the young, and their relative development
at birth.Other animals used as beasts of burden in peculiar conditions or
localities.Homology of the Vertebrate Skeleton
_Materials._
Prepared skeletons of an amphibian, a reptile, a bird, another
mammal, and man.If any of these be lacking, lantern-slide
illustrations may be used in a partially darkened room._Observations._
Having studied the frog's skeleton in detail, the student can readily
compare each of these types with it.Compare in a very general way
the skulls, the girdles, and the limbs; their form and use.Note
variations in the form and number of the vertebrae and the number of
the ribs.In which types of vertebrates are the joints between the skull
bones bound with cartilage?How does the joining change in later
types?What dissimilarities occur in the series as regards closure or
boxing in of the eye orbits, nostrils, and skull bones?How would
these changes in joining and closure affect strength, rigidity, and
protection?What evidence is there that such improvement has affected brain
capacity and intelligence?State how the attachment of the skull to the vertebral column
changes as the animal man assumes an erect position.Are the vertebrae of these types alike in structure?John journeyed to the bedroom.What is the
general form of an horizontally placed vertebra, as in the horse or a
reptile, and of a vertically placed one, as in man?If you see any
differences, account for them.Wherever possible, find the vertebrae of the neck (cervical), and
note the number of them in each case.How is flexibility of the column accomplished in certain types or
in certain places of one type?Examining the interior of the turtle's "shell," find out and
explain how the vertebrae have been modified to form the upper
"shell."How has the under portion (_plastron_) been formed?In round numbers, which skeleton has the greatest number of
vertebrae and which the least?Which skeleton has the greatest number of ribs, and which has the
least?In a summarizing statement explain any variations you find in the
pectoral and pelvic girdle for strength (rigidity); flexibility.This
answer may be written as a table, naming the bones, opposite each
stating its condition, and then what it affords or is adapted to.What is accomplished by having two bones in the shank of the leg?In what types or forms is there but one, and which one is it?Can you assign any advantages in power, agility, length of leg,
or position of leg and foot accruing from a long ankle?(See horse,
frog, _et al._)
14.Enumerate the types or forms, and opposite each state the number
of fingers and toes.Make a table, heading one column "Form or type"; another,
"Habitat"; and a third, "Habit."Judging from the structure which you
see or from your previous knowledge or experience, fill in the table,
stating whether the type is aquatic, terrestrial, or aerial; whether
it burrows, walks, runs, or climbs, etc.From your statements in 15, explain how the peculiar mode of life
affects the structure of these types.CHAPTER VII
ADAPTATIONS FOR THE PRESERVATION OF THE SPECIES
#A. METHODS OF REPRODUCTION#
1.The Simple or Asexual Method of Reproduction
_Materials._
Slides or diagrams, showing a dividing amoeba, a dividing paramecium,
a dividing vorticella, reproduction in some form of sporozoa, budding
hydra, gemmules of spongilla, and some species of worm as Dero or
Nereis in the process of dividing._Definitions._
_Spore_, a cell capable of developing into a new organism._Asexual reproduction_, reproduction by division of the cell or body._Sexual reproduction_, reproduction by means of the conjugation of
two reproductive cells known as the egg and sperm cells._Fertilization_, the fusion of the male or sperm cell with the egg or
female cell._Ovary_, an organ producing eggs._Spermary_, an organ producing sperm cells._Cross fertilization_, fertilization in which the sperm and egg cells
are produced by different individuals._Dioecious_, the different kinds of reproductive organs found in
different individuals._Monoecious_, the different kinds of reproductive organs found in the
same individual._Directions._
_Note._--Refer to your notes, if the animals mentioned in these
exercises have been already studied.Study the methods of reproduction in the specimens or diagrams before
you.Determine first, in what respects the methods of reproduction
are similar in all; second, in what respects there is a variation.What has an amoeba gained by dividing?What powers has each new
cell that the original amoeba had lost?What would have been the fate
of the amoeba if it had not divided into new cells?What various forms of cell division did you find?The Complex or Sexual Method of Reproduction
_Materials._
Slides or diagrams showing hydra and sponge reproducing sexually.Conjugating paramecia, fertilized and unfertilized starfish eggs._Directions._
Identify the reproductive organs or gonads of the hydra.These are
slight swellings on the surface.The one nearer to the mouth end is
the spermary and that near the attached end is the ovary.In general how do the
reproductive cells of sponges and hydra originate?What is gained by limiting the process of reproduction to special
cells?What is the difference between the appearance of the nucleus of
the fertilized and the unfertilized egg?What reason can you suggest for the spermary's position?Describe the conjugation of a paramecium.Describe the process of maturation and fertilization in a starfish
egg._Suggested drawings._
a. Diving Amoeba or Paramecium.d. Starfish egg--fertilized and unfertilized._Summary_ of important points in the study of methods of
reproduction:--
1.#B. DEVELOPMENT#
1.The Hen's Egg
_Materials._
Hen's eggs, hydrochloric acid._Definitions._
_Germ spot_, a white spot, imbedded in the "yolk."This is the point
at which development begins._Yolk_, the yellow portion of a bird's egg.This is a food material,
rich in fat._Albumen_, the white, viscous portion of a bird's egg._Chalaza_, the spiral portion of albumen always seen in the bird's
egg._Directions._
Boil an egg at least ten minutes in water deep enough to cover it.Note which side is uppermost and mark this part of the shell for
reference.Remove the egg and pick away the shell from about half the
egg, leaving the shell on that portion which was underneath when
placed in water.With a sharp knife remove this half of the egg.Test its composition (use hydrochloric
acid).Find the membrane lining the shell and note that at one end it
separates into two parts to inclose an air space.How does it change after an egg has been
incubated for a week or more?Break an uncooked egg in a saucer.Note also
the difference in the consistency of the "white" (albumen) and
yellow portion ("yolk").Why do the white and yolk not mix unless shaken or beaten
together?What do you think is the use of this structure?John journeyed to the garden.Weigh a fresh egg, place it in a dry atmosphere for a week, and
weigh it again.Why may eggs be kept a long time
perfectly fresh if coated with paraffin or if put in "water
glass"?John journeyed to the bathroom._Suggested drawings._
a. The egg as it appears in the saucer.b. The egg after part of the shell has been removed.Early Embryonic Development of an Egg
_Materials._
Slides or diagrams, showing various stages in the development of some
animal through the gastrula stage._Definitions._
_Cleavage stages_, two, four, eight, sixteen cells, etc., arising by
repeated division, starting with the egg._Blastula_, a hollow sphere, the wall of which is composed of a
single layer of cells._Gastrula_, a stage formed from the blastula by pushing in one side
of the latter, so as to form a more or less cup-shape structure.Is there any considerable difference between the size of the egg
and the size of the blastula and gastrula?Has development taken
place by an increase of size or by an increase of complexity?Contrast the blastula and gastrula as to number of cavities,
number of cell layers, number of external openings.Suggest protozoans that resemble the egg and blastula
respectively.What invertebrates resemble the gastrula in body plan?_Suggested drawings._
a. Some of the cleavage stages.Postembryonic Development or Metamorphosis of a Mosquito
_Materials._
Some specimens of the larvae and pupae of the mosquito, ordinarily
known as wrigglers.Either specimens or diagrams of egg packets
should also be provided._Definitions._
_Postembryonic development_, the changes taking place in the
development of an animal after birth or hatching._Larva_, the active feeding stage.It is the first stage in
postembryonic development, and follows the gastrula stage._Pupa_, usually a resting or quiescent stage.It is the stage
following the larva stage.Describe the appearance of the egg packet both as seen with the
unaided eye and with a hand lens.What is the difference between the appearance of the larva and the
pupa?Describe any characteristic
|
bedroom | Where is John? | In the translation
we read, "_He that speaketh evil of his brother,... speaketh evil of
the law_."I may
speak evil of my brother, but I do not thereby speak evil of the law.If, however, I _accuse_ my brother, if I bring him to justice, it is
plain that I thereby accuse the law of Jesus of insufficiency: I accuse
and judge the law.It is clear, then, that I do not practise the law,
but that I make myself a judge of the law."_Not to judge, but to save_"
is Jesus' declaration.How then shall I, who cannot save, become a judge
and punish?The entire passage refers to human justice, and denies its
authority.The whole epistle is permeated with the same idea.John went back to the hallway.In the
second chapter we read:--
"_For he shall have judgment without mercy, that hath shewed no mercy;
and mercy is exalted above judgment._"[2] (Jas.[2] Count Tolstoi's rendering.(The last phrase has been translated in such a way as to declare that
judgment is compatible with Christianity, but that it ought to be
merciful.)James exhorts his brethren to have no respect of persons.If you have
respect of the condition of persons, you are guilty of sin; you are like
the untrustworthy judges of the tribunals.You look upon the beggar as
the refuse of society, while it is the rich man who ought to be so
regarded.He it is who oppresses you and draws you before the
judgment-seats.If you live according to the law of love for your
neighbor, according to the law of mercy (which James calls "_the law of
liberty_," to distinguish it from all others)--if you live according to
this law, it is well.But if you have respect of persons, you transgress
the law of mercy.Then (doubtless thinking of the case of the woman
taken in adultery, who, when she was brought before Jesus, was about to
be put to death according to the law), thinking, no doubt, of that case,
James says that he who inflicts death upon the adulterous woman would
himself be guilty of murder, and thereby transgress the eternal law; for
the same law forbids both adultery and murder."_So speak ye, and so do, as they that shall be judged by the law of
liberty.For he shall have judgment without mercy, that hath shewed no
mercy; and mercy is exalted above judgment._" (Jas.Could the idea be expressed in terms more clear and precise?Respect of
persons is forbidden, as well as any judgment that shall classify
persons as good or bad; human judgment is declared to be inevitably
defective, and such judgment is denounced as criminal when it condemns
for crime; judgment is blotted out by the eternal law, the law of mercy.John journeyed to the bedroom.I open the epistles of Paul, who had been a victim of tribunals, and in
the letter to the Romans I read the admonitions of the apostle for the
vices and errors of those to whom his words are addressed; among other
matters he speaks of courts of justice:--
"_Who, knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things
are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them
that do them._" (Rom."_Therefore thou art inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art that
judgest: for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for
thou that judgest doest the same things._" (Rom."_Or despisest thou the riches of his goodness and forbearance and
long-suffering; not knowing that the goodness of God leadeth thee to
repentance?_" (Rom.Such was the opinion of the apostles with regard to tribunals, and we
know that human justice was among the trials and sufferings that they
endured with steadfastness and resignation to the will of God.When we
think of the situation of the early Christians, surrounded by
unbelievers, we can understand that a denial of the right to judge
persecuted Christians before the tribunals was not considered.The
apostles spoke of it only incidentally as an evil, and denied its
authority on every occasion.I examined the teachings of the early Fathers of the Church, and found
them to agree in obliging no one to judge or to condemn, and in urging
all to bear the inflictions of justice.The martyrs, by their acts,
declared themselves to be of the same mind.I saw that Christianity
before Constantine regarded tribunals only as an evil which was to be
endured with patience; but it never could have occurred to any early
Christian that he could take part in the administration of the courts of
justice.It is plain, therefore, that Jesus' words, "_Judge not,
condemn not_," were understood by his first disciples, as they ought to
be understood now, in their direct and literal meaning: judge not in
courts of justice; take no part in them.All this seemed absolutely to corroborate my conviction that the words,
"_Judge not, condemn not_," referred to the justice of tribunals.Yet
the meaning, "Speak not evil of your neighbor," is so firmly
established, and courts of justice flaunt their decrees with so much
assurance and audacity in all Christian societies, with the support even
of the Church, that for a long time still I doubted the wisdom of my
interpretation.If men have understood the words in this way (I
thought), and have instituted Christian tribunals, they must certainly
have some reason for so doing; there must be a good reason for regarding
these words as a denunciation of evil-speaking, and there is certainly a
basis of some sort for the institution of Christian tribunals; perhaps,
after all, I am in the wrong.In all, from the fifth century
onward, I found the invariable interpretation to be, "Accuse not your
neighbor"; that is, avoid evil-speaking.As the words came to be
understood exclusively in this sense, a difficulty arose,--How to
refrain from judgment?John journeyed to the garden.It being impossible not to condemn evil, all the
commentators discussed the question, What is blamable and what is not
blamable?Some, such as Chrysostom and Theophylact, said that, as far
as servants of the Church were concerned, the phrase could not be
construed as a prohibition of censure, since the apostles themselves
were censorious.Others said that Jesus doubtless referred to the Jews,
who accused their neighbors of shortcomings, and were themselves guilty
of great sins.Nowhere a word about human institutions, about tribunals, to show how
they were affected by the warning, "_Judge not_."Did Jesus sanction
courts of justice, or did he not?To this very natural question I found
no reply--as if it was evident that from the moment a Christian took his
seat on the judge's bench he might not only judge his neighbor, but
condemn him to death.I turned to other writers, Greek, Catholic, Protestant, to the Tuebingen
school, to the historical school.Everywhere, even by the most liberal
commentators, the words in question were interpreted as an injunction
against evil-speaking.But why, contrary to the spirit of the whole doctrine of Jesus, are
these words interpreted in so narrow a way as to exclude courts of
justice from the injunction, "_Judge not_"?Why the supposition that
Jesus in forbidding the comparatively light offence of speaking evil of
one's neighbor did not forbid, did not even consider, the more
deliberate judgment which results in punishment inflicted upon the
condemned?To all this I got no response; not even an allusion to the
least possibility that the words "to judge" could be used as referring
to a court of justice, to the tribunals from whose punishments so many
millions have suffered.Moreover, when the words, "_Judge not, condemn not_," are under
discussion, the cruelty of judging in courts of justice is passed over
in silence, or else commended.The commentators all declare that in
Christian societies tribunals are necessary, and in no way contrary to
the law of Jesus.Realizing this, I began to doubt the sincerity of the commentators; and
I did what I should have done in the first place; I turned to the
textual translations of the words which we render "to judge" and "to
condemn."In the original these words are [Greek: krino] and [Greek:
katadikazo].The defective translation in James of [Greek: katalaleo],
which is rendered "to speak evil," strengthened my doubts as to the
correct translation of the others.John journeyed to the bathroom.When I looked through different
versions of the Gospels, I found [Greek: katadikazo] rendered in the
Vulgate by _condemnare_, "to condemn"; in the Sclavonic text the
rendering is equivalent to that of the Vulgate; Luther has _verdammen_,
"to speak evil of."These divergent renderings increased my doubts, and
I was obliged to ask again the meaning of [Greek: krino], as used by the
two evangelists, and of [Greek: katadikazo], as used by Luke who,
scholars tell us, wrote very correct Greek.How would these words be translated by a man who knew nothing of the
evangelical creed, and who had before him only the phrases in which they
are used?Consulting the dictionary, I found that the word [Greek: krino] had
several different meanings, among the most used being "to condemn in a
court of justice," and even "to condemn to death," but in no instance
did it signify "to speak evil."I consulted a dictionary of New
Testament Greek, and found that was often used in the sense "to condemn
in a court of justice," sometimes in the sense "to choose," never as
meaning "to speak evil."From which I inferred that the word [Greek:
krino] might be translated in different ways, but that the rendering "to
speak evil" was the most forced and far-fetched.I searched for the word [Greek: katadikazo], which follows [Greek:
krino], evidently to define more closely the sense in which the latter
is to be understood.I looked for [Greek: katadikazo] in the dictionary,
and found that it had no other signification than "to condemn in
judgment," or "to judge worthy of death."I found that the word was used
four times in the New Testament, each time in the sense "to condemn
under sentence, to judge worthy of death."6) we read, "_Ye
have condemned and killed the just_."The word rendered "condemned" is
this same [Greek: katadikazo], and is used with reference to Jesus, who
was condemned to death by a court of justice.The word is never used in
any other sense, in the New Testament or in any other writing in the
Greek language.What, then, are we to say to all this?Is not every one who considers the fate of humanity filled with horror
at the sufferings inflicted upon mankind by the enforcement of criminal
codes,--a scourge to those who condemn as well as to the
condemned,--from the slaughters of Genghis Khan to those of the French
Revolution and the executions of our own times?He would indeed be
without compassion who could refrain from feeling horror and repulsion,
not only at the sight of human beings thus treated by their kind, but at
the simple recital of death inflicted by the knout, the guillotine, or
the gibbet.The Gospel, of which every word is sacred to you, declares distinctly
and without equivocation: "You have from of old a criminal law, An eye
for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; but a new law is given you, That you
resist not evil.Obey this law; render not evil for evil, but do good to
every one, forgive every one, under all circumstances."Further on comes
the injunction, "_Judge not_," and that these words might not be
misunderstood, Jesus added, "_Condemn not_; condemn not in justice the
crimes of others.""No more death-warrants," said an inner voice--"no more death-warrants,"
said the voice of science; "evil cannot suppress evil."The Word of God,
in which I believed, told me the same thing.And when in reading the
doctrine, I came to the words, "_Condemn not, and ye shall not be
condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven_," could I look upon them
as meaning simply that I was not to indulge in gossip and evil-speaking,
and should continue to regard tribunals as a Christian institution, and
myself as a Christian judge?I was overwhelmed with horror at the grossness of the error into which I
had fallen.I NOW understood the words of Jesus: "_Ye have heard that it hath been
said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you,
That ye resist not evil._" Jesus' meaning is: "You have thought that you
were acting in a reasonable manner in defending yourself by violence
against evil, in tearing out an eye for an eye, by fighting against evil
with criminal tribunals, guardians of the peace, armies; but I say unto
you, Renounce violence; have nothing to do with violence; do harm to no
one, not even to your enemy."I understood now that in saying "_Resist
not evil_," Jesus not only told us what would result from the observance
of this rule, but established a new basis for society conformable to his
doctrine and opposed to the social basis established by the law of
Moses, by Roman law, and by the different codes in force to-day.He
formulated a new law whose effect would be to deliver humanity from its
self-inflicted woes.His declaration was: "You believe that your laws
reform criminals; as a matter of fact, they only make more criminals.There is only one way to suppress evil, and that is to return good for
evil, without respect of persons.For thousands of years you have tried
the other method; now try mine, try the reverse."Strange to say, in these later days, I talked with different persons
about this commandment of Jesus, "_Resist not evil_," and rarely found
any one to coincide with my opinion!Two classes of men would never,
even by implication, admit the literal interpretation of the law.Sandra moved to the hallway.These
men were at the extreme poles of the social scale,--they were the
conservative Christian patriots who maintained the infallibility of the
Church, and the atheistic revolutionists.Neither of these two classes
was willing to renounce the right to resist by violence what they
regarded as evil.And the wisest and most intelligent among them would
not acknowledge the simple and evident truth, that if we once admit the
right of any man to resist by violence what he regards as evil, every
other man has equally the right to resist by violence what he regards as
evil.Not long ago I had in my hands an interesting correspondence between an
orthodox Slavophile and a Christian revolutionist.The one advocated
violence as a partisan of a war for the relief of brother Slavs in
bondage; the other, as a partisan of revolution, in the name of our
brothers the oppressed Russian peasantry.John moved to the bedroom.Both invoked violence, and
each based himself upon the doctrine of Jesus.The doctrine of Jesus is
understood in a hundred different ways; but never, unhappily, in the
simple and direct way which harmonizes with the inevitable meaning of
Jesus' words.Our entire social fabric is founded upon principles that Jesus reproved;
we do not wish to understand his doctrine in its simple and direct
acceptation, and yet we assure ourselves and others that we follow his
doctrine, or else that his doctrine is not expedient for us.Believers
profess that Christ as God, the second person of the Trinity, descended
upon earth to teach men by his example how to live; they go through the
most elaborate ceremonies for the consummation of the sacraments, the
building of temples, the sending out of missionaries, the establishment
of priesthoods, for parochial administration, for the performance of
rituals; but they forget one little detail,--the practice of the
commandments of Jesus.Unbelievers endeavor in every possible way to
organize their existence independent of the doctrine of Jesus, they
having decided _a priori_ that this doctrine is of no account.But to
endeavor to put his teachings in practice, this each refuses to do; and
the worst of it is, that without any attempt to put them in practice,
both |
bedroom | Where is John? | Jesus said, simply and clearly, that the law of resistance to evil by
violence, which has been made the basis of society, is false, and
contrary to man's nature; and he gave another basis, that of
non-resistance to evil, a law which, according to his doctrine, would
deliver man from wrong."You believe" (he says in substance) "that your
laws, which resort to violence, correct evil; not at all; they only
augment it.For thousands of years you have tried to destroy evil by
evil, and you have not destroyed it; you have only augmented it.Do as I
command you, follow my example, and you will know that my doctrine is
true."Not only in words, but by his acts, by his death, did Jesus
propound his doctrine, "_Resist not evil_."John went back to the hallway.They hear it in their churches, persuaded
that the words are divine; they worship Jesus as God, and then they say:
"All this is admirable, but it is impossible; as society is now
organized, it would derange our whole existence, and we should be
obliged to give up the customs that are so dear to us.We believe it
all, but only in this sense: That it is the ideal toward which humanity
ought to move; the ideal which is to be attained by prayer, and by
believing in the sacraments, in the redemption, and in the resurrection
of the dead."The others, the unbelievers, the free-thinkers who comment on the
doctrine of Jesus, the historians of religions, the Strausses, the
Renans,--completely imbued with the teachings of the Church, which says
that the doctrine of Jesus accords with difficulty with our conceptions
of life,--tell us very seriously that the doctrine of Jesus is the
doctrine of a visionary, the consolation of feeble minds; that it was
all very well preached in the fishermen's huts by Galilee; but that for
us it is only the sweet dream of one whom Renan calls the "charmant
docteur."In their opinion, Jesus could not rise to the heights of wisdom and
culture attained by our civilization.If he had been on an intellectual
level with his modern critics, he never would have uttered his charming
nonsense about the birds of the air, the turning of the other cheek, the
taking no thought for the morrow.John journeyed to the bedroom.These historical critics judge of the
value of Christianity by what they see of it as it now exists.The
Christianity of our age and civilization approves of society as it now
is, with its prison-cells, its factories, its houses of infamy, its
parliaments; but as for the doctrine of Jesus, which is opposed to
modern society, it is only empty words.John journeyed to the garden.The historical critics see this,
and, unlike the so-called believers, having no motives for concealment,
submit the doctrine to a careful analysis; they refute it
systematically, and prove that Christianity is made up of nothing but
chimerical ideas.It would seem that before deciding upon the doctrine of Jesus, it would
be necessary to understand of what it consisted; and to decide whether
his doctrine is reasonable or not, it would be well first to realize
that he said exactly what he did say.And this is precisely what we do
not do, what the Church commentators do not do, what the free-thinkers
do not do--and we know very well why.We know perfectly well that the
doctrine of Jesus is directed at and denounces all human errors, all
_tohu_, all the empty idols that we try to except from the category of
errors, by dubbing them "Church," "State," "Culture," "Science," "Art,"
"Civilization."But Jesus spoke precisely of all these, of these and all
other _tohu_.Not only Jesus, but all the Hebrew prophets, John the
Baptist, all the true sages of the world denounced the Church and State
and culture and civilization of their times as sources of man's
perdition.Imagine an architect who says to a house-owner, "Your house is good for
nothing; you must rebuild it," and then describes how the supports are
to be cut and fastened.The proprietor turns a deaf ear to the words,
"Your house is good for nothing," and only listens respectfully when the
architect begins to discuss the arrangement of the rooms.Evidently, in
this case, all the subsequent advice of the architect will seem to be
impracticable; less respectful proprietors would regard it as
nonsensical.But it is precisely in this way that we treat the doctrine
of Jesus.I give this illustration for want of a better.I remember now
that Jesus in teaching his doctrine made use of the same comparison."_Destroy this temple_," he said, "_and in three days I will raise it
up_."It was for this they put him on the cross, and for this they now
crucify his doctrine.The least that can be asked of those who pass judgment upon any doctrine
is that they shall judge of it with the same understanding as that with
which it was propounded.Jesus understood his doctrine, not as a vague
and distant ideal impossible of attainment, not as a collection of
fantastic and poetical reveries with which to charm the simple
inhabitants on the shores of Galilee; to him his doctrine was a doctrine
of action, of acts which should become the salvation of mankind.This he
showed in his manner of applying his doctrine.The crucified one who
cried out in agony of spirit and died for his doctrine was not a
dreamer; he was a man of action.They are not dreamers who have died,
and still die, for his doctrine.No; that doctrine is not a chimera!All doctrine that reveals the truth is chimerical to the blind.We may
say, as many people do say (I was of the number), that the doctrine of
Jesus is chimerical because it is contrary to human nature.It is
against nature, we say, to turn the other cheek when we have been
struck, to give all that we possess, to toil not for ourselves but for
others.It is natural, we say, for a man to defend his person, his
family, his property; that is to say, it is the nature of man to
struggle for existence.John journeyed to the bathroom.A learned person has proved scientifically that
the most sacred duty of man is to defend his rights, that is, to fight.But the moment we detach ourselves from the idea that the existing
organization established by man is the best, is sacred, the moment we do
this, the objection that the doctrine of Jesus is contrary to human
nature turns immediately upon him who makes it.No one will deny that
not only to kill or torture a man, but to torture a dog, to kill a fowl
or a calf, is to inflict suffering reproved by human nature.(I have
known of farmers who had ceased to eat meat solely because it had
fallen to their lot to slaughter animals.)And yet our existence is so
organized that every personal enjoyment is purchased at the price of
human suffering contrary to human nature.Sandra moved to the hallway.We have only to examine closely the complicated mechanism of our
institutions that are based upon coercion to realize that coercion and
violence are contrary to human nature.The judge who has condemned
according to the code, is not willing to hang the criminal with his own
hands; no clerk would tear a villager from his weeping family and cast
him into prison; the general or the soldier, unless he be hardened by
discipline and service, will not undertake to slay a hundred Turks or
Germans or destroy a village, would not, if he could help it, kill a
single man.Yet all these things are done, thanks to the administrative
machinery which divides responsibility for misdeeds in such a way that
no one feels them to be contrary to nature.Some make the laws, others execute them; some train men by discipline to
automatic obedience; and these last, in their turn, become the
instruments of coercion, and slay their kind without knowing why or to
what end.But let a man disentangle himself for a moment from this
complicated network, and he will readily see that coercion is contrary
to his nature.Let us abstain from affirming that organized violence, of
which we make use to our own profit, is a divine, immutable law, and we
shall see clearly which is most in harmony with human nature,--the
doctrine of violence or the doctrine of Jesus.Is it to know that my security and that of my
family, all my amusements and pleasures, are purchased at the expense of
misery, deprivation, and suffering to thousands of human beings--by the
terror of the gallows; by the misfortune of thousands stifling within
prison walls; by the fear inspired by millions of soldiers and guardians
of civilization, torn from their homes and besotted by discipline, to
protect our pleasures with loaded revolvers against the possible
interference of the famishing?John moved to the bedroom.Is it to purchase every fragment of bread
that I put in my mouth and the mouths of my children by the numberless
privations that are necessary to procure my abundance?Or is it to be
certain that my piece of bread only belongs to me when I know that every
one else has a share, and that no one starves while I eat?It is only necessary to understand that, thanks to our social
organization, each one of our pleasures, every minute of our cherished
tranquility, is obtained by the sufferings and privations of thousands
of our fellows--it is only necessary to understand this, to know what is
conformable to human nature; not to our animal nature alone, but the
animal and spiritual nature which constitutes man.When we once
understand the doctrine of Jesus in all its bearings, with all its
consequences, we shall be convinced that his doctrine is not contrary to
human nature; but that its sole object is to supplant the chimerical
law of the struggle against evil by violence--itself the law contrary
to human nature and productive of so many evils.Do you say that the doctrine of Jesus, "_Resist not evil_," is vain?What, then, are we to think of the lives of those who are not filled
with love and compassion for their kind,--of those who make ready for
their fellow-men punishment at the stake, by the knout, the wheel, the
rack, chains, compulsory labor, the gibbet, dungeons, prisons for women
and children, the hecatombs of war, or bring about periodical
revolutions; of those who carry these horrors into execution; of those
who benefit by these calamities or prepare reprisals,--are not such
lives vain?We need only understand the doctrine of Jesus, to be convinced that
existence,--not the reasonable existence which gives happiness to
humanity, but the existence men have organized to their own hurt,--that
such an existence is a vanity, the most savage and horrible of vanities,
a veritable delirium of folly, to which, once reclaimed, we do not again
return.God descended to earth, became incarnate to redeem Adam's sin, and (so
we were taught to believe) said many mysterious and mystical things
which are difficult to understand, which it is not possible to
understand except by the aid of faith and grace--and suddenly the words
of God are found to be simple, clear, and reasonable!God said, Do no
evil, and evil will cease to exist.Was the revelation from God really
so simple--nothing but that?It would seem that every one might
understand it, it is so simple!The prophet Elijah, a fugitive from men, took refuge in a cave, and was
told that God would appear to him.Sandra moved to the office.There came a great wind that
devastated the forest; Elijah thought that the Lord had come, but the
Lord was not in the wind.After the wind came the thunder and the
lightning, but God was not there.Then came the earthquake: the earth
belched forth fire, the rocks were shattered, the mountain was rent to
its foundations; Elijah looked for the Lord, but the Lord was not in the
earthquake.Then, in the calm that followed, a gentle breeze came to the
prophet, bearing the freshness of the fields; and Elijah knew that God
was there.It is a magnificent illustration of the words, "_Resist not
evil_."They are very simple, these words; but they are, nevertheless, the
expression of a law divine and human.If there has been in history a
progressive movement for the suppression of evil, it is due to the men
who understood the doctrine of Jesus--who endured evil, and resisted not
evil by violence.The advance of humanity towards righteousness is due,
not to the tyrants, but to the martyrs.As fire cannot extinguish fire,
so evil cannot suppress evil.Good alone, confronting evil and resisting
its contagion, can overcome evil.And in the inner world of the human
soul, the law is as absolute as it was for the hearers by Galilee, more
absolute, more clear, more immutable.Men may turn aside from it, they
may hide its truth from others; but the progress of humanity towards
righteousness can only be attained in this way.Every step must be
guided by the command, "_Resist not evil_."A disciple of Jesus may say
now, with greater assurance than they of Galilee, in spite of
misfortunes and threats: "And yet it is not violence, but good, that
overcomes evil."If the progress is slow, it is because the doctrine of
Jesus (which, through its clearness, simplicity, and wisdom, appeals so
inevitably to human nature), because the doctrine of Jesus has been
cunningly concealed from the majority of mankind under an entirely
different doctrine falsely called by his name.CHAPTER V.
THE true meaning of the doctrine of Jesus was revealed to me; everything
confirmed its truth.But for a long time I could not accustom myself to
the strange fact, that after the eighteen centuries during which the law
of Jesus had been professed by millions of human beings, after the
eighteen centuries during which thousands of men had consecrated their
lives to the study of this law, I had discovered it for myself anew.But
strange as it seemed, so it was.Jesus' law, "_Resist not evil_," was to
me wholly new, something of which I had never had any conception before.I asked myself how this could be; I must certainly have had a false idea
of the doctrine of Jesus to cause such a misunderstanding.And a false
idea of it I unquestionably had.When I began to read the Gospel, I was
not in the condition of one who, having heard nothing of the doctrine of
Jesus, becomes acquainted with it for the first time; on the contrary, I
had a preconceived theory as to the manner in which I ought to
understand it.Jesus did not appeal to me as a prophet revealing the
divine law, but as one who continued and amplified the absolute divine
law which I already knew; for I had very definite and complex notions
about God, the creator of the world and of man, and about the
commandments of God given to men through the instrumentality of Moses.When I came to the words, "_Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye
for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, That ye resist
not evil_,"--the words, "_An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth_,"
expressed the law given by God to Moses; the words, "_But I say unto
you, That ye resist not evil_," expressed the new law, which was a
negation of the first.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.If I had seen Jesus' words, simply, in their true
sense, and not as a part of the theological theory that I had imbibed at
my mother's breast, I should have understood immediately that Jesus
abrogated the old law, and substituted for it a new law.But I had been
taught that Jesus did not abrogate the law of Moses, that, on the
contrary, he confirmed it to the slightest iota, and that he made it
more complete.Verses 17-20 of the fifth chapter of Matthew always
impressed me, when I read the Gospel, by their obscurity, and they
plunged me into doubt.I knew the Old Testament, particularly the last
books of Moses, very thoroughly, and recalling certain passages in which
minute doctrines, often absurd and even cruel in their purport, are
preceded by the words, "And the Lord said unto Moses," it seemed to me
very singular that Jesus should confirm all these injunctions; I could
not understand why he did so.But I allowed the question to pass without
solution, and accepted with confidence the explanations inculcated in my
infancy,--that the two laws were equally inspired by the Holy Spirit,
|
garden | Where is John? | I did not concern myself with
accounting for the process of this amplification, with the solution of
the contradictions apparent throughout the whole Gospel, in verses 17-20
of the fifth chapter, in the words, "_But I say unto you_."Now that I understood the clear and simple meaning of the doctrine of
Jesus, I saw clearly that the two laws are directly opposed to one
another; that they can never be harmonized; that, instead of
supplementing one by the other, we must inevitably choose between the
two; and that the received explanation of the verses, Matthew v.17-20,
which had impressed me by their obscurity, must be incorrect.When I now came to read once more the verses that had before impressed
me as obscure, I was astonished at the clear and simple meaning which
was suddenly revealed to me.This meaning was revealed, not by any
combination and transposition, but solely by rejecting the factitious
explanations with which the words had been encumbered.According to
Matthew, Jesus said (v.17-18):--
"_Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets_ (the
doctrine of the prophets): _I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil.For
verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle
shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled._"
And in verse 20 he added:--
"_For I say unto you, That except your righteousness shall exceed the
righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter
into the kingdom of heaven._"
I am not come (Jesus said) to destroy the eternal law of whose
fulfilment your books of prophecy foretell.I am come to teach you the
fulfilment of the eternal law; not of the law that your scribes and
pharisees call the divine law, but of that eternal law which is more
immutable than the earth and the heavens.I have expressed the idea in other words in order to detach the thoughts
of my readers from the traditional false interpretation.If this false
interpretation had never existed, the idea expressed in the verses could
not be rendered in a better or more definite manner.The view that Jesus did not abrogate the old law arises from the
arbitrary conclusion that "law" in this passage signifies the written
law instead of the law eternal, the reference to the iota--jot and
tittle--perhaps furnishing the grounds for such an opinion.But if Jesus
had been speaking of the written law, he would have used the expression
"the law and the prophets," which he always employed in speaking of the
written law; here, however, he uses a different expression,--"the law
_or_ the prophets."If Jesus had meant the written law, he would have
used the expression, "the law and the prophets," in the verses that
follow and that continue the thought; but he says, briefly, "the law."Moreover, according to Luke, Jesus made use of the same phraseology, and
the context renders the meaning inevitable.John went back to the hallway.According to Luke, Jesus
said to the Pharisees, who assumed the justice of their written law:--
"_Ye are they which justify yourselves before men; but God knoweth your
hearts: for that which is highly esteemed among men is abomination in
the sight of God.The law and the prophets were until John: since that
time the kingdom of God is preached, and every man presseth into it.And
it is easier for heaven and earth to pass, than one tittle of the law to
fail._" (Luke xvi.In the words, "_The law and the prophets were until John_," Jesus
abrogated the written law; in the words, "_And it is easier for heaven
and earth to pass, than one tittle of the law to fail_," Jesus confirmed
the law eternal.John journeyed to the bedroom.In the first passage cited he said, "the law _and_ the
prophets," that is, the written law; in the second he said "the law"
simply, therefore the law eternal.It is clear, then, that the eternal
law is opposed to the written law,[3] exactly as in the context of
Matthew where the eternal law is defined by the phrase, "the law _or_
the prophets."[3] More than this, as if to do away with all doubt about the law
to which he referred, Jesus cites immediately, in connection with
this passage, the most decisive instance of the negation of the law
of Moses by the eternal law, the law of which not the smallest jot
is to fail: "_Whosoever putteth away his wife, and marrieth
another, committeth adultery._" (Luke xvi.John journeyed to the garden.That is, according
to the written law divorce is permissible; according to the eternal
law it is forbidden.The history of the variants of the text of these verses is quite worthy
of notice.The majority of texts have simply "the law," without the
addition, "and the prophets," thus avoiding a false interpretation in
the sense of the written law.In other texts, notably that of
Tischendorf, and in the canonical versions, we find the word "prophets"
used, not with the conjunction "and," but with the conjunction
"or,"--"the law _or_ the prophets,"--which also excludes any question of
the written law, and indicates, as the proper signification, the law
eternal.In several other versions, not countenanced by the Church, we
find the word "prophets" used with the conjunction "and," not with "or";
and in these versions every repetition of the words "the law" is
followed by the phrase, "and the prophets," which would indicate that
Jesus spoke only of the written law.The history of the commentaries on the passage in question coincides
with that of the variants.The only clear meaning is that authorized by
Luke,--that Jesus spoke of the eternal law.Upon the evanescence of
the form peculiar emphasis is also laid in this poem, through the fact
that the music is improvised.Yet even this fact does not mean the entire
annihilation of the form.In the tenth stanza of the poem the idea of the
permanence of the art form as well as of the feeling is expanded into a
symbol of the immortality of all good:
"All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist;
Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power
Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist
When eternity confirms the conception of an hour,
The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard,
The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky,
Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard;
Enough that he heard it once: we shall hear it by-and-by."John journeyed to the bathroom.The sophistical arguer in "Fifine" feels this same power of music to
express thoughts not to be made palpable in any other manner."Words struggle with the weight
So feebly of the False, thick element between
Our soul, the True, and Truth!which, but that intervene
False shows of things, were reached as easily by thought
Reducible to word, and now by yearnings wrought
Up with thy fine free force, oh Music, that canst thrill,
Electrically win a passage through the lid
Of earthly sepulchre, our words may push against,
Hardly transpierce as thou."And again, in another passage, he gives to music the power of conserving a
mood of feeling, which in this case is not an exalted one, since it is one
that chimes in with his own rather questionable feeling for Fifine, the
fiz-gig.Sandra moved to the hallway.It is found in Schumann's "Carnival":
"Thought hankers after speech, while no speech may evince
Feeling like music,--mine, o'er-burthened with each gift
From every visitant, at last resolved to shift
Its burthen to the back of some musician dead
And gone, who feeling once what I feel now, instead
Of words, sought sounds, and saved forever, in the same,
Truth that escapes prose,--nay, puts poetry to shame.I read the note, I strike the Key, I bid _record_
The instrument--thanks greet the veritable word!And not in vain I urge: 'O dead and gone away,
Assist who struggles yet, thy strength becomes my stay,
Thy record serve as well to register--I felt
And knew thus much of truth!With me, must knowledge melt
Into surmise and doubt and disbelief unless
Thy music reassure--I gave no idle guess,
But gained a certitude I yet may hardly keep!since round is piled a monumental heap
Of music that conserves the assurance, thou as well
Was certain of the same!thou, master of the spell,
Mad'st moonbeams marble, didst _record_ what other men
Feel only to forget!'"The man in the case is merely an appreciator, not a creator, yet he
experiences with equal force music's power as a recorder of feeling.He
notes also that the feeling must appear from time to time in a new dress,
"the stuff that's made
To furnish man with thought and feeling is purveyed
Substantially the same from age to age, with change
Of the outside only for successive feasters."In this case, the old tunes have actually been worked over by the more
modern composer whose form has not yet sufficiently gone by to fail of an
immediate appeal to this person with feelings kindled by similar
experiences.What the speaker in the poem perceives is not merely the fact
of the feelings experienced but the power of the music to take him off
upon a long train of more or less philosophical reasoning born of that
very element of change.John moved to the bedroom.In this power of suggestiveness lies music's
greater range of spiritual force even when the feeling expressed is not of
the deepest.If we look at his poems on painting, the same principles of art are
insisted upon except that more emphasis is laid upon the positive value of
the incompleteness of the form.In so far as painting or sculpture reaches
a perfect unity of thought and form it loses its power of suggesting an
infinite beauty beyond any that our earth-born race may express.This in Browning's opinion is the limitation of Greek art.It touches
perfection or completion in expression and in so doing limits its range to
the brief passion of a day.Sandra moved to the office.The effect of such art is to arouse a sort of
despair, for it so far transcends merely human beauty that there seems
nothing left to accomplish:
"So, testing your weakness by their strength,
Your meagre charms by their rounded beauty
Measured by Art in your breadth and length,
You learned--to submit is a mortal's duty."When such a deadlock as this is reached through the stultifying effect of
an art expression which seems to have embodied all there is of passion and
physical beauty, the one way out is to turn away from the abject
contemplation of such art and go back again to humanity itself, in whose
widening nature may be discovered the promise of an eternity of
progression.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen.Therefore, "To cries of Greek art and what more wish you?"the poet would have it that the early painters replied:
"To become now self-acquainters,
And paint man, whatever the issue!Make new hopes shine through the flesh they fray,
New fears aggrandize the rags and tatters:
To bring the invisible full into play!Let the visible go to the dogs--what matters?"The revolution in art started by these early worthies had more of
spiritual promise in it than the past perfection--"The first of the new,
in our race's story, beats the last of the old."His emphasis here upon the return to humanity in order to gain a new
source of inspiration in art is further illustrated in his attitude toward
the two painters which he portrays so splendidly: Fra Lippo Lippi, the
realist, whose Madonnas looked like real women, and who has scandalized
some critics on this account, and Andrea del Sarto, the faultless painter,
who exclaims in despair as he gazes upon a picture by Raphael, in which he
sees a fault to pardon in the drawing's line, an error that he could alter
for the better, "But all the play, the insight and the stretch," beyond
him.The importance of basing art upon the study of the human body is later
insisted upon in Francis Furini, not as an end in itself, but as the
dwelling place of the soul."Let my pictures prove I know," says Furini,
"Somewhat of what this fleshly frame of ours
Or is or should be, how the soul empowers
The body to reveal its every mood
Of love and hate, pour forth its plenitude
Of passion."The evolutionary ideal appears again in his utterances upon poetry, though
when speaking of poetry it is the value of the subject matter and its
intimate relation to the form upon which he dwells.John travelled to the garden.The little poem "Popularity" shows as clearly as any the importance which
he attaches to a new departure in poetic expression, besides giving vent
to his scorn of the multitude which sees nothing in the work of the
innovator but which is ready at a later date to laud his imitators.Any
minor poet, for that matter, any Nokes or Stokes who merely prints blue
according to the poetic conventions of the past, possessing not a
suspicion of the true inspiration which goes to the making of a poet of
the new order, is more acceptable to an unseeing public than him with
power to fish "the murex up" that contains the precious drop of royal
blue.More than one significant hint may be gleaned from his verse in regard to
his opinion upon the formal side of the poet's art.In "Transcendentalism"
he has his fling at the didactic poet who pleases to speak naked thoughts
instead of draping them in sights and sounds, for "song" is the art of the
poet.Daniel went back to the garden.Some stout mage like him of Halberstadt has his admiration, who with
a
"'Look you!'vents a brace of rhymes,
And in there breaks the sudden rose herself,
Over us, under, round us every side,
Nay, in and out the tables and the chairs
And musty volumes, Boehme's book and all,--
Buries us with a glory young once more,
Pouring heaven into this shut house of life."He was equally averse to an ornate classical embellishment of a latter day
subject or to a looking at nature through mythopoeic Greek eyes.This is
driven home in the splendid fooling in "Gerard de Lairesse" where the poet
himself indulges by way of a joke in some high-flown classical imagery in
derision of the style of Lairesse and hints covertly probably at the
nineteenth-century masters of classical resuscitation, in subject matter
and allusion, Swinburne and Morris.Reacting to soberer mood, he
reiterates his belief in the utter deadness of Greek ideals of art,
speaking with a strength of conviction so profound as to make one feel
that here at least Browning suffered from a decided limitation, all the
more strange, too, when one considers his own masterly treatment of Greek
subjects.To the poets whose poetic creed is
"Dream afresh old godlike shapes,
Recapture ancient fable that escapes,
Push back reality, repeople earth
With vanished falseness, recognize no worth
In fact new-born unless 'tis rendered back
Pallid by fancy, as the western rack
Of fading cloud bequeaths the lake some gleam
Of its gone glory!"he would reply,
"Let things be-- |
office | Where is Sandra? | Earth's young significance is all to learn;
The dead Greek lore lies buried in the urn
Where who seeks fire finds ashes.What was the best Greece babbled of as truth?A shade, a wretched nothing,--sad, thin, drear,
* * * * *
Sad school
Was Hades!Gladly,--might the dead but slink
To life back,--to the dregs once more would drink
Each interloper, drain the humblest cup
Fate mixes for humanity."The rush onward to the supreme is uppermost in the poet's mind in this
poem.Though he does indulge in the refrain that there shall never be one
lost good echoing the thought in "Charles Avison," the climax of his mood
is in the contemplation of the evolutionary force of the soul which must
leave Greek art behind and find new avenues of beauty:
"The Past indeed
Is past, gives way before Life's best and last
The all-including Future!What were life
Did soul stand still therein, forego her strife
Through the ambiguous Present to the goal
Of some all-reconciling Future?Soul,
Nothing has been which shall not bettered be
Hereafter,--leave the root, by law's decree
Whence springs the ultimate and perfect tree!Nay, climb--
Quit trunk, branch, leaf and flower--reach, rest sublime
Where fruitage ripens in the blaze of day."When it comes to the subject matter of poetry, Browning constantly insists
that it should be the study of the human soul.A definite statement as to
the range of subjects under this general material of poetry is put forth
very early in his poetical career in "Paracelsus" and it is all-inclusive.It is the passage where Aprile describes how universal he wished to make
his sympathy as a poet.No one is to be left out of his all-embracing
democracy.Such, then, are his general principles in regard to poetic development and
subject matter.These do not touch upon the question so often discussed of
the relative value of the subjective as against the objective poet.This
point the poet considers in "Sordello," where he throws in his weight on
the side of the objective poet.In the passage in the third book the poet,
speaking in person, gives illustrations of three sorts of poetic
composition: the dramatic, the descriptive and the meditative; the first
belongs to the objective, the second, not distinctively to either, and the
third to the subjective manner of writing.The dramatic method is the most
forceful, for it imparts the gift of seeing to others, while the
descriptive and meditative merely tell what they saw, or, worse still,
talk about it.Further indications of his allegiance to the dramatic form of poetry as
the supreme one are found in his poems inspired by Shakespeare, "House"
and "Shop," but we must turn to a pregnant bit of his prose in order to
find his exact feeling upon the relations of the subjective and objective
poet, together with a clear conception of what he meant by a dramatic
poet, which was something more than Shakespeare's "holding the mirror up
to nature."In his view the dramatic poet must have the vision of the seer
as well as the penetration of a psychologist.He must hold the mirror up
not only to nature, regarded as phenomena, but to the human soul, and he
must perceive the relation of that human soul to the universal.He must in
fact plunge beneath the surface of actions and events and bring forth to
the light the psychic and cosmic causes of these things.The passage
referred to in the "Introduction to the Shelley Letters" points out how in
the evolution of poetry there will be the play and interplay of the
subjective and the objective faculties upon each other, with the probable
result of the arising of poets who will combine the two sorts of faculty.While Browning's own sympathy with the dramatic poet is as fully evident
here as in the passage in "Sordello," he realizes, as perhaps he did not
at that time, when he was himself breaking away from Shelley's influence,
the value of the subjective method in carrying on the process of poetic
evolution:
"It would be idle to inquire, of these two kinds of poetic faculty in
operation, which is the higher or even rarer endowment.If the
subjective might seem to be the ultimate requirement of every age,
the objective, in the strictest state, must still retain its original
value.For it is with this word, as starting-point and basis alike,
that we shall always have to concern ourselves: the world is not to be
learned and thrown aside, but reverted to and relearned.The spiritual
comprehension may be infinitely subtilized, but the raw material it
operates upon must remain.There may be no end of the poets who
communicate to us what they see in an object with reference to their
own individuality; what it was before they saw it, in reference to the
aggregate human mind, will be as desirable to know as ever.Nor is
there any reason why these two modes of poetic faculty may not issue
hereafter from the same poet in successive perfect works, examples of
which, according to what are now considered the exigencies of art, we
have hitherto possessed in distinct individuals only.A mere running
in of the one faculty upon the other is, of course, the ordinary
circumstance.Far more rarely it happens that either is found so
decidedly prominent and superior as to be pronounced comparatively
pure: while of the perfect shield, with the gold and the silver side
set up for all comers to challenge, there has yet been no instance.A
tribe of successors (Homerides), working more or less in the same
spirit, dwell on his discoveries and reinforce his doctrine; till, at
unawares, the world is found to be subsisting wholly on the shadow of
a reality, on sentiments diluted from passions, on the tradition of a
fact, the convention of a moral, the straw of last year's harvest.Then is the imperative call for the appearance of another sort of
poet, who shall at once replace this intellectual rumination of food
swallowed long ago, by a supply of the fresh and living swathe;
getting at new substance by breaking up the assumed wholes into parts
of independent and unclassed value, careless of the unknown laws for
recombining them (it will be the business of yet another poet to
suggest those hereafter), prodigal of objects for men's outer and not
inner sight; shaping for their uses a new and different creation from
the last, which it displaces by the right of life over death,--to
endure until, in the inevitable process, its very sufficiency to
itself shall require, at length, an exposition of its affinity to
something higher--when the positive yet conflicting facts shall again
precipitate themselves under a harmonizing law, and one more degree
will be apparent for a poet to climb in that mighty ladder, of which,
however cloud-involved and undefined may glimmer the topmost step, the
world dares no longer doubt that its gradations ascend."Sandra moved to the office.If we measure Browning's own work by the poetic standards which he has
himself set up in the course of that work, it is quite evident that he has
on the whole lived up to them.He has shown himself to be an illustration
of the evolutionary principles in which he believes by breaking away from
all previous standards of taste in poetry.The history of poetry in
England has shown this to be a distinctive characteristic of all the
greatest English poets.From Shakespeare down they have one and all run
afoul of the critics whose special province seems to be to set up literary
shibboleths which every genius is bent upon disregarding.When Spenser was
inventing his stanza, verse critics were abject in their worship of
hexameters, and their hatred of bald rhymes.Though these sticklers for
classical forms could see clearly enough that Spenser was possessed of
genius, they yet lamented the blindness of one, who might have written
hexameters, perversely exclaiming "Why a God's name may not we as else the
Greeks have the kingdom of our own language, and measure our accents by
the sound, reserving quantity to the verse?"When Milton appears and finds
blank verse the medium best suited to his subject, he comes up against the
rhyming standards of his day and is forced to submit to the indignity of
having his "Paradise Lost" "tagged with rhymes," as he expresses it, by
Dryden, who graciously devoted his powers of rhyme to an improved version
of the poem.Milton was actually obliged to defend himself in his preface
to "Paradise Lost" for using blank verse, as Browning defends himself in
the Epilogue to "Pacchiarotto and How We Worked in Distemper" for writing
"strong" verse instead of the "sweet" verse the critics demand of him.John journeyed to the hallway.By the time the nineteenth century dawns the critics are safely intrenched
in the editorial den, from which, shielded by any sort of shibboleth they
can get hold of, they may hurl forth their projectiles upon the
unoffending head of the genius, who, with no chance of firing back in the
open arena of the magazine, must either suffer in silence or take refuge
in sarcastic slurs upon his critics in his poetry, for here lies the only
chance of getting even without waiting for the whirligig of time to bring
the public round to a recognition of the fact that he is the one who has
in very truth, "fished the murex up."The caliber of man who could speak of "The Ode to Immortality" as "a most
illegible and unintelligible poem," or who wonders that any man in his
senses could put his name to such a rhapsody as "Endymion," or who
dismissed "Prometheus Unbound" with the remark that it was a _melange_ of
nonsense, cockneyism, poverty and pedantry, would hardly be expected to
welcome "Sordello" with effusion.Even very intelligent people cracked
unseemly jokes upon the appearance of "Sordello," and what wonder, for
Browning's British instinct for freedom carried him in this poem to the
most extreme lengths.In "Pauline" he had allied himself with things
familiar to the English reader of poetry.Many of the allusions are
classical and introduced with a rich musicalness that Shelley himself
might have envied.The reminiscences of Shelley would also come within the
intellectual acreage of most of the cultured people of the time.And even
in "Paracelsus," despite the unfamiliarity of the subject, there was
music and imagery such as to link the art with the admired poetic art of
the day, but in "Sordello" all bounds are broken.No one but a delver in the byways of literature could, at that time, have
been expected to know anything about Sordello; no one but a historian
could have been expected to know about the complicated struggles of the
Guelfs and the Ghibellines; no one but a philosopher about the tendencies,
both political and literary, manifesting themselves in the direction of
the awakening of democratic ideals in these pre-Dantean days; no one but a
psychologist about the tortuous windings of Sordello's mind.Only by special searching into all these regions of knowledge can one
to-day gain a complete grasp of the situation.He must patiently tread all
the paths that Browning trod before he can enter into sympathy with the
poet.Then he will crack no more jokes, but he will marvel at the mind
which could wield all this knowledge with such consummate familiarity; he
will grow ecstatic over the splendors of the poem, and will regret its
redundancy not of diction so much but of detail and its amazing lack of
organic unity.No one but a fanatic could claim that "Sordello" is a success as an
organic work of art.While the poet had a mastery of knowledge, thought
and feeling, he did not have sufficient mastery of his own form to weld
these together into a harmonious and convincing whole, such mastery as he,
for example, shows in "The Ring and the Book," though even in that there
is some survival of the old redundancy.One feels when considering "Sordello" as a whole as if gazing upon a
picture in which the perspective and the high lights and the shadows are
not well related to each other.As great an abundance of detail is
expended upon the less important as upon the more important fact, and
while the details may be interesting enough in themselves, they dislodge
more important affairs from the center of consciousness.It is, not to be
too flippant, something like Alice's game of croquet in "Through the
Looking Glass."When the hedgehog ball is nicely rolled up ready to be
struck, the flamingo mallet walks off somewhere else.There, then, in "Sordello" is perhaps the most remarkable departure from
the accepted in poetic art that an Englishman has ever attempted.In its
elements of failure, however, it gave "a triumph's evidence," to use the
poet's own phrase, "of the fulness of the days."In this poem he had
thrown down the gauntlet.His subject matter was not to be like that of
any other poet, nor was his form to be like that of any other poet.He
discarded the flowing music of "Pauline" and of "Paracelsus."His
allusions were no longer to be classic, but to be directly related to
whatever subject he had in hand; his style was also to be forth-right and
related to his subject, strong, idiomatic, rugged, even jolting if need
be, or noble, sweeping along in large rhythms or couched in rare forms of
symbolism, but, whatever it was to be, always different from what had
been.All he required at the time when "Sordello" appeared was to find that form
in which he could so unify his powers that his poems would gain the
organic completeness necessary to a work of art.No matter what new
regions an artist may push into he must discover the law of being of this
new region.Unless he does, his art will not convince, but the moment he
does, all that was not convincing falls into its right place.He becomes
the master of his art, and relates the new elements in such a way that
their rightness and their beauty, if not immediately recognized, are sure
sooner or later to be recognized by the evolving appreciator, who is the
necessary complement, by the way, of the evolving artist.Before
"Sordello" Browning had tried three other forms; the subjective narrative
in "Pauline," the dramatic poem in "Paracelsus," a regular drama in
"Strafford," which however runs partly parallel with "Sordello" in
composition.He had also done two or three short dramatic monologues.He evidently hoped that the regular drama would prove to be the form most
congenial to him, for he kept on persistently in that form for nearly ten
years, wrote much magnificent poetry in it and at times attained a
grandeur of dramatic utterance hardly surpassed except in the master of
all dramatists, Shakespeare.But while he has attained a very genuine
success in this form, it is not the success of the popular acting drama.His dramas are to-day probably being left farther and farther aside every
moment in the present exaggerated demands for characters in action, or
perhaps it might be nearer the truth to say clothes horses in action.Besides, the drama of action in character, which is the type of drama
introduced into English literature by Browning, has reached a more perfect
development in other hands.Ibsen's dramas are preeminently dramas of
action in character, but the action moves with such rapidity that the
audience is almost cheated into thinking they are the old thing over
again--that is, dramas of characters in action.Browning's characters in his dramas are presented with a completeness of
psychological analysis |
kitchen | Where is Sandra? | Still, one cannot help but feel that the impressionistic
psychology of Ibsen reaches a pinnacle of dramatic art not attained by
Browning in his plays, delightful in character portrayal as they are, and
not upon any account to have been missed from dramatic literature.In the dramatic monologue Browning found just that form which would focus
his forces, bringing them into the sort of relationship needed to reveal
the true law of being for his new region of poetic art.If we inquire just why this form was the true medium for the most perfect
expression of his genius, I think we may answer that in it, as he has
developed it, is given an opportunity for the legitimate exercise of his
mental subtlety.Through the voice of one speaker he can portray not only
the speaker but one or more other characters, and at the same time show
the scene setting, and all without any direct description.On the other
hand, his tendency to redundancy, so marked when he is making a character
reveal only his own personality, is held in check by the necessity of
using just those words and turns of expression and dwelling upon just
those details which will make each character stand out distinctly, and at
the same time bring the scene before the reader.The people in his dramatic monologues live before us by means of a
psychology as impressionistic as that of Ibsen's in his plays.The effect
is the same as that in a really great impressionistic painting.Nature is
revealed far more distinctly--the thing of lights and shadows, space and
movement--than in pictures bent upon endless details of form."My Last
Duchess" is one among many fine examples of his method in monologue.In
that short poem we are made to see what manner of man is the duke, what
manner of woman the duchess.We see what has been the duke's past, what is
to be his future, also the present scene, as the duke stands in the hall
of his palace talking to an ambassador from the count who has come to
arrange a marriage with the duke for the count's daughter.Sandra moved to the office.Besides all
this a glimpse of the ambassador's attitude of mind is given.This is done
by an absolutely telling choice of words and by an organic relationing of
the different elements.Browning's own ideal of the poet who makes others see was not completely
realized until he had perfected a form which would lend itself most
perfectly to the manner of thing which he desired to make others
see--namely, the human soul in all its possible manifestations of feeling
and mood, good, bad, and indifferent, from the uninspired organist who
struggles with a mountainous fugue to the inspired improvisor whose soul
ascends to God on the wings of his music, from the unknown sensitive
painter who cannot bear to have his pictures the subject of criticism or
commerce to the jolly life-loving Fra Lippo, from the jealous, vindictive
woman of "The Laboratory" to the vision-seeing Pompilia, from Ned Bratts
to Bishop Blougram, and so on--so many and wonderful that custom cannot
state their infinite variety.Consistent, so far, with his own theories we find the work of Browning to
be.He also follows his ideal in the discarding of classical allusion
and illustration.Part of his dictum that the form should express the
thought is shown in his habitual fitting of his allusions to the subject
he is treating.By this means he produces his atmosphere and brings the
scene clearly before us; witness his constant references to Molinos and
his influence in "The Ring and the Book," an influence which was making
itself felt in all classes of society at the time when the actual tragedy
portrayed in the poem occurred.This habit, of course, brings into his
poetry a far wider range of allusions unfamiliar to his contemporaries
than is to be found in other Victorian poets, and makes it necessary that
these should be "looked up" before an adequate enjoyment of their fitness
is possible.Hence the Browning societies, so often held up to ridicule by
the critics, who blindly prefer to show their superior attitude of mind in
regard to everything they do not know, and growl about his obscurity, to
welcoming any movement which means an increase of general culture.The
Browning societies have not only done much to make Browning's unusual
allusions common matters of knowledge, but they have helped to keep alive
a taste for all poetry in an age when poetry has needed all the friendly
support it could get.All great poets lead the ordinary mind to unfamiliar regions of knowledge
and thereby to fresh planes of enjoyment.That Browning has outdone all
other poets in this particular should be to his honor, not to his
dispraise.In one very marked direction, however, he is not a perfect exemplar of his
own theories--that is, he is not always consistently dramatic.He belongs
to that order of poets described by himself in the Shelley Introduction as
neither completely subjective nor completely objective, but with the two
faculties at times running in upon each other.He is often absolutely
objective in his expression of a mood or a feeling, but the moment the
mood takes upon it the tinge of thought we begin to feel Browning himself.The fundamental principles upon which he bases his own solution of the
problems of existence are seen to crop out,, it is true, by the
personality of the speaker, but yet traceable to their source in the
mental make up of Browning himself.It may well be that Browning has come
so near to the ultimate truth discoverable by man in his fundamental
principles that they are actually universal truths, to be found lying deep
down at the roots of all more partial expressions, just as gravitation,
conservation of energy, evolution underlie every phenomena of nature,
and therefore when a Pope in "The Ring and the Book," a Prince
Hohenstiel-Swangau, a Bishop Blougram, a Cleon or a John in "The Death in
the Desert," give utterance to their views upon life, they are bound to
touch from one or another angle the basic principles of life common to all
humanity as well as to the poet--the center within us all where "truth
abides in fulness."This would seem an even more complete fusing of the two faculties in one
poet than that spoken of by Browning, where a poet would issue successive
works, in some of them the one faculty and in some of them the other
faculty being supreme.That Browning was, to a certain extent, a poet of this third order of
which he prophesied is true, for he has written a number of poems like "La
Saisiaz," "Reverie," various of his prologues and epilogues which are
purely subjective in content.There are also subjective passages in the
midst of other poems, like those in "Sordello," "Prince Hohenstiel," the
"Parleyings," etc.If we place such a poem as "Reverie" side by side with
"Fra Lippo Lippi" we see well-nigh perfect illustrations of the two
faculties as they existed in the one poet, Browning.On the other hand,
in those poems where the thought, as I have said, suggests Browning, in
the speech of his characters he has something of the quality of what
Browning calls the subjective poet of modern classification."Gifted like
the objective poet, with the fuller perception of nature and man, he is
impelled to embody the thing he perceives, not so much with reference to
the many below as to the One above him, the supreme intelligence which
apprehends all things in their absolute truth, an ultimate view ever
aspired to, if but partially attained, by the poet's soul."Browning may be said to have carried to its flood tide the "Liberal
Movement in English Literature," as Courthope calls it, inaugurated at the
dawn of the century by the Lake School, which reacted against the correct
school of Dryden and Pope.Along with the earlier poets of the century he
shared lack of appreciation at the hands of critics in general.The
critics had been bred in the school of the eighteenth century, and
naturally would be incapable of understanding a man whose thought was
permeated with the doctrines of evolution, then an unknown quantity except
to the elect in scientific circles, and not to become the possession of
the thinking world at large until beyond the middle of the century;
whose soul was full of the ardor of democracy, shown not only in his
choice and treatment of subjects, but in his reckless independence of all
the shibboleths of the past; and whose liberalness in the treatment of
moral and religious problems was such as to scandalize many in an age when
the law forbade that a man should marry his deceased wife's sister, and
when the Higher Criticism of the Bible had not yet migrated to England
from Germany; and, finally, whose style was everything that was atrocious
because entirely different from anything they had seen before.It is needless to say that it did so.Just as out of the turmoil of conflicting scientific and religious thought
has emerged a serene belief in man's spiritual destiny, so out of the
turmoil of conflicting schools of criticism has arisen a perception of the
value of the new, the original, the different in art.Critics begin to
apply the principles of evolution to their criticism as Browning applied
it to his art, with the result that they no longer measure by past
standards of art but by relating the art to the life of the time in its
various manifestations, not forgetting that the poet or the dramatist may
have a further vision of what is to come than any other man of his age.The people first, for the most part, found out that here in Browning's
work was a new force, and calmly formed themselves into groups to study
what manner of force it might be, regardless of the sneers of newspaperdom
and conventional academies.And gradually to the few appreciative critics
of the early days have been added one authoritative voice after another
until the chorus of praise has become a large one, and Browning, though
later than any great poet of the century, is coming into his own.In a certain chart of English literature with which I am acquainted,
wherein the poets are graphically represented in mountain ranges with
peaks of various heights, Tennyson is shown as the towering peak of the
Victorian Era, while Browning is a sturdy but much lower peak with a
blunted top.This is quite symbolic of the general attitude toward
Browning at the end of the century, for, with all the appreciation, there
has been on the part of authority a disinclination to assign to him the
chief place among the poets of the Victorian Era.Courthope, who most of
the time preserves a remarkable reticence upon Browning, voices this
general attitude in a remark ventured upon in one of his lectures in
1900.He says:
"No one who is capable of appreciating genius will refuse to admire the
powers of this poet, the extent of his sympathy and interest in external
things, the boldness of his invention, the energy of his analysis, the
audacity of his experiments.But so absolutely does he exclude all
consideration for the reader from his choice of subject, so arbitrarily,
in his treatment of his themes, does he compel his audience to place
themselves at his own point of view, that the life of his art depends
entirely upon his own individuality.Should future generations be less
inclined than our own to surrender their imagination to his guidance, he
will not be able to appeal to them through that element of life which lies
in the Universal."John journeyed to the hallway.P. Biggar, _Early Trading
Companies of New France_, p.[4] Francois Grave, Sieur du Pont, whose name, strictly speaking, is
Dupont-Grave, one of the most active French navigators of the
seventeenth century.From 1600 to 1629 his voyages to the St Lawrence
and Acadia were incessant.[5] Now called the Lachine Rapids.An extremely important point in the
history of New France, since it marked the head of ship navigation on
the St Lawrence.Constantly mentioned in the writings of Champlain's
period.{22}
CHAPTER II
CHAMPLAIN IN ACADIA[1]
The early settlements of the French in America were divided into two
zones by the Gulf of St Lawrence.Considered from the standpoint of
colonization, this great body of water has a double aspect.In the
main it was a vestibule to the vast region which extended westward from
Gaspe to Lake Michigan and thence to the Mississippi.But while a
highway it was also a barrier, cutting off Acadia from the main route
that led to the heart of the interior.Port Royal, on the Bay of
Fundy, was one centre and Quebec another.Between them stretched
either an impenetrable wilderness or an inland sea.Hence Acadia
remained separate from the Laurentian {23} valley, which was the heart
of Canada--although Acadia and Canada combined to form New France.Of
these two sister districts Canada was the more secure.The fate of
Acadia shows how much less vulnerable to English attack were Quebec,
Three Rivers, and Montreal than the seaboard settlements of Port Royal,
Grand Pre, and Louisbourg.It is a striking fact that Champlain had helped to found Port Royal
before he founded Quebec.He was not the pioneer of Acadian
colonization: De Monts deserves the praise of turning the first sod.But Champlain was a leading figure in the hard fight at St Croix and
Port Royal; he it was who first charted in any detail the Atlantic
seaboard from Cape Breton to Cape Cod; and his narrative joins with
that of Lescarbot to preserve the story of the episode.Although unprosperous, the first attempt of the French to colonize
Acadia is among the bright deeds of their colonial history.While the
death of De Chastes was most inopportune, the future of the French race
in America did not hinge upon any one man.In 1603 fishing on the
Grand Bank off Newfoundland was a well-established occupation of
Normans and Bretons, the fur trade held out hope of great {24} profit,
and the spirit of national emulation supplied a motive which was
stronger still.John went back to the kitchen.Hence it is not surprising that to De Chastes there at
once succeeds De Monts.As regards position they belonged to much the same class.Both were
men of standing, with enough capital and influence to organize an
expedition.In respect, however, of personality and circumstance there
were differences.By reason of advanced age De Chastes had been unable
to accompany his ships, whereas De Monts was in his prime and had
already made a voyage to the St Lawrence.Moreover, De Monts was a
Huguenot.A generation later no Huguenot could have expected to
receive a monopoly of the fur trade and a royal commission authorizing
him to establish settlements, but Henry IV, who had once been a
Protestant, could hardly treat his old co-religionists as Richelieu
afterwards treated them.The heresy of its founder was a source of
weakness to the first French colony in Acadia, yet through a Calvinist
it came into being.Like De Chastes, De Monts had associates who joined with him to supply
the necessary funds, though in 1604 the investment was greater than on
any previous occasion, and a {25} larger number were admitted to the
benefits of the monopoly.Not only did St Malo and Rouen secure
recognition, but La Rochelle and St Jean de Luz were given a chance to
participate.De Monts' company had a capital of 90,000 livres, divided
in shares--of which two-fifths were allotted to St Malo, two-fifths to
La Rochelle and St Jean de Luz conjointly, and the remainder to Rouen.The personal investment of De Monts was somewhat more than a tenth of
the total, as he took a majority of the stock which fell to Rouen.Apart from Sully's unfriendliness, the chief initial difficulty arose
over religion.The Parlement of Normandy refused to register De Monts'
commission on the ground that the conversion of the heathen could not
fitly be left to a heretic.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.This remonstrance was only withdrawn after
the king had undertaken to place the religious instruction of the
Indians in the charge of priests--a promise which did not prevent the
Protestant colonists from having their own pastor.The monopoly
contained wider privileges than before, including both Acadia and the
St Lawrence.At the same time, the obligation to colonize became more
exacting, since the minimum number of new settlers per annum was raised
from fifty to a hundred.{26}
Champlain's own statement regarding the motive of De Monts' expedition
is that it lay in the desire 'to find a northerly route to China, |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | After reciting a
list of explorations which began with John Cabot and had continued at
intervals during the next century, he continues: 'So many voyages and
discoveries without results, and attended with so much hardship and
expense, have caused us French in late years to attempt a permanent
settlement in those lands which we call New France, in the hope of thus
realizing more easily this object; since the voyage in search of the
desired passage commences on the other side of the ocean and is made
along the coast of this region.'A comparison of the words just quoted with the text of De Monts'
commission will serve to illustrate the strength of Champlain's
geographical instinct.The commission begins with a somewhat
stereotyped reference to the conversion of the heathen, after which it
descants upon commerce, colonies, and mines.The supplementary
commission to De Monts from Montmorency as Lord High Admiral adds a
further consideration, namely, that if Acadia is not occupied by the
French it will {27} be seized upon by some other nation.Not a word of
the route to the East occurs in either commission, and De Monts is
limited in the powers granted to a region extending along the American
seaboard from the fortieth parallel to the forty-sixth, with as much of
the interior 'as he is able to explore and colonize.'This shows that, while the objects of the expedition were commercial
and political, Champlain's imagination was kindled by the prospect of
finding the long-sought passage to China.To his mind a French colony
in America is a stepping-stone, a base of operations for the great
quest.De Monts himself doubtless sought honour, adventure, and
profit--the profit which might arise from possessing Acadia and
controlling the fur trade in 'the river of Canada.'Champlain remains
the geographer, and his chief contribution to the Acadian enterprise
will be found in that part of his _Voyages_ which describes his study
of the coast-line southward from Cape Breton to Malabar.But whether considered from the standpoint of exploration or
settlement, the first chapter of French annals in Acadia is a fine
incident.Sandra moved to the office.Champlain has left the greatest fame, but he was not alone
during these years {28} of peril and hardship.With him are grouped De
Monts, Poutrincourt, Lescarbot, Pontgrave, and Louis Hebert, all men of
capacity and enterprise, whose part in this valiant enterprise lent it
a dignity which it has never since lost.As yet no English colony had
been established in America.Under his commission De Monts could have
selected for the site of his settlement either New York or Providence
or Boston or Portland.The efforts of the French in America from 1604
to 1607 are signalized by the character of their loaders, the nature of
their opportunity, and the special causes which prevented them from
taking possession of Norumbega.[2]
De Monts lacked neither courage nor persistence.His battle against
heartbreaking disappointments shows him to have been a pioneer of high
order.And with him sailed in 1604 Jean de Biencourt, Seigneur de
Poutrincourt, whose ancestors had been illustrious in {29} Picardy for
five hundred years.Champlain made a third, joining the expedition as
geographer rather than shipmaster.Lescarbot and Hebert came two years
later.The company left Havre in two ships--on March 7, 1604, according to
Champlain, or just a month later, according to Lescarbot.Although De
Monts' commission gave him the usual privilege of impressing convicts,
the personnel of his band was far above the average.Champlain's
statement is that it comprised about one hundred and twenty artisans,
and there were also 'a large number of gentlemen, of whom not a few
were of noble birth.'Besides the excitement provided by icebergs, the
arguments of priest and pastor diversified the voyage, even to the
point of scandal.After crossing the Grand Bank in safety they were
nearly wrecked off Sable Island, but succeeded in reaching the Acadian
coast on May 8.From their landfall at Cap de la Heve they skirted the
coast-line to Port Mouton, confiscating _en route_ a ship which was
buying furs in defiance of De Monts' monopoly.Rabbits and other game were found in abundance at Port Mouton, but the
spot proved quite unfit for settlement, and on May 19 De Monts charged
Champlain with {30} the task of exploring the coast in search of
harbours.Taking a barque of eight tons and a crew of ten men
(together with Ralleau, De Monts' secretary), Champlain set out upon
this important reconnaissance.Fish, game, good soil, good timber,
minerals, and safe anchorage were all objects of search.Skirting the
south-western corner of Nova Scotia, the little ship passed Cape Sable
and the Tusquet Islands, turned into the Bay of Fundy, and advanced to
a point somewhat beyond the north end of Long Island.Champlain gives
at considerable length the details of his first excursion along the
Acadian seaboard.John journeyed to the hallway.In his zeal for discovery he caused those left at
Port Mouton both inconvenience and anxiety.Lescarbot says, with a
touch of sharpness: 'Champlain was such a time away on this expedition
that when deliberating about their return [to France] they thought of
leaving him behind.'Champlain's own statement is that at Port Mouton
'Sieur de Monts was awaiting us from day to day, thinking only of our
long stay and whether some accident had not befallen us.'De Monts' position at Port Mouton was indeed difficult.By changing
his course in mid-ocean he had missed rendezvous with the {31} larger
of his two ships, which under the command of Pontgrave looked for him
in vain from Canseau to the Bay of Islands.Meanwhile, at Port Mouton
provisions were running low, save for rabbits, which could not be
expected to last for ever.The more timid raised doubts and spoke of
France, but De Monts and Poutrincourt both said they would rather die
than go back.In this mood the party continued to hunt rabbits, to
search the coast north-easterly for Pontgrave, and to await Champlain's
return.Pontgrave's ship was found, De
Monts revictualled, Champlain reappeared, and by the middle of June the
little band of colonists was ready to proceed.As De Monts heads south-west from Port Mouton it is difficult to avoid
thoughts regarding the ultimate destiny of France in the New World.The Wars of Religion had ended in the
reunion of the realm under a strong and popular king.The French
nation was conscious of its greatness, and seemed ready for any
undertaking that promised honour or advantage.John went back to the kitchen.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.The Huguenots were a
sect whose members possessed Calvinistic firmness of will, together
with a special motive for emigrating.And, {32} besides, the whole
eastern coast of America, within the temperate zone, was still to be
had for the taking.With such a magnificent opportunity, why was the
result so meagre?A complete answer to this query would lead us far afield, but the whole
history of New France bears witness to the fact that the cause of
failure is not to be found in the individual French emigrant.There
have never been more valiant or tenacious colonists than the peasants
of Normandy who cleared away the Laurentian wilderness and explored the
recesses of North America.France in the age of De Monts and Champlain
possessed adequate resources, if only her effort had been concentrated
on America, or if the Huguenots had not been prevented from founding
colonies, or if the crown had been less meddlesome, or if the quest of
beaver skins farther north had not diverted attention from Chesapeake
Bay and Manhattan Island.The best chance the French ever had to
effect a foothold in the middle portion of the Atlantic coast came to
them in 1604, when, before any rivals had established themselves, De
Monts was at hand for the express purpose of founding a colony.It is
quite probable that even if he had landed on Manhattan Island, the
European {33} preoccupations of France would have prevented Henry IV
from supporting a colony at that point with sufficient vigour to
protect it from the English.Yet the most striking aspect of De Monts'
attempt in Acadia is the failure to seize a chance which never came
again to the French race.In 1607 Champlain sailed away from Port
Royal and the English founded Jamestown.In 1608 Champlain founded
Quebec, and thenceforth for over a century the efforts of France were
concentrated on the St Lawrence.When at length she founded Louisbourg
it was too late; by that time the English grasp upon the coast could
not be loosened.Meanwhile De Monts, to whom the future was veiled, left Port Mouton
and, creeping from point to point, entered the Bay of Fundy--or, as
Champlain calls it, 'the great Baye Francoise, so named by Sieur de
Monts.'The month was June, but no time could be lost, for at this
juncture the aim of exploration was the discovery of a suitable site,
and after the site had been fixed the colonists needed what time
remained before winter to build their houses.Hence De Monts' first
exploration of the Baye Francoise was not exhaustive.He entered
Annapolis Basin and glanced at {34} the spot which afterwards was to be
Port Royal.He tried in vain to find a copper-mine of which he had
heard from Prevert of St Malo.He coasted the Bay of St John, and on
June 25 reached St Croix Island.'Not finding any more suitable place
than this island,' says Champlain, the leaders of the colony decided
that it should be fortified: and thus was the French flag unfurled in
Acadia.The arrangement of the settlement at St Croix was left to Champlain,
who gives us a drawing in explanation of his plan.Daniel went back to the bedroom.The selection of an
island was mainly due to distrust of the Indians, with whom, however,
intercourse was necessary.Sandra went to the bedroom.The island lay close to the mouth of a
river, now also called the St Croix.As the choice of this spot proved
most unfortunate, it is well to remember the motives which prevailed at
the time.'Vessels could pass up the river,' says Champlain, 'only at
the mercy of the cannon on this island, and we deemed the location most
advantageous, not only on account of its situation and good soil, but
also on account of the intercourse which we proposed with the savages
of these coasts and of the interior, as we should be in the midst of
them.We hoped to pacify them in course of time and put an end to the
wars {35} which they carry on with one another, so as to derive service
from them in future and convert them to the Christian faith.'De Monts' band was made up largely of artisans, who at once began with
vigour to erect dwellings.A mill and an oven were built; gardens were
laid out and many seeds planted therein.The mosquitoes proved
troublesome, but in other respects the colonists had good cause to be
pleased with their first Acadian summer.So far had construction work
advanced by the beginning of autumn that De Monts decided to send an
exploration party farther along the coast to the south-west.'And,'
says Champlain, 'he entrusted me with this work, which I found very
agreeable.'The date of departure from St Croix was September 2, so that no very
ambitious programme of discovery could be undertaken before bad weather
began.In a boat of eighteen tons, with twelve sailors and two Indian
guides, Champlain threaded the maze of islands which lies between
Passamaquoddy Bay and the mouth of the Penobscot.The most striking
part of the coast was Mount Desert,'very high and notched in places,
so that there is the appearance to one at sea as of seven or eight
mountains extending along {36} near each other.'To this island and
the Isle au Haut Champlain gave the names they have since borne.Thence advancing, with his hand ever on the lead, he reached the mouth
of the Penobscot, despite those 'islands, rocks, shoals, banks, and
breakers which are so numerous on all sides that it is marvellous to
behold.'Having satisfied himself that the Penobscot was none other
than the great river Norumbega, referred to largely on hearsay by
earlier geographers, he followed it up almost to Bangor.On regaining
the sea he endeavoured to reach the mouth of the Kennebec, but when
within a few miles of it was driven back to St Croix by want of food.In closing the story of this voyage, which had occupied a month,
Champlain says with his usual directness: 'The above is an exact
statement of all I have observed respecting not only the coasts and
people, but also the river of Norumbega; and there are none of the
marvels there which some persons have described.I am of opinion that
this region is as disagreeable in winter as that of our settlement, in
which we were greatly deceived.'[Illustration: COASTS EXPLORED BY CHAMPLAIN, 1604-7]
Champlain was now to undergo his first winter in Acadia, and no part of
his life could have been more wretched than the ensuing {37} eight
months.On December 3 cakes of ice began
to appear along the shore.The storehouse had no cellar, and all
liquids froze except sherry.We were
obliged to use very bad water and drink melted snow, as there were no
springs or brooks.'It was impossible to keep warm or to sleep
soundly.The food was salt meat and vegetables, which impaired the
strength of every one and brought on scurvy.It is unnecessary to cite
here Champlain's detailed and graphic description of this dreadful
disease.Before the spring came two-fifths of
the colonists had died, and of those who remained half were on the
point of death.Not unnaturally, 'all this produced discontent in
Sieur de Monts and others of the settlement.'The survivors of the horrible winter at St Croix were not freed from
anxiety until June 15, 1605, when Pontgrave, six weeks late, arrived
with fresh stores.Had De Monts been faint-hearted, he doubtless would
have seized this opportunity to return to France.As it was, he set
out in search of a place more suitable than St Croix for the
establishment of his colony.On June 18, with a party {38} which
included twenty sailors and several gentlemen, he and Champlain began a
fresh voyage to the south-west.Their destination was the country of
the Armouchiquois, an Algonquin tribe who then inhabited Massachusetts.Champlain's story of his first voyage from Acadia to Cape Cod is given
with considerable fulness.The topography of the seaboard and its
natural history, the habits of the Indians and his adventures with
them, were all new subjects at the time, and he treats them so that
they keep their freshness.He is at no pains to conceal his low
opinion of the coast savages.Concerning the Acadian Micmacs he says
little, but what he does say is chiefly a comment upon the wretchedness
of their life during the winter.As he went farther south he found an
improvement in the food supply.At the mouth of the Saco he and De
Monts saw well-kept patches of Indian corn three feet high, although it
was not yet midsummer.Growing with the corn were beans, pumpkins, and
squashes, all in flower; and the cultivation of tobacco is also noted.Here the savages formed a permanent settlement and lived within a
palisade.Still farther south, in the neighbourhood of Cape Cod, {39}
Champlain found maize five and a half feet high, a considerable variety
of squashes, tobacco, and edible roots which tasted like artichokes.But whether the coast Indians were Micmacs or Armouchiquois, whether
they were starving or well fed, Champlain tells us little in their
praise.Of the Armouchiquois he says:
I cannot tell what government they have, but I think that in this
respect they resemble their neighbours, who have none at all.They
know not how to worship or pray; yet, like the other savages, they have
some superstitions, which I shall describe in their place |
office | Where is Daniel? | As for
weapons, they have only pikes, clubs, bows and arrows.Sandra moved to the office.It would seem
from their appearance that they have a good disposition, better than
those of the north, but they are all in fact of no great worth.Even a
slight intercourse with them gives you at once a knowledge of them.They are great thieves, and if they cannot lay hold of any thing with
their hands, they try to do so with their feet, as we have oftentimes
learned by experience.I am of opinion that if they had any thing to
exchange with us they would not give themselves to thieving.They
bartered away to us their bows, arrows, and quivers for pins and
buttons; and if they had had any thing else better they would have done
the same with it.It is necessary to be on one's guard against this
people and live in a state of distrust of them, yet without letting
them perceive it.{40} This passage at least shows that Champlain sought to be just to
the savages of the Atlantic.Though he found them thieves, he is
willing to conjecture that they would not steal if they had anything to
trade.The thieving habits of the Cape Cod Indians led to a fight between them
and the French in which one Frenchman was killed, and Champlain
narrowly escaped death through the explosion of his own musket.At
Cape Cod De Monts turned back.Five of the six weeks allotted to the
voyage were over, and lack of food made it impossible to enter Long
Island Sound.Hence 'Sieur de Monts determined to return to the Island
of St Croix in order to find a place more favourable for our
settlement, as we had not been able to do on any of the coasts which he
had explored during this voyage.'We now approach the picturesque episode of Port Royal.De Monts,
having regained St Croix at the beginning of August, lost no time in
transporting his people to the other side of the Bay of Fundy.The
consideration which weighed most with him in establishing his
headquarters was that of trade.Whatever his own preferences, he could
not forget that his partners in France expected a return {41} on their
investment.Had he been in a position to found an agricultural colony,
the maize fields he had seen to the south-west might have proved
attractive.But he depended largely upon trade, and, as Champlain
points out, the savages of Massachusetts had nothing to sell.Hence it
was unwise to go too far from the peltries of the St Lawrence.To find
a climate less severe than that of Canada, without losing touch with
the fur trade, was De Monts' problem.No one could dream of wintering
again at St Croix, and in the absence of trade possibilities to the
south there seemed but one alternative--Port Royal.In his notice of De Monts' cruise along the Bay of Fundy in June 1604,
Champlain says: 'Continuing two leagues farther on in the same
direction, we entered one of the finest harbours I had seen all along
these coasts, in which two thousand vessels might lie in security.The
entrance is 800 paces broad; then you enter a harbour two leagues long
and one broad, which I have named Port Royal.'Here Champlain is
describing Annapolis Basin, which clearly made a deep impression upon
the minds of the first Europeans who saw it.Most of all did it appeal
to the imagination of Poutrincourt, who had come to Acadia for the {42}
purpose of discovering a spot where he could found his own colony.At
sight of Port Royal he had at once asked De Monts for the grant, and on
receiving it had returned to France, at the end of August 1604, to
recruit colonists.Thus he had escaped the horrible winter at St
Croix, but on account of lawsuits it had proved impossible for him to
return to Acadia in the following year.Hence the noble roadstead of
Port Royal was still unoccupied when De Monts, Champlain, and Pontgrave
took the people of St Croix thither in August 1605.Even the framework of the houses was shipped across the bay
and set up in this haven of better hope.The spot chosen for the settlement lay on the north side of the bay.It had a good supply of water, and there was protection from the
north-west wind which had tortured the settlers at St Croix.'After
everything had been arranged,' says Champlain, 'and the majority of the
dwellings built, Sieur de Monts determined to return to France, in
order to petition His Majesty to grant him all that might be necessary
for his undertaking.'Quite apart from securing fresh advantages, De
Monts at this time was sore pressed to defend his title against the
traders who were {43} clamouring for a repeal of the monopoly.With
him returned some of the colonists whose ambition had been satisfied at
St Croix.Champlain remained, in the hope of making further
explorations 'towards Florida.''I also,' says
Champlain, 'for the sake of occupying my time made one, which was
surrounded with ditches full of water, in which I placed some fine
trout, and into which flowed three brooks of very fine running water,
from which the greater part of our settlement was supplied.I made
also a little sluice-way towards the shore, in order to draw off the
water when I wished.This spot was entirely surrounded by meadows,
where I constructed a summer-house, with some fine trees, as a resort
for enjoying the fresh air.I made there, also, a little reservoir for
holding salt-water fish, which we took out as we wanted them.I took
especial pleasure in it and planted there some seeds which turned out
well.But much work had to be laid out in preparation.We resorted
often to this place as a pastime; and it seemed as if the little birds
round took pleasure in it, for they gathered there in large {44}
numbers, warbling and chirping so pleasantly that I think I have never
heard the like.'After a busy and cheerful autumn came a mild winter.The snow did not
fall till December 20, and there was much rain.John journeyed to the hallway.Scurvy still caused
trouble; but though twelve died, the mortality was not so high as at St
Croix.Everything considered, Port Royal enjoyed good
fortune--according to the colonial standards of the period, when a
winter death-rate of twenty-six per cent was below the average.At the beginning of March 1606 Pontgrave fitted out a barque of
eighteen tons in order to undertake 'a voyage of discovery along the
coast of Florida'; and on the 16th of the month a start was made.John went back to the kitchen.Favoured by good weather, he and Champlain would have reached the
Hudson three years before the Dutch.But, short of drowning, every
possible mischance happened.They had hardly set out when a storm cast
them ashore near Grand Manan.Sandra travelled to the kitchen.Having repaired the damage they made for
St Croix, where fog and contrary winds held them back eight days.Then
Pontgrave decided to return to Port Royal 'to see in what condition our
companions were whom we had left there sick.'On their {45} arrival
Pontgrave himself was taken ill, but soon re-embarked, though still
unwell.Leaving the mouth of the harbour, two leagues distant from Port Royal,
they were carried out of the channel by the tide and went aground.'At
the first blow of our boat upon the rocks the rudder broke, a part of
the keel and three or four planks were smashed and some ribs stove in,
which frightened us, for our barque filled immediately; and all that we
could do was to wait until the sea fell, so that we might get
ashore.... Our barque, all shattered as she was, went to pieces at the
return of the tide.But we, most happy at having saved our lives,
returned to our settlement with our poor savages; and we praised God
for having rescued us from this shipwreck, from which we had not
expected to escape so easily.'This accident destroyed all hope of exploration to the southward until
word came from France.At the time of De Monts' departure the outlook
had been so doubtful that a provisional arrangement was made for the
return of the colonists to France should no ship arrive at Port Royal
by the middle of July.In this event Pontgrave was to take his people
{46} to Cape Breton or Gaspe, where they would find trading ships
homeward bound.As neither De Monts nor Poutrincourt had arrived by
the middle of June, a new barque was built to replace the one which had
been lost on April 10.A month later Pontgrave carried out his part of
the programme by putting aboard all the inhabitants of Port Royal save
two, who were induced by promise of extra pay to remain in charge of
the stores.Thus sorrowfully the remnant of the colonists bade farewell to the
beautiful harbour and their new home.Daniel went back to the bedroom.Four days later they were nearly
lost through the breaking of their rudder in the midst of a tempest.Having been saved from wreck by the skill of their shipmaster,
Champdore, they reached Cape Sable on July 24.Here grief became
rejoicing, for to their complete surprise they encountered Ralleau, De
Monts' secretary, coasting along in a shallop.The glad tidings he
gave them was that Poutrincourt with a ship of one hundred and twenty
tons had arrived.From Canseau the _Jonas_ had taken an outer course
to Port Royal, while Ralleau was keeping close to the shore in the hope
of intercepting Pontgrave.'All this intelligence,' says Champlain,
'caused us to turn back; and we arrived at {47} Port Royal on the 25th
of the month, where we found the above-mentioned vessel and Sieur de
Poutrincourt, and were greatly delighted to see realized what we had
given up in despair.'Lescarbot, who arrived on board the _Jonas_,
adds the following detail: 'M.de Poutrincourt ordered a tun of wine to
be set upon end, one of those which had been given him for his proper
use, and gave leave to all comers to drink freely as long as it lasted,
so that there were some who made gay dogs of themselves.'Wine-bibbing, however, was not the chief activity of Port Royal.Poutrincourt at once set men to work on the land, and while they were
sowing wheat, rye, and hemp he hastened preparations for an autumn
cruise 'along the coast of Florida.'On September 5 all was ready for
this voyage, which was to be Champlain's last opportunity of reaching
the lands beyond Cape Cod.'It
was decided,' he says, 'to continue the voyage along the coast, which
was not a very well considered conclusion, since we lost much time in
passing over again the discoveries made by Sieur de Monts as far as the
harbour of Mallebarre.It would have been much better, in my opinion,
{48} to cross from where we were directly to Mallebarre, the route
being already known, and then use our time in exploring as far as the
fortieth degree, or still farther south, revisiting upon our homeward
voyage the entire coast at pleasure.'In the interest of geographical research and French colonization
Champlain was doubtless right.Unfortunately, Poutrincourt wished to
see for himself what De Monts and Champlain had already seen.It was
the more unfortunate that he held this view, as the boats were
victualled for over two months, and much could have been done by taking
a direct course to Cape Cod.Sandra went to the bedroom.Little time, however, was spent at the
Penobscot and Kennebec.Leaving St Croix on September 12, Poutrincourt
reached the Saco on the 21st.Daniel moved to the office.Here and at points farther south he
found ripe grapes, together with maize, pumpkins, squashes, and
artichokes.'In this
very pleasant place we saw two hundred savages, and there are here a
large number of very fine walnut trees, cypresses, sassafras, oaks,
ashes and beeches.... There are likewise fine meadows capable of
supporting a large number of cattle.'So much was he charmed with this
harbour and {49} its surroundings that he called it Le Beauport.After
tarrying at Gloucester two or three days Poutrincourt reached Cape Cod
on October 2, and on the 20th he stood off Martha's Vineyard, his
farthest point.Champlain's chronicle of this voyage contains more detail regarding the
Indians than will be found in any other part of his Acadian narratives.Chief among Poutrincourt's adventures was an encounter with the natives
of Cape Cod.Unlike the Micmacs, the Armouchiquois were 'not so much
hunters as good fishermen and tillers of the land.'Mary went to the garden.Their numbers also
were greater; in fact, Champlain speaks of seeing five or six hundred
together.At first they did not interfere with Poutrincourt's
movements, even permitting him to roam their land with a body of
arquebusiers.After a fortnight, however, their suspicions began to
become manifest, and on October 15 four hundred savages set upon five
Frenchmen who, contrary to orders, had remained ashore.Four were
killed, and although a rescue party set out at once from the barque,
the natives made their escape.To pursue them was fruitless, for they are marvellously swift.All
that we could do was to carry away the dead bodies and bury them near a
cross {50} which had been set up the day before, and then to go here
and there to see if we could get sight of any of them.But it was time
wasted, therefore we came back.Three hours afterwards they returned
to us on the sea-shore.We discharged at them several shots from our
little brass cannon, and when they heard the noise they crouched down
on the ground to escape the fire.In mockery of us they pulled down
the cross and disinterred the dead, which displeased us greatly and
caused us to go for them a second time; but they fled, as they had done
before.We set up again the cross and reinterred the dead, whom they
had thrown here and there amid the heath, where they kindled a fire to
burn them.We returned without any result, as we had done before, well
aware that there was scarcely hope of avenging ourselves this time, and
that we should have to renew the undertaking when it should please God.With a desire for revenge was linked the practical consideration that
slaves would prove useful at Port Royal.A week later the French
returned to the same place,'resolved to get possession of some savages
and, taking them to our settlement, put them to grinding corn at the
hand-mill, as punishment for the deadly assault which they had
committed on five or six of our company.'As relations were strained,
it became necessary to offer beads {51} and gewgaws, with every show of
good faith.The shallop was to
leave the barque for shore, taking
the most robust and strong men we had, each one having a chain of beads
and a fathom of match on his arm; and there, while pretending to smoke
with them (each one having an end of his match lighted so as not to
excite suspicion, it being customary to have fire at the end of a cord
in order to light the tobacco), coax them with pleasing words so as to
draw them into the shallop; and if they should be unwilling to enter,
each one approaching should choose his man and, putting the beads round
his neck, should at the same time put the rope on him to draw him by
force.But if they should be too boisterous and it should not be
possible to succeed, they should be stabbed, the rope being firmly
held; and if by chance any of them should get away, there should be men
on land to charge upon them with swords.Meanwhile, the little cannon
on our barque was to be kept ready to fire upon their companions in
case they should come to assist them, under cover of which firearms the
shallop could withdraw in security.This plot, though carefully planned, fell far short of the success
which was anticipated.To catch a redskin with a noose required more
skill than was available.Accordingly, {52} none were taken alive.Champlain says: 'We retired to our barque after having done all we
could.'Lescarbot adds: 'Six or seven of the savages were hacked and
hewed |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | Having thus taken an eye for an eye, Poutrincourt began his homeward
voyage, and, after three or four escapes from shipwreck, reached Port
Royal on November 14.Champlain was now about to spend his last winter in Acadia.And for the disobedient thus I pray:
May the gods send them neither timely fruits
Of earth, nor teeming increase of the womb,
But may they waste and pine, as now they waste,
Aye and worse stricken; but to all of you,
My loyal subjects who approve my acts,
May Justice, our ally, and all the gods
Be gracious and attend you evermore.CHORUS
The oath thou profferest, sire, I take and swear.I slew him not myself, nor can I name
The slayer.For the quest, 'twere well, methinks
That Phoebus, who proposed the riddle, himself
Should give the answer--who the murderer was.OEDIPUS
Well argued; but no living man can hope
To force the gods to speak against their will.CHORUS
May I then say what seems next best to me?OEDIPUS
Aye, if there be a third best, tell it too.CHORUS
My liege, if any man sees eye to eye
With our lord Phoebus, 'tis our prophet, lord
Teiresias; he of all men best might guide
A searcher of this matter to the light.OEDIPUS
Here too my zeal has nothing lagged, for twice
At Creon's instance have I sent to fetch him,
And long I marvel why he is not here.CHORUS
I mind me too of rumors long ago--
Mere gossip.OEDIPUS
Tell them, I would fain know all.CHORUS
'Twas said he fell by travelers.OEDIPUS
So I heard,
But none has seen the man who saw him fall.CHORUS
Well, if he knows what fear is, he will quail
And flee before the terror of thy curse.OEDIPUS
Words scare not him who blenches not at deeds.Sandra moved to the office.John journeyed to the hallway.CHORUS
But here is one to arraign him.Lo, at length
They bring the god-inspired seer in whom
Above all other men is truth inborn.[Enter TEIRESIAS, led by a boy.]OEDIPUS
Teiresias, seer who comprehendest all,
Lore of the wise and hidden mysteries,
High things of heaven and low things of the earth,
Thou knowest, though thy blinded eyes see naught,
What plague infects our city; and we turn
To thee, O seer, our one defense and shield.The purport of the answer that the God
Returned to us who sought his oracle,
The messengers have doubtless told thee--how
One course alone could rid us of the pest,
To find the murderers of Laius,
And slay them or expel them from the land.Therefore begrudging neither augury
Nor other divination that is thine,
O save thyself, thy country, and thy king,
Save all from this defilement of blood shed.This is man's highest end,
To others' service all his powers to lend.TEIRESIAS
Alas, alas, what misery to be wise
When wisdom profits nothing!This old lore
I had forgotten; else I were not here.OEDIPUS
What ails thee?TEIRESIAS
Let me go home; prevent me not; 'twere best
That thou shouldst bear thy burden and I mine.no true-born Theban patriot
Would thus withhold the word of prophecy.TEIRESIAS
_Thy_ words, O king, are wide of the mark, and I
For fear lest I too trip like thee...
OEDIPUS
Oh speak,
Withhold not, I adjure thee, if thou know'st,
Thy knowledge.TEIRESIAS
Aye, for ye all are witless, but my voice
Will ne'er reveal my miseries--or thine.John went back to the kitchen.[2]
OEDIPUS
What then, thou knowest, and yet willst not speak!Wouldst thou betray us and destroy the State?Sandra travelled to the kitchen.TEIRESIAS
I will not vex myself nor thee.Why ask
Thus idly what from me thou shalt not learn?Can nothing melt thee,
Or shake thy dogged taciturnity?TEIRESIAS
Thou blam'st my mood and seest not thine own
Wherewith thou art mated; no, thou taxest me.OEDIPUS
And who could stay his choler when he heard
How insolently thou dost flout the State?TEIRESIAS
Well, it will come what will, though I be mute.OEDIPUS
Since come it must, thy duty is to tell me.TEIRESIAS
I have no more to say; storm as thou willst,
And give the rein to all thy pent-up rage.OEDIPUS
Yea, I am wroth, and will not stint my words,
But speak my whole mind.Thou methinks thou art he,
Who planned the crime, aye, and performed it too,
All save the assassination; and if thou
Hadst not been blind, I had been sworn to boot
That thou alone didst do the bloody deed.Then I charge thee to abide
By thine own proclamation; from this day
Speak not to these or me.Thou art the man,
Thou the accursed polluter of this land.OEDIPUS
Vile slanderer, thou blurtest forth these taunts,
And think'st forsooth as seer to go scot free.TEIRESIAS
Yea, I am free, strong in the strength of truth.OEDIPUS
Who was thy teacher?TEIRESIAS
Thou, goading me against my will to speak.TEIRESIAS
Didst miss my sense wouldst thou goad me on?OEDIPUS
I but half caught thy meaning; say it again.TEIRESIAS
I say thou art the murderer of the man
Whose murderer thou pursuest.OEDIPUS
Thou shalt rue it
Twice to repeat so gross a calumny.TEIRESIAS
Must I say more to aggravate thy rage?OEDIPUS
Say all thou wilt; it will be but waste of breath.TEIRESIAS
I say thou livest with thy nearest kin
In infamy, unwitting in thy shame.OEDIPUS
Think'st thou for aye unscathed to wag thy tongue?TEIRESIAS
Yea, if the might of truth can aught prevail.OEDIPUS
With other men, but not with thee, for thou
In ear, wit, eye, in everything art blind.TEIRESIAS
Poor fool to utter gibes at me which all
Here present will cast back on thee ere long.OEDIPUS
Offspring of endless Night, thou hast no power
O'er me or any man who sees the sun.TEIRESIAS
No, for thy weird is not to fall by me.Daniel went back to the bedroom.OEDIPUS
Is this a plot of Creon, or thine own?TEIRESIAS
Not Creon, thou thyself art thine own bane.OEDIPUS
O wealth and empiry and skill by skill
Outwitted in the battlefield of life,
What spite and envy follow in your train!See, for this crown the State conferred on me.A gift, a thing I sought not, for this crown
The trusty Creon, my familiar friend,
Hath lain in wait to oust me and suborned
This mountebank, this juggling charlatan,
This tricksy beggar-priest, for gain alone
Keen-eyed, but in his proper art stone-blind.Say, sirrah, hast thou ever proved thyself
A prophet?When the riddling Sphinx was here
Why hadst thou no deliverance for this folk?And yet the riddle was not to be solved
By guess-work but required the prophet's art;
Wherein thou wast found lacking; neither birds
Nor sign from heaven helped thee, but _I_ came,
The simple Oedipus; _I_ stopped her mouth
By mother wit, untaught of auguries.This is the man whom thou wouldst undermine,
In hope to reign with Creon in my stead.Methinks that thou and thine abettor soon
Will rue your plot to drive the scapegoat out.Thank thy grey hairs that thou hast still to learn
What chastisement such arrogance deserves.CHORUS
To us it seems that both the seer and thou,
O Oedipus, have spoken angry words.This is no time to wrangle but consult
How best we may fulfill the oracle.TEIRESIAS
King as thou art, free speech at least is mine
To make reply; in this I am thy peer.I own no lord but Loxias; him I serve
And ne'er can stand enrolled as Creon's man.Thus then I answer: since thou hast not spared
To twit me with my blindness--thou hast eyes,
Yet see'st not in what misery thou art fallen,
Nor where thou dwellest nor with whom for mate.Nay, thou know'st it not,
And all unwitting art a double foe
To thine own kin, the living and the dead;
Aye and the dogging curse of mother and sire
One day shall drive thee, like a two-edged sword,
Beyond our borders, and the eyes that now
See clear shall henceforward endless night.Ah whither shall thy bitter cry not reach,
What crag in all Cithaeron but shall then
Reverberate thy wail, when thou hast found
With what a hymeneal thou wast borne
Home, but to no fair haven, on the gale!Sandra went to the bedroom.Aye, and a flood of ills thou guessest not
Shall set thyself and children in one line.Daniel moved to the office.Flout then both Creon and my words, for none
Of mortals shall be striken worse than thou.OEDIPUS
Must I endure this fellow's insolence?TEIRESIAS
I ne'er had come hadst thou not bidden me.OEDIPUS
I know not thou wouldst utter folly, else
Long hadst thou waited to be summoned here.TEIRESIAS
Such am I--as it seems to thee a fool,
But to the parents who begat thee, wise.OEDIPUS
What sayest thou--"parents"?TEIRESIAS
This day shall be thy birth-day, and thy grave.OEDIPUS
Thou lov'st to speak in riddles and dark words.TEIRESIAS
In reading riddles who so skilled as thou?OEDIPUS
Twit me with that wherein my greatness lies.TEIRESIAS
And yet this very greatness proved thy bane.OEDIPUS
No matter if I saved the commonwealth.TEIRESIAS
'Tis time I left thee.OEDIPUS
Aye, take him quickly, for his presence irks
And lets me; gone, thou canst not plague me more.TEIRESIAS
I go, but first will tell thee why I came.Thy frown I dread not, for thou canst not harm me.Hear then: this man whom thou hast sought to arrest
With threats and warrants this long while, the wretch
Who murdered Laius--that man is here.He passes for an alien in the land
But soon shall prove a Theban, native born.And yet his fortune brings him little joy;
For blind of seeing, clad in beggar's weeds,
For purple robes, and leaning on his staff,
To a strange land he soon shall grope his way.And of the children, inmates of his home,
He shall be proved the brother and the sire,
Of her who bare him son and husband both,
Co-partner, and assassin of his sire.Go in and ponder this, and if thou find
That I have missed the mark, henceforth declare
I have no wit nor skill in prophecy.[Exeunt TEIRESIAS and OEDIPUS]
CHORUS
(Str.1)
Who is he by voice immortal named from Pythia's rocky cell,
Doer of foul deeds of bloodshed, horrors that no tongue can tell?A foot for flight he needs
Fleeter than storm-swift steeds,
For on his heels doth follow,
Armed with the lightnings of his Sire, Apollo.Mary went to the garden.Like sleuth-hounds too
The Fates pursue.1)
Yea, but now flashed forth the summons from Parnassus' snowy peak,
"Near and far the undiscovered doer of this murder seek!"Now like a sullen bull he roves
Through forest brakes and upland groves,
And vainly seeks to fly
The doom that ever nigh
Flits o'er his head,
Still by the avenging Phoebus sped,
The voice divine,
From Earth's mid shrine.2)
Sore perplexed am I by the words of the master seer.I know not and bridle my tongue for
fear,
Fluttered with vague surmise; nor present nor future is clear.Quarrel of ancient date or in days still near know I none
Twixt the Labdacidan house and our ruler, Polybus' son.Proof is there none: how then can I challenge our King's good name,
How in a blood-feud join for an untracked deed of shame?2)
All wise are Zeus and Apollo, and nothing is hid from their ken;
They are gods; and in wits a man may surpass his fellow men;
But that a mortal seer knows more than I know--where
Hath this been proven?Or how without sign assured, can I blame
Him who saved our State when the winged songstress came,
Tested and tried in the light of us all, like gold assayed?How can I now assent when a crime is on Oedipus laid?CREON
Friends, countrymen, I learn King Oedipus
Hath laid against me a most grievous charge,
And come to you protesting.If he deems
That I have harmed or injured him in aught
By word or deed in this our present trouble,
I care not to prolong the span of life,
Thus ill-reputed; for the calumny
Hits not a single blot, but blasts my name,
If by the general voice I am denounced
False to the State and false by you my friends.CHORUS
This taunt, it well may be, was blurted out
In petulance, not spoken advisedly.CREON
Did any dare pretend that it was I
Prompted the seer to utter a forged charge?CHORUS
Such things were said; with what intent I know not.CREON
Were not his wits and vision all astray
When upon me he fixed this monstrous charge?Daniel went to the bedroom.CHORUS
I know not; to my sovereign's acts I am blind.But lo, he comes to answer for himself.OEDIPUS
Sirrah, what mak'st thou here?John travelled to the office.Dost thou presume
To approach my doors, thou brazen-faced rogue,
My murderer and the filcher of my crown?Come, answer this, didst thou detect in me
Some touch of cowardice or witlessness,
That made thee undertake this enterprise?I seemed forsooth too simple to perceive
The serpent stealing on me in the dark,
Or else too weak to scotch it when I saw.This _thou_ art witless seeking to possess
Without a following or friends the crown,
A prize that followers and wealth must win.Thou hast spoken, 'tis my turn |
hallway | Where is Mary? | OEDIPUS
Thou art glib of tongue, but I am slow to learn
Of thee; I know too well thy venomous hate.CREON
First I would argue out this very point.OEDIPUS
O argue not that thou art not a rogue.CREON
If thou dost count a virtue stubbornness,
Unschooled by reason, thou art much astray.OEDIPUS
If thou dost hold a kinsman may be wronged,
And no pains follow, thou art much to seek.CREON
Therein thou judgest rightly, but this wrong
That thou allegest--tell me what it is.OEDIPUS
Didst thou or didst thou not advise that I
Should call the priest?CREON
Yes, and I stand to it.OEDIPUS
Tell me how long is it since Laius...
CREON
Since Laius...?OEDIPUS
By violent hands was spirited away.CREON
In the dim past, a many years agone.OEDIPUS
Did the same prophet then pursue his craft?Mary moved to the hallway.CREON
Yes, skilled as now and in no less repute.OEDIPUS
Did he at that time ever glance at me?CREON
Not to my knowledge, not when I was by.OEDIPUS
But was no search and inquisition made?CREON
Surely full quest was made, but nothing learnt.OEDIPUS
Why failed the seer to tell his story _then_?CREON
I know not, and not knowing hold my tongue.OEDIPUS
This much thou knowest and canst surely tell.CREON
What's mean'st thou?OEDIPUS
But for thy prompting never had the seer
Ascribed to me the death of Laius.CREON
If so he thou knowest best; but I
Would put thee to the question in my turn.OEDIPUS
Question and prove me murderer if thou canst.CREON
Then let me ask thee, didst thou wed my sister?OEDIPUS
A fact so plain I cannot well deny.CREON
And as thy consort queen she shares the throne?OEDIPUS
I grant her freely all her heart desires.CREON
And with you twain I share the triple rule?OEDIPUS
Yea, and it is that proves thee a false friend.CREON
Not so, if thou wouldst reason with thyself,
As I with myself.First, I bid thee think,
Would any mortal choose a troubled reign
Of terrors rather than secure repose,
If the same power were given him?As for me,
I have no natural craving for the name
Of king, preferring to do kingly deeds,
And so thinks every sober-minded man.Now all my needs are satisfied through thee,
And I have naught to fear; but were I king,
My acts would oft run counter to my will.How could a title then have charms for me
Above the sweets of boundless influence?I am not so infatuate as to grasp
The shadow when I hold the substance fast.wish me well,
And every suitor seeks to gain my ear,
If he would hope to win a grace from thee.Why should I leave the better, choose the worse?That were sheer madness, and I am not mad.No such ambition ever tempted me,
Nor would I have a share in such intrigue.And if thou doubt me, first to Delphi go,
There ascertain if my report was true
Of the god's answer; next investigate
If with the seer I plotted or conspired,
And if it prove so, sentence me to death,
Not by thy voice alone, but mine and thine.But O condemn me not, without appeal,
On bare suspicion.'Tis not right to adjudge
Bad men at random good, or good men bad.I would as lief a man should cast away
The thing he counts most precious, his own life,
As spurn a true friend.Thou wilt learn in time
The truth, for time alone reveals the just;
A villain is detected in a day.CHORUS
To one who walketh warily his words
Commend themselves; swift counsels are not sure.OEDIPUS
When with swift strides the stealthy plotter stalks
I must be quick too with my counterplot.To wait his onset passively, for him
Is sure success, for me assured defeat.OEDIPUS
I would not have thee banished, no, but dead,
That men may mark the wages envy reaps.CREON
I see thou wilt not yield, nor credit me.OEDIPUS
[None but a fool would credit such as thou.][3]
CREON
Thou art not wise.OEDIPUS
Wise for myself at least.OEDIPUS
Why for such a knave?CREON
Suppose thou lackest sense.OEDIPUS
Yet kings must rule.OEDIPUS
Oh my Thebans, hear him!CHORUS
Cease, princes; lo there comes, and none too soon,
Jocasta from the palace.Who so fit
As peacemaker to reconcile your feud?JOCASTA
Misguided princes, why have ye upraised
This wordy wrangle?Are ye not ashamed,
While the whole land lies striken, thus to voice
Your private injuries?Go in, my lord;
Go home, my brother, and forebear to make
A public scandal of a petty grief.CREON
My royal sister, Oedipus, thy lord,
Hath bid me choose (O dread alternative!)An outlaw's exile or a felon's death.OEDIPUS
Yes, lady; I have caught him practicing
Against my royal person his vile arts.CREON
May I ne'er speed but die accursed, if I
In any way am guilty of this charge.JOCASTA
Believe him, I adjure thee, Oedipus,
First for his solemn oath's sake, then for mine,
And for thine elders' sake who wait on thee.1)
Hearken, King, reflect, we pray thee, but not stubborn but relent.OEDIPUS
Say to what should I consent?CHORUS
Respect a man whose probity and troth
Are known to all and now confirmed by oath.OEDIPUS
Dost know what grace thou cravest?CHORUS
Yea, I know.OEDIPUS
Declare it then and make thy meaning plain.CHORUS
Brand not a friend whom babbling tongues assail;
Let not suspicion 'gainst his oath prevail.OEDIPUS
Bethink you that in seeking this ye seek
In very sooth my death or banishment?CHORUS
No, by the leader of the host divine!2)
Witness, thou Sun, such thought was never mine,
Unblest, unfriended may I perish,
If ever I such wish did cherish!But O my heart is desolate
Musing on our striken State,
Doubly fall'n should discord grow
Twixt you twain, to crown our woe.OEDIPUS
Well, let him go, no matter what it cost me,
Or certain death or shameful banishment,
For your sake I relent, not his; and him,
Where'er he be, my heart shall still abhor.CREON
Thou art as sullen in thy yielding mood
As in thine anger thou wast truculent.Such tempers justly plague themselves the most.OEDIPUS
Leave me in peace and get thee gone.CREON
I go,
By thee misjudged, but justified by these.[Exeunt CREON]
CHORUS
(Ant.1)
Lady, lead indoors thy consort; wherefore longer here delay?JOCASTA
Tell me first how rose the fray.CHORUS
Rumors bred unjust suspicious and injustice rankles sore.JOCASTA
Were both at fault?CHORUS
Both.JOCASTA
What was the tale?The land is sore distressed;
'Twere better sleeping ills to leave at rest.OEDIPUS
Strange counsel, friend!I know thou mean'st me well,
And yet would'st mitigate and blunt my zeal.2)
King, I say it once again,
Witless were I proved, insane,
If I lightly put away
Thee my country's prop and stay,
Pilot who, in danger sought,
To a quiet haven brought
Our distracted State; and now
Who can guide us right but thou?JOCASTA
Let me too, I adjure thee, know, O king,
What cause has stirred this unrelenting wrath.OEDIPUS
I will, for thou art more to me than these.Lady, the cause is Creon and his plots.JOCASTA
But what provoked the quarrel?OEDIPUS
He points me out as Laius' murderer.JOCASTA
Of his own knowledge or upon report?OEDIPUS
He is too cunning to commit himself,
And makes a mouthpiece of a knavish seer.JOCASTA
Then thou mayest ease thy conscience on that score.Listen and I'll convince thee that no man
Hath scot or lot in the prophetic art.An oracle
Once came to Laius (I will not say
'Twas from the Delphic god himself, but from
His ministers) declaring he was doomed
To perish by the hand of his own son,
A child that should be born to him by me.Now Laius--so at least report affirmed--
Was murdered on a day by highwaymen,
No natives, at a spot where three roads meet.As for the child, it was but three days old,
When Laius, its ankles pierced and pinned
Together, gave it to be cast away
By others on the trackless mountain side.So then Apollo brought it not to pass
The child should be his father's murderer,
Or the dread terror find accomplishment,
And Laius be slain by his own son.Whate'er the god deems fit
To search, himself unaided will reveal.OEDIPUS
What memories, what wild tumult of the soul
Came o'er me, lady, as I heard thee speak!JOCASTA
What mean'st thou?OEDIPUS
Methought I heard thee say that Laius
Was murdered at the meeting of three roads.JOCASTA
So ran the story that is current still.OEDIPUS
Where did this happen?JOCASTA
Phocis the land is called; the spot is where
Branch roads from Delphi and from Daulis meet.OEDIPUS
And how long is it since these things befell?JOCASTA
'Twas but a brief while were thou wast proclaimed
Our country's ruler that the news was brought.OEDIPUS
O Zeus, what hast thou willed to do with me!JOCASTA
What is it, Oedipus, that moves thee so?OEDIPUS
Ask me not yet; tell me the build and height
Of Laius?JOCASTA
Tall was he, and his hair was lightly strewn
With silver; and not unlike thee in form.OEDIPUS
O woe is me!Mehtinks unwittingly
I laid but now a dread curse on myself.JOCASTA
What say'st thou?When I look upon thee, my king,
I tremble.OEDIPUS
'Tis a dread presentiment
That in the end the seer will prove not blind.JOCASTA
I quail; but ask, and I will answer all.OEDIPUS
Had he but few attendants or a train
Of armed retainers with him, like a prince?JOCASTA
They were but five in all, and one of them
A herald; Laius in a mule-car rode.But say,
Lady, who carried this report to Thebes?JOCASTA
A serf, the sole survivor who returned.OEDIPUS
Haply he is at hand or in the house?JOCASTA
No, for as soon as he returned and found
Thee reigning in the stead of Laius slain,
He clasped my hand and supplicated me
To send him to the alps and pastures, where
He might be farthest from the sight of Thebes.Sandra journeyed to the office.'Twas an honest slave
And well deserved some better recompense.OEDIPUS
Fetch him at once.JOCASTA
He shall be brought; but wherefore summon him?OEDIPUS
Lady, I fear my tongue has overrun
Discretion; therefore I would question him.JOCASTA
Well, he shall come, but may not I too claim
To share the burden of thy heart, my king?OEDIPUS
And thou shalt not be frustrate of thy wish.Who has a higher claim that thou to hear
My tale of dire adventures?My sire was Polybus of Corinth, and
My mother Merope, a Dorian;
And I was held the foremost citizen,
Till a strange thing befell me, strange indeed,
Yet scarce deserving all the heat it stirred.A roisterer at some banquet, flown with wine,
Shouted "Thou art not true son of thy sire."It irked me, but I stomached for the nonce
The insult; on the morrow I sought out
My mother and my sire and questioned them.They were indignant at the random slur
Cast on my parentage and did their best
To comfort me, but still the venomed barb
Rankled, for still the scandal spread and grew.So privily without their leave I went
To Delphi, and Apollo sent me back
Baulked of the knowledge that I came to seek.But other grievous things he prophesied,
Woes, lamentations, mourning, portents dire;
To wit I should defile my mother's bed
And raise up seed too loathsome to behold,
And slay the father from whose loins I sprang.Then, lady,--thou shalt hear the very truth--
As I drew near the triple-branching roads,
A herald met me and a man who sat
In a car drawn by colts--as in thy tale--
The man in front and the old man himself
Threatened to thrust me rudely from the path,
Then jostled by the charioteer in wrath
I struck him, and the old man, seeing this,
Watched till I passed and from his car brought down
Full on my head the double-pointed goad.Yet was I quits with him and more; one stroke
Of my good staff sufficed to fling him clean
Out of the chariot seat and laid him prone.But if
Betwixt this stranger there was aught in common
With Laius, who more miserable than I,
What mortal could you find more god-abhorred?Wretch whom no sojourner, no citizen
May harbor or address, whom all are bound
To harry from their homes.And this same curse
Was laid on me, and laid by none but me.Yea with these hands all gory I pollute
The bed of him I slew.Am I not utterly unclean, a wretch
Doomed to be banished, and in banishment
Forgo the sight of all my dearest ones,
And never tread again my native earth;
Or else to wed my mother and slay my sire,
Polybus, who begat me and upreared?If one should say, this is the handiwork
Of some inhuman power, who could blame
His judgment?But, ye pure and awful gods,
Forbid, forbid that I should see that day!May I be blotted out from living men
Ere such a plague spot set on me its brand |
bathroom | Where is Daniel? | CHORUS
We too, O king, are troubled; but till thou
Hast questioned the survivor, still hope on.OEDIPUS
My hope is faint, but still enough survives
To bid me bide the coming of this herd.JOCASTA
Suppose him here, what wouldst thou learn of him?OEDIPUS
I'll tell thee, lady; if his tale agrees
With thine, I shall have'scaped calamity.JOCASTA
And what of special import did I say?OEDIPUS
In thy report of what the herdsman said
Laius was slain by robbers; now if he
Still speaks of robbers, not a robber, I
Slew him not; "one" with "many" cannot square.But if he says one lonely wayfarer,
The last link wanting to my guilt is forged.JOCASTA
Well, rest assured, his tale ran thus at first,
Nor can he now retract what then he said;
Not I alone but all our townsfolk heard it.E'en should he vary somewhat in his story,
He cannot make the death of Laius
In any wise jump with the oracle.For Loxias said expressly he was doomed
To die by my child's hand, but he, poor babe,
He shed no blood, but perished first himself.Henceforth I
Will look for signs neither to right nor left.OEDIPUS
Thou reasonest well.Still I would have thee send
And fetch the bondsman hither.JOCASTA
That will I straightway.I would do nothing that my lord mislikes.[Exeunt OEDIPUS and JOCASTA]
CHORUS
(Str.1)
My lot be still to lead
The life of innocence and fly
Irreverence in word or deed,
To follow still those laws ordained on high
Whose birthplace is the bright ethereal sky
No mortal birth they own,
Olympus their progenitor alone:
Ne'er shall they slumber in oblivion cold,
The god in them is strong and grows not old.1)
Of insolence is bred
The tyrant; insolence full blown,
With empty riches surfeited,
Scales the precipitous height and grasps the throne.Then topples o'er and lies in ruin prone;
No foothold on that dizzy steep.But O may Heaven the true patriot keep
Who burns with emulous zeal to serve the State.God is my help and hope, on him I wait.2)
But the proud sinner, or in word or deed,
That will not Justice heed,
Nor reverence the shrine
Of images divine,
Perdition seize his vain imaginings,
If, urged by greed profane,
He grasps at ill-got gain,
And lays an impious hand on holiest things.Who when such deeds are done
Can hope heaven's bolts to shun?If sin like this to honor can aspire,
Why dance I still and lead the sacred choir?2)
No more I'll seek earth's central oracle,
Or Abae's hallowed cell,
Nor to Olympia bring
My votive offering.If before all God's truth be not bade plain.Mary moved to the hallway.O Zeus, reveal thy might,
King, if thou'rt named aright
Omnipotent, all-seeing, as of old;
For Laius is forgot;
His weird, men heed it not;
Apollo is forsook and faith grows cold.JOCASTA
My lords, ye look amazed to see your queen
With wreaths and gifts of incense in her hands.I had a mind to visit the high shrines,
For Oedipus is overwrought, alarmed
With terrors manifold.He will not use
His past experience, like a man of sense,
To judge the present need, but lends an ear
To any croaker if he augurs ill.Since then my counsels naught avail, I turn
To thee, our present help in time of trouble,
Apollo, Lord Lycean, and to thee
My prayers and supplications here I bring.Lighten us, lord, and cleanse us from this curse!For now we all are cowed like mariners
Who see their helmsman dumbstruck in the storm.MESSENGER
My masters, tell me where the palace is
Of Oedipus; or better, where's the king.CHORUS
Here is the palace and he bides within;
This is his queen the mother of his children.MESSENGER
All happiness attend her and the house,
Blessed is her husband and her marriage-bed.JOCASTA
My greetings to thee, stranger; thy fair words
Deserve a like response.But tell me why
Thou comest--what thy need or what thy news.MESSENGER
Good for thy consort and the royal house.JOCASTA
What may it be?MESSENGER
The Isthmian commons have resolved to make
Thy husband king--so 'twas reported there.MESSENGER
No, verily; he's dead and in his grave.is he dead, the sire of Oedipus?MESSENGER
If I speak falsely, may I die myself.JOCASTA
Quick, maiden, bear these tidings to my lord.Ye god-sent oracles, where stand ye now!This is the man whom Oedipus long shunned,
In dread to prove his murderer; and now
He dies in nature's course, not by his hand.OEDIPUS
My wife, my queen, Jocasta, why hast thou
Summoned me from my palace?JOCASTA
Hear this man,
And as thou hearest judge what has become
Of all those awe-inspiring oracles.OEDIPUS
Who is this man, and what his news for me?JOCASTA
He comes from Corinth and his message this:
Thy father Polybus hath passed away.let me have it, stranger, from thy mouth.Sandra journeyed to the office.MESSENGER
If I must first make plain beyond a doubt
My message, know that Polybus is dead.Daniel travelled to the office.OEDIPUS
By treachery, or by sickness visited?MESSENGER
One touch will send an old man to his rest.OEDIPUS
So of some malady he died, poor man.MESSENGER
Yes, having measured the full span of years.OEDIPUS
Out on it, lady!why should one regard
The Pythian hearth or birds that scream i' the air?Did they not point at me as doomed to slay
My father?but he's dead and in his grave
And here am I who ne'er unsheathed a sword;
Unless the longing for his absent son
Killed him and so _I_ slew him in a sense.But, as they stand, the oracles are dead--
Dust, ashes, nothing, dead as Polybus.JOCASTA
Say, did not I foretell this long ago?OEDIPUS
Thou didst: but I was misled by my fear.JOCASTA
Then let I no more weigh upon thy soul.OEDIPUS
Must I not fear my mother's marriage bed.JOCASTA
Why should a mortal man, the sport of chance,
With no assured foreknowledge, be afraid?Best live a careless life from hand to mouth.This wedlock with thy mother fear not thou.How oft it chances that in dreams a man
Has wed his mother!He who least regards
Such brainsick phantasies lives most at ease.OEDIPUS
I should have shared in full thy confidence,
Were not my mother living; since she lives
Though half convinced I still must live in dread.JOCASTA
And yet thy sire's death lights out darkness much.OEDIPUS
Much, but my fear is touching her who lives.MESSENGER
Who may this woman be whom thus you fear?OEDIPUS
Merope, stranger, wife of Polybus.MESSENGER
And what of her can cause you any fear?OEDIPUS
A heaven-sent oracle of dread import.MESSENGER
A mystery, or may a stranger hear it?OEDIPUS
Aye, 'tis no secret.Loxias once foretold
That I should mate with mine own mother, and shed
With my own hands the blood of my own sire.Hence Corinth was for many a year to me
A home distant; and I trove abroad,
But missed the sweetest sight, my parents' face.MESSENGER
Was this the fear that exiled thee from home?OEDIPUS
Yea, and the dread of slaying my own sire.MESSENGER
Why, since I came to give thee pleasure, King,
Have I not rid thee of this second fear?OEDIPUS
Well, thou shalt have due guerdon for thy pains.MESSENGER
Well, I confess what chiefly made me come
Was hope to profit by thy coming home.OEDIPUS
Nay, I will ne'er go near my parents more.MESSENGER
My son, 'tis plain, thou know'st not what thou doest.OEDIPUS
How so, old man?MESSENGER
If this is why thou dreadest to return.OEDIPUS
Yea, lest the god's word be fulfilled in me.MESSENGER
Lest through thy parents thou shouldst be accursed?OEDIPUS
This and none other is my constant dread.MESSENGER
Dost thou not know thy fears are baseless all?OEDIPUS
How baseless, if I am their very son?MESSENGER
Since Polybus was naught to thee in blood.OEDIPUS
What say'st thou?MESSENGER
As much thy sire as I am, and no more.OEDIPUS
My sire no more to me than one who is naught?MESSENGER
Since I begat thee not, no more did he.OEDIPUS
What reason had he then to call me son?MESSENGER
Know that he took thee from my hands, a gift.OEDIPUS
Yet, if no child of his, he loved me well.MESSENGER
A childless man till then, he warmed to thee.OEDIPUS
A foundling or a purchased slave, this child?MESSENGER
I found thee in Cithaeron's wooded glens.OEDIPUS
What led thee to explore those upland glades?MESSENGER
My business was to tend the mountain flocks.OEDIPUS
A vagrant shepherd journeying for hire?MESSENGER
True, but thy savior in that hour, my son.MESSENGER
Those ankle joints are evidence enow.OEDIPUS
Ah, why remind me of that ancient sore?MESSENGER
I loosed the pin that riveted thy feet.OEDIPUS
Yes, from my cradle that dread brand I bore.MESSENGER
Whence thou deriv'st the name that still is thine.I adjure thee, tell me who
Say, was it father, mother?MESSENGER
I know not.The man from whom I had thee may know more.OEDIPUS
What, did another find me, not thyself?MESSENGER
Not I; another shepherd gave thee me.MESSENGER
He passed indeed for one of Laius' house.OEDIPUS
The king who ruled the country long ago?MESSENGER
The same: he was a herdsman of the king.OEDIPUS
And is he living still for me to see him?MESSENGER
His fellow-countrymen should best know that.OEDIPUS
Doth any bystander among you know
The herd he speaks of, or by seeing him
Afield or in the city?The hour hath come to clear this business up.CHORUS
Methinks he means none other than the hind
Whom thou anon wert fain to see; but that
Our queen Jocasta best of all could tell.OEDIPUS
Madam, dost know the man we sent to fetch?JOCASTA
Who is the man?'Twere waste of thought to weigh such idle words.OEDIPUS
No, with such guiding clues I cannot fail
To bring to light the secret of my birth.JOCASTA
Oh, as thou carest for thy life, give o'er
This quest.OEDIPUS
Be of good cheer; though I be proved the son
Of a bondwoman, aye, through three descents
Triply a slave, thy honor is unsmirched.JOCASTA
Yet humor me, I pray thee; do not this.OEDIPUS
I cannot; I must probe this matter home.JOCASTA
'Tis for thy sake I advise thee for the best.OEDIPUS
I grow impatient of this best advice.JOCASTA
Ah mayst thou ne'er discover who thou art!OEDIPUS
Go, fetch me here the herd, and leave yon woman
To glory in her pride of ancestry.JOCASTA
O woe is thee, poor wretch!Unless you are ambitious
of Styx and Tartarus, follow the boy without questioning."Agellius showed
the letter to the priest."We are no longer safe here, my father," he said; "whither shall we go?"Carthage is quite as dangerous," answered Caecilius, "and Sicca is more
central.We can but leap into the sea at Carthage; here there are many
lines to retreat upon.I am known there, I am not known here.Here, too, I
hear all that goes on through the proconsulate and Numidia."asked Agellius; "here we cannot remain, and you at
least cannot venture into the city.Somewhither we must go, and where is
that?"The tears came into
Agellius's eyes."Though I am a stranger," continued Caecilius, "I know more of the
neighbourhood of Sicca than you who are a native.There is a famous
Christian retreat on the north of the city, and by this time, I doubt not,
or rather I know, it is full of refugees.The fury of the enemy is
extending on all hands, and our brethren, from as far as Cirtha round to
Curubis, are falling back upon it.The only difficulty is how to get round
to it without going through Sicca.""Let us go together," said Agellius.Caecilius showed signs of perplexity, and his mind retired into itself.He
seemed for the moment to be simply absent from the scene about him, but
soon his intelligence returned."No," he said, "we must separate,--for the
time; it will not be for long.That is, I suppose, your uncle will take
good care of you, and he has influence.Daniel went to the bathroom.We are safest just now when most
independent of each other.We shall meet again
soon; I tell you so.Did we keep together just now, it would be the worse
for each of us.You go with the boy; I will go off to the place I
mentioned.""O my father," said the youth, "how will you get there?What shall I
suffer from my fears about you?""Fear not," answered Caecilius, "mind, I tell you so.It will be a trying
time, but my hour is not yet come.I am good for years yet; so are you,
for many more than mine.He will protect and rescue me, though I know not
how.Go, leave me to myself, Agellius!""O my father, my only stay upon earth, whom God sent me in my extreme
need, to whom I owe myself, must I then quit you; must a layman desert a
priest; the young the old?...it is I really, not you, who am without
protection.Angels surround you, father; but I am a poor wanderer.Give me
your blessing that evil may not touch me."Do not kneel," said the priest; "they will see you.Stop, I have got to
tell you |
office | Where is Daniel? | Mary moved to the hallway.He then proceeded to give him the
necessary instructions."Walk out," he said, "along the road to
Thibursicumbur to the third milestone, you will come to a country road;
pursue it; walk a thousand steps; then again for the space of seven
_paternosters_; and then speak to the man upon your right hand.And now
away with you, God speed you, we shall not long be parted," and he made
the sign of the cross over him."That old chap gives himself airs," said the boy, when Agellius joined
him; "what may he be?"You're a pert boy," answered he, "for asking me the question.""They say the Christians brought the locusts," said Firmian, "by their
enchantments; and there's a jolly row beginning in the Forum just now.The
report goes that you are a Christian.""That's because your people have nothing better to do than talk against
their neighbours.""Because you are so soft, rather," said the boy."Another man would have
knocked me down for saying it; but you are lackadaisical folk, who bear
insults tamely.Arnobius says your father was a Christian.""Father and son are not always the same religion now-a-days," said
Agellius."Ay, ay," answered Firmian, "but the Christians came from Egypt: and as
cook there is the son of cook, and soldier is son of soldier, so
Christian, take my word for it, is the son of a Christian.""Christians boast, I believe," answered Agellius, "that they are of no one
race or country, but are members of a large unpatriotic family, whose home
is in the sky.""Christians," answered the boy, "would never have framed the great Roman
empire; that was the work of heroes.Great Caesar, Marius, Marcus Brutus,
Camillus, Cicero, Sylla, Lucullus, Scipio, could never have been
Christians.Arnobius says they are a skulking set of fellows.""I suppose you wish to be a hero," said Agellius."I am to be a pleader," answered Firmian; "I should like to be a great
orator like Cicero, and every one listening to me."They were walking along the top of a mud wall, which separated Varius's
farm from his neighbour's, when suddenly Firmian, who led the way, leapt
down into a copse, which reached as far as the ravine in which the knoll
terminated towards Sicca.The boy still went forward by devious paths,
till they had mounted as high as the city wall."You are bringing me where there is no entrance," said Agellius."Jucundus told me to bring you by a blind way," he said.This is one of our ways in and out."There was an aperture in the wall, and the bricks and stones about it were
loose, and admitted of removal.It was such a private way of passage as
schoolboys know of.Sandra journeyed to the office.On getting through, Agellius found himself in a
neglected garden or small close.Everything was silent about them, as if
the inhabitants were away; there was a great noise in the distance, as if
something unusual were going on in the heart of the town.The boy told him
to follow him as fast as he could without exciting remark; and, leading
him by lanes and alleys unknown to Agellius, at last brought him close
upon the scene of riot.At this time the expedition in search of
Christians had just commenced; to cross the Forum was to shorten his
journey, and perhaps was safer than to risk meeting the mob in the
streets.Firmian took the step; and while their attention was directed
elsewhere, brought Agellius safely through it.They then proceeded
cautiously as before, till they stood before the back door of the house of
Jucundus."Say a good word for me to your uncle," said the boy, "I have done my job.He must remember me handsomely at the Augustalia," and he ran away.Meanwhile Caecilius had been anxiously considering the course which it was
safest for him to pursue.He must move, but he must wait till dusk, when
the ways were clear, and the light uncertain.Till then he must keep close
in-doors.There was a remarkable cavern in the mountains above Sicca,
which had been used as a place of refuge for Christians from the very time
they had first suffered persecution in Roman Africa.No spot in its whole
territory seemed more fit for what is called a base of operations, from
which the soldiers of the Cross might advance, or to which they might
retire, according as the fury of their enemy grew or diminished.While it
was in the midst of a wilderness difficult of access, and feared as the
resort of ghosts and evil influences, it was not far from a city near to
which the high roads met from Hippo and from Carthage.A branch of the
Bagradas, navigable for boats, opened a way from it through the woods,
where flight and concealment were easy on a surprise, as far as Madaura,
Vacca, and other places; at the same time it commanded the vast plain on
the south which extended to the roots of the Atlas.Just now, the
persecution growing, many deacons, other ecclesiastics, and prominent
laymen from all parts of the country had fallen back upon this cavern or
grotto; and in no place could Caecilius have better means than here of
learning the general state of affairs, and of communicating with countries
beyond the seas.He was indeed on his way thither, when the illness of
Agellius made it a duty for him to stop and restore him, and attend to his
spiritual needs; and he had received an inward intimation, on which he
implicitly relied, to do so.The problem at this moment was how to reach the refuge in question.His
direct road lay through Sicca; this being impracticable at present, he had
to descend into the ravine which lay between him and the city, and,
turning to the left, to traverse the broad plain, the Campus Martius of
Sicca, into which it opened.Here the mountain would rise abruptly on his
right with those steep cliffs which we have already described as rounding
the north side of Sicca.Daniel travelled to the office.He must traverse many miles before he could reach
the point at which the rock lost its precipitous character, and changed
into a declivity allowing the traveller to ascend.Daniel went to the bathroom.It was a bold
undertaking; for all this he had to accomplish in the dark before the
morning broke, a stranger too to the locality, and directing his movements
only by the information of others, which, however accurate and distinct,
could scarcely be followed, even if without risk of error, at least
without misgiving.However, could he master this point before the morning
he was comparatively safe; he then had to strike into the solitary
mountains, and to retrace his steps for a while towards Sicca along the
road, till he came to a place where he knew that Christian scouts or
_videttes_ (as they may be called) were always stationed.This being his plan, and there being no way of mending it, our confessor
retired into the cottage, and devoted the intervening hours to intercourse
with that world from which his succour must come.He set himself to
intercede for the Holy Catholic Church throughout the world, now for the
most part under persecution, and for the Roman Empire, not yet holy, which
was the instrument of the evil powers against her.He had to pray for the
proconsulate, for Numidia, Mauretania, and the whole of Africa; for the
Christian communities throughout it, for the cessation of the trial then
present, and for the fortitude and perseverance of all who were tried.He
had to pray for his own personal friends, his penitents, converts,
enemies; for children, catechumens, neophytes; for those who were
approaching the Church, for those who had fallen away, or were falling
away from her; for all heretics, for all troublers of unity, that they
might be reclaimed.He had to confess, bewail and deprecate the many sins
and offences which he knew of, foreboded, or saw in prospect as to come.Scarcely had he entered on his charge at Carthage four years before, when
he had had to denounce one portentous scandal in which a sacred order of
the ministry was implicated.What internal laxity did not that scandal
imply!And then again what a low standard of religion, what niggardly
faith, and what worn-out, used-up sanctity in the community at large, was
revealed in the fact of those frequent apostasies of individuals which
then were occurring!He prayed fervently that both from the bright pattern
of martyrs, and from the warning afforded by the lapsed, the Christian
body might be edified and invigorated.He saw with great anxiety two
schisms in prospect, when the persecution should come to an end, one from
the perverseness of those who were too rigid, the other from those who
were too indulgent towards the fallen; and in proportion to his gift of
prescience was the earnestness of his intercession that the wounds of the
Church might be healed with the least possible delay.He then turned to
the thought of his own correspondence then in progress with the Holy Roman
Church, which had lately lost its bishop by martyrdom.This indeed was no
unusual event with the see of Peter, in which the successors of Peter
followed Peter's steps, as Peter had been bidden to follow the King and
Exemplar of Martyrs.But the special trouble was, that months had passed,
full five, since the vacancy occurred, and it had not yet been supplied.Then he thought of Fabian, who made the vacancy, and who had already
passed through that trial which was to bring to so many Christians life or
condemnation, and he commended himself to his prayers against the hour of
his own combat.He thought of Fabian's work, and went on to intercede for
the remnant of the seven apostles whom that Pope had sent into Gaul, and
some of whom had already obtained the martyr's crown.He prayed that the
day might come, when not the cities only of that fair country, but its
rich champaigns and sunny <DW72>s should hear the voice of the missionary.He prayed in like manner for Britain, that the successful work of another
Pope, St.Eleutherius, might be extended even to its four seas.And then
he prayed for the neighbouring island on the west, still in heathen
darkness, and for the endless expanse of Germany on the east, that there
too the one saving name and glorious Faith might be known and accepted.His thoughts then travelled back to Rome and Italy, and to the martyrdoms
which had followed that of St.Two Persians had already suffered
in the imperial city; Maximus had lost his life, and Felix had been
imprisoned, at Nola.Daniel moved to the office.Asia Minor, Syria, and Egypt had already afforded
victims to the persecution, and cried aloud to all Christians for their
most earnest prayers and for repeated Masses in behalf of those who
remained under the trial.Babylas, Bishop of Antioch, the third see in
Christendom, was already martyred in that city.Here again Caecilius had a
strong call on him for intercession, for a subtle form of freethinking was
there manifesting itself, the issue of which was as uncertain as it might
be frightful.The Bishop of Alexandria, that second of the large divisions
or patriarchates of the Church, the great Dionysius, the pupil of Origen,
was an exile from his see, like himself.The messenger who brought this
news to Carthage had heard at Alexandria a report from Neocaesarea, that
Gregory, another pupil of Origen's, the Apostle of Pontus, had also been
obliged to conceal himself from the persecution.As for Origen himself,
the aged, laborious, gifted, zealous teacher of his time, he was just then
engaged in answering the works of an Epicurean called Celsus, and on him
too the persecution was likely to fall; and Caecilius prayed earnestly that
so great a soul might be kept from such high untrue speculations as were
threatening evil at Antioch, and from every deceit and snare which might
endanger his inheriting that bright crown which ought to be his portion in
heaven.Another remarkable report had come, viz., that some young men of
Egypt had retired to the deserts up the country under the stress of the
persecution,--Paul was the name of one of them,--and that they were there
living in the practice of mortification and prayer so singular, and had
combats with the powers of darkness and visitations from above so special,
as to open quite a new era in the spiritual history of the Church.And then his thoughts came back to his poor Agellius, and all those
hundred private matters of anxiety which the foes of the Church, occupied
only with her external aspect, little suspected.For Agellius, he prayed,
and for his; for the strange wayward Juba, for Jucundus, for Callista; ah!that Callista might be brought on to that glorious consummation, for which
she seemed marked out!But the ways of the Most High are not as our ways,
and those who to us seem nearest are often furthest from Him; and so our
holy priest left the whole matter in the hands of Him to whom he prayed,
satisfied that he had done his part in praying.This was the course of thought which occupied him for many hours, after
(as we have said) he had closed the door upon him, and knelt down before
the cross.Not merely before the symbol of redemption did he kneel; for he
opened his tunic at the neck, and drew thence a small golden pyx which was
there suspended.In that carefully fastened case he possessed the Holiest,
his Lord and his God.That Everlasting Presence was his stay and guide
amid his weary wanderings, his joy and consolation amid his overpowering
anxieties.Behold the secret of his sweet serenity, and his clear
unclouded determination.He had placed it upon the small table at which he
knelt, and was soon absorbed in meditation and intercession.How many hours passed while Caecilius was thus employed, he did not know.The sun was declining when he was roused by a noise at the door.He
hastily restored the sacred treasure to its hiding-place in his breast,
and rose up from his knees.The door was thrown back, and a female form
presented itself at the opening.She looked in at the priest, and said,
"Then Agellius is not here?"The woman was young, tall, and graceful in person.She was clad in a
yellow cotton tunic, reaching to her feet, on which were shoes.The clasps
at her shoulders, partly visible under the short cloak or shawl which was
thrown over them, and which might, if necessary, be drawn over her head,
seemed to serve the purpose, not only of fastening her dress, but of
providing her with sharp prongs or minute stilettos for her defence, in
case she fell in with ruffians by the way; and though the expression of
her face was most feminine, there was that about it which implied she
could use them for that purpose on an emergency.That face was clear in
complexion, regular in outline, and at the present time pale, whatever
might be its ordinary tint.There
is the calm of divine peace and joy; there is the calm of heartlessness;
there is the calm of reckless desperation; there is the calm of death.Mary moved to the office.None of these was the calm which breathed from the features of the
stranger who intruded upon the solitude of Caecilius.It was the calm of
Greek sculpture; it imaged a soul nourished upon the visions of genius,
and subdued and attuned by the power of a strong will.There was no
appearance of timidity in her manner; very little of modesty.The evening
sun gleamed across her amber robe, and lit it up till it glowed like fire,
as if she were invested in the marriage _flammeum_, and was to be claimed
that evening as the bride of her own bright god of day.She looked at Caecilius, first with surprise, then with anxiety; and her
words were, "You, I fear, are of his people.If so, make the most of these
hours.The foe may be on you to-morrow morning."If I am a Christian," answered Caecilius, |
bedroom | Where is Daniel? | Have you come all the way from Sicca to give the alarm to mere
atheists and magic-mongers?""Stranger," she said, "if you had seen what I have seen, what I have heard
of to-day, you would not wonder at my wish to save from a like fate the
vilest being on earth.A hideous mob is rioting in the city, thirsting for
the blood of Christians; an accident may turn it in the direction of
Agellius.Murderous outrages have already been
perpetrated; you remain.""She who is so tender of Christians," answered the priest, "must herself
have some sparks of the Christian flame in her own breast."Callista sat down half unconsciously upon the bench or stool near the
door; but she at once suddenly started up again, and said, "Away, fly!"Fear not," said Caecilius; "Agellius has been conveyed away to a safe
hiding-place; for me, I shall be taken care of; there is no need for
hurry; sit down again.But you," he continued, "you must not be found
here.""They know _me_," she said; "I am well known here.I am no Christian;" and, as if from an
inexplicable overruling influence, she sat down again."Not a Christian yet, you mean," answered Caecilius."A person must be born a Christian, sir," she replied, "in order to take
up the religion.It is a very beautiful idea, as far as I have heard
anything about it; but one must suck it in with one's mother's milk."Mary moved to the hallway."If so, it never could have come into the world," said the priest."It is true," she answered at length; "but a new
religion begins by appealing to what is peculiar in the minds of a few.The doctrine, floating on the winds, finds its own; it takes possession of
their minds; they answer its call; they are brought together by that
common influence; they are strong in each other's sympathy; they create
and throw around them an external form, and thus they found a religion.The sons are brought up in their fathers' faith; and what was the idea of
a few becomes at length the profession of a race.Such is Judaism; such
the religion of Zoroaster, or of the Egyptians.""You will find," said the priest, "that the greater number of African
Christians at this moment, for of them I speak confidently, are converts
in manhood, not the sons of Christians.On the other hand, if there be
those who have left the faith, and gone up to the capitol to sacrifice,
these were Christians by hereditary profession.Sandra journeyed to the office.Such is my experience, and
I think the case is the same elsewhere."She seemed to be speaking more for the sake of getting answers than of
objecting arguments.She paused again, and thought; then she said,
"Mankind is made up of classes of very various mental complexion, as
distinct from each other as the colours which meet the eye.Red and blue
are incommensurable; and in like manner, a Magian never can become a
Greek, nor a Greek a Coelicolist.They do but make themselves fools when
they attempt it.""Perhaps the most deeply convinced, the most tranquil-minded in the
Christian body," answered Caecilius, "will tell you, on the contrary, that
there was a time when they hated Christianity, and despised and
ill-treated its professors.""_I_ never did any such thing," cried Callista, "since the day I first
heard of it.I am not its enemy, but I cannot believe in it.I am sure I
never could; I never, never should be able.""It seems too beautiful," she said, "to be anything else than a dream.It
is a thing to talk about, but when you come near its professors you see it
is impossible.A most beautiful imagination, _that_ is what it is.Most
beautiful its precepts, as far as I have heard of them; so beautiful, that
in idea there is no difficulty.The mind runs along with them, as if it
could accomplish them without an effort.Well, its maxims are too
beautiful to be realized; and then on the other hand, its dogmas are too
dismal, too shocking, too odious to be believed."Nothing will ever make me believe that
all my people have gone and will go to an eternal Tartarus.""Had we not better confine ourselves to something more specific, more
tangible?"asked Caecilius, gravely.Daniel travelled to the office."I suppose if one individual may have
that terrible lot, another may--both may, many may.Suppose I understand
you to say that you never will believe that _you_ will go to an eternal
Tartarus."Callista gave a slight start, and showed some uneasiness or displeasure."Is it not likely," continued he, "that you are better able to speak of
yourself, and to form a judgment about yourself, than about others?Perhaps if you could first speak confidently about yourself, you would be
in a better position to speak about others also."Daniel went to the bathroom."Do you mean," she said, in a calm tone, "that my place, after this life,
is an everlasting Tartarus?"She paused, looked down, and in a deep clear voice said, "No."Daniel moved to the office.The priest began again: "Perhaps you have been growing in unhappiness for
years; is it so?You have a heavy burden at your heart, you
don't well know what.And the chance is, that you _will_ grow in
unhappiness for the next ten years to come.You will be more and more
unhappy the longer you live.Did you live till you were an old woman, you
would not know how to bear your existence."Callista cried out as if in bodily pain, "It is true, sir, whoever told
you.But how can you have the heart to say it, to insult and mock me!"Mary moved to the office.exclaimed Caecilius, "but let me go on.Be
brave, and dare to look at things as they are.This is a law of your present being, somewhat more certain than
the assertion which you just now so confidently made, the impossibility of
your believing in that law.You cannot refuse to accept what is not an
opinion, but a fact.I say this burden which I speak of is not simply a
dogma of our creed, it is an undeniable fact of nature.You cannot change
it by wishing; if you were to live on earth two hundred years, it would
not be reversed, it would be more and more true.At the end of two hundred
years you would be too miserable even for your worst enemy to rejoice in
it."Caecilius spoke, as if half in soliloquy or meditation, though he was
looking towards Callista.The contrast between them was singular: he thus
abstracted; she too, utterly forgetful of self, but absorbed in him, and
showing it by her eager eyes, her hushed breath, her anxious attitude.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.At
last she said impatiently, "Father, you are speaking to yourself; you
despise me."The priest looked straight at her with an open, untroubled smile, and
said, "Callista, do not doubt me, my poor child; you are in my heart.I
was praying for you shortly before you appeared.No; but, in so serious a
matter as attempting to save a soul, I like to speak to you in my Lord's
sight.I am speaking to you, indeed I am, my child; but I am also pleading
with you on His behalf, and before His throne."His voice trembled as he spoke, but he soon recovered himself."I was saying that if you lived five hundred years on earth,
you would but have a heavier load on you as time went on.But you will not
live, you will die.Perhaps you will tell me that you will then cease to
be.I may take for granted that you think
with me, and with the multitude of men, that you will still live, that you
will still be _you_.You will still be the same being, but deprived of
those outward stays and reliefs and solaces, which, such as they are, you
now enjoy.John journeyed to the garden.You will be yourself, shut up in yourself.I have heard that
people go mad at length when placed in solitary confinement.If, then, on
passing hence, you are cut off from what you had here, and have only the
company of yourself, I think your burden will be, so far, greater, not
less than it is now."Suppose, for instance, you had still your love of conversing, and could
not converse; your love of the poets of your race, and no means of
recalling them; your love of music, and no instrument to play upon; your
love of knowledge, and nothing to learn; your desire of sympathy, and no
one to love: would not that be still greater misery?"Let me proceed a step further: supposing you were among those whom you
actually did _not_ love; supposing you did _not_ like them, nor their
occupations, and could not understand their aims; suppose there be, as
Christians say, one Almighty God, and you did not like Him, and had no
taste for thinking of Him, and no interest in what He was and what He did;
and supposing you found that there was nothing else anywhere but He, whom
you did not love and whom you wished away: would you not be still more
wretched?"And if this went on for ever, would you not be in great inexpressible
pain for ever?"Assuming then, first, that the soul always needs external objects to rest
upon; next, that it has no prospect of any such when it leaves this
visible scene; and thirdly, that the hunger and thirst, the gnawing of the
heart, where it occurs, is as keen and piercing as a flame; it will follow
there is nothing irrational in the notion of an eternal Tartarus.""I cannot answer you, sir," said Callista, "but I do not believe the dogma
on that account a whit the more.There
_must_ be some way out of it.""If, on the other hand," continued Caecilius, not noticing her
interruption, "if all your thoughts go one way; if you have needs,
desires, aims, aspirations, all of which demand an Object, and imply, by
their very existence, that such an Object does exist also; and if nothing
here does satisfy them, and if there be a message which professes to come
from that Object, of whom you already have the presentiment, and to teach
you about Him, and to bring the remedy you crave; and if those who try
that remedy say with one voice that the remedy answers; are you not bound,
Callista, at least to look that way, to inquire into what you hear about
it, and to ask for His help, if He be, to enable you to believe in Him?""This is what a slave of mine used to say," cried Callista, abruptly; "...
and another, Agellius, hinted the same thing.... What is your remedy, what
your Object, what your love, O Christian teacher?Why are you all so
mysterious, so reserved in your communications?"Caecilius was silent for a moment, and seemed at a loss for an answer.At
length he said, "Every man is in that state which you confess of yourself.We have no love for Him who alone lasts.We love those things which do not
last, but come to an end.Things being thus, He whom we ought to love has
determined to win us back to Him.With this object He has come into His
own world, in the form of one of us men.And in that human form He opens
His arms and woos us to return to Him, our Maker.This is our Worship,
this is our Love, Callista.""You talk as Chione," Callista answered; "only that she felt, and you
teach.She could not speak of her Master without blushing for joy.... And
Agellius, when he said one word about his Master, he too began to
blush...."
It was plain that the priest could hardly command his feelings, and they
sat for a short while in silence.Then Callista began, as if musing on
what she had heard."A loved One," she said, "yet ideal; a passion so potent, so fresh, so
innocent, so absorbing, so expulsive of other loves, so enduring, yet of
One never beheld;--mysterious!It is our own notion of the First and only
Fair, yet embodied in a substance, yet dissolving again into a sort of
imagination.... It is beyond me.""There is but one Lover of souls," cried Caecilius, "and He loves each one
of us, as though there were no one else to love.He died for each one of
us, as if there were no one else to die for.The love which he inspires lasts, for
it is the love of the Unchangeable.It satisfies, for He is inexhaustible.The nearer we draw to Him, the more triumphantly does He enter into us;
the longer He dwells in us, the more intimately have we possession of Him.This is why it is so easy for us to die
for our faith, at which the world marvels."Presently he said, "Why will not _you_ approach Him?why will not you
leave the creature for the Creator?"Callista seldom lost her self-possession; for a moment she lost it now;
tears gushed from her eyes.She paused, and then resumed in a different tone, "No!_my_ lot is one way, yours another.I am a child of Greece, and have no
happiness but that, such as it is, which my own bright land, my own
glorious race, give me.I may well be content, I may well be resigned, I
may well be proud, if I possess _that_ happiness.I must live and die
where I have been born.I am a tree which will not bear transplanting.The
Assyrians, the Jews, the Egyptians, have their own mystical teaching.They
follow their happiness in their own way; mine is a different one.The
pride of mind, the revel of the intellect, the voice and eyes of genius,
and the fond beating heart, I cannot do without them.I cannot do without
what you, Christian, call sin.Let me alone; such as nature made me I will
be.This sudden revulsion of her feelings quite overcame Caecilius; yet, while
the disappointment thrilled through him, he felt a most strange sympathy
for the poor lost girl, and his reply was full of emotion.he exclaimed; "am _I_ an Egyptian, or an Assyrian?Have I from my youth
believed and possessed what now is my Life, my Hope, and my Love?Child,
_what_ was once my life?Am not _I_ too a brand plucked out of the fire?Is it not the Power, the Mighty Power of
the only Strong, the only Merciful, the grace of Emmanuel, which has
changed and won me?If He can change me, an old man, could He not change a
child like you?I, a proud, stern Roman; I, a lover of pleasure, a man of
letters, of political station, with formed habits, and life-long
associations, and complicated relations; was it _I_ who wrought this great
change in me, who gained for myself the power of hating what I once loved,
of unlearning what I once knew, nay, of even forgetting what once I was?Who has made you and me to differ, but He who can, when He will, make us
to agree?It is His same Omnipotence which will transform _you_, if you
will but come to be transformed."But a reaction had come over the proud and sensitive mind of the Greek
girl."So after all, priest," she said, "you are but a man like others; a
frail, guilty person like myself.I can find plenty of persons who do as I
do; I want some one who does not; I want some one to worship.I thought
there was something in you special and extraordinary.There was a
gentleness and tenderness mingled with your strength which was new to me.I said, Here is at last a god.My own gods are earthly, sensual; I have no
respect for them, no faith in them.She started up, and said with vehemence, "I thought you
sinless; you confess to crime.... Ah!how do I know," she continued with a
shudder, "that you are better than those base hypocrites, priests of Isis
or Mithras, whose lust |
office | Where is Mary? | And she felt for the clasp upon her shoulder.Here her speech was interrupted by a hoarse sound, borne upon the wind as
of many voices blended into one and softened by the distance, but which,
under the circumstances, neither of the parties to the above conversation
had any difficulty in assigning to its real cause."Dear father," she
said, "the enemy is upon you."There was no room for doubt or for delay."What is to become of you,
Callista?"he said; "they will tear you to pieces.""Fear nothing for me, father," she answered; "I am one of them.Alas, _I_ am no Christian!_I_ have not abjured their rites!but you,
lose not a moment.""They are still at some distance," he said, "though the wind gives us
merciful warning of their coming."He looked about the room, and took up
the books of Holy Scripture which were on the shelf."There is nothing
else," he said, "of special value here.Mary moved to the hallway.Here, my child, I am going to show you a great confidence.To few persons
not Christians would I show it.Take this blessed parchment; it contains
the earthly history of our Divine Master.Here you will see whom we
Christians love.Read it; keep it safely; surrender it, when you have the
opportunity, into Christian keeping.My mind tells me I am not wrong in
lending it to you."Luke, while he put
the two other volumes into the folds of his own tunic.Sandra journeyed to the office."One word more," she said; "your name, should I want you."He took up a piece of chalk from the shelf, and wrote upon the wall in
distinct characters,
"Thascius Caecilius Cyprianus, Bishop of Carthage."Hardly had she read the inscription when the voices of several men were
heard in the very neighbourhood of the cottage; and hoping to effect a
diversion in favour of Caecilius, and being at once unsuspicious of danger
to herself, and careless of her life, she ran quickly forward to meet
them.Caecilius ought to have taken to flight without a moment's delay, but
a last sacred duty detained him.He knelt down and took the pyx from his
bosom.He had eaten nothing that day; but even if otherwise, it was a
crisis which allowed him to consume the sacred species without fasting.He
hastily opened the golden case, adored the blessed sacrament, and consumed
it, purifying its receptacle, and restoring it to its hiding-place.Then
he rose at once and left the cottage.He looked about; Callista was nowhere to be seen.Daniel travelled to the office.She was gone; so much
was certain, no enemy was in sight; it only remained for him to make off
too.In the confusion he turned in the wrong direction; instead of making
off at the back of the cottage from which the voices had scared him, he
ran across the garden into the hollow way.It was all over with him in an
instant; he fell at once into the hands of the vanguard of the mob.Many mouths were opened upon him all at once.cried one;
"tear him to shreds; _we'll_ teach him to brew his spells against the
city.""Give us back our grapes and corn," said a second."Have a guard,"
said a third; "he can turn you into swine or asses while there is breath
in him," "Then be the quicker with him," said a fourth, who was lifting up
a crowbar to discharge upon his head.Daniel went to the bathroom.Jane
could have bitten out her tongue with mortification at having blurted
forth the truth.But in the moment of excessive agitation, under the
pang of remorse, of fear lest Jack's life should be sacrificed, she had
lost control over her words.Her conscience had cried out in audible
tones, and though the words had been few, the accent had sufficed to
convey to Winefred the revelation of the fraud committed.And yet, as
Jane reasoned with herself, Winefred must have arrived at the truth
shortly by another road.Daniel moved to the office.If she got into conversation with her father about the past he was
certain to mention to her, in self-exculpation, how that her mother had
haughtily, resentfully refused assistance from him; how that from the
day that he left her she had not accepted a stiver from him.When Winefred learned this she would at once ask, whence then came the
money that had enabled her mother to purchase the Undercliff, and to
send her to be educated in a private family of some pretensions?And Winefred was not one to leave such a question unanswered.She would
work at it till she had arrived at a satisfactory explanation.When
the girl discovered that no money had been transmitted to her mother
from Mr.Holwood, her mind would at once fasten on the rumours that
circulated relative to what her mother had done.She could come to no
other possible conclusion save that there was some good ground for the
suspicion so generally entertained.That Winefred did resent such an appropriation of the savings of a dead
man Jane could understand, but not why she did not accept those excuses
for it with which Jane salved her own conscience.The fable about the
murder of her brother at the instigation of Job Rattenbury, and that of
her father having been defrauded of his legitimate gains by the same
man, she had accepted as certain truths, and clung to them as such with
tenacity.She had not that sharpness of vision in the matter of right and wrong,
nor that fineness of texture of conscience that had Winefred.Like a
vast number of other people, any pretext served as an excuse for the
commission of a wrong; a colourable pretext was the cocaine with which
moral sensation was benumbed.Various causes had combined to make
Winefred high principled as she was.Unquestionably there was natural downrightness in her character from
the outstart; this had been accentuated by her work in selecting and
polishing stones for the lapidary.Too often had she been deceived by a
pebble that promised well, and which only after laborious grinding and
smoothing had revealed itself to be worthless.Mary moved to the office.This had contributed to
foster in her resentment against an exterior that did not correspond
with what was within.She had been obliged to deal with shifty
personages, and had seen through their evasions.Further, she had
enjoyed that supreme advantage of having been taught in a dame's school
where the two duties were made the basis of all instruction, and the
mind was educated instead of being taught.But it was not trouble of mind concerning Winefred that alone allowed
Jane Marley no rest.There was a something indescribable, sensible but
inexplicable, that set all her nerves in a tingle, that impressed her
with a feeling of insecurity.Once and again, haunted by an unreasonable dread, she went to the
wardrobe to examine the range of crooks and pendent garments and assure
herself that they had not been touched.Once and again she started as
though the ground beneath her feet had given way suddenly, and when
she recovered herself it was to be seized with fear lest her brain was
reeling.Then there came over her a qualm, and she sank on a seat with
sickness at her heart and a spinning in her head.As she shut the wardrobe door after one of these looks at her secret
drawer, she saw the shadow of a man pass the window, and this was
followed by a sharp rap at the door.Without awaiting an answer, a
preventive man entered unceremoniously.'Missus,' said he, 'I advise you to budge.Something is going to take
place; we don't know what, and I've had orders to give you warning.'Jane followed the officer, and he led her from the house, through the
bushes, to a point on the edge of the cliff that commanded the beach
and the sea some three hundred feet beneath.The moment was that of the turn of the tide.At a
distance of half a mile from the shore the surface of the water heaved
like the bosom of a sleeper in rhythmic throb.There were no rollers,
no white horses.Volumes of muddy water surged up
in bells as from a great depth, and spread in glistening sheets, that
threw out wavelets which clashed with the undulations of the tide.Moreover, there appeared something like a mighty monster of the deep,
ruddy brown, heaving his back above the water.'That which is coming in is sweet water,' said the man.'One of our
chaps has ventured down and tasted it.It is not the fountains of the
deep that are broken up, but the land springs are feeding the ocean.'Yes,' said Jane, 'there was something of the kind took place, but only
in a small way, before the crack formed when my old cottage was ruined.'And there is going to happen something of the same
sort here, but on a mighty scale, to which that was but as nothing.Where it will begin, how far it will extend, all that is what no mortal
can guess.Now you know why I have been sent to tell you to clear out
as fast as you can.If you want my help, you are welcome to it.''My house!――I have but just bought it.''The sea and the fresh-water springs were not parties to the agreement,
I reckon,' said the preventive officer.'But this new house of mine is some way from the edge.'It is unsafe to remain in it another
hour.'Jose, I reckon, will gladly receive you.'To what
extent the coast would be affected, and for how far inland it would
extend, none could predict.The sky overhead was grey, the air tranquil.Daniel travelled to the bedroom.A filmy mist lay over
everything so fine as hardly to obscure the sight of any object,
certainly not the upheaving volumes of turbid water and the bulging
shoals of mud.Jane turned, terrified at the prospect, aghast――not knowing what to do.How was she to remove her store of money in broad daylight, before all
eyes?and already she saw that spectators were gathering on the common
in expectation of witnessing a great convulsion of nature.She declined the assistance of the man so civilly proffered, and,
locking her door, ran towards Bindon.On reaching the farm she threw
herself breathless on a form by the kitchen table, panting, and
entreated to be afforded shelter.'My dear Jane,' said the kind farmer's wife, 'what do you want?There was a cow once――――'
'Oh, never mind about the cow now.What am I to do about all the things
in my house?''About your furniture and clock and bedding?''I must remove first of all the things of greatest value that are in
the smallest compass.Give me some box that I can lock them in, or a
strong drawer.'Jose showed Jane a stout cypress chest in a room over the porch.'You may have that and welcome,' she said.'But I reckon you
will require something in which to carry your traps.Here is an
old-fashioned carpet-bag that I will lend you.Shall I go with you and
assist you?John journeyed to the garden.'You know best, Jane; but look here.There was the most curious sight
imaginable this morning.The rabbits have come off the common on to our
land in flocks as of sheep; they are all over our fields now.'Mary went to the bedroom.'We, thank God, are well inland at Bindon, and on the safe side of the
hill.''There is no time to be lost,' said Jane in feverish unrest and
impatience, 'I must go.'The number of persons assembled on the down had increased.Most stood
at a considerable distance from the cliffs, but a few audacious boys
dashed forward to the brink, and were screamed at by their mothers, and
sworn at by the coastguardsmen, who bellowed to them to return.asked Jane as she came among the
spectators.'Nothing so far, but something will happen before very long.No――there was no sound, either from sea or land.'You are surely not going back to your house?'said one of those
looking on, as Jane passed him.'However got,' threw in one hard by.Jane Marley accelerated her pace to be away from the crowd and to reach
her home.None seemed to know whence the menace came, and where danger would be
found.Some individuals more timid than others lurked behind hedges,
putting a bank and quickset between themselves and danger.Others again looked out for a clear space in rear,
over which to beat a precipitate retreat, if necessary.After Jane had pushed through the line of onlookers, she descended
to the Undercliff, reached her door, looked about her, listened, and
entered.When she had gone forth with the preventive man, half an hour
previously, she had not observed a face watching her from behind a
rock.When she traversed the bushes, she had not seen how a man stole
forth from his place of concealment.She had not suspected, whilst she
stood on the cliff observing the tumescent waters, that this man had
slipped in at her door left unlocked, and had secreted himself within
the house.When Jane now entered her habitation, she carefully locked the door on
the inside.By so doing she had, unconsciously, locked herself in with
this man.On finding herself within, she looked around her.Nothing had been in the smallest degree deranged.There was nothing to lead her to suppose that she
was not alone.So little did she conceive this as possible, that she at once went to
the window, pulled down the blind, and then drew the curtain, lest that
by any chance, any one might see what she purposed doing behind the
locked door and the shrouded window.CHAPTER XLVIII
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
The carpet-bag was light, portable, and capacious.It was a contrivance
for the convenience of travellers upon which we have not improved, and
yet it has been relegated to the limbo of antiquated articles, is no
more in commerce, and is replaced by portmanteaus and Gladstone bags,
metal armed, and with vulnerable sides, that are scarred by the impact
of other baggage equally furnished with iron or brass scutcheons and
corner pieces that curl, add no strength, but serve vixenishly to
scratch and tear whatever baggage is brought in contact with them.Our children will hardly know what the old, worthy, serviceable
carpet-bag was like――a bag simply constructed, as its name implies, out
of bits of carpet.Furnished with this article, that was of inconsiderable weight, Jane
Marley drew a long breath.The bag was supplied with lock and key, but
this was a matter of no consideration, as, when filled, she would not
let it pass from her hand till its contents were secured in the cypress
chest at Bindon, that had been put at her service by Mrs.She drew apart the jaws of the bag, disclosing its striped canvas
lining, and she set it beside her near the wardrobe.Her next proceeding was to open the doors of this article of furniture.She started, thinking that she heard a step.She looked about her, but
nobody was visible.Nothing was to be heard save
the shouts, very distant, of those gathered on the downs.No one would be surprised, she considered, to see her pass with the
bag.Mary went to the office.Nothing more reasonable than that she should be concerned to
remove her portable goods to a place of security.When the valves of the wardrobe had been thrown wide apart, and the
range of dependent dresses revealed in the twilight caused by the
darkened window, then she placed the stool in position.This she
mounted and pulled at the crooks.At once the drawer slid forward
smoothly and noiselessly, bringing with it the series of garments.Jane put her hand in, and took out as many bundles and purses of gold
as she could compass in her hand, and dropped them into the yawning
carpet bag.She was too much occupied,
and in too great haste now to look about her.There
was no knowing when the catastrophe would take place.It was by no
means sure that some officious coastguardman would not come to her door
with offers of assistance or insistence on her immediately vacating the
place.She laid hold of a small metal case that contained jewels.She had
formerly looked at and admired the contents, and had fondly dreamed of
the time when they would be worn by her Winefred.She was removing this
case to drop it where the gold had fallen, when her arms were grasped
from behind.She uttered a cry and strove to turn about. |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | At last I have
found out what I long wanted to know!'It was that of Olver Dench――a conviction by no
means reassuring.Jane's first impulse was to shut the drawer, but her
hands were fast.Olver contemptuously laughed, and threw her from the stool, and still
gripping her arms above the elbows, with hands like vices, hard and
sinuous with working the oars, till their strength was irresistible, he
looked into the receptacle.said he, chuckling; 'a clever trick, i' faith.I have hunted
twice through this house, and never thought of this.'Unable to resist the attraction of the gold, he let go one arm, that he
might thrust the freed hand among the packages of coin.Jane seized her opportunity to wrench herself loose; she caught up the
carpet bag and sprang towards the door.With a stride he caught her before
she had attained her object, and twisted the handle of the bag out of
her hand.Then, frantic with despair and rage, she threw herself upon him, like
a wild beast, and he found her more difficult to master than he had
anticipated.She writhed, bent, caught him by the arm, by the throat, she tore,
she bit at his hand, and made her teeth meet in his flesh.The frenzy
and the force of a demoniac were in her.Roused to desperation at the
prospect of losing that which was to make the fortunes of her child,
she forgot herself in the fury of the onslaught.If he was strong, she
was wiry and nimble.She bowed herself, she beat at him, she strove to
drive her bony fingers into his eyes, to rip his skin with her nails.At one moment she all but tripped him up.[Illustration: SHE WAS REMOVING THIS CASE TO DROP IT WHERE THE GOLD HAD
FALLEN, WHEN HER ARMS WERE GRASPED FROM BEHIND.]He could not explore the receptacle of so
much gold.His every faculty was engaged in self-defence.As he held
the carpet-bag, she cast all her weight on his arm, and as she could
not break the bones in it, she snapped at his fingers like a dog.The cataclysm might come upon them at any moment, and to
be beneath a roof then might prove fatal.With a curse, Olver gathered up his masculine strength, and having
drawn from his pocket some whipcord, he twisted her arms behind her
back; plunge, toss, sway herself as she might, he held her wrists
together, threw her down on her face, planted his knee on her back,
and deliberately bound her arms behind her so securely that it was
impossible for her to disengage them.She plucked one arm this way, the other
that, but, although the cord tore the skin and blood came, she was
unable to release her wrists.Then he rent away a piece of one of the dresses and rammed the rag
between her teeth into her mouth, after which he bound his spotted
red-and-white kerchief over her mouth.This accomplished he stood up and laughed, and, mounting the stool,
proceeded to empty the drawer.Some of the parcels of gold he put into his pockets, others he threw
down to be carried in the carpet-bag.Jane, now hopeless of securing the spoil for herself and child, was
filled with a raging desire to prevent Olver from enjoying it.She
sought to prolong the struggle till one of two things should happen,
either the earth should reel and bring down the house over their heads,
or else till some of the preventive men should come, and intervene,
when she would declare all, so that neither might possess the treasure.Lifting herself with difficulty to her knees, having no power with
her hands, and unable to tear with her teeth, glaring at Olver with
inextinguishable, insatiable hate in her eyes, she struggled forward
on her knees till she was able to fling her weight against the man as
he was engaged, standing on the stool, with the drawer.Leave me alone, or, by Heaven, I will
knock you over the head with the stool!'With tigerish eyes she followed his every motion.He aimed at her with
his fist weighted with a purse of gold, but she ducked.He missed his
aim, and as he staggered, she struck the stool from under him, and he
came reeling over and nearly lost his feet.She at once kicked the
stool into the fire.He was brought up by the clock which at the
impact went over with a crash.He sprang to the hearth, took the
stool and swung it over his head in menace.Possibly he was afraid
to completely silence her lest in the event of discovery he might be
called to account.He replaced the stool where he required it, and said, 'I dare you to
touch me again!If you do, you shall be reduced to quiet so as to
trouble me no more!Beware, Jane, you she-devil!'When he had mounted the stool, she rose to her feet and made her way to
the door.He continued to clear the drawer of the money that was in it, but he
observed her out of the corner of his eye, and he soon discerned her
purpose.She had retreated backwards till she had reached the door, and now
facing him, with her bound hands she was endeavouring to turn the key.He dashed at her, spun her about, and dealt her such a blow with his
fist that she fell on the floor.'You will remain still now,' said he; and he resumed his work.For a moment only she was unable to rally
her senses, but she was incapable of offering further resistance.She saw what was going on, lying with gagged mouth and labouring lungs.She could not breathe fast enough, and the air screamed through her
nostrils.The blood mounted and purpled her face, and swelled her veins
to bursting.At last everything had been removed, and the carpet-bag was filled with
the contents of the drawer.Dench thrust back the row of crooks and
swaying garments to the place normally occupied by them, and again
chuckled at the ingenuity of the contrivance that had twice baffled
him.Then he leisurely descended from the stool, and halted on his way
to the door to look at Jane Marley as she lay bound at his feet.Her head in falling had struck the overturned clock, or been cut by the
broken glass of the face, and it was bleeding.Her profuse black hair,
tinged with grey, was dishevelled, and lay in a tangle about and under
her head; the face was turned on one side, and the eyes flared at him
like coals in a blast furnace.A malignant expression
came over his face.Better to have gone shares as I once proposed, than lose all
and come to this!'He prepared with lifted foot to kick her in the face with his boatman's
shod boot, when a shiver ran through the house――a shiver like that
which passes over a man when, so it is asserted, an enemy treads on his
predestined grave.'Time to be off, by ――――,' said he, and darted to the door.'Jane――I
leave you to your fate.'He unlocked the door, passed through; he had removed the key.He locked
it from without, and threw the key away among the bushes.For a few moments he stood irresolute what to do, in which direction to
turn.He was unwilling, carrying the carpet-bag, to pass through the crowd
of spectators, and he stayed to consider whether by any means he could
reach the ferry unobserved.There was an open patch before the cottage, screened by bushes so
as not to be overlooked from the down.He took a few steps in one
direction on it, then halted――and took another.He had the carpet-bag in his hand.Meanwhile, within, Jane had heaved herself to her knees, and then to
her feet.By an effort she
succeeded in mounting the table, and then, with her bound hands she
plucked at the curtain and drew it, next by a pull tore down the little
blind.Looking out she saw Dench standing irresolute――as one dazed.Sandra moved to the bathroom.At that moment, the house swayed like a ship.The surface of the land
broke up, and seemed transmuted into fluid, for in one place it heaved
like a mounting billow, and in another sank like the trough of a wave.It was to Jane, peering through the little window as though she were
looking at a tumbling sea through the porthole of a cabin.Again the house lurched, and so suddenly and to such an acute angle,
that Jane fell from the table.Sandra went back to the bedroom.CHAPTER XLIX
RENT ASUNDER
Winefred and her father were on their way to the down, passing up from
Axmouth through Bindon, when Mrs.Jose appeared in the archway that
gives access to the court, and saluted them.She was in a condition of considerable perturbation, as was perceptible
in her face, which mirrored the state of her mind.Winefred, catching her hand, inquired breathlessly, 'What is the
meaning of this?It is as though every one were on the cliffs.They are running from the downs and the people are
going on to it.'Something is going to happen, and your
mother has not returned.''She went to the cottage with a carpet-bag to remove her knick-knacks,
and has not come back.But perhaps she has got together men to carry
the furniture and all the whole bag of tricks out of the house.''And all my men and maids have gone too.And Jose has toddled after
them, he as don't care for phenomena, as the parson calls it, but only
his pipe and ale.'The sea is boiling and throwing up mud, and they
think that the rocks are about to fall.It may be the Last Day coming on us in Axmouth and going on
next to Seaton, and destroy it by instalments.If so, I wish it had
begun t'other end of England.''Where is my mother――at the cottage?''That is just what I do not know, but want to find out.'She ran up the lane leaving her father to
follow at a pace more suited to his age and tight-lacing.She came to the gate――once set with thorns――with a number of people
running also up the lane, and could see that there were a great many
on the common, forming as it were a wavering black ribbon on the short
turf.Some impelled by curiosity advanced considerably, but next moment
alarmed at their own temerity, scared by some trifle, recoiled.One cried out that he heard a grinding sound under his boot-soles,
and at once there was a rush inland.There broke out an argument
as to where the fall would be.Some said along the line of the old
Undercliff, there would be the cleavage.This was disputed on the
ground that the Undercliff represented an earlier and exhausted
subsidence.One point there was on the down higher than the rest, that commanded a
general view, and this was a point to which the curious trended partly
because it gave such an extensive prospect, but also because it was
esteemed secure.Winefred inquired of the groups she encountered whether they had seen
her mother, and received contradictory replies.She was taking the path that led to the cottage, when she was arrested
by a loud and general cry that ran from west to east; and immediately
she heard a strange rending sound as of thick cloth ripped asunder;
this produced a rush backwards of the people, and shouts of command
rang from some of the preventive men.At once was seen a jagged fissure
running like a lightning-flash through the turf, followed by a gape,
an upheaval, a lurch, then a sinkage, and a starring and splitting
of the surface.In another moment a chasm yawned before their eyes,
three-quarters of a mile long, torn across the path, athwart hedges,
separating a vast tract of down and undercliff from the mainland, and
descending into the bowels of the earth.Winefred was caught by the shoulder and hurled back.It was not safe to stand near the lip of this hideous rent, for that
lip broke up and fell in masses into the abyss.Cracks started from it,
or behind it, and widened, and whole blocks of rock and tracts of turf
disappeared.The surface beyond the chasm presented the most appalling
appearance.It was in wild movement, breaking up like an ice-pack in a
thaw.It swayed, danced, fell apart into isolated blocks, some stood up
as pillars, some bent as horns, others balanced themselves, then leaned
forward, and finally toppled over and disappeared.In an agony of alarm for her mother, Winefred ran to the bit of
isolated land whence the whole scene was visible, even the cottage, and
she was followed by Mrs.Holwood, who had come up with her.From this spot of vantage could be discerned how that a wide tract of
land, many acres in length, had separated from the main body and was
sliding seaward in a tilted position.At the same moment from out the
sea rose a black ridge, like the back of a whale, but this drew out and
stretched itself parallel to the fissure.An awed silence had fallen on the spectators as they held their breath
to watch the progress of the convulsion that was changing the outline
of the coast and transforming its appearance.But suddenly a cry was heard, and next moment some one was seen running
on the sloping and still sliding mass.It was a man carrying a carpet-bag.For some time none could make out who he was; but the Captain of the
Excise, who had a glass, exclaimed that he was Dench, the ferryman.Olver appeared to be panic-stricken to such an extent as to have almost
lost his senses.Seeing the crowd he ran towards it, along the path
from the cottage till he came upon the gap that was rapidly widening
and dividing him at every moment farther from the mainland.He seemed
as though on board a vessel that was being swept out to sea, and
frantically strove to escape from her to those who stood on the wharf
observing him.Down into the separating chasm eyes looked, but could
not make out the bottom; the depth contained a tossing mass of crumbled
chalk and erupted pebble, with occasional squirts of water, some two or
three hundred feet below the surface on the land side.It was like a
mighty polypus mouth that had opened and was chewing and digesting its
food in its throat and belly.Seeing this, mad with fear, shrieking like a woman, Olver turned and
fled, to be again arrested by a mound that lifted before his eyes as
though thrown up by a monstrous burrowing mole.Almost immediately
this ridge changed its character, it split with a sharp snap, became
a rent, and Dench's way was again cut off.Once more he turned, and
this time ran in a seaward direction down the inclination, but when he
caught sight of the churning water throwing up volumes of mud, and at
the uprising slimy reef lifting itself out of the sea, he turned again,
never letting go his hold of the bag, shrieking still, for in the
unparalleled horror of the situation his brain had lost its balance.Those who looked on at the frantic man knew that it was not within
human power to aid him.It was a mighty arena, and the spectators
contemplated the solitary flying wretch pursued to his death by the
relentless, invisible forces of Nature.It
seemed to him in his dazed condition that he might find shelter there.But the door had been locked by himself and the key cast away.He stood and wiped from his brow the sweat that rained down and
blinded him.And then a gleam of thought lighted his troubled mind.He
considered that if he ran eastward and could outstrip the rent as it
formed, he might yet attain solid and stationary land.But those who looked on with bated breath and trembling pulses saw
that the attempt must end in failure.Such as stood on the height
in security roared out advice to him.He halted, looked in their
direction, endeavoured vainly to catch what was said.Men yelled
louder, waved their arms, but as none agreed in the advice tendered,
the wretch was confused and not assisted.He continued his run eastward, ran――ran with his full strength, and
came abruptly on the edge of a mural precipice, with another world far
below his feet covered with brushwood, from which he was cut off by a
perpendicular escarpment like one of the walls of a crater in the moon.Then again he turned to run
in an opposite direction.To such as saw him he was like a |
bedroom | Where is Sandra? | And now as he ran he was brought down by his foot suddenly sinking into
a crack that was in process of formation, and which he had not seen in
his precipitate haste.By the time he had extracted his leg, this crack
had become a gash that descended into darkness.Clinging to a bush, kneeling, as he withdrew his foot, he saw the
crumbling chalk dribble into this depth below, and the thought quivered
through him that he was going down alive into the bottomless pit.Rendered crazy with fear he mounted a fragment of rock and saw about
him the wreckage as of a world――prostrate trees, leaning pillars of
rock, disrupted masses of soil, bushes draggling over to drop into the
throats open to swallow them.There was but one possibility of salvation open to him, to leap the
chasm that divided him from the mainland at one point where as yet the
width was not extreme, and the feat was not impossible.But to do this he must act with promptitude.To fail was to fall down
that throat to be mumbled and chumped with the grinding rocks.The leap
would be considerable, but feasible by any man of moderate activity.He looked up at them
bewildered.They called to him to lay aside the carpet-bag.His hand was passed
through the loops, and it hung from his wrist.Possibly in his then condition
of mind he was unconscious that he was still weighted with the bag.He
ran, leaped, was flying in space over the chasm, touched the rock on
the farther side, caught at the grass; but was overbalanced, dragged
backward from the crest by the weight of the bag, and went down with a
tuft of wiry grass and hawkweed in his right hand, and disappeared in
the midst of the rock and earth that was in process of being chewed.Now the carpet-bag, then a leg, next a hand appeared, and went under
again.Then up came the head, only next moment to be drawn beneath and
disappear in the mighty mill.CHAPTER L
JOINED TOGETHER
Not till evening was setting in was it possible for any to cross the
gulf and reach the subsided portion.The chasm itself was some three
hundred and sixty feet across, and into this all the tract between the
lips had gone down at various inclinations.Beyond that to the sea
something like four hundred and forty yards had slipped away in an
incline, much dislocated, but with an abrupt face forming one side of
the great chasm.It was of imperious necessity to get to the cottage that could be seen,
not ruined, still standing, but leaning to one side, that search might
be made for Jane Marley.It was only made possible by the efforts of Jack Rattenbury, assisted
by some of the Bindon labourers placed at his disposal by Mrs.By
his direction a pathway was cut down the face of the chalk precipice on
the land side at a point where the ravine was choked with accumulations
that had fallen in, and by means of planks and ropes the chasm was
passed and the farther side ascended, and then Winefred, followed by
her father and Mrs.Jose, was enabled, with the assistance of Jack, and
walking with wariness, to arrive at the cottage.It was locked, but when Winefred called, she heard a muffled voice
reply from within.The front door was too stout to be easily broken open, but that at the
back yielded and the rescue party entered.She was in a sitting posture, her
hands still bound behind her, her hair dishevelled, but the blood from
the wound in her head was staunched.She had succeeded, by some means,
in freeing her mouth from the gags.The colour
had died from her face, the fire from her heart.She breathed, looked
dazedly before her, and seemed listless when her daughter, Mr.Winefred pulled back what of the curtain remained obscuring the
chamber.Through the back door that faced west a stronger light entered
and penetrated to the room where Jane crouched.Jack Rattenbury had
at once cut the bands that confined her hands, and although the woman
was able to bring her arms forward, they were stiff, and her hands
frightfully swollen.Jose had run for water, but the spring that had supplied the
cottage was dried up.There remained, however, a little in a vessel
in the back kitchen, and with this Jane's face was bathed as Winefred
rested her mother's head on her bosom.The cuts in her head were not
serious.The girl hasted to tie up the draggled hair.The men who had assisted to make a path had been relegated to the
outside.It was probable, if Jane Marley were unable to walk, that they
would be required to carry her.Holwood remained looking at her
intently, his weak lower lip fallen.Her eyes
were for her daughter only, who bowed over her, kissed her repeatedly,
and whose tears dripped upon her face.Winefred supporting her on one side, Jack on the other, the woman
staggered to her feet, and at once recovered self-possession.She
raised her head, looked at the wrists and swollen fingers and passed
her hands over her eyes.Sandra moved to the bathroom.'It has been a dream, a nightmare,' she said.And then asked, 'Where is
Olver Dench?'Presently she said, 'He carried off everything in a carpet-bag.''That,' said Winefred, 'will never be recovered.If Olver
Dench has wronged you――and that he did so I know――God has judged him.Whatsoever of yours he had in that bag is lost, never to be recovered.'Jane turned her eyes slowly to Jack and said, 'It was your father's
savings, hundreds of pounds of gold.'Can you see who is before
you?'Perhaps she was too shaken, too exhausted
to manifest the resentment that had possessed her.Sandra went back to the bedroom.She looked at him
steadily, without hate, but also without affection in her eyes.'Jane, my wife,' said he in a faltering voice, 'I also have done
wrong, and like you I acknowledge it openly.I have sent every quarter a liberal share of money to
you through Dench, which he retained for himself, and I――I have often
had an ache of heart and yearning after you, but have been prevented
from coming to see you by the reports of what you were and what you
did――slanderous and wicked reports――sent me by that infamous man.'Then you never knew me,' said Jane slowly, 'or you would not, you
could not have believed him.''I never knew your worth, Jane,' said he, 'because I had not that worth
in me which could appreciate how noble and how good you were.'I do not know,' she said slowly――dreamily.The seas of every latitude of the globe furnish various tribes of these
singular beings.They live in the icy waters which bathe Spitzbergen,
Greenland, and Iceland; they multiply under the fires of the Equator,
and the frozen regions of the south nourish numerous species.They are,
of all animals, those which present the least solid substance.Their
bodies are little else than water, which is scarcely retained by an
imperceptible organic network; it is a transparent jelly, almost without
consistence."It is a true sea-water jelly," says Réaumur, writing in
1701, "having little colour or consistence.If we take a morsel in our
hands, the natural heat is sufficient to dissolve it into water."Spallanzani could only withdraw five or six grains of the pellicle of a
medusa weighing fifty ounces.From certain specimens weighing from ten
to twelve pounds, only six to seven pennyweights could be obtained of
solid matter, according to Frédol.Telfair saw an enormous medusa
which had been abandoned on the beach at Bombay; three days after, the
animal began to putrefy.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.To satisfy his curiosity, he got the
neighbouring boatmen to keep an eye upon it, in order to gather the
bones and cartilages belonging to the great creature, if by chance it
had any; but its decomposition was so rapid and complete that it left no
remains, although it required nine months to dissipate it entirely.""Floating on the bosom of the waters," says Frédol, "the Medusa
resembles a bell, a pair of breeches, an umbrella, or, better still, a
floating mushroom, the stool of which has here been separated into lobes
more or less divergent, sinuous, twisted, shrivelled, fringed, the edges
of the cap being delicately cut, and provided with long thread-like
appendages, which descend vertically into the water like the drooping
branches of the weeping willow."The gelatinous substance of which the body of the Medusa is formed is
sometimes colourless and limpid as crystal; sometimes it is opaline, and
occasionally of a bright blue or pale rose colour.In certain species
the central parts are of a lively red, blue, or violet colour, while the
rest of the body is of a diaphanous hue.This diaphanous tissue, often
decked in the finest tints, is so fragile, that when abandoned by the
wave on the beach, it melts and disappears without leaving a trace of
its having existed, so to speak.Nevertheless, these fragile creatures, these living soap-bubbles, make
long voyages on the surface of the sea.Whilst the sun's rays suffice to
dissipate and even annihilate its vaporous substance on some
inhospitable beach, they abandon themselves without fear during their
entire life to the agitated waves.The whales which haunt round the
Hebrides are chiefly nourished by Medusæ which have been transported by
the waves in innumerable swarms from the coast of the Atlantic to the
region of whales."The locomotion of the Medusæ, which is very slow,"
says De Blainville, "and denotes a very feeble muscular energy, appears,
on the other hand, to be unceasing.Since their specific gravity
considerably exceeds the water in which they are immerged, these
creatures, which are so soft that they probably could not repose on
solid ground, require to agitate constantly in order to sustain
themselves in the fluid which they inhabit.They require also to
maintain a continual state of expansion and contraction, of systole and
diastole.Spallanzani, who observed their movements with great care,
says that those of translation are executed by the edges of the disk
approaching so near to each other that the diameter is diminished in a
very sensible degree; by this movement a certain quantity of water
contained in the body is ejected with more or less force, by which the
body is projected in the inverse direction.Renovated by the cessation
of force in its first state of development, it contracts itself again,
and makes another step in advance.If the body is perpendicular to the
horizon, these successive movements of contraction and dilatation cause
it to ascend; if it is more or less oblique, it advances more or less
horizontally.In order to descend, it is only necessary for the animal
to cease its movements; its specific gravity secures its descent."It is, then, by a series of contractions and dilatations of their bodies
that the Medusæ make their long voyages on the surface of the waters.This double movement of their light skeleton had already been remarked
by the ancients, who compared it to the action of respiration in the
human chest.From this notion the ancients called them _Sea Lungs_.The Medusæ usually inhabit the deep seas.They are rarely solitary, but
seem to wander about in considerable battalions in the latitudes to
which they belong.During their journey they proceed forward, with a
course slightly oblique to the convex part of their body.If an obstacle
arrests them, if an enemy touches them, the umbrella contracts, and is
diminished in volume, the tentacles are folded up, and the timid animal
descends into the depths of the ocean.We have said that the Medusæ constitute in the Arctic seas one of the
principal supports of the whale.Their innumerable masses sometimes
cover many square leagues in extent.They show themselves and disappear
by turns in the same region, at determinate epochs--alternations which
depend, no doubt, on the ruling of the winds and currents which carry or
lead them."The barks which navigate Lake Thau meet," says Frédol, "at
certain periods of the year with numerous colonies of a species about
the size of a small melon, nearly transparent--whitish, like water when
it is mixed with a shade of aniseed.One would be tempted to take these
animals at first for a collection of floating muslin bonnets."The Medusæ are furnished with a mouth placed habitually in the middle of
the neck.Small molluscs, young
crustaceans, and worms, form their ordinary food.In spite of their
shape, they are most voracious, and snap up their prey all at one
mouthful, without dividing it.If their prey resists and disputes with
it, the Medusa which has seized it holds fast, and remains motionless,
and, without a single movement, waits till fatigue has exhausted and
killed its victim, when it can swallow it in all security.In respect to size, the Medusæ vary immensely.Some are very small,
while others attain more than a yard in diameter.Many species are
phosphorescent during the night.Most Medusadæ produce an acute pain when they touch the human body.The
painful sensation produced by this contact is so general in this group
of animals, that it has determined their designation.Until very
recently all the animals of the group have been, after Cuvier,
designated under the name of Acalephæ, or sea nettles, in order to
remind us that the sensation produced is analogous to that occasioned by
contact with the stinging leaves of the nettle.Daniel went to the kitchen.According to Dicquemare, who made experiments on himself in this matter,
the sensation produced is very like that occasioned by a nettle, but it
is more violent, and endures for half an hour."In the last moments,"
says the abbé, "the sensation is such as would be produced by reiterated
but very weak prickings.A considerable pain pervaded all the parts
which had been touched, accompanied by pustules of the same colour, with
a whitish point.""The sea-bladder," says Father Feuillée, "occasions
me, on touching it, a sudden and severe pain, accompanied with
convulsions.""During the first voyage of the _Princess Louise_ round the world," to
quote Frédol, "Meyen remarked a magnificent physalia, which passed near
the ship.A young sailor leaped naked into the sea, to seize the animal.Swimming towards it, he seized it; the creature surrounded the person
of its assailant with its numerous thread-like filaments, which were
nearly a yard in length; the young man, overwhelmed by a feeling of
burning pain, cried out for assistance.He had scarcely strength to
reach the vessel and get aboard again, before the pain and inflammation
were so violent that brain fever declared itself, and great fears were
entertained for his life."The organization is much more complicated than early observers were
disposed to think it.During many ages naturalists were inclined to
imagine, with Réaumur, that the Medusæ were mere masses of organized
jelly, of gelatinized water.But when Courtant Dumeril tried the
experiment of injecting milk into their cavities, and saw the liquid
penetrating into true vessels, he began to comprehend that these very
enigmatical beings were worthy of serious study--the study of subsequent
naturalists, such as Cuvier, De Blainville, Ehrenberg, Brandt,
Makel-Eschscholtz, Sars, Milne Edwards, Forbes, Gosse, and other modern
naturalists, who have demonstrated what richness of structure is
concealed under this gelatiniform and simple structure in the Medusæ; at
the same time they have revealed to us most mysterious and incredible
facts as connected with their metamorphoses.Among the Medusæ proper, the most common are Aurelia, Pelagia, and
Chrysaora.88), the disk is
hemispherical, festooned with numerous tentacles, attached to a sac-like
stomach, opening by a single orifice in the centre of the peduncle, with
four long, furbelowed, unfringed arms.Gaudichaudi's chrysaora is found
round the Falkland Islands.The disk forms a regular half-sphere, very
smooth, and perfectly |
garden | Where is Sandra? | The circle which surrounds it is divided into sections by means
of vertical lines, regularly divided, of a reddish-brown colour, which
forms an edging to the umbrella-like disk.Twelve broad regular festoons
form this edging.From the summit of these lobes issue twelve bundles of
very long, simple, capillary tentacles, of a bright red.The peduncle is
broad and flat, perforated in the middle, to which are attached four
broad foliaceous arms.The Medusæ which bear the name of _Rhizostoma_ have the disk
hemispherically festooned, depressed, without marginal tentacles,
peduncle divided into four pairs of arms, forked, and dentated almost to
infinity, each having at their base two toothed auricles.Such is
_Rhizostoma Cuvieri_ of Péron (Fig.Sandra moved to the bathroom.89), the disk of which is of a
bluish-white, like the arms, and of a rich violet over its
circumference.This beautiful zoophyte is found plentifully in the
Atlantic, living in flocks, which attain a great size.It is common in
the month of June on the shores of the Saint Onge; in August on the
English coast; and along the strand of every port in the Channel they
are seen in the month of October in thousands, where they lie high and
dry upon the shore, on which they have been thrown by the force of the
winds.90), which appears all the year round
in calm weather.Sandra went back to the bedroom.It is an animal much dreaded by bathers.It possesses
an urticaceous apparatus, which produces an effect similar to the
stinging-nettle when applied to the skin.If the animal touches the
fisherman at the moment of being drawn from the water, it is apt to
inflame the part and raise it into pustules._Cassiopea_ and _Cephea_ are two other types belonging to the same
group.In _Cassiopea Andromeda_ (Fig.91), belonging to the first, the
disk is hemispherical, but much depressed, without marginal tentacles or
peduncle, but with a central disk, with four to eight half-moon-shaped
orifices at the side, and throwing off eight to ten branching arms,
fringed with retractile sucking disks._Cephea Cyclophora_, Péron (Fig.92), is another very remarkable form of these strangely-constituted
organisms.* * * * *
Having presented to the reader certain characteristic types of Medusadæ,
we proceed to offer some general remark upon the organization and
functions of these strange creatures.We have, in short, selected these
types because they have been special objects of anatomical and
physiological study to some of our best naturalists.The Medusæ have no other means of breathing but through the skin.We
remark all over the body of these zoophytes certain cutaneous
elongations, disposed so as to favour the exercise of the breathing
function.Certain marginal fringes of extended surface, as well as the
tentacle, are the special seats of the apparatus.The organs of
digestion also present arrangements peculiar to themselves; the mouth is
placed on the lower part of the body, and is pierced at the extremity of
a trumpet-like tube, hanging sometimes like the tongue of a bell.The
walls of the stomach, again, are furnished with a multitude of
appendages, which have their origin in the cavity of the organ, and
which are very elastic.The stomach, furnished with these vibratile
cells, appears to secrete a juice whose function is to decompose the
food and render it digestible.Cassiopea Andromeda (Tilesius).]In some of the Medusadæ the central mouth is absent altogether.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.With the
Rhizostoma, for instance, the stomachal reservoir has no inferior
orifice; it communicates laterally with the canals which descend through
the thickness of the arms, and open at their extremities through a
multitude of small mouths.These are the root-like openings from which
the animals derive their name of Rhizostoma, from the Greek words
ῥίζα, root, and στόμα, mouth.The arms of the Rhizostoma are usually eight in number, the free
extremities of each being slightly enlarged: in these arms many small
openings or mouths occur, which are the entrances to so many ascending
canals communicating with larger ones, as the veins do in the higher
animals: the common trunk canal is thus formed, which directs itself to
the stomach, receiving in its way thither all the lateral branches.A very distinct circulation exists in the Medusæ.The peripheric part of
the stomach suffers the nourishing liquid which has been elaborated in
the digestive cavity to pass: this fluid then circulates through
numerous canals, the existence of which have been clearly traced.It is also a singular fact, that organs of sense seem to have been
discovered in these Medusæ, which early observers believed to be
altogether destitute of organization."During my sojourn on the banks of
the Red Sea," says Ehrenberg, in his work on the _Medusa aurita_,
"although I had many times examined the brownish bodies upon the edge of
the disk of the Medusæ, it is only in the month past that I have
recognized their true nature and function.Each of these bodies consists
of a little yellow button, oval or cylindrical, fixed upon a thin
peduncle.The peduncle is attached to a vesicle, in which the microscope
reveals a glandular body, yellow when the light traverses it, but white
when the light is only reflected on it.From this body issue two
branches, which proceed towards the peduncle or base of the brown body
up to the button or head.I have found that each of these small brown
bodies presents a very distinct red point placed on the dorsal face of
the yellow head; and when I compare this with my other observations of
similar red points in other animals, I find that they greatly resemble
the eyes of the Rotifera and Entomostraca.The bifurcating body placed
at the base of the brown spot appears to be a nervous ganglion, and its
branches may be regarded as optic nerves.Each pedunculated eye presents
upon its lower face a small yellow sac, in which are found, in greater
or smaller numbers, small crystalline bodies clear as water."The
presence of a red pigment in very fine grains is an argument in favour
of the existence of visual organs in these zoophytes, for the small
crystals disseminated in the interior of the organ would no doubt
perform the part of refracting light which is produced by crystalline in
the eyes of vertebrated animals.Moreover, it is found that there are
marginal corpuscles analogous to these brown spots in other species of
Medusæ.They are of a palish yellow, or quite colourless, and enclose
sometimes a single, sometimes many calcareous corpuscles.When they are
colourless, some naturalists have rather taken them for ears reduced to
their most simple expression.The Medusæ are not absolutely destitute of nervous system.We have seen
that they have ganglions, and probably optic nerves.Ehrenberg also
states that they have ganglions at their base, which furnish them with
nervous filaments.Without entering further into the details of their delicate and
complicated structure, we shall pause briefly on their mode of
reproduction.We shall find here physiological phenomena so remarkable
as to appear incredible, had not the researches of modern naturalists
placed the facts beyond all doubt."Which of us," says M. de
Quatrefages, "would not proclaim the prodigy, if he saw a reptile issue
from an egg laid in his court-yard, which afterwards gave birth to an
indefinite number of fishes and birds?Well, the generation of the
Medusæ is at least as marvellous as the fact which we have imagined."Let us note, for example, what takes place with the Rose Aurelia, a
beautiful Medusa, of a pale rose colour, with nearly hemispherical disk,
from four to five inches in diameter, whose edge is furnished with short
russet-brown tentacles; taking for our guide the eloquent and learned
author of the "Metamorphosis in Men and Animals," M. de Quatrefages.The Medusa, designated under the name of Rose Aurelia, lays eggs which
are characterised by the existence of three concentric spheres.These
eggs are transformed into oval larvæ, covered with vibratile cells,
having a slight depression in front.They swim about for a short time
with great activity, much like the infusoria, which they strikingly
resemble in other respects.At the end of forty-eight hours the movements decrease.Aided by the
depression already noted, the larvæ attaches itself to some solid body,
fixing itself to it at this point by the assistance of a thick mucous
matter.A change of form soon takes place: it becomes elongated; its
pedicle is contracted, and its free extremity swells into a club-like
shape.An opening soon presents itself in the centre of this extremity,
through which an internal cavity appears.Four little mammals have now
appeared on the edge, which are elongated in the manner of arms.Others
soon follow: these are the tentacles of a polyp: the young infusoria has
become a polyp!The polyp increases by buds and shoots, just like a strawberry plant,
which throws out its slender stems in all directions, covering all the
neighbouring ground.The young Medusa lives some time under this form.Daniel went to the kitchen.Then one of the polyps
becomes enlarged and its form cylindrical.This cylinder is divided into
from ten to fourteen superposed rings.Sandra moved to the garden.These rings, at first smooth,
form themselves into festoons, and separate into bifurcated thongs; the
intermediate lines become channeled.The animal now resembles a pile of
plates, cut round the edges.In a short time each ring is stirred at the
free edge of its fringe: this becomes contractile.Finally, these annular creatures, obscure in their
lives, isolate themselves.When detached, they begin to swim: from that
time they have only to perfect and modify their form.From being flat,
they become concave on the one side and convex on the other.The
digestive cavity--the gastro-vascular canals--become more decided; the
mouth opens, the tentacles are elongated, the floating marginal cirri
become more and more numerous; and now, after all these metamorphoses,
the Medusa appears: it perfectly resembles the mother.We have already said that recent researches have led to a separation of
a class of animals from the Sertularia, and to their being united with
the Medusæ.Of these creatures we formerly only knew one of the forms,
namely, the polyp form; or, rather, the first stage of it.During their
earliest days they possess a polyp, furnished with tentacles, and a
bell-shaped body.During their medusoid age, they present a central
stomach, with four canals in the form of a cross, and four to eight
tentacles with cirri.The animals constitute the Tubularidæ,
comprehending many genera; among others the Tubularia and Campanularia,
in studying which Van Beneden of Louvain discovered most interesting
facts connected with the subject of alternate generation.The class of zoophytes ranged among the Tubularia have the power of
secreting an inverting tube of a horny nature, in which the fleshy body
can move up and down, expanding its tentacles over the top.Others of
them give forth buds, each of which takes the form of a polyp, and
these, being permanent, give it a shrub-like or branched appearance; it
is now a compound polyp.The tube is branched, and the orifices from
which the polyps expand usually dilate into cups or cells.This is the
condition of the _Tubulari-campanulariadæ_ groups, which are numerous
round our own coast and in the Channel.The Tubularia are plant-like and
horny, rooted by fibres, tubular, and filled with a semi-fluid organic
pulp; polyps naked and fleshy, protruding from the extremity of every
branchlet of the tube, and armed with one or two circles of smooth
filiform tentacles; bulbules soft and naked, germinating from the base
of the tentacles; embryo medusiform."Some modern authors," says Frédol,
"assure us that the tree-like form of these polyps is a degraded and
transitory form of the Medusæ.The Medusa originates the polyp, the
polyp becomes a Medusa."_Tubularia ramea_ so perfectly resembles an old
tree in miniature, deprived of its leaves, that it is difficult to
believe it is not of a vegetable origin; it is now a vigorous tree in
miniature, in full flower, rising from the summit of a brown-spotted
stem, with many branches and tufted shoots, terminating in so many
hydras of a beautiful yellow or brilliant red.ramosa_, of a
brownish colour and horny substance, rising six inches, is rooted by
tortuous, wrinkled fibres, with flexible, smooth, and thread-like
shoots, branching into a doubly permeate form.indivisa_ the
tubes are clustering; its numerous stems are horny, yellow, and from six
to twelve inches in height, about a line in diameter, and marked with
unequal knots from space to space, like the stalk of the oat-straw with
the joints cut off.Their lower extremity is tortuous, attaching itself
readily to shells and stones in deep water, flourishing in deep muddy
bottoms, and upright as a flower, fixed by the tapering root-like
terminations of its horny tube: a flowering animal, having, however,
neither flower nor branch.At the summit of each stem, a double scarlet
corolla is developed of from five to thirty-five petals, in rows, the
external one spreading, those in the interior rising in a tuft; a little
below, the ovarium appears, drooping when ripe like a bunch of
orange- grapes.After a time the petals of the corolla fade,
fall, and die, and a bud replaces them, which produces a new polyp; and
so on.Each apparent
flower throws out a small tube, which terminates it, and each addition
adds one joint more to the axis, which it increases in length.The Campanulariæ differ considerably from the above, the ends of their
branches, whence the polyps issue, being enlarged into a bell-like
shape, whence their name.dichotoma_ is at once the most delicate
and most elegant of the species.It presents a brownish stem, thin as a
thread of silk, but strong and elastic.The polyps are numerous: upon a
tree eight or nine inches high there may be as many hundreds.John went to the bedroom.volubilis_ is a minute microscopic species, living parasitically on
corallines, seaweed, and shelled animals.The stem is a capillary
corneous tube, which creeps and twists itself upon its support, throwing
out at alternate intervals a long slender stalk, twisted throughout or
only partially, which supports a bell-shaped cup of perfect
transparency, and prettily serrated round the brim.Johnston found
the antennæ of a crab so profusely infested with them as to resemble
hairy brushes.It is furnished, according to Hassall, with a delicate
joint or hinge at the base of each little cup--a contrivance designed,
it is imagined, to enable the frail zoophyte the better to elude the
rude contact of the element in which it lives, by allowing it to bend to
a force which it cannot resist.The Campanulariæ increase by budding, the buds being found in much the
same manner as in the Hydræ.It is a simple excrescence, which, in due
time, takes the form of the branch from which it proceeds.These buds
have their birth at certain distances, and form a new polyp.Alongside the Medusæ naturalists place certain marine zoophytes which
are equally remarkable for their beauty and for their curious structure,
the latter being so complicated that their true organization long
remained unknown.They were known, until very recently, under the
designation of Hydrostatic Ac |
garden | Where is Sandra? | They are known in
our days as Siphonophoræ.These inhabitants of the deep are graceful in
form, and are distinguished by their delicate tissues and brilliant
colours.Essentially swimmers, supported by one or many vessels filled
with air--true swimming-bladders, more or less numerous, and of variable
form--they float upon the waves, remaining always on the surface,
whatever may be the state of the sea.Sandra moved to the bathroom.They are natural skiffs, and quite
incapable of immersion.The Siphonophoræ form four orders or families;
namely, the _Diphydæ_, double-bell-shaped animals, one fitting into the
cavity of the other; _Physaliadæ_, having large oblong air-vessels and
numerous tentacles of several forms, long, and pendent from one end of
the shell, with a wrinkled crest; _Vilelladæ_, animals stretching over a
cartilaginous plate with a flat body, an oblique, vertical,
cartilaginous crest above, a tubular mouth below, and surrounded by
numerous short tentacles; _Physophora_, consisting of a slender and
vertical axis, terminating in an air-bladder, carrying laterally
swimming-bladders, which lose themselves amongst a bundle of slender
white filaments.Vilella limbosa (Lamarck).]The Vilellæ assemble together in great shoals; in tropical seas and even
in the Mediterranean they may be seen in fine weather floating on the
surface of the waves.As described by De Blainville, the body is oval or
circular, and gelatinous, sustained in the interior of the dorsal disk
by a solid sub-cartilaginous frame, provided on the lower surface of the
disk with extensible tentacular cirri.The family includes four genera;
namely, _Vilella_, the Holothuria of the Chinese, which the reader will
most readily comprehend from the brief description we shall give of the
Mediterranean Vilella (_V.93), which has been very
minutely examined by M. Charles Vogt, of Geneva, from whose work on the
"Inferior Animals of the Mediterranean" our details are borrowed.limbosa_, was discovered in the
Mediterranean, between Monaco and Mentone, by Forskahl, who most
erroneously took it for a holothuria.On the upper surface of the animal
is a hydrostatic apparatus, the object of which is to maintain its
equilibrium in the ambient element.This apparatus consists of a shield
and a crest, organs of which M. Vogt gives a very detailed description;
but it is on the under surface that the principal organs of the Vilella
are exhibited.These are not seen when the animal swims, because under
such circumstances the vertical, oblique crest only is visible.Sandra went back to the bedroom.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom.The
lower surface is concave, with a sort of mesial nucleus, presenting at
the extremity of a trumpet-like prolongation, whitish and contractile, a
sort of central mouth, surrounded by tentacular cirri, the external row
being much longer than the internal ones.This was formerly thought to
be the stomach of the Vilella.Daniel went to the kitchen.In the present day, this appendage is
known to be the central polyp around which are grouped other whitish and
much smaller appendages, the base being surrounded by little yellow
bunches.Between the
crest and the shield numerous free tentacles present themselves,
vermiform in appearance, cylindrical, and of a sky-blue colour, which
are kept in continual motion.The Vilella is therefore not an isolated individual, but a group or
colony, in which the individuals intended to be reproductive are the
most numerous, and occupy the inferior parts.The central polyp, by its size and structure, is distinguishable at the
first glance from all the other appendages of the lower surface of the
body.It is a cylindrical tube, very contractile and pear-shaped,
swollen into a round ball, or considerably elongated.Its mouth is round
and much dilated; it opens in the cylindrical or trumpet part, which is
contained in a sac in the form of elongated fusci, clothed in the
whitish integuments which formed the body of the polyp when perfect.At
the bottom of the sac two rows of openings are observed, which lead to a
vascular network extending over the whole body; the membranous parts,
while affecting various conditions in their arrangement, are
nevertheless in direct communication with all the reproductive
individuals.It is a general characteristic of all colonies of polypi that the
digestive cavities of the individuals composing them meet and inosculate
in a common vascular system.The Vilellæ present the same conformation.Only in their case the vascular system is extended horizontally, this
being the essential character of the union of all the individuals
constituting the colony, with the canals common to all, in which the
nourishing fluids circulate, elaborated for all and by all.It is a true
picture of social communism realized by Nature.The central polyp is alone destined to absorb the food.M. Vogt has
always found in its interior cavity fragments of the shells of
crustaceans, the remains of small fishes; and he has often seen the hard
parts which resist digestion discharged through the trumpet-like
opening.This central polyp nourishes itself and also all the others,
but is itself sterile.The tentacles are hollow cylinders, completely closed at the extremity.These are strong muscular tubes of considerable thickness, the interior
of which is filled with a transparent liquid.They are enveloped in a
strong membrane of a deep-blue colour.The epidermis is furnished with
small stinging capsules, formed of a sac with comparatively thick walls.If this sac is compressed under the microscope it explodes, opening at a
determinate part, and throwing out an apparatus forming a long stiff
filament, which is implanted on a conical channel and surrounded with
points."I know not," says M. Vogt, "if all this machinery can re-enter
the capsule after it has exploded; but I presume that the animal can
extend itself and withdraw at pleasure.A tentacle of Vilella
sufficiently compressed presents a surface bristling with these cirri,
so as to resemble a brush.The tentacles themselves are in continual
motion, and I have no reason to doubt that the observation of Lesson,
who saw them cover small crustaceans and fishes, may be perfectly true.These stinging organs doubtless serve the same purpose as with other
animals of the same class; namely, to kill the prey which the tentacles
have enabled them to secure."Thus the Vilellæ have their javelins, as
the Greek and Roman warriors had, and a lasso, as the cavaliers of
Mexico and Texas have.The reproducing individuals form the great mass of the appendages
attached to the under surface of the Vilella.The form of the
individuals is much more varied, inasmuch as they are extremely
contractile.Nevertheless, they have considerable resemblance to the
corolla of a hyacinth.These reproductive individuals are, then, at the same time nurses.The
Medusæ originating by budding in the case of those reproductive
individuals, constitute the sexual state of the Vilellæ.They exist, in
short, in two alternate states: the one sexual, producing eggs; in this
state they are isolated individuals of the Medusadæ, which never group
themselves or form colonies: the other aggregate state is non-sexual,
and in it they form swimming colonies, under the special designation of
_Vilellæ_.The Vilellæ, so called by Lamarck, are found widely diffused in the seas
of Europe, Asia, America, and Australia.limbosa_, is
often taken on the southern coast of England.The animals are also met
with far at sea, and often huddled together in considerable masses, old
and young together.Such is a brief account of the strange facts to which the careful study
of the lower class of marine animals initiates us.Naturalists range
along with them the _Rataria_ and _Porpita_.* * * * *
The Rataria have the body oval or circular, sustained by a compressed
sub-cartilaginous framework, much elevated, having a muscular, movable,
longitudinal crest below, and provided in the middle with a free
proboscidiform stomach and a single row of marginal tentacular suckers.De Blainville was inclined to consider the very small animals which
Eschscholtz termed Ratariæ as young and undeveloped _Vilellæ_.M. Vogt
doubts not that the Ratariæ are young Vilellæ which have acquired, by
little and little, the elliptical form, but that the limb is only
furnished at a later period to the reproductive individuals.These
Ratariæ are engendered, according to Vogt, by the naked-eyed Medusæ born
of the Vilellæ, and owe their existence to the eggs produced by these
Medusæ.* * * * *
The Porpitæ constitute, like the Vilellæ, colonies of floating animals
furnished with a cartilaginous, horizontal, and rounded skeleton, but
they are destitute of crest or veil.The body is circular and depressed,
slightly convex above, with an internal circular cartilaginous support,
having the surface marked by concentric striæ crossing other radiating
striæ, the upper surface being covered by a delicate membrane only.The
body is concave below; the under surface is furnished with a great
number of tentacles, the exterior ones being longest, and also with
small cilia, each terminating in a globule, which sometimes contains
air; the interior tentacles are shorter, simple, and fleshy.In the
centre of these tentacula is the mouth, in form of a small proboscis,
leading to a simple stomach surrounded by a somewhat glandular
substance.The editors of the last edition of the "Règne Animal" only
mention one species--_P.Gigantea_, a native of the Mediterranean and
other warm seas, of a beautiful blue colour.De Blainville and others consider with Cuvier that they are only
varieties, which Eschscholtz reunites under one species.Pacifica_ (Lesson), the disk of which is twelve
lines in diameter, without comprehending the tentacles.This disk is
finely radiated on the under surface with a brilliant argentine nacre.The membranous fold which surrounds it is cut into, leaving light and
perfectly straight festoons.It is of a clear celestial blue colour, and
very transparent.Sandra moved to the garden.The tentacles are much compressed, very thin and
cylindrical, of a light blue, and the glands are of an indigo blue
colour.All the reproductive individuals, which are placed in the lower
part of the body, are of a perfect hyaline white.Porpita pacifica (Lesson).]This beautiful Porpita was discovered by Lesson on the Peruvian coast,
where it occurs in swarms closely packed on the surface of the sea."Its
manner of life," says Lesson, "is perfectly analogous to that of the
Vilella.Their locomotion on the sea is purely passive, at least in
appearance.Their disk laid flat on the surface upon the water-line,
leaves them to float freely and in a horizontal direction, the irritable
arms hanging all round them."Physophora hydrostatica (Forskahl).]This family includes the _Physophora_, properly so called, the
_Agalina_, and the _Stephanomina_, for the history of which we are
indebted to the curious observations of M. Vogt.95 is a
representation of _Physophora hydrostatica_, after M. Vogt's memoir.We
see that the animal is composed of a slender vertical axis, terminating
in an aërial bladder, carrying laterally certain vesicles, known as
swimming-balls, which terminate in a bundle of whitish slender threads.The aërial bladder is brilliant and silvery, punctured with red spots.The swimming-bladders are encased in a transparent and somewhat
cartilaginous capsule, which is continued into the common median trunk,
the latter being rose-, hollow, and very contractile; in short,
it presents very delicate muscular fibres, which expand themselves on
the external fan of the capsule, and is closed on all sides.The swimming-bladders are of a glass-like transparency, and of a firm,
compact tissue.Hellmut,
I shall never forget what she has done, and I can assure you that you
have a lovely little daughter."The Director jumped up in his excitement and strode to and fro in the
room.What different enthusiasm from that of a year ago!"You do not know what you are saying, Mrs.Halm," he said, standing
still before her."You are relieving me of most dreadful anxiety.I
have suffered perfect tortures, because I was blaming myself for having
neglected my Cornelia's child.I thought it was too late and that
Cornelli had grown hopelessly stubborn.Now you have come and brought
me back my child so that she even resembles her mother in her eyes and
her whole expression and appearance.John went to the bedroom.My wife was friendly and gay, and
now you tell me that this is Cornelli's disposition, too.""I have to tell you something else, Mr."I am perfectly sure that a child's first impressions are very
important.It is natural that Cornelli missed her mother's guidance,
but she was not by any means a neglected child when she came to me.From what she and Dino have told me I am perfectly sure that Martha
gave Cornelli the best one can possibly give a child on spiritual
education.I esteem old Martha very highly, for she must love and
understand children as few people do.""My wife used to say the same thing, and that is why I had such
confidence in Martha.Daniel travelled to the office.Unfortunately a time came later on when I feared
that she was wrong, and I did not realize what she meant to Cornelli.Mary went back to the office.You have reminded me of my great debt--"
At this moment such loud laughter and rejoicing sounded from below
that both stepped to the open window.Mux was screaming loudly, and seemed quite beside himself."Mama,
Mama," he cried out, "just look at a living goat boy and a real goat!Mux was sitting on the seat of a lovely wicker carriage, with two reins
in one hand and a whip in the other, while a young and slender goat
was pulling him.Agnes and Cornelli were running beside the carriage
as protectors, while Dino held the goat lightly by the reins to keep
her from running off.All the children were screaming with delight at
the wonderful ride.Matthew was standing beside the bushes to watch this trial trip, for
he thought that his help might be needed.He had built the carriage
for Cornelli and had already several times harnessed the goat so as
to teach her how to behave when Cornelli returned.When Matthew had
first shown the little conveyance to the children, Cornelli had said
right away that Mux had to take the first ride in order to realize the
scene he loved so much in his picture book.Mux simply screamed to his mother in wild joy.To see the wonderful
spectacle from near by, she came down to the garden.The Director also left the house, but he went another way.Not long
afterwards he went up Martha's little stairway to the porch where the
old woman sat on her stool mending.Opening the door
she led her visitor into her room, for the porch was very narrow."Martha," he said in a business-like tone, "I have spoiled your business
by taking your boarder away from you forever.That requires a
compensation, and so I have just bought your little cottage from the
farmer over there, besides the little piece of ground in front of it.Now you will have more room for your carnations, and if you manage
well, you can surely have some pleasant days from the rent which you
save.Is this little house really my own, now, and will
I really have a garden besides?But her benefactor would not let her say any more.After heartily
shaking her hand, he hurried away.The large raspberries were peeping out between the green leaves, and
the golden plums were dropping from the heavily laden branches.From
morning till night on these beautiful summer days Mux fairly swam in
uninterrupted bliss.Before he had even opened |
office | Where is Daniel? | Sandra moved to the bathroom.Then the hours of the day
began, each more lovely than the last, and Mux could not tell which
was the best.As the boy spent most of the day in the stable, the hayloft, and the
barn, his mother had been obliged to make him a special stable costume.The little boy loved to watch the milking of the cows, and he never
tired of admiring the horses and the goat.The gardener constantly thought
out pleasant surprises for Mux, who showed a decided taste for farming.If Matthew had to do some important work where Mux was in his way, he
always devised a plan to keep the boy amused elsewhere: "Go down there
to the raspberry hedge, Mux!""The berries are finest
and biggest there, because the sun has cooked them through.Go to the
plum tree afterwards and wait for me!"Mux would obey promptly, wandering over to the plum tree from the
raspberry bushes, which he had lightened considerably.He then would
sit thoughtfully under the plum tree, waiting till Matthew returned.The gardener then shook the tree so mightily that a flood of golden
plums came rolling down over Mux, who could freely enjoy the wealth
about him.If Matthew could not be found and Cornelli and Dino were busy with
their own plans and did not need him, Mux knew another friend who
always gave him a good reception, that friend was Esther.He loved to
find her in the vegetable garden, which was also full of surprises for
him.It was like a marvel to the little boy that the green peas hung
here in abundance, whereas they were only served at home on feast days.He became quite scared when Esther picked a basketful.But when he
warned her, saying, "Don't take them all, for then we won't have any
more," she only laughed and said: "They always grow again; in a week
there will be plenty more."If Mux looked a little timidly at the large cabbage heads, Esther said
to him: "Don't be afraid of them, Mux.If I cook cabbage, everybody
else likes it so much that you won't have to eat it at all, and you
can take the potatoes which I serve with it."Mux often accompanied Esther to the kitchen, where he soon picked up
a lot of useful knowledge.There was no pastry the exact recipe of
which as well as how it tasted Mux could not tell.In this manner he
lived through heavenly days.They were no less heavenly for the other children.Dino and Cornelli
had started the large undertaking of laying out Martha's garden after
their own plan.They were so busy inventing things and carrying them
out that they could hardly ever be found.Agnes struggled with Dino for first place in Cornelli's affection, but
Dino was always the victor.Cornelli never forgot that he had been her
first friend, who had held fast to their friendship.For this she
remained faithful to him.It was a consolation to Agnes that she could play on the lovely piano
whenever she wanted to and that Cornelli was always home in the
evenings, when she could sing with her.Sandra went back to the bedroom.Hellmut would sit in his
arm-chair while the two girls sang one song after another, and he could
never hear enough.Beaming with joy, he would say to Mrs.Halm from
time to time: "The child has her mother's voice, except that her
mother's voice was still fuller and softer."Halm's face would beam, too, as she would say: "Just have a little
patience, Director.You are sure some day to hear Cornelli's voice
when there will be nothing more to desire in it.Her teacher's highest
wish is to train her voice."For answer the father nodded and lay back
in his chair smiling contentedly.No shadows dimmed her eyes, for she
could wander about all day with her paint box from one lovely spot to
another, up to the beech wood or to the hill where the big oak tree
stood.There she could sit on a bench and look down, over the house
and garden, and far below into the wide, green valley.Nika was very
happy to be able to spend all her time in painting, without ever being
disturbed or called away by unwished-for duties.When the mother saw the happy faces of her girls and Dino's improved
health, she felt very happy, too.Suddenly, however, the thought would
rise in her: How will it be when these lovely days are over and we
have to start living again in the narrow confines of town and in the
shadow of those coming years?The holidays were nearing their end, but nobody yet had time to think
of that, for the Director's birthday was drawing near and this was to
be the great feast day for everybody.Halm had asked each of the
children to think out some surprise for Mr.For Mux, however,
she wrote a beautiful birthday verse.As the little boy's head was
filled solely with thoughts of the barn and stable, the kitchen and
the goat cart, the plums, the beetles and ants, it took a great deal
of time and trouble to fix the verse in his memory.Nika, needing no
advice, had long ago decided what to do.Every day as soon as the meals
were over, she silently disappeared.Agnes and Cornelli bolted the
door of the music room and let mysterious songs issue from behind it.When he was left alone
with his mother and Mux one day, and all the others were busy with
their preparations, he said: "Tell me what I could do, mother.""Draw him a picture of the beautiful goat," Mux advised.He knew that
Dino could draw animals well, and to him there was no finer animal in
all the world than the goat."What a knowing goat boy you are, Mux," Dino exclaimed.Despite his
refusal to draw the goat, he had nevertheless gotten an idea from his
little brother."Oh, I'll draw the two brown horses," he called out
joyously.Daniel journeyed to the bedroom."I'll make one trotting and the other walking.So the boy ran happily to the stable, and after that day he and Matthew
had many meetings in secret.When the Director entered the dining room in the morning, such a
beautiful duet resounded from the next room that he was compelled to
draw nearer.Agnes and Cornelli were both singing a lovely song with
such deep feeling that the Director could hardly speak.When they had
ended, he patted them both on the shoulder with fatherly tenderness
and then passed into the next room.Here Mux approached him and said
his verse faultlessly in a loud, clear voice.Daniel went to the kitchen.On the table the Director
found two beautiful drawings of his brown horses, and his joy over
them was so great that he did not put them down for quite a while.But
finally he saw all at once a large picture resting in the middle of
the table.His house, with the surrounding garden, the luminous meadow
with the view toward the valley and the distant mountains beyond, was
painted in such fresh and absolutely natural colors that Mr.This was the view he had loved so passionately
from his childhood.Do you love your home as much as your
father loves it?""Oh yes, Papa, I love it so much!""And I have to think
every day that I never knew how beautiful it was before I went away.But ever since I came home again, I know.Oh, how beautiful it looks
in the picture!"Sandra moved to the garden.Suddenly she exclaimed
passionately: "Oh, Cornelli, if only you didn't have such a beautiful
home!""Agnes," the mother said in alarm, "what unseemly words are you saying?"The Director looked in astonishment at Agnes, whose eyes were flashing
fire while she regarded the painting."Have you had a disagreement with Cornelli?Is that the reason why you
don't want her to have such a beautiful home?"Hellmut, I did not mean it that way.I have never fought
with Cornelli, and I only fight with Dino because he wants to have
Cornelli all the time.If Cornelli didn't have this beautiful home and
if she were like me and had to give up all her music lessons and had
to earn her living, we could do fine things together.She has such a
beautiful voice that we could hire a harp and could travel into strange
cities and sing before the houses.Later on we could give concerts and
begin a singing school.At this outbreak, which no sign from her could check, the mother became
alternately hot and cold from fright.Agnes' eyes still flashed with
passionate excitement like burning coals."I approve of the singing school, but especially of sitting down to
breakfast.John went to the bedroom.I hope very much that we have the usual chocolate to drink
to-day, for it is a good old custom for birthdays which should not be
neglected.So a singing school is to be founded," he continued, while
Mux gazed solemnly at the three huge cakes which were placed beside
the three big chocolate pots."The wandering harp players are a little
too poetical for me, but I like the idea of a school, Agnes.As I,
too, wish to profit from it, I want it to be built on my estate.Lots
of our workmen in the foundry have small children, whose mothers are
busy with the housework and their small babies.So Agnes and Cornelli
are going to found a singing school in Iller-Stream, where all the
children will go, whose mothers have no time for singing.Upon their
arrival the children shall all be given a bowl of milk and a piece of
bread apiece to make their voices fuller.Now we have settled all about
the school.I shall also have my two teachers instructed, so that they
won't ever be out of practice.I have also some work for Nika: she
shall fill my house with lovely pictures from top to bottom.To inspire
her with plenty of new ideas, I am going to send her to her professor
in town for lessons.Dino shall help me keep my two horses in trim by
giving them plenty of exercise, for that will be good for him and them.I can use Mux by having him trained to become the manager of my estate.The good beginning he has made in the knowledge of farming under
Matthew's guidance shall be continued while the ground is covered with
green and the trees are bearing fruit.The mother shall stay here for
the protection of you all.Daniel travelled to the office.Mary went back to the office.So tell me, now, how you like my plan.The children hardly dared to realize that
the words they had just heard were true, and the mother was filled
with deep emotion.She could not utter a word, and tears flowed from
her eyes.Could it be possible that her great sorrow and heavy cares
were suddenly lifted from her?At that moment Mux said loudly: "Yes, we like it very much!"He had
clearly grasped that it meant for him keeping on doing what he had
enjoyed so much under Matthew's and Esther's care.The Director had
to laugh, and continued: "I must have the reply of the chief, my dear
Mrs.Halm, so please listen to my plan.I shall let you manage the
children in the winter, and you shall arrange whatever they are to
learn, but they must come here in the summer when I can enjoy all the
results of their studies.I shall also enjoy the great advantage of
having you manage my house when you are here.Does that suit everybody,
or am I getting more than my share?"she said, offering him her
trembling hand."I do not know how to express what is in my heart.How
can I be grateful enough for such boundless kindness?You cannot know
what your generosity means to us all."Even the children had understood that this unheard-of bliss was true.Nika was the first to run with beaming eyes to the Director and to
seize his hand, but she could find no words to show her gratitude.Agnes and Dino, too, had run towards the Director, and the latter did
not know how to shake all the hands that were offered to him.Mux, who
could find no access to his benefactor, climbed up on a chair, and
putting his arms about him from behind, screamed a thousand words of
thanks right into the Director's ears.The wild rejoicing became louder
and louder.Sandra journeyed to the kitchen."Cornelli," said the father at last, "give thanks to your foster-mother!She has earned them, for she has brought joy back to our house."Cornelli did it with a full and willing heart, for she realized what
the children's mother had done for her.Soon afterwards, Dino and
Cornelli ran away for they had had a simultaneous thought.They did
not want to wait another moment before bringing Martha the wonderful
news.Nobody on earth could share their boundless happiness as Martha
would.Martha's heart overflowed when she heard what had been proposed.Between
freely flowing tears she said again and again: "Oh, Cornelli!God has ordained it much more
wisely than we could have wished and prayed for.From now on, we shall
leave everything entirely in His hands.We'll do that as long as we
live, won't we, Cornelli?"Cornelli nodded with understanding; she had not forgotten how she had
complained to Martha, and how Martha had told her to seek God's help.Martha had assured her that the help would always come, even if it
revealed itself differently from the way she expected.Now it had all
turned out so gloriously, and so much more splendidly than Cornelli
could ever have imagined!There had never been such rejoicing in the house as Agnes started when
she and Nika had retired to their room in the evening and Cornelli had
come to pay her accustomed little evening visit.She skipped and danced
about the room like a newly freed bird and called out: "Now our troubles
are over and no secret fears can scare us any more.Now we can sing
all we want and can live here with you every summer, Cornelli.Oh, we
are the happiest creatures in all the world, and it has all happened
through you, Cornelli; you wonderful, incomparable Cornelli!"Agnes, seizing her friend's hand, jumped about with her in the room
at such a rate that Nika had to calm her.The elder sister warned Agnes
that the Director might have to repent of his kindness to them if their
lengthy stay began with such violent noise.One could see, though,
that Nika was willing enough to join the others in their antics."The day on which you came to our house, Cornelli," she said, "has
really been more blessed than any other day in the year.So we must
always celebrate it as a great feast day."Nika had lately been very sweet and friendly to Cornelli, and the
younger girl had been very happy about it.But had never dreamed that
Nika would ever speak to her like this.When Esther heard that the Halm family was going to remain for the
present and return every year, she said: "Oh, I am glad.That is much
better than if some other people I know had to come back.It is better
for me and for Cornelli, as well as for the whole house.""Oh, if I could only come again, too!"said Trina, whose face in these
days was always beaming.Mary journeyed to the bedroom."I do not see why you shouldn't.You don't need to worry, Trina.If Cornelli and I wish you well, we'll
see that you come here again."The Director did not like the thought of losing his large new family
so soon, so he said one day to Mrs.Halm: "I am very anxious to prolong
the children's holiday this year till late in the fall.Dino, who is
more in need of his studies than the others, is least able to go back
to town, because he ought to be thoroughly strengthened and made
absolutely well.If it should be necessary for him to study, we have
our good Mr.Maelinger, who can give him lessons."The mother agreed,
for she also was very anxious to have Dino as well as possible, and
she was very grateful to her benefactor for making this possible."There is another reason which makes a longer stay necessary," continued
the Director."As I fully intend to visit you and the children several
times during the winter, I have rented a more comfortable apartment
for you, because I was rather afraid of finding your tower-like dwelling
a little inconvenient for me.The apartment will be ready for you in
the late autumn, and I want you to get all the rest you can before you
move there, for it is sure to involve some additional work for you.I hope sincerely that you do not resent my step.""I can only thank you continually," said the mother now.The children
arrived at the same moment, and all further words from her were
swallowed up in their loud and storm |
garden | Where is Sandra? | Cornelli
had already told them of her father's plan to let them all stay in
Iller-Stream till winter time.When all the fruit had ripened on the trees and Dino was shaking one
of them and Cornelli another, Matthew looked over from the barn door,
happily rubbing his hands.Right under the tree he saw the other
children, one biting into an apple, the other into a pear."It certainly is different now from last year," he said, smiling to
himself.Sandra went back to the bathroom."There is not a rotten plum or a lonesome pear in all the
orchard."Every evening, when the last songs resounded in the house, there were
some of thanks and praise which rose up to Heaven like a loud rejoicing.More than once the Director said to his little daughter, when she gave
him her goodnight kiss: "Did not God mean well with us, Cornelli, when
he guided Martha to write such an inviting notice to the paper?"It was the sort of a night when I always felt
glad to cast off coat and shoes, don a robe and slippers, and sit down
with the curtains drawn, a lighted pipe, and the soft glow of a lamp
falling across the pages of my book.I am, I admit, always strangely
susceptible to the shut-in sense of comfort afforded by a pipe, the
steady yellow of a light, and the magic of printed lines at a time of
elemental turmoil and stress.It was with a feeling little short of positive annoyance that I heard
the door-bell ring.Indeed, I confess, I was tempted to ignore it
altogether at first.But as it rang again, and was followed by a rapid
tattoo of rapping, as of fists pounded against the door itself, I
rose, laid aside my book, and stepped into the hall.First switching on a porch-light, I opened the outer door, to reveal
the figure of an old woman, somewhat stooping, her head covered by a
shawl, which sloped wetly from her head to either shoulder, and was
caught and held beneath her chin by one bony hand."Doctor," she began in a tone of almost frantic excitement.Perhaps I may as well introduce myself here as anywhere else.George Murray, still, as at the time of which I write, in charge of
the State Mental Hospital in a Western State.The institution was not
then very large, and since taking my position at the head of its staff
I had found myself with considerable time for my study along the lines
of human psychology and the various powers and aberrations of the
mind.Also, I may as well confess, as a first step toward a better
understanding of my part in what followed, that for years before
coming to the asylum I had delved more or less deeply into such
studies, seeking to learn what I might concerning both the normal and
the abnormal manifestations of mental force.There is good reading and highly entertaining, I assure you, in the
various philosophies dealing with life, religion, and the several
beliefs regarding the soul of man.I was therefore fairly conversant
not only with the Occidental creeds, but with those of the Oriental
races as well.And I knew that certain of the Eastern sects had
advanced in their knowledge far beyond our Western world.I had even
endeavored to make their knowledge mine, so far as I could, in certain
lines at least, and had from time to time applied some of that
knowledge to the treatment of cases in the institution of which I was
the head.But I was not thinking of anything like that as I looked at the
shawl-wrapped face of the little bent woman, wrinkled and wry enough
to have been a very part of the storm which beat about her and blew
back the skirts of my lounging-robe and chilled my ankles.I lived in
a residence detached from the asylum buildings proper, but none the
less a part of the institution; and, as a matter of fact, my sole
thought was a feeling of surprise that any one should have come here
to find me, and despite the woman's manifest state of anxiety and
haste, a decided reluctance to go with her quickly or otherwise on
such a night.I rather temporized: "But, my dear woman, surely there are other
doctors for you to call.I am
connected with the asylum--" "And that is the very reason I always
said I would come for you if anything happened to Mr.I inquired, interested in spite of myself at this plainly
premeditated demand for my service.But
he's been that way for a week."I exclaimed in almost an involuntary fashion, startled by her
words.Clearly there was something here I wasn't getting into fully, and my
interest aroused.The whole affair seemed to be taking on an
atmosphere of the peculiar, and it was equally clear that the gusty
doorway was no place to talk."Goss," said she, without making any move to enter."I'm house-keeper
for Mr.Jason, but I'll not be comin' in unless you say you'll go.""Then come in without any more delay," I replied, making up my mind.I
knew Croft in a way--by sight at least.He was a big fellow with light
hair and a splendid physique, who had been pointed out to me shortly
after my arrival.Once I had even got close enough to the man to look
into his eyes.They were gray, and held a peculiar something in their
gaze which had arrested my attention at once.Jason Croft had the eyes
of a mystic--of a student of those very things I myself had studied
more or less.They were the eyes of one who saw deeper than the mere objective
surface of life, and the old woman's words at the last had waked up my
interest in no uncertain degree.I had decided I would go with her to
Croft's house, which was not very far down the street, and see, if I
might, for myself just what had occurred to send her rushing to me
through the night.I gave her a seat, said I would get on my shoes and coat, and went
back into the room I had left some moments before.There I dressed
quickly for my venture into the storm, adding a raincoat to my other
attire, and was back in the hall inside five minutes at most.* * * * *
We set out at once, emerging into the wind-driven rain, my long
raincoat flapping about my legs and the little old woman tottering
along at my side.And what with the rain, the wind, and the unexpected
summons, I found myself in a rather strange frame of mind.The whole
thing seemed more like some story I had read than a happening of real
life, particularly so as my companion kept pace with me and uttered no
sound save at times a rather rasping sort of breath.The whole thing
became an almost eery experience as we hastened down the storm-swept
street.Then we turned in at a gate and went up toward the large house I knew
to be Croft's, and the little old woman unlocked a heavy front door
and led me into a hall.It was a most unusual hall, too, its walls
draped with rare tapestries and rugs, its floor covered with other
rugs such as I had never seen outside private collections, lighted by
a hammered brass lantern through the pierced sides of which the rays
of an electric light shone forth.Across the hall she scuttered, still in evident haste, and flung open
a door to permit me to enter a room which was plainly a study.It was
lined with cases of books, furnished richly yet plainly with chairs, a
heavy desk, and a broad couch, on which I saw in one swift glance the
stretched-out body of Croft himself.He lay wholly relaxed, like one sunk in heavy sleep, his eyelids
closed, his arms and hands dropped limply at his sides, but no visible
sign of respiration animating his deep full chest.Toward him the little woman gestured with a hand, and stood watching,
still with her wet shawl about her head and shoulders, while I
approached and bent over the man.My fingers sought his pulse and
failed to find it at all.But his body was limp as I lifted an arm and
dropped it.There was no rigor, yet there was no evidence of decay,
such as must follow once rigor has passed away.I had brought
instruments with me as a matter of course.I took them from my pocket
and listened for some sound from the heart.I thought I found the
barest flutter, but I wasn't sure.I tested the tension of the eyeball
under the closed lids and found it firm.I straightened and turned to
face the little old woman."He doesn't appear to be dead," I replied.Goss, what did you mean by saying he ought to have been back
three days ago?She fingered at her lips with one bony hand."Why--awake, sir," she
said at last."Because, sir," she faltered, "that's what he says when he wakes up.I--I guess I just said it because he does,
doctor.I--was worrit when he didn't come back--when he didn't wake
up, to-night, an' it took to rainin'.I reckon maybe it was th' storm
scared me, sir."Her words had, however, given me a clue."He's been like this before,
then?"But never more than four days without telling me he would.Th' first time was months ago--but it's been gettin' oftener and
oftener, till now all his sleeps are like this.He told me not to be
scared--an' to--to never bother about him--to--to just let him alone;
but--I guess I was scared to-night, when it begun to storm an' him
layin' there like that.It was like havin' a corpse in the house."I began to gain a fuller appreciation of the situation.I myself had
seen people in a cataleptic condition, had even induced the state in
subjects myself, and it appeared to me that Jason Croft was in a
similar state, no matter how induced."He studies, sir--just studies things like that."Goss gestured
at the cases of books."He don't have to work, you know.I followed her arm as she swept it about the glass-fronted cases.I
brought my glances back to the desk in the center of the room, between
the woman and myself as we stood.Upon it I spied another volume lying
open.It was unlike any book I had ever seen, yellowed with age; in
fact not a book at all, but a series of parchment pages tied together
with bits of silken cord.I took the thing up and found the open pages covered with marginal
notes in English, although the original was plainly in Sanskrit, an
ancient language I had seen before, but was wholly unable to read.The
notations, however, threw some light into my mind, and as I read them
I forgot the storm, the little old woman--everything save what I read
and the bearing it held on the man behind me on the couch.I felt sure
they had been written by his own hand, and they bore on the subject of
astral projection--the ability of the soul to separate itself, or be
separated, from the physical body and return to its fleshy husk again
at will.I finished the open pages and turned to others.The notations were
still present wherever I looked.At last I turned to the very front
and found that the manuscript was by Ahmid, an occult adept of
Hindustan, who lived somewhere in the second or third century of the
Christian era.With a strange sensation I laid down the silk-bound pages.Over a thousand years had come and passed since they
were written by the dead Ahmid's hand.Yet I had held them to-night,
and I felt sure Jason Croft had held them often--read them and
understood them, and that the condition in which I found him this
night was in some way subtly connected with their store of ancient
lore.And suddenly I sensed the storm and the little old woman and the
silent body of the man at my back again, with a feeling of something
uncanny in the whole affair.* * * * *
"You can do nothing for him?"I looked up and into her eyes, dark and bright and questioning as she
stood still clutching her damp shawl."I'm not so sure of that," I said.Sandra went back to the garden.Croft's condition is
rather--peculiar.Whatever I do will require quiet--that I am alone
with him for some time.I think if I can be left here with him for
possibly an hour, I can bring him back."I had used the woman's former words almost.And I
saw she noticed the fact, for a slight smile gathered on her faded
lips."You'll bring him back," she said."Mind you,
doctor, th' trouble is with Mr.'Twas for that I've been telling myself I would come for you, if he
forgot to come back some time, like I've been afraid he would.""But--the trouble is not with Mr.Goss, I believe he is a very learned man.How long have you known him, may I ask?""Ever since he was a boy, except when he was travelin'," she returned.Me an' my husband kept up th' place while he was
gone.""And now if you will let me try what I can do."I'll set out in th' hall," she agreed, and turned in her
rapid putter from the room.Left alone, I took a chair, dragged it to the side of the couch, and
studied my man.So far as I could judge, he was at least six feet tall, and
correspondingly built.His hair was heavy, almost tawny, and, as I
knew, his eyes were gray.The whole contour of his head and features
showed what appeared to me remarkable intelligence and strength, the
nose finely chiseled, the mouth well formed and firm, the chin
unmistakably strong.That Croft was an unusual character I felt more
and more as I sat there.His very condition, which, from what I had
learned from the little old woman and his own notation on the margins
of Ahmid's writings, I believed self-induced, would certainly indicate
that.But my own years of study had taught me no little of hypnosis,
suggestion, and the various phases of the subconscious mind.I had
developed no little power with various patients, or "subjects," as a
hypnotist calls them, who from time to time had submitted themselves
to my control.Wherefore I felt that I knew about what to do to waken
the sleeping objective mind of the man on the couch.I had asked for
an hour, and the time had been granted.It behooved me to get to work.I concentrated my mind to the exclusion of all else upon my
task, sending a mental call to the soul of Jason Croft, wherever it
might be, commanding it to return to the body it had temporarily
quitted of its own volition, and once more animate it to a conscious
life.I forgot the strangeness of the situation, the rattle of the
rain against the glass panes of the room.And after a time I began
speaking to the form beside which I sat, as to a conscious person,
firmly repeating over and over my demand for the presence of Jason
Croft--demanding it, nor letting myself doubt for a single instant
that the demand would be given heed in time.In the end it came to seem that I sat
there and struggled against some intangible, invisible force which
resisted all my efforts.I look back now on the time spent there that
night as an ordeal such as I never desire to again attempt.I had asked for an hour, because when I asked I never
dreamed the thing I had attempted, the thing which is yet to be
related, concerning the weird, yet true narrative, as I fully believe,
of Jason Croft.I had then no conception of how far his venturesome spirit had plumbed
the universe.If I thought of him at all, it was merely as some
experimenter who might have need of help, rather than as an adept of
adepts, who had transcended all human accomplishments in his line of
research and thought.In my own blindness I had fancied that his overlong period in his
cataleptic trance might even be due to some inability on his part to
reanimate his own body, after leaving it where it lay.I thought of
myself as possibly aiding him in the task by what I would do in the
time for which I had asked |