the complete essays of john galsworthy

8/10/2019 The Complete Essays of John Galsworthy

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The Complete Essays of John Galsworthy

by John Galsworthy

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Title% The Complete Essays of John Galsworthy

&uthor% John Galsworthy

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admiration, we became conscious of the odour of a full!flavoured ciar.

Yes!!in the skittle!alley a entleman was standin who wore a bowler

hat,

a briht brown suit, pink tie, and very yellow boots. 7is head was

round, his cheeks fat and well!coloured, his lips red and full under a

black moustache, and he was reardin us throuh very thick and

half!closed eyelids.

"erceivin him to be the proprietor of the hih and cosmopolitan mind,

we

accosted him.

@Good!dayD@ he replied% @4 spik Enlish. Been in &murrica yes.@

@You have a lovely place here.@

3weepin a lance over the skittle!alley, he sent forth a lon puff of

smoke then, turnin to my companion of the politer seF with the air

of

one who has made himself perfect master of a forein tonue, he smiled,

and spoke.

@Too!AuietD@

@"recisely the name of your inn, perhaps, suests!!!!@

@4 chane all that!!soon 4 call it &nlo!&merican hotel.@

@&hD yes you are very up!to!date already.@

7e closed one eye and smiled.

7avin passed a few more compliments, we saluted and walked on and,

comin presently to the ede of the cliff, lay down on the thyme and the

crumbled leaf!dust. &ll the small sinin birds had lon been shot and

eaten there came to us no sound but that of the waves swimmin in on a

entle south wind. The wanton creatures seemed stretchin out white

arms

to the land, flyin desperately from a sea of such stupendous serenity

and over their bare shoulders their hair floated back, pale in the

sunshine. 4f the air was void of sound, it was full of scent!!that

delicious and enlivenin perfume of minled um, and herbs, and sweet

wood bein burned somewhere a lon way off and a silky, olden warmth

slanted on to us throuh the olives and umbrella pines. $are wine!red

violets were rowin near. )n such a cliff miht Theocritus have lain,

spinnin his sons on that divine sea )dysseus should have passed. &nd

we felt that presently the oat!od must put his head forth from behind

arock.

4t seemed a little Aueer that our friend in the bowler hat should move

and breathe within one short fliht of a cuckoo from this home of "an.

)ne could not but at first feelinly remember the old Boer sayin% @)

God, what thins man sees when he oes out without a unD@ But soon the

infinite inconruity of this #utaposition bean to produce within one a

curious eaerness, a sort of half!philosophical deliht. 4t bean to

seem


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too ood, almost too romantic, to be true. To think of the ramophone

wedded to the thin sweet sinin of the olive leaves in the evenin

wind

to remember the scent of his rank ciar marryin with this wild incense

to read that enchanted name, @4nn of TranAuillity,@ and hear the bland

and affable remark of the entleman who owned it!!such were, indeed,

phenomena to stimulate souls to speculation. &nd all unconsciously one

bean to #ustify them by thouhts of the other inconruities of

eistence!!the strane, the passionate inconruities of youth and ae,

wealth and poverty, life and death the wonderful odd bedfellows of this

world all those lurid contrasts which haunt a man?s spirit till

sometimes he is ready to cry out% @'ather than live where such thins

can

be, let me dieD@

$ike a wild bird trackin throuh the air, one?s meditation wandered on,

followin that trail of thouht, till the chance encounter became

spiritually luminous. That 4talian entleman of the world, with his

bowler hat, his skittle!alley, his ramophone, who had planted himself

down in this temple of wild harmony, was he not "roress itself!!the

blind fiure with the stomach full of new meats and the brain of rawnotions ;as he not the very embodiment of the wonderful child,

Civilisation, so possessed by a new toy each day that she has no time to

master its use!!naive creature lost amid her own discoveriesD ;as he

not

the very symbol of that which was makin economists thin, thinkers pale,

artists haard, statesmen bald!!the symbol of 4ndiestion 4ncarnateD

(id he not, delicious, ross, unconscious man, personify beneath his

&merico!4talian polish all those rank and primitive instincts, whose

satisfaction necessitated the million miseries of his fellows all those

thick rapacities which stir the hatred of the humane and thin!skinnedD

&nd yet, one?s meditation could not stop there!!it was not convenient to

the heartD

& little above us, amon the olive!trees, two blue!clothed peasants, man

and woman, were atherin the fruit!!from some such couple, no doubt,

our

friend in the bowler hat had sprun more @virile@ and adventurous than

his brothers, he had not stayed in the home roves, but had one forth

to

drink the waters of hustle and commerce, and come back!!what he was.

&nd

he, in turn, would beet children, and havin made his pile out of his

?&nlo!&merican hotel? would place those children beyond the coarser

influences of life, till they became, perhaps, even as our selves, the

salt of the earth, and despised him. &nd 4 thouht% @4 do not despise

those peasants!!far from it. 4 do not despise myself!!no more than

reason why, then, despise my friend in the bowler hat, who is, afterall, but the necessary link between them and me@ 4 did not despise the

olive!trees, the warm sun, the pine scent, all those material thins

which had made him so thick and stron 4 did not despise the olden,

tenuous imainins which the trees and rocks and sea were startin in my

own spirit. ;hy, then, despise the skittle!alley, the ramophone, those

epressions of the spirit of my friend in the billy!cock hat To

despise

them was ridiculousD


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&nd suddenly 4 was visited by a sensation only to be described as a sort

of smilin certainty, emanatin from, and, as it were, still tinlin

within every nerve of myself, but yet vibratin harmoniously with the

world around. 4t was as if 4 had suddenly seen what was the truth of

thins not perhaps to anybody else, but at all events to me. &nd 4

felt

at once tranAuil and elated, as when somethin is met with which rouses

and fascinates in a man all his faculties.

@6or,@ 4 thouht, @if it is ridiculous in me to despise my friend!!that

perfect marvel of disharmony!!it is ridiculous in me to despise

anythin.

4f he is a little bit of continuity, as perfectly loical an epression

of a necessary phase or mood of eistence as 4 myself am, then, surely,

there is nothin in all the world that is not a little bit of

continuity,

the epression of a little necessary mood. Yes,@ 4 thouht, @he and 4,

and those olive!trees, and this spider on my hand, and everythin in the

8niverse which has an individual shape, are all fit epressions of the

separate moods of a reat underlyin =ood or "rinciple, which must be

perfectly ad#usted, volvin and revolvin on itself. 6or if 4t did notvolve and revolve on 4tself, 4t would peter out at one end or the other,

and the imae of this peterin out no man with his mental apparatus can

conceive. Therefore, one must conclude 4t to be perfectly ad#usted and

everlastin. But if 4t is perfectly ad#usted and everlastin, we are

all

little bits of continuity, and if we are all little bits of continuity

it

is ridiculous for one of us to despise another. 3o,@ 4 thouht, @4 have

now proved it from my friend in the billy!cock hat up to the 8niverse,

and from the 8niverse down, back aain to my friend.@

&nd 4 lay on my back and looked at the sky. 4t seemed friendly to my

thouht with its smile, and few white clouds, saffron!tined like the

plumes of a white duck in sunliht. @&nd yet,@ 4 wondered, @thouh my

friend and 4 may be eAually necessary, 4 am certainly irritated by him,

and shall as certainly continue to be irritated, not only by him, but by

a thousand other men and so, with a liht heart, you may o on bein

irritated with your friend in the bowler hat, you may o on lovin those

peasants and this sky and sea. But, since you have this theory of life,

you may not despise any one or any thin, not even a skittle!alley, for

they are all threaded to you, and to despise them would be to blaspheme

aainst continuity, and to blaspheme aainst continuity would be to deny

Eternity. $ove you cannot help, and hate you cannot help but contempt

is!!for you!!the soverein idiocy, the irreliious fancyD@

There was a bee weihin down a blossom of thyme close by, and

underneaththe stalk a very uly little centipede. The wild bee, with his little

dark body and his busy bear?s les, was lovely to me, and the creepy

centipede ave me shudderins but it was a pleasant thin to feel so

sure that he, no less than the bee, was a little mood epressin himself

out in harmony with (esins tiny thread on the miraculous Auilt. &nd 4

looked at him with a sudden Hest and curiosity it seemed to me that in

the mystery of his Aueer little creepins 4 was en#oyin the 3upreme

=ystery and 4 thouht% @4f 4 knew all about that wrilin beast, then,


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indeed, 4 miht despise him but, truly, if 4 knew all about him 4

should

know all about everythin!!=ystery would be one, and 4 could not bear

to

liveD@

3o 4 stirred him with my finer and he went away.

@But how@!!4 thouht @about such as do not feel it ridiculous to

despise

how about those whose temperaments and reliions show them all thins so

plainly that they know they are riht and others wron They must be in

a

bad wayD@ &nd for some seconds 4 felt sorry for them, and was

discouraed. But then 4 thouht% @9ot at all!!obviously notD 6or if

they do not find it ridiculous to feel contempt, they are perfectly

riht

to feel contempt, it bein natural to them and you have no business to

be sorry for them, for that is, after all, only your euphemism for

contempt. They are all riht, bein the epressions of contemptuous

moods, havin reliions and so forth, suitable to these moods and thereliion of your mood would be Greek to them, and probably a matter for

contempt. But this only makes it the more interestin. 6or thouh to

you, for instance, it may seem impossible to worship =ystery with one

lobe of the brain, and with the other to eplain it, the thouht that

this may not seem impossible to others should not discourae you it is

but another little piece of that =ystery which makes life so wonderful

and sweet.@

The sun, fallen now almost to the level of the cliff, was slantin

upward

on to the burnt!red pine bouhs, which had taken to themselves a Auaint

resemblance to the reat brown limbs of the wild men Titian drew in his

paan pictures, and down below us the sea!nymphs, still swimmin to

shore, seemed eaer to embrace them in the enchanted roves. &ll was

fused in that olden low of the sun oin down!sea and land athered

into one transcendent mood of liht and colour, as if =ystery desired to

bless us by showin how perfect was that worshipful ad#ustment, whose

secret we could never know. &nd 4 said to myself% @9one of those

thouhts of yours are new, and in a vaue way even you have thouht them

before but all the same, they have iven you some little feelin of

tranAuillity.@

&nd at that word of fear 4 rose and invited my companion to return

toward

the town. But as we stealthy crept by the @)steria di TranAuillita,@

our

friend in the bowler hat came out with a un over his shoulder and wavedhis hand toward the 4nn.

@You come aain in two week!!4 chane all thatD &nd now,@ he added, @4

o to shoot little bird or two,@ and he disappeared into the olden haHe

under the olive!trees.

& minute later we heard his un o off, and returned homeward with a

prayer.


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1I1.

=&G"4E )>E' T7E 74$$

4 lay often that summer on a slope of sand and coarse rass, close to

the

Cornish sea, tryin to catch thouhts and 4 was tryin very hard when 4

saw them comin hand in hand.

3he was dressed in blue linen, and a little cloud of honey!coloured

hair

her small face had serious eyes the colour of the chicory flowers she

was

holdin up to sniff at!!a clean sober little maid, with a very touchin

upward look of trust. 7er companion was a stron, active boy of perhaps

fourteen, and he, too, was serious!!his deep!set, blacklashed eyes

looked

down at her with a Aueer protective wonder the while he eplained in asoft voice broken up between two aes, that eact process which bees

adopt to draw honey out of flowers. )nce or twice this hoarse but

charmin voice became Auite fervent, when she had evidently failed to

follow it was as if he would have been impatient, only he knew he must

not, because she was a lady and youner than himself, and he loved her.

They sat down #ust below my nook, and bean to count the petals of a

chicory flower, and slowly she nestled in to him, and he put his arm

round her. 9ever did 4 see such sedate, sweet loverin, so trustin on

her part, so uardianlike on his. They were like, in miniature!!!thouh

more dewy,!!those sober couples who have lon lived toether, yet whom

one still catches lookin at each other with confidential tenderness,

and

in whom, one feels, passion is atrophied from never havin been in use.

$on 4 sat watchin them in their cool communion, half!embraced, talkin

a little, smilin a little, never once kissin. They did not seem shy

of

that it was rather as if they were too much each other?s to think of

such a thin. &nd then her head slid lower and lower down his shoulder,

and sleep buttoned the lids over those chicory!blue eyes. 7ow careful

he

was, then, not to wake her, thouh 4 could see his arm was ettin

stiffD

7e still sat, ood as old, holdin her, till it bean Auite to hurt me

to see his shoulder thus in chancery. But presently 4 saw him draw his

arm away ever so carefully, lay her head down on the rass, and leanforward to stare at somethin. 3traiht in front of them was a mapie,

balancin itself on a stripped twi of thorn!tree. The aitatin bird,

painted of niht and day, was makin a Aueer noise and flirtin one

win,

as if tryin to attract attention. 'isin from the twi, it circled,

vivid and stealthy, twice round the tree, and flew to another a doHen

paces off. The boy rose he looked at his little mate, looked at the

bird, and bean Auietly to move toward it but utterin aain its Aueer

call, the bird lided on to a third thorn!tree. The boy hesitated


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then!!but once more the bird flew on, and suddenly dipped over the hill.

4 saw the boy break into a run and ettin up Auickly, 4 ran too.

;hen 4 reached the crest there was the black and white bird flyin low

into a dell, and there the boy, with hair streamin back, was rushin

helter!skelter down the hill. 7e reached the bottom and vanished into

the dell. 4, too, ran down the hill. 6or all that 4 was pryin and

must

not be seen by bird or boy, 4 crept warily in amon the trees to the

ede

of a pool that could know but little sunliht, so thickly arched was it

by willows, birch!trees, and wild haHel. There, in a swin of bouhs

above the water, was perched no pied bird, but a youn, dark!haired irl

with, danlin, bare, brown les. &nd on the brink of the black water

oldened, with fallen leaves, the boy was crouchin, aHin up at her

with all his soul. 3he swun #ust out of reach and looked down at him

across the pool. 7ow old was she, with her brown limbs, and her

leamin,

slantin eyes )r was she only the spirit of the dell, this elf!thin

swinin there, entwined with bouhs and the dark water, and covered

witha shift of wet birch leaves. 3o strane a face she had, wild, almost

wicked, yet so tender a face that 4 could not take my eyes from. 7er

bare toes #ust touched the pool, and flicked up drops of water that fell

on the boy?s face.

6rom him all the sober steadfastness was one already he looked as wild

as she, and his arms were stretched out tryin to reach her feet. 4

wanted to cry to him% @Go back, boy, o backD@ but could not her elf

eyes held me dumb!they looked so lost in their tender wildness.

&nd then my heart stood still, for he had slipped and was strulin in

deep water beneath her feet. ;hat a aHe was that he was turnin up to

her!!not frihtened, but so lonin, so desperate and hers how

triumphant, and how happyD

&nd then he clutched her foot, and clun, and climbed and bendin down,

she drew him up to her, all wet, and clasped him in the swin of bouhs.

4 took a lon breath then. &n orane leam of sunliht had flamed in

amon the shadows and fell round those two where they swun over the

dark

water, with lips close toether and spirits lost in one another?s, and

in

their eyes such drownin ecstasyD &nd then they kissedD &ll round me

pool, and leaves, and air seemed suddenly to swirl and melt!!4 could see

nothin plainD . . . ;hat time passed!!4 do not know!!before their

faces slowly aain became visibleD 7is face the sober boy?s!!was turnedaway from her, and he was listenin for above the whisperin of leaves

a

sound of weepin came from over the hill. 4t was to that he listened.

&nd even as 4 looked he slid down from out of her arms back into the

pool, and bean strulin to ain the ede. ;hat rief and lonin in

her wild face thenD But she did not wail. 3he did not try to pull him

back that elfish heart of dinity could reach out to what was comin,

it


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could not dra at what was one. 8nmovin as the bouhs and water, she

watched him abandon her.

3lowly the strulin boy ained land, and lay there, breathless. &nd

still that sound of lonely weepin came from over the hill.

$istenin, but lookin at those wild, mournin eyes that never moved

from

him, he lay. )nce he turned back toward the water, but fire had died

within him his hands dropped, nerveless!!his youn face was all

bewilderment.

&nd the Auiet darkness of the pool waited, and the trees, and those lost

eyes of hers, and my heart. &nd ever from over the hill came the little

fair maiden?s lonely weepin.

Then, slowly drain his feet, stumblin, half!blinded, turnin and

turnin to look back, the boy roped his way out throuh the trees

toward

that sound and, as he went, that dark spirit!elf, abandoned, claspin

her own lithe body with her arms, never moved her aHe from him.

4, too, crept away, and when 4 was safe outside in the pale evenin

sunliht, peered back into the dell. There under the dark trees she was

no loner, but round and round that cae of passion, flutterin and

wailin throuh the leaves, over the black water, was the mapie,

flihtin on its twiliht wins.

4 turned and ran and ran till 4 came over the hill and saw the boy and

the little fair, sober maiden sittin toether once more on the open

slope, under the hih blue heaven. 3he was nestlin her tear!stained

face aainst his shoulder and speakin already of indifferent thins.

&nd he!!he was holdin her with his arm and watchin over her with eyes

that seemed to see somethin else.

&nd so 4 lay, hearin their sober talk and aHin at their sober little

fiures, till 4 awoke and knew 4 had dreamed all that little alleory of

sacred and profane love, and from it had returned to reason, knowin no

more than ever which was which.

1I1*.

37EE"!37E&'49G

6rom early mornin there had been bleatin of sheep in the yard, so thatone knew the creatures were bein sheared, and toward evenin 4 went

alon to see. Thirty or forty naked!lookin hosts of sheep were penned

aainst the barn, and perhaps a doHen still inhabitin their coats.

4nto

the wool of one of these bulky ewes the farmer?s small, yellow!haired

dauhter was twistin her fist, hustlin it toward 6ate thouh pulled

almost off her feet by the frihtened, stubborn creature, she never let

o, till, with a despairin couh, the ewe had passed over the threshold

and was fast in the hands of a shearer. &t the far end of the barn,


10/123

close by the doors, 4 stood a minute or two before shiftin up to watch

the shearin. 4nto that dim, beautiful home of ae, with its reat

rafters and mellow stone archways, the June sunliht shone throuh

loopholes and chinks, in thin lamour, powderin with its very

straneness the dark cathedraled air, where, hih up, clun a fo of old

rey cobwebs so thick as ever were the stalactites of a hue cave. &t

this end the scent of sheep and wool and men had not yet routed that

home

essence of the barn, like the savour of acorns and witherin beech

leaves.

They were shearin by hand this year, nine of them, countin the

postman,

who, thouh farm!bred, @did?n putt much to the shearin?,@ but had come

to

round the sheep up and ive eneral aid.

3ittin on the creatures, or with a le firmly crooked over their heads,

each shearer, even the two boys, had an air of oin at it in his own

way. 4n their white canvas shearin suits they worked very steadily,

almost in silence, as if drowsed by the @click!clip, click!clip@ of theshears. &nd the sheep, but for an occasional wrile of les or head,

lay Auiet enouh, havin an inborn sense perhaps of the fitness of

thins, even when, once in a way, they lost more than wool lad too,

mayhap, to be rid of their matted vestments. 6rom time to time the

little damsel offered each shearer a #u and lass, but no man drank

till

he had finished his sheep then he would et up, stretch his cramped

muscles, drink deep, and almost instantly sit down aain on a fresh

beast. &nd always there was the buHH of flies swarmin in the sunliht

of the open doorway, the dry rustle of the pollarded lime!trees in the

sharp wind outside, the bleatin of some released ewe, upset at her own

nakedness, the scrape and shuffle of heels and sheep?s limbs on the

floor, toether with the @click!clip, click!clip@ of the shears.

&s each ewe, finished with, struled up, helped by a friendly shove,

and

bolted out daHedly into the pen, 4 could not help wonderin what was

passin in her head!!in the heads of all those unceremoniously treated

creatures and, movin nearer to the postman, 4 said%

@They?re really very ood, on the whole.@

7e looked at me, 4 thouht, Aueerly.

@Yaas,@ he answered @=r. =olton?s the best of them.@

4 looked askance at =r. =olton but, with his knee crooked round a younewe, he was shearin calmly.

@Yes,@ 4 admitted, @he is certainly ood.@

@Yaas,@ replied the postman.

Edin back into the darkness, away from that uncomprehendin youth, 4

escaped into the air, and passin the remains of last year?s stacks

under


11/123

the tall, topplin elms, sat down in a field under the bank. 4t seemed

to

me that 4 had food for thouht. 4n that little misunderstandin between

me and the postman was all the essence of the difference between that

state of civilisation in which sheep could prompt a sentiment, and that

state in which sheep could not.

The heat from the droppin sun, not far now above the moorline, struck

full into the ferns and lon rass of the bank where 4 was sittin, and

the mides rioted on me in this last warmth. The wind was barred out,

so

that one had the full sweetness of the clover, fast becomin hay, over

which the swallows were wheelin and swoopin after flies. &nd far up,

as it were the crown of 9ature?s beautiful devourin circle, a buHHard

hawk, almost stationary on the air, floated, intent on somethin

pleasant

below him. & number of little hens crept throuh the ate one by one,

and came round me. 4t seemed to them that 4 was there to feed them and

they held their neat red or yellow heads to one side and the other,

inAuirin with their beady eyes, surprised at my stillness. They were

pretty with their speckled feathers, and as it seemed to me, plump andyoun, so that 4 wondered how many of them would in time feed me.

6indin, however, that 4 ave them nothin to eat, they went away, and

there arose, in place of their cluckin, the thin sinin of air passin

throuh some lon tube. 4 knew it for the whinin of my do, who had

nosed me out, but could not et throuh the padlocked ate. &nd as 4

lifted him over, 4 was lad the postman could not see me!!for 4 felt

that

to lift a do over a ate would be aainst the principles of one for

whom

the connection of sheep with ood behaviour had been too strane a

thouht. &nd it suddenly rushed into my mind that the time would no

doubt

come when the conduct of apples, bein plucked from the mother tree,

would inspire us, and we should say% @They?re really very oodD@ &nd 4

wondered, were those future watchers of apple!atherin farther from me

than 4, watchin sheep!shearin, from the postman 4 thouht, too, of

the

pretty dreams bein dreamt about the land, and of the people who dreamed

them. &nd 4 looked at that land, covered with the sweet pinkish!reen

of

the clover, and considered how much of it, throuh the medium of sheep,

would find its way into me, to enable me to come out here and be eaten

by

mides, and speculate about thins, and conceive the sentiment of how

ood the sheep were. &nd it all seemed Aueer. 4 thouht, too, of a

world

entirely composed of people who could see the sheen ripplin on thatclover, and feel a sort of sweet elation at the scent of it, and 4

wondered how much clover would be sown then =any thins 4 thouht of,

sittin there, till the sun sank below the moor line, the wind died off

the clover, and the mides slept. 7ere and there in the iris!coloured

sky a star crept out the soft!hootin owls awoke. But still 4

linered,

watchin how, one after another, shapes and colours died into twiliht

and 4 wondered what the postman thouht of twiliht, that inconvenient

state, when thins were neither dark nor liht and 4 wondered what the


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sheep were thinkin this first niht without their coats. Then,

slinkin

alon the hede, noiseless, unheard by my sleepin spaniel, 4 saw a

tawny

do stealin by. 7e passed without seein us, lickin his lean chops.

@Yes, friend,@ 4 thouht, @you have been after somethin very unholy

you

have been diin up buried lamb, or some desirable person of that

kindD@

3neakin past, in this sweet niht, which stirred in one such sentiment,

that houlish cur was like the omnivorousness of 9ature. &nd it came to

me, how wonderful and Aueer was a world which embraced within it, not

only this red loatin do, fresh from his feast on the decayin flesh

of

lamb, but all those hundreds of beins in whom the siht of a fly with

one le shortened produced a Auiver of compassion. 6or in this savae,

slinkin shadow, 4 knew that 4 had beheld a manifestation of divinity no

less than in the smile of the sky, each minute rowin more starry.

;ithwhat 7armony!!4 thouht!!can these two be enwrapped in this round world

so fast that it cannot be movedD ;hat secret, marvellous, all!pervadin

"rinciple can harmonise these thinsD &nd the old words ?ood? and

?evil? seemed to me more than ever Auaint.

4t was almost dark, and the dew fallin fast 4 roused my spaniel to o

in.

)ver the hih!walled yard, the barns, the moon!white porch, dusk had

brushed its velvet. Throuh an open window came a roarin sound. =r.

=olton was sinin @The 7appy ;arrior,@ to celebrate the finish of the

shearin. The bi doors into the arden, passed throuh, cut off the

full sweetness of that son for there the owls were already masters of

niht with their music.

)n the dew!whitened rass of the lawn, we came on a little dark beast.

=y spaniel, likin its savour, stood with his nose at point but, bein

called off, 4 could feel him obedient, still Auiverin, under my hand.

4n the field, a wan huddle in the blackness, the dismantled sheep lay

under a holly hede. The wind had died it was mist!warm.

1I1

E>)$8T4)9

Comin out of the theatre, we found it utterly impossible to et a

taicab and, thouh it was rainin slihtly, walked throuh $eicester

3Auare in the hope of pickin one up as it returned down "iccadilly.

9umbers of hansoms and four!wheelers passed, or stood by the curb,

hailin us feebly, or not even attemptin to attract our attention, but

every tai seemed to have its load. &t "iccadilly Circus, losin

patience, we beckoned to a four!wheeler and resined ourselves to a

lon,


13/123

slow #ourney. & sou?!westerly air blew throuh the open windows, and

there was in it the scent of chane, that wet scent which visits even

the

hearts of towns and inspires the watcher of their myriad activities with

thouht of the restless 6orce that forever cries% @)n, onD@ But

radually the steady patter of the horse?s hoofs, the rattlin of the

windows, the slow thuddin of the wheels, pressed on us so drowsily that

when, at last, we reached home we were more than half asleep. The fare

was two shillins, and, standin in the lampliht to make sure the coin

was a half!crown before handin it to the driver, we happened to look

up.

This cabman appeared to be a man of about sity, with a lon, thin face,

whose chin and droopin rey moustaches seemed in permanent repose on

the

up!turned collar of his old blue overcoat. But the remarkable features

of his face were the two furrows down his cheeks, so deep and hollow

that

it seemed as thouh that face were a collection of bones without

coherent

flesh, amon which the eyes were sunk back so far that they had lost

their lustre. 7e sat Auite motionless, aHin at the tail of his horse.&nd, almost unconsciously, one added the rest of one?s silver to that

half!crown. 7e took the coins without speakin but, as we were turnin

into the arden ate, we heard him say%

@Thank you you?ve saved my life.@

9ot knowin, either of us, what to reply to such a curious speech, we

closed the ate aain and came back to the cab.

@&re thins so very bad@

@They are,@ replied the cabman. @4t?s done with!!is this #ob. ;e?re

not

wanted now.@ &nd, takin up his whip, he prepared to drive away.

@7ow lon have they been as bad as this@

The cabman dropped his hand aain, as thouh lad to rest it, and

answered incoherently%

@Thirty!five year 4?ve been drivin? a cab.@

&nd, sunk aain in contemplation of his horse?s tail, he could only be

roused by many Auestions to epress himself, havin, as it seemed, no

knowlede of the habit.

@4 don?t blame the tais, 4 don?t blame nobody. 4t?s come on us, that?swhat it has. 4 left the wife this mornin with nothin in the house.

3he was sayin to me only yesterday% ?;hat have you brouht home the

last

four months? ?"ut it at si shillins a week,? 4 said. ?9o,? she

said,

?seven.? ;ell, that?s riht!!she enters it all down in her book.@

@You are really oin short of food@


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The cabman smiled and that smile between those two deep hollows was

surely as strane as ever shone on a human face.

@You may say that,@ he said. @;ell, what does it amount to Before 4

picked you up, 4 had one eihteen!penny fare to!day and yesterday 4

took

five shillins. &nd 4?ve ot seven bob a day to pay for the cab, and

that?s low, too. There?s many and many a proprietor that?s broke and

one!!every bit as bad as us. They let us down as easy as ever they

can

you can?t et blood from a stone, can you@ )nce aain he smiled. @4?m

sorry for them, too, and 4?m sorry for the horses, thouh they come out

best of the three of us, 4 do believe.@

)ne of us muttered somethin about the "ublic.

The cabman turned his face and stared down throuh the darkness.

@The "ublic@ he said, and his voice had in it a faint surprise. @;ell,

they all want the tais. 4t?s natural. They et about faster in them,

and time?s money. 4 was seven hours before 4 picked you up. &nd thenyou

was lookin? for a tai. Them as take us because they can?t et better,

they?re not in a ood temper, as a rule. &nd there?s a few old ladies

that?s frihtened of the motors, but old ladies aren?t never very free

with their money!!can?t afford to be, the most of them, 4 epect.@

@Everybody?s sorry for you one would have thouht that!!!!@

7e interrupted Auietly% @3orrow don?t buy bread . . . . 4 never had

nobody ask me about thins before.@ &nd, slowly movin his lon face

from side to side, he added% @Besides, what could people do They can?t

be epected to support you and if they started askin? you Auestions

they?d feel it very awkward. They know that, 4 suspect. )f course,

there?s such a lot of us the hansoms are pretty nih as bad off as we

are. ;ell, we?re ettin? fewer every day, that?s one thin.@

9ot knowin whether or no to manifest sympathy with this etinction, we

approached the horse. 4t was a horse that @stood over@ a ood deal at

the knee, and in the darkness seemed to have innumerable ribs. &nd

suddenly one of us said% @=any people want to see nothin but tais on

the streets, if only for the sake of the horses.@

The cabman nodded.

@This old fellow,@ he said, @never carried a deal of flesh. 7is rub

don?t put spirit into him nowadays it?s not up to much in Auality, but

he ets enouh of it.@

@&nd you don?t@

The cabman aain took up his whip.

@4 don?t suppose,@ he said without emotion, @any one could ever find

another #ob for me now. 4?ve been at this too lon. 4t?ll be the

workhouse, if it?s not the other thin.@


15/123

&nd hearin us mutter that it seemed cruel, he smiled for the third

time.

@Yes,@ he said slowly, @it?s a bit ?ard on us, because we?ve done

nothin

to deserve it. But thins are like that, so far as 4 can see. )ne

thin

comes pushin? out another, and so you o on. 4?ve thouht about it!!you

et to thinkin? and worryin? about the rihts o? thins, sittin? up here

all day. 9o, 4 don?t see anythin for it. 4t?ll soon be the end of us

now!!can?t last much loner. &nd 4 don?t know that 4?ll be sorry to

have

done with it. 4t?s pretty well broke my spirit.@

@There was a fund ot up.@

@Yes, it helped a few of us to learn the motor!drivin? but what?s the

ood of that to me, at my time of life 3ity, that?s my ae 4?m not

the only one!!there?s hundreds like me. ;e?re not fit for it, that?s

the

fact we haven?t ot the nerve now. 4t?d want a mint of money to helpus. &nd what you say?s the truth!!people want to see the end of us.

They want the tais!!our day?s over. 4?m not complainin you asked me

about it yourself.@

&nd for the third time he raised his whip.

@Tell me what you would have done if you had been iven your fare and

#ust sipence over@

The cabman stared downward, as thouh puHHled by that Auestion.

@(one ;hy, nothin. ;hat could 4 have done@

@But you said that it had saved your life.@

@Yes, 4 said that,@ he answered slowly @4 was feelin? a bit low. You

can?t help it sometimes it?s the thin comin? on you, and no way out of

it!!that?s what ets over you. ;e try not to think about it, as a

rule.@

&nd this time, with a @Thank you, kindlyD@ he touched his horse?s flank

with the whip. $ike a thin aroused from sleep the forotten creature

started and bean to draw the cabman away from us. >ery slowly they

travelled down the road amon the shadows of the trees broken by

lampliht. &bove us, white ships of cloud were sailin rapidly across

the dark river of sky on the wind which smelled of chane. &nd, after

the cab was lost to siht, that wind still brouht to us the dyin soundof the slow wheels.

1I1.

'4(49G 49 =43T


16/123

;et and hot, havin her winter coat, the mare eactly matched the

drenched fo!coloured beech!leaf drifts. &s was her wont on such misty

days, she danced alon with head held hih, her neck a little arched,

her

ears pricked, pretendin that thins were not what they seemed, and now

and then viorously tryin to leave me planted on the air. 3tones which

had rolled out of the lane banks were her especial oblins, for one such

had maltreated her nerves before she came into this ball!room world, and

she had not forotten.

There was no wind that day. )n the beech!trees were still #ust enouh

of

coppery leaves to look like fires lihted hih!up to air the eeriness

but most of the twis, pearled with water, were patterned very naked

aainst universal rey. Berries were few, ecept the pink spindle one,

so far the most beautiful, of which there were more than Earth enerally

vouchsafes. There was no sound in the deep lanes, none of that sweet,

overhead sihin of yesterday at the same hour, but there was a Auality

of silence!!a dumb mist murmuration. ;e passed a tree with a proud

pieon sittin on its top spire, Auite too heavy for the twi delicacy

below undisturbed by the mare?s hoofs or the creakin of saddleleather,

he let us pass, absorbed in his world of tranAuil turtledoves. The mist

had thickened to a white, infinitesimal rain!dust, and in it the trees

bean to look strane, as thouh they had lost one another. The world

seemed inhabited only by Auick, soundless wraiths as one trotted past.

Close to a farm!house the mare stood still with that etreme suddenness

peculiar to her at times, and four black pis scuttled by and at once

became white air. By now we were both hot and inclined to clin closely

toether and take liberties with each other 4 tellin her about her

nature, name, and appearance, toether with comments on her manners and

she ivin forth that sterterous, sweet snuffle, which beins under the

star on her forehead. )n such days she did not sneeHe, reservin those

epressions of her #oy for sunny days and the crisp winds. &t a forkin

of the ways we came suddenly on one rey and three brown ponies, who

shied round and flun away in front of us, a vision of pretty heads and

haunches tanled in the thin lane, till, conscious that they were beyond

their beat, they faced the bank and, one by one, scrambled over to #oin

the other hosts out on the dim common.

(ippin down now over the road, we passed hounds oin home. "ied,

dumb!footed shapes, paddin alon in that soft!eyed, remote world of

theirs, with a tall ridin splash of red in front, and a tall splash of

ridin red behind. Then throuh a ate we came on to the moor, amonst

whitened furHe. The mist thickened. & curlew was whistlin on its

invisible way, far up and that wistful, wild callin seemed the very

voice of the day. :eepin in view the lint of the road, we allopedre#oicin, both of us, to be free of the #o #o of the lanes.

&nd first the voice of the curlew died then the lint of the road

vanished and we were Auite alone. Even the furHe was one no shape of

anythin left, only the black, peaty round, and the thickenin mist.

;e

miht as well have been that lonely bird crossin up there in the blind

white nothinness, like a human spirit wanderin on the undiscovered

moor


17/123

of its own future.

The mare #umped a pile of stones, which appeared, as it were, after we

had passed over and it came into my mind that, if we happened to strike

one of the old Auarry pits, we should infallibly be killed. 3omehow,

there was pleasure in this thouht, that we miht, or miht not, strike

that old Auarry pit. The blood in us bein hot, we had pure #oy in

charin its white, impalpable solidity, which made way, and at once

closed in behind us. There was reat fun in this yard!by!yard discovery

that we were not yet dead, this flyin, shelterless challene to

whatever

miht lie out there, five yards in front. ;e felt supremely above the

wish to know that our necks were safe we were happy, pantin in the

vapour that beat aainst our faces from the sheer speed of our

allopin.

3uddenly the round rew lumpy and made up!hill. The mare slackened

pace we stopped. Before us, behind, to riht and left, white vapour.

9o sky, no distance, barely the earth. 9o wind in our faces, no wind

anywhere. &t first we #ust ot our breath, thouht nothin, talked a

little. Then came a chillness, a faint clutchin over the heart. The

mare snuffled we turned and made down!hill. &nd still the mistthickened, and seemed to darken ever so little we went slowly, suddenly

doubtful of all that was in front. There came into our minds visions,

so

distant in that darkenin vapour, of a warm stall and maner of oats of

tea and a lo fire. The mist seemed to have finers now, lon, dark

white, crawlin finers it seemed, too, to have in its sheer silence a

sort of muttered menace, a shuddery lurkinness, as if from out of it

that spirit of the unknown, which in hot blood we had #ust now so

leefully mocked, were creepin up at us, intent on its veneance. 3ince

the round no loner sloped, we could not o down!hill there were no

means left of tellin in what direction we were movin, and we stopped

to

listen. There was no sound, not one tiny noise of water, wind in trees,

or man not even of birds or the moor ponies. &nd the mist darkened.

The

mare reached her head down and walked on, smellin at the heather every

time she sniffed, one?s heart Auivered, hopin she had found the way.

3he threw up her head, snorted, and stood still and there passed #ust

in

front of us a pony and her foal, shapes of scamperin dusk, whisked like

blurred shadows across a sheet. 7oof!silent in the lon heather!!as

ever

were visitin hosts!!they were one in a flash. The mare pluned

forward, followin. But, in the feel of her allop, and the feel of my

heart, there was no more that ecstasy of facin the unknown there was

only the cold, hasty dread of loneliness. 6ar asunder as the poles were

those two sensations, evoked by this same motion. The mare swervedviolently and stopped. There, passin within three yards, from the same

direction as before, the soundless shapes of the pony and her foal flew

by aain, more intanible, less dusky now aainst the darker screen.

;ere we, then, to be haunted by those bewilderin uncanny ones, flittin

past ever from the same direction This time the mare did not follow,

but

stood still knowin as well as 4 that direction was Auite lost. 3oon,

with a whimper, she picked her way on aain, smellin at the heather.

&nd the mist darkenedD


18/123

Then, out of the heart of that dusky whiteness, came a tiny sound we

stood, not breathin, turnin our heads. 4 could see the mare?s eye

fied and strainin at the vapour. The tiny sound rew till it became

the mutterin of wheels. The mare dashed forward. The mutterin ceased

untimely but she did not stop turnin abruptly to the left, she slid,

scrambled, and dropped into a trot. The mist seemed whiter below us we

were on the road. &nd involuntarily there came from me a sound, not

Auite a shout, not Auite an oath. 4 saw the mare?s eye turn back,

faintly derisive, as who should say% &lone 4 did itD Then slowly,

comfortably, a little ashamed, we #oed on, in the mood of men and

horses when daner is over. 3o pleasant it seemed now, in one short

half!hour, to have passed throuh the circle!swin of the emotions, from

the ecstasy of hot recklessness to the clutchin of chill fear. But the

meetin!point of those two sensations we had left out there on the

mysterious moorD ;hy, at one moment, had we thouht it finer than

anythin on earth to risk the breakin of our necks and the net,

shuddered at bein lost in the darkenin mist with winter niht fast

comin on

&nd very luuriously we turned once more into the lanes, en#oyin thepast, scentin the future. Close to home, the first little eddy of wind

stirred, and the son of drippin twis bean an owl hooted, honey!

soft,

in the fo. ;e came on two farm hands mendin the lane at the turn of

the avenue, and, curled on the top of the bank, their cosy red collie

pup, waitin for them to finish work for the day. 7e raised his sharp

nose and looked at us dewily. ;e turned down, paddin softly in the wet

fo!red drifts under the beechtrees, whereon the last leaves still

flickered out in the darkenin whiteness, that now seemed so little

eerie. ;e passed the rey!reen skeleton of the farm!yard ate. & hen

ran across us, cluckin, into the dusk. The maHe drew her lon,

home!comin snuffle, and stood still.

1I1.

T7E "')CE334)9

4n one of those corners of our land canopied by the fumes of blind

industry, there was, on that day, a lull in darkness. & fresh wind had

split the customary heaven, or roof of hell was sweepin lon drifts of

creamy clouds across a blue still pallid with reek. The sun even

shone!!a sun whose face seemed white and wonderin. &nd under that rare

sun all the little town, amon its sla heaps and few tall chimneys, had

an air of livin faster. 4n those continuous courts and alleys, where

the women worked, smoke from each little fore rose and dispersed intothe wind with strane alacrity amonst the women, too, there was that

same eaerness, for the sunshine had crept in and was makin pale all

those dark!raftered, sooted ceilins which covered them in, toether

with

their immortal comrades, the small open furnaces. &bout their work they

had been busy since seven o?clock their feet pressin the leather luns

which fanned the conical heaps of lowin fuel, their hands pokin into

the low a thin iron rod till the end could be curved into a fiery hook

snappin it with a mallet threadin it with tons on to the chain


19/123

hammerin, closin the link and without a second?s pause, thrustin

the

iron rod aain into the low. &nd while they worked they chattered,

lauhed sometimes, now and then sihed. They seemed of all aes and all

types from her who looked like a peasant of "rovence, broad, brown, and

stron, to the weariest white consumptive wisp from old women of

seventy, with stralin rey hair, to fifteen!year!old irls. 4n the

cottae fores there would be but one worker, or two at most in the

shop

fores four, or even five, little lowin heaps four or five of the

rimy, pale lun!bellows and never a moment without a fiery hook about

to take its place on the rowin chains, never a second when the thin

smoke of the fores, and of those lives consumin slowly in front of

them, did not escape from out of the diny, whitewashed spaces past the

dark rafters, away to freedom.

But there had been in the air that mornin somethin more than the white

sunliht. There had been anticipation. &nd at two o?clock bean

fulfilment. The fores were stilled, and from court and alley forth

came

the women. 4n their raed workin clothes, in their best clothes!!solittle different in bonnets, in hats, bareheaded with babies born and

unborn, they swarmed into the hih street and formed across it behind

the

band. & strane, mapie, #ay!like flock black, white, patched with

brown and reen and blue, shiftin, chatterin, lauhin, seemin

unconscious of any purpose. & thousand and more of them, with faces

twisted and scored by those myriad deformins which a desperate

town!toilin and little food fasten on human visaes yet with hardly a

sinle evil or brutal face. 3eeminly it was not easy to be evil or

brutal on a wae that scarcely bound soul and body. & thousand and more

of the poorest!paid and hardest!worked human beins in the world.

)n the pavement alonside this strane, acAuiescin assembly of revolt,

about to march in protest aainst the conditions of their lives, stood a

youn woman without a hat and in poor clothes, but with a sort of beauty

in her rouh!haired, hih cheek!boned, dark!eyed face. 3he was not one

of them yet, by a stroke of 9ature?s irony, there was raven on her

face

alone of all those faces, the true look of rebellion a hauhty, almost

fierce, uneasy look!!an untamed look. )n all the other thousand faces

one could see no bitterness, no fierceness, not even enthusiasm only a

half!stolid, half!vivacious patience and eaerness as of children oin

to a party.

The band played and they bean to march.

$auhin, talkin, wavin flas, tryin to keep step with the sameepression slowly but surely comin over every face the future was not

only the present!!this happy present of marchin behind the discordance

of a brass band this strane present of crowded movement and lauhter

in

open air.

;e others!!some doHen accidentals like myself, and the tall, rey!haired

lady interested in @the people,@ toether with those few kind spirits in


20/123

chare of @the show@!!marched too, a little self!conscious, desirin

with

a vaue military sensation to hold our heads up, but not too much, under

the eyes of the curious bystanders. These!!nearly all men!!were

well!wishers, it was said, thouh their faces, pale from their own work

in shop or furnace, epressed nothin but apathy. They wished well,

very

dumbly, in the presence of this new thin, as if they found it Aueer

that

women should be doin somethin for themselves Aueer and rather

danerous. & few, indeed, shuffled alon between the column and the

little hopeless shops and rimy factory sheds, and one or two

accompanied

their women, carryin the baby. 9ow and then there passed us some

better!to!do citiHen!a housewife, or lawyer?s clerk, or ironmoner, with

lips pressed rather tihtly toether and an air of takin no notice of

this disturbance of traffic, as thouh the whole thin were a rather

poor

#oke which they had already heard too often.

3o, with lauhter and a continual crack of voices our #ay!like crewswun

on, swayin and thumpin in the strane ecstasy of irreflection, happy

to

be movin they knew not where, nor reatly why, under the visitin sun,

to the sound of murdered music. ;henever the band stopped playin,

discipline became as tatterdemalion as the very flas and arments but

never once did they lose that look of essential order, as if indeed they

knew that, bein the worst!served creatures in the Christian world, they

were the chief uardians of the inherent dinity of man.

7atless, in the very front row, marched a tall slip of a irl,

arrow!straiht, and so thin, with dirty fair hair, in a blouse and skirt

apin behind, ever turnin her pretty face on its pretty slim neck from

side to side, so that one could see her blue eyes sweepin here, there,

everywhere, with a sort of flower!like wildness, as if a secret

embracin

of each moment forbade her to let them rest on anythin and break this

pleasure of #ust marchin. 4t seemed that in the never!still eyes of

that anaemic, happy irl the spirit of our march had elected to enshrine

itself and to make thence its little ecursions to each ecstatic

follower. Just behind her marched a little old woman!!a maker of

chains,

they said, for forty years!!whose black slits of eyes were sparklin,

who fluttered a bit of ribbon, and reeled with her sense of the

eAuisite

humour of the world. Every now and then she would make a rush at one of

her leaders to demonstrate how immoderately lorious was life. &nd eachtime she spoke the woman net to her, laden with a heavy baby, went off

into sAueals of lauhter. Behind her, aain, marched one who beat time

with her head and waved a little bit of stick, intoicated by this noble

music.

6or an hour the paeant wound throuh the de#ected street, pursuin

neither method nor set route, till it came to a deserted sla!heap,

selected for the speech!makin. 3lowly the motley reiment swun into

that rim amphitheatre under the pale sunshine and, as 4 watched, a


21/123

strane fancy visited my brain. 4 seemed to see over every raed head

of those marchin women a little yellow flame, a thin, flickerin leam,

spirin upward and blown back by the wind. & trick of the sunliht,

maybe )r was it that the life in their hearts, the inetinuishable

breath of happiness, had for a moment escaped prison, and was flutterin

at the pleasure of the breeHe

3ilent now, #ust en#oyin the sound of the words thrown down to them,

they stood, unimainably patient, with that happiness of they knew not

what ildin the air above them between the patchwork ribands of their

poor flas. 4f they could not tell very much why they had come, nor

believe very much that they would ain anythin by comin if their

demonstration did not mean to the world Auite all that oratory would

have

them think if they themselves were but the poorest, humblest, least

learned women in the land!!for all that, it seemed to me that in those

tattered, wistful fiures, so still, so trustful, 4 was lookin on such

beauty as 4 had never beheld. &ll the elaborated lory of thins made,

the perfected dreams of aesthetes, the embroideries of romance, seemed

as

nothin beside this sudden vision of the wild oodness native in humblehearts.

1I1.

& C7'43T4&9

)ne day that summer, 4 came away from a luncheon in company of an old

Collee chum. &lways ecitin to meet those one hasn?t seen for years

and as we walked across the "ark toether 4 kept lookin at him askance.

7e had altered a ood deal. $ean he always was, but now very lean, and

so upriht that his parson?s coat was overhun by the back of his lon

and narrow head, with its dark riHHled hair, which thouht had not yet

loosened on his forehead. 7is clean!shorn face, so thin and oblon, was

remarkable only for the eyes% dark!browed and lashed, and coloured like

briht steel, they had a fiity in them, a sort of absence, on one

couldn?t tell what business. They made me think of torture. &nd his

mouth always ently smilin, as if its pinched curly sweetness had been

commanded, was the mouth of a man crucified!!yes, crucifiedD

Trampin silently over the parched rass, 4 felt that if we talked, we

must infallibly disaree his straiht!up, narrow forehead so suested

a

nature divided within itself into compartments of iron.

4t was hot that day, and we rested presently beside the 3erpentine. )nits briht waters were the usual youn men, scullin themselves to and

fro with their usual sad enery, the usual promenaders loiterin and

watchin them, the usual do that swam when it did not bark, and barked

when it did not swim and my friend sat smilin, twistin between his

thin finers the little old cross on his silk vest.

Then all of a sudden we did bein to talk and not of those matters of

which the well!bred naturally converse!!the habits of the rarer kinds of

ducks, and the careers of our Collee friends, but of somethin never


22/123

mentioned in polite society.

&t lunch our hostess had told me the sad story of an unhappy marriae,

and 4 had itched spiritually to find out what my friend, who seemed so

far away from me, felt about such thins. &nd now 4 determined to find

out.

@Tell me,@ 4 asked him, @which do you consider most important!!the

letter

or the spirit of Christ?s teachins@

@=y dear fellow,@ he answered ently, @what a AuestionD 7ow can you

separate them@

@;ell, is it not the essence of 7is doctrine that the spirit is all

important, and the forms of little value (oes not that run throuh all

the 3ermon on the =ount@

@Certainly.@

@4f, then,@ 4 said, @Christ?s teachin is concerned with the spirit, doyou consider that Christians are #ustified in holdin others bound by

formal rules of conduct, without reference to what is passin in their

spirits@

@4f it is for their ood.@

@;hat enables you to decide what is for their ood@

@3urely, we are told.@

@9ot to #ude, that ye be not #uded.@

@)hD but we do not, ourselves, #ude we are but impersonal ministers of

the rules of God.@

@&hD (o eneral rules of conduct take account of the variations of the

individual spirit@

7e looked at me hard, as if he bean to scent heresy.

@You had better eplain yourself more fully,@ he said. @4 really don?t

follow.@

@;ell, let us take a concrete instance. ;e know Christ?s sayin of the

married that they are one fleshD But we know also that there are wives

who continue to live the married life with dreadful feelins of

spiritualrevolt wives who have found out that, in spite of all their efforts,

they

have no spiritual affinity with their husbands. 4s that in accordance

with the spirit of Christ?s teachin, or is it not@

@;e are told!!!!@ he bean.

@4 have admitted the definite commandment% ?They twain shall be one


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flesh.? There could not be, seeminly, any more riid law laid down

how

do you reconcile it with the essence of Christ?s teachin 6rankly, 4

want to know% 4s there or is there not a spiritual coherence in

Christianity, or is it only a atherin of laws and precepts, with no

inherent connected spiritual philosophy@

@)f course,@ he said, in his lon!sufferin voice, @we don?t look at

thins like that!!for us there is no Auestionin.@

@But how do you reconcile such marriaes as 4 speak of, with the spirit

of Christ?s teachin 4 think you ouht to answer me.@

@)hD 4 can, perfectly,@ he answered @the reconciliation is throuh

sufferin. ;hat a poor woman in such a case must suffer makes for the

salvation of her spirit. That is the spiritual fulfilment, and in such

a

case the #ustification of the law.@

@3o then,@ 4 said, @sacrifice or sufferin is the coherent thread of

Christian philosophy@

@3ufferin cheerfully borne,@ he answered.

@You do not think,@ 4 said, @that there is a touch of etravaance in

that ;ould you say, for eample, that an unhappy marriae is a more

Christian thin than a happy one, where there is no sufferin, but only

love@

& line came between his brows. @;ellD@ he said at last, @4 would say, 4

think, that a woman who crucifies her flesh with a cheerful spirit in

obedience to God?s law, stands hiher in the eyes of God than one who

underoes no such sacrifice in her married life.@ &nd 4 had the feelin

that his stare was passin throuh me, on its way to an unseen oal.

@You would desire, then, 4 suppose, sufferin as the reatest blessin

for yourself@

@7umbly,@ he said, @4 would try to.@

@&nd naturally, for others@

@God forbidD@

@But surely that is inconsistent.@

7e murmured% @You see, 4 have suffered.@

;e were silent. &t last 4 said% @Yes, that makes much which was dark

Auite clear to me.@

@)h@ he asked.

4 answered slowly% @9ot many men, you know, even in your profession,

have

really suffered. That is why they do not feel the difficulty which you

feel in desirin sufferin for others.@


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7e threw up his head eactly as if 4 had hit him on the #aw% @4t?s

weakness in me, 4 know,@ he said.

@4 should have rather called it weakness in them. But suppose you are

riht, and that it?s weakness not to be able to desire promiscuous

sufferin for others, would you o further and say that it is Christian

for those, who have not eperienced a certain kind of sufferin, to

force

that particular kind on others@

7e sat silent for a full minute, tryin evidently to reach to the bottom

of my thouht.

@3urely not,@ he said at last, @ecept as ministers of God?s laws.@

@You do not then think that it is Christian for the husband of such a

woman to keep her in that state of sufferin!!not bein, of course, a

minister of God@

7e bean stammerin at that% @4!!4!!!!@ he said. @9o that is, 4 thinknot!not Christian. 9o, certainly.@

@Then, such a marriae, if persisted in, makes of the wife indeed a

Christian, but of the husband!!the reverse.@

@The answer to that is clear,@ he said Auietly% @The husband must

abstain.@

@Yes, that is, perhaps, coherently Christian, on your theory% They would

then both suffer. But the marriae, of course, has become no marriae.

They are no loner one flesh.@

7e looked at me, almost impatiently as if to say% (o not compel me to

enforce silence on youD

@But, suppose,@ 4 went on, @and this, you know is the more freAuent

case, the man refuses to abstain. ;ould you then say it was more

Christian to allow him to become daily less Christian throuh his

unchristian conduct, than to relieve the woman of her sufferin at the

epense of the spiritual benefit she thence derives ;hy, in fact, do

you favour one case more than the other@

@&ll Auestion of relief,@ he replied, @is a matter for Caesar it cannot

concern me.@

There had come into his face a riidity!!as if 4 miht hit it with my

Auestions till my tonue was tired, and it be no more moved than thebench on which we were sittin.

@)ne more Auestion,@ 4 said, @and 4 have done. 3ince the Christian

teachin is concerned with the spirit and not forms, and the thread in

it

which binds all toether and makes it coherent, is that of

sufferin!!!!@

@'edemption by sufferin,@ he put in.


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@4f you will!!in one word, self!crucifiion!!4 must ask you, and don?t

take it personally, because of what you told me of yourself% 4n life

enerally, one does not accept from people any teachin that is not the

result of firsthand eperience on their parts. (o you believe that this

Christian teachin of yours is valid from the mouths of those who have

not themselves suffered!!who have not themselves, as it were, been

crucified@

7e did not answer for a minute then he said, with painful slowness%

@Christ laid hands on his apostles and sent them forth and they in

turn,

and so on, to our day.@

@(o you say, then, that this uarantees that they have themselves

suffered, so that in spirit they are identified with their teachin@

7e answered bravely% @9o!!4 do not!!4 cannot say that in fact it is

always so.@

@4s not then their teachin born of forms, and not of the spirit@

7e rose and with a sort of deep sorrow at my stubbornness said% @;e are

not permitted to know the way of this it is so ordained we must have

faith.@

&s he stood there, turned from me, with his hat off, and his neck

painfully flushed under the sharp outcurve of his dark head, a feelin

of

pity sured up in me, as if 4 had taken an unfair advantae.

@'eason!!coherence!!philosophy,@ he said suddenly. @You don?t

understand. &ll that is nothin to me!!nothin!!nothinD@

1I11

;49( 49 T7E ')C:3

Thouh dew!dark when we set forth, there was stealin into the froHen

air

an invisible white host of the wan!wined liht!!born beyond the

mountains, and already, like a drift of doves, harbourin rey!white

hih

up on the snowy skycaves of =onte Cristallo and within us, trampin

over

the valley meadows, was the incredible elation of those who set outbefore the sun has risen every minute of the precious day before us!!we

had not lost oneD

&t the mouth of that enchanted chine, across which for a million years

the howdahed rock elephant has marched, but never yet passed from siht,

we crossed the stream, and amon the trees bean our ascent. >ery far

away the first cowbells chimed and, over the dark heihts, we saw the

thin, sinkin moon, lookin like the white horns of some devotional

beast


26/123

watchin and waitin up there for the od of liht. That od came

slowly, stalkin across far over our heads from top to top then, of a

sudden, his flame!white form was seen standin in a ap of the valley

walls the trees flun themselves alon the round before him, and

censers of pine um bean swinin in the dark aisles, releasin their

perfumed steam. Throuhout these happy ravines where no man lives, he

shows himself naked and unashamed, the colour of pale honey on his

olden hair such shinin as one has not elsewhere seen his eyes like

old

wine on fire. &nd already he had swept his hand across the invisible

strins, for there had arisen, the music of uncurlin leaves and

flittin

thins.

& leend runs, that, driven from land to land by Christians, &pollo hid

himself in $ower &ustria, but those who ever they saw him there in the

thirteenth century were wron it was to these enchanted chines,

freAuented only by the mountain shepherds, that he certainly came.

&nd as we were lyin on the rass, of the first alp, with the star

entians!!those fallen drops of the sky!!and the burnt!brown dandelions,and scattered shrubs of alpen!rose round us, we were visited by one of

these very shepherds, passin with his flock!!the fiercest!lookin man

who ever, spoke in a entle voice si feet hih, with an orane cloak,

bare knees burnt as the very dandelions, a beard blacker than black,

and

eyes more lorious than if sun and niht had dived and were lyin

imprisoned in their depths. 7e spoke in an unknown tonue, and could

certainly not understand any word of ours but he smelled of the ood

earth, and only throuh interminable watches under sun and stars could

so

reat a entleman have been perfected.

"resently, while we rested outside that &lpine hut which faces the three

sphin!like mountains, there came back, from climbin the smallest and

most danerous of those peaks, one, pale from heat, and tremblin with

fatiue a tall man, with lon brown hands, and a lon, thin, bearded

face. &nd, as he sipped cautiously of red wine and water, he looked at

his little conAuered mountain. 7is kindly, screwed!up eyes, his kindly,

bearded lips, even his limbs seemed smilin and not for the world would

we have #arred with words that rapt, smilin man, en#oyin the sacred

hour of him who has #ust proved himself. 4n silence we watched, in

silence left him smilin, knowin somehow that we should remember him

all

our days. 6or there was in his smile the lamour of adventure #ust for

the sake of daner all that hih instinct which takes a man out of his

chair to brave what he need not.

Between that hut and the three mountains lies a saddle!!astride of all

beauty and all colour, master of a titanic chaos of deep clefts, tawny

heihts, red domes, far snow, and the purple of lon shadows and,

standin there, we comprehended a little of what Earth had been throuh

in her time, to have made this playround for most lorious demons.

=other EarthD ;hat travail underone, what lon heroic throes, had

brouht on her face such ma#estyD

7ereabout edelweiss was clinin to smoothed!out rubble but a little


27/123

hiher, even the everlastin plant was lost, there was no more life. &nd

presently we lay down on the mountain side, rather far apart. 8p here

above trees and pasture the wind had a strane, bare voice, free from

all

outer influence, sweepin alon with a cold, whiffin sound. )n the warm

stones, in full sunliht, uplifted over all the beauty of 4taly, one

felt

at first only deliht in space and wild loveliness, in the unknown

valleys, and the strenth of the sun. 4t was so ood to be alive so

ineffably ood to be livin in this most wonderful world, drinkin air

nectar.

Behind us, from the three mountains, came the freAuent thud and scuffle

of fallin rocks, loosened by rains. The wind, mist, and winter snow

had

round the powdery stones on which we lay to a pleasant bed, but once on

a time they, too, had clun up there. &nd very slowly, one could not

say

how or when, the sense of #oy bean chanin to a sense of fear. The

awful impersonality of those reat rock!creatures, the terrible

impartiality of that cold, clinin wind which swept by, never an inchlifted above roundD 9ot one tiny soul, the siHe of a mide or rock

flower, lived here. 9ot one little @4@ breathed here, and lovedD

&nd we, too, some day would no loner love, havin become part of this

monstrous, lovely earth, of that cold, whifflin air. To be no loner

able to loveD 4t seemed incredible, too rim to bear yet it was trueD

To become powder, and the wind no more to feel the sunliht to be

loved

no moreD To become a whifflin noise, cold, without one?s selfD To

drift on the breath of that noise, homelessD 8p here, there were not

even

those little velvet, rey!white flower!comrades we had plucked. 9o

lifeD

9othin but the creepin wind, and those reat rocky heihts, whence

came

the sound of fallin!symbols of that cold, untimely state into which we,

too, must pass. 9ever more to love, nor to be lovedD )ne could but turn

to the earth, and press one?s face to it, away from the wild loveliness.

)f what use loveliness that must be lost of what use loveliness when

one

could not love The earth was warm and firm beneath the palms of the

hands but there still came the sound of the impartial wind, and the

careless roar of the stories fallin.

Below, in those valleys amonst the livin trees and rass, was the

comradeship of unnumbered life, so that to pass out into "eace, to step

beyond, to die, seemed but a brotherly act, amonst all those othersbut

up here, where no creature breathed, we saw the heart of the desert that

stretches before each little human soul. 8p here, it froHe the spirit

even "eace seemed mockin!!hard as a stone. Yet, to try and hide, to

tuck one?s head under one?s own win, was not possible in this air so

crystal clear, so far above incense and the narcotics of set creeds, and

the fevered breath of prayers and protestations. Even to know that

between oranic and inoranic matter there is no ulf fied, was of no

peculiar comfort. The #ealous wind came creepin over the lifeless


28/123

limestone, removin even the poor solace of its warmth one turned from

it, desperate, to look up at the sky, the blue, burnin, wide,

ineffable,

far sky.

Then slowly, without reason, that icy fear passed into a feelin, not of

#oy, not of peace, but as if $ife and (eath were ealted into what was

neither life nor death, a strane and motionless vibration, in which one

had been mered, and rested, utterly content, eAuipoised, divested of

desire, endowed with life and death.

But since this moment had come before its time, we ot up, and, close

toether, marched on rather silently, in the hot sun.

1I1.

=Y (43T&9T 'E$&T4>E

Thouh 4 had not seen my distant relative for years!!not, in fact, sincehe was oblied to ive >ancouver 4sland up as a bad #ob!!4 knew him at

once, when, with head a little on one side, and tea!cup held hih, as

if,

to confer a blessin, he said% @7alloD@ across the Club smokin!room.

Thin as a lath!!not one ounce heavier!!tall, and very upriht, with his

pale forehead, and pale eyes, and pale beard, he had the air of a host

of a man. 7e had always had that air. &nd his voice!!that

matter!of!fact and slihtly nasal voice, with its thin, pramatical

tone!!was like a wraith of optimism, issuin between pale lips. 4

noticed too, that his town habiliments still had their unspeakable pale

neatness, as if, poor thins, they were tryin to stare the dayliht out

of countenance.

7e brouht his tea across to my bay window, with that wistful

sociability

of his, as of a man who cannot always find a listener.

@But what are you doin in town@ 4 said. @4 thouht you were in

Yorkshire with your aunt.@

)ver his round, liht eyes, fied on somethin in the street, the lids

fell Auickly twice, as the film falls over the eyes of a parrot.

@4?m after a #ob,@ he answered. @=ust be on the spot #ust now.@

&nd it seemed to me that 4 had heard those words from him before.

@&h, yes,@ 4 said, @and do you think you?ll et it@

But even as 4 spoke 4 felt sorry, rememberin how many #obs he had been

after in his time, and how soon they ended when he had ot them.

7e answered%

@)h, yesD They ouht to ive it me,@ then added rather suddenly% @You


29/123

never know, thouh. "eople are so funnyD@

&nd crossin his thin les, he went on to tell me, with Auaint

impersonality, a number of instances of how people had been funny in

connection with #obs he had not been iven.

@You see,@ he ended, @the country?s in such a state!!capital oin out

of

it every day. Enterprise bein killed all over the place. There?s

practically nothin to be hadD@

@&hD@ 4 said, @you think it?s worse, then, than it used to be@

7e smiled in that smile there was a shade of patronae.

@;e?re oin down!hill as fast as ever we can. 9ational character?s

losin all its backbone. 9o wonder, with all this molly!coddlin oin

onD@

@)hD@ 4 murmured, @molly!coddlin 4sn?t that ecessive@

@;ellD $ook at the way everythin?s bein done for themD The workin

classes are losin their self!respect as fast as ever they can. Their

independence is one alreadyD@

@You think@

@3ure of itD 4?ll ive you an instance!!!!@ and he went on to describe

to me the deeneracy of certain workin men employed by his aunt and his

eldest brother Claud and his younest brother &lan.

@They don?t do a stroke more than they?re oblied,@ he ended @they know

#olly well they?ve ot their 8nions, and their pensions, and this

4nsurance, to fall back on.@

4t was evidently a sub#ect on which he felt stronly.

@Yes,@ he muttered, @the nation is bein rotted down.@

&nd a faint thrill of surprise passed throuh me. 6or the affairs of

the

nation moved him so much more stronly than his own. 7is voice already

had a different rin, his eyes a different look. 7e eaerly leaned

forward, and his lon, straiht backbone looked loner and straihter

than ever. 7e was less the host of a man. & faint flush even had come

into his pale cheeks, and he moved his well!kept hands emphatically.

@)h, yesD@ he said% @The country is oin to the dos, riht enouh butyou can?t et them to see it. They o on sappin and sappin the

independence of the people. 4f the workin man?s to be looked after,

whatever he does!!what on earth?s to become of his o, and foresiht,

and

perseverance@

4n his risin voice a certain piAuancy was left to its accent of the

rulin class by that faint twan, which came, 4 remembered, from some

sliht defect in his tonsils.


30/123

@=ark my wordsD 3o lon as we?re on these lines, we shall do nothin.

4t?s oin aainst evolution. They say (arwin?s ettin old!fashioned

all 4 know is, he?s ood enouh for me. Competition is the only thin.@

@But competition,@ 4 said, @is bitter cruel, and some people can?t stand

aainst itD@ &nd 4 looked at him rather hard% @(o you ob#ect to puttin

any sort of floor under the feet of people like that@

7e let his voice drop a little, as if in deference to my scruples.

@&hD@ he said @but if you once bein this sort of thin, there?s no end

to it. 4t?s so insidious. The more they have, the more they want and

all the time they?re losin fihtin power. 4?ve thouht pretty deeply

about this. 4t?s shortsihted it really doesn?t doD@

@But,@ 4 said, @surely you?re not aainst savin people from bein

knocked out of time by old ae, and accidents like illness, and the

fluctuations of trade@

@)hD@ he said, @4?m not a bit aainst charity. &unt Emma?s splendidabout that. &nd Claud?s awfully ood. 4 do what 4 can, myself.@ 7e

looked at me, so Aueerly deprecatin, that 4 Auite liked him at that

moment. &t heart!!4 felt he was a ood fellow. @&ll 4 think is,@ he

went on, @that to ive them somethin that they can rely on as a matter

of course, apart from their own eertions, is the wron principle

altoether,@ and suddenly his voice bean to rise aain, and his eyes to

stare. @4?m convinced that all this doin thins for other people, and

bolsterin up the weak, is rotten. 4t stands to reason that it must

be.@

7e had risen to his feet, so preoccupied with the wronness of that

principle that he seemed to have forotten my presence. &nd as he stood

there in the window the liht was too stron for him. &ll the thin

incapacity of that shadowy fiure was pitilessly displayed the

desperate

narrowness in that lon, pale face the wamblin look of those pale,

well!kept hands!!all that made him such a host of a man. But his nasal,

domatic voice rose and rose.

@There?s nothin for it but bracin upD ;e must cut away all this 3tate

support we must teach them to rely on themselves. 4t?s all sheer

pauperisation.@

&nd suddenly there shot throuh me the fear that he miht burst one of

those little blue veins in his pale forehead, so vehement had he become

and hastily 4 chaned the sub#ect.

@(o you like livin up there with your aunt@ 4 asked% @4sn?t it a bit

Auiet@

7e turned, as if 4 had awakened him from a dream.

@)h, wellD@ he said, @it?s only till 4 et this #ob.@

@$et me see!!how lon is it since you!!!!@


31/123

@6our years. 3he?s very lad to have me, of course.@

@&nd how?s your brother Claud@

@)hD &ll riht, thanks a bit worried with the estate. The poor old

ov?nor left it in rather a mess, you know.@

@&hD Yes. (oes he do other work@

@)hD &lways busy in the parish.@

@&nd your brother 'ichard@

@7e?s all riht. Came home this year. Got #ust enouh to live on, with

his pension!!hasn?t saved a rap, of course.@

@&nd ;illie 4s he still delicate@

@Yes.@

@4?m sorry.@

@Easy #ob, his, you know. &nd even if his health does ive out, his

collee pals will always find him some sort of sinecure. 3o #olly

popular, old ;illieD@

@&nd &lan 4 haven?t heard anythin of him since his "eruvian thin

came

to rief. 7e married, didn?t he@

@'atherD )ne of the Burleys. 9ice irl!!heiress lot of property in

7ampshire. 7e looks after it for her now.@

@(oesn?t do anythin else, 4 suppose@

@:eeps up his antiAuarianism.@

4 had ehausted the members of his family.

Then, as thouh by elicitin the ood fortunes of his brothers 4 had

cast

some slur upon himself, he said suddenly% @4f the railway had come, as

it

ouht to have, while 4 was out there, 4 should have done Auite well with

my fruit farm.@

@)f course,@ 4 areed @it was bad luck. But after all, you?re sure to

et a #ob soon, and!!so lon as you can live up there with your aunt!!you

can afford to wait, and not bother.@

@Yes,@ he murmured. &nd 4 ot up.

@;ell, it?s been very #olly to hear about you allD@

7e followed me out.


32/123

@&wfully lad, old man,@ he said, @to have seen you, and had this talk.

4 was feelin rather low. ;aitin to know whether 4 et that #ob!!it?s

not lively.@

7e came down the Club steps with me. By the door of my cab a loafer was

standin a tall tatterdemalion with a pale, bearded face. =y distant

relative fended him away, and leanin throuh the window, murmured%

@&wful lot of these chaps about nowD@

6or the life of me 4 could not help lookin at him very straiht. But no

flicker of apprehension crossed his face.

@;ell, ood!by aainD@ he said% @You?ve cheered me up a lotD@

4 lanced back from my movin cab. 3ome monetary transaction was

passin

between him and the loafer, but, short!sihted as 4 am, 4 found it

difficult to decide which of those tall, pale, bearded fiures was

ivin

the other one a penny. &nd by some strane freak an awful vision shot up

before me!!of myself, and my distant relative, and Claud, and 'ichard,and ;illie, and &lan, all suddenly relyin on ourselves. 4 took out my

handkerchief to mop my brow but a thouht struck me, and 4 put it back.

;as it possible for me, and my distant relatives, and their distant

relatives, and so on to infinity of those who be loned to a class

provided by birth with a certain position, raised by "rovidence on to a

platform made up of money inherited, of interest, of education fittin

us

for certain privileed pursuits, of friends similarly endowed, of

substantial homes, and substantial relatives of some sort or other, on

whom we could fall back!!was it possible for any of us ever to be in the

position of havin to rely absolutely on ourselves 6or several minutes

4 pondered that Auestion and slowly 4 came to the conclusion that,

short

of crime, or that unlikely event, maroonin, it was not possible.

9ever,

never!!try as we miht!!could any sinle one of us be Auite in the

position of one of those whose approachin pauperisation my distant

relative had so vehemently deplored. ;e were already pauperised. 4f we

served our country, we were pensioned.... 4f we inherited land, it

could

not be taken from us. 4f we went into the Church, we were there for

life,

whether we were suitable or no. 4f we attempted the more haHardous

occupations of the law, medicine, the arts, or business, there were

always those homes, those relations, those friends of ours to fall back

on, if we failed. 9oD ;e could never have to rely entirely on

ourselves we could never be pauperised more than we were alreadyD &nda

liht burst in on me. That eplained why my distant relative felt so

keenly. 4t bit him, for he saw, of course, how dreadful it would be for

these poor people of the workin classes when leislation had succeeded

in placin them in the humiliatin position in which we already were!!

the

dreadful position of havin somethin to depend on apart from our own

eertions, some sort of security in our lives. 4 saw it now. 4t was his

secret pride, nawin at him all the time, that made him so rabid on the


33/123

point. 7e was lonin, doubtless, day and niht, not to have had a

father who had land, and had left a sister well enouh off to keep him

while he was waitin for his #ob. 7e must be feelin how horribly

deradin was the position of Claud!!inheritin that land and of

'ichard, who, #ust because he had served in the 4ndian Civil 3ervice,

the complete essays of john galsworthy

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