tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29369662460747473862024-02-20T08:11:41.429-08:00WrongDave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-49565726443013519852023-05-18T16:30:00.036-07:002023-05-18T16:30:00.184-07:00Strange delights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdtboxtM2yO08ScPjj8dn381_jdmPtDnQL_dnw2BiCvSzwsy6hwQiRG7J1fc7_QNI3KOGGSmiHmSmnAcUZAu6ODBWh75NI10g_2zXuL5xM8sObcSi4xhI2V6km2y4OcA65_iDBiSOzx94tLAiZC2XDEqeWlPrrTZ2QwvE4sadUxEN543jzc_HsRJG/s1024/_c6af10f2-69bd-4227-9895-e7919747baf0.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdtboxtM2yO08ScPjj8dn381_jdmPtDnQL_dnw2BiCvSzwsy6hwQiRG7J1fc7_QNI3KOGGSmiHmSmnAcUZAu6ODBWh75NI10g_2zXuL5xM8sObcSi4xhI2V6km2y4OcA65_iDBiSOzx94tLAiZC2XDEqeWlPrrTZ2QwvE4sadUxEN543jzc_HsRJG/w400-h400/_c6af10f2-69bd-4227-9895-e7919747baf0.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>In the same literary/artistic tradition as <i>Wrong </i>are two anthologies of the strange and the unsettling that you can pick up on Kindle.</p><p><a href="https://cafeirreal.alicewhittenburg.com/" target="_blank">The Café Irreal </a>first went online in 1998 with the intention of publishing a type of fantastic fiction most often associated with writers such as Franz Kafka, Kobo Abe, and Jorge Luis Borges. To this end, it has published more than 250 authors from over 30 countries. In the course of the past fifteen years, it has also seen its editors nominated for a World Fantasy Award and been named by <i>Writer’s Digest</i> as one of the Top 30 Short Story Markets.</p><p><a href="https://writercoop.wordpress.com/weird-stories-volume-one/" target="_blank">The Rabbit Hole</a> asserts that "weird can be funny, weird can be sad, weird can be thoughtful, weird can be mad, but the one thing in common is that weird shares experiences you have, thankfully, never had."</p>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" sandbox="allow-popups allow-scripts allow-modals allow-forms allow-same-origin" scrolling="no" src="//ws-eu.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=GB&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=printmedia-21&language=en_GB&marketplace=amazon&region=GB&placement=B0BHHM5KJ9&asins=B0BHHM5KJ9&linkId=04ca4e325583e783d72b60b7a4150fc1&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>
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<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" sandbox="allow-popups allow-scripts allow-modals allow-forms allow-same-origin" scrolling="no" src="//ws-eu.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=GB&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=printmedia-21&language=en_GB&marketplace=amazon&region=GB&placement=B0BHHM5KJ9&asins=B0BHHM5KJ9&linkId=04ca4e325583e783d72b60b7a4150fc1&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" sandbox="allow-popups allow-scripts allow-modals allow-forms allow-same-origin" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=fablland-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B0BHHM5KJ9&asins=B0BHHM5KJ9&linkId=1a85243407666deb52c5386b0ad4824d&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-41080215144420458912023-04-26T05:19:00.002-07:002023-04-26T05:20:03.014-07:00Distorted dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT9HJ-ftbclINLgXxNz_JYl7q6ZXFtBctLZl-WMZcPBvUkApNq-Rgf6sVjx6q5bYiCLnZuhQO1O1yZodeS9rFcKNQouJbl0lAy4j9eVr9Mk9-09fYrGEWOxOcamziascs-6WxClFN1b8gMG_gZKGMHFf5NHamvHFfIwF-jMTvxojKr2sMBIEbptS9i/s1024/cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Franz%20von%20Stuck%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT9HJ-ftbclINLgXxNz_JYl7q6ZXFtBctLZl-WMZcPBvUkApNq-Rgf6sVjx6q5bYiCLnZuhQO1O1yZodeS9rFcKNQouJbl0lAy4j9eVr9Mk9-09fYrGEWOxOcamziascs-6WxClFN1b8gMG_gZKGMHFf5NHamvHFfIwF-jMTvxojKr2sMBIEbptS9i/w400-h400/cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Franz%20von%20Stuck%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>I've been playing around with <a href="https://www.bing.com/create" target="_blank">Bing Image Creator</a> to see if it can come up with some suitably strange images for <i>Wrong</i>. But wait, before you get out the pillory, I know many people are bothered by generative AI models training on content that's in copyright. In fact that's how all writers and artists learn their craft; I remember in art lessons at school consciously swiping hands from <a href="https://www.berniewrightson.com/" target="_blank">Bernie Wrightson</a> and facial profiles from <a href="https://barrywindsor-smith.com/story-teller/" target="_blank">Barry Windsor-Smith</a>. The AI generators aren't storing any work in memory like a photograph, cut-n-paste style. They learn patterns. But to put your mind at rest, I made a point of only asking the AI to use the styles of dead artists like (above) <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franz_Stuck" target="_blank">Franz von Stuck</a>.</p><p>As Bing doesn't know anything about <i>Wrong</i>, I asked for "a <i>Weird Tales </i>cover painting in the style of..." Not a perfect fit, <i><a href="https://www.weirdtales.com/" target="_blank">Weird Tales</a></i> being rather more in-your-face fantasy than <i>Wrong </i>stories typically are, but the results are interesting. How about this one in the style of <a href="https://www.edwardhopper.net/" target="_blank">Edward Hopper</a>:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpy7Y9lvaECsHI8jeqB3Ft8C77XKNY7wYfvD_2dnerU_J6TH3o5BQg2tDX6BWOpl9DCWKd8-Y1WVkqhHNdqciSadcDADc0RTWUdASFJtuzvw4MYhlVFL975GPEFau3wXaMMmn_pvcXDMMmAkV3VeOH9y024Hvm-ygjxTqPXWv6PDo4e9c2GWMLb_Ec/s1024/cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Edward%20Hopper%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpy7Y9lvaECsHI8jeqB3Ft8C77XKNY7wYfvD_2dnerU_J6TH3o5BQg2tDX6BWOpl9DCWKd8-Y1WVkqhHNdqciSadcDADc0RTWUdASFJtuzvw4MYhlVFL975GPEFau3wXaMMmn_pvcXDMMmAkV3VeOH9y024Hvm-ygjxTqPXWv6PDo4e9c2GWMLb_Ec/w400-h400/cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Edward%20Hopper%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>AI art generators have a lot of trouble with hands. Not surprising, as they only learn about the world from 2D images. But in this case the demented digits work to create a disturbing effect.</p><p>This next one is in the tradition of <a href="https://www.tulliocrali.com/en/" target="_blank">Tullio Crali</a>:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaZBP-Ju1e8PJ6ubbKcko5n6sjnw_6RfKDwdPqm7oX4z3VV2lk6xW15gCbUOgQCuGt9mlHzc1dorG2MZRttEDBs5ilm3H-mOjMA2hfY9n_2TZ2cZJ7JoOADi7fmGCmu7_Ohmab-2W-i5Y54WUxM1imgKmiPd2k_nAd1Us0g-sosz8k5ltP1DNLWop/s1024/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Tullio%20Crali%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlaZBP-Ju1e8PJ6ubbKcko5n6sjnw_6RfKDwdPqm7oX4z3VV2lk6xW15gCbUOgQCuGt9mlHzc1dorG2MZRttEDBs5ilm3H-mOjMA2hfY9n_2TZ2cZJ7JoOADi7fmGCmu7_Ohmab-2W-i5Y54WUxM1imgKmiPd2k_nAd1Us0g-sosz8k5ltP1DNLWop/w400-h400/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Tullio%20Crali%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>There's a definite <i>Weird Tales</i> vibe there, but I'm not sure it knows Crali's work at all. The lettering makes no sense because, to the AI, text is just part of design. I've also seen human artists make a right mess of spelling, though, so let's not mock the machine's efforts too much.</p><p>The AI does a little better at getting the feel of an authentic <a href="https://www.pulpartists.com/Bok.html" target="_blank">Hannes Bok</a> cover:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilEyzotQrGn5-xCg07mE3DL_r7fSdwf6FRa89itUm-h6gmJiFIbpPQ14U4X7hsjBPiElSnawp2tX3dC-6Ticn9vTHLYtJYoxjF_s2-Nqb4pDy0g69lV4Br27DBt4HbGRnvF-pGYeHUKBnrv3jbhAKkhNNpWItQYgIu4ItVgusLaWf3jHLIqwNOBprd/s1024/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Hannes%20Bok%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilEyzotQrGn5-xCg07mE3DL_r7fSdwf6FRa89itUm-h6gmJiFIbpPQ14U4X7hsjBPiElSnawp2tX3dC-6Ticn9vTHLYtJYoxjF_s2-Nqb4pDy0g69lV4Br27DBt4HbGRnvF-pGYeHUKBnrv3jbhAKkhNNpWItQYgIu4ItVgusLaWf3jHLIqwNOBprd/w400-h400/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Hannes%20Bok%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>And it seems to be familiar with <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/James-Baron-Ensor" target="_blank">Ensor</a>:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8x--JECvHQSOt7UW-bZ-Wl26GszHK-P3T8J74iX3fdf0Zr4AltJZfRJlaLqclxLbzi7QWj5VH3_0k43dpOs2bl9LQQoJ_tH2rXpsiwUd6bqQcKVYFO4cut7IciTVMQy3YvOWWom6vWMiEB13zpD6eAShni3dsex2iHBYJGognpp3qnsTMSdHaF1G/s1024/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Ensor%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8x--JECvHQSOt7UW-bZ-Wl26GszHK-P3T8J74iX3fdf0Zr4AltJZfRJlaLqclxLbzi7QWj5VH3_0k43dpOs2bl9LQQoJ_tH2rXpsiwUd6bqQcKVYFO4cut7IciTVMQy3YvOWWom6vWMiEB13zpD6eAShni3dsex2iHBYJGognpp3qnsTMSdHaF1G/w400-h400/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Ensor%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Asked to pastiche <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edmund_Dulac" target="_blank">Dulac</a>, it opts for a grim fairytale style that I think Guillermo del Toro would like:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvt5kAmpQp-RqbRzwACc15VEO7KDYZ0zEAeydogbDYYZPIMySzNzhHwcd_SBYfWKroq0DxSWHnoGnp-ix5_89WGkGV0pymsRBlBVJP43SY5odvMbXI3QrTi2ONHgPcNjL3EGr-NUpZuzgoaDEfU6a8S8P1wvOGB-BLJzCD2-kSwr8l0led6DXTGwH/s1024/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Dulac%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvt5kAmpQp-RqbRzwACc15VEO7KDYZ0zEAeydogbDYYZPIMySzNzhHwcd_SBYfWKroq0DxSWHnoGnp-ix5_89WGkGV0pymsRBlBVJP43SY5odvMbXI3QrTi2ONHgPcNjL3EGr-NUpZuzgoaDEfU6a8S8P1wvOGB-BLJzCD2-kSwr8l0led6DXTGwH/w400-h400/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Dulac%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>And it even seems to have latched onto the weirdly wonderful whimsy of <a href="https://sidneysimegallery.org.uk/" target="_blank">Sidney Sime</a>:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju36IBb1fLccjLe8qBKwhtDXL_O_Y7HLkjg3f6YKhpVwuSHJ666WutaNLJE-DOKRSGdncbVv6bexl7h0JRg08GLp2mYgBd4UGNpLGNRRkvVcuGPtI-sy1nWHk1NoC_0XsRzzz07M__I7eluj5Ioqs76b4xM6x_MEFb7cFszuLaoL8Nt7qwO-GnRyKE/s1024/WT%20cover%20painted%20by%20Sidney%20Sime%20full%20color%20no%20text%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju36IBb1fLccjLe8qBKwhtDXL_O_Y7HLkjg3f6YKhpVwuSHJ666WutaNLJE-DOKRSGdncbVv6bexl7h0JRg08GLp2mYgBd4UGNpLGNRRkvVcuGPtI-sy1nWHk1NoC_0XsRzzz07M__I7eluj5Ioqs76b4xM6x_MEFb7cFszuLaoL8Nt7qwO-GnRyKE/w400-h400/WT%20cover%20painted%20by%20Sidney%20Sime%20full%20color%20no%20text%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>I specifically asked for no text in that one, but I should have realized it probably wouldn't take any notice because it doesn't realize that letters are "text".</p><p>This cover in the style of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Loomis" target="_blank">Andrew Loomis</a> isn't right for <i>Weird Tales</i>, but I could easily imagine it on the front of an issue of <i><a href="https://archive.org/details/unknownworlds" target="_blank">Unknown </a></i>in the early '40s:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9NLVNXaF0T4NLB7CXczNgYCAAFeMQ5rG6K_BVfvMpRdwf4Lsyk1DBlxJ0Q33TM4PolPzph4QYZJaJBAanfmEl4LkQt-o51wAg-H72X3Gr1Y8ep0RfdaXUAQ_3_LXcCGJS2dMZyHhUdVFQI5-HXHnSoNkOE9F5m-TUWLP8aearKBbj6fhGlwWAb1eG/s1024/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Andrew%20Loomis.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="934" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9NLVNXaF0T4NLB7CXczNgYCAAFeMQ5rG6K_BVfvMpRdwf4Lsyk1DBlxJ0Q33TM4PolPzph4QYZJaJBAanfmEl4LkQt-o51wAg-H72X3Gr1Y8ep0RfdaXUAQ_3_LXcCGJS2dMZyHhUdVFQI5-HXHnSoNkOE9F5m-TUWLP8aearKBbj6fhGlwWAb1eG/w365-h400/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Andrew%20Loomis.jpg" width="365" /></a></div><p>And this last one is supposedly in the style of a living author, the great <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/posy-simmonds" target="_blank">Posy Simmonds</a>, but it looks so unlike anything I'd associate with her that the AI must not have known her work. Instead it cooked up something quite nightmarish from whatever scraps in had in the mental larder:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4PAxkTvMUf898bLKFaxmHJ1HKd0ueOMyNPRvIO-ynqSBBOXZvyRuTpyXKaOe7pW00KV1nFFutbTj1uE2lxPUYu3rPVrZPMsWakAAf0rZL-6tS1co-kCRvMSrLnbiiSR2L2Izoud_iX6Xj30Uo3VOBvmYR4D2wfKmgE_B08IcRh6a-paeWdkkfqXJ5/s1024/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Posy%20Simmonds%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4PAxkTvMUf898bLKFaxmHJ1HKd0ueOMyNPRvIO-ynqSBBOXZvyRuTpyXKaOe7pW00KV1nFFutbTj1uE2lxPUYu3rPVrZPMsWakAAf0rZL-6tS1co-kCRvMSrLnbiiSR2L2Izoud_iX6Xj30Uo3VOBvmYR4D2wfKmgE_B08IcRh6a-paeWdkkfqXJ5/w400-h400/The%20cover%20of%20Weird%20Tales%20painted%20by%20Posy%20Simmonds%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Not lascivious enough to satisfy <a href="https://lovecraft.fandom.com/wiki/Farnsworth_Wright" target="_blank">Farnsworth Wright</a>, but I reckon <a href="https://fancyclopedia.org/Dorothy_McIlwraith" target="_blank">Dorothy McIlwraith</a> and <a href="https://tellersofweirdtales.blogspot.com/2011/05/lamont-buchanan-1919.html" target="_blank">Lamont Buchanan</a> would have jumped at it.</p>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-83056987510977606402022-12-23T16:30:00.005-08:002023-01-04T08:16:41.231-08:00Something strange in your Christmas stocking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLnNVrZPGbD-m96YTEkjJ8hANQEcVV-GmIZtoi-Wpxfi4r0nbuoNyT-GBdiurT68NCJKqpeFdGEmNiekw18hHAjLSLXIwvLMIf5aYMhw6J3eTFsxM2slmG2kCC_1LoT-cJxpY1os364k/s1600/BTcoverALL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLnNVrZPGbD-m96YTEkjJ8hANQEcVV-GmIZtoi-Wpxfi4r0nbuoNyT-GBdiurT68NCJKqpeFdGEmNiekw18hHAjLSLXIwvLMIf5aYMhw6J3eTFsxM2slmG2kCC_1LoT-cJxpY1os364k/s320/BTcoverALL.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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What's Christmas Eve without a ghost story? Well, here are two, both classics of the English New Weird by its foremost living exponent, John Whitbourn.<br />
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First "<a href="https://binscombetales.files.wordpress.com/2022/10/waiting-for-a-bus.pdf" target="_blank">Waiting for a Bus</a>". I heard this story in the mid-1980s when the author was one of several guests at a ghost story evening <i>chez </i>Morris. We had a nice dinner, a little fine wine, and settled down around the fire to entertain ourselves with some cosily spooky stories; an activity that mankind has only been doing for -- what? -- twenty thousand years and more.
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Then John got up and produced the story he'd brought, the first (as it later turned out) of an ongoing series. As he read, a chill dark hand closed over the group. We were transported to a suburban street under dim street-lamps, hurrying past with just a nervous glance across the road at an ordinary but suddenly sinister bus shelter. With the final words, you could hear the sigh of long-held breath and we looked around at each other with that bright-eyed smile that says you know you've just had the bejasus scared out of you. Everyone that evening had come armed with a tale to tell, and there were talented, experienced writers there, to be sure, but there was no disputing who was the storytelling king of the fireside.
<br />
<br />
"Waiting for a Bus" not only gave a shudder to those dinner party guests who were privileged to hear it first, it was picked as one of DAW's <i>World's Best Fantasy Stories</i> of the very next year. It has been widely anthologized since, as have other <a href="https://binscombetales.com/" target="_blank">Binscombe Tales</a> such as "<a href="https://binscombetales.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/eyes.pdf" target="_blank">Eyes</a>" (also known as "It Has Been Said") which might put you in mind of a certain long-running horror movie franchise, but be aware that the story was originally published by the <a href="http://www.users.globalnet.co.uk/~pardos/Checklist.html" target="_blank">Haunted Library</a> over a decade before the cameras started rolling on the first in that series.<br />
<br />
But <i>are </i>these ghost stories, or something stranger still? This is <i>Wrong</i>; we don't deal in genre. Rest assured you'll get a delicious scare that's just the thing for the time of year. Happy Christmas!<br />
<br />
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</iframe>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-27682877359667656742022-11-17T19:30:00.000-08:002022-11-17T19:30:00.194-08:00The City of Dreadful Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhXMp8v9IADgUlXBGsV-oO8Jk2wft9da9nlUob_v7bECj5nN-85h8_as_KPjRq19ipc574y1QypSJW5wpelp41zHSGet-QK9c4Sjhd7bKLh75JyU_VrFHofS3uF6xgWoBT6xzb80KozCAYenSC93-a0OGZGpyrc0qyGkw7j8JU2ozrBHFIr3zv5cRn=s750" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="750" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhXMp8v9IADgUlXBGsV-oO8Jk2wft9da9nlUob_v7bECj5nN-85h8_as_KPjRq19ipc574y1QypSJW5wpelp41zHSGet-QK9c4Sjhd7bKLh75JyU_VrFHofS3uF6xgWoBT6xzb80KozCAYenSC93-a0OGZGpyrc0qyGkw7j8JU2ozrBHFIr3zv5cRn=w400-h318" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="color: #fbe5d6; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #FBE5D6; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: "lumm=20000 lumo=80000"; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent2; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themetint: 51;">by Rudyard Kipling<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">The
dense wet heat that hung over the face of land, like a blanket, prevented all
hope of sleep in the first instance. The cicalas helped the heat, and the
yelling jackals the cicalas. It was impossible to sit still in the dark, empty,
echoing house and watch the punkah beat the dead air. So, at ten o’clock of the
night, I set my walking-stick on end in the middle of the garden, and waited to
see how it would fall. It pointed directly down the moonlit road that leads to
the City of Dreadful Night. The sound of its fall disturbed a hare. She limped
from her form and ran across to a disused Mahomedan burial-ground, where the
jawless skulls and rough-butted shank-bones, heartlessly exposed by the July
rains, glimmered like mother o’ pearl on the rain-channelled soil. The heated
air and the heavy earth had driven the very dead upward for coolness’ sake. The
hare limped on; snuffed curiously at a fragment of a smoke-stained lamp-shard,
and died out, in the shadow of a clump of tamarisk trees.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">The mat-weaver’s hut under the lee of the Hindu
temple was full of sleeping men who lay like sheeted corpses. Overhead blazed
the unwinking eye of the Moon. Darkness gives at least a false impression of
coolness. It was hard not to believe that the flood of light from above was
warm. Not so hot as the Sun, but still sickly warm, and heating the heavy air
beyond what was our due. Straight as a bar of polished steel ran the road to
the City of Dreadful Night; and on either side of the road lay corpses disposed
on beds in fantastic attitudes—one hundred and seventy bodies of men. Some
shrouded all in white with bound-up mouths; some naked and black as ebony in
the strong light; and one—that lay face upwards with dropped jaw, far away from
the others—silvery white and ashen grey.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">‘A leper asleep; and the remainder wearied coolies,
servants, small shopkeepers, and drivers from the hack-stand hard by. The
scene—a main approach to Lahore city, and the night a warm one in August.’ This
was all that there was to be seen; but by no means all that one could see. The
witchery of the moonlight was everywhere; and the world was horribly changed.
The long line of the naked dead, flanked by the rigid silver statue, was not
pleasant to look upon. It was made up of men alone. Were the women-kind, then,
forced to sleep in the shelter of the stifling mud-huts as best they might? The
fretful wail of a child from a low mud-roof answered the question. Where the
children are the mothers must be also to look after them. They need care on
these sweltering nights. A black little bullet-head peeped over the coping, and
a thin—a painfully thin—brown leg was slid over on to the gutter pipe. There
was a sharp clink of glass bracelets; a woman’s arm showed for an instant above
the parapet, twined itself round the lean little neck, and the child was
dragged back, protesting, to the shelter of the bedstead. His thin,
high-pitched shriek died out in the thick air almost as soon as it was raised;
for even the children of the soil found it too hot to weep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">More corpses; more stretches of moonlit, white
road; a string of sleeping camels at rest by the wayside; a vision of scudding
jackals; <i>ekka</i>-ponies asleep—the harness still on their backs, and the
brass-studded country carts, winking in the moonlight—and again more corpses.
Wherever a grain cart atilt, a tree trunk, a sawn log, a couple of bamboos and
a few handfuls of thatch cast a shadow, the ground is covered with them. They
lie—some face downwards, arms folded, in the dust; some with clasped hands
flung up above their heads; some curled up dog-wise; some thrown like limp
gunny-bags over the side of the grain carts; and some bowed with their brows on
their knees in the full glare of the Moon. It would be a comfort if they were
only given to snoring; but they are not, and the likeness to corpses is
unbroken in all respects save one. The lean dogs snuff at them and turn away.
Here and there a tiny child lies on his father’s bedstead, and a protecting arm
is thrown round it in every instance. But, for the most part, the children
sleep with their mothers on the housetops. Yellow-skinned white-toothed pariahs
are not to be trusted within reach of brown bodies.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">A stifling hot blast from the mouth of the Delhi
Gate nearly ends my resolution of entering the City of Dreadful Night at this
hour. It is a compound of all evil savours, animal and vegetable, that a walled
city can brew in a day and a night. The temperature within the motionless
groves of plantain and orange-trees outside the city walls seems chilly by
comparison. Heaven help all sick persons and young children within the city
tonight! The high house-walls are still radiating heat savagely, and from
obscure side gullies fetid breezes eddy that ought to poison a buffalo. But the
buffaloes do not heed. A drove of them are parading the vacant main street;
stopping now and then to lay their ponderous muzzles against the closed
shutters of a grain-dealer’s shop, and to blow thereon like grampuses.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Then silence follows—the silence that is full of
the night noises of a great city. A stringed instrument of some kind is just,
and only just audible. High overhead someone throws open a window, and the
rattle of the woodwork echoes down the empty street. On one of the roofs a
hookah is in full blast; and the men are talking softly as the pipe gutters. A
little farther on the noise of conversation is more distinct. A slit of light
shows itself between the sliding shutters of a shop. Inside, a stubble-bearded,
weary-eyed trader is balancing his account-books among the bales of cotton
prints that surround him. Three sheeted figures bear him company, and throw in
a remark from time to time. First he makes an entry, then a remark; then passes
the back of his hand across his streaming forehead. The heat in the built-in
street is fearful. Inside the shops it must be almost unendurable. But the work
goes on steadily; entry, guttural growl, and uplifted hand-stroke succeeding
each other with the precision of clock-work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">A policeman—turbanless and fast asleep—lies across
the road on the way to the Mosque of Wazir Khan. A bar of moonlight falls
across the forehead and eyes of the sleeper, but he never stirs. It is close
upon midnight, and the heat seems to be increasing. The open square in front of
the Mosque is crowded with corpses; and a man must pick his way carefully for
fear of treading on them. The moonlight stripes the Mosque’s high front of
coloured enamel work in broad diagonal bands; and each separate dreaming pigeon
in the niches and corners of the masonry throws a squab little shadow. Sheeted
ghosts rise up wearily from their pallets, and flit into the dark depths of the
building. Is it possible to climb to the top of the great Minars, and thence to
look down on the city? At all events the attempt is worth making, and the
chances are that the door of the staircase will be unlocked. Unlocked it is;
but a deeply sleeping janitor lies across the threshold, face turned to the
Moon. A rat dashes out of his turban at the sound of approaching footsteps. The
man grunts, opens his eyes for a minute, turns round, and goes to sleep again.
All the heat of a decade of fierce Indian summers is stored in the pitch-black,
polished walls of the corkscrew staircase. Half-way up there is something
alive, warm, and feathery; and it snores. Driven from step to step as it
catches the sound of my advance, it flutters to the top and reveals itself as a
yellow-eyed, angry kite. Dozens of kites are asleep on this and the other
Minars, and on the domes below. There is the shadow of a cool, or at least a
less sultry breeze at this height; and, refreshed thereby, turn to look on the
City of Dreadful Night.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Doré might have drawn it! Zola could describe
it—this spectacle of sleeping thousands in the moonlight and in the shadow of
the Moon. The roof-tops are crammed with men, women, and children; and the air
is full of undistinguishable noises. They are restless in the City of Dreadful
Night; and small wonder. The marvel is that they can even breathe. If you gaze
intently at the multitude you can see that they are almost as uneasy as a
daylight crowd; but the tumult is subdued. Everywhere, in the strong light, you
can watch the sleepers turning to and fro; shifting their beds and again
resettling them. In the pit-like courtyards of the houses there is the same
movement.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">The pitiless Moon shows it all. Shows, too, the
plains outside the city, and here and there a hand’s-breadth of the Ravee
without the walls. Shows lastly, a splash of glittering silver on a house-top
almost directly below the mosque Minar. Some poor soul has risen to throw a jar
of water over his fevered body; the tinkle of the falling water strikes faintly
on the ear. Two or three other men, in far-off corners of the City of Dreadful
Night, follow his example, and the water flashes like heliographic signals. A
small cloud passes over the face of the Moon, and the city and its
inhabitants—clear drawn in black and white before—fade into masses of black and
deeper black. Still the unrestful noise continues, the sigh of a great city
overwhelmed with the heat, and of a people seeking in vain for rest. It is only
the lower-class women who sleep on the house-tops. What must the torment be in
the latticed zenanas, where a few lamps are still twinkling? There are
footfalls in the court below. It is the Muezzin—faithful minister; but he ought
to have been here an hour ago to tell the Faithful that prayer is better than
sleep—the sleep that will not come to the city.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">The Muezzin fumbles for a moment with the door of
one of the Minars, disappears awhile, and a bull-like roar—a magnificent bass
thunder—tells that he has reached the top of the Minar. They must hear the cry
to the banks of the shrunken Ravee itself! Even across the courtyard it is
almost overpowering. The cloud drifts by and shows him outlined in black against
the sky, hands laid upon his ears, and broad chest heaving with the play of his
lungs—‘<i>Allah ho Akbar’</i>; then a pause while another Muezzin somewhere in
the direction of the Golden Temple takes up the call—‘<i>Allah ho Akbar</i>.’
Again and again; four times in all; and from the bedsteads a dozen men have
risen up already.—‘I bear witness that there is no God but God.’ What a
splendid cry it is, the proclamation of the creed that brings men out of their
beds by scores at midnight! Once again he thunders through the same phrase,
shaking with the vehemence of his own voice; and then, far and near, the night
air rings with ‘Mahomed is the Prophet of God.’ It is as though he were
flinging his defiance to the far-off horizon, where the summer lightning plays
and leaps like a bared sword. Every Muezzin in the city is in full cry, and
some men on the roof-tops are beginning to kneel. A long pause precedes the
last cry, ‘<i>La ilaha Illallah</i>,’ and the silence closes up on it, as the
ram on the head of a cotton-bale.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">The Muezzin stumbles down the dark stairway
grumbling in his beard. He passes the arch of the entrance and disappears. Then
the stifling silence settles down over the City of Dreadful Night. The kites on
the Minar sleep again, snoring more loudly, the hot breeze comes up in puffs
and lazy eddies, and the Moon slides down towards the horizon. Seated with both
elbows on the parapet of the tower, one can watch and wonder over that
heat-tortured hive till the dawn. ‘How do they live down there? What do they
think of? When will they awake?’ More tinkling of sluiced water-pots; faint
jarring of wooden bedsteads moved into or out of the shadows; uncouth music of
stringed instruments softened by distance into a plaintive wail, and one low
grumble of far-off thunder. In the courtyard of the mosque the janitor, who lay
across the threshold of the Minar when I came up, starts wildly in his sleep,
throws his hands above his head, mutters something, and falls back again.
Lulled by the snoring of the kites—they snore like over-gorged humans—I drop
off into an uneasy doze, conscious that three o’clock has struck, and that
there is a slight—a very slight—coolness in the atmosphere. The city is
absolutely quiet now, but for some vagrant dog’s love-song. Nothing save dead
heavy sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Several weeks of darkness pass after this. For the
Moon has gone out. The very dogs are still, and I watch for the first light of
the dawn before making my way homeward. Again the noise of shuffling feet. The
morning call is about to begin, and my night watch is over. ‘<i>Allah ho Akbar!
Allah ho Akbar!</i>’ The east grows grey, and presently saffron; the dawn wind
comes up as though the Muezzin had summoned it; and, as one man, the City of
Dreadful Night rises from its bed and turns its face towards the dawning day.
With return of life comes return of sound. First a low whisper, then a deep
bass hum; for it must be remembered that the entire city is on the house-tops.
My eyelids weighed down with the arrears of long deferred sleep, I escape from
the Minar through the courtyard and out into the square beyond, where the
sleepers have risen, stowed away the bedsteads, and are discussing the morning
hookah. The minute’s freshness of the air has gone, and it is as hot as at
first.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">‘Will the Sahib, out of his kindness, make room?’
What is it? Something borne on men’s shoulders comes by in the half-light, and
I stand back. A woman’s corpse going down to the burning-ghat, and a bystander
says, ‘She died at midnight from the heat.’ So the city was of Death as well as
Night after all.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /></div>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-57176899032157805902022-10-30T22:30:00.000-07:002022-10-30T22:30:00.190-07:00Shut In<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6qe5MBaUeG1PUnzQefle5SIletYCznUp0XTLruGJFI8KIDSVelCoL8bCISJBOTu-A7bLGMEMNFor_UOILJtCw5VZTL0wIRXVpQ3iXQ6ZRXTDNav2qecBWGdkLI3Xp0FWT2MBMC6kvr1cgtjOw7SmpBp0J3CSAHndYLk0j0Wkhd_sV56gK8RaR-ex/s1554/wombo-did-this.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1554" data-original-width="954" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6qe5MBaUeG1PUnzQefle5SIletYCznUp0XTLruGJFI8KIDSVelCoL8bCISJBOTu-A7bLGMEMNFor_UOILJtCw5VZTL0wIRXVpQ3iXQ6ZRXTDNav2qecBWGdkLI3Xp0FWT2MBMC6kvr1cgtjOw7SmpBp0J3CSAHndYLk0j0Wkhd_sV56gK8RaR-ex/w245-h400/wombo-did-this.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: times;">by Dave Morris</span></i></span></div><p></p>
<br />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">I’m sorry. I’ll be okay in a bit. It was the confined space in there. I just have to sit it out.
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Ever had an acid flashback? When I was at school I dropped tabs a few times. I don’t know why I did it. I hated the stuff, it really freaked me out while I was doing it, and then one day I said that’s it. That’s enough. ‘You’ll go cold turkey,’ somebody told me. But there were no cold sweats, no screams in the small hours. I felt fine, and I felt free. Then a week or two later, I was walking to Latin and –
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">A flashback is a physical thing, you see, much more than just an hallucination. It reaches up out of the flagstones and gets its clammy hands on you. You could be doing anything and there it is suddenly at your shoulder, saying, ‘Together forever.’
</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">And that’s why I say what I’ve got isn’t claustrophobia. That’s fear of confined spaces, but it isn’t the confinement I’m frightened of. It’s what’s in there. It’s the fear of what you’re shut in with. Forever.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">No, really, I want to talk about this. It might help.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">We went down, a bunch of us, last year to my aunt’s holiday home in Littlehampton, which is - not really a town, just a collection of holiday homes and a shop, about twenty minutes along the coast from Bognor. We went into Bognor first. You’ve seen one Georgian crescent and you’ve seen the lot, but Sammy wanted lobster bisque or something and so we wandered around for hours looking for a café.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">You know what the Prince Regent said about Bognor? He was really ill and Beau Brummel or somebody said, ‘Never mind, your Majesty, when you’re better we shall visit Bognor’ and the Prince Regent said, ‘Bugger Bognor’ and died.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Anyway, it was dark by the time we got to my aunt’s place. Once off the road and under this little lich gate there’s nothing but the sound of the waves to guide you across the lawn to the cottage. The sea’s just the other side of the hedge and down a beach of ankle-breaking pebbles, so there you are with neat little suburban lawns all around and the smell of brine thick in the air. In winter there’s nobody around and it’s great. Rubbish in summer of course – then it’s all greasy chips and ice cream and kids shrieking like they’re being drowned.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">I fumbled around with half a box of Swan Vestas until I found the key, and then of course the electricity wasn’t on because it was out of season so the rest of the box went on finding the stash of candles under the sink. It’s one of those old cottages with low beams and bits that sag all over. The floorboards creak when you walk. The carpets are the same ones my aunt had when the place flooded in the storms a few years back, threadbare as Tuareg rugs. By candlelight the place didn’t look quite real.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">The others were all excited but after the drive I was knackered. I got a can of beer and a joint and flopped in the armchair, and let everyone else deal with getting a fire lit and whatever. By the time Sara started with her séance routine I was half asleep. It’s so old, anyway. ‘Wake me when you’ve all grown up,’ I said before I dozed off.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Sometimes you get a dream like a film. That joint helped. This was one of those swooping shots, down over rooftops and then veering down narrow streets. No sound. No streetlights. No-one about.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Then, turning a corner in the cobbled street, there was a boy running. I thought he was fleeing from something, but he held a torch that trailed a long tail of fire and sparks and behind him came two men carrying a box. Not a coffin, a sedan chair. I flew right past the boy like a ghost. I could see his wide eyes and the way his nostrils flared as he ran. And then the men jogging across the cobblestones, and the sedan chair screen came towards me. Now I was inside the chair and it was me they were carrying.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">We passed along deserted streets until we reached a door and here I knew we’d stop. The boy knocked and then plunged his torch into a bucket of sand to extinguish it, stepping aside so that the men could get the chair up the steps and in through the door which was opened by a footman in black high-collared jacket and tight breeches like from a costume drama. Through the gauze screen I saw him look sidelong at where I sat hidden in the depths of the chair.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">They didn’t put the chair down in the hall, they carried it right through and up the stairs. I heard whispered voices like when someone has died, and there was the click of a door closing off the landing. I was taken through to another room and they set the chair down while the footman and the link-boy hurried about lighting candles. They didn’t like the dark, I thought at first, but that wasn’t it. They were in a hurry to be gone.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Then they were at the door. I was still in the chair. I went to open the screen and it was hard to do with fingers that felt stiff and clumsy. I eased myself out as you do in dreams, like I was weighted with lead. The men drew back into the hall but they said something to the boy and maybe he expected a tip, because he edged back in nervously and came slowly towards me, gaze pinned to the floor.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">I was trying to unwind the scarf around my face that made me feel hot and choking. Seeing the boy was frightened, I tried to give him a farthing for his trouble but there wasn’t a coin in my hands. He glanced up at my hand and then he screamed -
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Or actually it was Sammy screaming. I sat bolt upright and apparently said something, but I can’t remember it and no-one caught it with the racket the silly cow was making. The first thing I did was take a sip of beer. It tasted foul. I must have used the can as an ashtray while nodding off.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Sammy stopped screaming when I spat beer and sat forward into the firelight. She looked at everyone. ‘I thought I saw somebody else sitting there,’ she said.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">I felt wiped out. I rubbed my hands over my face and said, ‘Did you muster up any spirits?’
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"> ‘Found half a bottle of Black Label in the sideboard,’ said Charlie. That’s not a bad joke for him. At least it got a groan of vague approval.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Sammy was still a bit freaked out, though. ‘There was something there,’ she insisted. ‘It was horrible.’
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"> ‘It still is,’ laughed Sara as I lurched to my feet.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"> ‘I’m going to bed,’ I said. ‘You can all doss down wherever you find a space, and nobody better wake me up until there’s cooked breakfast on the table.’
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">I was still confused from coming round like that, so I stumbled off to one of the bedrooms and got half-undressed before the effort of staying upright got too much. The bed was one of those box things - what do they call them? Shut beds. I was tired enough that sleeping in a cupboard made no difference. I didn’t so much get in as just grab a pile of blankets from the drawer and then just pass out sprawled across the mattress.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">As I drifted off again I remembered the dream from before. I was - well, I suppose frightened. I didn’t want to go back, but I was too far gone already. I couldn’t remember what there was to dread in sleep, or what waking up even meant. I sank down and down and down...
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">This time I was in my sedan chair right away. It might have been afternoon – a lightless afternoon on which the sky was dark and churned with violent purple thunderclouds. The men were carrying me along the waterfront. The quayside was a wet black flank of stone besieged by crashing grey waves, but as before everything was silent and there wasn’t another soul in sight.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">They put the chair down and one of them said something through the screen. I didn’t catch it. Their expressions were full of guilt and guile. I watched them put their heads together and mutter something, and the words vibrated in the otherwise dead silence:
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"> ‘We’ll do it here.’
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">I wanted to get out then. I couldn’t breathe. I felt trapped, wedged inside the narrow chair. My stubby fingers pulled at the catch, but something was holding it shut.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">The men picked up their burden again, but for the rest of the journey I would be travelling alone. They lifted the chair up over the wall, thrust it over the edge, and abandoned me to the waves.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">The chair tumbled down and lurched as it hit the water. I was tossed against the bare wooden lid of what would soon be my coffin. The grey daylight was snuffed out and the seawater closed a bone-cold grip. I sank down and down and down... Now at last I could hear sounds. The uterine booming of the sea. And something else, whispering in my ear:
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"> ‘It is a fine and private place, so stay and know eternal peace.’
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Then I felt it touch me and I knew I wasn’t alone in that box. Something with ravaged flesh and putrid heart was trying to drag me down to the sea bed with it, and I was kicking and lashing out and trying to scream if only I could get a sound out of my bursting lungs.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">The thing - whatever it was - put cold fingers around my throat, pressed its grotesque face into mine and tried to suck out my breath with dead lips. Its stench made me gag. It smelt like decay. I sobbed, gasped, and then I had enough breath for one scream.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">I made it count. It was the mother of all screams, the sort that should shatter windows. I burst in a cluster of bubbles through the side of the sedan chair and rose with the scream, weightlessly out of the water, a disembodied spirit soaring up and up into the sky as the thing in the chair flailed its diseased limbs and died again in the secret depths of the sea.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">The storm pressed down. Could I reach the clouds? A glint of light broke through. I rose towards it desperately and broke through -
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">- to candlelight. I was wrapped in the blanket and my face and shoulders were drenched. Sammy was sitting on the floor. An empty glass of water lay beside her. ‘You kicked me out of bed!’ she said.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">I lay back and laughed out of sheer relief. ‘I thought you were a ghost,’ I said.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">She got up and limped over to perch on the edge of the bed. I could see her fury giving way to a sly smile. ‘I’ve got some practice in raising the dead...’
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"> ‘Prove it,’ I said.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">She flung herself into the shut bed and ripped off the wet blankets, tossed them out onto the floor, and pulled the door closed until there was just a chink of light from the candle. We were wrapped in shadows, and each other. You see, I wasn’t afraid of confined spaces yet.
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"> ‘This is a yummy bed,’ giggled Sammy. ‘Ever so snug. I think they must have made it out of driftwood, yeah? See that crest, and the screen there?’
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;">Her finger strayed away to trace details on the board at the back. I could have forgotten all about that damned dream, but then she had to go and say it:
</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-themecolor: background1;"> ‘Hey, it’s like from the museum in Bognor. It’s part of an old sedan chair.’
</span></span></span></span></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-55748124990034026772022-10-20T16:30:00.001-07:002022-10-20T16:30:00.185-07:00The robots are coming - and they're spooky<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNSbhCxfnQPrWlUQCrTO4eAPBpi5uSQdrLickzh8ku8q_Mi9s2xLgcbar0JbbJgJnIDswhWJ6MFV0CGHB-zz2uZ4gwGJ4uLegHpjjirSuMG48HCaeWGqzwTrQZ7kUXZd_RKV23TXTN8DbjfKfS604KMmPbp2Aqv0ONhP513uYfCV-6hspp1BIjXNzX/s1618/Coven%2013%20a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1618" data-original-width="989" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNSbhCxfnQPrWlUQCrTO4eAPBpi5uSQdrLickzh8ku8q_Mi9s2xLgcbar0JbbJgJnIDswhWJ6MFV0CGHB-zz2uZ4gwGJ4uLegHpjjirSuMG48HCaeWGqzwTrQZ7kUXZd_RKV23TXTN8DbjfKfS604KMmPbp2Aqv0ONhP513uYfCV-6hspp1BIjXNzX/w245-h400/Coven%2013%20a.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>I asked <a href="https://www.wombo.art/" target="_blank">Wombo Dream</a> to give me "a cover of <a href="http://mirabilis-yearofwonders.blogspot.com/2009/05/coven-13.html" target="_blank"><i>Coven 13</i> </a>magazine drawn by <a href="https://www.williamstout.com/" target="_blank">William Stout</a>" and it gave me this. It's not really much in Stout's style, and it's confused to the point of being demented, but in the madness there's a touch of genius too. I wonder how long it's going to be before AI art is more common than the old-fashioned human kind?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"So what's the future of <i>Wrong </i>magazine?" I asked it next, and the machine oracle gave me this vision. Well, I'd buy it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRynbWAEThM8ZMFnZHayeCJhPqbgaUJ3zrrz2DbIY3cs_p0KbudHwKoikROc_ALom4IraFtP5ybjyt46jyv0ma6UndjOAB1kQ-tUOmPm8gFJRIaR-cCSgZC_tP4pTNpxkMwBU7M8WdX2IXviG4_pPxNVNt7aAbJ2Cy4aVKnAXpWEXMVdDZ1Kbd35JX/s3483/Wrong-mag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3483" data-original-width="2171" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRynbWAEThM8ZMFnZHayeCJhPqbgaUJ3zrrz2DbIY3cs_p0KbudHwKoikROc_ALom4IraFtP5ybjyt46jyv0ma6UndjOAB1kQ-tUOmPm8gFJRIaR-cCSgZC_tP4pTNpxkMwBU7M8WdX2IXviG4_pPxNVNt7aAbJ2Cy4aVKnAXpWEXMVdDZ1Kbd35JX/w249-h400/Wrong-mag.jpg" width="249" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-10729508448320827592022-02-14T00:00:00.008-08:002022-02-14T00:00:00.217-08:00The Demon Lover<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="252" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cKi0_RkWNaI" title="YouTube video player" width="448"></iframe></div>
<br />
We already looked at <a href="http://wrong-magazine.blogspot.com/2020/08/the-daemon-lover.html" target="_blank">Shirley Jackson's "The Daemon Lover"</a>. Here's a different but equally creepy take on the theme by another fine writer, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Bowen" target="_blank">Elizabeth Bowen </a>(1899-1973). Listen above, or read it <a href="http://omero.humnet.unipi.it/matdid/201/DemonLover.pdf" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br />
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ac&ref=qf_sp_asin_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=naiyounov-20&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B08GM8G2DX&asins=B08GM8G2DX&linkId=ad70d76f976042069385469dca09ad40&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=false&price_color=333333&title_color=0066c0&bg_color=ffffff" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>
<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-eu.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=GB&source=ac&ref=qf_sp_asin_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=fablland-21&marketplace=amazon&region=GB&placement=0712353763&asins=0712353763&linkId=6698b086484cc86e67fab44de7899402&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=false&price_color=333333&title_color=0066c0&bg_color=ffffff" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-55834817394901757332022-01-11T02:42:00.004-08:002022-01-14T00:07:01.090-08:00My Own True Ghost Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTWrX1Px3nlXEUQMDLcU0N5QCeMl45HML-FKZqyS3W4O53lwoA5r4KpG02IMGze5MS8-V4gBzFERleyIyX2ePeWl7gJOF21k5FyEdkD8s0PfAuWt6wSw8QQuZbzvYYlYtQ_nM1xqBLt1-d2m1uNtp4ZGkbX_ycwZFtD7yzAzh-tXKDlGhKs74kJ5z6=s1024" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="849" data-original-width="1024" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjTWrX1Px3nlXEUQMDLcU0N5QCeMl45HML-FKZqyS3W4O53lwoA5r4KpG02IMGze5MS8-V4gBzFERleyIyX2ePeWl7gJOF21k5FyEdkD8s0PfAuWt6wSw8QQuZbzvYYlYtQ_nM1xqBLt1-d2m1uNtp4ZGkbX_ycwZFtD7yzAzh-tXKDlGhKs74kJ5z6=w400-h331" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 12pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #FFF2CC; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: "lumm=20000 lumo=80000"; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent4; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themetint: 51;">by Rudyard
Kipling<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 72.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 72pt;"><i><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">As I came through the Desert thus it was—<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 72.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 72pt;"><i><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">As I came through the Desert.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 72.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 72pt;"><i><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">— The City of Dreadful Night<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">Somewhere in the Other World, where there are books and pictures and
plays and shop windows to look at, and thousands of men who spend their lives
in building up all four, lives a gentleman who writes real stories about the
real insides of people; and his name is Mr Walter Besant. But he will insist
upon treating his ghosts— he has published half a workshopful of them—with
levity. He makes his ghost-seers talk familiarly, and, in some cases, flirt outrageously,
with the phantoms. You may treat anything, from a Viceroy to a Vernacular
Paper, with levity; but you must behave reverently toward a ghost, and
particularly an Indian one. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are, in this land, ghosts who take the
form of fat, cold, pobby corpses, and hide in trees near the roadside till a traveller
passes. Then they drop upon his neck and remain. There are also terrible ghosts
of women who have died in child-bed. These wander along the pathways at dusk,
or hide in the crops near a village, and call seductively. But to answer their
call is death in this world and the next. Their feet are turned backward that
all sober men may recognize them. There are ghosts of little children who have
been thrown into wells. These haunt well curbs and the fringes of jungles, and
wail under the stars, or catch women by the wrist and beg to be taken up and
carried. These and the corpse ghosts, however, are only vernacular articles and
do not attack Sahibs. No native ghost has yet been authentically reported to have
frightened an Englishman; but many English ghosts have scared the life out of
both white and black. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">Nearly every other
Station owns a ghost. There are said to be two at Simla, not counting the woman
who blows the bellows at Syree dâk-bungalow </span><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 8pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">[1]</span><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;"> on the Old Road;
Mussoorie has a house haunted of a very lively Thing; a White Lady is supposed
to do night-watchman round a house in Lahore; Dalhousie says that one of her
houses ‘repeats’ on autumn evenings all the incidents of a horrible horse- and-precipice
accident; Murree has a merry ghost, and, now that she has been swept by
cholera, will have room for a sorrowful one; there are Officers’ Quarters in
Mian Mir whose doors open without reason, and whose furniture is guaranteed to
creak, not with the heat of June but with the weight of Invisibles who come to
lounge in the chairs; Peshawur possesses houses that none will willingly rent;
and there is something—not fever—wrong with a big bungalow in Allahabad. The
older Provinces simply bristle with haunted houses, and march phantom armies
along their main thoroughfares. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">Some of the dâk-bungalows
on the Grand Trunk Road have handy little cemeteries in their compound—witnesses
to the ‘changes and chances of this mortal life’ in the days when men drove
from Calcutta to the Northwest. These bungalows are objectionable places to put
up in. They are generally very old, always dirty, while the <i>khansamah</i> </span><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 8pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">[2]</span><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;"> is as ancient as
the bungalow. He either chatters senilely, or falls into the long trances of
age. In both moods he is useless. If you get angry with him, he refers to some
Sahib dead and buried these thirty years, and says that when he was in that
Sahib’s service not a <i>khansamah</i> in the Province could touch him. Then he
jabbers and mows and trembles and fidgets among the dishes, and you repent of
your irritation. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">In these dâk-bungalows,
ghosts are most likely to be found, and when found, they should be made a note
of. Not long ago it was my business to live in dâk-bungalows. I never inhabited
the same house for three nights running, and grew to be learned in the breed. I
lived in Government-built ones with red brick walls and rail ceilings, an
inventory of the furniture posted in every room, and an excited snake at the threshold
to give welcome. I lived in ‘converted’ ones—old houses officiating as dâk-bungalows—where
nothing was in its proper place and there wasn’t even a fowl for dinner. I
lived in second-hand palaces where the wind blew through open-work marble
tracery just as uncomfortably as through a broken pane. I lived in dâk-bungalows
where the last entry in the visitors’ book was fifteen months old, and where
they slashed off the curry-kid’s head with a sword. It was my good luck to meet
all sorts of men, from sober traveling missionaries and deserters flying from
British Regiments, to drunken loafers who threw whisky bottles at all who
passed; and my still greater good fortune just to escape a maternity case.
Seeing that a fair proportion of the tragedy of our lives out here acted itself
in dâk-bungalows, I wondered that I had met no ghosts. A ghost that would
voluntarily hang about a dâk-bungalow would be mad of course; but so many men have
died mad in dâk-bungalows that there must be a fair percentage of lunatic
ghosts. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">In due time I found
my ghost, or ghosts rather, for there were two of them. Up till that hour I had
sympathized with Mr Besant’s method of handling them, as shown in ‘The Strange
Case of Mr. Lucraft and Other Stories.’ I am now in the Opposition. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">We will call the
bungalow Katmal dâk-bungalow. But <i>that</i> was the smallest part of the
horror. A man with a sensitive hide has no right to sleep in dâk-bungalows. He
should marry. Katmal dak- bungalow was old and rotten and unrepaired. The floor
was of worn brick, the walls were filthy, and the windows were nearly black with
grime. It stood on a bypath largely used by native Sub-Deputy Assistants of all
kinds, from Finance to Forests; but real Sahibs were rare. The <i>khansamah</i>,
who was nearly bent double with old age, said so. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">When I arrived,
there was a fitful, undecided rain on the face of the land, accompanied by a
restless wind, and every gust made a noise like the rattling of dry bones in
the stiff toddy palms outside. The <i>khansamah</i> completely lost his head on
my arrival. He had served a Sahib once. Did I know that Sahib? He gave me the name
of a well-known man who has been buried for more than a quarter of a century,
and showed me an ancient daguerreotype of that man in his prehistoric youth. I
had seen a steel engraving of him at the head of a double volume of Memoirs a
month before, and I felt ancient beyond telling. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">The day shut in and the
<i>khansamah</i> went to get me food. He did not go through the pretence of
calling it ‘<i>khana’</i>—man’s victuals. He said ‘<i>ratub</i>,’ and that
means, among other things, ‘grub’—dog’s rations. There was no insult in his
choice of the term. He had forgotten the other word, I suppose. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">While he was cutting
up the dead bodies of animals, I settled myself down, after exploring the dâk-bungalow.
There were three rooms, beside my own, which was a corner kennel, each giving
into the other through dingy white doors fastened with long iron bars. The
bungalow was a very solid one, but the partition walls of the rooms were almost
jerry-built in their flimsiness. Every step or bang of a trunk echoed from my
room down the other three, and every footfall came back tremulously from the
far walls. For this reason I shut the door. There were no lamps, only candles
in long glass shades. An oil wick was set in the bathroom. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">For bleak,
unadulterated misery that dâk-bungalow was the worst of the many that I had
ever set foot in. There was no fireplace, and the windows would not open; so a
brazier of charcoal would have been useless. The rain and the wind splashed and
gurgled and moaned round the house, and the toddy palms rattled and roared. Half
a dozen jackals went through the compound singing, and a hyena stood afar off
and mocked them. A hyena would convince a Sadducee of the Resurrection of the
Dead—the worst sort of Dead. Then came the <i>ratub</i>—a curious meal, half
native and half English in composition—with the old <i>khansamah</i> babbling
behind my chair about dead and gone English people, and the wind-blown candles
playing shadow-bo-peep with the bed and the mosquito-curtains. It was just the
sort of dinner and evening to make a man think of every single one of his past
sins, and of all the others that he intended to commit if he lived. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">Sleep, for several
hundred reasons, was not easy. The lamp in the bath-room threw the most absurd
shadows into the room, and the wind was beginning to talk nonsense. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">Just when the
reasons were drowsy with blood-sucking I heard the regular—’Let—us—take—and—heave—him—over’
grunt of doolie-bearers </span><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 8pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">[3]</span><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;"> in the compound. First
one doolie came in, then a second, and then a third. I heard the doolies dumped
on the ground, and the shutter in front of my door shook. ‘That’s someone
trying to come in,’ I said. But no one spoke, and I persuaded myself that it was
the gusty wind. The shutter of the room next to mine was attacked, flung back,
and the inner door opened. ‘That’s some Sub- Deputy Assistant,’ I said, ‘and he
has brought his friends with him. Now they’ll talk and spit and smoke for an
hour.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">But there were no
voices and no footsteps. No one was putting his luggage into the next room. The
door shut, and I thanked Providence that I was to be left in peace. But I was
curious to know where the doolies had gone. I got out of bed and looked into the
darkness. There was never a sign of a doolie. Just as I was getting into bed
again, I heard, in the next room, the sound that no man in his senses can
possibly mistake—the whir of a billiard ball down the length of the slates when
the striker is stringing for break. No other sound is like it. A minute
afterwards there was another whir, and I got into bed. I was not frightened—indeed
I was not. I was very curious to know what had become of the doolies. I jumped
into bed for that reason. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next minute I heard the double click of a cannon
and my hair sat up. It is a mistake to say that hair stands up. The skin of the
head tightens and you can feel a faint, prickly, bristling all over the scalp.
That is the hair sitting up. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">There was a whir and
a click, and both sounds could only have been made by one thing—a billiard
ball. I argued the matter out at great length with myself; and the more I
argued the less probable it seemed that one bed, one table, and two chairs—all
the furniture of the room next to mine—could so exactly duplicate the sounds of
a game of billiards. After another cannon, a three- cushion one to judge by the
whir, I argued no more. I had found my ghost and would have given worlds to
have escaped from that dak- bungalow. I listened, and with each listen the game
grew clearer. There was whir on whir and click on click. Sometimes there was a double
click and a whir and another click. Beyond any sort of doubt, people were
playing billiards in the next room. And the next room was not big enough to
hold a billiard table! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">Between the pauses
of the wind I heard the game go forward—stroke after stroke. I tried to believe
that I could not hear voices; but that attempt was a failure. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">Do you know what
fear is? Not ordinary fear of insult, injury or death, but abject, quivering
dread of something that you cannot see—fear that dries the inside of the mouth
and half of the throat—fear that makes you sweat on the palms of the hands, and
gulp in order to keep the uvula at work? This is a fine Fear—a great cowardice,
and must be felt to be appreciated. The very improbability of billiards in a dâk-bungalow
proved the reality of the thing. No man—drunk or sober—could imagine a game at billiards,
or invent the spitting crack of a ‘screw-cannon.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">A severe course of dâk-bungalows
has this disadvantage—it breeds infinite credulity. If a man said to a
confirmed dâk-bungalow-haunter: ’There is a corpse in the next room, and there’s
a mad girl in the next but one, and the woman and man on that camel have just
eloped from a place sixty miles away,’ the hearer would not disbelieve because
he would know that nothing is too wild, grotesque, or horrible to happen in a dâk-bungalow.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">This credulity,
unfortunately, extends to ghosts. A rational person fresh from his own house
would have turned on his side and slept. I did not. So surely as I was given up
as a bad carcass by the scores of things in the bed because the bulk of my
blood was in my heart, so surely did I hear every stroke of a long game at billiards
played in the echoing room behind the iron-barred door. My dominant fear was
that the players might want a marker. It was an absurd fear; because creatures
who could play in the dark would be above such superfluities. I only know that
that was my terror; and it was real. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">After a long, long
while the game stopped, and the door banged. I slept because I was dead tired.
Otherwise I should have preferred to have kept awake. Not for everything in
Asia would I have dropped the door-bar and peered into the dark of the next
room. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">When the morning
came, I considered that I had done well and wisely, and inquired for the means
of departure. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">‘By the way, <i>khansamah</i>,’
I said, ‘what were those three doolies doing in my compound in the night?’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">‘There were no
doolies,’ said the <i>khansamah</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">I went into the next
room and the daylight streamed through the open door. I was immensely brave. I
would, at that hour, have played Black Pool with the owner of the big Black
Pool down below. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">‘Has this place
always been a dâk-bungalow?’ I asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">‘No,’ said the <i>khansamah</i>.
‘Ten or twenty years ago, I have forgotten how long, it was a billiard room.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">‘A how much?’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">‘A billiard room for
the Sahibs who built the Railway. I was <i>khansamah</i> then in the big house
where all the Railway-Sahibs lived, and I used to come across with brandy-<i>shrab</i>.
These three rooms were all one, and they held a big table on which the Sahibs played
every evening. But the Sahibs are all dead now, and the Railway runs, you say,
nearly to Kabul.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">‘Do you remember
anything about the Sahibs?’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">‘It is long ago, but
I remember that one Sahib, a fat man and always angry, was playing here one
night, and he said to me: ‘Mangal Khan, brandy-<i>pani do</i>,’ and I filled
the glass, and he bent over the table to strike, and his head fell lower and
lower till it hit the table, and his spectacles came off, and when we—the
Sahibs and I myself—ran to lift him he was dead. I helped to carry him out.
Aha, he was a strong Sahib! But he is dead and I, old Mangal Khan, am still
living, by your favour.’ <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">That was more than
enough! I had my ghost—a first-hand, authenticated article. I would write to
the Society for Psychical Research—I would paralyze the Empire with the news!
But I would, first of all, put eighty miles of assessed crop land between
myself and that dâk-bungalow before nightfall. The Society might send their
regular agent to investigate later on. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">I went into my own
room and prepared to pack after noting down the facts of the case. As I smoked
I heard the game begin again,—with a miss in balk this time, for the whir was a
short one. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">The door was open
and I could see into the room. <i>Click—c1ick!</i> That was a cannon. I entered
the room without fear, for there was sunlight within and a fresh breeze
without. The unseen game was going on at a tremendous rate. And well it might,
when a restless little rat was running to and fro inside the dingy
ceiling-cloth, and a piece of loose window-sash was making fifty breaks off the
window-bolt as it shook in the breeze! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">Impossible to
mistake the sound of billiard balls! Impossible to mistake the whir of a ball
over the slate! But I was to be excused. Even when I shut my enlightened eyes
the sound was marvellously like that of a fast game. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">Entered angrily the
faithful partner of my sorrows, Kadir Baksh. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">‘This bungalow is
very bad and low-caste! No wonder the Presence was disturbed and is speckled.
Three sets of doolie-bearers came to the bungalow late last night when I was
sleeping outside, and said that it was their custom to rest in the rooms set
apart for the English people! What honour has the <i>khansamah</i>? They tried
to enter, but I told them to go. No wonder, if these <i>Oorias</i> </span><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 8pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">[4]</span><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;"> have been here,
that the Presence is sorely spotted. It is shame, and the work of a dirty man!’
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">Kadir Baksh did not
say that he had taken from each gang two annas for rent in advance, and then,
beyond my earshot, had beaten them with the big green umbrella whose use I
could never before divine. But Kadir Baksh has no notions of morality. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">There was an
interview with the <i>khansamah</i>, but as he promptly lost his head, wrath
gave place to pity, and pity led to a long conversation, in the course of which
he put the fat Engineer- Sahib’s tragic death in three separate stations—two of
them fifty miles away. The third shift was to Calcutta, and there the Sahib died
while driving a dogcart. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">If I had encouraged
him the <i>khansamah</i> would have wandered all through Bengal with his
corpse. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">I did not go away as
soon as I intended. I stayed for the night, while the wind and the rat and the
sash and the window-bolt played a ding-dong ‘hundred and fifty up.’ Then the
wind ran out and the billiards stopped, and I felt that I had ruined my one
genuine, hall-marked ghost story. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">Had I only stopped
at the proper time, I could have made <i>anything</i> out of it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 19.85pt;"><span style="color: #f2f2f2; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #F2F2F2; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: lumm=95000; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: background1; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 242;">That was the
bitterest thought of all! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: x-small;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: x-small; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #FFF2CC; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: "lumm=20000 lumo=80000"; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent4; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themetint: 51;">[1] A
government building used as a hostel by travelling officials.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: x-small; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #FFF2CC; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: "lumm=20000 lumo=80000"; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent4; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themetint: 51;">[2] <i>Khansamah</i>
– a cook/janitor<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: x-small; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #FFF2CC; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: "lumm=20000 lumo=80000"; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent4; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themetint: 51;">[3]
Stretcher-bearers<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; mso-style-textfill-fill-alpha: 100.0%; mso-style-textfill-fill-color: #FFF2CC; mso-style-textfill-fill-colortransforms: "lumm=20000 lumo=80000"; mso-style-textfill-fill-themecolor: accent4; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themetint: 51;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">[4] An
ethnic group; natives of Orissa.</span><o:p style="font-size: 10pt;"></o:p></span></p>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-72280128421090098702021-12-31T16:00:00.046-08:002021-12-31T16:00:00.217-08:00Enoch Soames<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht-Sk9NT_gTj-Ff1M0qPN-CqGadDdOWebLFuqvlwTLyZuXTj-PyHMViiPj0DTgmgJJ75nnljT69QjywuDgHpjnSKlDnKcms5y-Mge0n0oyGUYp7d53S6opYORX1VWU-lORNV0sdQcNZho/s319/Enoch-soames.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="319" data-original-width="250" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht-Sk9NT_gTj-Ff1M0qPN-CqGadDdOWebLFuqvlwTLyZuXTj-PyHMViiPj0DTgmgJJ75nnljT69QjywuDgHpjnSKlDnKcms5y-Mge0n0oyGUYp7d53S6opYORX1VWU-lORNV0sdQcNZho/w313-h400/Enoch-soames.jpg" width="313" /></a></div><p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #d0e0e3;">by Max Beerbohm</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">When a book about the literature
of the eighteen-nineties was given by Mr. Holbrook Jackson to the world, I
looked eagerly in the index for <span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Soames,
Enoch</span>. It was as I feared: he was not there. But everybody else was.
Many writers whom I had quite forgotten, or remembered but faintly, lived again
for me, they and their work, in Mr. Holbrook Jackson’s pages. The book was as
thorough as it was brilliantly written. And thus the omission found by me was
an all the deadlier record of poor Soames’s failure to impress himself on his
decade.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I dare
say I am the only person who noticed the omission. Soames had failed so
piteously as all that! Nor is there a counterpoise in the thought that if he
had had some measure of success he might have passed, like those others, out of
my mind, to return only at the historian’s beck. It is true that had his gifts,
such as they were, been acknowledged in his lifetime, he would never have made
the bargain I saw him make—that strange bargain whose results have kept him
always in the foreground of my memory. But it is from those very results that
the full piteousness of him glares out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Not my
compassion, however, impels me to write of him. For his sake, poor fellow, I
should be inclined to keep my pen out of the ink. It is ill to deride the dead.
And how can I write about Enoch Soames without making him ridiculous? Or,
rather, how am I to hush up the horrid fact that he WAS ridiculous? I shall not
be able to do that. Yet, sooner or later, write about him I must. You will see
in due course that I have no option. And I may as well get the thing done now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">In the Summer Term of ‘93 a bolt
from the blue flashed down on Oxford. It drove deep; it hurtlingly embedded
itself in the soil. Dons and undergraduates stood around, rather pale, discussing
nothing but it. Whence came it, this meteorite? From Paris. Its name? Will
Rothenstein. Its aim? To do a series of twenty-four portraits in lithograph.
These were to be published from the Bodley Head, London. The matter was urgent.
Already the warden of A, and the master of B, and the Regius Professor of C had
meekly ‘sat.’ Dignified and doddering old men who had never consented to sit to
any one could not withstand this dynamic little stranger. He did not sue; he
invited: he did not invite; he commanded. He was twenty-one years old. He wore
spectacles that flashed more than any other pair ever seen. He was a wit. He
was brimful of ideas. He knew Whistler. He knew Daudet and the Goncourts. He
knew every one in Paris. He knew them all by heart. He was Paris in Oxford. It
was whispered that, so soon as he had polished off his selection of dons, he
was going to include a few undergraduates. It was a proud day for me when I—I
was included. I liked Rothenstein not less than I feared him; and there arose
between us a friendship that has grown ever warmer, and been more and more
valued by me, with every passing year.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">At the
end of Term he settled in—or rather, meteoritically into–London. It was to him
I owed my first knowledge of that forever-enchanting little world-in-itself,
Chelsea, and my first acquaintance with Walter Sickert and other August elders
who dwelt there. It was Rothenstein that took me to see, in Cambridge Street,
Pimlico, a young man whose drawings were already famous among the few—Aubrey
Beardsley by name. With Rothenstein I paid my first visit to the Bodley Head.
By him I was inducted into another haunt of intellect and daring, the
domino-room of the Café Royal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There, on
that October evening—there, in that exuberant vista of gilding and crimson
velvet set amidst all those opposing mirrors and upholding caryatids, with
fumes of tobacco ever rising to the painted and pagan ceiling, and with the hum
of presumably cynical conversation broken into so sharply now and again by the
clatter of dominoes shuffled on marble tables, I drew a deep breath and, ‘This
indeed,’ said I to myself, ‘is life!’ (Forgive me that theory. Remember the
waging of even the South African War was not yet.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It was
the hour before dinner. We drank vermouth. Those who knew Rothenstein were
pointing him out to those who knew him only by name. Men were constantly coming
in through the swing-doors and wandering slowly up and down in search of vacant
tables or of tables occupied by friends. One of these rovers interested me
because I was sure he wanted to catch Rothenstein’s eye. He had twice passed
our table, with a hesitating look; but Rothenstein, in the thick of a
disquisition on Puvis de Chavannes, had not seen him. He was a stooping,
shambling person, rather tall, very pale, with longish and brownish hair. He
had a thin, vague beard, or, rather, he had a chin on which a large number of
hairs weakly curled and clustered to cover its retreat. He was an odd-looking
person; but in the nineties odd apparitions were more frequent, I think, than
they are now. The young writers of that era—and I was sure this man was a
writer—strove earnestly to be distinct in aspect. This man had striven
unsuccessfully. He wore a soft black hat of clerical kind, but of Bohemian
intention, and a grey waterproof cape which, perhaps because it was waterproof,
failed to be romantic. I decided that ‘dim’ was the <i>mot juste</i> for him. I
had already essayed to write, and was immensely keen on the <i>mot juste</i>,
that Holy Grail of the period.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The dim
man was now again approaching our table, and this time he made up his mind to
pause in front of it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘You don’t
remember me,’ he said in a toneless voice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Rothenstein
brightly focused him. ‘Yes, I do,’ he replied after a moment, with pride rather
than effusion—pride in a retentive memory. ‘Edwin Soames.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Enoch
Soames,’ said Enoch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Enoch
Soames,’ repeated Rothenstein in a tone implying that it was enough to have hit
on the surname. ‘We met in Paris a few times when you were living there. We met
at the Café Groche.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘And I
came to your studio once.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Oh, yes;
I was sorry I was out.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘But you
were in. You showed me some of your paintings, you know… I hear you’re in
Chelsea now.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Yes.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I almost
wondered that Mr. Soames did not, after this monosyllable, pass along. He stood
patiently there, rather like a dumb animal, rather like a donkey looking over a
gate. A sad figure, his. It occurred to me that ‘hungry’ was perhaps the <i>mot
juste</i> for him; but—hungry for what? He looked as if he had little appetite
for anything. I was sorry for him; and Rothenstein, though he had not invited
him to Chelsea, did ask him to sit down and have something to drink.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Seated, he was more
self-assertive. He flung back the wings of his cape with a gesture which, had
not those wings been waterproof, might have seemed to hurl defiance at things
in general. And he ordered an absinthe. ‘<i>Je me tiens toujours fidèle</i>,’
he told Rothenstein, ‘<i>a la sorciere glauque</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘It is bad for you,’ said
Rothenstein, dryly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Nothing is bad for one,’
answered Soames. ‘<i>Dans ce monde il n’y a ni bien ni mal</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Nothing good and nothing bad?
How do you mean?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘I explained it all in the preface
to <i>Negations</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘<i>Negations</i>?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Yes, I gave you a copy of it.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Oh, yes, of course. But, did you
explain, for instance, that there was no such thing as bad or good grammar?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘N-no,’ said Soames. ‘Of course
in Art there is the good and the evil. But in Life—no.’ He was rolling a
cigarette. He had weak, white hands, not well washed, and with finger-tips much
stained with nicotine. ‘In Life there are illusions of good and evil, but’—his
voice trailed away to a murmur in which the words ‘<i>vieux jeu’</i> and ‘rococo’
were faintly audible. I think he felt he was not doing himself justice, and
feared that Rothenstein was going to point out fallacies. Anyhow, he cleared
his throat and said, ‘<i>Parlons d’autre chose</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It occurs to you that he was a
fool? It didn’t to me. I was young, and had not the clarity of judgment that
Rothenstein already had. Soames was quite five or six years older than either
of us. Also—he had written a book. It was wonderful to have written a book.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">If Rothenstein had not been
there, I should have revered Soames. Even as it was, I respected him. And I was
very near indeed to reverence when he said he had another book coming out soon.
I asked if I might ask what kind of book it was to be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘My poems,’ he answered.
Rothenstein asked if this was to be the title of the book. The poet meditated
on this suggestion, but said he rather thought of giving the book no title at
all. ‘If a book is good in itself—’ he murmured, and waved his cigarette.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Rothenstein objected that absence
of title might be bad for the sale of a book.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘If,’ he urged, ‘I went into a
bookseller’s and said simply, “Have you got?” or, “Have you a copy of?” how
would they know what I wanted?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Oh, of course I should have my
name on the cover,’ Soames answered earnestly. ‘And I rather want,’ he added,
looking hard at Rothenstein, ‘to have a drawing of myself as frontispiece.’
Rothenstein admitted that this was a capital idea, and mentioned that he was
going into the country and would be there for some time. He then looked at his
watch, exclaimed at the hour, paid the waiter, and went away with me to dinner.
Soames remained at his post of fidelity to the glaucous witch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Why were you so determined not
to draw him?’ I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Draw him? Him? How can one draw
a man who doesn’t exist?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘He is dim,’ I admitted. But my <i>mot
juste</i> fell flat. Rothenstein repeated that Soames was non-existent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Still, Soames had written a book.
I asked if Rothenstein had read <i>Negations</i>. He said he had looked into
it, ‘but,’ he added crisply, ‘I don’t profess to know anything about writing.’
A reservation very characteristic of the period! Painters would not then allow
that anyone outside their own order had a right to any opinion about painting.
This law (graven on the tablets brought down by Whistler from the summit of
Fujiyama) imposed certain limitations. If other arts than painting were not
utterly unintelligible to all but the men who practiced them, the law
tottered—the Monroe Doctrine, as it were, did not hold good. Therefore no
painter would offer an opinion of a book without warning you at any rate that
his opinion was worthless. No one is a better judge of literature than
Rothenstein; but it wouldn’t have done to tell him so in those days, and I knew
that I must form an unaided judgment of <i>Negations</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Not to buy a book of which I had
met the author face to face would have been for me in those days an impossible
act of self-denial. When I returned to Oxford for the Christmas term I had duly
secured <i>Negations</i>. I used to keep it lying carelessly on the table in my
room, and whenever a friend took it up and asked what it was about, I would
say: ‘Oh, it’s rather a remarkable book. It’s by a man whom I know.’ Just ‘what
it was about’ I never was able to say. Head or tail was just what I hadn’t made
of that slim, green volume. I found in the preface no clue to the labyrinth of
contents, and in that labyrinth nothing to explain the preface.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 17pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Lean near
to life. Lean very near— nearer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 17pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Life is
web and therein nor warp nor woof is, but web only. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 17pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is for
this I am Catholick in church and in thought, yet do let swift Mood weave there
what the shuttle of Mood wills.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 17pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">These were the opening phrases of
the preface, but those which followed were less easy to understand. Then came ‘Stark:
A <i>Conte</i>,’ about a midinette who, so far as I could gather, murdered, or
was about to murder, a mannequin. It was rather like a story by Catulle Mendès
in which the translator had either skipped or cut out every alternate sentence.
Next, a dialogue between Pan and St. Ursula, lacking, I rather thought, in ‘snap.’
Next, some aphorisms (entitled <i>αφοςίσματα</i>). Throughout, in fact, there
was a great variety of form, and the forms had evidently been wrought with much
care. It was rather the substance that eluded me. Was there, I wondered, any
substance at all? It did now occur to me: suppose Enoch Soames was a fool! Up
cropped a rival hypothesis: suppose <i>I </i>was! I inclined to give Soames the
benefit of the doubt. I had read <i>L’Après-midi d’un Faune</i> without
extracting a glimmer of meaning; yet Mallarmé, of course, was a Master. How was
I to know that Soames wasn’t another? There was a sort of music in his prose,
not indeed, arresting, but perhaps, I thought, haunting, and laden, perhaps,
with meanings as deep as Mallarmé’s own. I awaited his poems with an open mind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And I looked forward to them with
positive impatience after I had had a second meeting with him. This was on an
evening in January. Going into the aforesaid domino-room, I had passed a table
at which sat a pale man with an open book before him. He had looked from his
book to me, and I looked back over my shoulder with a vague sense that I ought
to have recognized him. I returned to pay my respects. After exchanging a few
words, I said with a glance to the open book, ‘I see I am interrupting you,’
and was about to pass on, but, ‘I prefer,’ Soames replied in his toneless
voice, ‘to be interrupted,’ and I obeyed his gesture that I should sit down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I asked him if he often read
here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Yes; things of this kind I read
here,’ he answered, indicating the title of his book—<i>The Poems of Shelley</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Anything that you really’—and I
was going to say ‘admire?’ But I cautiously left my sentence unfinished, and
was glad that I had done so, for he said with unwonted emphasis, ‘Anything
second-rate.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I had read little of Shelley but,
‘Of course,’ I murmured, ‘he’s very uneven.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘I should have thought evenness
was just what was wrong with him. A deadly evenness. That’s why I read him
here. The noise of this place breaks the rhythm. He’s tolerable here.’ Soames
took up the book and glanced through the pages. He laughed. Soames’s laugh was
a short, single, and mirthless sound from the throat, unaccompanied by any
movement of the face or brightening of the eyes. ‘What a period!’ he uttered,
laying the book down. And, ‘What a country!’ he added.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I asked rather nervously if he
didn’t think Keats had more or less held his own against the drawbacks of time
and place. He admitted that there were ‘passages in Keats,’ but did not specify
them. Of ‘the older men,’ as he called them, he seemed to like only Milton. ‘Milton,’
he said, ‘wasn’t sentimental.’ Also, ‘Milton had a dark insight.’ And again, ‘I
can always read Milton in the reading-room.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘The reading-room?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Of the British Museum. I go
there every day.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘You do? I’ve only been there
once. I’m afraid I found it rather a depressing place. It—it seemed to sap one’s
vitality.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘It does. That’s why I go there.
The lower one’s vitality, the more sensitive one is to great art. I live near
the Museum. I have rooms in Dyott Street.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘And you go round to the
reading-room to read Milton?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Usually Milton.’ He looked at
me. ‘It was Milton,’ he certificatively added, ‘who converted me to Diabolism.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Diabolism? Oh, yes? Really?’
said I, with that vague discomfort and that intense desire to be polite which
one feels when a man speaks of his own religion. ‘You—worship the Devil?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Soames shook his head. ‘It’s not
exactly worship,’ he qualified, sipping his absinthe. ‘It’s more a matter of
trusting and encouraging.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Ah, yes… But I had rather
gathered from the preface to <i>Negations</i> that you were a—a Catholic.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘<i>Je l’étais à cette époque</i>.
Perhaps I still am. Yes, I’m a Catholic Diabolist.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">This profession he made in an
almost cursory tone. I could see that what was upmost in his mind was the fact
that I had read <i>Negations</i>. His pale eyes had for the first time gleamed.
I felt as one who is about to be examined viva voce on the very subject in
which he is shakiest. I hastily asked him how soon his poems were to be
published.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Next week,’ he told me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘And are they to be published
without a title?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘No. I found a title at last. But
I shan’t tell you what it is,’ as though I had been so impertinent as to
inquire. ‘I am not sure that it wholly satisfies me. But it is the best I can
find. It suggests something of the quality of the poems… Strange growths,
natural and wild, yet exquisite,’ he added, ‘and many-hued, and full of
poisons.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I asked him what he thought of
Baudelaire. He uttered the snort that was his laugh, and, ‘Baudelaire,’ he
said, ‘was a <i>bourgeois malgré lui</i>.’ France had had only one poet—Villon;
‘and two thirds of Villon were sheer journalism.’ Verlaine was ‘an <i>épicier
malgré lui</i>.’ Altogether, rather to my surprise, he rated French literature
lower than English. There were ‘passages’ in Villiers de l’Isle-Adam. But, ‘I,’
he summed up, ‘owe nothing to France.’ He nodded at me. ‘You’ll see,’ he
predicted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I did not, when the time came,
quite see that. I thought the author of <i>Fungoids</i> did, unconsciously of
course, owe something to the young Parisian decadents or to the young English
ones who owed something to <i>them</i>. I still think so. The little book,
bought by me in Oxford, lies before me as I write. Its pale-grey buckram cover
and silver lettering have not worn well. Nor have its contents. Through these,
with a melancholy interest, I have again been looking. They are not much. But
at the time of their publication I had a vague suspicion that they <i>might</i>
be. I suppose it is my capacity for faith, not poor Soames’s work, that is
weaker than it once was…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 108.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 108pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">To a
Young Woman<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Thou art, who hast not been!<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 47.35pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 47.35pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Pale tunes irresolute<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 47.35pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 47.35pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And traceries of old sounds<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 47.35pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 47.35pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Blown from a rotted flute<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Mingle with noise of cymbals
rouged with rust,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Nor not strange forms and epicene<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 47.35pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 47.35pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Lie bleeding in the dust,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 58.7pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 58.7pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Being wounded with wounds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 58.7pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 58.7pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">For this it is<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 47.35pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 47.35pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">That in thy counterpart<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 58.7pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 58.7pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Of age-long mockeries<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Thou hast not been nor art!<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There seemed to me a certain
inconsistency as between the first and last lines of this. I tried, with bent
brows, to resolve the discord. But I did not take my failure as wholly
incompatible with a meaning in Soames’s mind. Might it not rather indicate the
depth of his meaning? As for the craftsmanship, ‘rouged with rust’ seemed to me
a fine stroke, and ‘nor not’ instead of ‘and’ had a curious felicity. I
wondered who the Young Woman was and what she had made of it all. I sadly
suspect that Soames could not have made more of it than she. Yet even now, if
one doesn’t try to make any sense at all of the poem, and reads it just for the
sound, there is a certain grace of cadence. Soames was an artist, in so far as
he was anything, poor fellow!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It seemed to me, when first I
read <i>Fungoids</i>, that, oddly enough, the Diabolistic side of him was the
best. Diabolism seemed to be a cheerful, even a wholesome influence in his
life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 72.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 72pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Nocturne<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Round and round the shutter’d
Square<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I strolled with the Devil’s arm
in mine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">No sound but the scrape of his
hoofs was there<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And the ring of his laughter and
mine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 47.35pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 47.35pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">We had drunk black wine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I scream’d, ‘I will race you,
Master!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘What matter,’ he shriek’d, ‘to-night<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Which of us runs the faster?<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There is nothing to fear to-night<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 47.35pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 47.35pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">In the foul moon’s light!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Then I look’d him in the eyes<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And I laugh’d full shrill at the
lie he told<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And the gnawing fear he would
fain disguise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 36.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 36pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It was true, what I’d time and
again been told:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 47.35pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 47.35pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He was old—old.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There was, I felt, quite a swing
about that first stanza—a joyous and rollicking note of comradeship. The second
was slightly hysterical, perhaps. But I liked the third, it was so bracingly
unorthodox, even according to the tenets of Soames’s peculiar sect in the
faith. Not much ‘trusting and encouraging’ here! Soames triumphantly exposing
the Devil as a liar, and laughing ‘full shrill,’ cut a quite heartening figure,
I thought—then! Now, in the light of what befell, none of his other poems
depresses me so much as ‘Nocturne’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I looked out for what the
metropolitan reviewers would have to say. They seemed to fall into two classes:
those who had little to say and those who had nothing. The second class was the
larger, and the words of the first were cold; insomuch that<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Strikes a note of modernity
throughout… These tripping numbers’ — <i>Preston Telegraph</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">was the only lure offered in advertisements by Soames’s
publisher. I had hoped that when next I met the poet I could congratulate him
on having made a stir, for I fancied he was not so sure of his intrinsic
greatness as he seemed. I was but able to say, rather coarsely, when next I did
see him, that I hoped <i>Fungoids</i> was ‘selling splendidly.’ He looked at me
across his glass of absinthe and asked if I had bought a copy. His publisher
had told him that three had been sold. I laughed, as at a jest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘You don’t suppose I <i>care</i>,
do you?’ he said, with something like a snarl. I disclaimed the notion. He
added that he was not a tradesman. I said mildly that I wasn’t, either, and
murmured that an artist who gave truly new and great things to the world had
always to wait long for recognition. He said he cared not a sou for
recognition. I agreed that the act of creation was its own reward.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">His moroseness might have
alienated me if I had regarded myself as a nobody. But ah! hadn’t both John
Lane and Aubrey Beardsley suggested that I should write an essay for the great
new venture that was afoot—<i>The Yellow Book</i>? And hadn’t Henry Harland, as
editor, accepted my essay? And wasn’t it to be in the very first number? At
Oxford I was still <i>in statu pupillari</i>. In London I regarded myself as
very much indeed a graduate now—one whom no Soames could ruffle. Partly to show
off, partly in sheer good-will, I told Soames he ought to contribute to <i>The
Yellow Book</i>. He uttered from the throat a sound of scorn for that publication.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Nevertheless, I did, a day or two
later, tentatively ask Harland if he knew anything of the work of a man called
Enoch Soames. Harland paused in the midst of his characteristic stride around
the room, threw up his hands toward the ceiling, and groaned aloud: he had
often met ‘that absurd creature’ in Paris, and this very morning had received
some poems in manuscript from him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Has he <i>no</i> talent?’ I
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘He has an income. He’s all
right.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Harland was the most joyous of
men and most generous of critics, and he hated to talk of anything about which
he couldn’t be enthusiastic. So I dropped the subject of Soames. The news that
Soames had an income did take the edge off solicitude. I learned afterward that
he was the son of an unsuccessful and deceased bookseller in Preston, but had
inherited an annuity of three hundred pounds from a married aunt, and had no
surviving relatives of any kind. Materially, then, he was ‘all right.’ But
there was still a spiritual pathos about him, sharpened for me now by the
possibility that even the praises of the <i>Preston Telegraph</i> might not
have been forthcoming had he not been the son of a Preston man He had a sort of
weak doggedness which I could not but admire. Neither he nor his work received
the slightest encouragement; but he persisted in behaving as a personage:
always he kept his dingy little flag flying. Wherever congregated the <i>jeunes
féroces</i> of the arts, in whatever Soho restaurant they had just discovered,
in whatever music-hall they were most frequently, there was Soames in the midst
of them, or, rather, on the fringe of them, a dim, but inevitable, figure. He
never sought to propitiate his fellow-writers, never bated a jot of his
arrogance about his own work or of his contempt for theirs. To the painters he
was respectful, even humble; but for the poets and prosaists of <i>The Yellow
Book</i> and later of <i>The Savoy</i> he had never a word but of scorn. He
wasn’t resented. It didn’t occur to anybody that he or his Catholic Diabolism
mattered. When, in the autumn of ‘96, he brought out (at his own expense, this
time) a third book, his last book, nobody said a word for or against it. I
meant, but forgot, to buy it. I never saw it, and am ashamed to say I don’t
even remember what it was called. But I did, at the time of its publication,
say to Rothenstein that I thought poor old Soames was really a rather tragic
figure, and that I believed he would literally die for want of recognition.
Rothenstein scoffed. He said I was trying to get credit for a kind heart which
I didn’t possess; and perhaps this was so. But at the private view of the New
English Art Club, a few weeks later, I beheld a pastel portrait of ‘Enoch
Soames, Esq.’ It was very like him, and very like Rothenstein to have done it.
Soames was standing near it, in his soft hat and his waterproof cape, all
through the afternoon. Anybody who knew him would have recognized the portrait
at a glance, but nobody who didn’t know him would have recognized the portrait
from its bystander: it ‘existed’ so much more than he; it was bound to. Also,
it had not that expression of faint happiness which on that day was
discernible, yes, in Soames’s countenance. Fame had breathed on him. Twice
again in the course of the month I went to the New English, and on both
occasions Soames himself was on view there. Looking back, I regard the close of
that exhibition as having been virtually the close of his career. He had felt
the breath of Fame against his cheek—so late, for such a little while; and at
its withdrawal he gave in, gave up, gave out. He, who had never looked strong
or well, looked ghastly now—a shadow of the shade he had once been. He still
frequented the domino-room, but having lost all wish to excite curiosity, he no
longer read books there. ‘You read only at the Museum now?’ I asked, with
attempted cheerfulness. He said he never went there now. ‘No absinthe there,’
he muttered. It was the sort of thing that in old days he would have said for
effect; but it carried conviction now. Absinthe, erst but a point in the ‘personality’
he had striven so hard to build up, was solace and necessity now. He no longer
called it ‘<i>la sorcière glauque’</i>. He had shed away all his French
phrases. He had become a plain, unvarnished Preston man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Failure, if it be a plain,
unvarnished, complete failure, and even though it be a squalid failure, has
always a certain dignity. I avoided Soames because he made me feel rather
vulgar. John Lane had published, by this time, two little books of mine, and
they had had a pleasant little success of esteem. I was a—slight, but definite—’personality.’
Frank Harris had engaged me to kick up my heels in the <i>Saturday Review</i>, Alfred
Harmsworth was letting me do likewise in the <i>Daily Mail</i>. I was just what
Soames wasn’t. And he shamed my gloss. Had I known that he really and firmly
believed in the greatness of what he as an artist had achieved, I might not
have shunned him. No man who hasn’t lost his vanity can be held to have
altogether failed. Soames’s dignity was an illusion of mine. One day, in the
first week of June, 1897, that illusion went. But on the evening of that day
Soames went, too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I had been out most of the
morning and, as it was too late to reach home in time for luncheon, I sought ‘the
Vingtième’. This little place—Restaurant du Vingtième Siècle, to give it its
full title—had been discovered in ‘96 by the poets and prosaists, but had now
been more or less abandoned in favour of some later find. I don’t think it
lived long enough to justify its name; but at that time there it still was, in
Greek Street, a few doors from Soho Square, and almost opposite to that house
where, in the first years of the century, a little girl, and with her a boy
named De Quincey, made nightly encampment in darkness and hunger among dust and
rats and old legal parchments. The Vingtième was but a small whitewashed room,
leading out into the street at one end and into a kitchen at the other. The
proprietor and cook was a Frenchman, known to us as Monsieur Vingtième; the
waiters were his two daughters, Rose and Berthe; and the food, according to
faith, was good. The tables were so narrow and were set so close together that
there was space for twelve of them, six jutting from each wall.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Only the two nearest to the door,
as I went in, were occupied. On one side sat a tall, flashy, rather
Mephistophelian man whom I had seen from time to time in the domino-room and
elsewhere. On the other side sat Soames. They made a queer contrast in that
sunlit room—Soames sitting haggard in that hat and cape, which nowhere at any
season had I seen him doff, and this other, this keenly vital man, at sight of
whom I more than ever wondered whether he were a diamond merchant, a conjurer,
or the head of a private detective agency. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I was sure Soames didn’t want my
company; but I asked, as it would have seemed brutal not to, whether I might
join him, and took the chair opposite to his. He was smoking a cigarette, with
an untasted salmi of something on his plate and a half-empty bottle of Sauterne
before him, and he was quite silent. I said that the preparations for the
Jubilee made London impossible. (I rather liked them, really.) I professed a
wish to go right away till the whole thing was over. In vain did I attune
myself to his gloom. He seemed not to hear me or even to see me. I felt that
his behaviour made me ridiculous in the eyes of the other man. The gangway
between the two rows of tables at the Vingtième was hardly more than two feet
wide (Rose and Berthe, in their ministrations, had always to edge past each
other, quarrelling in whispers as they did so), and any one at the table
abreast of yours was virtually at yours. I thought our neighbour was amused at
my failure to interest Soames, and so, as I could not explain to him that my
insistence was merely charitable, I became silent. Without turning my head, I
had him well within my range of vision. I hoped I looked less vulgar than he in
contrast with Soames. I was sure he was not an Englishman, but what <i>was</i>
his nationality? Though his jet-black hair was en brosse, I did not think he
was French. To Berthe, who waited on him, he spoke French fluently, but with a
hardly native idiom and accent. I gathered that this was his first visit to the
Vingtième; but Berthe was offhand in her manner to him: he had not made a good
impression. His eyes were handsome, but, like the Vingtième’s tables, too
narrow and set too close together. His nose was predatory, and the points of
his moustache, waxed up behind his nostrils, gave a fixity to his smile.
Decidedly, he was sinister. And my sense of discomfort in his presence was
intensified by the scarlet waistcoat which tightly, and so unseasonably in
June, sheathed his ample chest. This waistcoat wasn’t wrong merely because of
the heat, either. It was somehow all wrong in itself. It wouldn’t have done on
Christmas morning. It would have struck a jarring note at the first night of ‘Hernani.’
I was trying to account for its wrongness when Soames suddenly and strangely
broke silence. ‘A hundred years hence!’ he murmured, as in a trance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘We shall not be here,’ I briskly,
but fatuously, added.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘We shall not be here. No,’ he
droned, ‘but the Museum will still be just where it is. And the reading-room
just where it is. And people will be able to go and read there.’ He inhaled
sharply, and a spasm as of actual pain contorted his features.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I wondered what train of thought
poor Soames had been following. He did not enlighten me when he said, after a
long pause, ‘You think I haven’t minded.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Minded what, Soames?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Neglect. Failure.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘<i>Failure</i>?’ I said
heartily. ‘Failure?’ I repeated vaguely. ‘Neglect—yes, perhaps; but that’s
quite another matter. Of course you haven’t been—appreciated. But what, then?
Any artist who—who gives—’ What I wanted to say was, ‘Any artist who gives
truly new and great things to the world has always to wait long for recognition’;
but the flattery would not out: in the face of his misery—a misery so genuine
and so unmasked—my lips would not say the words.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And then he said them for me. I
flushed. ‘That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?’ he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘How did you know?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘It’s what you said to me three
years ago, when <i>Fungoids</i> was published.’ I flushed the more. I need not
have flushed at all. ‘It’s the only important thing I ever heard you say,’ he
continued. ‘And I’ve never forgotten it. It’s a true thing. It’s a horrible
truth. But—d’you remember what I answered? I said, ‘I don’t care a sou for
recognition.’ And you believed me. You’ve gone on believing I’m above that sort
of thing. You’re shallow. What should <i>you</i> know of the feelings of a man
like me? You imagine that a great artist’s faith in himself and in the verdict
of posterity is enough to keep him happy. You’ve never guessed at the
bitterness and loneliness, the’—his voice broke; but presently he resumed,
speaking with a force that I had never known in him. ‘Posterity! What use is it
to <i>me</i>? A dead man doesn’t know that people are visiting his grave,
visiting his birthplace, putting up tablets to him, unveiling statues of him. A
dead man can’t read the books that are written about him. A hundred years
hence! Think of it! If I could come back to life <i>then</i>—just for a few
hours—and go to the reading-room and <i>read</i>! Or, better still, if I could
be projected now, at this moment, into that future, into that reading-room,
just for this one afternoon! I’d sell myself body and soul to the Devil for
that! Think of the pages and pages in the catalogue: “<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Soames, Enoch</span>” endlessly—endless editions, commentaries,
prolegomena, biographies’— But here he was interrupted by a sudden loud crack
of the chair at the next table. Our neighbour had half risen from his place. He
was leaning toward us, apologetically intrusive.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Excuse—permit me,’ he said
softly. ‘I have been unable not to hear. Might I take a liberty? In this little
restaurant-sans-façon—might I, as the phrase is, cut in?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I could but signify our
acquiescence. Berthe had appeared at the kitchen door, thinking the stranger
wanted his bill. He waved her away with his cigar, and in another moment had
seated himself beside me, commanding a full view of Soames.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Though not an Englishman,’ he
explained, ‘I know my London well, Mr. Soames. Your name and fame—Mr. Beerbohm’s,
too—very known to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Your point is, who am I?’ He
glanced quickly over his shoulder, and in a lowered voice said, ‘I am the Devil.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I couldn’t help it; I laughed. I
tried not to, I knew there was nothing to laugh at, my rudeness shamed me;
but—I laughed with increasing volume. The Devil’s quiet dignity, the surprise
and disgust of his raised eyebrows, did but the more dissolve me. I rocked to
and fro; I lay back aching; I behaved deplorably.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘I am a gentleman, and,’ he said
with intense emphasis, ‘I thought I was in the company of <i>gentlemen</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Don’t!’ I gasped faintly. ‘Oh,
don’t!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Curious, <i>nicht wahr</i>?’ I
heard him say to Soames. ‘There is a type of person to whom the very mention of
my name is—oh, so awfully—funny! In your theatres the dullest <i>comédien</i>
needs only to say “The Devil!” and right away they give him “the loud laugh
what speaks the vacant mind”. Is it not so?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I had now just breath enough to
offer my apologies. He accepted them, but coldly, and re-addressed himself to
Soames.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘I am a man of business,’ he
said, ‘and always I would put things through ‘right now,’ as they say in the
States. You are a poet. <i>Les affaires</i>—you detest them. So be it. But with
me you will deal, eh? What you have said just now gives me furiously to hope.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Soames had not moved except to
light a fresh cigarette. He sat crouched forward, with his elbows squared on
the table, and his head just above the level of his hands, staring up at the Devil.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Go on,’ he nodded. I had no
remnant of laughter in me now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘It will be the more pleasant,
our little deal,’ the Devil went on, ‘because you are—I mistake not?—a Diabolist.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘A Catholic Diabolist,’ said
Soames.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The Devil accepted the
reservation genially.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘You wish,’ he resumed, ‘to visit
now—this afternoon as-ever-is—the reading-room of the British Museum, yes? But
of a hundred years hence, yes? <i>Parfaitement</i>. Time—an illusion. Past and
future—they are as ever present as the present, or at any rate only what you
call “just round the corner”. I switch you on to any date. I project you—pouf!
You wish to be in the reading-room just as it will be on the afternoon of June
3, 1997? You wish to find yourself standing in that room, just past the
swing-doors, this very minute, yes? And to stay there till closing-time? Am I
right?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Soames nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The Devil looked at his watch. ‘Ten
past two,’ he said. ‘Closing-time in summer same then as now—seven o’clock.
That will give you almost five hours. At seven o’clock—pouf!—you find yourself
again here, sitting at this table. I am dining tonight <i>dans le monde—dans le
higlif</i>. That concludes my present visit to your great city. I come and
fetch you here, Mr. Soames, on my way home.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Home?’ I echoed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Be it never so humble!’ said the
Devil, lightly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘All right,’ said Soames.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Soames!’ I entreated. But my
friend moved not a muscle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The Devil had made as though to
stretch forth his hand across the table, but he paused in his gesture.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘A hundred years hence, as now,’
he smiled, ‘no smoking allowed in the reading-room. You would better therefore—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Soames removed the cigarette from
his mouth and dropped it into his glass of Sauterne.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Soames!’ again I cried. ‘Can’t
you’—but the Devil had now stretched forth his hand across the table. He
brought it slowly down on the table-cloth. Soames’s chair was empty. His
cigarette floated sodden in his wine-glass. There was no other trace of him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">For a few moments the Devil let
his hand rest where it lay, gazing at me out of the corners of his eyes,
vulgarly triumphant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">A shudder shook me. With an
effort I controlled myself and rose from my chair. ‘Very clever,’ I said
condescendingly. ‘But—<i>The Time Machine</i> is a delightful book, don’t you
think? So entirely original!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘You are pleased to sneer,’ said
the Devil, who had also risen, ‘but it is one thing to write about an
impossible machine; it is a quite other thing to be a Supernatural Power.’ All
the same, I had scored.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Berthe had come forth at the
sound of our rising. I explained to her that Mr. Soames had been called away,
and that both he and I would be dining here. It was not until I was out in the
open air that I began to feel giddy. I have but the haziest recollection of
what I did, where I wandered, in the glaring sunshine of that endless
afternoon. I remember the sound of carpenters’ hammers all along Piccadilly and
the bare chaotic look of the half-erected ‘stands.’ Was it in the Green Park or
in Kensington Gardens or <i>where</i> was it that I sat on a chair beneath a
tree, trying to read an evening paper? There was a phrase in the leading
article that went on repeating itself in my fagged mind: ‘Little is hidden from
this august Lady full of the garnered wisdom of sixty years of Sovereignty.’ I
remember wildly conceiving a letter (to reach Windsor by an express messenger
told to await answer): <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 17pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 107%;">Madam</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;">: Well
knowing that your Majesty is full of the garnered wisdom of sixty years of
Sovereignty, I venture to ask your advice in the following delicate matter. Mr.
Enoch Soames, whose poems you may or may not know…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 17pt; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Was there <i>no</i> way of
helping him, saving him? A bargain was a bargain, and I was the last man to aid
or abet any one in wriggling out of a reasonable obligation. I wouldn’t have
lifted a little finger to save Faust. But poor Soames! —doomed to pay without
respite an eternal price for nothing but a fruitless search and a bitter
disillusioning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Odd and uncanny it seemed to me
that he, Soames, in the flesh, in the waterproof cape, was at this moment
living in the last decade of the next century, poring over books not yet written,
and seeing and seen by men not yet born. Uncannier and odder still that
to-night and evermore he would be in hell. Assuredly, truth was stranger than
fiction.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Endless that afternoon was.
Almost I wished I had gone with Soames—not, indeed, to stay in the
reading-room, but to sally forth for a brisk sight-seeing walk around a new
London. I wandered restlessly out of the park I had sat in. Vainly I tried to
imagine myself an ardent tourist from the eighteenth century. Intolerable was
the strain of the slow-passing and empty minutes. Long before seven o’clock I
was back at the Vingtième.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I sat there just where I had sat
for luncheon. Air came in listlessly through the open door behind me. Now and
again Rose or Berthe appeared for a moment. I had told them I would not order
any dinner till Mr. Soames came. A hurdy-gurdy began to play, abruptly drowning
the noise of a quarrel between some Frenchmen farther up the street. Whenever
the tune was changed I heard the quarrel still raging. I had bought another evening
paper on my way. I unfolded it. My eyes gazed ever away from it to the clock
over the kitchen door...<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Five minutes, now, to the hour! I
remembered that clocks in restaurants are kept five minutes fast. I
concentrated my eyes on the paper. I vowed I would not look away from it again.
I held it upright, at its full width, close to my face, so that I had no view
of anything but it. Rather a tremulous sheet? Only because of the draft, I told
myself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">My arms gradually became stiff;
they ached; but I could not drop them—now. I had a suspicion, I had a
certainty. Well, what, then? What else had I come for? Yet I held tight that
barrier of newspaper. Only the sound of Berthe’s brisk footstep from the
kitchen enabled me, forced me, to drop it, and to utter:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘What shall we have to eat,
Soames?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘<i>Il est souffrant, ce pauvre
Monsieur Soames?</i>’ asked Berthe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘He’s only—tired.’ I asked her to
get some wine—Burgundy—and whatever food might be ready. Soames sat crouched
forward against the table exactly as when last I had seen him. It was as though
he had never moved—he who had moved so unimaginably far. Once or twice in the
afternoon it had for an instant occurred to me that perhaps his journey was not
to be fruitless, that perhaps we had all been wrong in our estimate of the
works of Enoch Soames. That we had been horribly right was horribly clear from
the look of him. But, ‘Don’t be discouraged,’ I falteringly said. ‘Perhaps it’s
only that you—didn’t leave enough time. Two, three centuries hence, perhaps—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Yes,’ his voice came. ‘I’ve
thought of that.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘And now—now for the more
immediate future! Where are you going to hide? How would it be if you caught
the Paris express from Charing Cross? Almost an hour to spare. Don’t go on to
Paris. Stop at Calais. Live in Calais. He’d never think of looking for you in Calais.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘It’s like my luck,’ he said, ‘to
spend my last hours on earth with an ass.’ But I was not offended. ‘And a
treacherous ass,’ he strangely added, tossing across to me a crumpled bit of
paper which he had been holding in his hand. I glanced at the writing on
it—some sort of gibberish, apparently. I laid it impatiently aside.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Come, Soames, pull yourself
together! This isn’t a mere matter of life or death. It’s a question of eternal
torment, mind you! You don’t mean to say you’re going to wait limply here till
the Devil comes to fetch you.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘I can’t do anything else. I’ve
no choice.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Come! This is “trusting and
encouraging” with a vengeance! This is Diabolism run mad!’ I filled his glass
with wine. ‘Surely, now that you’ve <i>seen</i> the brute—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘It’s no good abusing him.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘You must admit there’s nothing
Miltonic about him, Soames.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘I don’t say he’s not rather
different from what I expected.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘He’s a vulgarian, he’s a swell-mobsman,
he’s the sort of man who hangs about the corridors of trains going to the
Riviera and steals ladies’ jewel-cases. Imagine eternal torment presided over
by <i>him</i>!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘You don’t suppose I look forward
to it, do you?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Then why not slip quietly out of
the way?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Again and again I filled his
glass, and always, mechanically, he emptied it; but the wine kindled no spark
of enterprise in him. He did not eat, and I myself ate hardly at all. I did not
in my heart believe that any dash for freedom could save him. The chase would
be swift, the capture certain. But better anything than this passive, meek,
miserable waiting. I told Soames that for the honour of the human race he ought
to make some show of resistance. He asked what the human race had ever done for
him. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘can’t you understand that I’m in his power? You saw
him touch me, didn’t you? There’s an end of it. I’ve no will. I’m sealed.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I made a gesture of despair. He
went on repeating the word ‘sealed.’ I began to realize that the wine had
clouded his brain. No wonder! Foodless he had gone into futurity, foodless he
still was. I urged him to eat, at any rate, some bread. It was maddening to
think that he, who had so much to tell, might tell nothing. ‘How was it all,’ I
asked, ‘yonder? Come, tell me your adventures!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘They’d make first-rate “copy”,
wouldn’t they?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘I’m awfully sorry for you,
Soames, and I make all possible allowances; but what earthly right have you to
insinuate that I should make “copy”, as you call it, out of you?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The poor fellow pressed his hands
to his forehead. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I had some reason, I’m sure... I’ll
try to remember.’ He sat plunged in thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘That’s right. Try to remember
everything. Eat a little more bread. What did the reading-room look like?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Much as usual,’ he at length
muttered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Many people there?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Usual sort of number.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘What did they look like?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Soames tried to visualize them. ‘They
all,’ he presently remembered, ‘looked very like one another.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">My mind took a fearsome leap. ‘All
dressed in Jaeger?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Yes, I think so. Greyish-yellowish
stuff.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘A sort of uniform?’ He nodded. ‘With
a number on it perhaps?—a number on a large disk of metal sewn onto the left sleeve?
DKF 78.910—that sort of thing?’ It was even so. ‘And all of them, men and women
alike, looking very well cared for? very Utopian? and smelling rather strongly
of carbolic? and all of them quite hairless?’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I was right every time. Soames
was only not sure whether the men and women were hairless or shorn. ‘I hadn’t
time to look at them very closely,’ he explained.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘No, of course not. But—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘They stared at <i>me</i>, I can
tell you. I attracted a great deal of attention.’ At last he had done that! ‘I
think I rather scared them. They moved away whenever I came near. They followed
me about, at a distance, wherever I went. The men at the round desk in the
middle seemed to have a sort of panic whenever I went to make inquiries.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘What did you do when you
arrived?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Well, he had gone straight to the
catalogue, of course—to the S volumes—and had stood long before SNN-SOF, unable
to take this volume out of the shelf because his heart was beating so... At
first, he said, he wasn’t disappointed—he only thought there was some new
arrangement. He went to the middle desk and asked where the catalogue of <i>twentieth</i>-century
books was kept. He gathered that there was still only one catalogue. Again he
looked up his name, stared at the three little pasted slips he had known so
well. Then he went and sat down for a long time…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘And then,’ he droned, ‘I looked
up the <i>Dictionary of National Biography</i> and some encyclopaedias… I went
back to the middle desk and asked what was the best modern book on late
nineteenth-century literature. They told me Mr. T. K. Nupton’s book was
considered the best. I looked it up in the catalogue and filled in a form for
it. It was brought to me. My name wasn’t in the index, but—yes!’ he said with a
sudden change of tone, ‘that’s what I’d forgotten. Where’s that bit of paper?
Give it me back.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I, too, had forgotten that
cryptic screed. I found it fallen on the floor, and handed it to him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He smoothed it out, nodding and smiling
at me disagreeably. ‘I found myself glancing through Nupton’s book,’ he
resumed. ‘Not very easy reading. Some sort of phonetic spelling. All the modern
books I saw were phonetic.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Then I don’t want to hear any
more, Soames, please.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘The proper names seemed all to
be spelt in the old way. But for that I mightn’t have noticed my own name.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Your own name? Really? Soames, I’m
<i>very</i> glad.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘And yours.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘No!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘I thought I should find you
waiting here to-night, so I took the trouble to copy out the passage. Read it.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I snatched the paper. Soames’s
handwriting was characteristically dim. It and the noisome spelling and my
excitement made me all the slower to grasp what T. K. Nupton was driving at.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The document lies before me at
this moment. Strange that the words I here copy out for you were copied out for
me by poor Soames just eighty-two years hence!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 17pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">From p.
234 of <i>Inglish Littracher 1890-1900</i> bi T. K. Nupton, publishd bi th
Stait, 1992.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.0pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 17pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Fr
egzarmpl, a riter ov th time, naimed Max Beerbohm, hoo woz stil alive in th
twentith senchri, rote a stauri in wich e pautraid an immajnari karrakter kauld
‘Enoch Soames’—a thurd-rait poit hoo beleevz imself a grate jeneus an maix a
bargin with th Devvl in auder ter no wot posterriti thinx ov im! It iz a sumwot
labud sattire, but not without vallu az showing hou seriusli the yung men ov th
aiteen-ninetiz took themselvz. Nou that th littreri profeshn haz bin auganized
az a departmnt of publik servis, our riters hav found their levvl an hav lernt
ter doo their duti without thort ov th morro. ‘Th laibrer iz werthi ov hiz hire’
an that iz aul. Thank hevvn we hav no Enoch Soameses amung us to-dai!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="color: #fff2cc;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I found that by murmuring the
words aloud (a device which I commend to my reader) I was able to master them
little by little. The clearer they became, the greater was my bewilderment, my
distress and horror. The whole thing was a nightmare. Afar, the great grisly
background of what was in store for the poor dear art of letters; here, at the
table, fixing on me a gaze that made me hot all over, the poor fellow whom—whom
evidently… but no: whatever down-grade my character might take in coming years,
I should never be such a brute as to—<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Again I examined the screed. ‘Immajnari’
—but here Soames was, no more imaginary, alas! than I. And ‘labud’—what on
earth was that? (To this day I have never made out that word.) ‘It’s all
very—baffling,’ I at length stammered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Soames said nothing, but cruelly
did not cease to look at me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Are you sure,’ I temporized, ‘quite
sure you copied the thing out correctly?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Quite.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Well, then, it’s this wretched
Nupton who must have made—must be going to make—some idiotic mistake. Look here
Soames, you know me better than to suppose that I— After all, the name “Max
Beerbohm” is not at all an uncommon one, and there must be several Enoch
Soameses running around—or, rather, “Enoch Soames” is a name that might occur
to any one writing a story. And I don’t write stories; I’m an essayist, an
observer, a recorder... I admit that it’s an extraordinary coincidence. But you
must see—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘I see the whole thing,’ said
Soames, quietly. And he added, with a touch of his old manner, but with more
dignity than I had ever known in him, ‘<i>Parlons d’autre chose</i>.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I accepted that suggestion very
promptly. I returned straight to the more immediate future. I spent most of the
long evening in renewed appeals to Soames to come away and seek refuge
somewhere. I remember saying at last that if indeed I was destined to write
about him, the supposed ‘stauri’ had better have at least a happy ending.
Soames repeated those last three words in a tone of intense scorn. ‘In Life and
in Art,’ he said, ‘all that matters is an <i>inevitable</i> ending.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘But,’ I urged more hopefully
than I felt, ‘an ending that can be avoided <i>isn’t</i> inevitable.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘You aren’t an artist,’ he
rasped. ‘And you’re so hopelessly not an artist that, so far from being able to
imagine a thing and make it seem true, you’re going to make even a true thing
seem as if you’d made it up. You’re a miserable bungler. And it’s like my luck.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I protested that the miserable
bungler was not I—was not going to be I—but T. K. Nupton; and we had a rather
heated argument, in the thick of which it suddenly seemed to me that Soames saw
he was in the wrong: he had quite physically cowered. But I wondered why—and
now I guessed with a cold throb just why—he stared so, past me. The bringer of
that ‘inevitable ending’ filled the doorway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I managed to turn in my chair and
to say, not without a semblance of lightness, ‘Aha, come in!’ Dread was indeed
rather blunted in me by his looking so absurdly like a villain in a melodrama.
The sheen of his tilted hat and of his shirt-front, the repeated twists he was
giving to his moustache, and most of all the magnificence of his sneer, gave
token that he was there only to be foiled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He was at our table in a stride. ‘I
am sorry,’ he sneered witheringly, ‘to break up your pleasant party, but—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘You don’t; you complete it,’ I
assured him. ‘Mr. Soames and I want to have a little talk with you. Won’t you
sit? Mr. Soames got nothing—frankly nothing—by his journey this afternoon. We
don’t wish to say that the whole thing was a swindle, a common swindle. On the
contrary, we believe you meant well. But of course the bargain, such as it was,
is off.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The Devil gave no verbal answer.
He merely looked at Soames and pointed with rigid forefinger to the door.
Soames was wretchedly rising from his chair when, with a desperate, quick
gesture, I swept together two dinner-knives that were on the table, and laid
their blades across each other. The Devil stepped sharp back against the table
behind him, averting his face and shuddering.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘You are not superstitious!’ he
hissed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Not at all,’ I smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">‘Soames,’ he said as to an
underling, but without turning his face, ‘put those knives straight!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">With an inhibitive gesture to my
friend, ‘Mr. Soames,’ I said emphatically to the Devil, ‘is a <i>Catholic</i> Diabolist’;
but my poor friend did the Devil’s bidding, not mine; and now, with his master’s
eyes again fixed on him, he arose, he shuffled past me. I tried to speak. It
was he that spoke. ‘Try,’ was the prayer he threw back at me as the Devil
pushed him roughly out through the door, <i>‘try</i> to make them know that I
did exist!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">In another instant I, too, was
through that door. I stood staring all ways, up the street, across it, down it.
There was moonlight and lamplight, but there was not Soames nor that other.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Dazed, I stood there. Dazed, I
turned back at length into the little room, and I suppose I paid Berthe or Rose
for my dinner and luncheon and for Soames’s. I hope so, for I never went to the
Vingtième again. Ever since that night I have avoided Greek Street altogether.
And for years I did not set foot even in Soho Square, because on that same
night it was there that I paced and loitered, long and long, with some such
dull sense of hope as a man has in not straying far from the place where he has
lost something. ‘Round and round the shutter’d Square’—that line came back to
me on my lonely beat, and with it the whole stanza, ringing in my brain and
bearing in on me how tragically different from the happy scene imagined by him
was the poet’s actual experience of that prince in whom of all princes we
should put not our trust.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But—strange how the mind of an
essayist, be it never so stricken, roves and ranges! —I remember pausing before
a wide doorstep and wondering if perchance it was on this very one that the
young De Quincey lay ill and faint while poor Ann flew as fast as her feet
would carry her to Oxford Street, the ‘stony-hearted stepmother’ of them both,
and came back bearing that ‘glass of port wine and spices’ but for which he
might, so he thought, actually have died. Was this the very doorstep that the
old De Quincey used to revisit in homage? I pondered Ann’s fate, the cause of
her sudden vanishing from the ken of her boyfriend; and presently I blamed
myself for letting the past override the present. Poor vanished Soames!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And for myself, too, I began to
be troubled. What had I better do? Would there be a hue and cry—Mysterious
Disappearance of an Author, and all that? He had last been seen lunching and
dining in my company. Hadn’t I better get a hansom and drive straight to
Scotland Yard?... They would think I was a lunatic. After all, I reassured
myself, London was a very large place, and one very dim figure might easily
drop out of it unobserved—now especially, in the blinding glare of the near
Jubilee. Better say nothing at all, I thought.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And I was right. Soames’s
disappearance made no stir at all. He was utterly forgotten before any one, so
far as I am aware, noticed that he was no longer hanging around. Now and again
some poet or prosaist may have said to another, ‘What has become of that man
Soames?’ but I never heard any such question asked. As for his landlady in
Dyott Street, no doubt he had paid her weekly, and what possessions he may have
had in his rooms were enough to save her from fretting. The solicitor through
whom he was paid his annuity may be presumed to have made inquiries, but no
echo of these resounded. There was something rather ghastly to me in the
general unconsciousness that Soames had existed, and more than once I caught
myself wondering whether Nupton, that babe unborn, were going to be right in
thinking him a figment of my brain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">In that extract from Nupton’s
repulsive book there is one point which perhaps puzzles you. How is it that the
author, though I have here mentioned him by name and have quoted the exact
words he is going to write, is not going to grasp the obvious corollary that I
have invented nothing? The answer can be only this: Nupton will not have read
the later passages of this memoir. Such lack of thoroughness is a serious fault
in any one who undertakes to do scholar’s work. And I hope these words will
meet the eye of some contemporary rival to Nupton and be the undoing of Nupton.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I like to think that sometime
between 1992 and 1997 somebody will have looked up this memoir, and will have
forced on the world his inevitable and startling conclusions. And I have reason
for believing that this will be so. You realize that the reading-room into
which Soames was projected by the Devil was in all respects precisely as it
will be on the afternoon of June 3, 1997. You realize, therefore, that on that
afternoon, when it comes round, there the self-same crowd will be, and there
Soames will be, punctually, he and they doing precisely what they did before.
Recall now Soames’s account of the sensation he made. You may say that the mere
difference of his costume was enough to make him sensational in that uniformed
crowd. You wouldn’t say so if you had ever seen him, and I assure you that in
no period would Soames be anything but dim. The fact that people are going to
stare at him and follow him around and seem afraid of him, can be explained
only on the hypothesis that they will somehow have been prepared for his
ghostly visitation. They will have been awfully waiting to see whether he
really would come. And when he does come the effect will of course be—awful.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">An authentic, guaranteed, proved
ghost, but—only a ghost, alas! Only that. In his first visit Soames was a
creature of flesh and blood, whereas the creatures among whom he was projected
were but ghosts, I take it—solid, palpable, vocal, but unconscious and
automatic ghosts, in a building that was itself an illusion. Next time that
building and those creatures will be real. It is of Soames that there will be
but the semblance. I wish I could think him destined to revisit the world
actually, physically, consciously. I wish he had this one brief escape, this
one small treat, to look forward to. I never forget him for long. He is where
he is and forever. The more rigid moralists among you may say he has only
himself to blame. For my part, I think he has been very hardly used. It is well
that vanity should be chastened; and Enoch Soames’s vanity was, I admit, above
the average, and called for special treatment. But there was no need for
vindictiveness. You say he contracted to pay the price he is paying. Yes; but I
maintain that he was induced to do so by fraud. Well informed in all things,
the Devil must have known that my friend would gain nothing by his visit to
futurity. The whole thing was a very shabby trick. The more I think of it, the
more detestable the Devil seems to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Of him I have caught sight
several times, here and there, since that day at the Vingtième. Only once,
however, have I seen him at close quarters. This was a couple of years ago, in
Paris. I was walking one afternoon along the rue d’Antin, and I saw him
advancing from the opposite direction—overdressed as ever, and swinging an
ebony cane, and altogether behaving as though the whole pavement belonged to
him. At thought of Enoch Soames and the myriads of other sufferers eternally in
this brute’s dominion, a great cold wrath filled me, and I drew myself up to my
full height. But—well, one is so used to nodding and smiling in the street to
anybody whom one knows that the action becomes almost independent of oneself;
to prevent it requires a very sharp effort and great presence of mind. I was
miserably aware, as I passed the Devil, that I nodded and smiled to him. And my
shame was the deeper and hotter because he, if you please, stared straight at
me with the utmost haughtiness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">To be cut—deliberately cut—by <i>him</i>!
I was, I still am, furious at having had that happen to me.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNnf_eT22k3_OVdI2UW8WhIcGnRj9HqHqdiG2ktLMsf5ShXfwSP0ny-fJPFYE8DnANdlioTLTDXKUJoFOTM7l4T0Vj01fAbpM3pda2DVbqfnv93BxGWOwI4lxF4IZCA8myaaAle-4JHg/s453/Enoch-Soames_by_Max-Beerbohm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="198" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNnf_eT22k3_OVdI2UW8WhIcGnRj9HqHqdiG2ktLMsf5ShXfwSP0ny-fJPFYE8DnANdlioTLTDXKUJoFOTM7l4T0Vj01fAbpM3pda2DVbqfnv93BxGWOwI4lxF4IZCA8myaaAle-4JHg/w175-h400/Enoch-Soames_by_Max-Beerbohm.jpg" width="175" /></a></div><br />Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-50505696565071550512021-12-23T16:30:00.000-08:002021-12-23T16:30:00.194-08:00A Visitor from Down Under<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="189" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/5e-Zm57Qc1g" title="YouTube video player" width="336"></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #f3f3f3;">by L P Hartley</span></i></div>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-37484712475505047392021-12-21T03:00:00.012-08:002021-12-21T03:00:00.202-08:00Things which are not<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZvmZm1hDgRyaPOq1dSkbTJEuuIXZd4CSMNZbUqrFV9qoxSQv9OLLRaAe3pao8i43QMKygyn29REx5cgRrGy3ah6Q5HcFO1uKChw78b5VYfAjkUhkWZg3R4zKFg0XtdeftuHNUqaRBS4/s480/blainetreesstudiolatepm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="480" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZvmZm1hDgRyaPOq1dSkbTJEuuIXZd4CSMNZbUqrFV9qoxSQv9OLLRaAe3pao8i43QMKygyn29REx5cgRrGy3ah6Q5HcFO1uKChw78b5VYfAjkUhkWZg3R4zKFg0XtdeftuHNUqaRBS4/w400-h308/blainetreesstudiolatepm.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #d0e0e3; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Nell Blaine (1926-96), <i>Winter Trees from Studio</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">'Tis
the year's midnight, and it is the day's,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Lucy's,
who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> The
sun is spent, and now his flasks<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> Send
forth light squibs, no constant rays;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">
The world's whole sap is sunk;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The
general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Whither,
as to the bed's feet, life is shrunk,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Dead
and interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Compar'd
with me, who am their epitaph.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p style="background-color: black;"> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Study
me then, you who shall lovers be<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">At
the next world, that is, at the next spring;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> For
I am every dead thing,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> In
whom Love wrought new alchemy.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">
For his art did express<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">A
quintessence even from nothingness,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">From
dull privations, and lean emptiness;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">He
ruin'd me, and I am re-begot<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Of
absence, darkness, death: things which are not.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p style="background-color: black;"> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">All
others, from all things, draw all that's good,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Life,
soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> I,
by Love's limbec, am the grave<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> Of
all that's nothing. Oft a flood<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">
Have we two wept, and so<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Drown'd
the whole world, us two; oft did we grow<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">To
be two chaoses, when we did show<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Care
to aught else; and often absences<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Withdrew
our souls, and made us carcasses.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p style="background-color: black;"> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">But
I am by her death (which word wrongs her)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Of
the first nothing the elixir grown;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> Were
I a man, that I were one<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> I
needs must know; I should prefer,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">
If I were any beast,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Some
ends, some means; yea plants, yea stones detest,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">And
love; all, all some properties invest;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">If
I an ordinary nothing were,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">As
shadow, a light and body must be here.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><o:p style="background-color: black;"> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">But
I am none; nor will my sun renew.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">You
lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> At
this time to the Goat is run<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> To
fetch new lust, and give it you,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">
Enjoy your summer all;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Since
she enjoys her long night's festival,<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Let
me prepare towards her, and let me call<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">This
hour her vigil, and her eve, since this<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 11.9pt; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; margin: 0cm 0cm 0cm 11.9pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: -11.9pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: "Crimson Text"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Both
the year's, and the day's deep midnight is.</span></p><br /><span style="color: #fff2cc;">
Donne wrote <a href="https://poemanalysis.com/john-donne/a-nocturnal-upon-st-lucys-day/" target="_blank">"A Nocturnal Upon St Lucy's Day"</a> back before the calendar changed. In the 17th century St Lucy's Day was the winter solstice. I came across it <a href="https://ellenandjim.wordpress.com/2012/12/25/ghost-stories-wintersolsttice/" target="_blank">here with a list of seasonal ghost stories</a> that are worth a look.</span>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-25134917377762649742021-12-10T04:30:00.005-08:002021-12-10T04:30:00.215-08:00The Bride<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-1MX1htIVhsJpgcZwZeBHLCDpV8w8EeLYV96A9KkQoSq1VX6OXRGAekJH4GnOWcNtcOZVDCY9tX-2iO7LzQdbNIBUheimnsbOBu8ICn_wvpYpxMfqKXRl64LkzVaSbPJhDVOO7H8QxQ/s595/1900-Chapel-Street.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="595" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj-1MX1htIVhsJpgcZwZeBHLCDpV8w8EeLYV96A9KkQoSq1VX6OXRGAekJH4GnOWcNtcOZVDCY9tX-2iO7LzQdbNIBUheimnsbOBu8ICn_wvpYpxMfqKXRl64LkzVaSbPJhDVOO7H8QxQ/w400-h278/1900-Chapel-Street.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: #d9ead3; font-size: medium;">by
M P Shiel</span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">‘He
shall not see the rivers, the floods,<br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;">the
brooks of honey and butter.’ </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;">—</span><i style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;">Job</i></span></p><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">They
met at Krupp and Mason’s, musical-instrument-makers, of Little Britain, E.C.,
where Walter had been employed two years, and then came Annie to typewrite, and
be serviceable.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">They began to ‘go
out’ together after six o’clock; and when Mrs Evans, Annie’s mamma, lost her
lodger, Annie mentioned it, and Walter went to live with them at No. 13 Culford
Road, N.; by which time Annie and Walter might almost be said to have been engaged.
His salary, however, was only thirty shillings a week.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">He was the
thorough Cockney, Walter; a well-set-up person of thirty, strong-shouldered,
with a square brow, a moustache, and black acne-specks in his nose and pale
face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">It was on the
night of his arrival at No. 13, that he for the first time saw Rachel, Annie’s
younger sister. Both girls, in fact, were named ‘Rachel’—after a much-mourned
mother of Mrs Evans’; but Annie Rachel was called ‘Annie,’ and Mary Rachel was
called ‘Rachel.’ Rachel helped Walter at the handle of his box to the top-back
room, and here, in the lamplight he was able to see that she was a tallish
girl, with hair almost black, and with a sprinkling of freckles on her very
white, thin nose, on the tip of which stood collected, usually, some little
sweats. She was thin-faced, and her top teeth projected a little so that her
lips only closed with effort, she not so pretty as pink-and-white little Annie,
though one could guess, at a glance, that she was a person more to be respected.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘What do you
think of him?’ said Annie, meeting Rachel as she came down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘He seems a
nice fellow,’ Rachel said: ‘rather good-looking. And strong in the back, you
bet.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Walter spent
that evening with them in the area front-room, smoking a foul bulldog pipe,
which slushed and gurgled to his suction; and at once Mrs Evans, a dark old
lady without waist, all sighs and lack of breath, decided that he was ‘a
gentlemanly, decent fellow.’ When bed-time came he made the proposal to lead
them in prayer; and to this they submitted, Annie having forewarned them that
he was ‘a Christian.’ As he climbed to his room, the devoted girl found an
excuse to slip out after him, and in the passage of the first floor there was a
little kiss.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Only one,’ she
said, with an uplifted finger.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘And what about
his little brother, then?’ he chuckled—a chuckle with which all his jokes were
accompanied: a kind of guttural chuckle, which seemed to descend or stick
straining in the throat, instead of rising to the lips.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘You go on,’
she said playfully, tapped his cheek, and ran down. So Walter slept for the
first night at Mrs Evans’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">On the whole,
as time passed, he had a good deal of the society of the women: for the theatre
was a thing abominable to him, and in the evenings he stayed in the underground
parlour, sharing the bread-and-cheese supper, and growing familiar with the
sighs of Mrs Evans over her once estate in the world. Rachel, the silent,
sewed; Annie, whose relation with Walter was still unannounced, though perhaps
guessed, could play hymn-tunes on the old piano, and she played.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Last of all,
Walter laid down the inveterate wet pipe, led them in prayer, and went to bed.
Most mornings he and Annie set out together for Little Britain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">There came a
day when he confided to her his intention to ask for a rise of ‘screw,’ and
when this was actually promised by His Terror, the Boss, there was joy in
heaven, and radiance in futurity, and secret talks of rings, a wedding, ‘a
Home.’ Annie felt herself not far from the kingdom of Hymen, and rejoiced. But
nothing, as yet, was said at No. 13: for to Mrs Evans’ past grandeurs thirty
shillings a week was felt to be inappropriate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The next
Sunday, however, soon after dinner, this strangeness occurred: Rachel, the
silent, disappeared. Mrs Evans called for her, Annie called, but it was found
that she was not in the house, though the putting away of the dinner-things,
her usual task, was only half accomplished.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Not till
tea-time did Rachel return. She was then cold, and somewhat sullen, and
somewhat pale, her lips closing firmly over her projecting teeth. When timidly
questioned—for her resentment was greatly feared—-she replied that she had just
been looking in upon Alice Soulsby, a few squares away, for a little chat: and
this was the truth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">It was not,
however, the whole truth; she had also looked in at the Church Lane Sunday
School on her way: and this fact she guiltily concealed. For half an hour she
had sat darkly at the end of the building in a corner, listening to the ‘address.’
This address was delivered by Walter. To this school every Sunday, after
dinner, he put down the beloved pipe to go. He was in fact, its ‘superintendent.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">After this, the
tone and temper of the little household rapidly changed, and a true element of
hell was introduced into its platitude. It became, first of all, a question
whether or not Rachel could be ‘experiencing religion,’ a thing which her
mother and Annie had never dreamt of expecting of her. Praying people, and the
Salvationist, had always been the contempt of her strong and callous mind. But
on Sunday nights she was now observed to go out alone, and ‘chapel’ was the
explanation which she coolly gave. Which chapel she did not specify: but in
reality it was the Newton Street Hall, at which Walter frequently exhorted and ‘prayed.’
In the Church Lane schoolroom there was prayer-meeting on Thursday evenings;
and twice within one month Rachel sallied forth on Thursday evening—soon after
Walter. The secret disease which preyed upon the poor girl could hardly now be
concealed. At first she suffered bitter, solitary shame; sobbed in a hundred
paroxysms; hoped to draw a veil over her infirmity. But her gash was too
glaring. In the long Sabbath evenings of summer he preached at street corners,
and sometimes secretly, sometimes openly, Rachel would attend these meetings,
singing meekly with the rest the undivine hymns of the modern evangelist. In
his presence, in the parlour, on other nights, she quietly sewed, hardly speaking.
When, at 7 p.m., she heard his key in the front door her heart darted toward
its master; when in the morning he flew away to business her universe was
cinders.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘It’s a wonder
to me what’s coming to our Rachel lately,’ said Annie in the train, coming home;
‘you’re doing her soul good, or something, aren’t you?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">He chuckled,
with slushy suction-sounds about the back of the tongue and molars.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Oh, that be
jiggered for a tale!’ he said: ‘she’s all right.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I know her
better than you, you see. She’s quite changed—-since you’ve come. Looks to me
as if she’s having a touch of the blues, or something.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Poor thing!
She wants looking after, don’t she?’ Annie laughed, too: but less brutally,
more uneasily. Walter said: ‘But she oughtn’t to have the blues, if she’s
giving her heart to the Lord! People seem to think a Christian must be this and
that. A Christian, if it comes to that, ought to be the jolliest fellow going!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">This was on a
Thursday, the night of the Church Lane prayer-meeting, and Walter had only time
to rush in at No. 13, wash his face, snatch his Bible, and be off. Rachel, for
her part, must verily now have been badly bitten with the rabies of love, or
she would have felt that to follow to-night, for the third time lately, could
not fail to incur remark. But this consideration never even entered a mind now
completely blinded and entranced by the personality of Walter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Through the day
her work about the house had been rushed forward with this very object, and at
the moment when he banged the door after him she was before her glass, dressing
in blanched, intense and trembling flurry, and casting as she bent to give the
last touches to her fringe, a look of bitterest hate at the projection of her
lip above the teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">This night, for
the first time, she waited in the chapel till the end of the service, and
walked slowly homeward on the way which she knew that Walter would take; and he
came striding presently, that morocco Bible in his hand, nearly every passage
in which was neatly under-ruled in black and red inks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘What, is that
you?’ he said, taking into his a hand cold with sweat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘It is,’ she
answered, in a hard, formal tone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘You don’t mean
to say you’ve been to the meeting?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I do.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Why, where
were my eyes? I didn’t see you.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘It isn’t
likely that you would want to, Mr Teeger.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Go on—drop
that! What do you take me for? I’m only too glad! And I tell you what it is,
Miss Rachel, I say to you as the Lord Jesus said to the young man: ‘Thou art
not far from the kingdom of heaven.’’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">She was in
it!—near him, alone, in a darkling square, yet suffering, too, in the flames of
a passion such as perhaps consumes only the strongest natures.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">She caught for
support at his unoffered arm; and when he bent his steps straight homeward, she
said trembling violently: ‘I don’t wish to go home as yet. I wish to have a
little walk. Do you mind, Mr Teeger?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Mind, no. Come
along, then,’ and they went walking among an intricacy of streets and squares,
he talking of ‘the Work,’ and of common subjects. After half an hour, she was
saying:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I often wish I
was a man. A man can say and do what he likes; but with a girl it’s different.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘There’s you,
now, Mr Teeger, always out and about, having people listening to you, and that.
I often wish I was only a man.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Oh, well, it
all depends how you look at it,’ he said. ‘And, look here, you may as well call
me Walter and be done.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Oh, I shouldn’t
think of that,’ she replied. ‘Not till—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Her hand
trembled on his arm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, out with
it, why don’t you?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Till—till we
know something more definite about you—-and Annie.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">He chuckled
slushily, she now leading him fleetly round and round a square.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Ah, you girls
again!’ he cried, ‘been blabbing again like all the girls! It takes a bright
man to hide much from them, don’t it?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘But there isn’t
much to hide in this case, as far as I can see—is there?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Always Walter
laughed, straining deep in the throat. He said: ‘Oh, come—that would be
telling, wouldn’t it?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">After a minute’s
stillness, this treacherous phrase came from Rachel: ‘Annie doesn’t care for
anyone, Mr Teeger.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Oh, come—that’s
rather a tall order, anyone. She’s all right.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘But she doesn’t.
Of course, most girls are silly, and that, and like to get married—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, that’s
only nature, ain’t it?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">This was a
joke; and downward the laugh strained in his throat, like struggling phlegm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Yes, but they
don’t understand what love is,’ said Rachel. ‘They haven’t an idea. They like
to be married women, and have a husband, and that. But they don’t know what
love is—-believe me! The men don’t either.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">How she
trembled!—her body, her dying voice—she pressing heavily upon him, while the
moon triumphed now through cloud glaring a moment white on the lunacy of her
ghostly face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, I don’t
know—I think I understand, lass, what it is,’ he said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘You don’t, Mr
Teeger!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘How’s that,
then?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Because, when
it takes you, it makes you—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, let’s
have it. You seem to know all about it.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Now Rachel
commenced to tell him what ‘it’ was—in frenzied definitions, and a power of
expression strange for her. It was a lunacy, its name was Legion, it was
possession by the furies; it was a spasm in the throat, and a sickness of the
limbs, and a yearning of the eye-whites, and a fire in the marrow; it was
catalepsy, trance, apocalypse; it was high as the galaxy, it was addicted to
the gutter; it was Vesuvius, borealis, the sunset; it was the rainbow in a
cesspool, St. John plus Heliogabalus, Beatrice plus Messalina; it was a
transfiguration, and a leprosy, and a metempsychosis, and a neurosis; it was
the dance of the mænads, and the bite of the tarantula, and baptism in a sun:
out poured the wild definition in simple words, but with the strife of one
fighting for life. And she had not half done when he understood her fully; and
he had no sooner understood her, than he was subdued, and succumbed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘You don’t mean
to say—’ he faltered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Ah, Mr Teeger,’
she answered, ‘there’s none so blind as those who will not see.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">His arm stole
round her shuddering body.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Everyone is
said to have his failing; and this man, Walter, in no respect a man of strong
mind, was certainly on his amatory side, most sudden, promiscuous, and infirm.
And this tendency was, if anything, heightened by the quite sincere strain of
his mind in the direction of ‘spiritual things’: for, under sudden temptation,
back rushed his being, with the greater rigour, into its natural channel. On
the whole, had he not been a Puritan, he would have been a Don Juan.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">In an instant
Rachel’s weight was hanging upon his neck, he kissing her with passion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">After this she
said to him: ‘But you are only doing this out of pity, Walter. Tell the truth,
you are in love with Annie?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">He, like Peter,
tumbled at once into a fib. ‘That’s what you say!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘You are,’ she
insisted, filled with the bliss of the fib.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Bah! I’m not.
Never was. You are the girl for me.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">When they went
home, they entered the house at different times, she first, he waiting twenty
minutes in the street.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The house was
small, so the sisters slept together in the second-floor front room; Walter in
the second-floor back; Mrs Evans in the first-floor back, the first-floor front
being ‘the drawing-room.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The girls,
therefore, generally went to bed together: and that night, as they undressed,
there was a row.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">First, a long
silence. Then Rachel, to say something, pointed to some new gloves of Annie’s,
asking: ‘How much did you give for those?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Money and kind
words,’ replied Annie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">This was the
beginning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, there’s
no need to be rude about it,’ said Rachel. She was happy, in paradise, despised
Annie that night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Still,’ said
Annie, after a silence of ten minutes before the glass, ‘still, I should never
run after a man like that. I’d die first.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I haven’t the
least idea what you’re talking about,’ replied Rachel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘You have. I
should be ashamed of myself, if I were you.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Talk away. You’re
a little fool.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘It’s you.
Throwing yourself at the head of a man who doesn’t care for you. What can you
call yourself?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Rachel
laughed—happily, yet dangerously.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Don’t bother
yourself my girl,’ she said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Think of going
out every night to meet a man in that way: look here, it’s too disgusting of
you, girl!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Is it?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘You can’t deny
that you were with Mr Teeger to-night?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘That I wasn’t.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘It’s false!
Anyone can see it by the joy in your face.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, suppose
I was, what about it?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘But a woman
should be decent, I think; a woman should be able to command her feelings, and
not expose herself like that. Believe me, it gives me the creeps all over to
think of.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Never mind,
don’t be jealous, my girl.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The gentle
Annie flamed!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Jealous! of
you!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘There isn’t
any need, you know—not yet.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘But I’m not!
There never will be need! Do you take Mr Teeger for a raving lunatic? I should
go and have some false teeth put in first if I were you!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Thus did Annie
drop to the rock-bed of vulgarity; but she knew it to be necessary in order to
touch Rachel, as with a white-hot wire, on her very nerve of anguish, and, in
fact, at these words Rachel’s face resembled white iron, while she cried out, ‘Never
mind my teeth! It isn’t the teeth a man looks at! A man knows a finely built
woman when he sees her—not like a little dumpy podge!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Thank you. You
are very polite,’ replied Annie, browbeaten by an intensity fiercer than her
own. ‘But still, it’s nonsense, Rachel, to talk of my being jealous of you. I
knew Mr Teeger six months before you. And you won’t know him much longer
either, for I don’t want to have mother disgraced here, and this is no fit
place for him to lodge in. I can easily make him leave it soon—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">At this thing
Rachel flew, with minatory palm over Annie’s cheek, ready to strike. ‘You dare
do anything to make him go away! I’ll tear your little—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Annie winked,
flinched, uttered a sob, no more fight left in her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">So for two
weeks the situation lasted. Only, after that night, so intense grew the
bitterness between the sisters, that Annie moved down to the first-floor back,
sleeping now with Mrs Evans who dimly wondered. As for Walter, meanwhile, his
heart was divided within him. He loved Annie; he was fascinated and mesmerised
by Rachel. In another age and country he would have married both. Every day he
came to a different resolve, not knowing what to do. One thing was evident—a
wedding-ring would be necessary, and he purchased one, uncertain for which of
the girls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Look here,
lass,’ he said to Annie in the train, coming home, ‘let us put a stop to this.
The boss doesn’t seem to be in a hurry about that rise of screw, so suppose we
get spliced, and be done?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Privately?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Rather. Your
ma and sister mustn’t know,—not just yet a while.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘And you will
still keep on living at the house?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, of
course, for the time being.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">She looked up
into his face and smiled. It was settled. But two nights afterwards he met
Rachel on his way home from prayer-meeting; at first was honest and distant;
but then committed the incredible weakness of going with her for a walk among
the squares, and ended by winning from her an easily granted promise of
marriage, on the same terms as those arranged within Annie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">When, the next
day at lunch-time, he put his foot on the threshold of the Registrar’s office
to give notice, he was still in a state of agonized indecision as to the name
which he should couple with his own.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">When the official
said, ‘Now the name of the other party?’ Walter hesitated, shuffled with his
feet, then answered:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Rachel Evans.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Not till he was
again in the street did he remember that Rachel was the name of both the girls,
and that liberty of choice between them still remained to him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Now, from the
day of ‘notice’ to the day of wedlock, an interval of twenty-one clear days
must by law, elapse, and Walter, though weak enough to inform both the sisters
of the step he had taken, was careful to give them only a vague idea of the
date fixed. His once clear conscience, meanwhile, was grievously troubled, his
feet in a net; he feared to speak to God; and went drifting like flotsam on the
river of chance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">And chance
alone it was which at last cast him upon the land. The fifth day before the
marriage was a Bank Holiday, and he had arranged with Rachel to go out with her
that day to Hyde Park, she to wait for him at an arranged spot at two o’clock.
At two, then, at a street-corner, stood Rachel waiting, twirling her parasol,
walking a little, returning. Walter, however, did not appear, and what could
have happened was beyond her divination. Had he misunderstood or missed her?
Though incredible, it was the only thing to think. To Hyde Park, at any rate,
she went alone, feeling desolate and ennuyée, in the vague hope of there
meeting him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">What had
happened was this: Walter had been half-way toward the rendezvous with Rachel,
when he was met in the street by Annie, who had gone to spend the day with a
married friend at Stroud Green, but had returned, owing to the husband’s
illness. Seeing Walter, her face lit up with smiles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Harry’s down
with the influenza,’ she said, ‘so I couldn’t stay and bore poor Ethel. Where
are you going?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">For the first
time since his ‘conversion’ twelve years before, Walter, with a high flush, now
consciously lied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Only to the
schoolroom,’ he said, ‘to hunt for something.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, I am
open to be taken out, if any kind friend will be so kind,’ she said fondly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Now he had that
morning vowed to himself to wed Rachel; and by this vow he now again vowed to
be bound. All the more reason why, for the last time, he should ‘take out’
Annie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Come along,
then, old girl,’ he gaily said: ‘where shall we go?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Let us go to
Hyde Park,’ said Annie. And to Hyde Park they went, Walter, ever and anon,
stabbed by the bitter memory of waiting Rachel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">At five o’clock
the two were walking along the north bank of the Serpentine westward toward a
two-arched bridge, which is also pierced by a third narrow arch over the bank:
to this narrow arch, since it was drizzling, they were making for shelter, when
Rachel, a person of the keenest vision, sighted them from the south bank. She
was frantic at once. Annie, who was supposed to be at Stroud Green! What
treachery! This, then, was why . . . She ran panting along the bank, toward the
bridge, then over it, northward, and now heard the two under the arch, who
stood there talking—of the wedding. Unfortunately, just here is a block of
masonry, which prevented Rachel from leaning directly over the arch to listen.
Yet the necessity to hear was absolute: so she ran back clear of the masonry,
and bent far over the parapet, outwards and sideways toward the arch, straining
neck, body, ears, and anyone looking into those staring eyes then would have
comprehended the doctrine of the Ferine Soul. But she was at a disadvantage,
heard only murmurs, and—was that a kiss? Further and further forth she
strained. And now suddenly, within a cry, she is in the water, where it is
shallow near the bank. In the fall her head struck upon a stone in the mud.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">For three days
she screamed continuously the name of Walter, filling the street with it,
calling him hers only. On the third night, in the midst of a frightful crisis
of cries, she suddenly died.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Oh, Rachel,
don’t say you are dead!’ cried Annie over her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The death
occurred two days before the marriage-day, and on the next, Walter, well
wounded, said to Annie: ‘This knocks our little affair on the head, of course.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Annie was
silent. Then, with a pout, she said: ‘I don’t see why. After all, it was her
own fault, entirely. Why should we suffer?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">For the feud
between the sisters had become cruel as death; and it outlasted death: Annie,
on the subject of Rachel and Walter, being no longer a gentle girl, but marble,
without respect or pity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">And so, in
spite of the trepidations and hesitancy of Walter, the marriage took place,
even while Rachel lay stretched on the bed in the second-floor front of No. 13.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The ceremony
did not, however transpire without hitch and omen. It was necessary, first of
all, for Walter to forewarn Annie that he had given notice of her to the
Registrar by her second name of ‘Rachel’—a mad-looking proceeding that was
almost the cause of a rupture which nothing but Walter’s most ardent pleadings
could steer him clear of. At any rate it was to ‘Rachel,’ and not to ‘Annie’
that he was, as a matter of fact, after all married.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">After the
ceremony, performed in their lunch-time, they returned to business together in
Little Britain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">At ten o’clock
the same night, as he was going up to bed, she ran after him, and in the
passage there was a long, furtive kiss—their last on earth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Twelve o’clock?’
he whispered intensely.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">She held up her
forefinger. ‘One!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Oh, say
twelve!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">She did not
answer, but drew her palm playfully, across his cheek, meaning consent, for Mrs
Evans was an inveterately heavy sleeper. He went up. And, careful to leave his
door a little ajar, he extinguished his candle, and went to bed. In the
apartment nearby lay stark in the dark—with learned, eternal eyelids and drowsy
brow—the dead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Walter could
not but think of this presence close at hand. ‘Well, poor girl!’ he sighed. ‘Poor
Rachel! Well, well. His way is in the sea, after all, and His path in the Great
Deep, and His footsteps are not known.’ Then he thought of Annie—the little
wife! But instead of Annie, there was Rachel. The two women fought vehemently
for his thought—and ever the dead was stronger than the living. . . . Instead
of Annie there was Rachel—and again Rachel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">At last he
could hear twelve strike from a steeple, and sat up in bed, listening eagerly
for the door to open, or a footfall on the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">A little
American clock ticked in the room; and in the flue of the chimney was a sough
and chaunt just audible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Suddenly she
was intensely with him, filling the chamber—-from nowhere. He had heard no
footstep, no opening of the door: yet certainly, she was with him now, all
suddenly, close to him, over him, talking breathlessly to him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">His first
sensation was a shuddering which strongly shook him from head to foot, like the
shuddering of Russian cold. She held him down by the shoulders; was stretched
at length on the bed, over him; and the room seemed full of a rustling and
rushing, very strange, like starched muslins rushing out in stormy agitation.
She was speaking, too, to him in breathless haste, whimpering a secret
gibberish which whimpered like a pup for passion—about love and its definition,
and about the soul, and the worm, and Eternity, and the passion of death, and
the nuptials of the tomb, and the lust and hollowness of the void. And he, too,
was speaking, whispering through his pattering teeth, saying: ‘Sh-h-h,
Rachel—Annie, I mean—sh-h-h, my girl—your ma will hear! Rachel, don’t—sh-h-h,
now!’ But even while he kept up this ‘sh-h-h dear—sh-h-h, now,’ he was
conscious of the invasion of a strange rage, of such a strength as if energy
was being vehemently pumped into him from some behemoth omnipotence. The form
above him he could hardly discern, the room was so dark, but he felt that her
garment was flowing forth from her neck in a continuous flutter, with the
rustling of the starch of a thousand shrouds, like the outflow of a pennant in
wind; and the quivering gauze seemed now to swell and fill the chamber, and now
to sink again to the size of woman. And ever the rhapsody of love and death
went on, mixed with the chattered ‘Sh-h-h, Rachel—Annie, I mean,’ of Walter;
till, suddenly, he was involved in an embrace so horrible, felt himself
encompassed by a might so intolerable, that his soul fainted within him. He
sank back; thought spun and failed in darkness beneath the spell of that
lullaby; he muttered, ‘Receive my spirit…’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0cm; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">After two days
Walter, still unconscious, died. His disfigured body they placed in a grave not
far from Rachel’s.</span></span></p><p></p>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-9480117739154464802021-12-04T04:45:00.000-08:002021-12-04T04:45:11.027-08:00Pollock and the Porroh Man<p><b style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><i></i></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNaNIH5F4FIYsAjXicHUSSQNnwMRmmJ3TglaSjVeZZ8WO7nylsEX9O4x1qt2LFQAA4cl3rXugJcjPlGDXyuwp5Mes8DMgtgwBZYguiCIu_LuHLiZEBTwBA6k4-T2Vscd2LiKbiPg8FDEI/s658/entrance-into-sierra-leone-river-by-Capt-John-Matthews.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="658" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNaNIH5F4FIYsAjXicHUSSQNnwMRmmJ3TglaSjVeZZ8WO7nylsEX9O4x1qt2LFQAA4cl3rXugJcjPlGDXyuwp5Mes8DMgtgwBZYguiCIu_LuHLiZEBTwBA6k4-T2Vscd2LiKbiPg8FDEI/w400-h229/entrance-into-sierra-leone-river-by-Capt-John-Matthews.jpg" width="400" /></a></i></b></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><i><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">by H G Wells</span></i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="color: white;">It was in a swampy village on the
lagoon river behind the Turner Peninsula that Pollock’s first encounter with
the Porroh man occurred. The women of that country are famous for their good
looks—they are Gallinas with a dash of European blood that dates from the days
of Vasco da Gama and the English slave-traders, and the Porroh man, too, was
possibly inspired by a faint Caucasian taint in his composition. (It’s a
curious thing to think that some of us may have distant cousins eating men on
Sherboro Island or raiding with the Sofas.) At any rate, the Porroh man stabbed
the woman to the heart as though he had been a mere low-class Italian, and very
narrowly missed Pollock. But Pollock, using his revolver to parry the lightning
stab which was aimed at his deltoid muscle, sent the iron dagger flying, and,
firing, hit the man in the hand.</span></span></p><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-indent: 14.2pt;">He fired again and missed, knocking a
sudden window out of the wall of the hut. The Porroh man stooped in the
doorway, glancing under his arm at Pollock. Pollock caught a glimpse of his
inverted face in the sunlight, and then the Englishman was alone, sick and
trembling with the excitement of the affair, in the twilight of the place. It
had all happened in less time than it takes to read about it.
</span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">
The woman was quite dead, and having
ascertained this, Pollock went to the entrance of the hut and looked out.
Things outside were dazzling bright. Half a dozen of the porters of the
expedition were standing up in a group near the green huts they occupied, and
staring towards him, wondering what the shots might signify. Behind the little
group of men was the broad stretch of black fetid mud by the river, a green
carpet of rafts of papyrus and water-grass, and then the leaden water. The
mangroves beyond the stream loomed indistinctly through the blue haze. There
were no signs of excitement in the squat village, whose fence was just visible
above the cane-grass.
</span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "Palatino Linotype",serif; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">
Pollock came out of the hut cautiously
and walked towards the river, looking over his shoulder at intervals. But the
Porroh man had vanished. Pollock clutched his revolver nervously in his hand.</span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">One of his men came to meet him, and as
he came, pointed to the bushes behind the hut in which the Porroh man had
disappeared. Pollock had an irritating persuasion of having made an absolute
fool of himself; he felt bitter, savage, at the turn things had taken. At the
same time, he would have to tell Waterhouse—the moral, exemplary, cautious
Waterhouse—who would inevitably take the matter seriously. Pollock cursed
bitterly at his luck, at Waterhouse, and especially at the West Coast of
Africa. He felt consummately sick of the expedition. And in the back of his mind
all the time was a speculative doubt where precisely within the visible horizon
the Porroh man might be.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">It is perhaps rather shocking, but he
was not at all upset by the murder that had just happened. He had seen so much
brutality during the last three months, so many dead women, burnt huts, drying
skeletons, up the Kittam River in the wake of the Sofa cavalry, that his senses
were blunted. What disturbed him was the persuasion that this business was only
beginning.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">He swore savagely at the black, who ventured
to ask a question, and went on into the tent under the orange-trees where
Waterhouse was lying, feeling exasperatingly like a boy going into the
headmaster’s study.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Waterhouse was still sleeping off the
effects of his last dose of chlorodyne, and Pollock sat down on a packing-case
beside him, and, lighting his pipe, waited for him to awake. About him were
scattered the pots and weapons Waterhouse had collected from the Mendi people,
and which he had been repacking for the canoe voyage to Sulyma.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Presently Waterhouse woke up, and after
judicial stretching, decided he was all right again. Pollock got him some tea.
Over the tea the incidents of the afternoon were described by Pollock, after
some preliminary beating about the bush. Waterhouse took the matter even more
seriously than Pollock had anticipated. He did not simply disapprove, he
scolded, he insulted.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘You’re one of those infernal fools who
think a black man isn’t a human being,’ he said. ‘I can’t be ill a day without
you must get into some dirty scrape or other. This is the third time in a month
that you have come crossways-on with a native, and this time you’re in for it
with a vengeance. Porroh, too! They’re down upon you enough as it is, about
that idol you wrote your silly name on. And they’re the most vindictive devils
on earth! You make a man ashamed of civilisation. To think you come of a decent
family! If ever I cumber myself up with a vicious, stupid young lout like you
again—’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Steady on, now,’ snarled Pollock, in
the tone that always exasperated Waterhouse; ‘steady on.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">At that Waterhouse became speechless.
He jumped to his feet.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Look here, Pollock,’ he said, after a
struggle to control his breath. ‘You must go home. I won’t have you any longer.
I’m ill enough as it is through you—’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Keep your hair on,’ said Pollock,
staring in front of him. ‘I’m ready enough to go.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Waterhouse became calmer again. He sat
down on the camp-stool. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I don’t want a row, Pollock, you
know; but it’s confoundedly annoying to have one’s plans put out by this kind
of thing. I’ll come to Sulyma with you, and see you safe aboard—’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘You needn’t,’ said Pollock. ‘I can go
alone. From here.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Not far,’ said Waterhouse. ‘You don’t
understand this Porroh business.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘How should I know she belonged to a
Porroh man?’ said Pollock, bitterly.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, she did,’ said Waterhouse; ‘and
you can’t undo the thing. Go alone, indeed! I wonder what they’d do to you. You
don’t seem to understand that this Porroh hokey-pokey rules this country, is
its law, religion, constitution, medicine, magic—They appoint the chiefs. The
Inquisition, at its best, couldn’t hold a candle to these chaps. He will
probably set Awajale, the chief here, on to us. It’s lucky our porters are
Mendis. We shall have to shift this little settlement of ours—Confound you,
Pollock! And, of course, you must go and miss him.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">He thought, and his thoughts seemed
disagreeable. Presently he stood up and took his rifle. ‘I’d keep close for a
bit, if I were you,’ he said, over his shoulder, as he went out. ‘I’m going out
to see what I can find out about it.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Pollock remained sitting in the tent,
meditating. ‘I was meant for a civilised life,’ he said to himself,
regretfully, as he filled his pipe. ‘The sooner I get back to London or Paris
the better for me.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">His eye fell on the sealed case in
which Waterhouse had put the featherless poisoned arrows they had bought in the
Mendi country. ‘I wish I had hit the beggar somewhere vital,’ said Pollock,
viciously.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Waterhouse came back after a long
interval. He was not communicative, though Pollock asked him questions enough.
The Porroh man, it seems, was a prominent member of that mystical society. The
village was interested, but not threatening. No doubt the witch-doctor had gone
into the bush. He was a great witch-doctor. ‘Of course, he’s up to something,’
said Waterhouse, and became silent.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘But what can he do?’ asked Pollock,
unheeded.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘I must get you out of this. There’s
something brewing, or things would not be so quiet,’ said Waterhouse, after a
gap of silence. Pollock wanted to know what the brew might be. ‘Dancing in a
circle of skulls,’ said Waterhouse; ‘brewing a stink in a copper pot.’ Pollock
wanted particulars. Waterhouse was vague, Pollock pressing. At last Waterhouse
lost his temper. ‘How the devil should I know?’ he said to Pollock’s twentieth
inquiry what the Porroh man would do. ‘He tried to kill you off-hand in the
hut. Now, I fancy he will try something more elaborate. But you’ll see fast
enough. I don’t want to help unnerve you. It’s probably all nonsense.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">That night, as they were sitting at
their fire, Pollock again tried to draw Waterhouse out on the subject of Porroh
methods. ‘Better get to sleep,’ said Waterhouse, when Pollock’s bent became
apparent; ‘we start early to-morrow. You may want all your nerve about you.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘But what line will he take?’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Can’t say. They’re versatile people.
They know a lot of rum dodges. You’d better get that copper-devil, Shakespear,
to talk.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">There was a flash and a heavy bang out
of the darkness behind the huts, and a clay bullet came whistling close to
Pollock’s head. This, at least, was crude enough. The blacks and half-breeds
sitting and yarning round their own fire jumped up, and someone fired into the
dark.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Better go into one of the huts,’ said
Waterhouse, quietly, still sitting unmoved.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Pollock stood up by the fire and drew
his revolver. Fighting, at least, he was not afraid of. But a man in the dark
is in the best of armour. Realising the wisdom of Waterhouse’s advice, Pollock
went into the tent and lay down there.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">What little sleep he had was disturbed
by dreams, variegated dreams, but chiefly of the Porroh man’s face, upside
down, as he went out of the hut, and looked up under his arm. It was odd that
this transitory impression should have stuck so firmly in Pollock’s memory.
Moreover, he was troubled by queer pains in his limbs.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">In the white haze of the early morning,
as they were loading the canoes, a barbed arrow suddenly appeared quivering in
the ground close to Pollock’s foot. The boys made a perfunctory effort to clear
out the thicket, but it led to no capture.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">After these two occurrences, there was
a disposition on the part of the expedition to leave Pollock to himself, and
Pollock became, for the first time in his life, anxious to mingle with blacks.
Waterhouse took one canoe, and Pollock, in spite of a friendly desire to chat
with Waterhouse, had to take the other. He was left all alone in the front part
of the canoe, and he had the greatest trouble to make the men—who did not love
him—keep to the middle of the river, a clear hundred yards or more from either
shore. However, he made Shakespear, the Freetown half-breed, come up to his own
end of the canoe and tell him about Porroh, which Shakespear, failing in his attempts
to leave Pollock alone, presently did with considerable freedom and gusto.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">The day passed. The canoe glided
swiftly along the ribbon of lagoon water, between the drift of water-figs,
fallen trees, papyrus, and palm-wine palms, and with the dark mangrove swamp to
the left, through which one could hear now and then the roar of the Atlantic
surf. Shakespear told, in his soft blurred English, of how the Porroh could
cast spells; how men withered up under their malice; how they could send dreams
and devils; how they tormented and killed the sons of Ijibu; how they kidnapped
a white trader from Sulyma who had maltreated one of the sect, and how his body
looked when it was found. And Pollock after each narrative cursed under his
breath at the want of missionary enterprise that allowed such things to be, and
at the inert British Government that ruled over this dark heathendom of Sierra
Leone. In the evening they came to the Kasi Lake, and sent a score of
crocodiles lumbering off the island on which the expedition camped for the
night.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">The next day they reached Sulyma, and
smelt the sea breeze; but Pollock had to put up there for five days before he
could get on to Freetown. Waterhouse, considering him to be comparatively safe
here, and within the pale of Freetown influence, left him and went back with
the expedition to Gbemma, and Pollock became very friendly with Perera, the
only resident white trader at Sulyma—so friendly, indeed, that he went about
with him everywhere. Perera was a little Portuguese Jew, who had lived in
England, and he appreciated the Englishman’s friendliness as a great
compliment.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">For two days nothing happened out of
the ordinary; for the most part Pollock and Perera played Nap—the only game
they had in common—and Pollock got into debt. Then, on the second evening,
Pollock had a disagreeable intimation of the arrival of the Porroh man in
Sulyma by getting a flesh-wound in the shoulder from a lump of filed iron. It
was a long shot, and the missile had nearly spent its force when it hit him. Still
it conveyed its message plainly enough. Pollock sat up in his hammock, revolver
in hand, all that night, and next morning confided, to some extent, in the
Anglo-Portuguese.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Perera took the matter seriously. He
knew the local customs pretty thoroughly. ‘It is a personal question, you must
know. It is revenge. And of course he is hurried by your leaving de country.
None of de natives or half-breeds will interfere wid him very much—unless you
make it wort deir while. If you come upon him suddenly, you might shoot him.
But den he might shoot you.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Den dere’s dis—infernal magic,’ said
Perera. ‘Of course, I don’t believe in it—superstition; but still it’s not nice
to tink dat wherever you are, dere is a black man, who spends a moonlight night
now and den a-dancing about a fire to send you bad dreams—Had any bad dreams?’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Rather,’ said Pollock. ‘I keep on
seeing the beggar’s head upside down grinning at me and showing all his teeth
as he did in the hut, and coming close up to me, and then going ever so far off,
and coming back. It’s nothing to be afraid of, but somehow it simply paralyses
me with terror in my sleep. Queer things—dreams. I know it’s a dream all the
time, and I can’t wake up from it.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘It’s probably only fancy,’ said
Perera. ‘Den my niggers say Porroh men can send snakes. Seen any snakes lately?’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Only one. I killed him this morning,
on the floor near my hammock. Almost trod on him as I got up.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Ah!’ said Perera, and then,
reassuringly, ‘Of course it is a—coincidence. Still I would keep my eyes open.
Den dere’s pains in de bones.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘I thought they were due to miasma,’
said Pollock.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Probably dey are. When did dey begin?’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Then Pollock remembered that he first
noticed them the night after the fight in the hut. ‘It’s my opinion he don’t
want to kill you,’ said Perera—’at least not yet. I’ve heard deir idea is to
scare and worry a man wid deir spells, and narrow misses, and rheumatic pains,
and bad dreams, and all dat, until he’s sick of life. Of course, it’s all talk,
you know. You mustn’t worry about it—But I wonder what he’ll be up to next.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘<i>I </i>shall have to be up to something
first,’ said Pollock, staring gloomily at the greasy cards that Perera was
putting on the table. ‘It don’t suit my dignity to be followed about, and shot
at, and blighted in this way. I wonder if Porroh hokey-pokey upsets your luck
at cards.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">He looked at Perera suspiciously.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Very likely it does,’ said Perera,
warmly, shuffling. ‘Dey are wonderful people.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">That afternoon Pollock killed two
snakes in his hammock, and there was also an extraordinary increase in the
number of red ants that swarmed over the place; and these annoyances put him in
a fit temper to talk over business with a certain Mendi rough he had
interviewed before. The Mendi rough showed Pollock a little iron dagger, and
demonstrated where one struck in the neck, in a way that made Pollock shiver; and
in return for certain considerations Pollock promised him a double-barrelled
gun with an ornamental lock.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">In the evening, as Pollock and Perera
were playing cards, the Mendi rough came in through the doorway, carrying
something in a blood-soaked piece of native cloth.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Not here!’ said Pollock, very
hurriedly. ‘Not here!’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">But he was not quick enough to prevent
the man, who was anxious to get to Pollock’s side of the bargain, from opening
the cloth and throwing the head of the Porroh man upon the table. It bounded
from there on to the floor, leaving a red trail on the cards, and rolled into a
corner, where it came to rest upside down, but glaring hard at Pollock.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Perera jumped up as the thing fell
among the cards, and began in his excitement to gabble in Portuguese. The Mendi
was bowing, with the red cloth in his hand. ‘De gun!’ he said. Pollock stared
back at the head in the corner. It bore exactly the expression it had in his
dreams. Something seemed to snap in his own brain as he looked at it.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Then Perera found his English again.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘You got him killed?’ he said. ‘You did
not kill him yourself?’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Why should I?’ said Pollock.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘But he will not be able to take it off
now!’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Take what off?’ said Pollock.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘And all dese cards are spoiled!’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘What do you mean by taking off?’ said
Pollock.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘You must send me a new pack from
Freetown. You can buy dem dere.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘But—"take it off"?’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘It is only superstition. I forgot. De
niggers say dat if de witches—he was a witch—But it is rubbish—You must make de
Porroh man take it off, or kill him yourself—It is very silly.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Pollock swore under his breath, still
staring hard at the head in the corner.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘I can’t stand that glare,’ he said.
Then suddenly he rushed at the thing and kicked it. It rolled some yards or so,
and came to rest in the same position as before, upside down, and looking at
him.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘He is ugly,’ said the
Anglo-Portuguese. ‘Very ugly. Dey do it on deir faces with little knives.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Pollock would have kicked the head
again, but the Mendi man touched him on the arm. ‘De gun?’ he said, looking
nervously at the head.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Two—if you will take that beastly thing
away,’ said Pollock.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">The Mendi shook his head, and intimated
that he only wanted one gun now due to him, and for which he would be obliged.
Pollock found neither cajolery nor bullying any good with him. Perera had a gun
to sell (at a profit of three hundred per cent.), and with that the man
presently departed. Then Pollock’s eyes, against his will, were recalled to the
thing on the floor.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘It is funny dat his head keeps upside
down,’ said Perera, with an uneasy laugh. ‘His brains must be heavy, like de weight
in de little images one sees dat keep always upright wid lead in dem. You will
take him wiv you when you go presently. You might take him now. De cards are
all spoilt. Dere is a man sell dem in Freetown. De room is in a filty mess as
it is. You should have killed him yourself.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Pollock pulled himself together, and
went and picked up the head. He would hang it up by the lamp-hook in the middle
of the ceiling of his room, and dig a grave for it at once. He was under the
impression that he hung it up by the hair, but that must have been wrong, for
when he returned for it, it was hanging by the neck upside down.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">He buried it before sunset on the north
side of the shed he occupied, so that he should not have to pass the grave
after dark when he was returning from Perera’s. He killed two snakes before he
went to sleep. In the darkest part of the night he awoke with a start, and
heard a pattering sound and something scraping on the floor. He sat up
noiselessly, and felt under his pillow for his revolver. A mumbling growl
followed, and Pollock fired at the sound. There was a yelp, and something dark
passed for a moment across the hazy blue of the doorway. ‘A dog!’ said Pollock,
lying down again.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">In the early dawn he awoke again with a
peculiar sense of unrest. The vague pain in his bones had returned. For some
time he lay watching the red ants that were swarming over the ceiling, and
then, as the light grew brighter, he looked over the edge of his hammock and
saw something dark on the floor. He gave such a violent start that the hammock
overset and flung him out.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">He found himself lying, perhaps, a yard
away from the head of the Porroh man. It had been disinterred by the dog, and
the nose was grievously battered. Ants and flies swarmed over it. By an odd coincidence,
it was still upside down, and with the same diabolical expression in the
inverted eyes.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Pollock sat paralysed, and stared at
the horror for some time. Then he got up and walked round it,—giving it a wide
berth—and out of the shed. The clear light of the sunrise, the living stir of
vegetation before the breath of the dying land-breeze, and the empty grave with
the marks of the dog’s paws, lightened the weight upon his mind a little.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">He told Perera of the business as
though it was a jest,—a jest to be told with white lips. ‘You should not have
frighten de dog,’ said Perera, with poorly simulated hilarity.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">The next two days, until the steamer
came, were spent by Pollock in making a more effectual disposition of his
possession. Overcoming his aversion to handling the thing, he went down to the
river mouth and threw it into the sea-water, but by some miracle it escaped the
crocodiles, and was cast up by the tide on the mud a little way up the river,
to be found by an intelligent Arab half-breed, and offered for sale to Pollock
and Perera as a curiosity, just on the edge of night. The native hung about in
the brief twilight, making lower and lower offers, and at last, getting scared
in some way by the evident dread these wise white men had for the thing, went
off, and, passing Pollock’s shed, threw his burden in there for Pollock to
discover in the morning.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">At this Pollock got into a kind of
frenzy. He would burn the thing. He went out straightway into the dawn, and had
constructed a big pyre of brushwood before the heat of the day. He was
interrupted by the hooter of the little paddle steamer from Monrovia to
Bathurst, which was coming through the gap in the bar. ‘Thank Heaven!’ said
Pollock, with infinite piety, when the meaning of the sound dawned upon him.
With trembling hands he lit his pile of wood hastily, threw the head upon it,
and went away to pack his portmanteau and make his adieux to Perera.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">That afternoon, with a sense of
infinite relief, Pollock watched the flat swampy foreshore of Sulyma grow small
in the distance. The gap in the long line of white surge became narrower and
narrower. It seemed to be closing in and cutting him off from his trouble. The
feeling of dread and worry began to slip from him bit by bit. At Sulyma belief
in Porroh malignity and Porroh magic had been in the air, his sense of Porroh
had been vast, pervading, threatening, dreadful. Now manifestly the domain of
Porroh was only a little place, a little black band between the sea and the
blue cloudy Mendi uplands.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Good-bye, Porroh!’ said Pollock. ‘Good-bye—certainly
not <i>au revoir</i>.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">The captain of the steamer came and
leant over the rail beside him, and wished him good evening, and spat at the
froth of the wake in token of friendly ease.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘I picked up a rummy curio on the beach
this go,’ said the captain. ‘It’s a thing I never saw done this side of Indy
before.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘What might that be?’ said Pollock.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Pickled ‘ed,’ said the captain.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘<i>What?</i>’ said Pollock.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘‘Ed—smoked. ‘Ed of one of these Porroh
chaps, all ornamented with knife-cuts. Why! What’s up? Nothing? I shouldn’t
have took you for a nervous chap. Green in the face. By gosh! you’re a bad
sailor. All right, eh? Lord, how funny you went! Well, this ‘ed I was telling
you of is a bit rum in a way. I’ve got it, along with some snakes, in a jar of
spirit in my cabin what I keeps for such curios, and I’m hanged if it don’t
float upsy-down. Hullo!’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Pollock had given an incoherent cry,
and had his hands in his hair. He ran towards the paddle-boxes with a
half-formed idea of jumping into the sea, and then he realised his position and
turned back towards the captain.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Here!’ said the captain. ‘Jack
Philips, just keep him off me! Stand off! No nearer, mister! What’s the matter
with you? Are you mad?’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Pollock put his hand to his head. It
was no good explaining. ‘I believe I am pretty nearly mad at times,’ he said. ‘It’s
a pain I have here. Comes suddenly. You’ll excuse me, I hope.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">He was white and in a perspiration. He
saw suddenly very clearly all the danger he ran of having his sanity doubted.
He forced himself to restore the captain’s confidence, by answering his
sympathetic inquiries, noting his suggestions, even trying a spoonful of neat
brandy in his cheek, and, that matter settled, asking a number of questions
about the captain’s private trade in curiosities. The captain described the
head in detail. All the while Pollock was struggling to keep under a
preposterous persuasion that the ship was as transparent as glass, and that he
could distinctly see the inverted face looking at him from the cabin beneath
his feet.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Pollock had a worse time almost on the
steamer than he had at Sulyma. All day he had to control himself in spite of
his intense perception of the imminent presence of that horrible head that was
overshadowing his mind. At night his old nightmare returned, until, with a
violent effort, he would force himself awake, rigid with the horror of it, and
with the ghost of a hoarse scream in his throat.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">He left the actual head behind at
Bathurst, where he changed ship for Teneriffe, but not his dreams nor the dull
ache in his bones. At Teneriffe Pollock transferred to a Cape liner, but the
head followed him. He gambled, he tried chess, he even read books; but he knew
the danger of drink. Yet whenever a round black shadow, a round black object
came into his range, there he looked for the head, and—saw it. He knew clearly
enough that his imagination was growing traitor to him, and yet at times it
seemed the ship he sailed in, his fellow-passengers, the sailors, the wide sea,
were all part of a filmy phantasmagoria that hung, scarcely veiling it, between
him and a horrible real world. Then the Porroh man, thrusting his diabolical
face through that curtain, was the one real and undeniable thing. At that he
would get up and touch things, taste something, gnaw something, burn his hand
with a match, or run a needle into himself.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">So, struggling grimly and silently with
his excited imagination, Pollock reached England. He landed at Southampton, and
went on straight from Waterloo to his banker’s in Cornhill in a cab. There he
transacted some business with the manager in a private room; and all the while
the head hung like an ornament under the black marble mantel and dripped upon
the fender. He could hear the drops fall, and see the red on the fender.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘A pretty fern,’ said the manager,
following his eyes. ‘But it makes the fender rusty.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Very,’ said Pollock; ‘a very pretty
fern. And that reminds me. Can you recommend me a physician for mind troubles?
I’ve got a little—what is it?—hallucination.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">The head laughed savagely, wildly.
Pollock was surprised the manager did not notice it. But the manager only
stared at his face.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">With the address of a doctor, Pollock
presently emerged in Cornhill. There was no cab in sight, and so he went on
down to the western end of the street, and essayed the crossing opposite the
Mansion House. The crossing is hardly easy even for the expert Londoner; cabs,
vans, carriages, mailcarts, omnibuses go by in one incessant stream; to any one
fresh from the malarious solitudes of Sierra Leone it is a boiling, maddening
confusion. But when an inverted head suddenly comes bouncing, like an
indiarubber ball, between your legs, leaving distinct smears of blood every
time it touches the ground, you can scarcely hope to avoid an accident. Pollock
lifted his feet convulsively to avoid it, and then kicked at the thing
furiously. Then something hit him violently in the back, and a hot pain ran up
his arm.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">He had been hit by the pole of an
omnibus, and three of the fingers of his left hand smashed by the hoof of one
of the horses,—the very fingers, as it happened, that he shot from the Porroh
man. They pulled him out from between the horses’ legs, and found the address
of the physician in his crushed hand.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">For a couple of days Pollock’s
sensations were full of the sweet, pungent smell of chloroform, of painful
operations that caused him no pain, of lying still and being given food and
drink. Then he had a slight fever, and was very thirsty, and his old nightmare
came back. It was only when it returned that he noticed it had left him for a
day.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘If my skull had been smashed instead
of my fingers, it might have gone altogether,’ said Pollock, staring
thoughtfully at the dark cushion that had taken on for the time the shape of
the head.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Pollock at the first opportunity told
the physician of his mind trouble. He knew clearly that he must go mad unless
something should intervene to save him. He explained that he had witnessed a
decapitation in Dahomey, and was haunted by one of the heads. Naturally, he did
not care to state the actual facts. The physician looked grave.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Presently he spoke hesitatingly. ‘As a
child, did you get very much religious training?’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Very little,’ said Pollock.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">A shade passed over the physician’s
face. ‘I don’t know if you have heard of the miraculous cures—it may be, of
course, they are not miraculous—at Lourdes.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Faith-healing will hardly suit me, I
am afraid,’ said Pollock, with his eye on the dark cushion.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">The head distorted its scarred features
in an abominable grimace. The physician went upon a new track. ‘It’s all
imagination,’ he said, speaking with sudden briskness. ‘A fair case for
faith-healing, anyhow. Your nervous system has run down, you’re in that
twilight state of health when the bogles come easiest. The strong impression
was too much for you. I must make you up a little mixture that will strengthen
your nervous system—especially your brain. And you must take exercise.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘I’m no good for faith-healing,’ said
Pollock.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘And therefore we must restore tone. Go
in search of stimulating air—Scotland, Norway, the Alps—’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘Jericho, if you like,’ said Pollock, ‘where
Naaman went.’</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">However, so soon as his fingers would
let him, Pollock made a gallant attempt to follow out the doctor’s suggestion.
It was now November. He tried football; but to Pollock the game consisted in
kicking a furious inverted head about a field. He was no good at the game. He
kicked blindly, with a kind of horror, and when they put him back into goal,
and the ball came swooping down upon him, he suddenly yelled and got out of its
way. The discreditable stories that had driven him from England to wander in
the tropics shut him off from any but men’s society, and now his increasingly
strange behaviour made even his man friends avoid him. The thing was no longer
a thing of the eye merely; it gibbered at him, spoke to him. A horrible fear
came upon him that presently, when he took hold of the apparition, it would no
longer become some mere article of furniture, but would <i>feel </i>like a real
dissevered head. Alone, he would curse at the thing, defy it, entreat it; once
or twice, in spite of his grim self-control, he addressed it in the presence of
others. He felt the growing suspicion in the eyes of the people that watched
him,—his landlady, the servant, his man.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">One day early in December his cousin
Arnold—his next of kin—came to see him and draw him out, and watch his sunken,
yellow face with narrow, eager eyes. And it seemed to Pollock that the hat his
cousin carried in his hand was no hat at all, but a Gorgon head that glared at
him upside down, and fought with its eyes against his reason. However, he was
still resolute to see the matter out. He got a bicycle, and, riding over the
frosty road from Wandsworth to Kingston, found the thing rolling along at his
side, and leaving a dark trail behind it. He set his teeth and rode faster.
Then suddenly, as he came down the hill towards Richmond Park, the apparition
rolled in front of him and under his wheel, so quickly that he had no time for
thought, and, turning quickly to avoid it, was flung violently against a heap
of stones and broke his left wrist.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">The end came on Christmas morning. All
night he had been in a fever, the bandages encircling his wrist like a band of
fire, his dreams more vivid and terrible than ever. In the cold, colourless,
uncertain light that came before the sunrise, he sat up in his bed, and saw the
head upon the bracket in the place of the bronze jar that had stood there
overnight.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">‘I know that is a bronze jar,’ he said,
with a chill doubt at his heart. Presently the doubt was irresistible. He got
out of bed slowly, shivering, and advanced to the jar with his hand raised.
Surely he would see now his imagination had deceived him, recognise the
distinctive sheen of bronze. At last, after an age of hesitation, his fingers
came down on the patterned cheek of the head. He withdrew them spasmodically.
The last stage was reached. His sense of touch had betrayed him.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">Trembling, stumbling against the bed,
kicking against his shoes with his bare feet, a dark confusion eddying round
him, he groped his way to the dressing-table, took his razor from the drawer,
and sat down on the bed with this in his hand. In the looking-glass he saw his
own face, colourless, haggard, full of the ultimate bitterness of despair.</span></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: white;">He beheld in swift succession the
incidents in the brief tale of his experience. His wretched home, his still
more wretched schooldays, the years of vicious life he had led since then, one
act of selfish dishonour leading to another; it was all clear and pitiless now,
all its squalid folly, in the cold light of the dawn. He came to the hut, to
the fight with the Porroh man, to the retreat down the river to Sulyma, to the
Mendi assassin and his red parcel, to his frantic endeavours to destroy the
head, to the growth of his hallucination. It was a hallucination! He knew it
was. A hallucination merely. For a moment he snatched at hope. He looked away
from the glass, and on the bracket, the inverted head grinned and grimaced at
him—With the stiff fingers of his bandaged hand he felt at his neck for the
throb of his arteries. The morning was very cold, the steel blade felt like
ice.</span></span></div>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-65477959452398971852021-11-27T04:30:00.000-08:002021-11-27T04:30:06.945-08:00N<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOZu6cAVqX0w18ktlNi-HDUMLAFqKNnihvR0fatuYW9KDqpman9VJS_NhNGPieCNi7xtFa_RYc4mHiB5GURVSF13g9qq0cG9vERqueSfclEspfbV3NSPq-L-dLoDE9ZhiWlQkWfnO_lE/s602/whosis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOZu6cAVqX0w18ktlNi-HDUMLAFqKNnihvR0fatuYW9KDqpman9VJS_NhNGPieCNi7xtFa_RYc4mHiB5GURVSF13g9qq0cG9vERqueSfclEspfbV3NSPq-L-dLoDE9ZhiWlQkWfnO_lE/w333-h400/whosis.jpg" width="333" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">by Arthur Machen</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype", serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 2.85pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">I<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">They
were talking about old days and old ways and all the changes that have come on
London in the last weary years; a little party of three of them, gathered for a
rare meeting in Perrott’s rooms.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">One man, the youngest of the three, a lad of
fifty-five or so, had begun to say:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I know every inch of that neighbourhood, and I
tell you there’s no such place.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">His name was Harliss; and he was supposed to have
something to do with chemicals and carboys and crystals.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">They had been recalling many London vicissitudes,
these three; and it must be noted that the boy of the party, Harliss, could
remember very well the Strand as it used to be, before they spoilt it all.
Indeed, if he could not have gone as far back as the years of those doings, it
is doubtful whether Perrott would have let him into the meeting in Mitre Place,
an alley which was an entrance of the inn by day, but was blind after nine
o’clock at night, when the iron gates were shut, and the pavement grew silent.
The rooms were on the second floor, and from the front windows could be seen
the elms in the inn garden, where the rooks used to build before the war.
Within, the large, low room was softly, deeply carpeted from wall to wall; the
winter night, with a bitter dry wind rising, and moaning even in the heart of
London, was shut out by thick crimson curtains, and the three then sat about a
blazing fire in an old fireplace, a fireplace that stood high from the hearth,
with hobs on each side of it, and a big kettle beginning to murmur on one of
them. The armchairs on which the three sat were of the sort that Mr. Pickwick
sits on for ever in his frontispiece. The round table of dark mahogany stood on
one leg, very deeply and profusely carved, and Perrott said it was a George IV
table, though the third friend, Arnold, held that William IV, or even very
early Victoria, would have been nearer the mark. On the dark red wall-paper
there were eighteenth-century engravings of Durham Cathedral and Peterborough
Cathedral, which showed that, in spite of Horace Walpole and his friend Mr.
Gray, the eighteenth century couldn’t draw a Gothic building when its towers
and traceries were before its eyes: ‘because they couldn’t see it,’ Arnold had
insisted, late one night, when the gliding signs were far on in their course,
and the punch in the jar had begun to thicken a little on its spices. There
were other engravings of a later date about the walls, things of the thirties
and forties by forgotten artists, known well enough in their day; landscapes of
the Valley of the Usk, and the Holy Mountain, and Llanthony: all with a certain
enchantment and vision about them, as if their domed hills and solemn woods
were more of grace than of nature. Over the hearth was <i>Bolton Abbey in the
Olden Time</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Perrott would apologize for it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I know,’ he would say. ‘I know all about it. It
is a pig, and a goat, and a dog, and a damned nonsense’—he was quoting a Welsh
story—’but it used to hang over the fire in the dining-room at home. And I
often wish I had brought along <i>Te Deum Laudamus</i> as well.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘What’s that?’ Harliss asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Ah, you’re too young to have lived with it. It
depicts three choir-boys in surplices; one singing for his life, and the other
two looking about them—just like choir-boys. And we were always told that the
busy boy was hanged at last. The companion picture showed three charity girls,
also singing. This was called <i>Te Dominum Confitemur</i>. I never heard their
story.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I know.’ Harliss brightened. ‘I came upon them
both in lodgings near the station at Brighton, in Mafeking year. And, a year or
two later, I saw <i>Sherry, Sir </i>in an hotel at Tenby.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘The finest wax fruit I ever saw,’ Arnold joined
in, ‘was in a window in the King’s Cross Road.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">So they would maunder along, about the
old-fashioned rather than the old. And so on this winter night of the cold wind
they lingered about the London streets of forty, forty-five, fifty-five years
ago.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">One of them dilated on Bloomsbury, in the days
when the bars were up, and the Duke’s porters had boxes beside the gates, and
all was peace, not to say profound dullness, within those solemn boundaries.
Here was the high vaulted church of a strange sect, where, they said, while the
smoke of incense fumed about a solemn rite, a wailing voice would suddenly rise
up with the sound of an incantation in magic. Here, another church, where
Christina Rossetti bowed her head; all about, dim squares where no one walked,
and the leaves of the trees were dark with smoke and soot.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I remember one spring,’ said Arnold, ‘when they
were the brightest green I ever saw. In Bloomsbury Square. Long ago.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘That wonderful little lion stood on the iron
posts in the pavement in front of the British Museum,’ Perrott put in. ‘I
believe they have kept a few and hidden them in museums. That’s one of the
reasons why the streets grow duller and duller. If there is anything curious,
anything beautiful in a street, they take it away and stick it in a museum. I
wonder what has become of that odd little figure, I think it was in a cocked
hat, that stood by the bar-parlour door in the courtyard of the bell in
Holborn.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">They worked their way down by Fetter Lane, and
lamented Dryden’s house—’I think it was in 87 that they pulled it down’—and
lingered on the site of Clifford’s Inn—’you could walk into the seventeenth
century’—and so at last into the Strand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Someone said it was the finest street in Europe.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Yes, no doubt—in a sense. Not at all in the
obvious sense; it wasn’t <i>belle architecture de ville</i>. It was of all ages
and all sizes and heights and styles: a unique enchantment of a street; an incantation,
full of words that meant nothing to the uninitiated.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">A sort of Litany followed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘The Shop of the Pale Puddings, where little David
Copperfield might have bought his dinner.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘That was close to Bookseller’s
Row—sixteenth-century houses.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘And ‘Chocolate as in Spain’; opposite Charing
Cross.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘The Globe office, where one sent one’s early
turnovers.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘The narrow alleys with steps going down to the
river.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘The smell of making soap from the scent shop.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Nutt’s bookshop, near the Welsh mutton butcher’s,
where the street was narrow.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘The Family Herald office; with a picture in the
window of an early type-setting machine, showing the operator working a
contraption with long arms, that hovered over the case.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘And Garden House in the middle of a lawn, in
Clement’s Inn.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘And the flicker of those old yellow gas-lamps,
when the wind blew up the street, and the people were packing into that passage
that led to the Lyceum pit.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">One of them, his ear caught by a phrase that
another had used, began to murmur verses from ‘Oh, plump head waiter at the
Cock.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘What chops they were!’ sighed Perrott. And he
began to make the punch, grating first of all the lumps of sugar against the
lemons; drawing forth thereby the delicate, aromatic oils from the rind of the
Mediterranean fruit. Matters were brought forth from cupboards at the dark end
of the room: rum from the Jamaica Coffee House in the City, spices in blue
china boxes, one or two old bottles containing secret essences. The kettle
boiled, the ingredients were dusted in and poured into the red-brown jar, which
was then muffled and set to digest on the hearth, in the heat of the fire.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘<i>Misce, fiat mistura</i>,’ said Harliss.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Very well,’ answered Arnold. ‘But remember that
all the true matters of the work are invisible.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Nobody minded him or his alchemy; and after a due
interval, the glasses were held over the fragrant steam of the jar, and then
filled. The three sat round the fire, drinking and sipping with grateful
hearts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 2.85pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">II<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Let
it be noted that the glasses in question held no great quantity of the hot
liquor. Indeed, they were what used to be called rummers; round, and of a
bloated aspect, but of comparatively small capacity. Therefore, nothing
injurious to the clearness of those old heads is to be inferred, when it is
said that between the third and fourth filling, the talk drew away from central
London and the lost, beloved Strand and began to go farther afield, into
stranger, less-known territories. Perrott began it, by tracing a curious
passage he had once made northward, dodging by the Globe and the Olympic
theatres into the dark labyrinth of Clare Market, under arches and by alleys,
till he came into Great Queen Street, near the Freemason’s Tavern and Inigo
Jones’s red pilasters. Another took up the tale, and drifting into Holborn by
Whetstone’s Park, and going astray a little to visit Kingsgate Street—’just
like Phiz’s plate: mean, low, deplorable; but I wish they hadn’t pulled it
down’—finally reached Theobald’s Road. There, they delayed a little, to
consider curiously decorated leaden water-cisterns that were once to be seen in
the areas of a few of the older houses, and also to speculate on the legend
that an ancient galleried inn, now used as a warehouse, had survived till quite
lately at the back of Tibbles Road—for so they called it. And thence, northward
and eastward, up the Gray’s Inn Road, crossing the King’s Cross Road, and going
up the hill.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘And here,’ said Arnold, ‘we begin to touch on the
conjectured. We have left the known world behind us.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Indeed, it was he who now had the party in charge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Do you know,’ said Perrott, ‘that sounds awful
rot, but it’s true; at least so far as I am concerned. I don’t think I ever
went beyond Holborn Town Hall, as it used to be—I mean walking. Of course, I’ve
driven in a hansom to King’s Cross Railway Station, and I went once or twice to
the Military Tournament, when it was at the Agricultural Hall, in Islington;
but I don’t remember how I got there.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Harliss said he had been brought up in North
London, but much farther north—Stoke Newington way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I once knew a man,’ said Perrott, ‘who knew all
about Stoke Newington; at least he ought to have known about it. He was a Poe
enthusiast, and he wanted to find out whether the school where Poe boarded when
he was a little boy was still standing. He went again and again; and the odd
thing is that, in spite of his interest in the matter, he didn’t seem to know
whether the school was still there, or whether he had seen it. He spoke of certain
survivals of the Stoke Newington that Poe indicates in a phrase or two in
‘William Wilson’: the dreamy village, the misty trees, the old rambling
red-brick houses, standing in their gardens, with high walls all about them.
But though he declared that he had gone so far as to interview the vicar, and
could describe the old church with the dormer windows, he could never make up
his mind whether he had seen Poe’s school.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I never heard of it when I lived there,’ said
Harliss. ‘But I came of business stock. We didn’t gossip much about authors. I
have a vague sort of notion that I once heard somebody speak of Poe as a
notorious drunkard—and that’s about all I ever heard of him till a good deal
later.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘It is queer, but it’s true,’ Arnold broke in,
‘that there’s a general tendency to seize on the accidental, and ignore the
essential. You may be vague enough about the treble works, the vast designs of
the laboured rampart lines; but at least you knew that the Duke of Wellington
had a very big nose. I remember it on the tins of knife polish.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘But that fellow I was speaking of,’ said Perrott,
going back to his topic, ‘I couldn’t make him out. I put it to him; ‘Surely you
know one way or the other: this old school is still standing—or was still
standing—or not: you either saw it or you didn’t: there can’t be any doubt
about the matter.’ But we couldn’t get to negative or positive. He confessed
that it was strange; ‘But upon my word I don’t know. I went once, I think,
about 95, and then, again, in 99—that was the time I called on the vicar; and I
have never been since.’ He talked like a man who had gone into a mist, and
could not speak with any certainty of the shapes he had seen in it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘And that reminds me. Long after my talk with
Hare—that was the man who was interested in Poe—a distant cousin of mine from
the country came up to town to see about the affairs of an old aunt of his who
had lived all her life somewhere Stoke Newington way, and had just died. He
came in here one evening to look me up—we had not met for many years—and he was
saying, truly enough, I am sure, how little the average Londoner knew of
London, when you once took him off his beaten track. For example,’ he said to
me, ‘have you ever been in Stoke Newington?’ I confessed that I hadn’t, that I
had never had any reason to go there. ‘Exactly; and I don’t suppose you’ve ever
even heard of Canon’s Park?’ I confessed ignorance again. He said it was an
extraordinary thing that such a beautiful place as this, within four or five
miles of the centre of London, seemed absolutely unknown and unheard of by nine
Londoners out of ten.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I know every inch of that neighbourhood,’ broke
in Harliss. ‘I was born there and lived there till I was sixteen. There’s no
such place anywhere near Stoke Newington.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘But, look here, Harliss,’ said Arnold. ‘I don’t
know that you’re really an authority.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Not an authority on a place I knew backwards for
sixteen years? Besides, I represented Crosbies in that district later, soon
after I went into business.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Yes, of course. But—I suppose you know the
Haymarket pretty well, don’t you?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Of course I do; both for business and pleasure.
Everybody knows the Haymarket.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Very good. Then tell me the way to St. James’s
Market.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘There’s no such market.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘We have him,’ said Arnold, with bland triumph.
‘Literally, he is correct: I believe it’s all pulled down now. But it was
standing during the war: a small open space with old, low buildings in it, a
stone’s throw from the back of the tube station. You turned to the right, as
you walked down the Haymarket.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Quite right,’ confirmed Perrott. ‘I went there,
only once, on the business of an odd magazine that was published in one of
those low buildings. But I was talking of Canon’s Park, Stoke Newington—’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I beg your pardon,’ said Harliss. ‘I remember
now. There is a part in Stoke Newington or near it called Canon’s Park. But it
isn’t a park at all; nothing like a park. That’s only a builder’s name. It’s
just a lot of streets. I think there’s a Canon’s Square, and a Park Crescent,
and an Esplanade: there are some decent shops there. But it’s all quite
ordinary; there’s nothing beautiful about it.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘But my cousin said it was an amazing place. Not a
bit like the ordinary London parks or anything of the kind he’d seen abroad.
You go in through a gateway, and he said it was like finding yourself in
another country. Such trees, that must have been brought from the end of the
world: there were none like them in England, though one or two reminded him of
trees in Kew Gardens; deep hollows with streams running from the rocks; lawns
all purple and gold with flowers, and golden lilies too, towering up into the
trees, and mixing with the crimson of the flowers that hung from the boughs.
And here and there, there were little summer-houses and temples, shining white
in the sun, like a view in China, as he put it.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Harliss did not fail with his response, ‘I tell
you there’s no such place.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">And he added:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘And, anyhow, it all sounds a bit too flowery. But
perhaps your cousin was that sort of man: ready to be enthusiastic over a patch
of dandelions in a back-garden. A friend of mine once sent me a wire to ‘come
at once: most important: meet me St. John’s Wood Station.’ Of course I went,
thinking it must be really important; ‘and what he wanted was to show me the
garden of a house to let in Grove End Road, which was a blaze of dandelions.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘And a very beautiful sight,’ said Arnold, with
fervour.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘It was a fine sight; but hardly a thing to wire a
man about. And I should think that’s the secret of all this stuff your cousin
told you, Perrott. There used to be one or two big well-kept gardens at Stoke
Newington; and I suppose he strolled into one of them by mistake, and then got
rather wildly enthusiastic about what he saw.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘It’s possible, of course,’ said Perrott, ‘but in
a general way he wasn’t that sort of man. He had an experimental farm, not far
from Wells, and bred new kinds of wheat, and improved grasses. I have heard him
called stodgy, though I always found him pleasant enough when we met.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, I tell you there’s no such place in Stoke
Newington or anywhere near it. I ought to know.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘How about St. James’s Market?’ asked Arnold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Then, they ‘left it at that.’ Indeed, they had
felt for some time that they had gone too far away from their known world, and
from the friendly tavern fires of the Strand, into the wild no man’s land of
the north. To Harliss, of course, those regions had once been familiar, common,
and uninteresting: he could not revisit them in talk with any glow of feeling.
The other two held them unfriendly and remote; as if one were to discourse of
Arctic explorations, and lands of everlasting darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">They all returned with relief to their familiar
hunting-grounds, and saw the play in theatres that had been pulled down for
thirty-five years or more, and had steaks and strong ale afterwards, in the box
by the fire, by the fire that had been finally raked out soon after the new law
courts were opened.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 2.85pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="color: white;"><span> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13.3333px;">III</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">So,
at least, it appeared at the time; but there was something in the tale of this
suburban park that remained with Arnold and beset him, and sent him at last to
the remote north of the story. For, as he was meditating on this vague
attraction, he chanced to light on a shabby brown book on his untidy shelves; a
book gathered from a stall in Farringdon Street, where the manuscript of
Traherne’s <i>Centuries of Meditations</i> had been found. So far, Arnold had
scarcely glanced at it. It was called,<i> A London Walk: Meditations in the
Streets of the Metropolis</i>. The author was the Reverend Thomas Hampole, and
the book was dated 1853. It consisted for the most part of moral and obvious
reflections, such as might be expected from a pious and amiable clergyman of
the day. In the middle of the nineteenth century, the relish of moralizing
which flourished so in the age of Addison and Pope and Johnson, which made the
Rambler a popular book, and gave fortunes to the publishers of sermons, had
still a great deal of vigour. People liked to be warned of the consequences of
their actions, to have lessons in punctuality, to learn about the importance of
little things, to hear sermons from stones, and to be taught that there were
gloomy reflections to be drawn from almost everything. So then, the Reverend
Thomas Hampole stalked the London streets with a moral and monitory glance in
his eye: saw Regent Street in its early splendour and thought of the ruins of
mighty Rome, preached on the text of solitude in a multitude as he viewed what
he called the teeming myriads, and allowed a desolate, half-ruinous house ‘in
Chancery’ to suggest thoughts of the happy Christmas parties that had once
thoughtlessly revelled behind the crumbling walls and broken windows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">But here and there, Mr. Hampole became less
obvious, and perhaps more really profitable. For example, there is a passage—it
has already been quoted, I think, by some modern author—which seems curious
enough.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.0pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Has it ever been your
fortune, courteous reader [Mr. Hampole inquired] to rise in the earliest
dawning of a summer day, ere yet the radiant beams of the sun have done more
than touch with light the domes and spires of the great city?...If this has
been your lot, have you not observed that magic powers have apparently been at
work? The accustomed scene has lost its familiar appearance. The houses which
you have passed daily, it may be for years, as you have issued forth on your
business or on your pleasure, now seem as if you beheld them for the first
time. They have suffered a mysterious change, into something rich and strange.
Though they may have been designed with no extraordinary exertion of the art of
architecture...yet you have been ready to admit that they now ‘stand in glory,
shine like stars, apparelled in a light serene.’ They have become magical
habitations, supernal dwellings, more desirable to the eye than the fabled
pleasure dome of the Eastern potentate, or the bejewelled hall built by the
Genie for Aladdin in the Arabian tale.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">A good deal in this vein; and then, when one
expected the obvious warning against putting trust in appearances, both
transitory and delusory, there came a very odd passage:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.0pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Some
have declared that it lies within our own choice to gaze continually upon a
world of equal or even greater wonder and beauty. It is said by these that the
experiments of the alchemists of the Dark Ages...are, in fact, related, not to
the transmutation’ of metals, but to the transmutation of the entire
Universe...This method, or art, or science, or whatever we choose to call it
(supposing it to exist, or to have ever existed), is simply concerned to
restore the delights of the primal Paradise; to enable men, if they will, to
inhabit a world of joy and splendour. It is perhaps possible that there is such
an experiment, and that there are some who have made it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The reader was referred to a note—one of
several—at the end of the volume, and Arnold, already a good deal interested by
this unexpected vein in the Reverend Thomas, looked it up. And thus it ran:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">I
am aware that these speculations may strike the reader as both singular and (I may,
perhaps, add) chimerical; and, indeed, I may have been somewhat rash and
ill-advised in committing them to the printed page. If I have done wrong, I
hope for pardon; and, indeed, I am far from advising anyone who may read these
lines to engage in the doubtful and difficult experiment which they adumbrate.
Still; we are bidden to be seekers of the truth: veritas contra mundum.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">I am strengthened in my belief that there is at
least some foundation for the strange theories at which I have hinted, by an
experience that befell me in the early days of my ministry. Soon after the
termination of my first curacy, and after I had been admitted to Priest’s
Orders, I spent some months in London, living with relations in Kensington. A
college friend of mine, whom I will call the Reverend Mr. S——, was, I was
aware, a curate in a suburb of the north of London, S.N. I wrote to him, and
afterwards called at his lodgings at his invitation. I found S—— in a state of
some perturbation. He was threatened, it seemed, with an affection of the lungs
and his medical adviser was insistent that he should leave London for awhile,
and spend the four months of the winter in the more genial climate of
Devonshire. Unless this were done, the doctor declared, the consequences to my
friend’s health might be of a very serious kind. S—— was very willing to act on
this advice, and indeed, anxious to do so; but, on the other hand, he did not
wish to resign his curacy, in which, as he said, he was both happy and, he
trusted, useful. On hearing this, I at once proffered my services, telling him
that if his Vicar approved, I should be happy to do his duty till the end of
the ensuing March; or even later, if the physicians considered a longer stay in
the south would be advisable. S—— was overjoyed. He took me at once to see the
Vicar; the fitting inquiries were made, and I entered on my temporary duties in
the course of a fortnight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">It was during this brief ministry in the environs
of London, that I became acquainted with a very singular person, whom I shall
call Glanville. He was a regular attendant at our services, and, in the course
of my duty, I called on him, and expressed my gratification at his evident
attachment to the Liturgy of the Church of England. He replied with due
politeness, asked me to sit down and partake with him of the soothing cup, and
we soon found ourselves engaged in conversation. I discovered early in our
association that he was conversant with the reveries of the German Theosophist,
Behmen, and the later works of his English disciple, William Law; and it was
clear to me that he looked on these labyrinths of mystical theology with a
friendly eye. He was a middle-aged man, spare of habit, and of a dark
complexion; and his face was illuminated in a very impressive manner, as he discussed
the speculations which had evidently occupied his thoughts for many years.
Based as these theories were on the doctrines (if we may call them by that
name) of Law and Behmen, they struck me as of an extremely fantastic, I would
even say fabulous, nature, but I confess that I listened with a considerable
degree of interest, while making it evident that as a Minister of the Church of
England I was far from giving my free assent to the propositions that were
placed before me. They were not, it is true, manifestly and certainly opposed
to orthodox belief, but they were assuredly strange, and as such to be received
with salutary caution. As an example of the ideas which beset a mind which was
ingenious, and I may say, devout, I may mention that Mr. Glanville often dwelt
on a consequence, not generally acknowledged, of the Fall of Man. ‘When man
yielded,’ he would say, ‘to the mysterious temptation intimated by the
figurative language of Holy Writ, the universe, originally fluid and the
servant of his spirit, became solid, and crashed down upon him overwhelming him
beneath its weight and its dead mass.’ I requested him to furnish me with more
light on this remarkable belief; and I found that in his opinion that which we
now regard as stubborn matter was, primally, to use his singular phraseology,
the Heavenly Chaos, a soft and ductile substance, which could be moulded by the
imagination of uncorrupted man into whatever forms he chose it to assume.
‘Strange as it may seem,’ he added, ‘the wild inventions (as we consider them)
of the Arabian Tales give us some notion of the powers of the homo
protoplastus. The prosperous city becomes a lake, the carpet transports us in
an instant of time, or rather without time, from one end of the earth to
another, the palace rises at a word from nothingness. Magic, we call all this,
while we deride the possibility of any such feats; but this magic of the East
is but a confused and fragmentary recollection of operations which were of the
first nature of man, and of the fiat which was then entrusted to him.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">I listened to this and other similar expositions
of Mr. Glanville’s extraordinary beliefs with some interest, as I have
remarked. I could not but feel that such opinions were in many respects more in
accordance with the doctrine I had undertaken to expound than much of the
teaching of the philosophers of the day, who seemed to exalt rationalism at the
expense of Reason, as that divine faculty was exhibited by Coleridge. Still,
when I assented, I made it clear to Glanville that my assent was qualified by my
firm adherence to the principles which I had solemnly professed at my
ordination.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The months went by in the peaceful performance of
the pastoral duties of my office. Early in March, I received a letter from my
friend Mr. S——, who informed me that he had greatly benefited by the air of
Torquay, and that his medical adviser had assured him that he need no longer
hesitate to resume his duties in London. Consequently, S—— proposed to return
at once, and, after warmly expressed thanks for my extreme kindness, as he
called it, he announced his wish to perform his part in the Church services on
the following Sunday. Accordingly, I paid my final visits to those of the
parishioners with whom I had more particularly associated, reserving my call on
Mr. Glanville for the last day of my residence at S.N. He was sorry, I think,
to hear of my impending departure, and told me that he would always recollect
our conversational exchanges with much pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I, too, am leaving S.N.,’ he added. ‘Early next
week I sail for the East, where my stay may be prolonged for a considerable
period.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">After mutual expressions of polite regret, I rose
from my chair, and was about to make my farewells, when I observed that
Glanville was gazing at me with a fixed and singular regard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘One moment,’ he said, beckoning me to the window,
where he was standing. ‘I want to show you the view. I don’t think you have
seen it.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The suggestion struck me as peculiar, to say the
least of it. I was, of course, familiar with the street in which Glanville resided,
as with most of the S.N. streets; and he on his side must have been well aware
that no prospect that his window might command could show me anything that I
had not seen many times during my four months’ stay in the parish. In addition
to this, the streets of our London suburbs do not often offer a spectacle to
engage the amateur of landscape and the picturesque. I was hesitating, hardly
knowing whether to comply with Glanville’s request, or to treat it as a piece
of pleasantry, when it struck me that it was possible that his first-floor
window might afford a distant view of St. Paul’s Cathedral; I accordingly
stepped to his side, and waited for him to indicate the scene which he,
presumably, wished me to admire.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">His features still wore the odd expression which I
have already remarked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Now,’ said he, ‘look out and tell me what you
see.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Still bewildered, I looked through the window, and
saw exactly that which I had expected to see: a row or terrace of neatly
designed residences, separated from the highway by a parterre or miniature
park, adorned with trees and shrubs. A road, passing to the right of the
terrace, gave a view of streets and crescents of more recent construction, and
of some degree of elegance. Still, in the whole of the familiar spectacle I saw
nothing to warrant any particular attention; and, in a more or less jocular
manner, I said as much to Glanville.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">By way of reply, he touched me lightly with his
finger-tips on the shoulder, and said:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Look again.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">I did so. For a moment, my heart stood still, and
I gasped for breath. Before me, in place of the familiar structures, there was
disclosed a panorama of unearthly, of astounding beauty. In deep dells, bowered
by overhanging trees, there bloomed flowers such as only dreams can show; such
deep purples that yet seemed to glow like precious stones with a hidden but
ever-present radiance, roses whose hues outshone any that are to be seen in our
gardens, tall lilies alive with light, and blossoms that were as beaten gold. I
saw well-shaded walks that went down to green hollows bordered with thyme; and
here and there the grassy eminence above, and the bubbling well below, were
crowned with architecture of fantastic and unaccustomed beauty, which seemed to
speak of fairyland itself. I might almost say that my soul was ravished by the
spectacle displayed before me. I was possessed by a degree of rapture and
delight such as I had never experienced. A sense of beatitude pervaded my whole
being; my bliss was such as cannot be expressed by words. I uttered an
inarticulate cry of joy and wonder. And then, under the influence of a swift
revulsion of terror, which even now I cannot explain, I turned and rushed from
the room and from the house, without one word of comment or farewell to the
extraordinary man who had done—I knew not what.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">In great perturbation and confusion of mind, I
made my way into the street. Needless to say, no trace of the phantasmagoria
that had been displayed before me remained. The familiar street had resumed its
usual aspect, the terrace stood as I had always seen it, and the newer
buildings beyond, where I had seen oh! what dells of delight, what blossoms of
glory, stood as before in their neat, though unostentatious order. Where I had
seen valleys embowered in green leafage, waving gently in the sunshine and the
summer breeze, there were now boughs bare and black, scarce showing so much as
a single bud. As I have mentioned, the season was early in March, and a black
frost which had set in ten days or a fortnight before still constrained the
earth and its vegetation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">I walked hurriedly away to my lodgings, which were
some distance from the abode of Glanville. I was sincerely glad to think that I
was leaving the neighbourhood on the following day. I may say that up to the
present moment I have never revisited S.N.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Some months later I encountered my friend Mr. S——,
and under cover of asking about the affairs of the parish in which he still
ministered, I inquired after Glanville, with whom (I said) I had made
acquaintance. It seemed he had fulfilled his intention of leaving the
neighbourhood within a few days of my own departure. He had not confided his
destination or his plans for the future to anyone in the parish.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘My acquaintance with him,’ said S——, ‘was of the
slightest, and I do not think that he made any friends in the locality, though
he had resided in S.N. for more than five years.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 17.05pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">It is now some fifteen years since this most
strange experience befell me; and during that period I have heard nothing of
Glanville. Whether he is still alive in the distant Orient, or whether he is
dead, I am completely ignorant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 2.85pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">IV<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Arnold
was generally known as an idle man; and, as he said himself, he hardly knew
what the inside of an office was like. But he was laborious in his idleness,
and always ready to take any amount of pains, over anything in which he was
interested. And he was very much interested in this Canon’s Park business. He
felt sure that there was a link between Mr. Hampole’s odd story—’more than
odd,’ he meditated—and the experience of Perrott’s cousin, the wheat-breeder
from the west country. He made his way to Stoke Newington, and strolled up and
down it, looking about him with an inquisitive eye. He found Canon’s Park, or
what remained of it, without any trouble. It was pretty well as Harliss had
described it: a neighbourhood laid out in the twenties or thirties of the last
century for City men of comfortable down to tolerable incomes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Some of these houses remained, and there was an
attractive row of old-fashioned shops still surviving. Again, in one place
there was the modest cot of late Georgian or early Victorian design, with its
trellised porch of faded blue-green paint, its patterned iron balcony, not
displeasing, its little garden in the front, and its walled garden at the back;
a small coach-house, a small stable. In another, something more exuberant and
on a much larger scale: ambitious pilasters and stucco, broad lawns and
sweeping drives, towering shrubs, and grass in the back premises. But on all
the territory modernism had delivered its assault. The big houses remaining had
been made into maisonettes, the small ones were down-at-heel, no longer objects
of love; and everywhere there were blocks of flats in wicked red brick, as if
Mrs. Todgers had given Mr. Pecksniff her notion of an up-to-date gaol, and he
had worked out her design. Opposite Canon’s Park, and occupying the site on
which Mr. Glanville’s house must have stood, was a technical college; next to
it a school of economics. Both buildings curdled the blood: in their purpose
and in their architecture. They looked as if Mr H G Wells’s bad dreams had come
true.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">In none of this, whether moderately ancient or
grossly modern, could Arnold see anything to his purpose. In the period of
which Mr. Hampole wrote, Canon’s Park may have been tolerably pleasant; it was
now becoming intolerably unpleasant. But at its best, there could not have been
anything in its aspect to suggest the wonderful vision which the clergyman
thought he had seen from Glanville’s window. And suburban gardens, however well
kept, could not explain the farmer’s rhapsodies. Arnold repeated the sacred
words of the explanation formula: telepathy, hallucination, hypnotism; but felt
very little easier. Hypnotism, for example: that was commonly used to explain
the Indian rope trick. There was no such trick, and in any case, hypnotism
could not explain that or any other marvel seen by a number of people at once,
since hypnotism could only be applied to individuals, and with their full
knowledge, consent, and conscious attention. Telepathy might have taken place
between Glanville and Hampole; but whence did Perrott’s cousin receive the
impression that he not only saw a sort of Kubla Khan, or Old Man of the
Mountain paradise, but actually walked abroad in it? The S.P.R. had, one might
say, discovered telepathy, and had devoted no small part of their energies for
the last forty-five years or more to a minute and thoroughgoing investigation
of it; but, to the best of his belief, their recorded cases gave no instance of
anything so elaborate as this business of Canon’s Park. And again; so far as he
could remember, the appearances ascribed to a telepathic agency were all
personal; visions of people, not of places: there were no telepathic
landscapes. And as for hallucination: that did not carry one far. That stated a
fact, but offered no explanation of it. Arnold had suffered from liver trouble:
he had come down to breakfast one morning and had been vexed to see the air all
dancing with black specks. Though he did not smell the nauseous odour of a
smoky chimney, he made no doubt at first that the chimney had been smoking, or
that the black specks were floating soot. It was some time before he realized
that, objectively, there were no black specks, that they were optical
illusions, and that he had been hallucinated. And no doubt the parson and the
farmer had been hallucinated: but the cause, the motive power, was to seek.
Dickens told how, waking one morning, he saw his father sitting by his bedside,
and wondered what he was doing there. He addressed the old man, and got no
answer, put out his hand to touch him: and there was no such thing. Dickens was
hallucinated; but since his father was perfectly well at the time, and in no
sort of trouble, the mystery remained insoluble, unaccountable. You had to
accept it; but there was no rationale of it. It was a problem that had to be
given up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">But Arnold did not like giving problems up. He
beat the coverts of Stoke Newington, and dived into pubs of promising aspect,
hoping to meet talkative old men, who might remember their fathers’ stories and
repeat them. He found a few, for though London has always been a place of
restless, migratory tribes, and shifting populations; and now more than ever
before; yet there still remains in many places, and above all in the remoter
northern suburbs, an old fixed element, which can go back in memory sometimes
for a hundred, even a hundred and fifty years. So in a venerable tavern—it
would have been injurious and misleading to call it a pub—on the borders of Canon’s
Park he found an ancient circle that gathered nightly for an hour or two in a
snug, if dingy, parlour. They drank little and that slowly, and went early
home. They were small tradesmen of the neighbourhood, and talked their business
and the changes they had seen, the curse of multiple shops, the poor stuff sold
in them, and the cutting of prices and profits. Arnold edged into the
conversation by degrees, after one or two visits—’Well, sir, I am very much
obliged to you, and I won’t refuse’—and said that he thought of settling in the
neighbourhood: it seemed quiet. ‘Best wishes, I’m sure. Quiet; well it was,
once; but not much of that now in Stoke Newington. All pride and dress and
bustle now; and the people that had the money and spent it, they’re gone, long
ago.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘There were well-to-do people here?’ asked Arnold,
treading cautiously, feeling his way, inch by inch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘There were, I assure you. Sound men—warm men, my
father used to call them. There was Mr. Tredegar, head of Tredegar’s Bank. That
was amalgamated with the City and National many years ago: nearer fifty than
forty, I suppose. He was a fine gentleman, and grew beautiful pineapples. I
remember his sending us one, when my wife was poorly all one summer. You can’t
buy pineapples like that now.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘You’re right, Mr. Reynolds, perfectly right. I
have to stock what they call pineapples, but I wouldn’t touch them myself. No
scent, no flavour. Tough and hard; you can’t compare a crabapple with a Cox’s
pippin.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">There was a general assent to this proposition;
and Arnold felt that it was slow work.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">And even when he got to his point, there was not
much gained. He said he had heard that Canon’s Park was a quiet part; off the
main track.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, there’s something in that,’ said the
ancient who had accepted the half-pint. ‘You don’t get very much traffic there,
it’s true: no trams or buses or motor coaches. But they’re pulling it all to
pieces; building new blocks of flats every few months. Of course, that might
suit your views. Very popular these flats are, no doubt, with many people; most
economical, they tell me. But I always liked a house of my own, myself.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I’ll tell you one way a flat is economical,’ the
greengrocer said with a preparatory chuckle. ‘If you’re fond of the wireless,
you can save the price and the licence. You’ll hear the wireless on the floor
above, and the wireless on the floor below, and one or two more besides when
they’ve got their windows open on summer evenings.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Very true, Mr. Batts, very true. Still, I must
say, I’m rather partial to the wireless myself. I like to listen to a cheerful
tune, you know, at tea time.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘You don’t tell me, Mr. Potter, that you like that
horrible jazz, as they call it ?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, Mr. Dickson, I must confess...’ and so
forth, and so forth. It became evident that there were modernists even here:
Arnold thought that he heard the term ‘hot blues’ distinctly uttered. He forced
another half-pint—’very kind of you; mild this time, if you don’t mind’—on his
neighbour, who turned out to be Mr. Reynolds, the pharmaceutical chemist, and
tried back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘So you wouldn’t recommend Canon’s Park as a
desirable residence.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, no, sir; not to a gentleman who wants
quiet, I should not. You can’t have quiet when a place is being pulled down
about your ears, as you may say. It certainly was quiet enough in former days.
Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Batts?’—breaking in on the musical discussion—’Canon’s
Park was quiet enough in our young days, wasn’t it? It would have suited this
gentleman then, I’m sure.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Perhaps so,’ said Mr. Batts. ‘Perhaps so, and
perhaps not. There’s quiet, and quiet.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">And a certain stillness fell upon the little party
of old men. They seemed to ruminate, to drink their beer in slower sips.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘There was always something about the place I
didn’t altogether like,’ said one of them at last. ‘But I’m sure I don’t know
why.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Wasn’t there some tale of a murder there, a long
time ago? Or was it a man that killed himself, and was buried at the crossroads
by the green, with a stake through his heart?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I never heard of that, but I’ve heard my father
say that there was a lot of fever about there formerly.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I think you’re all wide of the mark, gentlemen,
if you’ll excuse my saying so’—this from an elderly man in a corner, who had
said very little hitherto. ‘I wouldn’t say Canon’s Park had a bad name, far
from it. But there certainly was something about it that many people didn’t
like; fought shy of, you may say. And it’s my belief that it was all on account
of the lunatic asylum that used to be there, awhile ago.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘A lunatic asylum was there?’ Arnold’s particular
friend asked. ‘Well, I think I remember hearing something to that effect in my
very young days, now you recall the circumstances. I know we boys used to be
very shy of going through Canon’s Park after dark. My father used to send me on
errands that way now and again, and I always got another boy to come along with
me if I could. But I don’t remember that we were particularly afraid of the
lunatics either. In fact, I hardly know what we were afraid of, now I come to
think of it.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, Mr. Reynolds, it’s a long time ago; but I
do think it was that madhouse put people off Canon’s Park in the first place.
You know where it was, don’t you?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I can’t say I do.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, it was that big house right in the middle
of the park, that had been empty years and years—forty years, I dare say, and
going to ruin.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘You mean the place where Empress Mansions are
now? Oh, yes, of course. Why they pulled it down more than twenty years ago,
and then the land was lying idle all through the war and long after. A
dismal-looking old place it was; I remember it well: the ivy growing over the
chimney-pots, and the windows smashed, and the `To Let’ boards smothered in
creepers. Was that house an asylum in its day?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘That was the very house, sir. Himalaya House, it
was called. In the first place it was built on to an old farmhouse by a rich
gentleman from India, and when he died, having no children, his relations sold
the property to a doctor. And he turned it into a madhouse. And as I was
saying, I think people didn’t much like the idea of it. You know, those places
weren’t so well looked after as they say they are now, and some very unpleasant
stories got about; I’m not sure if the doctor didn’t get mixed up in a lawsuit
over a gentleman, of good family, I believe, who had been shut up in Himalaya
House by his relations for years, and as sensible as you or me all the time.
And then there was that young fellow that managed to escape: that was a queer
business. Though there was no doubt that he was mad enough for anything.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘One of them got away, did he?’ Arnold inquired,
wishing to break the silence that again fell on the circle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘That was so. I don’t know how he managed it, as
they were said to be very strictly kept, but he contrived to climb out or creep
out somehow or other, one evening about tea time, and walked as quietly as you
please up the road, and took lodgings close by here, in that row of old
red-brick houses that stood where the technical college is now. I remember well
hearing Mrs. Wilson that kept the lodgings—she lived to be a very old
woman—telling my mother that she never saw a nice-looking, better-spoken young
man than this Mr. Valiance—I think he called himself: not his real name, of
course. He told her a proper story enough about coming from Norwich, and having
to be very quiet on account of his studies and all that. He had his carpetbag
in his hand, and said the heavy luggage was coming later, and paid a fortnight
in advance, quite regular. Of course, the doctor’s men were after him directly
and making inquiries in all directions, but Mrs. Wilson never thought for a
moment that this quiet young lodger of hers was the missing madman. Not for
some time, that is.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Arnold took advantage of a rhetorical pause in the
story. He leaned forward to the landlord, who was leaning over the bar, and
listening like the rest. Presently orders round were solicited, and each of the
circle voted for a small drop of gin, feeling ‘mild’ or even ‘bitter’ to be
inadequate to the crisis of such a tale. And then, with courteous expressions,
they drank the health of ‘our friend sitting by our friend Mr. Reynolds.’ And
one of them said:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘So she found out, did she?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I believe,’ the narrator continued, ‘that it was
a week or thereabouts before Mrs. Wilson saw there was something wrong. It was
when she was clearing away his tea, he suddenly spoke up, and says:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘‘What I like about these apartments of yours,
Mrs. Wilson, is the amazing view you have from your windows.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, you know, that was enough to startle her.
We all of us know what there was to see from the windows of Rodman’s Row:
Fothergill Terrace, and Chatham Street, and Canon’s Park: very nice properties,
no doubt, all of them, but nothing to write home about, as the young people
say. So Mrs. Wilson didn’t know how to take it quite, and thought it might be a
joke. She put down the tea-tray, and looked the lodger straight in the face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘‘What is it, sir, you particularly admire, if I
might ask?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘‘What do I admire?’ said he. ‘Everything.’ And
then, it seems, he began to talk the most outrageous nonsense about golden and
silver and purple flowers, and the bubbling well, and the walk that went under
the trees right into the wood, and the fairy house on the hill; and I don’t
know what. He wanted Mrs. Wilson to come to the window and look at it all. She
was frightened, and took up her tray, and got out of the room as quick as she
could; and I don’t wonder at it. And that night, when she was going up to bed,
she passed her lodger’s door, and heard him talking out loud, and she stopped
to listen. Mind you, I don’t think you can blame the woman for listening. I
dare say she wanted to know who and what she had got in her house. At first she
couldn’t make out what he was saying. He was jabbering in what sounded like a
foreign language; and then he cried out in plain English as if he were talking
to a young lady, and making use of very affectionate expressions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘That was too much for Mrs. Wilson, and she went
off to bed with her heart in her boots, and hardly got to sleep all through the
night. The next morning the gentleman seemed quiet enough, but Mrs. Wilson knew
he wasn’t to be trusted, and directly after breakfast she went round to the
neighbours, and began to ask questions. Then, of course, it came out who her
lodger must be, and she sent word round to Himalaya House. And the doctor’s men
took the young fellow back. And, bless my soul, gentlemen; it’s close on ten
o’clock.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The meeting broke up in a kind of cordial bustle.
The old man who had told the story of the escaped lunatic had remarked, it
appeared, the very close attention that Arnold had given to the tale. He was
evidently gratified. He shook Arnold warmly by the hand, remarking: ‘So you
see, sir, the grounds I have for my opinion that it was that madhouse that gave
Canon’s Park rather a bad name in our neighbourhood.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">And Arnold, revolving many things, set out on the
way back to London. Much seemed heavily obscure, but he wondered whether Mrs.
Wilson’s lodger was a madman at all; any madder than Mr. Hampole, or the farmer
from Somerset or Charles Dickens, when he saw the appearance of his father by
his bed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 2.85pt 0cm 0cm; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">V<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Arnold
told the story of his researches and perplexities at the next meeting of the
three old friends in the quiet court leading into the inn. The scene had
changed into a night in June, with the trees in the inn garden fluttering in a
cool breeze, that wafted a vague odour of hayfields far away into the very heart
of London. The liquor in the brown jar smelt of Gascon vineyards and
herb-gardens, and ice had been laid about it, but not for too long a time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Harliss’s word all through Arnold’s tale was:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I know every inch of that neighbourhood, and I
told you there was no such place.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Perrott was judicial. He allowed that the history
was a remarkable one: ‘You have three witnesses,’ Arnold had pointed out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Yes,’ said Perrott, ‘but have you allowed for the
marvellous operation of the law of coincidences? There’s a case, trivial
enough, perhaps you may think, that made a deep impression on me when I read
it, a few years ago. Forty years before, a man had bought a watch in
Singapore—or Hong Kong, perhaps. The watch went wrong, and he took it to a shop
in Holborn to be seen to. The man who took it from him over the counter was the
man who had sold him the watch in the East all those years before. You can
never put coincidence out of court, and dismiss it as an impossible solution.
Its possibilities are infinite.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Then Arnold told the last broken, imperfect
chapter of the story.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘After that night at the King of Jamaica,’ he
began, ‘I went home and thought it all over. There seemed no more to be done.
Still, I felt as if I would like to have another look at this singular park,
and I went up there one dark afternoon. And then and there I came upon the
young man who had lost his way, and had lost—as he said—the one who lived in
the white house on the hill. And I am not going to tell you about her, or her
house, or her enchanted gardens. But I am sure that the young man was lost
also—and for ever.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">And after a pause, he added:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 2.85pt; margin-right: 2.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; mso-mirror-indents: yes; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; text-indent: 14.2pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I believe that there is a perichoresis, an
interpenetration. It is possible, indeed, that we three are now sitting among
desolate rocks, by bitter streams...And with what companions?’</span></span></p><p></p>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-81346563470187191622021-10-31T10:45:00.008-07:002021-10-31T10:45:00.200-07:00Pure fear in two classic tales<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="252" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yfa1CWrQIvY" title="YouTube video player" width="448"></iframe></div><br /><div>By "pure fear" I mean stories stripped of all the frills of fantastical manifestations or even those surreal touches calculated to provoke unease. Stories that confront us directly with the raw animal emotion that all those horror yarns and ghostly tales are striving for. The effect is rarely more intense or more disturbing than in <a href="https://dmacarthur1.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/vertical-ladder-by-william-sansom.pdf" target="_blank">William Sansom's "The Vertical Ladder"</a> (1969) or its close cousin, <a href="https://araldocs.wordpress.com/2021/04/23/the-tower/" target="_blank">Marghanita Laski</a>'s "The Tower" (1955), narrated above.</div><div><br /></div><div>Some other stories that could provide a Halloween chill or two are listed <a href="http://hodderscape.co.uk/classic-scary-stories-for-halloween/" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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<iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-eu.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=GB&source=ac&ref=qf_sp_asin_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=fablland-21&marketplace=amazon&region=GB&placement=0953478041&asins=0953478041&linkId=5bac14eab488f5b0f1112ad50263dc68&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=false&price_color=333333&title_color=0066c0&bg_color=ffffff" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;">
</iframe>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-15104378148029959182021-02-14T00:30:00.000-08:002021-02-14T00:30:00.358-08:00The Pathetick History of Sir Wilful Wildrake<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 24pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">by Howard Phillips Lovecraft</span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePgpJcAtDODp2fUWd7N9tmT_1kr459-nan481Z7vQflxntzJ0OpkuDbteGNinHf74fKNyYRNQWSaO8RvdetTSVIdurTN2pnTj-4rYaEpFNelW6Eyrb7-yqqqmxyO3aEy0Z0-JLsCRhIk/s1600/HPL-Finlay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjePgpJcAtDODp2fUWd7N9tmT_1kr459-nan481Z7vQflxntzJ0OpkuDbteGNinHf74fKNyYRNQWSaO8RvdetTSVIdurTN2pnTj-4rYaEpFNelW6Eyrb7-yqqqmxyO3aEy0Z0-JLsCRhIk/s320/HPL-Finlay.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 9pt;"><span style="color: white;">Dedicated to the Rt. Hon. Rheinhart
Kleiner, Gent.</span><span style="color: #333333;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">In Elder Days, when ruttish Rips<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Were always pardon'd for their Slips;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">When CHARLES (as if to set the Pace)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">With Doxies swell'd our British Race,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There liv'd a Rake of ancient Name<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Whose Sires had known a martial Fame;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But who, indiff'rent to the Sword,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Fought softer Fights, and gayly
whor'd.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">This Brat, of rampant Squire begot,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Was sure to design for Lecher's Lot:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">At Birth he had a roving Eye<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">That winkt at Wenches passing by,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And ere he could in Speech converse<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He got a Bastard on his Nurse.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">When ten the Boy was known with Pride<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Each Trollop of the Countryside,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And pass'd, so ably did he whore 'em,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The old <i>Jus Trium Librorum</i> !<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">His Father, liking not to see<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">So swift a Growth of Peasantry<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">(Or yet a Rival quite so bold as he),<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Ere long the little Satyr sent<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">To travel on the Continent;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But many a Tale his Tutor told<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">That prov'd the Stripling still more
bold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He charm'd the easie Gallick Jades,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And Bitches of <i>Italia’s</i> Shades—<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">God help us all if Years ahead<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Our Sons must fight the Troops he
bred!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">(Myself, I think it downright Treason<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">To wench abroad in any Season.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But in due Time young WILDRAKE came<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Back to our Isle to vaunt his Fame,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And gain the Prize for our King
design<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">For Merit of a Gallant Kind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Behold him now at ev'ry Ball<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">That frets the Peace of Windsor Hall;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">A Maccaronie of Renown<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">With ev'ry Baggage of the Town;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Bold with the Trulls, and quick to
boast<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Of Vict'ries o'er each reigning
Toast,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Nor slow to hint they hath been rash<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">With Lady <i>Blank</i> , or
Countess <i>Dash!</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">One idle Day a Nymph he knew<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Prov'd pleasing to the Royal View,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Whereat our crafty riggish Imp<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">To serve his Fortune turn'd a Pimp:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The Fray was won — the Maiden
blighted—<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And WILL, to pay his Virtue,
knighted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">(I need but add, the Drab was made<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">A Duchess, grand in red Brocade.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Whene'er some pious Fool wou'd snivel<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">That such damn'd Raking pleas'd the
Devil,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Our love-lockt Goat wou'd wink in
Scorn<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And vow that he for this was born;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">For sure, the only Joy he knew<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Was of the <i>Cyprian</i> and
the Stew,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Whilst he wou'd rather far be dead<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Than out of some loose Mopsy's Bed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Of Husbands WILL Was Much In Awe,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And smil'd the more, the less he saw;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But <i>Cupid</i> oft will
craft provide,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">So WILDRAKE early learn'd to hide.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Now all went well, till one sad Day<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">WILL'S Nose beam'd out with redder
Ray,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And powder'd Leeches cry'd that sure<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He must depart to take the Cure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Not once but often did they force<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The rake-hell Blade to change his
Course,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Yet spyte of all the poor Wretch
grows<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Pain'd, pox'd, and putrid with his
Woes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The years as well their Tribute
claim,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">They seam his Face and bend his
Frame,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Till ere his Mind his State can see,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He finds no Joy in Venerie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The Ladies flee as he draws near,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And ev'ry Strumpet costs him dear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And what is worse, each bawdy Fling<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">No Spark of Pleasure can now bring.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Bred up to live on Lust alone,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">A Courtier by <i>Priapus'</i> Throne,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He sees ahead a weary Waste<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Whose Bliss he never learn'd to
taste.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">"Alas!" he whines,
“had I but thought<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Of what vast Ills by Love are
wrought!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Had I but train'd my mind to glimpse<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Some Goal above my Whores and Pimps!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Fifty and feeble, I must crave<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And ogle vainly to my Grave,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Whilst even then (if Crones err not)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">My itching Ghost will haunt the Spot!
”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But one last Joy our WILDRAKE learns,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The while in pox'd old Age he burns;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">For tho 'the Flame of Love be low,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">In Godliness new Beauties grow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The Rake, his genial Ardor spent,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Turns pious, proud, and penitent;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Dons sober gray; three Church
each Week<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">To dose, or hear the Parson speak;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Too old to whore, the Rip grows
chaste,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And damns the Bliss he once embrac'd.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Resolv'd to wed, he seeks a Maid<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Of Age and Chancres unafraid;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">An ugly Chit, tho 'young and sound,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And bred on her ancestral Ground;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Nor (save for Errours with a Groom)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Devoid of Dian's virgin Bloom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">With this sweet Nymph the Rake essays<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">In rustick Peace to end his Days;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Trades Bawdry for a Patriot's Fire,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And turns a stolid country Squire.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Three infant Forms the Household
bless,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Entrancing in their Loveliness;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">An idiot Girl, a weakling Boy,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And one small Saint, the Mother's
Joy,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Whose Groom-like Looks his lover's
Sire annoy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">So ends poor WILL, whom Parents
praise<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">For prudish Tongue and virtuous Ways;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">First to reprove a lick'rish Air,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And first to stone the erring Fair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">'Tis he that rails with righteous
Zest<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">At Modern Nymphs in Style undress'd<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">With shrinking Petticoat and naked
Breast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">His Merits all the Country fill,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And Heirs adore him for his Will;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">No one (aloud) can think with Ease<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">That Death so good a Man will seize.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Nagg'd, cuckolded by doltish Wife,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The Hypocrite concludes his Life;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Once hot for <i>Cupid’s</i> Pleasures
only<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 24.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He pines — dull, rotten, lewd, and
lonely!</span></span></div>
Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-63706668287179064622020-12-24T12:00:00.001-08:002022-10-01T10:00:10.742-07:00Binscombe Tales<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLnNVrZPGbD-m96YTEkjJ8hANQEcVV-GmIZtoi-Wpxfi4r0nbuoNyT-GBdiurT68NCJKqpeFdGEmNiekw18hHAjLSLXIwvLMIf5aYMhw6J3eTFsxM2slmG2kCC_1LoT-cJxpY1os364k/s1600/BTcoverALL.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLnNVrZPGbD-m96YTEkjJ8hANQEcVV-GmIZtoi-Wpxfi4r0nbuoNyT-GBdiurT68NCJKqpeFdGEmNiekw18hHAjLSLXIwvLMIf5aYMhw6J3eTFsxM2slmG2kCC_1LoT-cJxpY1os364k/s320/BTcoverALL.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
What's Christmas Eve without a ghost story? Well, here are two, both classics of the English New Weird by its foremost living exponent, John Whitbourn.<br />
<br />
First "<a href="https://binscombetales.files.wordpress.com/2022/10/waiting-for-a-bus.pdf" target="_blank">Waiting for a Bus</a>". I heard this story in the mid-1980s when the author was one of several guests at a ghost story evening <i>chez </i>Morris. We had a nice dinner, a little fine wine, and settled down around the fire to entertain ourselves with some cosily spooky stories; an activity that mankind has only been doing for -- what? -- twenty thousand years and more.
<br />
<br />
Then John got up and produced the story he'd brought, the first (as it later turned out) of an ongoing series. As he read, a chill dark hand closed over the group. We were transported to a suburban street under dim street-lamps, hurrying past with just a nervous glance across the road at an ordinary but suddenly sinister bus shelter. With the final words, you could hear the sigh of long-held breath and we looked around at each other with that bright-eyed smile that says you know you've just had the bejasus scared out of you. Everyone that evening had come armed with a tale to tell, and there were talented, experienced writers there, to be sure, but there was no disputing who was the storytelling king of the fireside.
<br />
<br />
"Waiting for a Bus" not only gave a shudder to those dinner party guests who were privileged to hear it first, was picked as one of DAW's <i>World's Best Fantasy Stories</i> of the very next year. It has been widely anthologized since, as have other <a href="https://binscombetales.com/" target="_blank">Binscombe Tales</a> such as...<br />
<br />
"<a href="https://binscombetales.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/eyes.pdf" target="_blank">Eyes</a>" (also known as "It Has Been Said") which might put you in mind of a certain long-running horror movie franchise, but be aware that the story was originally published by the <a href="http://www.users.globalnet.co.uk/~pardos/Checklist.html" target="_blank">Haunted Library</a> over a decade before the cameras started rolling on the first in that series.<br />
<br />
But <i>are </i>these ghost stories, or something stranger still? This is <i>Wrong</i>; we don't deal in genre. Rest assured you'll get a delicious scare that's just the thing for the time of year. Happy Christmas!<br />
<br />
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</iframe>Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-64953694092190354052020-11-20T08:00:00.000-08:002020-11-20T08:00:00.202-08:00Et in Sempiternum Pereant *<br />
<div align="center" class="first" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #d0e0e3;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibAdfOAYKNRWXiGPuC3kXnitiwKxeXaRn898onBCLSw5zs_ipiYKVT0-BYhUmhoHB6oD_48dV1Fop3mfRELI-mYKPBRuRC7D5O5ga9fyXsg35y3ssdOg55EBWiVeN03OjBdTWvM2Kl8KM/s1600/paul-nash.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibAdfOAYKNRWXiGPuC3kXnitiwKxeXaRn898onBCLSw5zs_ipiYKVT0-BYhUmhoHB6oD_48dV1Fop3mfRELI-mYKPBRuRC7D5O5ga9fyXsg35y3ssdOg55EBWiVeN03OjBdTWvM2Kl8KM/s400/paul-nash.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="first" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #d0e0e3;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="first" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #d0e0e3;">by Charles Williams</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="first" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="first" style="line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Lord Arglay came easily down the road. About him
the spring was as gaudy as the restraint imposed by English geography ever lets
it be. The last village lay a couple of miles behind him; as far in front, he
had been told, was a main road on which he could meet a motor bus to carry him
near his destination. A casual conversation in a club had revealed to him, some
months before, that in a country house of England there were supposed to lie a
few yet unpublished legal opinions of the Lord Chancellor Bacon. Lord Arglay,
being no longer Chief Justice, and having finished and published his <i>History
of Organic Law</i>, had conceived that the editing of these papers might
provide a pleasant variation upon his present business of studying the more
complex parts of the Christian Schoolmen. He had taken advantage of a weekend
spent in the neighbourhood to arrange, by the good will of the owner, a visit
of inspection; since, as the owner had remarked, with a bitterness due to his
financial problems, ‘everything that is smoked isn’t Bacon.’ Lord Arglay had
smiled—it hurt him a little to think that he had smiled—and said, which was
true enough, that Bacon himself would not have made a better joke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">It was a very
deserted part of the country through which he was walking. He had been careful
to follow the directions given him, and in fact there were only two places
where he could possibly have gone wrong, and at both of them Lord Arglay was
certain he had not gone wrong. But he seemed to be taking a long time—a longer
time than he had expected. He looked at his watch again, and noted with sharp
disapproval of his own judgment that it was only six minutes since he had
looked at it last. It had seemed more like sixteen. Lord Arglay frowned. He was
usually a good walker, and on that morning he was not conscious of any unusual
weariness. His host had offered to send him in a car, but he had declined. For
a moment, as he put his watch back, he was almost sorry he had declined. A car
would have made short time of this road, and at present his legs seemed to be
making rather long time of it. ‘Or,’ Lord Arglay said aloud, ‘making time
rather long.’ He played a little, as he went on, with the fancy that every road
in space had a corresponding measure in time; that it tended, merely of itself,
to hasten or delay all those that drove or walked upon it. The nature of some
roads, quite apart from their material effectiveness, might urge men to speed,
and of others to delay. So that the intentions of all travellers were
counterpointed continually by the media they used. The courts, he thought,
might reasonably take that into consideration in case of offences against right
speed, and a man who accelerated upon one road would be held to have acted
under the improper influence of the way, whereas one who did the same on
another would be known to have defied and conquered the way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Lord Arglay just
stopped himself looking at his watch again. It was impossible that it should be
more than five minutes since he had last done so. He looked back to observe, if
possible, how far he had since come. It was not possible; the road narrowed and
curved too much. There was a cloud of trees high up behind him; it must have
been half an hour ago that he passed through it, yet it was not merely still in
sight, but the trees themselves were in sight. He could remark them as trees;
he could almost, if he were a little careful, count them. He thought, with some
irritation, that he must be getting old more quickly, and more unnoticeably,
than he had supposed. He did not much mind about the quickness, but he did mind
about the unnoticeableness. It had given him pleasure to watch the various
changes which age tended to bring; to be as stealthy and as quick to observe
those changes as they were to come upon him—the slower pace, the more
meditative voice, the greater reluctance to decide, the inclination to fall
back on habit, the desire for the familiar which is the first skirmishing
approach of unfamiliar death. He neither welcomed nor grudged such changes; he
only observed them with a perpetual interest in the curious nature of the
creation. The fantasy of growing old, like the fantasy of growing up, was part
of the ineffable sweetness, touched with horror, of existence, itself the
lordliest fantasy of all. But now, as he stood looking back over and across the
hidden curves of the road, he felt suddenly that time had outmarched and
out-twisted him, that it was spreading along the countryside and doubling back
on him, so that it troubled and deceived his judgment. In an unexpected and
unusual spasm of irritation he put his hand to his watch again. He felt as if
it were a quarter of an hour since he had looked at it; very well, making just
allowance for his state of impatience, he would expect the actual time to be
five minutes. He looked; it was only two.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Lord Arglay made a
small mental effort, and almost immediately recognized the effort. He said to
himself: ‘This is another mark of age. I am losing my sense of duration.’ He
said also: ‘It is becoming an effort to recognize these changes.’ Age was
certainly quickening its work in him. It approached him now doubly; not only
his method of experience, but his awareness of experience was attacked. His
knowledge of it comforted him—perhaps, he thought, for the last time. The
knowledge would go. He would savour it then while he could. Still looking back
at the trees, ‘It seems I’m decaying,’ Lord Arglay said aloud. ‘And that anyhow
is one up against decay. Am I procrastinating? I am, and in the circumstances
procrastination is a proper and pretty game. It is the thief of time, and quite
right too! Why should time have it all its own way?’ He turned to the road
again, and went on. It passed now between open fields; in all those fields he
could see no one. It was pasture, but there were no beasts. There was about him
a kind of void, in which he moved, hampered by this growing oppression of
duration. Things <i>lasted</i>. He had exclaimed, in his time, against the
too swift passage of the world. This was a new experience; it was
lastingness—almost, he could have believed, everlastingness. The measure of it
was but his breathing, and his breathing, as it grew slower and heavier, would
become the measure of everlasting labour—the labour of Sisyphus, who pushed his
own slow heart through each infinite moment, and relaxed but to let it beat
back and so again begin. It was the first touch of something Arglay had never
yet known, of simple and perfect despair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">At that moment he saw
the house. The road before him curved sharply, and as he looked he wondered at
the sweep of the curve; it seemed to make a full half-circle and so turn back
in the direction that he had come. At the farthest point there lay before him,
tangentially, another path. The sparse hedge was broken by an opening which was
more than footpath and less than road. It was narrow, even when compared with
the narrowing way by which he had come, yet hard and beaten as if by the
passage of many feet. There had been innumerable travellers, and all solitary,
all on foot. No cars or carts could have taken that path; if there had been
burdens, they had been carried on the shoulders of their owners. It ran for no
long distance, no more than in happier surroundings might have been a garden
path from gate to door. There, at the end, was the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Arglay, at the time,
took all this in but half-consciously. His attention was not on the door but on
the chimney. The chimney, in the ordinary phrase, was smoking. It was smoking
effectively and continuously. A narrow and dense pillar of dusk poured up from
it, through which there glowed every now and then, a deeper undershade of
crimson, as if some trapped genius almost thrust itself out of the moving
prison that held it. The house itself was not much more than a cottage. There
was a door, shut; on the left of it a window, also shut; above, two little
attic windows, shut, and covered within by some sort of dark hanging, or
perhaps made opaque by smoke that filled the room. There was no sign of life
anywhere, and the smoke continued to mount to the lifeless sky. It seemed to
Arglay curious that he had not noticed this grey pillar in his approach, that
only now when he stood almost in the straight and narrow path leading to the
house did it become visible, an exposition of tall darkness reserved to the
solitary walkers upon that wearying road.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Lord Arglay was the
last person in the world to look for responsibilities. He shunned them by a
courteous habit; a responsibility had to present itself with a delicate
emphasis before he acceded to it. But when any so impressed itself he was
courteous in accepting as in declining; he sought friendship with necessity,
and as young lovers call their love fatal, so he turned fatality of life into
his love. It seemed to him, as he stood and gazed at the path, the shut door,
the smoking chimney, that here perhaps was a responsibility being delicately
emphatic. If everyone was out—if the cottage had been left for an hour—ought he
to do something? Of course, they might be busy about it within; in which case a
thrusting stranger would be inopportune. Another glow of crimson in the pillar
of cloud decided him. He went up the path.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">As he went he glanced
at the little window, but it was bluffed by dirt; he could not very well see
whether the panes did or did not hide smoke within. When he was so near the
threshold that the window had almost passed out of his vision, he thought he
saw a face looking out of it—at the extreme edge, nearest the door—and he
checked himself, and went back a step to look again. It had been only along the
side of his glance that the face, if face it were, had appeared, a kind of
sudden white scrawl against the blur, as if it were a mask hung by the window
rather than any living person, or as if the glass of the window itself had
looked sideways at him, and he had caught the look without understanding its
cause. When he stepped back, he could see no face. Had there been a sun in the
sky he would have attributed the apparition to a trick of the light, but in the
sky over this smoking house there was no sun. It had shone brightly that
morning when he started; it had paled and faded and finally been lost to him as
he had passed along his road. There was neither sun nor peering face. He
stepped back to the threshold, and knocked with his knuckles on the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">There was no answer.
He knocked again and again waited, and as he stood there he began to feel
annoyed. The balance of Lord Arglay’s mind had not been achieved without the
creation of a considerable counter-energy to the violence of Lord Arglay’s
natural temper. There had been people whom he had once come very near hating,
hating with a fury of selfish rage and detestation; for instance, his
brother-in-law. His brother-in-law had not been a nice man; Lord Arglay, as he
stood by the door and, for no earthly reason, remembered him, admitted it. He
admitted, at the same moment, that no lack of niceness on that other’s part
could excuse any indulgence of vindictive hate on his own, nor could he think
why, then and there, he wanted him, wanted to have him merely to hate. His
brother-in-law was dead. Lord Arglay almost regretted it. Almost he desired to
follow, to be with him, to provoke and torment him, to...<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Lord Arglay struck
the door again. ‘There is,’ he said to himself, ‘entire clarity in the
Omnipotence.’ It was his habit of devotion, his means of recalling himself into
peace out of the angers, greeds, sloths and perversities that still too often
possessed him. It operated; the temptation passed into the benediction of the
Omnipotence and disappeared. But there was still no answer from within. Lord
Arglay laid his hand on the latch. He swung the door, and, lifting his hat with
his other hand, looked into the room —a room empty of smoke as of fire, and of
all as of both.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Its size and
appearance were those of a rather poor cottage, rather indeed a large brick hut
than a cottage. It seemed much smaller within than without. There was a
fireplace—at least, there was a place for a fire—on his left. Opposite the
door, against the right-hand wall, there was a ramshackle flight of wooden
steps, going up to the attics, and at its foot, swinging on a broken hinge, a
door which gave a way presumably to a cellar. Vaguely, Arglay found himself
surprised; he had not supposed that a dwelling of this sort would have a
cellar. Indeed, from where he stood, he could not be certain. It might only be
a cupboard. But, unwarrantably, it seemed more, a hinted unseen depth, as if
the slow slight movement of the broken wooden door measured that labour of
Sisyphus, as if the road ran past him and went coiling spirally into the
darkness of the cellar. In the room there was no furniture, neither fragment of
paper nor broken bit of wood; there was no sign of life, no flame in the grate
nor drift of smoke in the air. It was completely and utterly void.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Lord Arglay looked at
it. He went back a few steps and looked up again at the chimney. Undoubtedly
the chimney was smoking. It was received into a pillar of smoke; there was no
clear point where the dark chimney ended and the dark smoke began. House leaned
to roof, roof to chimney, chimney to smoke, and smoke went up for ever and ever
over those roads where men crawled infinitely through the smallest measurements
of time. Arglay returned to the door, crossed the threshold, and stood in the
room. Empty of flame, empty of flame’s material, holding within its dank air
the very opposite of flame, the chill of ancient years, the room lay round him.
Lord Arglay contemplated it. ‘There’s no smoke without fire,’ he said aloud. ‘Only
apparently there is. Thus one lives and learns. Unless indeed this is the place
where one lives without learning.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">The phrase, leaving
his lips, sounded oddly about the walls and in the corners of the room. He was
suddenly revolted by his own chance words—’a place where one lives without
learning’, where no courtesy or integrity could any more be fined or clarified.
The echo daunted him; he made a sharp movement, he took a step aside towards
the stairs, and before the movement was complete, was aware of a change. The
dank chill became a concentration of dank and deadly heat, pricking at him,
entering his nostrils and his mouth. The fantasy of life without knowledge
materialized, inimical, in the air, life without knowledge, corrupting life
without knowledge, jungle and less than jungle, and though still the walls of
the bleak chamber met his eyes, a shell of existence, it seemed that life,
withdrawn from all those normal habits of which the useless memory was still
drearily sustained by the thin phenomenal fabric, was collecting and corrupting
in the atmosphere behind the door he had so rashly passed—outside the other door
which swung crookedly at the head of the darker hole within.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">He had recoiled from
the heat, but not so as to escape it. He had even taken a step or two up the
stairs, when he heard from without a soft approach. Light feet were coming up
the beaten path to the house. Some other Good Samaritan, Arglay thought, who
would be able to keep his twopence in his pocket. For certainly, whatever was
the explanation of all this and wherever it lay, in the attics above or in the
pit of the cellar below, responsibility was gone. Lord Arglay did not conceive
that either he or anyone else need rush about the country in an anxious effort
to preserve a house which no one wanted and no one used. Prematurely enjoying
the discussion, he waited. Through the doorway someone came in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">It was, or seemed to
be, a man, of ordinary height, wearing some kind of loose dark overcoat that
flapped about him. His head was bare; so, astonishingly, were his legs and
feet. At first, as he stood just inside the door, leaning greedily forward, his
face was invisible, and for a moment Arglay hesitated to speak. Then the
stranger lifted his face and Arglay uttered a sound. It was emaciated beyond
imagination; it was astonishing, at the appalling degree of hunger revealed,
that the man could walk or move at all, or even stand as he was now doing, and
turn that dreadful skull from side to side. Arglay came down the steps of the
stair in one jump; he cried out again, he ran forward, and as he did so the
deep burning eyes in the turning face of bone met his full and halted him. They
did not see him, or if they saw did not notice; they gazed at him and moved on.
Once only in his life had Arglay seen eyes remotely like those; once, when he
had pronounced the death-sentence upon a wretched man who had broken under the
long strain of his trial and filled the court with shrieks. Madness had glared
at Lord Arglay from that dock, but at least it had looked at him and seen him;
these eyes did not. They sought something—food, life, or perhaps only a form
and something to hate, and in that energy the stranger moved. He began to run
round the room. The bones that were his legs and feet jerked up and down. The
head turned from side to side. He ran circularly, round and again round,
crossing and recrossing, looking up, down, around, and at last, right in the
centre of the room, coming to a halt, where, as if some terrible pain of
starvation gripped him, he bent and twisted downward until he squatted
grotesquely on the floor. There, squatting and bending, he lowered his head and
raised his arm, and as the fantastic black coat slipped back, Arglay saw a
wrist, saw it marked with scars. He did not at first think what they were; only
when the face and wrist of the figure swaying in its pain came together did he
suddenly know. They were teeth-marks; they were bites; the mouth closed on the
wrist and gnawed. Arglay cried out and sprang forward, catching the arm, trying
to press it down, catching the other shoulder, trying to press it back. He
achieved nothing. He held, he felt, he grasped; he could not control. The long
limb remained raised, the fierce teeth gnawed. But as Arglay bent, he was aware
once more of that effluvia of heat risen round him, and breaking out with the
more violence when suddenly the man, if it were man, cast his arm away, and
with a jerk of movement rose once more to his feet. His eyes, as the head went
back, burned close into Arglay’s, who, what with the heat, the eyes, and his
sickness at the horror, shut his own against them, and was at the same moment thrown
from his balance by the rising form, and sent staggering a step or two away,
with upon his face the sensation of a light hot breath, so light that only in
the utter stillness of time could it be felt, so hot that it might have been
the inner fire from which the pillar of smoke poured outward to the world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">He recovered his
balance; he opened his eyes; both motions brought him into a new corner of that
world. The odd black coat the thing had worn had disappeared, as if it had been
a covering imagined by a habit of mind. The thing itself, a wasted flicker of
pallid movement, danced and gyrated in white flame before him. Arglay saw it
still, but only now as a dreamer may hear, half-asleep and half-awake, the
sound of dogs barking or the crackling of fire in his very room. For he opened
his eyes not to such things, but to the thing that on the threshold of this
place, some seconds earlier or some years, he had felt and been pleased to
feel, to the reality of his hate. It came in a rush within him, a fountain of
fire, and without and about him images of the man he hated swept in a thick
cloud of burning smoke. The smoke burned his eyes and choked his mouth; he
clutched it, at images within it —at his greedy loves and greedy hates—at the
cloud of the sin of his life, yearning to catch but one image and renew again
the concentration for which he yearned. He could not. The smoke blinded and
stifled him, yet more than stifling or blinding was the hunger for one true
thing to lust or hate. He was starving in the smoke, and all the hut was full
of smoke, for the hut and the world were smoke, pouring up round him, from him
and all like him—a thing once wholly, and still a little, made visible to his
corporeal eyes in forms which they recognized, but in itself of another nature.
He swung and twisted and crouched. His limbs ached from long wrestling with the
smoke, for as the journey to this place had prolonged itself infinitely, so
now, though he had no thought of measurement, the clutch of his hands and the
growing sickness that invaded him struck through him the sensation of the
passage of years and the knowledge of the passage of moments. The fire sank
within him, and the sickness grew, but the change could not bring him nearer to
any end. The end here was not at the end, but in the beginning. There was no
end to this smoke, to this fever and this chill, to crouching and rising and
searching, unless the end was now. <i>Now —now</i> was the only
possible other fact, chance, act. He cried out, defying infinity, ‘<i>Now!</i>’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Before his voice the
smoke of his prison yielded, and yielded two ways at once. From where he stood
he could see in one place an alteration in that perpetual grey, an alternate
darkening and lightening as if two ways, of descent and ascent, met. There was,
he remembered, a way in, therefore a path out; he had only to walk along it.
But also there was a way still farther in, and he could walk along that. Two
doors had swung, to his outer senses, in that small room. From every gate of
hell there was a way to heaven, yes, and in every way to heaven there was a
gate to deeper hell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Yet for a moment he
hesitated. There was no sign of the phenomenon by which he had discerned the
passage of that other spirit. He desired—very strongly he desired—to be of use
to it. He desired to offer himself to it, to make a ladder of himself, if that
should be desired, by which it might perhaps mount from the nature of the lost,
from the dereliction of all minds that refuse living and learning, postponement
and irony, whose dwelling is necessarily in their undying and perishing selves.
Slowly, unconsciously, he moved his head as if to seek his neighbour.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: 107%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 11.35pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">He saw, at first he
felt, nothing. His eyes returned to that vibrating oblong of an imagined door,
the heart of the smoke beating in the smoke. He looked at it; he remembered the
way; he was on the point of movement, when the stinging heat struck him again,
but this time from behind. It leapt through him; he was seized in it and loosed
from it; its rush abandoned him. The torrent of its fiery passage struck the
darkening hollow in the walls. At the instant that it struck, there came a
small sound; there floated up a thin shrill pipe, too short to hear, too
certain to miss, faint and quick as from some single insect in the hedge-row or
the field, and yet more than single —a weak wail of multitudes of the lost. The
shrill lament struck his ears, and he ran. He cried as he sprang: ‘Now is God:
now is glory in God,’ and as the dark door swung before him it was the
threshold of the house that received his flying feet. As he passed, another
form slipped by him, slinking hastily into the house, another of the hordes
going so swiftly up that straight way, hard with everlasting time; each driven
by his own hunger, and each alone. The vision, a face looking in as a face had
looked out, was gone. Running still, but more lightly now, and with some
communion of peace at heart, Arglay came into the curving road. The trees were
all about him; the house was at their heart. He ran on through them; beyond, he
saw, he reached, the spring day and the sun. At a little distance a motor bus,
gaudy within and without, was coming down the road. The driver saw him. Lord
Arglay instinctively made a sign, ran, mounted. As he sat down, breathless and
shaken, ‘<i>E quindi uscimmo</i>,’ his mind said, ‘<i>a riveder le stelle</i>.’
**</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="footnote" style="line-height: 107%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #d0e0e3; font-size: x-small;">* Latin which can be translated as ‘and may they
be forever damned’; the literal meaning is ‘let them perish forever’, ie be annihilated.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="footnote" style="line-height: 107%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #d0e0e3; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
<div class="footnote" style="line-height: 107%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: right;">
<span style="color: #d0e0e3;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">** ‘And so we came out to look again upon the
stars.’ (The last line of Dante’s </span></span></i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Inferno</span><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">.)</span><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></span></div>
<br />Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-71653414136059137872020-11-13T02:30:00.000-08:002020-11-13T02:30:02.073-08:00The Yellow Wallpaper<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegOLPbKOkoMY1o4j4V4FJOu7iKEDuJJ4HS8uxBDwOwWfmKDmlhnheKsDAT3WTlus8SO6vMq8fjtq8FvEROil4uRo1KLdTBex-_XljedS678VFLyWxmN492iNbp4IZiY5FLj9QYPpkpek/s1600/death-mask.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegOLPbKOkoMY1o4j4V4FJOu7iKEDuJJ4HS8uxBDwOwWfmKDmlhnheKsDAT3WTlus8SO6vMq8fjtq8FvEROil4uRo1KLdTBex-_XljedS678VFLyWxmN492iNbp4IZiY5FLj9QYPpkpek/s400/death-mask.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="color: white;">by
Charlotte Perkins Gilman</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It
is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral
halls for the summer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would
say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would
be asking too much of fate!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Still I will proudly declare that there is
something queer about it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have
stood so long untenanted?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that
in marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">John is practical in the extreme. He has no
patience with faith, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at
any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">John is a physician, and <i>perhaps</i>—(I
would not say it to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a
great relief to my mind)—<i>perhaps</i> that is one reason I do not get
well faster.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">You see, he does not believe I am sick!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And what can one do?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">If a physician of high standing, and one’s own
husband, assures friends and relatives that there is really nothing the matter
with one but temporary nervous depression—a slight hysterical tendency—what is
one to do?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">My brother is also a physician, and also of high
standing, and he says the same thing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">So I take phosphates or phosphites—whichever it is,
and tonics, and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to
“work” until I am well again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Personally, I disagree with their ideas.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Personally, I believe that congenial work, with
excitement and change, would do me good.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But what is one to do?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I did write for a while in spite of them; but
it <i>does</i> exhaust me a good deal—having to be so sly about it,
or else meet with heavy opposition.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had
less opposition and more society and stimulus—but John says the very worst
thing I can do is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me
feel bad.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">So I will let it alone and talk about the house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The most beautiful place! It is quite alone,
standing well back from the road, quite three miles from the village. It makes
me think of English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls
and gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners and
people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There is a <i>delicious</i> garden! I
never saw such a garden—large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined
with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There were greenhouses, too, but they are all
broken now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There was some legal trouble, I believe, something
about the heirs and co-heirs; anyhow, the place has been empty for years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid; but I
don’t care—there is something strange about the house—I can feel it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but
he said what I felt was a <i>draught</i>, and shut the window.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I’m
sure I never used to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous
condition.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But John says if I feel so I shall neglect proper
self-control; so I take pains to control myself,—before him, at least,—and that
makes me very tired.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I don’t like our room a bit. I wanted one
downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and
such pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! but John would not hear of it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He said there was only one window and not room for
two beds, and no near room for him if he took another.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me
stir without special direction.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the
day; he takes all care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it
more.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He said we came here solely on my account, that I
was to have perfect rest and all the air I could get. “Your exercise depends on
your strength, my dear,” said he, “and your food somewhat on your appetite; but
air you can absorb all the time.” So we took the nursery, at the top of the
house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly,
with windows that look all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery
first and then playground and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows are
barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The paint and paper look as if a boys’ school had
used it. It is stripped off—the paper—in great patches all around the head of
my bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of
the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns
committing every artistic sin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following,
pronounced enough to constantly irritate, and provoke study, and when you
follow the lame, uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit
suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard-of
contradictions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The color is repellant, almost revolting; a
smouldering, unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a
sickly sulphur tint in others.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">No wonder the children hated it! I should hate it
myself if I had to live in this room long.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There comes John, and I must put this away,—he
hates to have me write a word.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">We
have been here two weeks, and I haven’t felt like writing before, since that
first day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I am sitting by the window now, up in this
atrocious nursery, and there is nothing to hinder my writing as much as I
please, save lack of strength.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">John is away all day, and even some nights when his
cases are serious.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I am glad my case is not serious!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But these nervous troubles are dreadfully
depressing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">John does not know how much I really suffer. He
knows there is no <i>reason</i> to suffer, and that satisfies him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Of course it is only nervousness. It does weigh on
me so not to do my duty in any way!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I meant to be such a help to John, such a real rest
and comfort, and here I am a comparative burden already!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Nobody would believe what an effort it is to do
what little I am able—to dress and entertain, and order things.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is fortunate Mary is so good with the baby. Such
a dear baby!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And yet I <i>cannot</i> be with him, it
makes me so nervous.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I suppose John never was nervous in his life. He
laughs at me so about this wallpaper!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">At first he meant to repaper the room, but
afterwards he said that I was letting it get the better of me, and that nothing
was worse for a nervous patient than to give way to such fancies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He said that after the wallpaper was changed it
would be the heavy bedstead, and then the barred windows, and then that gate at
the head of the stairs, and so on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“You know the place is doing you good,” he said, “and
really, dear, I don’t care to renovate the house just for a three months’
rental.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“Then do let us go downstairs,” I said, “there are
such pretty rooms there.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Then he took me in his arms and called me a blessed
little goose, and said he would go down cellar if I wished, and have it
whitewashed into the bargain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But he is right enough about the beds and windows
and things.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is as airy and comfortable a room as any one
need wish, and, of course, I would not be so silly as to make him uncomfortable
just for a whim.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I’m really getting quite fond of the big room, all
but that horrid paper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Out of one window I can see the garden, those
mysterious deep-shaded arbors, the riotous old-fashioned flowers, and bushes
and gnarly trees.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Out of another I get a lovely view of the bay and a
little private wharf belonging to the estate. There is a beautiful shaded lane
that runs down there from the house. I always fancy I see people walking in
these numerous paths and arbors, but John has cautioned me not to give way to
fancy in the least. He says that with my imaginative power and habit of
story-making a nervous weakness like mine is sure to lead to all manner of
excited fancies, and that I ought to use my will and good sense to check the
tendency. So I try.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I think sometimes that if I were only well enough
to write a little it would relieve the press of ideas and rest me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But I find I get pretty tired when I try.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is so discouraging not to have any advice and
companionship about my work. When I get really well John says we will ask
Cousin Henry and Julia down for a long visit; but he says he would as soon put
fire-works in my pillow-case as to let me have those stimulating people about
now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I wish I could get well faster.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But I must not think about that. This paper looks
to me as if it <i>knew</i> what a vicious influence it had!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls
like a broken neck and two bulbous eyes stare at you upside-down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I get positively angry with the impertinence of it
and the everlastingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those absurd,
unblinking eyes are everywhere. There is one place where two breadths didn’t
match, and the eyes go all up and down the line, one a little higher than the
other.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing
before, and we all know how much expression they have! I used to lie awake as a
child and get more entertainment and terror out of blank walls and plain
furniture than most children could find in a toy-store.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I remember what a kindly wink the knobs of our big
old bureau used to have, and there was one chair that always seemed like a
strong friend.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I used to feel that if any of the other things
looked too fierce I could always hop into that chair and be safe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The furniture in this room is no worse than
inharmonious, however, for we had to bring it all from downstairs. I suppose
when this was used as a playroom they had to take the nursery things out, and
no wonder! I never saw such ravages as the children have made here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The wallpaper, as I said before, is torn off in
spots, and it sticketh closer than a brother—they must have had perseverance as
well as hatred.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Then the floor is scratched and gouged and
splintered, the plaster itself is dug out here and there, and this great heavy
bed, which is all we found in the room, looks as if it had been through the
wars.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But I don’t mind it a bit—only the paper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There comes John’s sister. Such a dear girl as she
is, and so careful of me! I must not let her find me writing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">She is a perfect, and enthusiastic housekeeper, and
hopes for no better profession. I verily believe she thinks it is the writing
which made me sick!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But I can write when she is out, and see her a long
way off from these windows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There is one that commands the road, a lovely,
shaded, winding road, and one that just looks off over the country. A lovely
country, too, full of great elms and velvet meadows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">This wallpaper has a kind of sub-pattern in a
different shade, a particularly irritating one, for you can only see it in
certain lights, and not clearly then.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But in the places where it isn’t faded, and where
the sun is just so, I can see a strange, provoking, formless sort of figure,
that seems to sulk about behind that silly and conspicuous front design.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There’s sister on the stairs!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Well,
the Fourth of July is over! The people are gone and I am tired out. John
thought it might do me good to see a little company, so we just had mother and
Nellie and the children down for a week.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Of course I didn’t do a thing. Jennie sees to
everything now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But it tired me all the same.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">John says if I don’t pick up faster he shall send
me to Weir Mitchell in the fall.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But I don’t want to go there at all. I had a friend
who was in his hands once, and she says he is just like John and my brother,
only more so!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Besides, it is such an undertaking to go so far.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I don’t feel as if it was worth while to turn my
hand over for anything, and I’m getting dreadfully fretful and querulous.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Of course I don’t when John is here, or anybody
else, but when I am alone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And I am alone a good deal just now. John is kept
in town very often by serious cases, and Jennie is good and lets me alone when
I want her to.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">So I walk a little in the garden or down that
lovely lane, sit on the porch under the roses, and lie down up here a good
deal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I’m getting really fond of the room in spite of the
wallpaper. Perhaps <i>because</i> of the wallpaper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It dwells in my mind so!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I lie here on this great immovable bed—it is nailed
down, I believe—and follow that pattern about by the hour. It is as good as
gymnastics, I assure you. I start, we’ll say, at the bottom, down in the corner
over there where it has not been touched, and I determine for the thousandth
time that I <i>will</i> follow that pointless pattern to some sort of
a conclusion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I know a little of the principle of design, and I
know this thing was not arranged on any laws of radiation, or alternation, or
repetition, or symmetry, or anything else that I ever heard of.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is repeated, of course, by the breadths, but not
otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Looked at in one way each breadth stands alone, the
bloated curves and flourishes—a kind of “debased Romanesque” with <i>delirium
tremens</i>—go waddling up and down in isolated columns of fatuity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But, on the other hand, they connect diagonally,
and the sprawling outlines run off in great slanting waves of optic horror,
like a lot of wallowing seaweeds in full chase.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The whole thing goes horizontally, too, at least it
seems so, and I exhaust myself in trying to distinguish the order of its going
in that direction.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">They have used a horizontal breadth for a frieze,
and that adds wonderfully to the confusion.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There is one end of the room where it is almost
intact, and there, when the cross-lights fade and the low sun shines directly
upon it, I can almost fancy radiation after all,—the interminable grotesques
seem to form around a common centre and rush off in headlong plunges of equal
distraction.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It makes me tired to follow it. I will take a nap,
I guess.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I
don’t know why I should write this.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I don’t want to.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I don’t feel able.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And I know John would think it absurd. But I <i>must</i> say
what I feel and think in some way—it is such a relief!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But the effort is getting to be greater than the
relief.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Half the time now I am awfully lazy, and lie down
ever so much.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">John says I musn’t lose my strength, and has me
take cod-liver oil and lots of tonics and things, to say nothing of ale and
wine and rare meat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Dear John! He loves me very dearly, and hates to
have me sick. I tried to have a real earnest reasonable talk with him the other
day, and tell him how I wish he would let me go and make a visit to Cousin
Henry and Julia.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But he said I wasn’t able to go, nor able to stand
it after I got there; and I did not make out a very good case for myself, for I
was crying before I had finished.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is getting to be a great effort for me to think
straight. Just this nervous weakness, I suppose.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And dear John gathered me up in his arms, and just
carried me upstairs and laid me on the bed, and sat by me and read to me till
it tired my head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He said I was his darling and his comfort and all
he had, and that I must take care of myself for his sake, and keep well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He says no one but myself can help me out of it,
that I must use my will and self-control and not let any silly fancies run away
with me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There’s one comfort, the baby is well and happy,
and does not have to occupy this nursery with the horrid wallpaper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">If we had not used it that blessed child would
have! What a fortunate escape! Why, I wouldn’t have a child of mine, an
impressionable little thing, live in such a room for worlds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that
John kept me here after all. I can stand it so much easier than a baby, you
see.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Of course I never mention it to them any more,—I am
too wise,—but I keep watch of it all the same.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There are things in that paper that nobody knows
but me, or ever will.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Behind that outside pattern the dim shapes get
clearer every day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is always the same shape, only very numerous.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And it is like a woman stooping down and creeping
about behind that pattern. I don’t like it a bit. I wonder—I begin to think—I
wish John would take me away from here!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It
is so hard to talk with John about my case, because he is so wise, and because
he loves me so.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But I tried it last night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It was moonlight. The moon shines in all around,
just as the sun does.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I hate to see it sometimes, it creeps so slowly,
and always comes in by one window or another.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">John was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I kept
still and watched the moonlight on that undulating wallpaper till I felt
creepy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The faint figure behind seemed to shake the
pattern, just as if she wanted to get out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I got up softly and went to feel and see if the
paper <i>did</i> move, and when I came back John was awake.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“What is it, little girl?” he said. “Don’t go
walking about like that—you’ll get cold.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I thought it was a good time to talk, so I told him
that I really was not gaining here, and that I wished he would take me away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“Why darling!” said he, “our lease will be up in
three weeks, and I can’t see how to leave before.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“The repairs are not done at home, and I cannot
possibly leave town just now. Of course if you were in any danger I could and
would, but you really are better, dear, whether you can see it or not. I am a
doctor, dear, and I know. You are gaining flesh and color, your appetite is
better. I feel really much easier about you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“I don’t weigh a bit more,” said I, “nor as much;
and my appetite may be better in the evening, when you are here, but it is
worse in the morning when you are away.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“Bless her little heart!” said he with a big hug;
“she shall be as sick as she pleases! But now let’s improve the shining hours
by going to sleep, and talk about it in the morning!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“And you won’t go away?” I asked gloomily.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“Why, how can I, dear? It is only three weeks more
and then we will take a nice little trip of a few days while Jennie is getting
the house ready. Really, dear, you are better!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“Better in body perhaps”—I began, and stopped
short, for he sat up straight and looked at me with such a stern, reproachful
look that I could not say another word.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“My darling,” said he, “I beg of you, for my sake
and for our child’s sake, as well as for your own, that you will never for one
instant let that idea enter your mind! There is nothing so dangerous, so
fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and foolish fancy. Can
you not trust me as a physician when I tell you so?”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">So of course I said no more on that score, and we
went to sleep before long. He thought I was asleep first, but I wasn’t,—I lay
there for hours trying to decide whether that front pattern and the back
pattern really did move together or separately.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">On a pattern like this, by daylight, there is a
lack of sequence, a defiance of law, that is a constant irritant to a normal
mind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The color is hideous enough, and unreliable enough,
and infuriating enough, but the pattern is torturing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">You think you have mastered it, but just as you get
well under way in following, it turns a back somersault and there you are. It
slaps you in the face, knocks you down, and tramples upon you. It is like a bad
dream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The outside pattern is a florid arabesque,
reminding one of a fungus. If you can imagine a toadstool in joints, an
interminable string of toadstools, budding and sprouting in endless
convolutions,—why, that is something like it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">That is, sometimes!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There is one marked peculiarity about this paper, a
thing nobody seems to notice but myself, and that is that it changes as the
light changes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">When the sun shoots in through the east window—I
always watch for that first long, straight ray—it changes so quickly that I
never can quite believe it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">That is why I watch it always.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">By moonlight—the moon shines in all night when
there is a moon—I wouldn’t know it was the same paper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">At night in any kind of light, in twilight,
candlelight, lamplight, and worst of all by moonlight, it becomes bars! The
outside pattern I mean, and the woman behind it is as plain as can be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I didn’t realize for a long time what the thing was
that showed behind,—that dim sub-pattern,—but now I am quite sure it is a
woman.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">By daylight she is subdued, quiet. I fancy it is
the pattern that keeps her so still. It is so puzzling. It keeps me quiet by
the hour.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I lie down ever so much now. John says it is good
for me, and to sleep all I can.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Indeed, he started the habit by making me lie down
for an hour after each meal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is a very bad habit, I am convinced, for, you
see, I don’t sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And that cultivates deceit, for I don’t tell them
I’m awake,—oh, no!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The fact is, I am getting a little afraid of John.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He seems very queer sometimes, and even Jennie has
an inexplicable look.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It strikes me occasionally, just as a scientific
hypothesis, that perhaps it is the paper!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I have watched John when he did not know I was
looking, and come into the room suddenly on the most innocent excuses, and I’ve
caught him several times <i>looking at the paper!</i> And Jennie too.
I caught Jennie with her hand on it once.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">She didn’t know I was in the room, and when I asked
her in a quiet, a very quiet voice, with the most restrained manner possible,
what she was doing with the paper she turned around as if she had been caught
stealing, and looked quite angry—asked me why I should frighten her so!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Then she said that the paper stained everything it
touched, that she had found yellow smooches on all my clothes and John’s, and
she wished we would be more careful!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Did not that sound innocent? But I know she was
studying that pattern, and I am determined that nobody shall find it out but
myself!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Life
is very much more exciting now than it used to be. You see I have something
more to expect, to look forward to, to watch. I really do eat better, and am
more quiet than I was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">John is so pleased to see me improve! He laughed a
little the other day, and said I seemed to be flourishing in spite of my
wallpaper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I turned it off with a laugh. I had no intention of
telling him it was <i>because</i> of the wallpaper—he would make fun
of me. He might even want to take me away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I don’t want to leave now until I have found it
out. There is a week more, and I think that will be enough.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I’m
feeling ever so much better! I don’t sleep much at night, for it is so
interesting to watch developments; but I sleep a good deal in the daytime.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">In the daytime it is tiresome and perplexing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There are always new shoots on the fungus, and new
shades of yellow all over it. I cannot keep count of them, though I have tried
conscientiously.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is the strangest yellow, that wallpaper! It
makes me think of all the yellow things I ever saw—not beautiful ones like
buttercups, but old foul, bad yellow things.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But there is something else about that paper—the
smell! I noticed it the moment we came into the room, but with so much air and
sun it was not bad. Now we have had a week of fog and rain, and whether the
windows are open or not, the smell is here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It creeps all over the house.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I find it hovering in the dining-room, skulking in
the parlor, hiding in the hall, lying in wait for me on the stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It gets into my hair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Even when I go to ride, if I turn my head suddenly
and surprise it—there is that smell!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Such a peculiar odor, too! I have spent hours in
trying to analyze it, to find what it smelled like.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is not bad—at first, and very gentle, but quite
the subtlest, most enduring odor I ever met.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">In this damp weather it is awful. I wake up in the
night and find it hanging over me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously
of burning the house—to reach the smell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think
of that it is like is the <i>color</i> of the paper! A yellow smell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There is a very funny mark on this wall, low down,
near the mopboard. A streak that runs round the room. It goes behind every
piece of furniture, except the bed, a long, straight, even <i>smooch</i>,
as if it had been rubbed over and over.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I wonder how it was done and who did it, and what
they did it for. Round and round and round—round and round and round—it makes
me dizzy!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I
really have discovered something at last.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Through watching so much at night, when it changes
so, I have finally found out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">The front pattern <i>does</i> move—and no
wonder! The woman behind shakes it!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Sometimes I think there are a great many women
behind, and sometimes only one, and she crawls around fast, and her crawling
shakes it all over.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Then in the very bright spots she keeps still, and
in the very shady spots she just takes hold of the bars and shakes them hard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And she is all the time trying to climb through.
But nobody could climb through that pattern—it strangles so; I think that is
why it has so many heads.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">They get through, and then the pattern strangles
them off and turns them upside-down, and makes their eyes white!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">If those heads were covered or taken off it would
not be half so bad.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I
think that woman gets out in the daytime!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And I’ll tell you why—privately—I’ve seen her!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I can see her out of every one of my windows!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is the same woman, I know, for she is always
creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I see her on that long shaded lane, creeping up and
down. I see her in those dark grape arbors, creeping all around the garden.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I see her on that long road under the trees,
creeping along, and when a carriage comes she hides under the blackberry vines.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I don’t blame her a bit. It must be very
humiliating to be caught creeping by daylight!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I always lock the door when I creep by daylight. I
can’t do it at night, for I know John would suspect something at once.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And John is so queer now, that I don’t want to
irritate him. I wish he would take another room! Besides, I don’t want anybody
to get that woman out at night but myself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I often wonder if I could see her out of all the
windows at once.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But, turn as fast as I can, I can only see out of
one at one time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And though I always see her she <i>may</i> be
able to creep faster than I can turn!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I have watched her sometimes away off in the open
country, creeping as fast as a cloud shadow in a high wind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 13.5pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">If only that top pattern could be gotten off from
the under one! I mean to try it, little by little.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I have found out another funny thing, but I shan’t
tell it this time! It does not do to trust people too much.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">There are only two more days to get this paper off,
and I believe John is beginning to notice. I don’t like the look in his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And I heard him ask Jennie a lot of professional
questions about me. She had a very good report to give.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">She said I slept a good deal in the daytime.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">John knows I don’t sleep very well at night, for
all I’m so quiet!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">He asked me all sorts of questions, too, and
pretended to be very loving and kind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">As if I couldn’t see through him!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Still, I don’t wonder he acts so, sleeping under
this paper for three months.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It only interests me, but I feel sure John and
Jennie are secretly affected by it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Hurrah!
This is the last day, but it is enough. John is to stay in town overnight, and
won’t be out until this evening.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Jennie wanted to sleep with me—the sly thing! but I
told her I should undoubtedly rest better for a night all alone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">That was clever, for really I wasn’t alone a bit!
As soon as it was moonlight, and that poor thing began to crawl and shake the
pattern, I got up and ran to help her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I pulled and she shook, I shook and she pulled, and
before morning we had peeled off yards of that paper.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">A strip about as high as my head and half around
the room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And then when the sun came and that awful pattern
began to laugh at me I declared I would finish it to-day!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">We go away to-morrow, and they are moving all my
furniture down again to leave things as they were before.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Jennie looked at the wall in amazement, but I told
her merrily that I did it out of pure spite at the vicious thing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">She laughed and said she wouldn’t mind doing it
herself, but I must not get tired.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">How she betrayed herself that time!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But I am here, and no person touches this paper but
me—not <i>alive!</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">She tried to get me out of the room—it was too
patent! But I said it was so quiet and empty and clean now that I believed I
would lie down again and sleep all I could; and not to wake me even for
dinner—I would call when I woke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">So now she is gone, and the servants are gone, and
the things are gone, and there is nothing left but that great bedstead nailed
down, with the canvas mattress we found on it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">We shall sleep downstairs to-night, and take the
boat home to-morrow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I quite enjoy the room, now it is bare again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">How those children did tear about here!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">This bedstead is fairly gnawed!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But I must get to work.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I have locked the door and thrown the key down into
the front path.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I don’t want to go out, and I don’t want to have
anybody come in, till John comes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I want to astonish him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I’ve got a rope up here that even Jennie did not
find. If that woman does get out, and tries to get away, I can tie her!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But I forgot I could not reach far without anything
to stand on!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">This bed will <i>not</i> move!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I tried to lift and push it until I was lame, and
then I got so angry I bit off a little piece at one corner—but it hurt my
teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Then I peeled off all the paper I could reach
standing on the floor. It sticks horribly and the pattern just enjoys it! All
those strangled heads and bulbous eyes and waddling fungus growths just shriek
with derision!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I am getting angry enough to do something
desperate. To jump out of the window would be admirable exercise, but the bars
are too strong even to try.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Besides I wouldn’t do it. Of course not. I know
well enough that a step like that is improper and might be misconstrued.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I don’t like to <i>look</i> out of the
windows even—there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so fast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I wonder if they all come out of that wallpaper as
I did?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But I am securely fastened now by my well-hidden
rope—you don’t get <i>me</i> out in the road there!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I suppose I shall have to get back behind the
pattern when it comes night, and that is hard!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is so pleasant to be out in this great room and
creep around as I please!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I don’t want to go outside. I won’t, even if Jennie
asks me to.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">For outside you have to creep on the ground, and
everything is green instead of yellow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">But here I can creep smoothly on the floor, and my
shoulder just fits in that long smooch around the wall, so I cannot lose my
way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Why, there’s John at the door!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It is no use, young man, you can’t open it!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">How he does call and pound!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Now he’s crying for an axe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">It would be a shame to break down that beautiful
door!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“John dear!” said I in the gentlest voice, “the key
is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">That silenced him for a few moments.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Then he said—very quietly indeed, “Open the door,
my darling!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“I can’t,” said I. “The key is down by the front
door under a plantain leaf!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">And then I said it again, several times, very
gently and slowly, and said it so often that he had to go and see, and he got
it, of course, and came in. He stopped short by the door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“What is the matter?” he cried. “For God’s sake,
what are you doing!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">I kept on creeping just the same, but I looked at
him over my shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">“I’ve got out at last,” said I, “in spite of you
and Jennie! And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 3.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">Now why should that man have fainted? But he did,
and right across my path by the wall, so that I had to creep over him every
time!</span></span></div>
Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-37563430883650785552020-11-06T00:30:00.000-08:002020-11-06T00:30:00.822-08:00The Apparition of Mrs Veal<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9fS28AwPygydW56OVnWYC-0KSmBeja-DgVcxyH32E47RW63h-1TjTTxuHrSKOoCUKAWK0rjJrIuvKXAHpONnNX-Kz0vdP9X9JDzn-oNTC1m9-bzwHx5HSn-Y_sadO6mR5P2TaRGuAt4/s1600/dover+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9fS28AwPygydW56OVnWYC-0KSmBeja-DgVcxyH32E47RW63h-1TjTTxuHrSKOoCUKAWK0rjJrIuvKXAHpONnNX-Kz0vdP9X9JDzn-oNTC1m9-bzwHx5HSn-Y_sadO6mR5P2TaRGuAt4/s400/dover+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;">by Daniel Defoe</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">This
thing is so rare in all its circumstances, and on so good authority, that my
reading and conversation have not given me anything like it. It is fit to
gratify the most ingenious and serious inquirer. Mrs. Bargrave is the person to
whom Mrs. Veal appeared after her death; she is my intimate friend, and I can
avouch for her reputation for these fifteen or sixteen years, on my own
knowledge; and I can confirm the good character she had from her youth to the
time of my acquaintance. Though, since this relation, she is calumniated by
some people that are friends to the brother of Mrs. Veal who appeared, who
think the relation of this appearance to be a reflection, and endeavor what
they can to blast Mrs. Bargrave’s reputation and to laugh the story out of
countenance. But by the circumstances thereof, and the cheerful disposition of
Mrs. Bargrave, notwithstanding the ill usage of a very wicked husband, there is
not yet the least sign of dejection in her face; nor did I ever hear her let
fall a desponding or murmuring expression; nay, not when actually under her
husband’s barbarity, which I have been a witness to, and several other persons
of undoubted reputation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Now you must know Mrs. Veal was a maiden
gentlewoman of about thirty years of age, and for some years past had been
troubled with fits, which were perceived coming on her by her going off from
her discourse very abruptly to some impertinence. She was maintained by an only
brother, and kept his house in Dover. She was a very pious woman, and her
brother a very sober man to all appearance; but now he does all he can to null
and quash the story. Mrs. Veal was intimately acquainted with Mrs. Bargrave
from her childhood. Mrs. Veal’s circumstances were then mean; her father did
not take care of his children as he ought, so that they were exposed to
hardships. And Mrs. Bargrave in those days had as unkind a father, though she
wanted neither for food nor clothing; while Mrs. Veal wanted for both, insomuch
that she would often say, “Mrs. Bargrave, you are not only the best, but the
only friend I have in the world; and no circumstance of life shall ever
dissolve my friendship.” They would often condole each other’s adverse
fortunes, and read together <i>Drelincourt upon Death</i>, and other good
books; and so, like two Christian friends, they comforted each other under
their sorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Some time after, Mr. Veal’s friends got him a
place in the custom-house at Dover, which occasioned Mrs. Veal, by little and
little, to fall off from her intimacy with Mrs. Bargrave, though there was
never any such thing as a quarrel; but an indifferency came on by degrees, till
at last Mrs. Bargrave had not seen her in two years and a half, though above a
twelvemonth of the time Mrs. Bargrave hath been absent from Dover, and this
last half-year has been in Canterbury about two months of the time, dwelling in
a house of her own.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">In this house, on the eighth of September, one
thousand seven hundred and five, she was sitting alone in the forenoon,
thinking over her unfortunate life, and arguing herself into a due resignation
to Providence, though her condition seemed hard: “And,” said she, “I have been
provided for hitherto, and doubt not but I shall be still, and am well
satisfied that my afflictions shall end when it is most fit for me.” And then
took up her sewing work, which she had no sooner done but she hears a knocking
at the door; she went to see who was there, and this proved to be Mrs. Veal,
her old friend, who was in a riding-habit. At that moment of time the clock
struck twelve at noon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">“Madam,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “I am surprised to
see you, you have been so long a stranger”; but told her she was glad to see
her, and offered to salute her, which Mrs. Veal complied with, till their lips
almost touched, and then Mrs. Veal drew her hand across her own eyes, and said,
“I am not very well,” and so waived it. She told Mrs. Bargrave she was going a
journey, and had a great mind to see her first. “But,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “how
can you take a journey alone? I am amazed at it, because I know you have a fond
brother.” “Oh,” says Mrs. Veal, “I gave my brother the slip, and came away,
because I had so great a desire to see you before I took my journey.” So Mrs.
Bargrave went in with her into another room within the first, and Mrs. Veal sat
her down in an elbow-chair, in which Mrs. Bargrave was sitting when she heard
Mrs. Veal knock. “Then,” says Mrs. Veal, “my dear friend, I am come to renew
our old friendship again, and beg your pardon for my breach of it; and if you
can forgive me, you are the best of women.” “Oh,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “do not
mention such a thing; I have not had an uneasy thought about it.” “What did you
think of me?” says Mrs. Veal. Says Mrs. Bargrave, “I thought you were like the
rest of the world, and that prosperity had made you forget yourself and me.”
Then Mrs. Veal reminded Mrs. Bargrave of the many friendly offices she did her
in former days, and much of the conversation they had with each other in the
times of their adversity; what books they read, and what comfort in particular
they received from Drelincourt’s <i>Book of Death</i>, which was the best, she
said, on the subject ever wrote. She also mentioned Doctor Sherlock, and two
Dutch books, which were translated, wrote upon death, and several others. But
Drelincourt, she said, had the clearest notions of death and of the future
state of any who had handled that subject. Then she asked Mrs. Bargrave whether
she had Drelincourt. She said, “Yes.” Says Mrs. Veal, “Fetch it.” And so Mrs.
Bargrave goes up-stairs and brings it down. Says Mrs. Veal, “Dear Mrs.
Bargrave, if the eyes of our faith were as open as the eyes of our body, we
should see numbers of angels about us for our guard. The notions we have of
Heaven now are nothing like what it is, as Drelincourt says; therefore be
comforted under your afflictions, and believe that the Almighty has a
particular regard to you, and that your afflictions are marks of God’s favor;
and when they have done the business they are sent for, they shall be removed
from you. And believe me, my dear friend, believe what I say to you, one minute
of future happiness will infinitely reward you for all your sufferings. For I
can never believe” (and claps her hand upon her knee with great earnestness,
which, indeed, ran through most of her discourse) “that ever God will suffer
you to spend all your days in this afflicted state. But be assured that your
afflictions shall leave you, or you them, in a short time.” She spake in that
pathetical and heavenly manner that Mrs. Bargrave wept several times, she was
so deeply affected with it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Then Mrs. Veal mentioned Doctor Kendrick’s <i>Ascetic</i>,
at the end of which he gives an account of the lives of the primitive
Christians. Their pattern she recommended to our imitation, and said, “Their
conversation was not like this of our age. For now,” says she, “there is
nothing but vain, frothy discourse, which is far different from theirs. Theirs
was to edification, and to build one another up in faith, so that they were not
as we are, nor are we as they were. But,” said she, “we ought to do as they
did; there was a hearty friendship among them; but where is it now to be found?”
Says Mrs. Bargrave, “It is hard indeed to find a true friend in these days.”
Says Mrs. Veal, “Mr. Norris has a fine copy of verses, called <i>Friendship in
Perfection</i>, which I wonderfully admire. Have you seen the book?” says Mrs.
Veal. “No,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “but I have the verses of my own writing out.” “Have
you?” says Mrs. Veal; “then fetch them”; which she did from above stairs, and
offered them to Mrs. Veal to read, who refused, and waived the thing, saying, “holding
down her head would make it ache”; and then desiring Mrs. Bargrave to read them
to her, which she did. As they were admiring <i>Friendship</i>, Mrs. Veal said,
“Dear Mrs. Bargrave, I shall love you forever.” In these verses there is twice
used the word “Elysian.” “Ah!” says Mrs. Veal, “these poets have such names for
Heaven.” She would often draw her hand across her own eyes, and say, “Mrs.
Bargrave, do not you think I am mightily impaired by my fits?” “No,” says Mrs.
Bargrave; “I think you look as well as ever I knew you.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">After this discourse, which the apparition put in
much finer words than Mrs. Bargrave said she could pretend to, and as much more
than she can remember—for it cannot be thought that an hour and three quarters’
conversation could all be retained, though the main of it she thinks she
does—she said to Mrs. Bargrave she would have her write a letter to her
brother, and tell him she would have him give rings to such and such; and that
there was a purse of gold in her cabinet, and that she would have two broad
pieces given to her cousin Watson.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Talking at this rate, Mrs. Bargrave thought that a
fit was coming upon her, and so placed herself on a chair just before her
knees, to keep her from falling to the ground, if her fits should occasion it;
for the elbow-chair, she thought, would keep her from falling on either side.
And to divert Mrs. Veal, as she thought, took hold of her gown-sleeve several
times, and commended it. Mrs. Veal told her it was a scoured silk, and newly
made up. But, for all this, Mrs. Veal persisted in her request, and told Mrs.
Bargrave she must not deny her. And she would have her tell her brother all
their conversation when she had the opportunity. “Dear Mrs. Veal,” says Mrs.
Bargrave, “this seems so impertinent that I cannot tell how to comply with it;
and what a mortifying story will our conversation be to a young gentleman. Why,”
says Mrs. Bargrave, “it is much better, methinks, to do it yourself.” “No,”
says Mrs. Veal; “though it seems impertinent to you now, you will see more
reasons for it hereafter.” Mrs. Bargrave, then, to satisfy her importunity, was
going to fetch a pen and ink, but Mrs. Veal said, “Let it alone now, but do it
when I am gone; but you must be sure to do it”; which was one of the last
things she enjoined her at parting, and so she promised her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Then Mrs. Veal asked for Mrs. Bargrave’s daughter.
She said she was not at home. “But if you have a mind to see her,” says Mrs.
Bargrave, “I’ll send for her.” “Do,” says Mrs. Veal; on which she left her, and
went to a neighbor’s to see her; and by the time Mrs. Bargrave was returning,
Mrs. Veal was got without the door in the street, in the face of the
beast-market, on a Saturday (which is market-day), and stood ready to part as
soon as Mrs. Bargrave came to her. She asked her why she was in such haste. She
said she must be going, though perhaps she might not go her journey till
Monday; and told Mrs. Bargrave she hoped she should see her again at her cousin
Watson’s before she went whither she was going. Then she said she would take
her leave of her, and walked from Mrs. Bargrave, in her view, till a turning
interrupted the sight of her, which was three-quarters after one in the
afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Mrs. Veal died the seventh of September, at twelve
o’clock at noon, of her fits, and had not above four hours’ senses before her
death, in which time she received the sacrament. The next day after Mrs. Veal’s
appearance, being Sunday, Mrs. Bargrave was mightily indisposed with a cold and
sore throat, that she could not go out that day; but on Monday morning she
sends a person to Captain Watson’s to know if Mrs. Veal was there. They
wondered at Mrs. Bargrave’s inquiry, and sent her word she was not there, nor
was expected. At this answer, Mrs. Bargrave told the maid she had certainly
mistook the name or made some blunder. And though she was ill, she put on her
hood and went herself to Captain Watson’s, though she knew none of the family,
to see if Mrs. Veal was there or not. They said they wondered at her asking,
for that she had not been in town; they were sure, if she had, she would have
been there. Says Mrs. Bargrave, “I am sure she was with me on Saturday almost
two hours.” They said it was impossible, for they must have seen her if she
had. In comes Captain Watson, while they were in dispute, and said that Mrs.
Veal was certainly dead, and the escutcheons were making. This strangely
surprised Mrs. Bargrave, when she sent to the person immediately who had the
care of them, and found it true. Then she related the whole story to Captain
Watson’s family; and what gown she had on, and how striped; and that Mrs. Veal
told her that it was scoured. Then Mrs. Watson cried out, “You have seen her
indeed, for none knew but Mrs. Veal and myself that the gown was scoured.” And
Mrs. Watson owned that she described the gown exactly; “for,” said she, “I
helped her to make it up.” This Mrs. Watson blazed all about the town, and
avouched the demonstration of truth of Mrs. Bargrave’s seeing Mrs. Veal’s
apparition. And Captain Watson carried two gentlemen immediately to Mrs.
Bargrave’s house to hear the relation from her own mouth. And when it spread so
fast that gentlemen and persons of quality, the judicious and sceptical part of
the world, flocked in upon her, it at last became such a task that she was
forced to go out of the way; for they were in general extremely satisfied of
the truth of the thing, and plainly saw that Mrs. Bargrave was no
hypochondriac, for she always appears with such a cheerful air and pleasing
mien that she has gained the favor and esteem of all the gentry, and it is
thought a great favor if they can but get the relation from her own mouth. I
should have told you before that Mrs. Veal told Mrs. Bargrave that her sister
and brother-in-law were just come down from London to see her. Says Mrs.
Bargrave, “How came you to order matters so strangely?” “It could not be
helped,” said Mrs. Veal. And her brother and sister did come to see her, and
entered the town of Dover just as Mrs. Veal was expiring. Mrs. Bargrave asked
her whether she would drink some tea. Says Mrs. Veal, “I do not care if I do;
but I’ll warrant you this mad fellow”—meaning Mrs. Bargrave’s husband—”has
broke all your trinkets.” “But,” says Mrs. Bargrave, “I’ll get something to
drink in for all that”; but Mrs. Veal waived it, and said, “It is no matter;
let it alone”; and so it passed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">All the time I sat with Mrs. Bargrave, which was
some hours, she recollected fresh sayings of Mrs. Veal. And one material thing
more she told Mrs. Bargrave, that old Mr. Bretton allowed Mrs. Veal ten pounds
a year, which was a secret, and unknown to Mrs. Bargrave till Mrs. Veal told
her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Mrs. Bargrave never varies in her story, which
puzzles those who doubt of the truth, or are unwilling to believe it. A servant
in the neighbor’s yard adjoining to Mrs. Bargrave’s house heard her talking to
somebody an hour of the time Mrs. Veal was with her. Mrs. Bargrave went out to
her next neighbor’s the very moment she parted with Mrs. Veal, and told her
what ravishing conversation she had had with an old friend, and told the whole
of it. Drelincourt’s <i>Book of Death</i> is, since this happened, bought up
strangely. And it is to be observed that, notwithstanding all the trouble and
fatigue Mrs. Bargrave has undergone upon this account, she never took the value
of a farthing, nor suffered her daughter to take anything of anybody, and
therefore can have no interest in telling the story.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">But Mr. Veal does what he can to stifle the
matter, and said he would see Mrs. Bargrave; but yet it is certain matter of
fact that he has been at Captain Watson’s since the death of his sister, and
yet never went near Mrs. Bargrave; and some of his friends report her to be a
liar, and that she knew of Mr. Bretton’s ten pounds a year. But the person who
pretends to say so has the reputation to be a notorious liar among persons whom
I know to be of undoubted credit. Now, Mr. Veal is more of a gentleman than to
say she lies, but says a bad husband has crazed her; but she needs only present
herself, and it will effectually confute that pretence. Mr. Veal says he asked
his sister on her death-bed whether she had a mind to dispose of anything. And
she said no. Now the things which Mrs. Veal’s apparition would have disposed of
were so trifling, and nothing of justice aimed at in the disposal, that the
design of it appears to me to be only in order to make Mrs. Bargrave satisfy
the world of the reality thereof as to what she had seen and heard, and to
secure her reputation among the reasonable and understanding part of mankind.
And then, again, Mr. Veal owns that there was a purse of gold; but it was not
found in her cabinet, but in a comb-box. This looks improbable; for that Mrs.
Watson owned that Mrs. Veal was so very careful of the key of her cabinet that
she would trust nobody with it; and if so, no doubt she would not trust her
gold out of it. And Mrs. Veal’s often drawing her hands over her eyes, and
asking Mrs. Bargrave whether her fits had not impaired her, looks to me as if
she did it on purpose to remind Mrs. Bargrave of her fits, to prepare her not
to think it strange that she should put her upon writing to her brother, to
dispose of rings and gold, which look so much like a dying person’s request;
and it took accordingly with Mrs. Bargrave as the effect of her fits coming
upon her, and was one of the many instances of her wonderful love to her and
care of her, that she should not be affrighted, which, indeed, appears in her
whole management, particularly in her coming to her in the daytime, waiving the
salutation, and when she was alone; and then the manner of her parting, to
prevent a second attempt to salute her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Now, why Mr. Veal should think this relation a
reflection—as it is plain he does, by his endeavoring to stifle it—I cannot
imagine; because the generality believe her to be a good spirit, her discourse
was so heavenly. Her two great errands were, to comfort Mrs. Bargrave in her
affliction, and to ask her forgiveness for her breach of friendship, and with a
pious discourse to encourage her. So that, after all, to suppose that Mrs.
Bargrave could hatch such an invention as this, from Friday noon to Saturday
noon—supposing that she knew of Mrs. Veal’s death the very first moment—without
jumbling circumstances, and without any interest, too, she must be more witty,
fortunate, and wicked, too, than any indifferent person, I dare say, will
allow. I asked Mrs. Bargrave several times if she was sure she felt the gown.
She answered, modestly, “If my senses be to be relied on, I am sure of it.” I
asked her if she heard a sound when she clapped her hand upon her knee. She
said she did not remember she did, but said she appeared to be as much a
substance as I did who talked with her. “And I may,” said she, “be as soon
persuaded that your apparition is talking to me now as that I did not really
see her; for I was under no manner of fear, and received her as a friend, and
parted with her as such. I would not,” says she, “give one farthing to make any
one believe it; I have no interest in it; nothing but trouble is entailed upon
me for a long time, for aught I know; and, had it not come to light by
accident, it would never have been made public.” But now she says she will make
her own private use of it, and keep herself out of the way as much as she can;
and so she has done since. She says she had a gentleman who came thirty miles
to her to hear the relation; and that she had told it to a roomful of people at
the time. Several particular gentlemen have had the story from Mrs. Bargrave’s
own mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">This thing has very much affected me, and I am as
well satisfied as I am of the best-grounded matter of fact. And why we should
dispute matter of fact, because we cannot solve things of which we can have no
certain or demonstrative notions, seems strange to me; Mrs. Bargrave’s
authority and sincerity alone would have been undoubted in any other case.</span></span></div>
Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-3126967870998177272020-10-30T04:00:00.000-07:002020-10-30T04:00:10.949-07:00The Moonlit Road<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpbpqf8Lcf6VYY8fBVscwJoE03yNhFE3RsIjXql6yJnHJfKsc7xvE7_p7VXd8PS9TP0uD9CRORnyJbnegIhlenzqcvHrZiC8RW8mozdBCJSkiKI3-33RyBfQyq0bM9a-BbFM21ltdfIk/s1600/Dancing_Fairies_by_John-August-Malmstrom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpbpqf8Lcf6VYY8fBVscwJoE03yNhFE3RsIjXql6yJnHJfKsc7xvE7_p7VXd8PS9TP0uD9CRORnyJbnegIhlenzqcvHrZiC8RW8mozdBCJSkiKI3-33RyBfQyq0bM9a-BbFM21ltdfIk/s400/Dancing_Fairies_by_John-August-Malmstrom.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><i><span style="color: #fff2cc;">by Ambrose Bierce</span></i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">I<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">STATEMENT OF JOEL HETMAN, JR.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">I
am the most unfortunate of men. Rich, respected, fairly well educated and of
sound health — with many other advantages usually valued by those having them
and coveted by those who have them not — I sometimes think that I should be
less unhappy if they had been denied me, for then the contrast between my outer
and my inner life would not be continually demanding a painful attention. In
the stress of privation and the need of effort I might sometimes forget the
somber secret ever baffling the conjecture that it compels.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">I am the only child of Joel and Julia Hetman. The
one was a well-to-do country gentleman, the other a beautiful and accomplished
woman to whom he was passionately attached with what I now know to have been a
jealous and exacting devotion. The family home was a few miles from Nashville,
Tennessee, a large, irregularly built dwelling of no particular order of
architecture, a little way off the road, in a park of trees and shrubbery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">At the time of which I write I was nineteen years
old, a student at Yale. One day I received a telegram from my father of such
urgency that in compliance with its unexplained demand I left at once for home.
At the railway station in Nashville a distant relative awaited me to apprise me
of the reason for my recall: my mother had been barbarously murdered — why and
by whom none could conjecture, but the circumstances were these:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">My father had gone to Nashville, intending to
return the next afternoon. Something prevented his accomplishing the business
in hand, so he returned on the same night, arriving just before the dawn. In
his testimony before the coroner he explained that having no latchkey and not
caring to disturb the sleeping servants, he had, with no clearly defined
intention, gone round to the rear of the house. As he turned an angle of the
building, he heard a sound as of a door gently closed, and saw in the darkness,
indistinctly, the figure of a man, which instantly disappeared among the trees
of the lawn. A hasty pursuit and brief search of the grounds in the belief that
the trespasser was someone secretly visiting a servant proving fruitless, he
entered at the unlocked door and mounted the stairs to my mother’s chamber. Its
door was open, and stepping into black darkness he fell headlong over some heavy
object on the floor. I may spare myself the details; it was my poor mother,
dead of strangulation by human hands!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Nothing had been taken from the house, the
servants had heard no sound, and excepting those terrible finger marks upon the
dead woman’s throat — dear God! that I might forget them! — no trace of the
assassin was ever found.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">I gave up my studies and remained with my father,
who, naturally, was greatly changed. Always of a sedate, taciturn disposition,
he now fell into so deep a dejection that nothing could hold his attention, yet
anything — a footfall, the sudden closing of a door — aroused in him a fitful
interest; one might have called it an apprehension. At any small surprise of
the senses he would start visibly and sometimes turn pale, then relapse into a
melancholy apathy deeper than before. I suppose he was what is called a ‘nervous
wreck.’ As to me, I was younger then than now — there is much in that. Youth is
Gilead, in which is balm for every wound. Ah, that I might again dwell in that
enchanted land! Unacquainted with grief, I knew not how to appraise my
bereavement; I could not rightly estimate the strength of the stroke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">One night, a few months after the dreadful event,
my father and I walked home from the city. The full moon was about three hours
above the eastern horizon; the entire countryside had the solemn stillness of a
summer night; our footfalls and the ceaseless song of the katydids were the
only sound, aloof black shadows of bordering trees lay athwart the road, which,
in the short reaches between, gleamed a ghostly white. As we approached the
gate to our dwelling, whose front was in shadow, and in which no light shone,
my father suddenly stopped and clutched my arm, saying, hardly above his
breath:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">‘God! God! what is that?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">‘I hear nothing,’ I replied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">‘But see — see!’ he said, pointing along the road,
directly ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">I said: ‘Nothing is there. Come, Father, let us go
in — you are ill.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">He had released my arm and was standing rigid and
motionless in the center of the illuminated roadway, staring like one bereft of
sense. His face in the moonlight showed a pallor and fixity inexpressibly
distressing. I pulled gently at his sleeve, but he had forgotten my existence.
Presently he began to retire backward, step by step, never for an instant
removing his eyes from what he saw, or thought he saw. I turned half round to
follow, but stood irresolute. I do not recall any feeling of fear, unless a
sudden chill was its physical manifestation. It seemed as if an icy wind had
touched my face and enfolded my body from head to foot; I could feel the stir
of it in my hair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">At that moment my attention was drawn to a light
that suddenly streamed from an upper window of the house: one of the servants,
awakened by what mysterious premonition of evil who can say, and in obedience
to an impulse that she was never able to name, had lit a lamp. When I turned to
look for my father he was gone, and in all the years that have passed no
whisper of his fate has come across the borderland of conjecture from the realm
of the unknown.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">II<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">STATEMENT OF CASPAR GRATTAN<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Today
I am said to live; tomorrow, here in this room, will lie a senseless shape of
clay that all too long was I. If anyone lift the cloth from the face of that
unpleasant thing it will be in gratification of a mere morbid curiosity. Some,
doubtless, will go further and inquire, ‘Who was he?’ In this writing I supply
the only answer that I am able to make — Caspar Grattan. Surely, that should be
enough. The name has served my small need for more than twenty years of a life
of unknown length. True, I gave it to myself, but lacking another I had the
right. In this world one must have a name; it prevents confusion, even when it
does not establish identity. Some, though, are known by numbers, which also
seem inadequate distinctions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">One day, for illustration, I was passing along a
street of a city, far from here, when I met two men in uniform, one of whom,
half pausing and looking curiously into my face, said to his companion, ‘That
man looks like 767.’ Something in the number seemed familiar and horrible.
Moved by an uncontrollable impulse, I sprang into a side street and ran until I
fell exhausted in a country lane.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">I have never forgotten that number, and always it
comes to memory attended by gibbering obscenity, peals of joyless laughter, the
clang of iron doors. So I say a name, even if self-bestowed, is better than a
number. In the register of the potter’s field I shall soon have both. What
wealth!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Of him who shall find this paper I must beg a
little consideration. It is not the history of my life; the knowledge to write
that is denied me. This is only a record of broken and apparently unrelated
memories, some of them as distinct and sequent as brilliant beads upon a thread,
others remote and strange, having the character of crimson dreams with
interspaces blank and black-witch-fires glowing still and red in a great
desolation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Standing upon the shore of eternity, I turn for a
last look landward over the course by which I came. There are twenty years of
footprints fairly distinct, the impressions of bleeding feet. They lead through
poverty and pain, devious and unsure, as of one staggering beneath a burden —<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Remote, untended, melancholy, slow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Ah, the poet’s prophecy of Me — how admirable, how
dreadfully admirable!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Backward beyond the beginning of this via dolorosa
— this epic of suffering with episodes of sin — I see nothing clearly; it comes
out of a cloud. I know that it spans only twenty years, yet I am an old man.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">One does not remember one’s birth — one has to be
told. But with me it was different; life came to me full-handed and dowered me
with all my faculties and powers. Of a previous existence I know no more than
others, for all have stammering intimations that may be memories and may be
dreams. I know only that my first consciousness was of maturity in body and
mind — a consciousness accepted without surprise or conjecture. I merely found
myself walking in a forest, half-clad, footsore, unutterably weary and hungry.
Seeing a farmhouse, I approached and asked for food, which was given me by one
who inquired my name. I did not know, yet knew that all had names. Greatly
embarrassed, I retreated, and night coming on, lay down in the forest and
slept.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">The next day I entered a large town which I shall
not name. Nor shall I recount further incidents of the life that is now to end
— a life of wandering, always and everywhere haunted by an overmastering sense
of crime in punishment of wrong and of terror in punishment of crime. Let me
see if I can reduce it to narrative.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">I seem once to have lived near a great city, a
prosperous planter, married to a woman whom I loved and distrusted. We had, it
sometimes seems, one child, a youth of brilliant parts and promise. He is at
all times a vague figure, never clearly drawn, frequently altogether out of the
picture.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">One luckless evening it occurred to me to test my
wife’s fidelity in a vulgar, commonplace way familiar to everyone who has
acquaintance with the literature of fact and fiction. I went to the city,
telling my wife that I should be absent until the following afternoon. But I
returned before daybreak and went to the rear of the house, purposing to enter
by a door with which I had secretly so tampered that it would seem to lock, yet
not actually fasten. As I approached it, I heard it gently open and close, and
saw a man steal away into the darkness. With murder in my heart, I sprang after
him, but he had vanished without even the bad luck of identification. Sometimes
now I cannot even persuade myself that it was a human being.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Crazed with jealousy and rage, blind and bestial
with all the elemental passions of insulted manhood, I entered the house and
sprang up the stairs to the door of my wife’s chamber. It was closed, but
having tampered with its lock also, I easily entered and despite the black
darkness soon stood by the side of her bed. My groping hands told me that
although disarranged it was unoccupied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">‘She is below,’ I thought, ‘and terrified by my
entrance has evaded me in the darkness of the hall.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">With the purpose of seeking her I turned to leave
the room, but took a wrong direction — the right one! My foot struck her,
cowering in a corner of the room. Instantly my hands were at her throat,
stifling a shriek, my knees were upon her struggling body; and there in the
darkness, without a word of accusation or reproach, I strangled her till she
died!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">There ends the dream. I have related it in the
past tense, but the present would be the fitter form, for again and again the
somber tragedy reenacts itself in my consciousness — over and over I lay the
plan, I suffer the confirmation, I redress the wrong. Then all is blank; and
afterward the rains beat against the grimy windowpanes, or the snows fall upon
my scant attire, the wheels rattle in the squalid streets where my life lies in
poverty and mean employment. If there is ever sunshine I do not recall it; if
there are birds they do not sing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">There is another dream, another vision of the
night. I stand among the shadows in a moonlit road. I am aware of another presence,
but whose I cannot rightly determine. In the shadow of a great dwelling I catch
the gleam of white garments; then the figure of a woman confronts me in the
road — my murdered wife! There is death in the face; there are marks upon the
throat. The eyes are fixed on mine with an infinite gravity which is not
reproach, nor hate, nor menace, nor anything less terrible than recognition.
Before this awful apparition I retreat in terror — a terror that is upon me as
I write. I can no longer rightly shape the words. See! they ——<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Now I am calm, but truly there is no more to tell:
the incident ends where it began — in darkness and in doubt.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Yes, I am again in control of myself: ‘the captain
of my soul.’ But that is not respite; it is another stage and phase of
expiation. My penance, constant in degree, is mutable in kind: one of its
variants is tranquillity. After all, it is only a life-sentence. ‘To Hell for
life’ — that is a foolish penalty: the culprit chooses the duration of his
punishment. Today my term expires.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">To each and all, the peace that was not mine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">III<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">STATEMENT OF THE LATE JULIA HETMAN,<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">THROUGH THE MEDIUM BAYROLLES<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">I
had retired early and fallen almost immediately into a peaceful sleep, from
which I awoke with that indefinable sense of peril which is, I think, a common
experience in that other, earlier life. Of its unmeaning character, too, I was
entirely persuaded, yet that did not banish it. My husband, Joel Hetman, was
away from home; the servants slept in another part of the house. But these were
familiar conditions; they had never before distressed me. Nevertheless, the
strange terror grew so insupportable that conquering my reluctance to move I
sat up and lit the lamp at my bedside. Contrary to my expectation this gave me
no relief; the light seemed rather an added danger, for I reflected that it
would shine out under the door, disclosing my presence to whatever evil thing
might lurk outside. You that are still in the flesh, subject to horrors of the
imagination, think what a monstrous fear that must be which seeks in darkness
security from malevolent existences of the night. That is to spring to close
quarters with an unseen enemy — the strategy of despair!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Extinguishing the lamp I pulled the bedclothing
about my head and lay trembling and silent, unable to shriek, forgetful to
pray. In this pitiable state I must have lain for what you call hours — with us
there are no hours, there is no time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">At last it came — a soft, irregular sound of
footfalls on the stairs! They were slow, hesitant, uncertain, as of something
that did not see its way; to my disordered reason all the more terrifying for
that, as the approach of some blind and mindless malevolence to which is no
appeal. I even thought that I must have left the hall lamp burning and the
groping of this creature proved it a monster of the night. This was foolish and
inconsistent with my previous dread of the light, but what would you have? Fear
has no brains; it is an idiot. The dismal witness that it bears and the
cowardly counsel that it whispers are unrelated. We know this well, we who have
passed into the Realm of Terror, who skulk in eternal dusk among the scenes of
our former lives, invisible even to ourselves and one another, yet hiding
forlorn in lonely places; yearning for speech with our loved ones, yet dumb,
and as fearful of them as they of us. Sometimes the disability is removed, the
law suspended: by the deathless power of love or hate we break the spell — we
are seen by those whom we would warn, console, or punish. What form we seem to
them to bear we know not; we know only that we terrify even those whom we most
wish to comfort, and from whom we most crave tenderness and sympathy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Forgive, I pray you, this inconsequent digression
by what was once a woman. You who consult us in this imperfect way — you do not
understand. You ask foolish questions about things unknown and things
forbidden. Much that we know and could impart in our speech is meaningless in
yours. We must communicate with you through a stammering intelligence in that
small fraction of our language that you yourselves can speak. You think that we
are of another world. No, we have knowledge of no world but yours, though for
us it holds no sunlight, no warmth, no music, no laughter, no song of birds,
nor any companionship. O God! what a thing it is to be a ghost, cowering and
shivering in an altered world, a prey to apprehension and despair!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">No, I did not die of fright: the Thing turned and
went away. I heard it go down the stairs, hurriedly, I thought, as if itself in
sudden fear. Then I rose to call for help. Hardly had my shaking hand found the
door-knob when — merciful heaven! — I heard it returning. Its footfalls as it
remounted the stairs were rapid, heavy and loud; they shook the house. I fled
to an angle of the wall and crouched upon the floor. I tried to pray. I tried
to call the name of my dear husband. Then I heard the door thrown open. There
was an interval of unconsciousness, and when I revived I felt a strangling
clutch upon my throat — felt my arms feebly beating against something that bore
me backward — felt my tongue thrusting itself from between my teeth! And then I
passed into this life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">No, I have no knowledge of what it was. The sum of
what we knew at death is the measure of what we know afterward of all that went
before. Of this existence we know many things, but no new light falls upon any
page of that; in memory is written all of it that we can read. Here are no
heights of truth overlooking the confused landscape of that dubitable domain.
We still dwell in the Valley of the Shadow, lurk in its desolate places,
peering from brambles and thickets at its mad, malign inhabitants. How should
we have new knowledge of that fading past?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">What I am about to relate happened on a night. We
know when it is night, for then you retire to your houses and we can venture
from our places of concealment to move unafraid about our old homes, to look in
at the windows, even to enter and gaze upon your faces as you sleep. I had
lingered long near the dwelling where I had been so cruelly changed to what I
am, as we do while any that we love or hate remain. Vainly I had sought some
method of manifestation, some way to make my continued existence and my great
love and poignant pity understood by my husband and son. Always if they slept
they would wake, or if in my desperation I dared approach them when they were
awake, would turn toward me the terrible eyes of the living, frightening me by
the glances that I sought from the purpose that I held.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">On this night I had searched for them without
success, fearing to find them; they were nowhere in the house, nor about the
moonlit lawn. For, although the sun is lost to us forever, the moon, full-orbed
or slender, remains to us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Sometimes it shines by night, sometimes by day,
but always it rises and sets, as in that other life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">I left the lawn and moved in the white light and
silence along the road, aimless and sorrowing. Suddenly I heard the voice of my
poor husband in exclamations of astonishment, with that of my son in
reassurance and dissuasion; and there by the shadow of a group of trees they
stood — near, so near! Their faces were toward me, the eyes of the elder man
fixed upon mine. He saw me — at last, at last, he saw me! In the consciousness
of that, my terror fled as a cruel dream. The death-spell was broken: Love had
conquered Law! Mad with exultation I shouted — I <i>must</i> have shouted, ‘He
sees, he sees: he will understand!’ Then, controlling myself, I moved forward,
smiling and consciously beautiful, to offer myself to his arms, to comfort him
with endearments, and, with my son’s hand in mine, to speak words that should
restore the broken bonds between the living and the dead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">Alas! alas! his face went white with fear, his
eyes were as those of a hunted animal. He backed away from me, as I advanced,
and at last turned and fled into the wood — whither, it is not given to me to
know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: white;">To my poor boy, left doubly desolate, I have never
been able to impart a sense of my presence. Soon, he, too, must pass to this
Life Invisible and be lost to me forever.</span></span></div>
Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-75444886069086067152020-10-23T00:30:00.000-07:002020-10-23T00:30:00.686-07:00In A Grove<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSpzGlyxMvDcFT0dCjOV_MoydvoiA_xbbuULYS5eodG61RTzr9rqbRUShiRqmExATErzoB1x0krALhJTYTwzMpio10njQYkkR5TqK4DPMXbPCXUG-nm-EZiTN1y5tQDeWQMwLZ-EE3Ig/s1600/rashomon-white-sand.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSpzGlyxMvDcFT0dCjOV_MoydvoiA_xbbuULYS5eodG61RTzr9rqbRUShiRqmExATErzoB1x0krALhJTYTwzMpio10njQYkkR5TqK4DPMXbPCXUG-nm-EZiTN1y5tQDeWQMwLZ-EE3Ig/s400/rashomon-white-sand.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-themecolor: background1;">by Ryūnosuke Akutagawa<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">The Testimony of a Woodcutter
Questioned by a High Police Commissioner<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Yes, sir. Certainly, it was I who found
the body. This morning, as usual, I went to cut my daily quota of cedars, when
I found the body in a grove in a hollow in the mountains. The exact location?
About 150 meters off the Yamashina stage road. It's an out-of-the-way grove of
bamboo and cedars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">The body
was lying flat on its back dressed in a bluish silk kimono and a wrinkled
head-dress of the Kyoto style. A single sword-stroke had pierced the breast.
The fallen bamboo-blades around it were stained with bloody blossoms. No, the
blood was no longer running. The wound had dried up, I believe. And also, a
gad-fly was stuck fast there, hardly noticing my footsteps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">You ask me
if I saw a sword or any such thing?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">No,
nothing, sir. I found only a rope at the root of a cedar near by. And … well,
in addition to a rope, I found a comb. That was all. Apparently he must have
made a battle of it before he was murdered, because the grass and fallen
bamboo-blades had been trampled down all around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">"A
horse was near by?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">No, sir.
It's hard enough for a man to enter, let alone a horse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">The Testimony of a Traveling Buddhist
Priest Questioned by a High Police Commissioner<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">The time? Certainly, it was about noon
yesterday, sir. The unfortunate man was on the road from Sekiyama to Yamashina.
He was walking toward Sekiyama with a woman accompanying him on horseback, who
I have since learned was his wife. A scarf hanging from her head hid her face
from view. All I saw was the color of her clothes, a lilac-colored suit. Her
horse was a sorrel with a fine mane. The lady's height? Oh, about four feet
five inches. Since I am a Buddhist priest, I took little notice about her
details. Well, the man was armed with a sword as well as a bow and arrows. And
I remember that he carried some twenty odd arrows in his quiver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Little did
I expect that he would meet such a fate. Truly human life is as evanescent as
the morning dew or a flash of lightning. My words are inadequate to express my
sympathy for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">The Testimony of a Policeman Questioned
by a High Police Commissioner<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">The man that I arrested? He is a
notorious brigand called Tajomaru. When I arrested him, he had fallen off his
horse. He was groaning on the bridge at Awataguchi. The time? It was in the
early hours of last night. For the record, I might say that the other day I
tried to arrest him, but unfortunately he escaped. He was wearing a dark blue
silk kimono and a large plain sword. And, as you see, he got a bow and arrows
somewhere. You say that this bow and these arrows look like the ones owned by
the dead man? Then Tajomaru must be the murderer. The bow wound with leather
strips, the black lacquered quiver, the seventeen arrows with hawk
feathers—these were all in his possession I believe. Yes, Sir, the horse is, as
you say, a sorrel with a fine mane. A little beyond the stone bridge I found
the horse grazing by the roadside, with his long rein dangling. Surely there is
some providence in his having been thrown by the horse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Of all the
robbers prowling around Kyoto, this Tajomaru has given the most grief to the
women in town. Last autumn a wife who came to the mountain back of the Pindora
of the Toribe Temple, presumably to pay a visit, was murdered, along with a
girl. It has been suspected that it was his doing. If this criminal murdered
the man, you cannot tell what he may have done with the man's wife. May it
please your honor to look into this problem as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">The Testimony of an Old Woman
Questioned by a High Police Commissioner<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Yes, sir, that corpse is the man who
married my daughter. He does not come from Kyoto. He was a samurai in the town
of Kokufu in the province of Wakasa. His name was Kanazawa no Takehiko, and his
age was twenty-six. He was of a gentle disposition, so I am sure he did nothing
to provoke the anger of others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">My
daughter? Her name is Masago, and her age is nineteen. She is a spirited,
fun-loving girl, but I am sure she has never known any man except Takehiko. She
has a small, oval, dark-complected face with a mole at the corner of her left
eye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Yesterday
Takehiko left for Wakasa with my daughter. What bad luck it is that things
should have come to such a sad end! What has become of my daughter? I am
resigned to giving up my son-in-law as lost, but the fate of my daughter
worries me sick. For heaven's sake leave no stone unturned to find her. I hate
that robber Tajomaru, or whatever his name is. Not only my son-in-law, but my
daughter … (Her later words were drowned in tears.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Tajomaru's Confession<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">I killed him, but not her. Where's she
gone? I can't tell. Oh, wait a minute. No torture can make me confess what I
don't know. Now things have come to such a head, I won't keep anything from
you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Yesterday a
little past noon I met that couple. Just then a puff of wind blew, and raised
her hanging scarf, so that I caught a glimpse of her face. Instantly it was
again covered from my view. That may have been one reason; she looked like a
Bodhisattva. At that moment I made up my mind to capture her even if I had to
kill her man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Why? To me
killing isn't a matter of such great consequence as you might think. When a
woman is captured, her man has to be killed anyway. In killing, I use the sword
I wear at my side. Am I the only one who kills people? You, you don't use your
swords. You kill people with your power, with your money. Sometimes you kill
them on the pretext of working for their good. It's true they don't bleed. They
are in the best of health, but all the same you've killed them. It's hard to
say who is a greater sinner, you or me. (An ironical smile.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">But it
would be good if I could capture a woman without killing her man. So, I made up
my mind to capture her, and do my best not to kill him. But it's out of the
question on the Yamashina stage road. So I managed to lure the couple into the
mountains.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">It was
quite easy. I became their traveling companion, and I told them there was an
old mound in the mountain over there, and that I had dug it open and found many
mirrors and swords. I went on to tell them I'd buried the things in a grove
behind the mountain, and that I'd like to sell them at a low price to anyone
who would care to have them. Then … you see, isn't greed terrible? He was
beginning to be moved by my talk before he knew it. In less than half an hour
they were driving their horse toward the mountain with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">When he
came in front of the grove, I told them that the treasures were buried in it,
and I asked them to come and see. The man had no objection— he was blinded by
greed. The woman said she would wait on horseback. It was natural for her to
say so, at the sight of a thick grove. To tell you the truth, my plan worked
just as I wished, so I went into the grove with him, leaving her behind alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">The grove
is only bamboo for some distance. About fifty yards ahead there's a rather open
clump of cedars. It was a convenient spot for my purpose. Pushing my way
through the grove, I told him a plausible lie that the treasures were buried
under the cedars. When I told him this, he pushed his laborious way toward the
slender cedar visible through the grove. After a while the bamboo thinned out,
and we came to where a number of cedars grew in a row. As soon as we got there,
I seized him from behind. Because he was a trained, sword-bearing warrior, he
was quite strong, but he was taken by surprise, so there was no help for him. I
soon tied him up to the root of a cedar. Where did I get a rope? Thank heaven,
being a robber, I had a rope with me, since I might have to scale a wall at any
moment. Of course it was easy to stop him from calling out by gagging his mouth
with fallen bamboo leaves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">When I
disposed of him, I went to his woman and asked her to come and see him, because
he seemed to have been suddenly taken sick. It's needless to say that this plan
also worked well. The woman, her sedge hat off, came into the depths of the
grove, where I led her by the hand. The instant she caught sight of her
husband, she drew a small sword. I've never seen a woman of such violent
temper. If I'd been off guard, I'd have got a thrust in my side. I dodged, but
she kept on slashing at me. She might have wounded me deeply or killed me. But
I'm Tajomaru. I managed to strike down her small sword without drawing my own.
The most spirited woman is defenseless without a weapon. At least I could
satisfy my desire for her without taking her husband's life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Yes … without
taking his life. I had no wish to kill him. I was about to run away from the
grove, leaving the woman behind in tears, when she frantically clung to my arm.
In broken fragments of words, she asked that either her husband or I die. She
said it was more trying than death to have her shame known to two men. She
gasped out that she wanted to be the wife of whichever survived. Then a furious
desire to kill him seized me. (Gloomy excitement.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Telling you
in this way, no doubt I seem a crueler man than you. But that's because you
didn't see her face. Especially her burning eyes at that moment. As I saw her
eye to eye, I wanted to make her my wife even if I were to be struck by
lightning. I wanted to make her my wife … this single desire filled my mind. This
was not only lust, as you might think. At that time if I'd had no other desire
than lust, I'd surely not have minded knocking her down and running away. Then
I wouldn't have stained my sword with his blood. But the moment I gazed at her
face in the dark grove, I decided not to leave there without killing him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">But I
didn't like to resort to unfair means to kill him. I untied him and told him to
cross swords with me. (The rope that was found at the root of the cedar is the
rope I dropped at the time.) Furious with anger, he drew his thick sword. And
quick as thought, he sprang at me ferociously, without speaking a word. I
needn't tell you how our fight turned out. The twenty-third stroke … please
remember this. I'm impressed with this fact still. Nobody under the sun has
ever clashed swords with me twenty strokes. (A cheerful smile.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">When he
fell, I turned toward her, lowering my blood-stained sword. But to my great
astonishment she was gone. I wondered to where she had run away. I looked for
her in the clump of cedars. I listened, but heard only a groaning sound from
the throat of the dying man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">As soon as
we started to cross swords, she may have run away through the grove to call for
help. When I thought of that, I decided it was a matter of life and death to
me. So, robbing him of his sword, and bow and arrows, I ran out to the mountain
road. There I found her horse still grazing quietly. It would be a mere waste
of words to tell you the later details, but before I entered town I had already
parted with the sword. That's all my confession. I know that my head will be
hung in chains anyway, so put me down for the maximum penalty. (A defiant
attitude.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">The Repentance of a Woman Who Has Come
to Kiyomizu Temple<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">That man in the blue silk kimono, after
forcing me to yield to him, laughed mockingly as he looked at my bound husband.
How horrified my husband must have been! But no matter how hard he struggled in
agony, the rope cut into him all the more tightly. In spite of myself I ran
stumblingly toward his side. Or rather I tried to run toward him, but the man
instantly knocked me down. Just at that moment I saw an indescribable light in
my husband's eyes. Something beyond expression … his eyes make me shudder even
now. That instantaneous look of my husband, who couldn't speak a word, told me
all his heart. The flash in his eyes was neither anger nor sorrow … only a cold
light, a look of loathing. More struck by the look in his eyes than by the blow
of the thief, I called out in spite of myself and fell unconscious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">In the
course of time I came to, and found that the man in blue silk was gone. I saw
only my husband still bound to the root of the cedar. I raised myself from the
bamboo-blades with difficulty, and looked into his face; but the expression in
his eyes was just the same as before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Beneath the
cold contempt in his eyes, there was hatred. Shame, grief, and anger … I don't
know how to express my heart at that time. Reeling to my feet, I went up to my
husband.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">"Takejiro,"
I said to him, "since things have come to this pass, I cannot live with
you. I'm determined to die … but you must die, too. You saw my shame. I can't
leave you alive as you are."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">This was
all I could say. Still he went on gazing at me with loathing and contempt. My
heart breaking, I looked for his sword. It must have been taken by the robber.
Neither his sword nor his bow and arrows were to be seen in the grove. But
fortunately my small sword was lying at my feet. Raising it over head, once
more I said, "Now give me your life. I'll follow you right away."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">When he
heard these words, he moved his lips with difficulty. Since his mouth was
stuffed with leaves, of course his voice could not be heard at all. But at a
glance I understood his words. Despising me, his look said only, "Kill
me." Neither conscious nor unconscious, I stabbed the small sword through
the lilac-colored kimono into his breast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Again at
this time I must have fainted. By the time I managed to look up, he had already
breathed his last—still in bonds. A streak of sinking sunlight streamed through
the clump of cedars and bamboos, and shone on his pale face. Gulping down my
sobs, I untied the rope from his dead body. And … and what has become of me?
Only that, since I have no more strength to tell you. Anyway, I hadn't the
strength to die. I stabbed my own throat with the small sword, I threw myself
into a pond at the foot of the mountain, and I tried to kill myself in many
ways. Unable to end my life, I am still living in dishonor. (A lonely smile.)
Worthless as I am, I must have been forsaken even by the most merciful Kwannon.
I killed my own husband. I was violated by the robber. Whatever can I do?
Whatever can I … I … (Gradually, violent sobbing.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">The Story of the Murdered Man, as Told
Through a Medium<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">After violating my wife, the robber,
sitting there, began to speak comforting words to her. Of course I couldn't
speak. My whole body was tied fast to the root of a cedar. But meanwhile I
winked at her many times, as much as to say "Don't believe the
robber." I wanted to convey some such meaning to her. But my wife, sitting
dejectedly on the bamboo leaves, was looking hard at her lap. To all
appearance, she was listening to his words. I was agonized by jealousy. In the
meantime the robber went on with his clever talk, from one subject to another.
The robber finally made his bold brazen proposal. "Once your virtue is
stained, you won't get along well with your husband, so won't you be my wife
instead? It's my love for you that made me be violent toward you."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">While the
criminal talked, my wife raised her face as if in a trance. She had never
looked so beautiful as at that moment. What did my beautiful wife say in answer
to him while I was sitting bound there? I am lost in space, but I have never
thought of her answer without burning with anger and jealousy. Truly she said,
… "Then take me away with you wherever you go."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">This is not
the whole of her sin. If that were all, I would not be tormented so much in the
dark. When she was going out of the grove as if in a dream, her hand in the
robber's, she suddenly turned pale, and pointed at me tied to the root of the
cedar, and said, "Kill him! I cannot marry you as long as he lives."
"Kill him!" she cried many times, as if she had gone crazy. Even now
these words threaten to blow me headlong into the bottomless abyss of darkness.
Has such a hateful thing come out of a human mouth ever before? Have such
cursed words ever struck a human ear, even once? Even once such a … (A sudden
cry of scorn.) At these words the robber himself turned pale. "Kill
him," she cried, clinging to his arms. Looking hard at her, he answered
neither yes nor no … but hardly had I thought about his answer before she had
been knocked down into the bamboo leaves. (Again a cry of scorn.) Quietly
folding his arms, he looked at me and said, "What will you do with her?
Kill her or save her? You have only to nod. Kill her?" For these words
alone I would like to pardon his crime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">While I
hesitated, she shrieked and ran into the depths of the grove. The robber
instantly snatched at her, but he failed even to grasp her sleeve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">After she
ran away, he took up my sword, and my bow and arrows. With a single stroke he
cut one of my bonds. I remember his mumbling, "My fate is next." Then
he disappeared from the grove. All was silent after that. No, I heard someone
crying. Untying the rest of my bonds, I listened carefully, and I noticed that
it was my own crying. (Long silence.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">I raised my
exhausted body from the foot of the cedar. In front of me there was shining the
small sword which my wife had dropped. I took it up and stabbed it into my
breast. A bloody lump rose to my mouth, but I didn't feel any pain. When my
breast grew cold, everything was as silent as the dead in their graves. What
profound silence! Not a single bird-note was heard in the sky over this grave
in the hollow of the mountains. Only a lonely light lingered on the cedars and
mountains. By and by the light gradually grew fainter, till the cedars and
bamboo were lost to view. Lying there, I was enveloped in deep silence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-themecolor: background1;">Then someone
crept up to me. I tried to see who it was. But darkness had already been
gathering round me. Someone … that someone drew the small sword softly out of
my breast in its invisible hand. At the same time once more blood flowed into
my mouth. And once and for all I sank down into the darkness of space.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-18947614672104745272020-10-16T00:30:00.000-07:002020-10-16T00:30:03.913-07:00The Undertaker<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitO-lEyEUEk5XeKh_7A_UFzans3BXdIn8P_T-qdSUT7cNI0V4yBIq4fMHeuJ4gYPIdLRniko-_vf4cVd5R3eL5amH-vkqKCwNqsFtGXJNbZh00TcE_oKLsI8lPbOQOXZiLItnd44FPrbk/s1600/James-Ensor_The-Intrigue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitO-lEyEUEk5XeKh_7A_UFzans3BXdIn8P_T-qdSUT7cNI0V4yBIq4fMHeuJ4gYPIdLRniko-_vf4cVd5R3eL5amH-vkqKCwNqsFtGXJNbZh00TcE_oKLsI8lPbOQOXZiLItnd44FPrbk/s400/James-Ensor_The-Intrigue.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif;"><span style="color: white;">by Alexander Pushkin<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">The
last remaining goods of the undertaker, Adrian Prohoroff, were piled on the
hearse, and the gaunt pair dragged the vehicle for the fourth time along from
the Basmannaia to the Nikitskaia, where the undertaker had moved with all his
household. Closing the shop, he nailed to the gates an announcement that the
house was to be sold or let, and then started on foot for his new abode.
Approaching the small yellow house which had long attracted his fancy and which
he at last bought at a high price, the old undertaker was surprised to find
that his heart did not rejoice. Crossing the strange threshold he found
disorder inside his new abode, and pined for the old hovel, where for eighteen
years everything had been kept in the most perfect order. He began scolding
both his daughters and the servant for being so slow, and proceeded to help
them himself. Order was speedily established. The case with the holy pictures,
the cupboard with the crockery, the table, sofa, and bedstead, took up</span><span class="pagenum"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">their appropriate corners in the back room. In the kitchen and
parlour was placed the master’s stock in trade, that is to say, coffins of
every colour and of all sizes; likewise wardrobes containing mourning hats,
mantles, and funeral torches. Over the gate hung a signboard representing a
corpulent cupid holding a reversed torch in his hand, with the following
inscription: ‘<span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Here coffins are sold,
covered, plain, or painted. They are also let out on hire, and old ones are
repaired.</span>’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">The daughters had retired to their own room, Adrian went over his
residence, sat down by the window, and ordered the samovar to be got ready.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">The enlightened reader is aware that both Shakespeare and Walter
Scott have represented their gravediggers as lively jocular people, no doubt for
the sake of a strong contrast. But respect for truth prevents me from following
their example; and I must confess that the disposition of our undertaker
corresponded closely with his melancholy trade. Adrian Prohoroff was usually
pensive and gloomy. He only broke silence to scold his daughters when he found
them idle, looking out of window at the passers by, or asking too exorbitant
prices for his products from those who had the misfortune (sometimes the
pleasure) to require them. Sitting by the window drinking his seventh cup of
tea, according to his</span><span class="pagenum"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">custom,
Adrian was wrapped in the saddest thoughts. He was thinking of the pouring
rain, which a week before had met the funeral of a retired brigadier at the
turnpike gate, causing many mantles to shrink and many hats to contract. He
foresaw inevitable outlay, his existing supply of funeral apparel being in such
a sad condition. But he hoped to make good the loss from the funeral of the old
shopkeeper, Tiruhina, who had been at the point of death for the last year.
Tiruhina, however, was dying at Basgulai, and Prohoroff was afraid that her
heirs, in spite of their promise to him, might be too lazy to send so far,
preferring to strike a bargain with the nearest contractor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">These reflections were interrupted unexpectedly by three robust
knocks at the door. ‘Who is there?’ enquired the undertaker. The door opened
and a man, in whom at a glance might be recognised a German artisan, entered
the room, and with a cheery look approached the undertaker.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Pardon me, my dear neighbour,’ he said, with the accent which
even now we Russians never hear without a smile; ‘Pardon me for disturbing you;
I wanted to make your acquaintance at once. I am a bootmaker, my name is
Gottlieb Schultz, I live in the next street—in that little house opposite your
windows. Tomorrow I celebrate my silver wedding, and I want you and your
daughters to dine with me in a friendly way.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">The invitation was accepted. The undertaker asked the bootmaker to
sit down and have a cup of tea, and thanks to Gottlieb Schultz’s frank
disposition, they were soon talking in a friendly way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘How does your business get on?’ enquired Adrian.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Oh, oh,’ replied Schultz, ‘one way and another I have no reason
to complain. Though, of course, my goods are not like yours. A living man can
do without boots, but a corpse cannot do without a coffin.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Perfectly true,’ said Adrian, ‘still, if a living man has nothing
to buy boots with he goes barefooted, whereas the destitute corpse gets his
coffin sometimes for nothing.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">Their conversation continued in this style for some time, until at
last the bootmaker rose and took leave of the undertaker, repeating his
invitation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">Next day, punctually at twelve o’clock, the undertaker and his
daughters passed out at the gate of their newly-bought house, and proceeded to
their neighbours. I do not intend to describe Adrian’s Russian caftan nor the
European dress of Akulina or Daria, contrary though this be to the</span><span class="pagenum"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">custom of fiction-writers of the present day. I don’t, however,
think it superfluous to mention that both, maidens wore yellow bonnets and
scarlet shoes, which they only did on great occasions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">The bootmaker’s small lodging was filled with guests, principally
German artisans, their wives, and assistants. Of Russian officials there was
only one watchman, the Finn Yurko, who had managed, in spite of his humble
position, to gain the special favour of his chief. He had also performed the
functions of postman for about twenty-five years, serving truly and faithfully
the people of Pogorelsk. The fire which, in the year 1812, consumed the
capital, annihilated also his humble sentry box. But no sooner had the enemy
fled than in its place appeared a small, new, grey sentry box, with tiny white
columns of Doric architecture, and Yurko resumed his patrol in front of it with
battle-axe on shoulder, and in the civic armour of the police uniform.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">He was well known to the greater portion of the German residents
near the Nikitski Gates, some of whom had occasionally even passed the night
from Sunday until Monday in Yurko’s box.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">Adrian promptly made friends with a man of whom, sooner or later,
he might have need, and as the guests were just then going in to dinner they
sat down together.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">Mr and Mrs Schultz and their daughter, the</span><span class="pagenum"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">seventeen-year-old Lotchen, while dining with their guests,
attended to their wants and assisted the cook to wait upon them. Beer flowed.
Yurko ate for four, and Adrian did not fall short of him, though his daughters
stood upon ceremony.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">The conversation, which was in German, grew louder every hour.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">Suddenly the host called for the attention of the company, and
opening a pitch-covered bottle, exclaimed loudly in Russian:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘The health of my good Louisa!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">The imitation champagne frothed. The host kissed tenderly the
fresh face of his forty-year old spouse and the guests drank vociferously the
health of good Louisa.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘The health of my dear guests!’ cried the host opening the second
bottle. The guests thanked him and emptied their glasses. Then one toast
followed another. The health of each guest was proposed separately; then the
health of Moscow and of about a dozen German towns. They drank the health of
the guilds in general, and afterwards of each one separately; The health of the
foremen and of the workmen. Adrian drank with a will and became so lively, that
he himself proposed some jocular toast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">Suddenly one of the guests, a stout baker, raised his glass and
exclaimed:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘The health of our customers!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">This toast like all the others was drunk joyfully and unanimously.
The guests nodded to each other; the tailor to the bootmaker, the bootmaker to
the tailor; the baker to them both and all to the baker.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">Yurko in the midst of this bowing called out as he turned towards
his neighbour:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Now then, my friend, drink to the health of your corpses.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">Everybody laughed except the undertaker, who felt himself
affronted and frowned. No one noticed this; and the guests went on drinking
till the bells began to ring for evening service, when they all rose from the
table.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">The party had broken up late and most of the guests were very
hilarious. The stout baker, with the bookbinder, whose face looked as if it
were bound in red morocco, led Yurko by the arms to his sentry box, thus
putting in practice the proverb, ‘One good turn deserves another.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">The undertaker went home drunk and angry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘How, indeed,’ he exclaimed aloud. ‘Is my trade worse than any
other? Is an undertaker brother to the executioner? What have those heathens got
to laugh at? Is an undertaker a hypocritical buffoon? I meant to invite them to
a housewarming, to give them a grand spread, but let them wait. I will ask my
customers instead – my orthodox corpses.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘What!’
exclaimed the maid, who at that moment was taking off the undertaker’s boots. ‘What
is that, sir, you are saying? Make the sign of the cross! Invite the dead to
your housewarming! How awful!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘I will certainly invite them,’ persisted Adrian, ‘and not later
than for tomorrow. Honour me, my benefactors, with your company to-morrow
evening at a feast. I will offer you what God has given me.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">With these words the undertaker retired to bed, and was soon
snoring.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">It was still dark when Adrian awoke. The shopkeeper, Triuhina, had
died in the night, and her steward had sent a special messenger on horseback to
inform Adrian of the fact. The undertaker gave him a silver fourpenny bit for
his trouble, to buy <i>vodka</i> with; dressed hurriedly, took a cab,
and drove off to Rasgulai. At the gate of the dead woman’s house the police
were already standing, and dealers in mourning goods were hovering around, like
ravens who have scented a corpse. The deceased was lying in state on the table,
yellow like wax, but not yet disfigured by decomposition. Relations,
neighbours, and friends crowded around. All the windows were open; wax tapers
were burning; and the clergy were reading prayers. Adrian went up to the
nephew, a young merchant in a fashionable</span><span class="pagenum"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">coat, and informed him that the coffin, tapers, pall, and the
funeral paraphernalia in general would promptly arrive. The heir thanked him in
an absent manner, saying that he would not bargain about the price, but leave
it all to his conscience. The undertaker, as usual, vowed that his charges
should be moderate, exchanged significant glances with the steward, and left to
make the necessary preparations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">The whole day was spent in travelling from Rasgulai to the
Nikitski Gates and back again. Towards evening everything was settled, and he
started home on foot after discharging his hired carriage<i>.</i> It
was a moonlit night, and the undertaker got safely to the Nikitski Gates. At
the Church of the Ascension our friend Yoorko hailed him, and on recognizing
the undertaker wished him good-night. It was late. The undertaker was close to
his house when he thought he saw someone approach the gates, open the wicket,
and go in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">‘What can this mean?’ thought Adrian. ‘Who can be wanting me at
this hour? Is it a burglar, or can my foolish girls have lovers coming after
them? It bodes ill.’ And the undertaker was on the point of calling his friend
Yurko to his assistance when someone else came up to the wicket and was about
to enter, but seeing the master of the house nearby, he stopped and took off
his hat. His face seemed</span><span class="pagenum"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">familiar
to Adrian, but in his hurry he had not been able to see it properly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘You want me?’ said Adrian, out of breath. ‘Come in, in that case.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Don’t stand on ceremony, my friend,’ replied the other in a
hollow voice. ‘You go first, and show your guest the way.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">Adrian had no time to waste on formality. The gate was open, and
he went up to the steps followed by the other. Adrian heard people walking
about in his rooms.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘What the devil is going on?’ he wondered, and he hurried inside.
But now his legs seemed to be giving way. The room was full of dead people. The
moon, shining through the windows, lit up their yellow and blue faces, sunken
mouths, dim half-closed eyes, and putrid noses. To his horror Adrian recognised
them as people he had buried, and the guest who came in with him was the
brigadier who had been interred in the pouring rain. All the ladies and gentlemen
surrounded the undertaker, bowing, and greeting him – all except one poor
fellow, who had quite recently been buried gratis, and who, ashamed of his rags,
did not venture to come forward, but stood shyly in a corner. The others were
all decently clad; the female corpses in caps and ribbons, the soldiers and
officials in their uniforms, but with unshaven beards; and the tradespeople in
their best caftans.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">‘Prohoroff,’
said the brigadier, speaking on</span><span class="pagenum"><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;">behalf of all the company, ‘we have all risen at your invitation. The
only ones to remain behind are those who could not possibly come, having
crumbled to pieces, or who have nothing left but bare bones. But even in that
state, there was one who could not resist—he wanted so much to come.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">At
this moment a diminutive skeleton pushed his way through the crowd and
approached Adrian. His death’s head grinned affably at the undertaker. Shreds
of green and red cloth and of rotten linen hung on him as on a pole; while the
bones of his feet clattered inside his heavy boots like pestles in mortars.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Don’t you recognise me, Prohoroff?’ said the skeleton. ‘Don’t you
remember the retired sergeant in the guards, Peter Petrovitch Kurilkin, him to
whom you in the year 1799 sold your first coffin, and of pine instead of oak?’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 14.2pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">With
these words the corpse stretched out his long arms to embrace him. But Adrian
collecting his strength, shrieked, and pushed him away. Peter Petrovitch
staggered, fell over, and crumbled to pieces. There was a murmur of indignation
among the company of the dead. All stood up for the honour of their companion,
threatening and upbraiding Adrian till the poor man, deafened by their shrieks
and quite overcome, lost his senses and fell unconscious among the bones of the
retired sergeant of the guard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">The sun had been shining for some time upon the bed on which the
undertaker lay, when he at last opened his eyes and saw the servant lighting
the <i>samovar.</i> With horror he recalled all the incidents of the
previous day. Triuchin, the brigadier, and the sergeant, Kurilkin, passed dimly
before his imagination. He waited in silence for the servant to speak and tell
him what had occurred during the night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘How you have slept, Adrian Prohorovitch!’ said the maid, handing
him his dressing-gown. ‘Your neighbour the tailor called, also the watchman, to
say that to-day was Turko’s namesday; but you were so fast asleep that we did
not disturb you.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Did anyone come from the late Triuhina?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘The late? Is she dead, then?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘What a fool! Didn’t you help me yesterday to make arrangements
for her funeral?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Have you lost your mind, sir, or are you still suffering from
last night’s drink? You were feasting all day at the German’s. You came home
drunk, threw yourself on the bed, and have slept till now, when the bells have
stopped ringing for Mass.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Really!’ exclaimed the undertaker, delighted at the explanation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Of course,’ replied the servant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 14.2pt; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Well, if that's the case, let's have a nice cup of tea.’</span></span></div>
Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-34924005099590722532020-10-09T00:30:00.000-07:002020-10-09T00:30:05.690-07:00Miss Brill<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht7LOneMUih2uOneAtvYnKo-ZRb_4VcnInNXDjgl8EEmCFvta0WaoGE-2RGoxLsdmOeLGLSTvHsDO7Gk0H-_2bCX0Vh9XKJRCXclnnXDAXA6RsthyubBhmpXOdjLHsGc5-7qJAhkBkQIE/s1600/berlin-street-scene-160_12295.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht7LOneMUih2uOneAtvYnKo-ZRb_4VcnInNXDjgl8EEmCFvta0WaoGE-2RGoxLsdmOeLGLSTvHsDO7Gk0H-_2bCX0Vh9XKJRCXclnnXDAXA6RsthyubBhmpXOdjLHsGc5-7qJAhkBkQIE/s400/berlin-street-scene-160_12295.jpg" width="298" /></a></span></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">by Katherine Mansfield<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Although it was so
brilliantly fine–the blue sky powdered with gold and great spots of light like
white wine splashed over the Jardins Publiques–Miss Brill was glad that she had
decided on her fur. The air was motionless, but when you opened your mouth
there was just a faint chill, like a chill from a glass of iced water before
you sip, and now and again a leaf came drifting–from nowhere, from the sky.
Miss Brill put up her hand and touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice
to feel it again. She had taken it out of its box that afternoon, shaken out
the moth powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the life back into the dim
little eyes. ‘What has been happening to me?’ said the sad little eyes. Oh, how
sweet it was to see them snap at her again from the red eiderdown! . . . But
the nose, which was of some black composition, wasn’t at all firm. It must have
had a knock, somehow. Never mind–a little dab of black sealing-wax when the
time came–when it was absolutely necessary . . . Little rogue! Yes, she really
felt like that about it. Little rogue biting its tail just by her left ear. She
could have taken it off and laid it on her lap and stroked it. She felt a
tingling in her hands and arms, but that <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="183"></a>came from
walking, she supposed. And when she breathed, something light and sad–no, not
sad, exactly–something gentle seemed to move in her bosom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">There were a
number of people out this afternoon, far more than last Sunday. And the band
sounded louder and gayer. That was because the Season had begun. For although
the band played all the year round on Sundays, out of season it was never the
same. It was like some one playing with only the family to listen; it didn’t
care how it played if there weren’t any strangers present. Wasn’t the conductor
wearing a new coat, too? She was sure it was new. He scraped with his foot and
flapped his arms like a rooster about to crow, and the bandsmen sitting in the
green rotunda blew out their cheeks and glared at the music. Now there came a
little ‘flutey’ bit–very pretty!–a little chain of bright drops. She was sure
it would be repeated. It was; she lifted her head and smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Only two people
shared her ‘special’ seat: a fine old man in a velvet coat, his hands clasped
over a huge carved walking-stick, and a big old woman, sitting upright, with a
roll of knitting on her embroidered apron. They did not speak. This was
disappointing, for Miss Brill always looked forward to the conversation. She
had become really quite expert, she thought, at listening as though she didn’t
listen, at sitting in other people’s lives just for a minute while they talked
round her. <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="184"></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">She glanced,
sideways, at the old couple. Perhaps they would go soon. Last Sunday, too, hadn’t
been as interesting as usual. An Englishman and his wife, he wearing a dreadful
Panama hat and she button boots. And she’d gone on the whole time about how she
ought to wear spectacles; she knew she needed them; but that it was no good
getting any; they’d be sure to break and they’d never keep on. And he’d been so
patient. He’d suggested everything–gold rims, the kind that curve round your
ears, little pads inside the bridge. No, nothing would please her. ‘They’ll
always be sliding down my nose!’ Miss Brill had wanted to shake her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The old people
sat on a bench, still as statues. Never mind, there was always the crowd to
watch. To and fro, in front of the flower beds and the band rotunda, the
couples and groups paraded, stopped to talk, to greet, to buy a handful of
flowers from the old beggar who had his tray fixed to the railings. Little
children ran among them, swooping and laughing; little boys with big white silk
bows under their chins, little girls, little French dolls, dressed up in velvet
and lace. And sometimes a tiny staggerer came suddenly rocking into the open
from under the trees, stopped, stared, as suddenly sat down ‘flop,’ until its
small high-stepping mother, like a young hen, rushed scolding to its rescue.
Other people sat on the benches and green chairs, but they were nearly always
the same, Sunday after Sunday, <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="185"></a>and–Miss Brill had often
noticed–there was something funny about nearly all of them. They were odd,
silent, nearly all old, and from the way they stared they looked as though they’d
just come from dark little rooms or even–even cupboards!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Behind the
rotunda the slender trees with yellow leaves down drooping, and through them
just a line of sea, and beyond the blue sky with gold-veined clouds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Tum-tum-tum
tiddle-um! tiddle-um! tum tiddley-um tum ta! blew the band.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Two young girls
in red came by and two young soldiers in blue met them, and they laughed and
paired and went off arm-in-arm. Two peasant women with funny straw hats passed,
gravely, leading beautiful smoke-coloured donkeys. A cold, pale nun hurried by.
A beautiful woman came along and dropped her bunch of violets, and a little boy
ran after to hand them to her, and she took them and threw them away as if they’d
been poisoned. Dear me! Miss Brill didn’t know whether to admire that or not!
And now an ermine toque and a gentleman in gray met just in front of her. He
was tall, stiff, dignified, and she was wearing the ermine toque she’d bought
when her hair was yellow. Now everything, her hair, her face, even her eyes,
was the same colour as the shabby ermine, and her hand, in its cleaned glove,
lifted to dab her lips, was a tiny yellowish paw. Oh, she was so pleased to see
him–delighted! She rather thought they were going <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="186"></a>to meet
that afternoon. She described where she’d been–everywhere, here, there, along
by the sea. The day was so charming–didn’t he agree? And wouldn’t he, perhaps?
. . . But he shook his head, lighted a cigarette, slowly breathed a great deep
puff into her face, and even while she was still talking and laughing, flicked
the match away and walked on. The ermine toque was alone; she smiled more
brightly than ever. But even the band seemed to know what she was feeling and
played more softly, played tenderly, and the drum beat, ‘The Brute! The Brute!’
over and over. What would she do? What was going to happen now? But as Miss
Brill wondered, the ermine toque turned, raised her hand as though she’d seen
someone else, much nicer, just over there, and pattered away. And the band
changed again and played more quickly, more gayly than ever, and the old couple
on Miss Brill’s seat got up and marched away, and such a funny old man with
long whiskers hobbled along in time to the music and was nearly knocked over by
four girls walking abreast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Oh, how
fascinating it was! How she enjoyed it! How she loved sitting here, watching it
all! It was like a play. It was exactly like a play. Who could believe the sky
at the back wasn’t painted? But it wasn’t till a little brown dog trotted on
solemn and then slowly trotted off, like a little ‘theatre’ dog, a little dog
that had been drugged, that Miss Brill discovered what it was <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="187"></a>that
made it so exciting. They were all on stage. They weren’t only the audience,
not only looking on; they were acting. Even she had a part and came every
Sunday. No doubt somebody would have noticed if she hadn’t been there; she was
part of the performance after all. How strange she’d never thought of it like
that before! And yet it explained why she made such point of starting from home
at just the same time each week–so as not to be late for the performance–and it
also explained why she had a queer, shy feeling at telling her English pupils
how she spent her Sunday afternoons. No wonder! Miss Brill nearly laughed out
loud. She was on the stage. She thought of the old invalid gentleman to whom
she read the newspaper four afternoons a week while he slept in the garden. She
had got quite used to the frail head on the cotton pillow, the hollowed eyes,
the open mouth and the high pinched nose. If he’d been dead she mightn’t have
noticed for weeks; she wouldn’t have minded. But suddenly he knew he was having
the paper read to him by an actress! ‘An actress!’ The old head lifted; two
points of light quivered in the old eyes. ‘An actress–are ye?’ And Miss Brill
smoothed the newspaper as though it were the manuscript of her part and said
gently; ‘Yes, I have been an actress for a long time.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">The band had
been having a rest. Now they started again. And what they played was warm,<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="188"></a> sunny, yet there was just a faint chill–a something, what was
it?–not sadness–no, not sadness–a something that made you want to sing. The
tune lifted, lifted, the light shone; and it seemed to Miss Brill that in
another moment all of them, all the whole company, would begin singing. The
young ones, the laughing ones who were moving together, they would begin and
the men’s voices, very resolute and brave, would join them. And then she too,
she too, and the others on the benches–they would come in with a kind of
accompaniment–something low, that scarcely rose or fell, something so
beautiful–moving. . . . And Miss Brill’s eyes filled with tears and she looked
smiling at all the other members of the company. Yes, we understand, we
understand, she thought–though what they understood she didn’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">Just at that
moment a boy and girl came and sat down where the old couple had been. They
were beautifully dressed; they were in love. The hero and heroine, of course,
just arrived from his father’s yacht. And still soundlessly singing, still with
that trembling smile, Miss Brill prepared to listen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘No, not now,’
said the girl. ‘Not here. I can’t.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘But why?
Because of that stupid old thing at the end there?’ asked the boy. ‘Why does
she come here at all–who wants her? Why doesn’t she keep her silly old mug at
home?’ <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="189"></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘It’s her fu-ur
which is so funny,’ giggled the girl. ‘It’s exactly like a fried whiting.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘Ah, be off
with you!’ said the boy in an angry whisper. Then: ‘Tell me, ma petite chère–’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">‘No, not here,’
said the girl. ‘Not yet.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">On her way home she
usually bought a slice of honey-cake at the baker’s. It was her Sunday treat.
Sometimes there was an almond in her slice, sometimes not. It made a great
difference. If there was an almond it was like carrying home a tiny present–a
surprise–something that might very well not have been there. She hurried on the
almond Sundays and struck the match for the kettle in quite a dashing way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="color: white;">But to-day she
passed the baker’s by, climbed the stairs, went into the little dark room–her
room like a cupboard–and sat down on the red eiderdown. She sat there for a
long time. The box that the fur came out of was on the bed. She unclasped the
necklet quickly; quickly, without looking, laid it inside. But when she put the
lid on she thought she heard something crying.</span></span></div>
Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2936966246074747386.post-89872453054502546292020-10-02T00:30:00.000-07:002020-10-02T00:30:01.318-07:00A house in Athens<div style="text-align: center;">
<i></i></div>
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<i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-tGggiFABxRl9eYl5kCx6TUooTySazCklV5r06xVaYH6-eKMuzG_c4pO1_F78jqlx8fvBp1_k5c091LcerXwb_y7aQbZxfqTm9BdKdYzFLzuJ5pSof2HPisCHsBK7U8bZPmgqjy163v4/s1600/greek-scene.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-tGggiFABxRl9eYl5kCx6TUooTySazCklV5r06xVaYH6-eKMuzG_c4pO1_F78jqlx8fvBp1_k5c091LcerXwb_y7aQbZxfqTm9BdKdYzFLzuJ5pSof2HPisCHsBK7U8bZPmgqjy163v4/s400/greek-scene.jpg" width="400" /></a></i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: white;">by Pliny the Younger</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: x-small;">(translated by William Melmoth)</span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">There
was in Athens a house, spacious and open, but with an infamous reputation, as
if filled with pestilence. For in the dead of night, a noise like the clashing
of iron could be heard. And if one listened carefully, it sounded like the
rattling of chains. At first the noise seemed to be at a distance, but then it
would approach, nearer, nearer, nearer. Suddenly a phantom would appear, an old
man, pale and emaciated, with a long beard, and hair that appeared driven by
the wind. The fetters on his feet and hands rattled as he moved them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">Any
dwellers in the house passed sleepless nights under the most dismal terrors
imaginable. The nights without rest led them to a kind of madness, and as the
horrors in their minds increased, onto a path toward death. Even in the
daytime--when the phantom did not appear--the memory of the nightmare was so
strong that it still passed before their eyes. The terror remained when the
cause of it was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">Damned
as uninhabitable, the house was at last deserted, left to the spectral monster.
But in hope that some tenant might be found who was unaware of the malevolence
within it, the house was posted for rent or sale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">It
happened that a philosopher named Athenodorus came to Athens at that time.
Reading the posted bill, he discovered the dwelling's price. The extraordinary
cheapness raised his suspicion, yet when he heard the whole story, he was not
in the least put off. Indeed, he was eager to take the place. And did so
immediately.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">As
evening drew near, Athenodorus had a couch prepared for him in the front
section of the house. He asked for a light and his writing materials, then
dismissed his retainers. To keep his mind from being distracted by vain terrors
of imaginary noises and apparitions, he directed all his energy toward his
writing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">For
a time the night was silent. Then came the rattling of fetters. Athenodorus
neither lifted up his eyes, nor laid down his pen. Instead he closed his ears
by concentrating on his work. But the noise increased and advanced closer till
it seemed to be at the door, and at last in the very chamber. Athenodorus
looked round and saw the apparition exactly as it had been described to him. It
stood before him, beckoning with one finger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">Athenodorus
made a sign with his hand that the visitor should wait a little, and bent over
his work. The ghost, however, shook the chains over the philosopher's head,
beckoning as before. Athenodorus now took up his lamp and followed. The ghost
moved slowly, as if held back by his chains. Once it reached the courtyard, it
suddenly vanished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify; text-indent: 17.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: white; font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">Athenodorus,
now deserted, carefully marked the spot with a handful of grass and leaves. The
next day he asked the magistrate to have the spot dug up. There they
found--intertwined with chains--the bones that were all that remained of a body
that had long lain in the ground. Carefully, the skeletal relics were collected
and given proper burial, at public expense. The tortured ancient was at rest.
And the house in Athens was haunted no more.</span></div>
Dave Morrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14468228790874490693noreply@blogger.com0