South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) - Norman Douglas (ebook e reader .TXT) 📗
- Author: Norman Douglas
Book online «South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) - Norman Douglas (ebook e reader .TXT) 📗». Author Norman Douglas
Suggestive Of Wounded Dignity.
People Avoided Miss Wilberforce. And Yet You Could Not Help Liking Her
In Those Rare Moments When She Was Just A Little Disguised. She Had A
Pretty Wit, Then; A Residue Of Gentle Nurture; Tender Instincts And A
Winsomeness Of Manner That Captivated You. Nor Were Appearances Against
Her. That Frail, Arrowy Figure Was Invariably Clothed In Black. She
Wore The Colour By Instinct. They Said She Had Lost Her Sailor Fiance
Who Was Drowned, Poor Lad, In The Mediterranean; And That Now She
Wandered About At Night Looking For Him, Or Trying To Forget Him And
Seeking Oblivion In Tipple.
The Story Happened To Be True, For A Wonder. She Had Received A Twist
For Life. The Death Of This Young Lover Gave To Her Impressionable
Being A Shock Which Never Passed Off Again. The World Was Turned Inside
Out For Amy Wilberforce. She Seldom Spoke Of His Fate. But She Was
Always Talking About The Sea. She Tried To Drown Herself, Once Or
Twice. Then, Gradually, She Put On A New Character Altogether And
Relapsed Into Queer Ancestral Traits, Stripping Off, Like So Many
Worthless Rags, The Layers Of Laboriously Acquired Civilization. The
Refined And Bashful Girl Became Brusque, Supercilious, Equivocal. When
Sympathizing Friends Said That They Had Also Lost Lovers, She Laughed
And Told Them To Look For New Ones. There Were Better Fish In The Sea,
Etc., Etc.
Soon She Found Herself Abandoned, In Spite Of A Full Banking Account.
People Had Dropped Her, Right And Left.
The Years Went By.
Calmly, Without Misgivings And Without Fervour, She Took To The Bottle.
Something Drew Her To Nepenthe--Dim Mediterranean Memories. Arrived
There, She Used To Engulf Three Pints Of Martell And Hennessey, One
After The Other, And Then "Wash Them Out"--Such Was Her Phraseology--With
A Magnum Of Perrier Jouet; A Proceeding Which, While It Heightened Her
Complexion And Gave A Sparkle To Her Poor Flustered Eye, Was Not
Conducive To The Preservation Of Equilibrium In The Lower Limbs. There
Resulted Those Periodical "Nervous Breakdowns" Which Necessitated
Seclusion And Sometimes Medical Treatment. The Collapses Had Become
Distressingly Frequent With The Last Year Or Two. One Of Her Many
Drawbacks Was That She Courted Publicity In Her Cups. She Was Perfectly
Reckless As To What She Then Said, And Had Been Known To Bring A Blush
To The Seasoned Cheek Of Don Francesco Himself Who, Unaware Of Her
Condition At One Particular Moment, Politely Ventured To Enquire Why
She Always Wore Black And Was Told That She Was In Mourning, As
Everybody Ought To Mourn, For His Lost Innocence. Being An
Englishwoman, She Was A Thorn In The Side Of Her Moral Compatriot The
Commissioner.
Her Noctambulous Habits Often Brought Her Into Contact With The Local
Police And Sometimes With His Worship Signor Malipizzo. Greatly To The
Surprise Of Mr. Parker, The Magistrate Was Observed To Take A Lenient
View Of The Case. None The Less, She Had Passed Several Nights In The
Local Gaol. Staggering About The Lanes Of Nepenthe In The Silent Hours
Before Dawn, She Was Liable To Be Driven, At The Bidding Of Some Dark
Primeval Impulse, To Divest Herself Of Her Raiment--A Singularity Which
Perturbed Even The Hardiest Of Social Night-Birds Who Had The
Misfortune To Encounter Her. Taxed With This Freakish Behaviour, She
Would Refer To The Example Of St. Francis Of Assisi Who Did The Same,
And Brazenly Ask Whether He Wasn't Good Enough For Them? Whether She
Couldn't Give Her Last Shirt To A Beggar, As Well As Anybody Else? In
Short, There Was Nothing To Be Done With Her.
The Dear Lady, As Keith Often Called Her, Was Becoming A Real Problem.
And Now Her Eye, Roving Round The Room, Fixed Itself With The
Drunkard's Divine Unerring Instinct Upon Denis. What A Nice, Modest,
Gentlemanly-Looking Boy! Just What She Wanted.
"This Sirocco!" She Sighed, Groping Dramatically For A Chair. "It Makes
Me Feel So Funny. Oh, Dear! I Shall Go Off In A Faint. Ah, Do Be A Kind
Young Man And Fetch Me Some Brandy And Soda. A Large Tumbler. Ah, Do!
And Very Little Soda, Please--On Account Of My Heart. Only The Smallest
Drop!"
She Took Two Or Three Sips, Paused Awhile As Though Undecided Whether
She Could Possibly Swallow Such Nasty Stuff And Then, With A Fine Show
Of Reluctance, Gulped It All Down. Denis Was Spell-Bound; The Dose, He
Artlessly Imagined, Was Enough To Kill A Horse. Far From Being Damaged,
Miss Wilberforce Took A Chair Beside Him, And Began To Converse.
Charmingly She Talked; All About England. As He Listened He Grew
Delighted, Entranced. She Was Different, Somehow, From All The Other
Ladies He Had Lately Met On The Continent. She Was Altogether
Different. Whence Came It, He Wondered?
Then, As The Discourse Proceeded, He Began To Realize What Was The
Matter With Them. It Was Odd, He Thought, That He Had Not Noticed It
Before. Miss Wilberforce Made Him Realize Wherein The Difference Lay.
They Spoke English, It Was True; But They Had All Taken On A
Continental Outlook; Alien Phrases, Expressions, Affectations;
Cosmopolitan Airs And Graces That Jarred On His Frank, Untarnished
English Nature. This One Was Otherwise. She Was Old England, Through
And Through. The Conversation Cheered Him To An Unusual Degree--Among
All Those Foreign People He Felt Strangely Drawn Towards This Wistful
Lady Who Could Talk So Naturally And Conjure Up, By The Mere Power Of
Words, A Breath Of His Own Homestead In The Midlands. He Might Have
Been Sitting With An Elder Sister Just Then, Eating Strawberries And
Cream And Watching A Tennis Match On Some Shady Green Lawn. He Was
Happy; Happier Still When Angelina Once More Floated Into His Ken And,
Noticing Miss Wilberforce, Raised Her Eyebrows Mischievously And Gave
Him Something That Looked Like A Real Smile, For A Change.
She Had Another Smile, However, For Mr. Edgar Marten; And Yet Another
One For Don Francesco Who, As She Passed Near Him, Profited By The
Occasion To Give Her A Paternal Semi-Proprietary Chuck Under The Chin,
Accompanying The Indecorous Movement With An Almost Audible Wink.
Mr. Heard Had Noticed Everything. He Frowned At First. It Gave Him A
Little Twinge, And Some Food For Thought. He Was Absurdly Sensitive
About Women.
"A Frolicsome Child," He Mused. "Lasciva Puella. Possibly Wanton."
What Were This Young Man's Relations With The Girl? That Contact Of
Hand And Chin--What Did It Imply? Was The Action Quasi-Paternal, Or
Pseudo-Paternal? Regretfully He Decided That It Was Only
Pseudo-Paternal.
And Yet--It Was All So Confoundedly Natural!
"Nobody But Our Parroco Could Keep His Hands Off That Girl," Blithely
Remarked The Priest.
Another Little Twinge. . . .
Chapter 7
Mr. Heard Was Not Prone To Wax Enthusiastic Over The Delights Of
Architecture Or Natural Scenery. He Called Himself Unexpansive And
Unromantic; He Confessed To Small Understanding, Small Veneration, For
Artistic Effects. The Beauty Of A Man's Character Moved Him More
Strongly Than The Beauty Of Any Picture Or Any Landscape. Yet, On
Arriving Next Afternoon At The Upper Plateau Of Nepenthe He Could Not
Help Being Struck By The Strange And Almost Compelling Charm Of The
"Old Town." It Was So Different From The Lower Regions--So Calm And
Reposeful.
Down Below, In That More Accessible Modern Settlement, Everything Was
Bright And Many-Tinted; There Was Movement And Noise And Colour; A
Dazzling Spot! The Subtle Influence Of The Sea, Though It Lay Four
Hundred Feet Lower Down, Was Ever Present; One Felt Oneself On An
Island. On Reaching These Heights That Feeling Evaporated. You Were
Embowered In Mighty Trees, In The Midst Of Which Stood The Old Town.
Unlike That Other One, It Faced Due North; It Lay, Moreover, A Few
Hundred Feet Higher Up. That Alone Could Not Have Explained The
Difference In Temperature, One Might Say In Climate, Between The Two.
To Begin With, There Was On This Tiny Upland Basin Exceptionally Deep
Soil, Borne Down By The Rains Of Unnumbered Centuries From The Heights
Overhead And Enabling Those Shady Oaks, Poplars, Walnuts And Apples To
Shoot Up To Uncommon Size And Luxuriance And Screen Away The Sunny
Beams. From Above, Meanwhile, A Perennial Shower Descended. The
Moisture-Laden Sirocco, Tearing Itself To Shreds Against The Riven
Summits Of The High Southern Cliffs, Dripped Ceaselessly Upon This
Verdant Oasis In Clouds Of Invisible Dew. You Could Often Enjoy The
Luxury Of A Shiver, At Night-Time, In The Old Town.
It Was A Stronghold Originally; Built On These Heights For The Greater
Security Of The Islanders Against Saracenic Inroads. When A More
Peaceful Era Drew Night The Population Began To Decline; They Found It
More Convenient To Establish Themselves In The New Settlement Lower
Down. Then Came The Good Duke Alfred--That Potentate Who, As Mr. Eames
Was Wont To Say, Nihil Quod Tetigit Non Ornavit. He Took A Fancy To
This Quaint Old Citadel Which, Before His Day, Could Only Be Reached B
A Rough Mule-Track Easily Defended Against Invaders. After Constructing
A Fine Road Of Access With Many Twists And Turnings, Wide Enough To
Admit The Passage Of Two Of His Roomy State Carriages Driving Abreast,
He Turned His Mind To Other Improvements. Professing To Be An Admirer
Of The Good Old Times, He Decided To Keep Up Its Traditional
Character--It Was To Remain A Fortress, In Appearance If Not Reality. A
Massive Crenellated Rampart, Furnished With Four Gateways And
Watch-Towers At Convenient Intervals But Serving No Purpose In
Particular, Grew Up Around The Place; Every One Of Its Houses Which
Failed To Fit In With The Design Of This Battlemented Structure--And
There Were A Good Many Of Them--Was Ruthlessly Demolished. The Old Town
Was Enclosed In A Ring.
Desirous, Next, Of Putting An End To The Annoying Exodus Of The
Natives, He Fixed By Law The Number Of Inhabitants; There Were To Be
Five Hundred Souls, Neither More Nor Less. If In Any One Year The
Population Exceeded That Figure, The Surplus Was Taken Away, From Among
The Adult Males, To Work As Galley-Slaves In His Fleet; A Deficiency In
The Requisite Number Was Met By Giving New Husbands From The Lower
Town, Often Three Or Four At A Time "With A View To Ensuring Good
Results," To Those Of The Native Women Who Had Hitherto Failed To
Produce Offspring. The System Worked Well. With Some Trifling But
Reprehensive Fluctuations, The Birth-Rate And The Death-Rate Remained
Even; Things Were At A Standstill; A Fact Which Caused His Highness To
Be Compared, By A Courtly Panegyrist, To Joshua Who Bade The Sun Arrest
His March Across The Heavens. Another Of These Gentlemen Calls The
Duke's Action A "Triumph Of Art Over Nature," Adding, Not Without A
Grain Of Malice, That "Never Have The Generative Capacities Of Mankind
Adapted Themselves With More Conspicuous Success To The Shape Of An
Unnecessary Wall." Monsignor Perrelli, Unfortunately, Has Nothing
Whatever To Say On The Subject. For Reasons Which Will Appear Anon, He
Is Remarkably Silent On All That Concerns The Reign Of His Great
Contemporary.
Even So The Prince Was Not Satisfied. The Fastness Was Yet Imperfect;
He Disliked The Variegated Hues Of The Buildings--They Reminded Him Of
The Garish Brilliance In The Lower Town. Something Different Had To Be
Contrived. He Took Thought And, Being A Man Of Taste And A Decorist
Where Picturesque Effects Were Concerned, Decreed That The Entire
Place--Walls, Houses, The Two Convents (Benedictine And Carthusian), The
Church, And Even Stables And Pigsties--Was To Be Painted A Uniform Pink:
"Pink," He Ordained, "Without The Slightest Admixture Of Blue." He
Desired, In Fact, A Kind Of Rose Or Flesh Colour, A Particular Tint
Which, He Foresaw, Would Look Well Among The Luscious Verdure Of The
Surroundings. His Behest, As Usual, Was Obeyed Without Much Loss Of
Time.
Then He Surveyed His Work, And Saw That It Was Good. He Had Created A
Gem. The Old Town Was A Symphony In Emerald And Coral.
So It Remained. The Inhabitants Grew To Be Proud Of Their Rosy Citadel;
It Was An Unwritten Law Among Them That Every New House Should Adapt
Itself To This Tone. For The Rest, There Was Not Much Building Done
After His Death, With The Exception Of A Few Isolated Villas That
Sprang Up, Despite His Old Commands, In The Neighbourhood. And The
Decline In Population Once More Set In. Men Forsook The Place--All
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