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
Unnatural, Unfishlike Manner; And Luigi Drew Up, To His Amazement, A
Fragment Of A Lady's Dress--To Wit, A Short Length Of Sky-Blue Crepe De
Chine. Bitterly Disappointed, He Nevertheless Took The Matter With The
Characteristic Southern Philosophy. "This Will Do For My Little
Annarella," He Decided. And Doubtless The Child, Arrayed In These
Celestial Tints, Would Have Been The Envy Of All Her Girl Companions At
The Next Festival Of The Patron Saint B For The Fact That Mr. Freddy
Parker Was Strolling On The Beach At The Very Moment Of The Man's
Return To Land. By A Rare Piece Of Good Luck, As He Himself Phrased It,
His Eye Fell Upon The Dripping Fabric; By A Stroke Of Intuition Not
Rare But Unique, He Divined Its Worth As A Sociological Document.
Promising The Man A Reasonable Sum Of Money (The Commissioner Happened
To Have No Loose Change In His Pocket Just Then) He Carried The
Incrimination Morsel In Triumph To The Residency, Where It Was
Displayed By His Lady, To All And Sundry, In Corroboration Of Her
Theory.
"That Settles It," She Used To Say. "Unless Indeed He Dresses Up His
Cabin-Boy As A Girl, And In That Case . . ."
Mr. Heard, Reposing On The Rough Pumiceous Ground With His Eye Fixed
Upon The Naughty Flutterby Whose Virginal Whiteness, With Declining
Day, Had Assumed A Tell-Tale Crimson Blush, Pieced Together These And
Sundry Other Little Bits Of Information. They Made Him More Than
Usually Thoughtful; They Chimed In With His Momentary Mood Of
Self-Analysis.
One Thing Was Dead Certain. To Circumnavigate The Globe In The Arms Of
A Dozen Chorus-Girls Was Not His Ideal. He Was Not Built On Those
Lines. He Purposed, God Willing, To Spend The Evening Of His Days In
Another And More Respectable Manner. A Vision Arose Before His
Imagination--A Vision Of A Peaceful Homestead Among The Green Lanes Of
England, Where He Would Lead A Life Of Study And Of Kindly,
Unostentatious Acts, With Family And Friends; Old Friends Of College
Days, And London Days, And African Days; New Friends From Among The
Rising Generation--Straightforward And Decent-Minded Youngsters, Whom He
Would Take To His Heart Like A Father.
Why Could Not Van Koppen See The Beauty Of Such Dreamings?
And Yet, He Argued, If The Man Does Seclude Them In This
Fashion--Supposing They Really Exist--Who Can Blame Him? No Woman Is Safe
On Nepenthe With Persons Like Muhlen About. From Chance Meetings In The
Street, From Stray Conversations Overheard, He Had Been Led To Take An
Unreasoning Dislike To This Foreigner, Whose Attitude Towards The
Gentle Sex Struck Him As That Of A Cur. Muhlen, If The Yacht Were His,
Would Flaunt These Ladies About The Streets. The American, In Keeping
Them Secluded On Board, Betrayed A Sense Of Shame, Almost Of Delicacy;
A Sense Of His Obligations Towards Society Which, So Far As It Went,
Was Rather A Laudable Trait Of Character Than Otherwise.
And Then--The Difference Between Himself And The Millionaire In Life,
Training, Antecedents! A Career Such As Van Koppen's Called For
Qualities Different, Often Actually Antagonistic, To His Own. You Could
Not Possibly Expect To Find In A Successful American Merchant Those
Features Which Go To Form A Successful English Ecclesiastic. Certain
Human Attributes Were Mutually Exclusive--Avarice And Generosity, For
Instance; Others No Doubt Mysteriously But Inextricably Intertwined. A
Man Was An Individual; He Could Not Be Divided Or Taken To Pieces; He
Could Not Be Expected To Possess Virtues Incompatible With The Rest Of
His Mental Equipment, However Desirable Such Virtues Might Be. Who
Knows? Van Koppen's Doubtful Acts Might Be An Unavoidable Expression Of
His Personality, An Integral Part Of That Nature Under Whose Ferocious
Stimulus He Had Climbed To His Present Enviable Position. And Mr. Heard
Was Both Shocked And Amused To Reflect That But For The Co-Operation Of
Certain Coarse Organic Impulses To Which These Nepenthe Legends
Testified, The Millionaire Might Never Have Been Able To Acquire The
Proud Title Of "Saviour Of His Country."
"That's Queer," He Mused. "It Never Struck Me Before. Shows How Careful
One Must Be. Dear Me! Perhaps The Ladies Have Inevitable Organic
Impulses Of A Corresponding Kind. Decidedly Queer. H'm. Ha. Now I
Wonder. . . . And Perhaps, If The Truth Were Known, These Young Persons
Are Having Quite A Good Time Of It--"
He Paused Abruptly In His Reflections. He Had Caught Himself In The
Act; In The Very Act Of Condoning Vice. Mr. Thomas Heard Was Seriously
Concerned.
Something Was Wrong, He Concluded. He Would Never Have Argued On
Similar Lines A Short Time Ago. This Downright Sympathy With Sinners,
What Did It Portend? Did It Betray A Lapse From His Old-Established
Principles, A Waning Of His Respect For Traditional Morality? Was He
Becoming A Sinner Himself?
Thomas--The Doubting Apostle. He Wondered Whether There Was Anything In
A Name.
Then He Called To Mind How He Had Approved--Yes, Almost Approved--Of Don
Francesco's Deplorable Act Of Familiarity Towards The Little Serving
Maid. An Absurdly Small Matter, But Symptomatic. Things Like That Had
Happened In Africa Lately. He Remembered Various Instances Where He Had
Intervened On Behalf Of The Natives, Despite The Murmured Protests Of
The Missionaries. They Were Such Laughing, Good-Natured Animals--So Fine
And Healthy! What Was It, This Excessive Love Of Erring Humanity, And
Whither Trending? Mr. Heard Began To Vex His Soul To Stray About In A
Maze Of Doubts. It Was So Miserably Complex, This Old, Old Problem Of
Right And Wrong; So Unreasonably Many-Sided. Anon, He Pulled Himself
Together With Characteristic Bluntness.
"The Whole Question," He Concluded, "Is Plain As A Pikestaff. Am I
Becoming More Of A Christian, Or Less?"
As Though To Learn An Answer To His Riddle He Gazed Fro He Eyrie Over
The Wide Horizon, Upon Leagues Of Sea Rising Upward To Blend Their
Essence, Under The Magic Touch Of Evening, With The Purple Dome
Overhead.
The Elements, As Is Their Wont Upon Such Occasions, Gave Forth No Clear
Reply.
None The Less, While The Moist South Wind, Shorn Of The Sting Of
Midday, Relaxed His Pores And Passed Over His Cheek Like A Warm Caress,
There Exhaled From Those Limitless Spaces A Sense Of Joyous
Amplitude--Of Freedom And Exhilaration.
Chapter 18
And Now, In The Sunlit Hour Of Dawn, He Was Bathing Again. An Excellent
Habit. It Did Him Good, This Physical Contact With Nature. Africa Had
Weakened His Constitution. Nepenthe Made Him Feel Younger Once
More--Capable Of Fun And Mischief. The Muscles Were Acquiring A Fresh
Tone, That Old Zest Of Life Was Coming Back To Him. His Health, Without
A Shadow Of Doubt, Had Greatly Improved.
While Disporting Himself In Amphibious Joy Among The Tepid Waves He
Seemed To Cast Off That Sense Of Unease Which Had Pursued Him Of Late.
It Was Good To Inhale The Harsh Salty Savour--To Submit Himself To These
Calming Voices--To Float, Like A Careless Leviathan, In The Blue
Immensity; Good To Be Alive, Simply Alive.
Another Hot And Clammy Day Was In Store For The Island. No Matter. This
Sirocco, Of Which Older Inhabitants Might Well Complain, Had So Far
Exerted No Baleful Influence Upon Him. Quite The Reverse. Under Its
Tender Moistening Touch His Frame, Desiccated In The Tropics, Seemed To
Open Out, Even As A Withered Flower Uncloses Its Petals In Water. In
Africa All This Thoughts And Energies Had Been Concentrated Upon A
Single Point. Here He Expanded. New Interests, New Sensations, Seemed
To Lie In Wait For Him. Never Had He Felt So Alert, So Responsive To
Spiritual Impressions, So Appreciative Of Natural Beauty.
Lying In Motionless Ecstasy On The Buoyant Element He Watched The Mists
Of Morning As They Soared Into The Air. Reluctantly, With Imperceptible
Movement, They Detached Themselves From Their Watery Home; They
Clambered Aloft In Spectral Companies, Drawn Skyward, As By Some
Beckoning Hand, Under The Stealthy Compulsion Of The Sun. They Crept
Against The Tawny Precipices, Clinging To Their Pinnacles Like Shreds
Of Pallid Gauze, And Nestling Demurely Among Dank Clefts Where
Something Of The Mystery Of Night Still Lingered. It Was A Procession
Of Dainty Shapes Wreathing Themselves Into Gracious Attitudes;
Mounting--Ever Mounting. As He Beheld Their Filmy Draperies That Swayed
Phantom-Like Among The Crags Overhead, He Understood Those Pagan Minds
Of Olden Days For Whom Such Wavering Exhalations Were None Other Than
Sea-Nymphs, Atlantides, Offspring Of Some Mild-Eyed God Of Ocean Rising
To Greet Their Playfellows, The Oreads, On The Hills.
The Wildest Stretch Of Nepenthe Coast-Line Lay Before Him. Its Profile
Suggested Not So Much The Operation Of Terrestrial Forces As A
Convulses And Calcined Lunar Landscape--The Handiwork Of Some Demon In
Delirium. Gazing Landwards, Nothing Met His Eye Save Jagged Precipices
Of Fearful Height, Tormented Rifts And Gulleys Scorched By Fires Of Old
Into Fantastic Shapes, And Descending Confusedly To Where The Water
Slept In Monster-Haunted Caverns.
Not A Sign Of Humanity Was Visible Save One White Villa, Far Away. It
Was Perched On A Promontory Of Heliotrope-Tinted Trachyte; Struck By
The Morning Beams It Flashed And Glowed Like A Jewel In The Sunshine.
He Knew The Place: Madame Steynlin's Abode. The Sight Of It Reminded
Him Of A Promise To Attend Her Picnic Next Week; All Nepenthe Would Be
Invited, After The Feast Of Saint Eulalia. And Hard By The Shore, At
Its Foot, He Discerned Certain Minute Scarlet Specks.
What Could They Be?
Why, Of Course! They Were Recognizable, Even At This Distance, As The
Blouses Of The Sacred Sixty-Three, Who Frequented This Somewhat Public
Spot For Bathing Purposes, Blandly Indifferent, Or Resigned, To The
Gaze Of Inquisitive Onlookers. Mr. Heard, Among Others, Had Witnessed
Their Aquatic Diversions.
The Messiah Was Hindered By Age And Growing Infirmities From Taking
Part In The Proceedings; Moreover, He Had Been Sickening Lately, It Was
Said, For Some New Revelation--A Revelation Of Which The Island Was To
Become Cognizant That Very Morning. But Others Of The Muscovite Band
Were Fond Of Congregating At This Spot And Hour For Their Lustral
Summer Rites--White-Skinned Lads And Lasses, Matrons And Reverent
Elders, All In A State Of Adamitic Nudity, Splashing About The Water Of
This Sunny Cover, Devouring Raw Fish And Crabs After The Manner Of The
Fabled Ichthyophagi, Laughing, Kissing, Saying Nice Things About God,
And Combing Out Each Other's Long Tow-Coloured Hair. Madame Steynlin, A
Spectator By Necessity If Not Deliberate Choice Of These Patriarchal
Frolics, Disdained To Controvert Certain Frivolous Folk Who Resorted To
The Same Beach To Gratify A Morbid Curiosity, Under The Pretext That It
Was A Delectable Entertainment And One Of The Sights Of Nepenthe. She
Disdained, Nowadays. It Had Not Ever Been Thus. Things Were Different
Before Peter The Great Came Upon The Scene. In Those Unregenerate Times
Her Lutheran Upbringing Condemned, In No Measured Terms, This Frank
Exhibition Of Animal Nature. A Warm Friendship With The Good-Looking
Apostle Had Now Opened Her Eyes To The Mystic Sense Of What Went On.
Earthly Love Had Given An Unearthly Tinge To Her Mind. The Veil Had
Fallen; She Saw Through External Appearances Into The Symbolic Beyond.
Deeply Penetrated Of Its Inner Meaning, She Would Say That The
Spectacle Called Up Visions Of The Age Of Innocence, When The World Was
Young. . . .
An Elegant Rowing-Boat Suddenly Swept Into Mr. Heard's Field Of Vision.
It Had Approached From Round The Entrance Of The Small Bay And Was
Already Within A Few Yards Ere He Caught Sight Of It. He Dived
Skilfully, And On Returning To The Surface Beheld Mr. Keith Smiling
Upon Him, With Owlish Benevolence, Through His Spectacles.
"How Pretty You Look," He Said. "Just Like A Mermaid That's Lost Its
Tail."
"You Flatter Me!"
"Not At All. Climb In And I'll Take You For A Row."
"Hadn't I Better Get Some Clothes On?"
"As You Please. We Can Take You Off That Boulder If You Want To Dress."
"You're Very Kind."
Kind Indeed. To Admit A Friend Into One Of His Yachts Or Rowing-Boats
Was An Act Of Rare Self-Sacrifice On The Part Of Mr. Keith, Who
Maintained That No Vessel, Not Even An Atlantic Liner, Was Large Enough
For More Than One Passenger.
"You Are Comfortable In Here," The Bishop Remarked, As He Presently
Stepped On Board And Looked Around Him. "Cleopatra's Barge Must Have
Been Something Like This."
"There Will Be No Breeze Worth
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