South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) - Norman Douglas (ebook e reader .TXT) 📗

Bluffs Of Feathery

Pumice,  The Lava Precipices--Frozen Cataracts Of White,  Black,  Blood

Red,  Pale Grey And Sombre Brown,  Smeared Over With A Vitreous Enamel Of

Obsidian Or Pierced By Oily,  Writhing Dykes That Blazed With Metallic

Scintillations. Anon Came Some Yawning Cleft Or An Assemblage Of Dizzy

Rock-Needles,  Fused Into Whimsical Tints And Attitudes,  Spiky,

Distorted,  Over-Toppling; Then A Bold Tufa Rampart,  Immaculate In Its

Beauty,  Stainless As A Curtain Of Silk. And As The Boat Moved On He

Looked Into Horrid Dells Which The Rains Had Torn Out Of The Loose

Scoriae. Gaping Wounds,  They Wore The Bright Hues Of Corruption. Their

Flanks Were Blotched With A Livid Nitrous Efflorescence,  With Flaring

Sulphur,  Unhealthy Verdure Of Pitchstone,  Streaks Of Arsenical

Vermilion; Their Beds--A Frantic Maze Of Boulders.

 

He Beheld This Crazy Stratification,  This Chaos Of Incandescent Nature,

Sent In A Flame Of Deep Blue Sky And Sea. It Lay There Calmly,  Like

Some Phantasmagoric Flower,  Some Monstrous Rose That Swoons Away,  With

Upturned Face,  In A Solar Caress.

 

He Saw It With The Eye. His Mind Was Elsewhere. He Was Trying,  In

Honest And Relentless Fashion,  To Discover Himself. What If His Human

Values Were Really Wrong?

 

Thomas,  The Doubting Apostle. . . .

 

Africa Had Made Him Think; Had Made Him More Silent And Reflective Than

Ever. And Now This Sudden Strange Stimulus Of Nepenthe--It Was Driving

His Thoughts Headlong,  Out Of Their Old Grooves.

 

Here Was Keith,  A Man Of Altogether Different Stamp,  Drawing

Conclusions Which He Dared Not Formulate For Himself. How Far Were They

Applicable,  Those Old Hebrew Precepts,  To Modern Conditions? Were They

Still Availing As Guides To Conduct?

 

"You Are A Candid Person,  Keith,  And I Think I Am. I Sincerely Try To

Be. Will You Tell Me What You Think? You Seem To Have A Quarrel With

Moses And His Commandments,  Which We Are Taught To Regard As The

Keystone Of Ethics. I Don't Want To Discuss Things. I Want To Listen To

The Opinions Of A Man So Different From Myself As You Are. It May Do Me

Good. And I Think I Could Stand Almost Anything," He Added,  With A

Laugh,  "In This Landscape--In This Clear Pagan Light,  As You Call It."

 

"I Used To Be Interested In Such Things As A Boy. I Suppose All

Respectable Boys Are; And I Was Respectable Even At That Tender Age.

Nowadays,  Though I Still Pick Up An Oriental Rug Now And Then,  I Have

No Further Use For Oriental Gods."

 

"What Is Your Objection To Them?"

 

Mr. Keith Paused Before Replying. Then He Said:

 

"The Drawback Of Oriental Gods Is That They Have Been Manufactures By

The Proletariat For The Use Of The Aristocracy. They Act Accordingly;

That Is,  They Distil The Morality Of Their Creators Which I Consider A

Noxious Emanation. The Classic Gods Were Different. They Were Invented

By Intellectualists Who Felt Themselves Capable Of Maintaining A Kind

Of Comradeship With Their Deities. Men And Gods Were Practically On A

Level. They Walked Hand In Hand Over The Earth. These Gods Belonged To

What One Might Call The Horizontal Or Downstairs Variety."

 

"And Those Others?"

 

"Oh,  They Are The Upstairs Or Vertical Type. They Live Overhead. Why

Overhead? Because They Have Been Created By The Proletariat. The

Proletariat Loves To Humiliate Itself. Therefore They Manufacture A God

Who Approves Of Grovelling,  A God Who Can Look Down Upon Them. They

Exalt This Deity To An Infinite Degree In Point Of Goodness And

Distance,  And In So Doing They Inevitably Abase Themselves. Now I

Disapprove Of Grovelling. That Means I Disapprove Of Upstairs Gods."

 

"Upstairs Gods--"

 

"If You Walk Into My Front Door As A Distinguished Visitor I Am Happy

To Show You The Place. You Can Prowl About The Garden,  Poke Your Nose

Into The Pantry And Learn,  If It Amuses You,  All About My Private Life.

But If You Rent A High Attic Overlooking My Premises And Stair Out Of

Your Window All Day Long,  Watching My Movements And Noting Down

Everything I Do,  Why,  Damn It,  I Call That Vulgar. Staring Is Bad Form.

Vertical Gods Are Inquisitive. I Don't Like To Be Supervised. I Don't

Care About This Dossier Business. My Garden Is For You And Me To Walk

About In,  Not For Outsiders To Stare Into. Which Reminds Me That You

Have Not Been To See Me Lately. You Ought To Come And Look At My

Cannas; You Really Ought! They Are In Magnificent Bloom Just Now. When

Shall It Be?"

 

Mr. Keith Seemed To Be Already Tired Of The Subject. In Fact He Was As

Near Being Bored As Ever He Allowed Himself To Be. But The Other

Refused To Let The Conversation Be Side-Tracked. He Wanted To Know.

 

"Vertical And Horizontal Gods. . . . Dear Me. Sounds Rather Profane."

 

"I Have Not Heard That Word For Quite A Long Time."

 

"You Don't Feel The Need Of Any Kind Of Superior Being To Control Human

Affairs?"

 

"Not Up To The Present. I Can Find No Room In My Cosmos For A Deity,

Save As A Waste Product Of Human Weakness,  An Excrement Of The

Imagination. If You Gave Me The Sauciest God That Ever Sat On A Cloud

Or Breakfasted With The Village Idiot--'Pon My Word,  I Shouldn't Know

What To Do With Him. I Don't Collect Bric-A-Brac Myself,  And The

British Museum Is Dreadfully Overstocked. Perhaps The Duchess Could

Make Some Use Of Him,  If He Specialized In Lace Vestments And Choral

Mass. By The Way,  I Hear That She Is Going To Be Admitted Into The

Roman Church Next Week; There Is To Be A Luncheon After The Ceremony.

Are You Going?"

 

"Vertical And Horizontal Gods. . . . I Never Heard That Distinction

Made Before."

 

"It Is A Difference,  My Dear Heard. Mankind Remains In Direct Contact

With The Downstairs Variety. That Simplifies Matters. But The Peculiar

Position Of Those Others--Perpendicularly Overhead At A Vast

Distance--Necessitates A Troublesome Code Of Verbal Signals,

Unintelligible To Common Folk,  For The Expression Of Mutual Desires.

You Cannot Have Any God Of This Kind Without Some Such Cumbrous

Contrivance To Bridge Over The Gulf And Make Communication Possible. It

Is Called Theology. It Complicates Life Very Considerably. Yes," He

Pursued,  "The Vertical-God System Is Not Only Vulgar; It Is Perplexing

And Expensive. Think Of The Wastage,  Of The Myriads Of People Who Have

Been Sacrificed Because They Misinterpreted Some Enigmatical Word In

The Code. Why Are You Intent On These Conundrums?"

 

"Well,  Partly At Least,  It's Quite A Practical Matter. You Know That

American Millionaire,  Van Koppen,  And The Scandal Attached To His

Peculiar Habits? It Made Me Wonder,  Only Yesterday--"

 

But At This Juncture The Tiresome Old Boatman Lifted Up His Voice Once

More.

 

"See That High Cliff,  Gentlemens? Funny Thing Happen There,  Very Funny.

Dam-Fool Foreigner Here,  He Collect Flowers. Always Collecting Flowers

On Bad Rocks; Sometimes With Rope Round Him,  For Fear Of Falling; With

Rope,  Ha,  Ha,  Ha! Nasty Man. And Poor. No Money At All. He Always Say,

'All Italians Liars,  And Liars Where Go? To Hell,  Sure. That's Where

Liars Go. That's Where Italians Go.' Now Rich Man He Say Liar To Poor

Man. But Poor Man,  He Better Not Say Liar To Rich Man. That So,

Gentlemens. One Day He Say Liar To Nice Old Italian. Nice Old Man

Think: 'Ah,  You Wait,  Putrid Puppy Of Bastard Pig,  You Wait.' Nice Old

Man Got Plenty Good Lot Vineyards Back Of Cliff There. One Day He Walk

To See Grapes. Then He Look To End Of Cliff And See Rope Hanging. Very

Funny,  He Think. Then He Look To End Of Rope And See Nasty-Man Hanging.

That So,  Gentlemens. Nasty-Man Hanging In Air. Can't Get Up. 'Pull Me

Up,' Says He. Nice Old Man,  He Laugh--Ha,  Ha,  Ha! Laugh Till His Belly

Hurt. Then He Pull Out Knife And Begin To Cut Rope. 'See Knife?' He

Shout Down. 'How Much To Pull Up?' Five Hundred Dollar! 'How Much?'

Five Thousand! 'How Much?' Fifty Thousand! Nice Old Man Say Quite

Quiet: 'You No Got Fifty Thousand In The World,  You Liar. Liars Where

Go? To Hell,  Sure. That's Where Liars Go. That's Where You Go,  Mister.

To Hell.' And He Cut Rope. Down He Go,  Patatrac! Round And Round In

Air,  Like Firework Wheel,  On To First Rock--Pa-Pa-Pa-Paff! Six Hundred

Feets. After That He Arrive,  All Messy,  In Water. That So,  Gentlemens.

Gone Where To? Swim To Philadelphia? I Don't Think! Him Drownded,  Sure.

Ha,  Ha,  Ha! Nice Old Man,  When He Come Home That Morning,  He Laugh. He

Laugh. He Just Laugh. He Laugh First Quiet,  Then Loud. He Laugh All The

Time,  And Soon Family Too. He Laugh For Ten Days,  Till He Nearly Die.

Got Well Again,  And Live Plenty Good Years After. In Paradise To-Day,

God Rest His Soul! And Never Found Out,  No Never. Fine Judge On

Nepenthe. Always Fine Judge Here. He Know Everything,  And He Know

Nothing. Understand? All Nice People Here. That So,  Gentlemens."

 

He Told The Tale With Satanic Gusto,  Rocking Himself To And Fro As

Though Convulsed With Some Secret Joy. Then,  After Expectorating

Violently,  He Resumed The Oars Which Had Been Dropped In The Heat Of

Gesticulation.

 

The Bishop Was Pensive. There Was Something Wrong With This

Story--Something Fundamentally Wrong. He Turned To Keith:

 

"That Man Must Be A Liar Too. If,  As He Says,  The Thing Was Never Found

Out,  How Can He Have Learnt All About It?"

 

"Hush,  My Dear Fellow. He Thinks I Don't Know,  But I Do. It Was His Own

Father To Whom The Adventure Occurred."

 

"The Adventure?" Said Mr. Heard.

 

"The Adventure. Surely You Are Not Going To Make A Tragedy Of It? If

You Cannot See The Joke Of That Story,  You Must Be Hard To Please. I

Nearly Died Of Laughing When I First Heard It."

 

"What Would You Have Done?"

 

"If I Had Been The Botanist? I Would Not Have Made Myself Disagreeable

To The Natives. Also,  I Would Not Have Got Myself Into A Tangle With

That Rope."

 

"You Think He Ought To Have Cut It?"

 

"What Else Could The Poor Fellow Do? It Strikes Me,  Heard,  You Attach

Some Inordinate Importance To Human Life."

 

"It's All Rather Complex," Sighed The Bishop.

 

"Now That Is Really Interesting!"

 

"Interesting?"

 

"Why Should You Find It Complex,  When I Find It Simple? Let Me See. Our

Lives Are Perfectly Insignificant,  Aren't They? We Know It For A Fact.

But We Don't Like It. We Don't Like Being Of No Account. We Want Some

Thing To Make Us Feel More Valuable Than We Are. Consequently We Invent

A Fiction To Explain Away That Insignificance--The Fiction Of A

Personality Overhead Everlastingly Occupied In Watching Every Single

One Of Us,  And Keenly Engrossed In Our Welfare. If This Were The Case,

We Would Cease To Be Insignificant,  And We Might Try To Oblige Him By

Not Killing Each Other. It Happens To Be A Fiction. Get Rid Of The

Fiction,  And Your Feeling Of Complexity Evaporates. I Perceive You Are

In An Introspective Mood. Worrying About Some Pastoral Epistle?"

 

"Worry About My Values,  As You Would Say. Up To The Present,  Keith,  I

Don't Seem To Have Had Time To Think; I Had To Act; There Was Always

Something Urgent To Be Taken In Hand. Now That I Am Really Lazy For The

First Time,  And In This Stimulating Environment,  Certain Problems Of

Life Keep Cropping Up. Minor Problems,  Of Course; For It Is A

Consolation To Know That The Foundations Of Good Conduct Are Immutable.

Our Sense Of Right And Wrong Is Firmly Implanted In Us. The Laws Of

Morality,  Difficult As They Often Are To Understand,  Have Been Written

Down For Our Guidance In Letters That Never Change."

 

"Never Change? You Might As Well Say,  My Dear Heard,  That These Cliffs

Never Change. The Proof That The Laws Of Good Conduct Change Is This,

That If You Were Upright After The Fashion Of Your Great-Grandfather

You Would Soon Find Yourself In The Clutches Of The Law For Branding A

Slave,  Or Putting A Bullet Through Someone In A Duel. I Grant That

Morality Changes Slowly. It Changes Slowly Because The Proletariat,

Whose Product It Is,  Does The Same. There Is Not Much Difference,  I

Imagine,  Between The Crowds Of Old Babylon And New Shoreditch; Hence

Their Peculiar Emanations Resemble Each Other More Or Less. That Is Why

Morality Compares So Unfavourably With Intellectuality,  Which Is The

Product Of The Upper Sections Of Society And Flashes Out New Lights

Every Moment. But Even Morality Changes. The Spartans,  A Highly Moral

People,  Thought It Positively Indecent Not To Steal. A Modern Vice,

Such As Mendacity,  Was Accounted A Virtue By The Greatest Nation Of

Antiquity. A Modern Virtue,  Like That Of Forgiving One's Enemies,  Was

Accounted A Vice Proper To Slaves. Drunkenness,  Reprobated By Ancients

And Moderns Alike,  Became The Mark Of A Gentlemen In Intermediate

Periods."

 

"I See What You Are Driving At. You Wish Me To Think That This

Fictitious Value,  As You Would Call It--This Halo Of Sanctity--With Which

We Now Invest