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

Right And Wrong. That Is Because We Have Painfully Cultivated

The Social Conscience. Posing,  And Playing To The Gallery! Mankind Is

Curiously Melodramatic,  My Dear Fellow; Full Of Affected Reverence For

Its Droll Little Institutions. As If Anybody Really Cared What Another

Person Does! As If Everybody Were Not Chuckling Inwardly All The Time!"

 

"Surely There Are Heights And Depths In The Matter Of Conduct?"

 

"I Don't Trouble About Heights And Depths. Does It Not All Depend Upon

Where We Take Up Our Stand? Must We Always Remain Stationary Like

Vegetables? A Bird Knows Nothing Of Heights And Depths. You Sit Here At

Night-Time And Look At The Stars. They Are Firm-Fixed,  You Say. Well,

They Are Not Firm-Fixed. Therefore It Is The Wrong Way To Look At Them.

I Have Also Written A Diary,  Heard. It Is My Legacy To Posterity And

Will Be Published After My Death. It Relates Of Actions Not All Of

Which Count Caloveglia Would Call Pretty. Perhaps It Will Give Some

People The Courage Of Their Unspoken Convictions."

 

The Bishop Suddenly Asked:

 

"If Somebody You Knew Had Committed A Crime,  What Would You Say?

Somebody You Really Respect--A Person Like Mrs. Meadows?"

 

"Your Cousin? I Should Say That Whatever Mrs. Meadows Does Is Well Done."

 

"You Would Approve?"

 

"Of Course I Would. People Like That Are Bound To Be In The Right."

 

"Really . . . ?"

 

The Fireworks Were Splendid; Altogether,  Saint Eulalia's Day Proved A

Tremendous Success. The Festal Joy Was Only Marred By The Unseemly

Behaviour Of Miss Wilberforce,  Who Profited By The Occasion To Let Off

Some Fireworks,  Or At Least Steam,  Of Her Own.

 

In Broad Daylight Too.

 

This Was Something New,  And Rather Ominous.

 

The Dear Lady Was Becoming Quite A Problem.

 

Chapter 38

 

 

 

 

 

Men Looked Down From The Market-Place That Afternoon And Beheld A

Gaily-Coloured Throng Moving About Madame Steynlin's Awkwardly Situated

Promontory. Her House And Its Wide Terrace Overhanging The Sea Were

Filled With Guests. The Entertainment Differed From The Receptions Of

The Duchess. It Was More Rustic And Unrestrained--More In The Nature Of

A Picnic. Everything Possible Had Been Done To Convert That Tongue Of

Land,  That Refractory Stretch Of Trachyte,  Into A Garden. Paths Were

Blasted Through The Rock; Those Few Scarred Olives,  The Aboriginals,

Had Been Supplanted By Whatever Flowers And Shade-Giving Trees Could Be

Induced,  With Assiduous Waterings,  To Strike Roots Into The Arid Soil.

It Was Still Rather A Transparent Place.

 

A Number Of New People Had Lately Arrived On Nepenthe In Favour Of Whom

The Hostess,  With The Frank Cordiality Of Her Nature,  Had Issued

Invitations Broadcast. There Was The Celebrated R. A. And His Dowdy

Wife; A Group Of American Politicians Who Were Supposed To Be Reporting

On Economic Questions And Spent The Government's Money In Carousing

About Europe; Madame Albert,  The Lady Doctor From Lyons Whose Unique

Combination Of Magic And Massage (A Family Secret) Had Brought The

Expiring Prince Of Philippopolis To Life Again; An Italian Senator With

His Two Pretty Daughters; A Bluff Hilarious Scotchman,  Mr. Jameson,

Who,  As A Matter Of Fact,  Had Done Seven Years For Forgery But Did Not

Like To Have It Brought Up Against Him; Some Sisters Of Charity; A

Grizzled Sea-Captain Who Was Making Discreet Enquiries About A Safe

Place For A Shipwreck,  Having Been Promised By The Owners Twenty Per

Cent Of His Vessel's Insurance Money; A Dilapidated Viscount And His

Soi-Distant Niece; Two Fluffy Danish Ladies Who Always Travelled

Together And Smiled At Everything,  Though The Younger One Smiled In

Such A Horrible Knowing Fashion That You Could Not Help Disliking Her;

Mrs. Roger Rumbold Who Addressed Meetings To Advocate Infanticide For

The Masses; Mr. Bernard Of The Entomological Society-Author Of The

Courtship Of Cockroaches; Another Young Man Of Pleasant Exterior Who

Was Held To Be An Architect Because His Brother Used To Be Employed In

A Well-Known Engineering Firm,  And Several More.

 

The Exclusive Mr. Eames Was Absent. He Sat At Home,  Thinking How

Narrowly He Had Escaped Imprisonment At The Hands Of Signor Malipizzo,

In Connection With Muhlen's Disappearance. The Closest Shave Of All His

Life! It Showed How Right Keith Had Been In Bidding Him Keep On The

Right Side Of The Law--On The Right Side Of The Judge--Rather Than Trust

To The Promptings Of A "Good Conscience." The Duchess Likewise Sent Her

Excuses. She Was So Troubled About The Pamphlet That Don Francesco

Hardly Dared To Leave Her Side. He,  Therefore,  Was Also Absent; So Was

The Bereaved Commissioner. Mrs. Meadows Had Driven Home Again Long Ago.

Van Koppen Intended To Sail In The Early Hours Of Next Morning. The

Bishop And Denis Were Likewise On The Verge Of Departure. A Break-Up

Was At Hand.

 

Mr. Keith Alone Refused To Budge. He Was Waiting For The First Cicada

Whose Strident Call Was Due,  He Declared,  In A Week's Time. Till Then

He Proposed To Remain On Nepenthe.

 

Fancy Waiting For An Insect," Said His Friend Van Koppen. "I Believe,

Keith,  You've Got A Sentimental Streak Somewhere."

 

"I Have Been Fighting Against It All My Life. A Man Ought To Dominate

His Reflexes. But If The Insect Keeps Good Time--Why Not?"

 

He Was In An Elegiac Mood,  Though He Meant To Drive Away His Cares

Later In The Evening By The "Falernian System." He Felt The Exodus In

The Air. Another Spring Drawing To Its Close--Everybody Scattering! He

Was Filled,  Too,  With That Peculiar Pensiveness Which Troubles Complex

People When They Have Done A Kindly Act. Virtue Had Gone Out Of Him.

 

He Had Wrought A Miracle.

 

The Moist Look In The Eye Of His Hostess Testified To The Miracle; So

Did Her Frock Which,  Being Of Pink Muslin,  Harmonized With The State Of

Her Mind But Not With Her Complexion. Peter The Great Had Escaped From

Prison. Not Only He,  But All The Others Were At Liberty Once More,

Including The Messiah Who,  After Some Attentions On The Part Of The

Communal Doctor,  Had Been Put To Bed Like A Little Child. The Rest Of

Them Filled Her Trim Walks With Their Gleeful Laughter And Bright

Raiment; They Devoured Abundant Wines And Food At Those Refreshment

Tables Which Groaned Under The Weight Of Good Things. One Could Trust

Madame Steynlin To Attend To The Commissariat Department. She Knew How

To Gladden The Human Heart. That Of Peter The Great Was Gladdened To

Such An Extent That He Soon Began To Perform A Russian Peasant Dance,  A

Pas Seul,  To The Delight Of The Assembled Guests. It Was A Cheery

Interlude With A Disastrous Ending,  For The Rough Terrace Being

Different From What He Expected,  He Stumbled And Fell Full Length Upon

The Ground. There He Lay,  Laughing,  Like A Young Giant Refreshed With

Wine.

 

"I Don't Know How You Have Done It,  Mr. Keith," She Said,  "And I Am Not

Going To Ask. But I Shall Never Forget This Kindness Of Yours."

 

"Would You Not Do The Same For Me? I Imagine,  Between Ourselves,  That

The Judge Has Been A Good Deal Flustered With This Trial And The

Intervention Of Don Giustino. Perhaps He Lost His Head. We Are All

Liable To That,  Are We Not? He Is A Nervous Man; But Quite A Good

Fellow If One Keeps On The Right Side Of Him. It Is So Easy To Keep On

The Right Side Of People. I Often Wonder,  Madame Steynlin,  Why Men Are

So Full Of Bitterness Towards Each Other. It Is One Of The Things I

Shall Never Live To Understand. And Another Is This Problem Of Music!

Will You Help Me To Grasp The Pleasure Which You Seem To Derive From

It? Helmholtz Does Not Bring Me Much Further. He Explains Why Certain

Sounds Are Necessarily Disagreeable--"

 

"Oh,  Mr. Keith! You Would Go To A Professor. I Fear You Are Not Very

Musical. Have You Never Felt Inclined To Cry?"

 

"I Have. But Not In A Concert-Room."

 

"Nor Yet In A Theatre?"

 

"Never," He Replied,  "Though It Saddens Me A Little To See Grown-Up Men

And Women Stalking About In Funny Dressing-Gowns And Pretending To Be

Kings And Queens. When I Watch Hamlet Or Othello,  I Say To Myself:

'This Stuff Is Nicely Riveted Together. But,  In The First Place,  The

Story Is Not True. And Secondly,  It Is No Affair Of Mine. Why Cry About

It?'"

 

"That Looks As If You Were Heartless And Unimaginative. And You So

Compassionate! I Do Not Understand You. I Do Not Understand Myself

Either. We Are Always Groping About In The Dark,  Are We Not? We Are

Always Puzzling About Our Own Problems Instead Of Helping Other People

With Theirs. Perhaps One Should Not Think So Much Of Oneself,  Though It

Is An Interesting Subject. Tell Me,  If Music Says Nothing To You,  Why

Not Leave It Alone?"

 

"Because I Want To Be Able To Extract Pleasure From It,  As You Do. That

Is What Makes Me Curious. I Like To Understand Things,  Because Then I

Can Begin To Enjoy Them. I Think Knowledge Should Intensify Our

Pleasures. That Is Its Aim And Object,  So Far As I Am Concerned. What

Are Other Joys--Those Of The Illiterate And Incurious? A Dog Scratching

His Fleas In The Sunshine. They Too Are Not Wholly To Be Despised--"

 

"What A Dreadful Simile!"

 

"A Precise One."

 

"You Like To Be Precise?"

 

"It Is My Mother's Fault. She Brought Me Up So Carefully."

 

"I Think That Is A Pity,  Mr. Keith. If I Had Children I Would Let Them

Run Wild. People Are Too Tame Nowadays. That Is Why So Few Of Them Have

Any Charm. These Poor Russians--No One Tries To Understand Them. Why Is

Everybody So Much Alike? Because We Never Follow Our Feelings. And Yet,

What Is A Surer Guide Than The Heart? We Seem To Live In A World Of

Echoes."

 

"A World Of Masks,  Madame Steynlin. It Is The Only Theatre Worth

Looking At. . . ."

 

The Lady Was Too Happy To Consider How The Miracle Had Been Wrought,

Though She Suspected Dirty Work At The Bottom Of It. She Never

Discovered How Simple Had Been The Method Of Mr. Keith Who Had Merely

Given His Worship To Understand That He Had Done Enough Bribing For One

Season And That,  Unless Krasnojabkin Were Promptly Released,  There

Would Be No Bribing Whatever Next Year. The Judge,  With His Usual Legal

Acumen,  Perceived The Cogency Of His Friend's Argument. He Met Mr.

Keith's Wishes More Than Half-Way. On An Impulse Of Downright

Good-Nature--There Was No Other Interpretation To Be Put On It--He

Released All The Russians,  Including The Messiah. They Were

Excarcerated Then And There On A Decree Of "Provisional Liberty," Which

Looked Well In The Records Of The Court And,  Being Interpreted,

Signified Immunity From Further Judicial Molestation. The Incident Was

Closed.

 

People Talked About It None The Less. They Discussed Don Giustino,  His

Past Career And Present Prosperity. As For Mr. Muhlen--He Was Already

Almost Forgotten. So Was The Commissioner's Lady. Madame Steynlin Alone

Brought Herself To Say A Few Kind Words About Both Of Them. She Was

Ready To Say Kind Things About Anyone. The Magic Of Love! Her Heart,

Under The Influence Of Peter,  Had Opened So Wide As To Embrace Not Only

The Russian Colony,  But Even The Nine Thousand Families Of Chinese

Cultivators Who,  According To A Paragraph In The Morning's Newspaper,

Had Perished In A Sudden Inundation Of The Hoang-Ho.

 

The Poor People! She Said. She Did Not See Why One Should Not

Sympathize With The Griefs Of A Chinaman. Humble Honest Folks,  Without

A Doubt--Swept Off The Face Of The Earth,  Through No Fault Of Their Own,

By A Cataclysm! There Was Quite A Discussion About It On Her Terrace

That Afternoon.

 

Mr. Heard,  Feeling Also Very Charitable,  Found Himself Taking Her Part

Against Someone Who Said It Was Impossible To Sympathize With The

Troubles Of A Yellow Man--They Were Too Different,  Too Remote From

Ourselves. He Thought That Much Individual Hardship Had Been Suffered,

Undeserved,  Unchronicled; Homes Destroyed,  Children Drowned Before The

Eyes Of Their Parents. And Nobody Seemed To Care.