Mike Fletcher - George Moore (best books to read now TXT) 📗
- Author: George Moore
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Mike, And Mike Felt That If He Had The Money On, And With Longley For
A Partner, He Could Play As He Had Never Played Before; And Ignoring
A Young Man Whom He Might Have Rooked At Écarté, And Avoiding A Rich
Old Gentleman Who Loved His Game Of Piquet, And On Whom Mike Was Used
To Rely In The Old Days For His Sunday Dinner (He Used To Say The Old
Gentleman Gave The Best Dinners In London; They Always Ran Into A
Tenner), He Sat Down At The Whist-Table. His Partner Played
Wretchedly, And Though He Had Longley And Lovegrove Against Him, He
Could Not Refrain From Betting Ten Pounds On Every Rubber. He Played
Till The Club Closed, He Played Till He Had Reduced His Balance At
The Bank To Nineteen Pounds.
Haunted By The Five Of Clubs, Which On One Occasion He Should Have
Played And Did Not, He Walked Till He Came To The Haymarket. Then He
Stopped. What Could He Do? All The Life Of Idleness And Luxury Which
He Had So Long Enjoyed Faded Like A Dream, And The Spectre Of Cheap
Lodgings And Daily Journalism Rose Painfully Distinct. He Pitied The
Street-Sweepers, And Wondered If It Were Possible For Him To Slip
Down Into The Gutter. "When I Have Paid My Hotel Bill, I Shan't Have
A Tenner." He Thought Of Mrs. Byril, But The Idea Did Not Please Him,
And He Remembered Frank Had Told Him He Had A Cottage On The River.
He Would Go There. He Might Put Up For A Night Or Two At Hall's.
"I Will Start A Series Of Articles To-Morrow. What Shall It Be?" An
Unfortunate Still Stood At The Corner Of The Street. "'Letters To A
Light O' Love!' Frank Must Advance Me Something Upon Them.... Those
Stupid Women! If They Were Not So Witless They Could Rise To Any
Height. If I Had Only Been A Woman! ... If I Had Been A Woman I Should
Have Liked To Have Been Ninon De Lanclos."
Chapter 7 Pg 72
When Mike Had Paid His Hotel Bill, Very Few Pounds Were Left For The
Card-Room, And Judging It Was Not An Hour In Which He Might Tempt
Fortune, He "Rooked" A Young Man Remorselessly. Having Thus
Replenished His Pockets He Turned To The Whist-Table For Amusement.
Luck Was Against Him; He Played, Defying Luck, And Left The Club
Owing Eighty Pounds, Five Of Which He Had Borrowed From Longley.
Next Morning As He Dozed, He Wondered If, Had He Played The Ten Of
Diamonds Instead Of The Seven Of Clubs, It Would Have Materially
Altered His Fortune; And From Cards His Thoughts Wandered, Till They
Took Root In The Articles He Was To Write For The _Pilgrim_. He Was
In Hall's Spare Bed-Room--A Large, Square Room, Empty Of All
Furniture Except A Camp Bedstead. His Portmanteau Lay Wide Open In
The Middle Of The Floor, And A Gaunt Fireplace Yawned Amid Some
Yellow Marbles.
"'Darling, Like A Rose You Hold The Whole World Between Your Lips,
And You Shed Its Leaves In Little Kisses.' That Will Do For The
Opening Sentences." Then As Words Slipped From Him He Considered The
Component Parts Of His Subject.
"The First Letter Is Of Course Introductory, And I Must Establish
Certain Facts, Truths Which Have Become Distorted And Falsified, Or
Lost Sight Of. Addressing An Ideal Courtesan, I Shall Say, 'You Must
Understand That The Opening Sentence Of This Letter Does Not Include
Any Part Of The Old Reproach Which Has Been Levelled Against You
Since Man Began To Love You, And That Was When He Ceased To Be An Ape
And Became Man.
"'If You Were Ever Sphinx-Like And Bloodthirsty, Which I Very Much
Doubt, You Have Changed Flesh And Skin, Even The Marrow Of Your
Chapter 7 Pg 73Bones. In These Modern Days You Are A Kind-Hearted Little Woman Who,
To Pursue An Ancient Metaphor, Sheds The World Rosewise In Little
Kisses; But If You Did Not So Shed It, The World Would Shed Itself In
Tears. Your Smiles And Laughter Are The Last Lights That Play Around
The White Hairs Of An Aged Duke; Your Winsome Tendernesses Are The
Dreams Of A Young Man Who Writes "Pars" About You On Friday, And
Dines With You On Sunday; You Are An Ideal In Many Lives Which
Without You Would Certainly Be Ideal-Less.' Deuced Good That; I
Wish I Had A Pencil To Make A Note; But I Shall Remember It. Then
Will Come My Historical Paragraph. I Shall Show That It Is Only
By Confounding Courtesans With Queens, And Love With Ambition,
That Any Sort Of Case Can Be Made Out Against The Former. Third
Paragraph--'Courtesans Are A Factor In The Great Problem Of The
Circulation Of Wealth, Etc.' It Will Be Said That The Money Thus
Spent Is Unproductive.... So Much The Better! For If It Were Given To
The Poor It Would Merely Enable Them To Bring More Children Into The
World, Thereby Increasing Immensely The General Misery Of The Race.
Schopenhauer Will Not Be Left Out In The Cold After All. Quote
Lecky,--'The Courtesan Is The Guardian Angel Of Our Hearths And
Homes, The Protector Of Our Wives And Sisters.'"
"Will You Have A Bath This Morning, Sir?" Cried The Laundress,
Through The Door.
"Yes, And Get Me A Chop For Breakfast."
"I Shall Tell Her (The Courtesan, Not The Laundress) How She May
Organize The Various Forces Latent In Her And Culminate In A Power
Which Shall Contain In Essence The United Responsibilities Of Church,
Music-Hall, And Picture Gallery." Mike Turned Over On His Back And
Roared With Laughter. "Frank Will Be Delighted. It Will Make The
Fortune Of The Paper. Then I Shall Attack My Subject In Detail.
Dress, House, Education, Friends, Female And Male. Then The
Money Question. She Must Make A Provision For The Future.
Charming Chapter There Is To Be Written On The Old Age Of The
Courtesan--Charities--Ostentatious Charities--Charitable Bazaars,
Reception Into The Roman Catholic Faith."
"Shall I Bring In Your Hot Water, Sir?" Screamed The Laundress.
"Yes, Yes.... Shall My Courtesan Go On The Stage? No, She Shall Be A
Pure Courtesan, She Shall Remain Unsullied Of Any Labour. She Might
Appear Once On The Boards;--No, No, She Must Remain A Pure Courtesan.
Charming Subject! It Will Make A Book. Charming Opportunity For Wit,
Satire, Fancy. I Shall Write The Introductory Letter After
Breakfast."
Frank Was In Shoaling Water, And Could Not Pay His Contributors; But
Mike Could Get Blood Out Of A Turnip, And Frank Advanced Him Ten
Pounds On The Proposed Articles. Frank Counted On These Articles To
Whip Up The Circulation, And Mike Promised To Let Him Have Four
Within The Week, And Left The Cottage At Henley, Where Frank Was
Living, Full Of Dreams Of Work. And Every Morning Before He Got Out
Of Bed He Considered And Reconsidered His Subject, Finding Always
More Than One Idea, And Many A Witty Fancy; And Every Day After
Breakfast The Work Undone Hung Like A Sword Between Hall And Him As
They Sat Talking Of Their Friends, Of Art, Of Women, Of Things That
Did Not Interest Them. They Hung Around Each Other, Loth Yet Desirous
To Part; They Followed Each Other Through The Three Rooms, Buttoning
Their Braces And Shirt-Collars. And When Conversation Had Worn Itself
Out, Mike Accepted Any Pretext To Postpone The Day's Work. He Had To
Fetch Ink Or Cigarettes.
But He Was Always Detained, If Not By Friends, By The Beauty Of The
Gardens Or The River. Never Did The Old Dining-Hall And The
Staircases, Balustraded--On Whose Gray Stone A Leaf, The First Of
Many, Rustles--Seem More Intense And Pregnant With That Mystic
Mournfulness Which Is The Thames, And Which Is London. The Dull
Sphinx-Like Water Rolling Through Multitude Of Bricks, Seemed To Mark
On This Wistful Autumn Day A More Melancholy Enchantment, And Looking
Out On The Great Waste Of Brick Delicately Blended With Smoke And
Chapter 7 Pg 74Mist, And Seeing The Hay-Boats Sailing Picturesquely, And The Tugs
Making For Blackfriars, Long Lines Of Coal-Barges In Their Wake,
Laden So Deep That The Water Slopped Over The Gunwales, He Thought Of
The Spring Morning When He Had Waited There For Lily. How She
Persisted In His Mind! Why Had He Not Asked Her To Marry Him Instead
Of Striving To Make Her His Mistress? She Was Too Sweet To Be Cast
Off Like The Others; She Would Have Accepted Him If He Had Asked Her.
He Had Sacrificed Marriage For Self, And What Had Self Given Him?
Mike Was Surprised At These Thoughts, And Pleased, For They Proved A
Certain Residue Of Goodness In Him; At All Events, Called Into His
Consideration A Side Of His Nature Which He Was Not Wearisomely
Familiar With. Then He Dismissed These Thoughts As He Might Have The
Letter Of A Determined Creditor. He Could Still Bid Them Go. And
Having Easily Rid Himself Of Them, He Noticed The Porters In Their
White Aprons, And The Flight Of Pigeons, The Sacred Birds Of The
Temple, Coming Down From The Roofs. And He Loved Now More Than Ever
Fleet Street, And The Various Offices Where He Might Idle, And The
Various Luncheon-Bars To Which He Might Adjourn With One Of The
Staff, Perhaps With The Editor Of One Of The Newspapers. The October
Sunlight Was Warm And Soft, Greeted His Face Agreeably As He Lounged,
Stopping Before Every Shop In Which There Were Books Or Prints.
Ludgate Circus Was Always A Favourite With Him, Partly Because He
Loved St. Paul's, Partly Because Women Assembled There; And Now In
The Mist, Delicate And Pure, Rose Above The Town The Lovely Dome.
"None But The Barbarians Of The Thames," Thought Mike, "None Other
Would Have Allowed That Most Shameful Bridge."
Mike Hated Simpson's. He Could Not Abide The Stolid City Folk, Who
Devour There Five And Twenty Saddles Of Mutton In An Evening. He
Liked Better The Cock Tavern, Quiet, Snug, And Intimate. Wedged With
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