Mike Fletcher - George Moore (best books to read now TXT) 📗

'Were He Alive To-Day We Might Love Him.'"

 

 

 

 

   The Ballade Of Don Juan Dead

 

  My Days For Singing And Loving Are Over,

    And Stark I Lie In My Narrow Bed,

  I Care Not At All If Roses Cover,

    Or If Above Me The Snow Is Spread;

Chapter 2 Pg 7

I Am Weary Of Dreaming Of My Sweet Dead,

  All Gone Like Me Unto Common Clay.

  Life's Bowers Are Full Of Love's Fair Fray,

    Of Piercing Kisses And Subtle Snares;

  So Gallants Are Conquered,  Ah,  Well Away!--

    My Love Was Stronger And Fiercer Than Theirs.

 

  O Happy Moths That Now Flit And Hover

    From The Blossom Of White To The Blossom Of Red,

  Take Heed,  For I Was A Lordly Lover

    Till The Little Day Of My Life Had Sped;

    As Straight As A Pine-Tree,  A Golden Head,

  And Eyes As Blue As An Austral Bay.

  Ladies,  When Loosing Your Evening Array,

    Reflect,  Had You Lived In My Years,  My Prayers

  Might Have Won You From Weakly Lovers Away--

    My Love Was Stronger And Fiercer Than Theirs.

 

  Through The Song Of The Thrush And The Pipe Of The Plover

    Sweet Voices Come Down Through The Binding Lead;

  O Queens That Every Age Must Discover

    For Men,  That Man's Delight May Be Fed;

    Oh,  Sister Queens To The Queens I Wed.

  For The Space Of A Year,  A Month,  A Day,

  No Thirst But Mine Could Your Thirst Allay;

    And Oh,  For An Hour Of Life,  My Dears,

  To Kiss You,  To Laugh At Your Lovers' Dismay--

    My Love Was Stronger And Fiercer Than Theirs.

 

 

 

 

    Envoi

  Prince Was I Ever Of Festival Gay,

  And Time Never Silvered My Locks With Gray;

    The Love Of Your Lovers Is As Hope That Despairs,

  So Think Of Me Sometimes,  Dear Ladies,  I Pray--

    My Love Was Stronger And Fiercer Than Theirs.

 

 

 

 

"It Is Like All Your Poetry--Merely Meretricious Glitter; There Is No

Heart In It. That A Man Should Like To Have A Nice Mistress,  A Girl

He Is Really Fond Of,  Is Simple Enough,  But Lamentation Over The

Limbo Of Unborn Loveliness Is,  To My Mind,  Sheer Nonsense."

 

Mike Laughed.

 

"Of Course It Is Silly,  But I Cannot Alter It; It Is The Sex And Not

Any Individual Woman That Attracts Me. I Enter A Ball-Room And I See

One,  One Whom I Have Never Seen Before,  And I Say,  'It Is She Whom I

Have Sought,  I Can Love Her.' I Am Always Disappointed,  But Hope Is

Born Again In Every Fresh Face. Women Are So Common When They Have

Loved You."

 

Startled By His Words,  Mike Strove To Measure The Thought.

 

"I Can See Nothing Interesting In The Fact That It Is Natural To You

To Behave Badly To Every Woman Who Gives You A Chance Of Deceiving

Her. That's What It Amounts To. At The End Of A Week You'll Tire Of

This New Girl As You Did Of The Others. I Think It A Great Shame. It

Isn't Gentlemanly."

 

Mike Winced At The Word "Gentlemanly." For A Moment He Thought Of

Resentment,  But His Natural Amiability Predominated,  And He Said--

 

"I Hope Not. I Really Do Think I Can Love This One; She Isn't Like

The Others. Besides,  I Shall Be Much Happier. There Is,  I Know,  A

Great Sweetness In Constancy. I Long For This Sweetness." Seeing By

Frank's Face That He Was Still Angry,  He Pursued His Thoughts In The

Chapter 2 Pg 8

Line Which He Fancied Would Be Most Agreeable; He Did So Without

Violence To His Feelings. It Was As Natural To Him To Think One Way

As Another. Mike's Sycophancy Was So Innate That It Did Not Appear,

And Was Therefore Almost Invariably Successful. "I Have Been The

Lover Of Scores Of Women,  But I Never Loved One. I Have Always Hoped

To Love; It Is Love That I Seek. I Find Love-Tokens And I Do Not Know

Who Were The Givers. I Have Possessed Nothing But The Flesh,  And I

Have Always Looked Beyond The Flesh. I Never Sought A Woman For Her

Beauty. I Dreamed Of A Companion,  One Who Would Share Each Thought;

I Have Dreamed Of A Woman To Whom I Could Bring My Poetry,  Who Could

Comprehend All Sorrows,  And With Whom I Might Deplore The Sadness Of

Life Until We Forget It Was Sad,  And I Have Been Given Some More Or

Less Imperfect Flesh."

 

"I," Said Frank,  "Don't Care A Rap For Your Blue-Stockings. I Like A

Girl To Look Pretty And Sweet In A Muslin Dress,  Her Hair With The

Sun On It Slipping Over Her Shoulders,  A Large Hat Throwing A Shadow

Over The Garden Of Her Face. I Like Her To Come And Sit On My Knee In

The Twilight Before Dinner,  To Come Behind Me When I Am Working And

Put Her Hand On My Forehead,  Saying,  'Poor Old Man,  You Are Tired!'"

 

"And You Could Love One Girl All Your Life--Lizzie Baker,  For

Instance; And You Could Give Up All Women For One,  And Never Wander

Again Free To Gather?"

 

"It Is Always The Same Thing."

 

"No,  That Is Just What It Is Not. The Last One Was Thin,  This One

Is Fat; The Last One Was Tall,  This One Is Tiny. The Last One Was

Stupid,  This One Is Witty. Some Men Seek The Source Of The Nile,  I

The Lace Of A Bodice. A New Love Is A Voyage Of Discovery. What Is

Her Furniture Like? What Will She Say? What Are Her Opinions Of Love?

But When You Have Been A Woman's Lover A Month You Know Her Morally

And Physically. Society Is Based On The Family. The Family Alone

Survives,  It Floats Like An Ark Over Every Raging Flood. But You

May Understand Without Being Able To Accept,  And I Cannot Accept,

Although I Understand And Love Family Life. What Promiscuity Of Body

And Mind! The Idea Of Never Being Alone Fills Me With Horror To Lose

That Secret Self,  Which,  Like A Shy Bird,  Flies Out Of Sight In The

Day,  But Is With You,  Oh,  How Intensely In The Morning!"

 

"Nothing Pleases You So Much As To Be Allowed To Talk Nonsense About

Yourself."

 

Mike Laughed.

 

"Let Me Have Those Opera-Glasses. That Woman Sitting On The Bench Is

Like Her."

 

The Trees Of The Embankment Waved Along The Laughing Water,  And In

Scores The Sparrows Flitted Across The Sleek Green Sward. The Porter

In His Bright Uniform,  Cocked Hat,  And Brass Buttons,  Explained The

Way Out To A Woman. Her Child Wore A Red Sash And Stooped To Play

With A Cat That Came Along The Railings,  Its Tail High In The Air.

 

"They Know Nothing Of Lily Young," Mike Said To Himself; And Knowing

The Porter Could Not Interfere,  He Wondered What He Would Think If He

Knew All. "If She Comes Nothing Can Save Her,  She Must And Shall Be

Mine."

 

Waterloo Bridge Stood High Above The River,  Level And Lovely. Over

Charing Cross The Brightness Was Full Of Spires And Pinnacles,  But

Southwark Shore Was Lost In Flat Dimness. Then The Sun Glowed And

Westminster Ascended Tall And Romantic,  St. Thomas's And St. John's

Floating In Pale Enchantment,  And Beneath The Haze That Heaved And

Drifted,  Revealing Coal-Barges Moored By The Southwark Shore,  Lay A

Sheet Of Gold. The Candour Of The Morning Laughed Upon The River;

And There Came A Little Steamer Into The Dazzling Water,  Her Smoke

Heeling Over,  Coiling And Uncoiling Like A Snake,  And Casting

Tremendous Shadow--In Her Train A Line Of Boats Laden To The Edge

With Deal Planks. Then The Haze Heaved And London Disappeared,  Became

Chapter 2 Pg 9

Again A Gray City,  Faint And Far Away--Faint As Spires Seem In A

Dream. Again And Again The Haze Wreathed And Went Out,  Discovering

Wharfs And Gold Inscriptions,  Uncovering Barges Aground Upon The

Purple Slime Of The Southwark Shore,  Their Yellow Yards Pointing Like

Birds With Outstretched Necks.

 

The Smoke Of The Little Steamer Curled And Rolled Over,  Now Like A

Great Snake,  Now Like A Great Bird Hovering With A Snake In Its

Talons; And The Little Steamer Made Pluckily For Blackfriars. Carts

And Hansoms,  Vans And Brewers' Vans,  All Silhouetting. Trains Slip

Past,  Obliterating With White Whiffs The Delicate Distances,  The

Perplexing Distances That In London Are Delicate And Perplexing As

A Spider's Web. Great Hay-Boats Yellow In The Sun,  Brown In The

Shadow--Great Hay-Boats Came By,  Their Sails Scarce Filled With The

Light Breeze; Standing High,  They Sailed Slowly And Picturesquely,

With Men Thrown In All Attitudes; Somnolent In Sunshine And Pungent

Odour--One Only At Work,  Wielding The Great Rudder.

 

"Ah! If She Would Not Disappoint Me; If She Would Only Come; I Would

Give My Life Not To Be Disappointed.... Three O'clock! She Said She

Would Be Here By Three,  If She Came At All. I Think I Could Love

Her--I Am Sure Of It; It Would Be Impossible To Weary Of Her--So

Frail--A White Blonde. She Said She Would Come,  I Know She Wanted

To.... This Waiting Is Agony! Oh,  If I Were Only Good-Looking!

Whatever Power I Have Over Women I Have Acquired; It Was The Desire

To Please Women That Gave Me Whatever Power I Possess; I Was As Soft

As Wax,  And In The Fingers Of Desire Was Modified And Moulded. You

Did Not Know Me When I Was A Boy--I Was Hideous. It Seemed To Me

Impossible That Women Could Love Men. Women Seemed To Me So Beautiful

And Desirable,  Men So Hideous And Revolting. Could They Touch Us

Without A Revulsion Of Feeling? Could They Really Desire Us? That

Is Why I Could Not Bear To Give Women Money,  Nor A Present Of Any

Kind--No,  Not Even A Flower. If I Did All My Pleasure Was Gone;

I Could Not Help Thinking It Was For What They Got Out Of Me That

They Liked Me. I Longed To Penetrate The Mystery Of Women's Life.

It Seemed To Me Cruel That The Differences Between The Sexes Should

Never Be Allowed To Dwindle,  But Should Be Strictly Maintained

Through All The Observances Of Life. There Were Beautiful Beings

Walking By Us Of Whom We Knew Nothing--Irreparably Separated From

Us. I Wanted To Be With This Sex As A Shadow Is With Its Object."

 

"You Didn't Find Many Opportunities Of Gratifying Your Tastes In

Cashel?"

 

"No,  Indeed! Of Course The Women About The Town Were Not To Be

Thought Of." Unpleasant Memories Seemed To