Part 11 (1/2)
At my nod he pushed a low rocker closer to the fire and placed a foot-stool properly. Drawing up the wing-chair he sat down and looked around the room. As the light fell on him I noticed the olive, almost swarthy, coloring of his skin, his deep-sunk eyes with their changing expressions of gravity and humor, of tolerance and intolerance, and I knew he was the sort of man one could talk to on any subject and not be misunderstood. His hair was slightly gray, and frequently his well-shaped hand would brush back a long lock that fell across his temple. His clothes were not of a clerical cut, and evidently had seen good service; and that he gave little attention to personal details was evidenced by his cravat, which was midway of his collar, and his collar of a loose, ill-fitting kind.
About him was something intensely earnest, intensely eager and alert, and, watching him, I realized he belonged to that little group which through the ages has dared to differ with accepted order; and for his daring he had suffered, as all must suffer who feel as well as think.
”You don't mind,” the smile on his face was whimsical, ”if I take a good draught of this, do you? It's been long since I've seen just this sort of thing.” His eyes were on a picture between two windows. ”Out of Denmark one rarely sees anything of Skovgaard's.
That Filipinno Lippi is excellent, also. At the Hermitage in St.
Petersburg I tried to get a copy like that”--he nodded at Rembrandt's picture of himself--”but there was none to be had. Did you get yours there?”
”Four years ago. I also got that photograph of Houdon's Voltaire there.”
He looked in the direction to which I pointed, and, getting up, went over to first one picture and then another, and studied them closely. A bit of bronze, a statuette or two, an altar-piece, a chalice, a flagon, a paten, a censer, and an ikon held his attention, one after the other, and again he turned to me.
”These are very interesting. Is it as one of the faithful you collect?” A smile which strangely lighted his face swept over it.
”Oh no!” I shook my head. ”The faithful would find me a most disturbing person. I ask too many questions.” My hand made movement in the direction of the bookshelves around the four sides of the room, on the tops of which were oddly a.s.sorted little remembrances of days of travel. ”A study of such things is a study of religious expression at different periods and among different peoples. They've always interested me.”
”They interest me, also.” Mr. Guard stood before the ikon, looked long upon it before coming back to the fire and again sitting down.
For a moment he gazed into it as if forgetting where he was, then he leaned back in his chair and turned to me.
”A collection of examples of ecclesiastical art, of religious ideas embodied in objects used for purposes of wors.h.i.+p, is interesting--yes--but a collection of re-actions against what they fail to represent would be more so, could they be collected.”
”They have been--haven't they? In the lives of those who dare to differ, to break from heritage and tradition, much has been collected and transmitted. The effect of re-actions is what counts, I suppose.”
”Their inevitability is what people do not seem to understand.”
Leaning forward, he again looked into the fire, his hands between his knees. ”The teachings of Christ having been twisted into a system of theology, and the Church into an organization based on dogma and doctrine, re-action is unescapable. However, we won't get on that.” Again he straightened. ”Was it re-action that brought you to Scarborough Square? I beg your pardon! I have no right to ask. There was something you wished to ask me, I believe.”
For a moment there was silence, broken only by the flames of the fire, which spluttered and flared and made soft, whispering sounds, while on the window-panes the snow, now turning into sleet, tapped as if with tiny fingers, and my heart began to beat queerly.
I did not know how to ask him what I wanted to ask. There was much he could tell me, much I wished to hear from a man's standpoint, but how to make him understand was difficult. He had faced life frankly, knew what was subterfuge, what sincere, and the restrictions of custom and convention no longer handicapped him.
Between sympathy and sentimentality he had found the right distinction, and his judgment and emotions had learned to work together. My judgment and emotions were yet untrained.
”The girl down-stairs,” I began. ”You and Mrs. Mundy seem to know her. If she belongs, as I imagine, to the world down there,” my hand made motion behind me, ”Mrs. Mundy will think I can do nothing. But cannot somebody do something? Must things always go on the same way?”
”No. They will not always go on the same way. They will continue so to go, however, until women--good women--understand they must chiefly bring about the change. For centuries women have been cowards, been ignorant of what they should know, been silent when they should speak. They prefer to be--”
”White roses! But white roses do not necessarily live in hot-houses.” I pushed my chair farther from the fire. ”That is one of the reasons I am here. I want to know where women fail.”
He looked up. ”One does not often find a woman willing to know.
Behind the confusion of such terms as ignorance and innocence most women continue their irresponsibility in certain directions. They have accepted man's decree that certain evils, having always existed, must always exist, and they have made little effort to test the truth of the a.s.sertion. Lillie Pierce and the women of her world are largely the product of the att.i.tude of good women toward them. To the sin of men good women shut their eyes, pretend they do not know. They do not want to know.”
”They not only do not want to know, themselves--that is, many of them--but they would keep others from knowing. Perhaps it is natural. So many things have happened to life in the past few years that even clever, able women are still bewildered, still uncertain what is right to do. Life can never be again what it once was, and still, most of us are trying to live a new thing in an old way. We have so long been purposely kept ignorant, so long not permitted to have opinions that count, so long been told our work is elsewhere, that cowardice and indifference, the fear of inability to deal with new conditions, new obligations, new responsibilities, still holds us back. I get impatient, indignant, and then I realize--”
David Guard laughed. ”That many are still in the child cla.s.s?”
His head tossed back the long lock of hair that fell over his forehead. ”It is true, but certainly you do not think because I see the backwardness, the blindness of some women, I do not see the forwardness, the vision of others? Men have hardly guessed as yet that it is chiefly due to women that the world is now asking questions it has never asked before, beginning to look life in the face where once it blinked at it. Because of what women have suggested, urged, insisted on, and worked for, the social conscience all over the earth has been aroused, social legislation enacted, and social dreams stand chance of coming true. Certain fields they have barely entered yet, however. It is easy to understand why. When they realize what is required of them, they will not hold back. But as yet, among the women you know, how many give a thought to Lillie Pierce's world, to the causes and conditions which make her and her kind?”
I shook my head. ”I do not know. I've never heard her world discussed.”
”I suppose not. In this entire city there are few women who think of girls like Lillie Pierce, or care to learn the truth concerning them; care enough to see that though they went unto dogs, unto dogs they need not return if they wish to get away. Most people, both men and women, imagine such girls like their hideous life; that they entered it from deliberate choice. Out of a hundred there may be a dozen who so chose, but each of the others has her story, in many instances a story that would shame all men because of man.” He glanced at the clock and got up quickly.
”I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I'd entirely forgotten an engagement I'm compelled to fill. May I come again?” He held out his hand. ”I've heard about you, of course. I've wanted to know you. There's much I'd like to talk to you about. When you leave Scarborough Square and go back into your world, you can tell it many things it should know. Some day it will understand.” Abruptly he turned and left the room.