Part 21 (1/2)
CHAPTER XI
JULIETTE'S FAREWELL
When G.o.dfrey returned to the Maison Blanche, wearing a handsome gold watch, which had been presented to him with an effusive letter of thanks by the gentleman whom he had rescued and his relatives, he found himself quite a celebrity. Most of the Pasteur's congregation met him when he descended from the diligence, and waved their hats, but as he thanked heaven, did not ”jodel.”
Leaving the Pasteur to make some acknowledgment, he fled to the house, only to find Madame, Juliette, a number of friends, to say nothing of Jean, the cook and the servant girl, awaiting him there. Madame beamed, and looked as though she were about to kiss him; the fresh and charming Juliette shook his hand, and murmured into his ear that she had no idea he was so brave, also that every night she thanked the _Bon Dieu_ for his escape; while the others said something appropriate--or the reverse.
Once more he fled, this time to his bedroom. There upon his dressing-table lay two letters, one from his father and one addressed in a curious pointed hand-writing, which he did not know. This he opened at once. It was in French, and ran, as translated:
”Ah! Little Brother,--I know all that has happened to you, nor did your G.o.dmother need to wait to read about it in the journals.
Indeed, I saw it in my crystal before it happened; you with the man hanging to your arm and the rest. But then a cloud came over the crystal, and I could not see the end. I hoped that he would pull you over the edge, so that in one short minute you became nothing but a red plum-pudding at the bottom of the gulf. For you know that the sweetest-tempered fairy G.o.dmother can be made cross by wicked ingrat.i.tude and evil treatment. Do not think, little Brother, that I have forgiven you for bringing that old pasteur-fool to insult and threaten me. Not so. I pray the speerits night and day to pay you back in your own coin, you who have insulted them also. Indeed, it was they who arranged this little incident, but they tell me that some other speerit interfered at the last moment and saved you. If so, better luck next time, for do not think you shall escape me and them. Had you been true to us you should have had great good fortune and everything you desire in life, including, perhaps, something that you desire most of all.
As it is, you shall have much trouble and lose what you desire most of all. Have you been kissing that pretty Mademoiselle again and trying to make her as bad as her mother? Well, I hope you will, because it will hurt that old fool-pasteur. Wherever you go, remember that eyes follow you, mine and those of the speerits.
Hate and bad luck to you, my little Brother, from your dear G.o.dmamma, whose good heart you have so outraged. So fare ill till you hear from me again, yes and always. Now you will guess my name, so I need not sign it.
”P.S.--Eleanor also sends you her hate from another sphere.”
This precious epistle, filled with malignity, reaching him in the midst of so many congratulations, struck upon G.o.dfrey like a blast of icy wind at the zenith of a summer day. To tell the truth also, it frightened him.
He had tried to forget all about Madame Riennes and now here she was stabbing him from afar, for the letter bore a Venice postmark. It may be foolish, but few of us care to be the object of a concentrated, personal hate. Perhaps this is due to the inherited superst.i.tions of our race, not long emerged from the blackness of barbarism, but at least we still feel as our forefathers did; as though the will to work evil had the power to bring about the evil desired. It is nonsense, since were it true, none could escape the direst misfortune, as every one of us is at some time or another the object of the hate or jealousy of other human beings. Moreover, as most of us believe, there is a being, not human, that hates us individually and collectively, and certainly would compa.s.s our destruction, had he the power, which happily he has not, unless we ourselves give it to him.
G.o.dfrey comforted himself with this reflection, also, with another; that in this instance the issue of his peril had been far different from what his enemy desired. Yet, with his nerves still shaken both by his spiritualistic experiences, and by those of the danger which he had pa.s.sed, the letter undoubtedly did affect him in the way that it was meant to do, and the worst of it was that he could not consult his friend and guide, the Pasteur, because of the allusion to the scene with Juliette.
Throwing it down as though it were a venomous snake, which indeed, it was, he opened that from his father, which was brief. It congratulated him coldly on his escape, whereof Mr. Knight said he had heard, not in the way that he would have expected, from himself, but through the papers. This, it may be explained, was not strange, since the account was telegraphed long before G.o.dfrey had time to write. As a matter of fact, however, he had not written, for who cares to indite epistles to an unsympathetic and critical recipient? Most people only compose letters for the benefit of those who like to receive them and, by intuition, read in them a great deal more than the sender records in black and white. For letter-writing, at its best, is an allusive art, something that suggests rather than describes. It was because G.o.dfrey appreciated this truth in a half unconscious fas.h.i.+on, that he did not care to undertake an active correspondence with his father. It is the exception also, for young men to care to correspond with their fathers; the respective outlooks, and often, the respective interests, are too diverse. With mothers it is different, at any rate, sometimes, for in their case the relations.h.i.+p is more intimate. In the instance of the male parent, throughout the realm of nature, it is apt to have an accidental aspect or to acquire one as time goes by.
The letter went on to request that he would climb no more Alps, since he had been sent to Switzerland, to scale not mountains, but the peaks of knowledge. It added, with that naive selfishness from which sometimes even the most pious are not exempt, ”had you been killed, in addition to losing your own life, which would not so much have mattered, since I trust that you would have pa.s.sed to a better, you would have done a wrong to your family. In that event, as you are not yet of age, I believe the money which your friend left to you recently, would have returned to her estate instead of going to benefit your natural heirs.”
G.o.dfrey pondered over the words ”natural heirs,” wondering who these might be. Coming finally to the conclusion that he had but one, namely his father, which accounted for the solicitude expressed so earnestly in the letter, he uttered an expletive, which should not have pa.s.sed his youthful lips, and threw it down upon the top of that of Madame Riennes.
After this he left the room much depressed, and watching his opportunity, for the merry party in the _salon_ who had gathered to greet him were still there drinking heavy white wine, he slipped through the back door to walk in the woods. These woods were lonely, but then they suited his mood. In truth, never had he felt more alone in his life. His father and he were utterly different, and estranged, and he had no other relatives. In friends he was equally lacking. Miss Ogilvy, whom he had begun to love, was dead, and a friend in heaven is some way off, although he did think he had heard her voice when he was so near to joining her.
There remained no one save the Pasteur, of whom he was growing truly fond, so much so, that he wished that the old gentleman had been appointed to be his father according to the flesh. The rest of the world was a blank to him, except for Isobel, who had deserted him.
Besides, some new sentiment had entered into his relations with Isobel, whereby these were half spoiled. Of course, although he did not altogether understand it, this was the eternal complication of s.e.x which curses more than it blesses in the world; of s.e.x, the eating fire that is so beautiful but burns. For when that fire has pa.s.sed over the flowers of friends.h.i.+p, they are changed into some new growth, that however gorgeous it may be, yet always smells of flame. s.e.x being the origin of life is necessarily also the origin of trouble, since life and trouble are inseparable, and devours the gentle joys of friends.h.i.+p, as a kite devours little singing birds. These go to its sustenance, it is true, and both are birds, but the kite is a very different creature from the nightingale or the lark. One of the great advantages of matrimony, if it endures long enough, is that when the s.e.x attraction, which was its cause, has faded, or practically died, once more it makes friends.h.i.+p possible.
Perhaps the best thing of the little we have been told about heaven, is that in it there will be no s.e.x. If there were, it is doubtful whether it could remain heaven, as we define that state, since then must come desires, and jealousies, and selfishness, and disappointment; also births and deaths, since we cannot conceive s.e.x-love without an object, or a beginning without an end. From all of which troubles we learn that the angels are relieved.
Now this wondrous, burning mantle of s.e.x had fallen on G.o.dfrey and Isobel, as he had learned when he saw her with the knight in armour in the garden, and everything was changed beneath its fiery, smothering folds, and for him there was no Isobel. His friend had gone, and he was left wandering alone. His distress was deep, and since he was too young to mask his feelings, as people must learn to do in life, it showed itself upon his face. At supper that night, all of the little party observed it, for he who should have been gay, was sad and spoke little.
Afterwards, when the Pasteur and G.o.dfrey went to the observatory to resume their astronomical studies, the former looked at him a while, and said:
”What is the matter, G.o.dfrey? Tell me.”
”I cannot,” he replied, colouring.
”Is it so bad as that then? I thought that perhaps you had only received a letter, or letters.”
”I received two of them. One was from my father, who scolds me because I was nearly killed.”
”Indeed. He seems fond of scolding, your father. But that is no new thing, and one to which you should be used. How about the other letter?