Part 17 (1/2)
At the end of a long silence Mike spoke of his poem.
”You must have written a good deal of it by this time.”
”No, I have written very little;” and then yielding to his desire to astonish, confessed he was working at a trilogy on the life of Christ, and had already decided the main lines and incidents of the three plays. His idea was the disintegration of the legend, which had united under a G.o.dhead certain socialistic aspirations then prevalent in Judaea. In his first play, _John_, he introduces two reformers, one of whom is a.s.sa.s.sinated by John; the second perishes in a street broil, leaving the field free for the triumph of Jesus of Nazareth.
In the second play, _Jesus_, he tells the story of Jesus and the Magdalene. She throws over her protector, one of the Rabbi, and refuses her admirer, Judas, for Jesus. The Rabbi plots to destroy Jesus, and employs Judas. In the third play, _Peter_, he pictures the struggle of the new idea in pagan Rome, and it ends in Peter flying from Rome to escape crucifixion; but outside the city he sees Christ carrying His cross, and Christ says He is going to be crucified a second time, whereupon Peter returns to Rome.
As they descended the rough chalk road into the weald, John said, ”I have sacrificed much for my religion. I think, therefore, I have a right to say that it is hard that my house should be selected for the manufacture of blasphemous trilogies.”
Knowing that argument would profit him nothing, Mike allayed John's heaving conscience with promises not to write another line of the trilogy, and to devote himself entirely to his poem. At the end of a long silence, John said--
”Now the very name of Schopenhauer revolts me. I accept nothing of his ideas. From that ridiculous pessimism I have drifted very far indeed. Pessimism is impossible. To live we must have an ideal, and pessimism offers none. So far it is inferior even to positivism.”
”Pessimism offers no ideal! It offers the highest--not to create life is the only good; the creation of life is the only evil; all else which man in his b.e.s.t.i.a.l stupidity calls good and evil is ephemeral and illusionary.”
”Schopenhauer's arguments against suicide are not valid, that you admit, therefore it is impossible for the pessimist to justify his continued existence.”
”Pardon me, the diffusion of the principle of sufficient reason can alone end this world, and we are justified in living in order that by example and precept we may dissuade others from the creation of life.
The incomparable stupidity of life teaches us to love our parents--divine philosophy teaches us to forgive them.”
That evening Mike played numerous games of backgammon with Mrs.
Norton; talked till two in the morning to John of literature, and deplored the burning of the poems, and besought him to write them again, and to submit them, if need be, to a bishop. He worked hard to obliterate the effect of his foolish confidences; for he was very happy in this large country house, full of unexpected impressions for him. On the wide staircases he stopped, tense with sensations of s.p.a.ce, order, and ample life. He was impressed by the timely meals, conducted by well-trained servants; and he found it pleasant to pa.s.s from the house into the richly-planted garden, and to see the coachman was.h.i.+ng the carriage, the groom sc.r.a.ping out the horse's hooves, the horse tied to the high wall, the cowman stumping about the rick-yard--indeed all the homely work always in progress.
Sometimes he did not come down to lunch, and continued his work till late in the afternoon. At five he had tea in the drawing-room with Mrs. Norton, and afterwards went out to gather flowers in the garden with her, or he walked around the house with John, listening to his plans for the architectural reformation of his residence.
Mike had now been a month at Thornby Place. He was enchanted with this country-side, and seeing it lent itself to his pleasure--in other words, that it was necessary to his state of mind--he strove, and with insidious inveiglements, to win it, to cajole it, to make it part and parcel of himself. But its people were reserved.
Instinctively Mike attacked the line and the point of least resistance, and the point of least resistance lay about three miles distant. A young squire--a young man of large property and an unimpeachable position in the county--lived there in a handsome house with his three sisters. His life consisted in rabbit-shooting and riding out every morning to see his sheep upon the downs. He was the rare man who does not desire himself other than he is. But content, though an unmixed blessing to its possessor, is not an attractive quality, and Mr. Dallas stood sorely in need of a friend. He loved his sisters, but to spend every evening in their society was monotonous, and he felt, and they felt still more keenly, that a nice young man would create an interest that at present was wanting in country life. Mike had heard of this young squire and his sisters, and had long desired to meet him. But they had paid their yearly visit to Thornby Place, and he could not persuade John to go to Holly Park.
One day riding on the downs, Mike inquired the way to Henfield of a young man who pa.s.sed him riding a bay horse. The question was answered curtly--so curtly that Mike thought the stranger could not be led into conversation. In this he was mistaken, and at the end of half a mile felt he had succeeded in interesting his companion. As they descended into the weald, Mike told him he was stopping at Thornby Place, and the young squire told him he was Mr. Dallas. When about to part, Mike asked to be directed to the nearest inn, complaining that he was dying of thirst, for he wished to give Mr.
Dallas an excuse for asking him to his house. Mr. Dallas availed himself of the excuse; and Mike prayed that he might find the ladies at home. They were in the drawing-room. The piano was played, and amid tea and m.u.f.fins, tennis was discussed, allusions were made to man's inconstancy.
Mike left no uncertainty regarding his various qualities. He liked hunting as much as shooting, and having regard for the season of the year, he laid special stress upon his love for, and his prowess in, the game of tennis. A week later he received an invitation to tennis.
Henceforth he rode over frequently to Holly Park. He was sometimes asked to stay the night, and an impression was gaining ground there that life was pleasanter with him than without him.
When he was not there the squire missed the morning ride and the game of billiards in the evening, and the companion to whom he could speak of his sheep and his lambs. Mike listened to the little troubles of each sister in the back garden, never failing to evince the profoundest sympathy. He was surprised to find that he enjoyed these conversations just as much as a metaphysical disquisition with John Norton. ”I am not pretending,” he often said to himself; ”it is quite true;” and then he added philosophically, ”Were I not interested in them I should not succeed in interesting them.”
The brother, the sisters, the servants, even the lap-dog shared in the pleasure. The maid-servants liked to meet his tall figure in the pa.s.sages; the young ladies loved to look into his tender eyes when they came in from their walk and found him in the drawing-room.
To touch Mike's skin was to touch his soul, and even the Yorks.h.i.+re terrier was sensible of its gentleness, and soon preferred of all places to doze under his hand. Mike came into Dallas' room in the morning when he was taking his bath; he hung around the young ladies'
rooms, speaking through the half-open doors; then when the doors were open, the young ladies fled and wrapped themselves in dressing-gowns.
He felt his power; and by insidious intimations, by looks, words, projects for pleasure, presents, practical jokes, books, and talks about books, he proceeded joyously in his corruption of the entire household.
Naturally Mike rode his host's horses, and he borrowed his spurs, breeches, boots, and hunting-whip. And when he began to realize what an excellent pretext hunting is for making friends, and staying in country houses, he bought a couple of horses, which he kept at Holly Park free of cost. He had long since put aside his poem and his trilogy, and now thought of nothing but shooting and riding. He could throw his energies into anything, from writing a poem to playing chuck-farthing.
The first meet of the hounds was at Thornby Place, and in the vain hope of marrying her son, Mrs. Norton had invited the young girls of the entire country-side. Lady Edith Downsdale was especially included in her designs; but John instantly vetoed her hopes by asking Mike to take Lady Edith in to lunch. She stood holding her habit; and feeling the necessity of being brilliant, Mike said, pointing to the hounds and horses--
”How strange it is that that is of no interest to the artist! I suppose because it is only parade; whereas a bit of lane with a wind-blown hedge is a human emotion, and that is always interesting.”