Part 12 (1/2)
”Being brought into life is just like being invited to a feast from which you may be called away at any minute. Well, if you have eaten and drunk to satiety you will be only too glad to get up and go away and sleep. But if you have sat at the table, hungering all the time and repressing yourself, then, when the sudden call comes, and you must rise and leave it for ever, think what a misery and bitterness to be dragged away from the brilliant table, with all its dishes and its wines untasted, its flowers unsmelt, and be crammed away into the darkness--hungry, thirsty, and unsatisfied. Take my word for it, Vic, you'll have a bad five minutes on your deathbed!”
I listened in silence. I felt ill and dispirited and disinclined for talk.
”That's all Horace. I don't care much about Latin as a whole, but I do think he is splendid. I'd have that book made the general testament.
I'd have it taught in all the Board Schools and sworn on in the Law Courts. I'd have every fellow take it as a guide through life; if he really acts up to it, it ensures his happiness. Its philosophy beats all the religions hollow. 'Take the day.' 'Put no trust in to-morrow.'
'Seek not to know the future; whatever it is, bear it.' 'Each night be able to say I have lived.' 'Retire from life, satisfied, as from a banquet.' And so on ad lib. You know it all, Victor. You were brought up upon it, but you haven't profited by it--not a sc.r.a.p. Well, I'm going!”
He leant forward, picked up his shoes, and went into his own room. It was about twelve when he came in that night and found me just finis.h.i.+ng off a chapter. The fire had gone out from neglect; the window stood open and the lace curtains waved in the damp night wind. Howard stalked across the room and banged the gla.s.s doors shut, and told me it was beastly cold in here. I was just fully absorbed in the closing pa.s.sages of my scene, and felt a nervous irritation at being interrupted.
”There's a fire-lighter behind the scuttle, throw it into the grate and you'll soon have a blaze,” I said, without looking up.
Howard drew off his lavender gloves and flung them down on the table.
One fell on the last sheet I had written.
”Confound you! do be careful!” I muttered, picking it up, and noticing the great blur it left on the page. ”The sheets are wet.”
”It doesn't matter, they're not a new pair!” answered Howard, coolly, going down on his knees to light up the fire. He accomplished this in a few minutes, and then settled down in the long chair with a cigar. I wrote on feverishly, expecting to be addressed and interrupted every moment. It was a great bore his coming in just now, disturbing me. I had a difficult thing to express, and I was just pursuing the tail end of an idea I could not quite grasp. My pen hovered uncertainly over the paper. I could not exactly give words to the impression in my brain, and the sense that he was going to speak, about to speak each second, worried me. At the same time I never wished to be ungracious to Howard when he did return to our rooms; never wished to feel it was my execrably bad company that induced him to stay away from them all night instead of half.
”I say, Vic!”
”Well?”
”Do you know that kissing song Embra.s.se moi?”
I nodded.
”Don't you think it awfully fetching? I like that refrain so much--Embra.s.se moi, chumph! chumph!--and then the orchestra exactly imitates the sound of a kiss--then Encore une fois!! chumph! chumph!
Don't you?”
”Yes; it isn't bad.”
Silence.
”Victor!”
”What?”
”La Faina was there to-night!”
”Oh!”
”Do you know her?”
”I've heard of her.”
Silence.
”Vic!”