Part 8 (1/2)
”And how delightfully cool these rooms are!” he was saying to the d.u.c.h.ess. ”I wonder how you manage to keep the sirocco out?”
”By closing the windows, Bishop. English people will not believe that.
They open their windows. In comes the heat.”
”If English people closed their windows they would die,” said Don Francesco. ”Half the houses in England would be condemned by law in this country and pulled down, on account of their low ceilings. Low ceilings have given the Englishman his cult of fresh air. He likes to be cosy and familiar and exclusive; he has no sense for broad social functions. There is something of the cave-dweller in every Englishman.
He may say what he likes, but the humble cottage will always remain his dream. You can tell the ideals of a nation by its advertis.e.m.e.nts. This country is pastoral. That is why our advertis.e.m.e.nts are so apt to portray commercial conditions--enormous factories and engines and chimneys; we are dissatisfied with our agricultural state. The Frenchman's aspiration is woman; Paris h.o.a.rdings will tell you that.
England is a land of industrial troglodytes, where every man's cavern is his castle. Its advertis.e.m.e.nts depict either gross ma.s.ses of food such as cave-dwellers naturally relish, or else quiet country scenes--green lanes, and sunsets, and peaceful dwellings in the country.
Home, sweet home! The cottage! That means open windows or suffocation....
I think I see the person who spoke to you on the steamer,” he added to Mr. Heard. ”I don't like his looks. He is coming our way.”
”That must be Mr. Muhlen,” exclaimed the d.u.c.h.ess. ”They say he played beautifully at the hotel last night. I wonder whether I could induce him to try my Longwood? It's rather an old model, I fear, and out of tune.”
The gentleman appeared, ostentatiously dressed and escorted by Mr.
Richards, the Vice-President of the Alpha and Omega Club, who seemed to be fairly steady on his legs and was presently absorbed in an artistic examination of a number of silver ornaments, crucifixes, relics and suchlike objects of virtu, which the d.u.c.h.ess had gathered together. He handled them like a connoisseur. Others of that inst.i.tution had promised to attend the party but, on being overhauled by the conscientious Vice-President, were found to be unpresentable at the last moment.
The d.u.c.h.ess moved away to greet him. Mr. Heard remarked to Don Francesco:
”That middle-aged colleague of yours, yonder--he has an unusual face.”
”Our parish priest. A sound Christian!”
The PARROCO'S thin lips, peaked nose, beady eyes and colourless cheeks proclaimed the anchorite, if not the monomaniac. He flitted about like a draught of cold air, refusing all refreshments and not daring to smell the flowers, lest he should derive too much pleasure from them.
He was often called Torquemada, from his harsh and abstemious habits.
The name had been given him, of course, by his brother priests who knew about such matters, and not by the common people to whom the word Torquemada would have suggested, if anything, a savoury kind of pudding. Torquemada was capable of any sacrifice, of any enormity, in defence of the faith. A narrow medieval type, he was the only person on Nepenthe who would have been hewn in pieces for his G.o.d--n.o.body allowing themselves to be even temporarily incommoded in so visionary a cause.
He enjoyed a reputation of perfect chast.i.ty which differentiated him from all the remaining priests and contributed, more than anything else, to his unpopularity. It enraged the frankly carnal natives to such an extent that they made insinuations about his bodily health and told other horrible stories, swore they were true, and offered to give statistical figures in confirmation. They said, among other things, that after begging money from wealthy foreigners for alleged repairs to the parish organ and other G.o.dly purposes, he kept the proceeds himself on the principle that charity began at home and ought to end there.
n.o.body could deny his devotion to mother, sisters, and even distant relatives. So much was also certain, that the PARROCO'S family was poor.
Harp-like tinklings arose from an adjoining chamber; a general move took place in that direction. Mr. Keith was there. He sat beside Madame Steynlin who, being a fair performer herself, was listening with rapture to Muhlen's strains. During a pause he said:
”I wish I could make it out. It annoys me, Madame Steynlin, not to comprehend the charm of music. I would give almost anything to the person who can satisfy me that what I hear is not a succession of unnecessary noises.”
”Perhaps you are not musical.”
”That would not prevent my understanding the feelings of people like yourself. I don't want to be musical. I want to get a grip of this thing. I want to know. Tell me why you like it and why I don't. Tell me--”
The sounds began again.
”Ah!” said the d.u.c.h.ess, ”that wonderful ANDANTE CON BRIO!”
Then, as the strains grew louder, she whispered to Don Francesco upon a subject which had always puzzled her.
”I would be glad to learn,” she said, ”why our parliamentary representative, Commendatore Morena, has never yet visited Nepenthe.
Surely it is his duty to show himself now and then to his paris.h.i.+oners--const.i.tuents, I mean? This festival of Saint Dodeka.n.u.s would have been such a good opportunity. His appearance would have been a discomfiture for the free-thinkers. Every year he promises to come.
And every year he fails us. Why?”
”I cannot tell,” replied the priest. ”The animal has probably got other things to do.”