English
“Ididn’tquitecatchwhatyousaid!”werethenextwordsthatreachedmyear,butcertainlynotinthevoiceeitherofSylvieorofBruno,whomIcouldjustsee,throughthecrowdofguests,standingbythepiano,andlisteningtotheCount’ssong.MeinHerrwasthespeaker.“Ididn’tquitecatchwhatyousaid!”herepeated.
ButI’venodoubtyoutakemyviewofit.
Thankyouverymuchforyourkindattention.
Thereisonlybutoneverselefttobesung!”
TheselastwordswerenotinthegentlevoiceofMeinHerr,butinthedeepbassoftheFrenchCount.
And,inthesilencethatfollowed,thefinalstanzaof“Tottles”rangthroughtheroom.
Seenowthiscouplesettleddown
Inquietlodgings,outoftown:
Submissivelythetearfulwife
Acceptsaplainandhumblelife:
Yetbegsoneboononbendedknee:
”Myducky-darling,don’tresentit!
Mammamightcomefortwoorthree—”
”NEVER!”yelledTottles.Andhemeantit.
Theconclusionofthesongwasfollowedbyquiteachorusofthanksandcomplimentsfromallpartsoftheroom,whichthegratifiedsingerrespondedtobybowinglowinalldirections.
“Itistomeagreatprivilege”,hesaidtoLadyMuriel,“tohavemetwiththissomarvellousasong.
Theaccompanimenttohimissostrange,somysterious:itisasifanewmusicweretobeinvented.
IwillplayhimonceagainsoasthattoshowyouwhatImean.”
Hereturnedtothepiano,butthesonghadvanished.
Thebewilderedsingersearchedthroughtheheapofmusiclyingonanadjoiningtable,butitwasnotthere,either.
LadyMurielhelpedinthesearch:otherssoonjoined:theexcitementgrew.“Whatcanhavebecomeofit?”exclaimedLadyMuriel.
Nobodyknew:onethingonlywascertain,thatnoonehadbeennearthepianosincetheCounthadsungthelastverseofthesong.
“Nevaremindhim!”hesaid,mostgood-naturedly.
“Ishallgiveityouwithmemoryalone!”
Hesatdown,andbeganvaguelyfingeringthenotes;butnothingresemblingthetunecameout.Thenhe,too,grewexcited.“Butwhatoddness!Howmuchofsingularity!
ThatImightlose,notthewordsalone,butthetunealso—thatisquitecurious,Isuppose?”
Weallsupposedit,heartily.
“Itwasthatsweetlittleboy,whofounditforme,”theCountsuggested.“Quiteperhapsheisthethief?”
“Ofcourseheis!”criedLadyMuriel.“Bruno!Whereareyou,mydarling?”
ButnoBrunoreplied:itseemedthatthetwochildrenhadvanishedassuddenly,andasmysteriously,asthesong.
“Theyareplayingusatrick?”LadyMurielgailyexclaimed.“ThisisonlyanextemporegameofHide-and-Seek!ThatlittleBrunoisanembodiedMischief!”
Thesuggestionwasawelcomeonetomostofus,forsomeoftheguestswerebeginningtolookdecidedlyuneasy.
Ageneralsearchwassetonfootwithmuchenthusiasm:curtainswerethrownbackandshaken,cupboardsopened,andottomansturnedover;butthenumberofpossiblehiding-placesprovedtobestrictlylimited;andthesearchcametoanendalmostassoonasithadbegun.
“Theymusthaverunout,whilewewerewrappedupinthesong,”LadyMurielsaid,addressingherselftotheCount,whoseemedmoreagitatedthantheothers;“andnodoubtthey’vefoundtheirwaybacktothehousekeeper’sroom.”
“Notbythisdoor!”wastheearnestprotestofaknotoftwoorthreegentlemen,whohadbeengroupedroundthedoor(oneofthemactuallyleaningagainstit)forthelasthalf-hour,astheydeclared.
“Thisdoorhasnotbeenopenedsincethesongbegan!”
Anuncomfortablesilencefollowedthisannouncement.
LadyMurielventurednofurtherconjectures,butquietlyexaminedthefasteningsofthewindows,whichopenedasdoors.
Theyallprovedtobewellfastened,inside.
Notyetattheendofherresources,LadyMurielrangthebell.“Askthehousekeepertostephere,shesaid,“andtobringthechildren’swalking-thingswithher.”
“I’vebroughtthem,myLady,”saidtheobsequioushousekeeper,enteringafteranotherminuteofsilence.
“Ithoughttheyoungladywouldhavecometomyroomtoputonherboots.
Here’syourboots,mylove’sheaddedcheerfully,lookinginalldirectionsforthechildren.
Therewasnoanswer,andsheturnedtoLadyMurielwithapuzzledsmile.
“Havethelittledarlingshidthemselves?”
“Idon’tseethem,justnow,”LadyMurielreplied,ratherevasively.“Youcanleavetheirthingshere,Wilson.I’lldressthem,whenthey’rereadytogo.”
Thetwolittlehats,andSylvie’swalking-jacket,werehandedroundamongtheladies,withmanyexclamationsofdelight.
Therecertainlywasasortofwitcheryofbeautyaboutthem.
Eventhelittlebootsdidnotmisstheirshareoffavourablecriticism.“Suchnattylittlethings!”
themusicalyoungladyexclaimed,almostfondlingthemasshespoke.
“Andwhattinytinyfeettheymusthave!”
Finally,thethingswerepiledtogetheronthecentre-ottoman,andtheguests,despairingofseeingthechildrenagain,begantowishgood-nightandleavethehouse.
Therewereonlysomeeightornineleft—towhomtheCountwasexplaining,forthetwentiethtime,howhehadhadhiseyeonthechildrenduringthelastverseofthesong;howhehadthenglancedroundtheroom,toseewhateffect“degreatchest-note”hadhaduponhisaudience;andhow,whenhelookedbackagain,theyhadbothdisappeared—whenexclamationsofdismaybegantobeheardonallsides,theCounthastilybringinghisstorytoanendtojoinintheoutcry.
Thewalking-thingshadalldisappeared!
Aftertheutterfailureofthesearchforthechildrentherewasaveryhalf-heartedsearchmadefortheirapparel.
Theremainingguestsseemedonlytoogladtogetaway,leavingonlytheCountandourfourselves.
TheCountsankintoaneasy-chair,andpantedalittle.
Whothenarethesedearchildren,Iprayyou?”hesaid.
Whycomethey,whygothey,inthissolittleordinaryafashion?
Thatthemusicshouldmakeitselfvanish—thatthehats,theboots,shouldmakethemselvestovanish—howisit,Iprayyou?”
“I’venoideawheretheyare!”wasallIcouldsay,onfindingmyselfappealedto,bygeneralconsent,foranexplanation.
TheCountseemedabouttoaskfurtherquestions,butcheckedhimself.
“Thehourmakeshimselftobecomelate,”hesaid.“Iwishtoyouaverygoodnight,myLady.Ibetakemyselftomybed—todream—ifthatindeedIbenotdreamingnow!”Andhehastilylefttheroom.
“Stayawhile,stayawhile!”saidtheEarl,asIwasabouttofollowtheCount.“Youarenotaguest,youknow!Arthur’sfriendisathomehere!”
“Thanks!”Isaid,aswithtrueEnglishinstincts,wedrewourchairstogetherroundthefire-place,thoughnofirewasburning—LadyMurielhavingtakentheheapofmusiconherknee,tohaveonemoresearchforthestrangely-vanishedsong.
“Don’tyousometimesfeelawildlonging”,shesaidaddressingherselftome,“tohavesomethingmoretodowithyourhands,whileyoutalk,thanjustholdingacigar,andnowandthenknockingofftheash?
Oh,Iknowallthatyou’regoingtosay!”
(ThiswastoArthur,whoappearedabouttointerrupther.)
“TheMajestyofThoughtsupersedestheworkofthefingers.
AMan’sseverethinking,plustheshaking-offacigar-ash,comestothesametotalasaWoman’strivialfancies,plusthemostelaborateembroidery.
That’syoursentiment,isn’tit,onlybetterexpressed?”
Arthurlookedintotheradiant,mischievousface,withagraveandverytendersmile.“Yes,”hesaidresignedly:“thatismysentiment,exactly.”
“Restofbody,andactivityofmind,”Iputin.“Somewritertellsusthatistheacmeofhumanhappiness.”
“Plentyofbodilyrest,atanyrate!”LadyMurielagreed,glancingatthethreerecumbentfiguresaroundher.“Butwhatyoucallactivityofmind—”
“—istheprivilegeofyoungPhysiciansonly,”saidtheEarl.“Weoldmenhavenoclaimtobeactive.Whatcanoldmendobutdie?”
“Agoodmanyotherthings,Ishouldhope,”Arthursaidearnestly.
“Well,maybe.Stillyouhavetheadvantageofmeinanyways,dearboy!
Notonlythatyourdayisdawningwhilemineissetting,butyourinterestinLife—somehowIca’n’thelpenvyingyouthat.
Itwillbemanyayearbeforeyouloseyourholdofthat.”
“YetsurelymanyhumaninterestssurvivehumanLife?”Isaid.
“Manydo,nodoubt.AndsomeformsofScience;butonlysome,Ithink.
Mathematics,forinstance:thatseemstopossessanendlessinterest:oneca’n’timagineanyformofLife,oranyraceofintelligentbeings,whereMathematicaltruthwouldloseitsmeaning.
ButIfearMedicinestandsonadifferentfooting.
Supposeyoudiscoveraremedyforsomediseasehithertosupposedtobeincurable.
Well,itisdelightfulforthemoment,nodoubt—fullofinterest—perhapsitbringsyoufameandfortune.Butwhatthen?
Lookon,afewyears,intoalifewherediseasehasnoexistence.Whatisyourdiscoveryworth,then?MiltonmakesJovepromisetoomuch.’
Ofsomuchfameinheavenexpectthyneed.’
Poorcomfortwhenone’s‘fame’concernsmattersthatwillhaveceasedtohaveameaning!”
“Atanyrateonewouldn’tcaretomakeanyfreshmedicaldiscoveries,”saidArthur.
“Iseenohelpforthat—thoughIshallbesorrytogiveupmyfavouritestudies.
Still,medicine,disease,pain,sorrow,sin—Ifearthey’realllinkedtogether.Banishsin,andyoubanishthemall!”
“Militaryscienceisayetstrongerinstance,”saidtheEarl.
Withoutsin,warwouldsurelybeimpossible.
Stillanymind,thathashadinthislifeanykeeninterest,notinitselfsinful,willsurelyfinditselfsomecongeniallineofworkhereafter.
Wellingtonmayhavenomorebattlestofight—andyet—
Wedoubtnotthat,foronesotrue,
Theremustbeother,noblerworktodo,
ThanwhenhefoughtatWaterloo,
AndVictorhemusteverbe!’”
Helingeredoverthebeautifulwords,asifhelovedthem:andhisvoice,likedistantmusic,diedawayintosilence.
Afteraminuteortwohebeganagain.“IfI’mnotwearyingyou,IwouldliketotellyouanideaofthefutureLifewhichhashauntedmeforyears,likeasortofwakingnightmare—Ica’n’treasonmyselfoutofit.”
“Praydo,”ArthurandIreplied,almostinabreath.LadyMurielputasidetheheapofmusic,andfoldedherhandstogether.
“Theoneidea”,theEarlresumed,“thathasseemedtometoovershadowalltherest,isthatofEternity—involving,asitseemstodo,thenecessaryexhaustionofallsubjectsofhumaninterest.
TakePureMathematics,forinstance—aScienceindependentofourpresentsurroundings.Ihavestudiedit,myself,alittle.
Takethesubjectofcirclesandellipses—whatwecall‘curvesoftheseconddegree’.
InafutureLife,itwouldonlybeaquestionofsomanyyears(orhundredsofyears,ifyoulike)foramantoworkoutalltheirproperties.
Thenhemightgotocurvesofthethirddegree.
Saythattooktentimesaslong(youseewehaveunlimitedtimetodealwith).
Icanhardlyimaginehisinterestinthesubjectholdingoutevenforthose;and,thoughthereisnolimittothedegreeofthecurveshemightstudy,yetsurelythetime,neededtoexhaustallthenoveltyandinterestofthesubject,wouldbeabsolutelyfinite?
AndsoofallotherbranchesofScience.
And,whenItransportmyself,inthought,throughsomethousandsormillionsofyears,andfancymyselfpossessedofasmuchScienceasonecreatedreasoncancarry,Iaskmyself‘Whatthen?
Withnothingmoretolearn,canonerestcontentonknowledge,fortheeternityyettobelivedthrough?’
Ithasbeenaverywearyingthoughttome.
Ihavesometimesfanciedonemight,inthatevent,say‘Itisbetternottobe’,andprayforpersonalannihilation—theNirvanaoftheBuddhists.”
“Butthatisonlyhalfthepicture,”Isaid.“Besidesworkingforoneself,maytherenotbethehelpingofothers?”
“Surely,surely!”LadyMurielexclaimedinatoneofrelief,lookingatherfatherwithsparklingeyes.
“Yes,”saidtheEarl,“solongastherewereanyothersneedinghelp.
But,givenagesandagesmore,surelyallcreatedreasonswouldatlengthreachthesamedeadlevelofsatiety.
Andthenwhatistheretolookforwardto?”
“Iknowthatwearyfeeling,”saidtheyoungDoctor.
“Ihavegonethroughitall,morethanonce.
NowletmetellyouhowIhaveputittomyself.
Ihaveimaginedalittlechild,playingwithtoysonhisnursery-floor,andyetabletoreason,andtolookon,thirtyyearsahead.
Mighthenotsaytohimself‘BythattimeIshallhavehadenoughofbricksandninepins.HowwearyLifewillbe!’
Yet,ifwelookforwardthroughthosethirtyyears,wefindhimagreatstatesman,fullofinterestsandjoysfarmoreintensethanhisbaby-lifecouldgive—joyswhollyinconceivabletohisbaby-mind—joyssuchasnobaby-languagecouldinthefaintestdegreedescribe.
Now,maynotourlife,amillionyearshence,havethesamerelation,toourlifenow,thattheman’slifehastothechild’s?
And,justasonemighttry,allinvain,toexpresstothatchild,inthelanguageofbricksandninepins,themeaningof‘politics’,soperhapsallthosedescriptionsofHeaven,withitsmusic,anditsfeasts,anditsstreetsofgold,maybeonlyattemptstodescribe,inourwords,thingsforwhichwereallyhavenowordsatall.
Don’tyouthinkthatinyourpictureofanotherlife,youareinfacttransplantingthatchildintopoliticallife,withoutmakinganyallowanceforhisgrowingup?”
“IthinkIunderstandyou,”saidtheEarl.
“ThemusicofHeavenmaybesomethingbeyondourpowersofthought.YetthemusicofEarthissweet!
Muriel,mychild,singussomethingbeforewegotobed!”
“Do,”saidArthur,asheroseandlitthecandlesonthecottage-piano,latelybanishedfromthedrawing-roomtomakeroomfora“semi-grand”.“Thereisasonghere,thatIhaveneverheardyousing.
’Hailtothee,blithespirit!
Birdthouneverwert,
ThatfromHeaven,ornearit,
Pourestthyfullheart!’“
Hereadfromthepagehehadspreadopenbeforeher.
“Andourlittlelifehere”,theEarlwenton,“is,tothatgrandtime,likeachild’ssummer-day!
Onegetstiredasnightdrawson,”headded,withatouchofsadnessinhisvoice,“andonegetstolongforbed!
Forthosewelcomewords‘Come,child,’tisbed-time!’”
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