English
“Itisn’tbed-time!”saidasleepylittlevoice.“Theowlshasn’tgonetobed,andIs’a’n’tgotoseepwizoutoosingstome!”
“Oh,Bruno!”criedSylvie.“Don’tyouknowtheowlshaveonlyjustgotup?Butthefrogshavegonetobed,agesago.”
“Well,Iaren’tafrog,”saidBruno.
“WhatshallIsing?”saidSylvie,skilfullyavoidingtheargument.
“AskMisterSir,”Brunolazilyreplied,claspinghishandsbehindhiscurlyhead,andlyingbackonhisfern-leaf,tillitalmostbentoverwithhisweight.“Thisaren’tacomfableleaf,Sylvie.Findmeacomfabler—please!”
headded,asanafter-thought,inobediencetoawarningfingerheldupbySylvie.“Idoosn’tlikebeingfeet-upwards!”
Itwasaprettysighttoseethemotherlywayinwhichthefairy-childgatheredupherlittlebrotherinherarms,andlaidhimonastrongerleaf.
Shegaveitjustatouchtosetitrocking,anditwentonvigorouslybyitself,asifitcontainedsomehiddenmachinery.
Itcertainlywasn’tthewind,fortheevening-breezehadquitediedawayagain,andnotaleafwasstirringoverourheads.
“Whydoesthatoneleafrockso,withouttheothers?”IaskedSylvie.
Sheonlysmiledsweetlyandshookherhead.“Idon’tknowwhy,”shesaid.
“Italwaysdoes,ifit’sgotafairy-childonit.Ithasto,youknow.”
“Andcanpeopleseetheleafrock,whoca’n’tseetheFairyonit?”
“Why,ofcourse!”criedSylvie.“Aleaf’saleaf,andeverybodycanseeit;butBruno’sBruno,andtheyca’n’tseehim,unlessthey’reeerie,likeyou.”
ThenIunderstoodhowitwasthatonesometimessees—goingthroughthewoodsinastillevening—onefern-leafrockingsteadilyon,allbyitself.Haven’tyoueverseenthat?
Tryifyoucanseethefairy-sleeperonit,nexttime;butdon’tpicktheleaf,whateveryoudo;letthelittleonesleepon!
ButallthistimeBrunowasgettingsleepierandsleepier.“Sing,sing!”
hemurmuredfretfully,Sylvielookedtomeforinstructions.“Whatshallitbe?”shesaid.
“Couldyousinghimthenursery-songyouoncetoldmeof?Isuggested.
“Theonethathadbeenputthroughthemind-mangle,youknow.’
Thelittlemanthathadalittlegun,’Ithinkitwas.”
“Why,thatareoneoftheProfessor’ssongs!”criedBruno.
“Ilikesthelittleman;andIlikesthewaytheyspinnedhim—likeateetle-totle-tum.”
Andheturnedalovinglookonthegentleoldmanwhowassittingattheothersideofhisleaf-bed,andwhoinstantlybegantosing,accompanyinghimselfonhisOutlandishguitar,whilethesnail,onwhichhesat,waveditshornsintimetothemusic.
InstaturetheManletwasdwarfish—
NoburlybigBlunderborehe:
Andhewearilygazedonthecrawfish
HisWifelethaddressedforhistea.
”Nowreachme,sweetAtom,mygunlet,
Andhurltheoldshoeletforluck:
Letmehietothebankoftherunlet,
AndshoottheeaDuck!
Shehasreachedhimhisminikingunlet:
Shehashurledtheoldshoeletforluck:
Sheisbusilybakingabunlet
TowelcomehimhomewithhisDuck.
Onhespeeds,neverwastingawordlet
Thoughthoughtletscling,closelyaswax
Tothespotwherethebeautifulbirdlet
Soquietlyquacks.
WheretheLobsterletlurks,andtheCrablet
Soslowlyandsleepilycrawls:
WheretheDolphin’sathome,andtheDablet
Payslongceremoniouscalls:
WheretheGrubletissoughtbytheFroglet:
WheretheFrogispursuedbytheDuck:
WheretheDuckletischasedbytheDoglet—
Sorunstheworld’sluck!
Hehasloadedwithbulletandpowder:
Hisfootfallisnoiselessasair:
ButtheVoicesgrowlouderandlouder,
Andbellow,andbluster,andblare.
Theybristlebeforehimandafter,
Theyflutteraboveandbelow,
Shrillshriekingsoflubberlylaughter,
Weirdwailingsofwoe!
Theyechowithouthim,withinhim:
Theythrillthroughhiswhiskersandbeard:
Likeateetotumseemingtospinhim,
Withsneersneverhithertosneered.
”Avengement,”theycry,“onourFoelet!
LettheManikinweepforourwrongs!
Letusdrenchhim,fromtoplettotoelet,
WithNursery-Songs!
“Heshallmuseupon‘Hey!Diddle!Diddle!’
OntheCowthatsurmountedtheMoon:
HeshallraveoftheCatandtheFiddle,
AndtheDishthatelopedwiththeSpoon:
AndhissoulshallbesadfortheSpider,
WhenMissMuffetwassippingherwhey,
Thatsotenderlysatdownbesideher,
Andscaredheraway!
“ThemusicofMidsummer-madness
Shallstinghimwithmanyabite,
Till,inraptureofrollickingsadness,
Heshallgroanwithagloomydelight:
Heshallswathehim,likemistsofthemorning,
Inplatitudeslusciousandlimp,
Suchasdeck,withadeathlessadorning,
TheSongoftheShrimp!
“WhentheDucklet’sdarkdoomisdecided,
Wewilltrundlehimhomeinatrice:
Andthebanquet,soplainlyprovided,
Shallroundintorose-budsandrice:
Inablazeofpragmaticinvention
HeshallwrestlewithFate,andshallreign:
Buthehasnotafriendfittomention,
Sohithimagain!”
Hehasshotit,thedelicatedarling!
AndtheVoiceshaveceasedfromtheirstrife:
Notawhisperofsneeringorsnarling,
ashecarriesithometohiswife:
Then,cheerilychampingthebunlet
Hisspousewassoskilfultobake,
Hehieshimoncemoretotherunlet,
TofetchhertheDrake!
“He’ssoundasleepnow,”saidSylvie,carefullytuckingintheedgeofaviolet-leaf,whichshehadbeenspreadingoverhimasasortofblanket:“goodnight!”
“Goodnight!”Iechoed.
“Youmaywellsay‘goodnight’!”laughedLadyMuriel,risingandshuttingupthepianoasshespoke.
“Whenyou’vebeennid—nid—noddingallthetimeI’vebeensingingforyourbenefit!Whatwasitallabout,now?”shedemandedimperiously.
“Somethingaboutaduck?”Ihazarded.“Well,abirdofsomekind?”Icorrectedmyself,perceivingatoncethatthatguesswaswrong,atanyrate.
“Somethingaboutabirdofsomekind!”LadyMurielrepeated,withasmuchwitheringscornashersweetfacewascapableofconveying.
“Andthat’sthewayhespeaksofShelley’sSky-Lark,isit?
WhenthePoetparticularlysays’Hailtothee,blithespirit!Birdthouneverwert!’“
Sheledthewaytothesmoking-room,where,ignoringalltheusagesofSocietyandalltheinstinctsofChivalry,thethreeLordsoftheCreationreposedattheireaseinlowrocking-chairs,andpermittedtheoneladywhowaspresenttoglidegracefullyaboutamongus,supplyingourwantsintheformofcoolingdrinks,cigarettes,andlights.
Nay,itwasonlyoneofthethreewhohadthechivalrytogobeyondthecommon-place“thankyou”,andtoquotethePoet’sexquisitedescriptionofhowGeraint,whenwaitedonbyEnid,wasmoved
“Tostoopandkissthetenderlittlethumb
Thatcrossedtheplatterasshelaiditdown,”
andtosuittheactiontotheword—anaudaciouslibertyforwhich,Ifeelboundtoreport,hewasnotdulyreprimanded.
Asnotopicofconversationseemedtooccurtoanyone,andaswewere,allfour,onthosedelightfultermswithoneanother(theonlyterms,Ithink,onwhichanyfriendship,thatdeservesthenameofintimacy,canbemaintained)whichinvolvenosortofnecessityforspeakingformerespeaking’ssake,wesatinsilenceforsomeminutes.
AtlengthIbrokethesilencebyasking“IsthereanyfreshnewsfromtheharbourabouttheFever?”
“Nonesincethismorning,”theEarlsaid,lookingverygrave.“Butthatwasalarmingenough.
TheFeverisspreadingfast:theLondondoctorhastakenfrightandlefttheplace,andtheonlyonenowavailableisn’taregulardoctoratall:heisapothecary,anddoctor,anddentist,andIdon’tknowwhatothertrades,allinone.
It’sabadoutlookforthosepoorfishermen—andaworseoneforallthewomenandchildren.”
“Howmanyarethereofthemaltogether?”Arthurasked.
“Therewerenearlyonehundred,aweekago,”saidtheEarl:“buttherehavebeentwentyorthirtydeathssincethen.”
“Andwhatreligiousministrationsaretheretobehad?”
“Therearethreebravemendownthere,”theEarlreplied,hisvoicetremblingwithemotion,“gallantheroesaseverwontheVictoriaCross!
Iamcertainthatnooneofthethreewilleverleavetheplacemerelytosavehisownlife.
There’stheCurate:hiswifeiswithhim:theyhavenochildren.Thenthere’stheRomanCatholicPriest.Andthere’stheWesleyanMinister.
Theygoamongsttheirownflocksmostly;butI’mtoldthatthosewhoaredyingliketohaveanyofthethreewiththem.
HowslightthebarriersseemtobethatpartChristianfromChristianwhenonehastodealwiththegreatfactsofLifeandtherealityofDeath!”
“Soitmustbe,andsoitshouldbe—”Arthurwasbeginning,whenthefront-doorbellrang,suddenlyandviolently.
Weheardthefront-doorhastilyopened,andvoicesoutside:thenaknockatthedoorofthesmoking-room,andtheoldhouse-keeperappeared,lookingalittlescared.
“Twopersons,myLord,tospeakwithDr.Forester.”
Arthursteppedoutsideatonce,andweheardhischeery“Well,mymen?”buttheanswerwaslessaudible,theonlywordsIcoulddistinctlycatchbeing“tensincemorning,andtwomorejust—”
“Butthereisadoctorthere?”weheardArthursayandadeepvoice,thatwehadnotheardbefore,replied“Dead,Sir.Diedthreehoursago.”
LadyMurielshuddered,andhidherfaceinherhands:butatthismomentthefront-doorwasquietlyclosed,andweheardnomore.
Forafewminuteswesatquitesilent:thentheEarllefttheroom,andsoonreturnedtotellusthatArthurhadgoneawaywiththetwofishermen,leavingwordthathewouldbebackinaboutanhour.
And,trueenough,attheendofthatinterval—duringwhichverylittlewassaid,noneofusseemingtohavethehearttotalk—thefront-dooroncemorecreakedonitsrustyhinges,andastepwasheardinthepassage,hardlytoberecognizedasArthur’s,soslowanduncertainwasit,likeablindmanfeelinghisway.
Hecamein,andstoodbeforeLadyMuriel,restingonehandheavilyonthetable,andwithastrangelookinhiseyes,asifhewerewalkinginhissleep.
“Muriel—mylove—”hepaused,andhislipsquivered:butafteraminutehewentonmoresteadily.“Muriel—mydarling—they—wantme—downintheharbour.”
“Mustyougo?”shepleaded,risingandlayingherhandsonhisshoulders,andlookingupintohisfacewithgreateyesbrimmingoverwithtears.“Mustyougo,Arthur?Itmaymean—death!”
Hemethergazewithoutflinching.“Itdoesmeandeath,”hesaid,inahuskywhisper:“but—darling—Iamcalled.Andevenmylifeitself—”Hisvoicefailedhim,andhesaidnomore.
Foraminuteshestoodquitesilent,lookingupwardsinahelplessgaze,asifevenprayerwerenowuseless,whileherfeaturesworkedandquiveredwiththegreatagonyshewasenduring.
Thenasuddeninspirationseemedtocomeuponherandlightupherfacewithastrangesweetsmile.“Yourlife?”sherepeated.“Itisnotyourstogive!”
Arthurhadrecoveredhimselfbythistime,andcouldreplyquitefirmly,“Thatistrue,”hesaid.“Itisnotminetogive.
Itisyours,now,my—wifethatistobe!Andyou—doyouforbidmetogo?
Willyounotspareme,myownbelovedone?”
Stillclingingtohim,shelaidherheadsoftlyonhisbreast.
Shehadneverdonesuchathinginmypresencebefore,andIknewhowdeeplyshemustbemoved.
“Iwillspareyou”,shesaid,calmlyandquietly,“toGod.”
“AndtoGod’spoor,”hewhispered.
“AndtoGod’spoor,”sheadded.“Whenmustitbe,sweetlove?”
“To-morrowmorning,”hereplied.“AndIhavemuchtodobeforethen.”
Andthenhetoldushowhehadspenthishourofabsence.
HehadbeentotheVicarage,andhadarrangedfortheweddingtotakeplaceateightthenextmorning(therewasnolegalobstacle,ashehad,sometimebeforethis,obtainedaSpecialLicence)inthelittlechurchweknewsowell.
“Myoldfriendhere”,indicatingme,“willactas‘BestMan’,Iknow:yourfatherwillbetheretogiveyouaway:and—and—youwilldispensewithbride’s-maids,mydarling?”
Shenodded:nowordscame.
“AndthenIcangowithawillingheart—todoGod’swork—knowingthatweareone—andthatwearetogetherinspirit,thoughnotinbodilypresence—andaremostofalltogetherwhenwepray!Ourprayerswillgouptogether—”
“Yes,yes!”sobbedLadyMuriel.“Butyoumustnotstaylongernow,mydarling!Gohomeandtakesomerest.Youwillneedallyourstrengthto-morrow—”
“Well,Iwillgo,”saidArthur.“Wewillbehereingoodtimeto-morrow.Goodnight,myownowndarling!”
Ifollowedhisexample,andwetwoleftthehousetogether.
Aswewalkedbacktoourlodgings,Arthursigheddeeplyonceortwice,andseemedabouttospeak—butnowordscame,tillwehadenteredthehouse,andhadlitourcandles,andwereatourbedroom-doors.
ThenArthursaid“Goodnight,oldfellow!Godblessyou!”
“Godblessyou!”Iechoedfromtheverydepthsofmyheart.
WewerebackagainattheHallbyeightinthemorning,andfoundLadyMurielandtheEarl,andtheoldVicar,waitingforus.
Itwasastrangelysadandsilentpartythatwalkeduptothelittlechurchandback,andIcouldnothelpfeelingthatitwasmuchmorelikeafuneralthanawedding:toLadyMurielitwasinfact,afuneralratherthanawedding,soheavilydidthepresentimentweighuponher(asshetoldusafterwards)thathernewly-wonhusbandwasgoingforthtohisdeath.
Thenwehadbreakfast;and,alltoosoon,thevehiclewasatthedoor,whichwastoconveyArthur,firsttohislodgings,topickupthethingshewastakingwithhimandthenasfartowardsthedeath-strickenhamletasitwasconsideredsafetogo.
Oneortwoofthefishermenweretomeethimontheroad,tocarryhisthingstherestoftheway.
“Andareyouquitesureyouaretakingallthatyouneed?”LadyMurielasked.
“AllthatIshallneedasadoctor,certainly.
Andmypersonalneedsarefew:Ishallnoteventakeanyofownwardrobe—thereisafisherman’ssuit,ready-made,thatiswaitingformeatmylodgings.
Ishallonlytakemywatch,andafewbooks,and—stay—thereisonebookIshouldliketoadd,apocket-Testament—touseatthebedsidesofthesickanddying—”
Takemine!”saidLadyMuriel:andsheranupstairstofetchit.
“Ithasnothingwritteninitbut‘Muriel’,”shesaidasshereturnedwithit:“shallIinscribe—”‘,myownone,”saidArthur,takingitfromher.
“Whatcouldyouinscribebetterthanthat?
Couldanyhumannamemarkitmoreclearlyasmyownindividualproperty?Areyounotmine?
Areyounot,”(withalltheoldplayfulnessofmanner)“asBrunowouldsay,‘myverymine’?”
HebadealongandlovingadieutotheEarlandtome,andlefttheroom,accompaniedonlybyhiswife,whowasbearingupbravely,andwas—outwardly,atleast—lessovercomethanheroldfather.
Wewaitedintheroomaminuteortwo,tillthesoundsofwheelshadtoldusthatArthurhaddrivenaway;andeventhenwewaitedstill,forthestepofLadyMuriel,goingupstairstoherroom,todieawayinthedistance.
Herstep,usuallysolightandjoyous,nowsoundedslowandweary,likeonewhoplodsonunderaloadofhopelessmisery;andIfeltalmostashopeless,andalmostaswretchedasshe.
“Arewefourdestinedevertomeetagain,onthissidethegrave?”Iaskedmyself,asIwalkedtomyhome.
Andthetollingofadistantbellseemedtoanswerme,“No!No!No!”
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