Mike Fletcher, George Moore [reading books for 4 year olds .TXT] 📗

Hundreds Who Did. Lady Helen Was One Of The Handsomest

Women In London,  And He Fancied She Was Thinking Of Him. And When He

Returned He Stood At The Door Watching Her As She Leaned Over The

Mantelpiece Reading A Letter. She Did Not Put It Away At Once,  But

Continued Reading And Playing With The Letter As One Might With

Something Conclusive And Important. She Took No Precaution Against

His Seeing It,  And He Noticed That It Was In A Man's Handwriting,  And

Began _Ma Chère Amie_. The Room Was Now Empty,  And The Clatter Of

Knives And Forks Drowned The Strains Of A Waltz.

 

"You Seemed To Be Very Much Occupied With That Young Person. She Is

Very Pretty. I Advise You To Take Care."

 

"I Don't Want To Marry. I Shall Never Marry. Did You Think I Was In

Love With Miss Young?"

 

"Well,  It Looked Rather Like It."

 

"No; I Swear You Are Mistaken. I Say,  If You Don't Care About Dancing

We'll Sit Down And Talk. So You Thought I Was In Love With Miss

Young? How Could I Be In Love With Her While You Are In The Room? You

Know,  You Must Have Seen,  That I Have Only Eyes For You. The Last

Time I Was In Paris I Went To See You In The Louvre."

 

"You Say I Am Like Jean Gougon's Statue."

 

"I Think So,  So Far As A Pair Of Stays Allows Me To Judge."

 

Lady Helen Laughed,  But There Was No Pleasure In Her Laugh; It Was A

Hard,  Bitter Laugh.

 

"If Only You Knew How Indifferent I Am! What Does It Matter Whether I

Am Like The Statue Or Not? I Am Indifferent To Everything."

 

"But I Admire You Because You Are Like The Statue."

 

"What Does It Matter To Me Whether You Admire Me Or Not? I Don't

Care."

 

He Had Not Asked Her For The Dance; She Had Sought Him Of Her

Free-Will. What Did It Mean?

 

"Why Should I Care? What Is It To Me Whether You Like Me Or Whether

You Hate Me? I Know Very Well That Three Months After My Death Every

One Will Have Ceased To Think Of Me; Three Months Hence It Will Be

The Same As If I Had Never Lived At All."

Chapter 5 Pg 42

"You Are Well Off; You Have Talent And Beauty. What More Do You

Want?"

 

"The World Cannot Give Me Happiness. You Find Happiness In Your Own

Heart,  Not In Worldly Possessions.... I Am A Pessimist. I Recognize

That Life Is A Miserable Thing--Not Only A Miserable Thing,  But A

Useless Thing. We Can Do No Good; There Is No Good To Be Done; And

Life Has No Advantage Except That We Can Put It Off When We Will.

Schopenhauer Is Wrong When He Asserts That Suicide Is No Solution Of

The Evil; So Far As The Individual Is Concerned Suicide Is A Perfect

Solution,  And Were The Race To Cease To-Morrow,  Nature Would

Instantly Choose Another Type And Force It Into Consciousness. Until

This Earth Resolves Itself To Ice Or Cinder,  Matter Will Never Cease

To Know Itself."

 

"My Dear," Said Lewis Seymour,  Who Entered The Room At That Moment,

"I Am Feeling Very Tired; I Think I Shall Go Home,  But Do Not Mind

Me. I Will Take A Hansom--You Can Have Your Brougham. You Will Not

Mind Coming Home Alone?"

 

"No,  I Shall Not Mind. But Do You Take The Brougham. It Will Be

Better So. It Will Save The Horse From Cold; I'll Come Back In A

Hansom."

 

Mike Noticed A Look Of Relief Or Of Pleasure On Her Face,  He Could

Not Distinguish Which. He Pressed The Conversation On Wives,

Husbands,  And Lovers,  Striving To Lead Her Into Some Confession. At

Last She Said--

 

"I Have Had A Lover For The Last Four Years."

 

"Really!" Said Mike. He Hoped His Face Did Not Betray His Great

Surprise. This Was The First Time He Had Ever Heard A Lady Admit She

Had Had A Lover.

 

"We Do Not Often Meet; He Doesn't Live In England. I Have Not Seen

Him For More Than Six Months."

 

"Do You Think He Is Faithful To You All That Time?"

 

"What Does It Matter Whether He Is Or Not? When We Meet We Love Each

Other Just The Same."

 

"I Have Never Known A Woman Like You. You Are The Only One That Has

Ever Interested Me. If You Had Been My Mistress Or My Wife You Would

Have Been Happier; You Would Have Worked,  And In Work,  Not In

Pleasure,  We May Cheat Life. You Would Have Written Your Books,  I

Should Have Written Mine."

 

"I Don't Want You To Think I Am Whining About My Lot. I Know What The

Value Of Life Is; I'm Not Deceived,  That Is All."

 

"You Are Unhappy Because Your Present Life Affords No Outlet For Your

Talent. Ah! Had You Had To Fight The Battle! How Happy It Would Have

Made Me To Fight Life With You! I Wonder You Never Thought Of Leaving

Your Husband,  And Throwing Yourself Into The Battle Of Work."

 

"Supposing I Wasn't Able To Make My Living. To Give Up My Home Would

Be Running Too Great A Risk."

 

"How Common All Are When You Begin To Know Them," Thought Mike.

 

They Spoke Of The Books They Had Read. She Told Him Of _Le Journal

D'amiel_,  Explaining The Charm That That Lamentable Record Of A

Narrow,  Weak Mind,  Whose Power Lay In An Intense Consciousness Of Its

Own Failure,  Had For Her. She Spoke Savagely,  Tearing Out Her Soul,

And Flinging It As It Were In Mike's Face,  Frightening Him Not A

Little.

 

"I Wish I Had Known Amiel; I Think I Could Have Loved Him."

Chapter 5 Pg 43

 

"Did He Never Write Anything But This Diary?"

 

"Oh,  Yes; But Nothing Of Any Worth. The Diary Was Not Written For

Publication. A Friend Of His Found It Among His Papers,  And From A

Huge Mass Extricated Two Volumes." Then Speaking In Praise Of The

Pessimism Of The Russian Novels,  She Said--"There Is No Pleasure In

Life--At Least None For Me; The Only Thing That Sustains Me Is

Curiosity."

 

"I Don't Speak Of Love,  But Have You No Affection For Your

Friends?--You Like Me,  For Instance."

 

"I Am Interested In You--You Rouse My Curiosity; But When I Know You,

I Shall Pass You By Just Like Another."

 

"You Are Frank,  To Say The Least Of It. But Like All Other Women,  I

Suppose You Like Pleasure,  And I Adore You; I Really Do. I Have Never

Seen Any One Like You. You Are Superb To-Night; Let Me Kiss You." He

Took Her In His Arms.

 

"No,  No; Loose Me. You Do Not Love Me,  I Do Not Love You; This Is

Merely Vice."

 

He Pleaded She Was Mistaken. They Spoke Of Indifferent Things,  And

Soon After Went In To Supper.

 

"What A Beautiful Piece Of Tapestry!" Said Lady Helen.

 

"Yes,  Isn't It. But How Strange!" He Said,  Stopping In The Doorway.

"See How Exquisitely Real Is The Unreal--That Is To Say,  How Full Of

Idea,  How Suggestive! Those Blue Trees And Green Skies,  Those Nymphs

Like Unswathed Mummies,  Colourless But For The Red Worsted Of Their

Lips,--That One Leaning On Her Bow,  Pointing To The Stag That The

Hunters Are Pursuing Through A Mysterious Yellow Forest,--Are To My

Mind Infinitely More Real Than The Women Bending Over Their Plates.

At This Moment The Real Is Mean And Trivial,  The Ideal Is Full Of

Evocation."

 

"The Real And The Ideal; Why Distinguish As People Usually

Distinguish Between The Words? The Real Is But The Shadow Of The

Ideal,  The Ideal But The Shadow Of The Real."

 

The Table Was In Disorder Of Cut Pineapple,  Scattered Dishes,  And

Drooping Flowers. Muchross,  Snowdown,  Dicky The Driver,  And Others

Were Grouped About The End Of The Table,  And A Waiter Who Styled Them

"Most Amusing Gentlemen," Supplied Fresh Bottles Of Champagne.

Muchross Had Made Several Speeches,  And Now Jumping On A Chair,  He

Discoursed On The Tapestry,  Drawing Outrageous Parallels,  And Talking

Unexpected Nonsense. The Castle He Identified As The Cottage Where He

And Jenny Had Spent The Summer; The Bleary-Eyed Old Peacock Was The

Chicken He Had Dosed With Cayenne Pepper,  Hoping To Cure Its

Rheumatism; The Pool With The White Threads For Sunlight Was The

Water-Butt Into Which Tom Had Fallen From The Tiles--"Those Are The

Hairs Out Of His Own Old Tail." The Nymphs Were Laura,  Maggie,  Emily,

&C. Mike Asked Lady Helen To Come Into The Dancing-Room,  But She Did

Not Appear To Hear,  And Her Laughter Encouraged Muchross To Further

Excesses. The Riot Had Reached Its Height And Dancers Were Beginning

To Come From The Drawing-Room To Ask What It Was All About.

 

"All About!" Shouted Muchross; "I Don't Care Any More About Nymphs--I

Only Care About Getting Drunk And Singing. 'What Cheer,  'Ria!'"

 

"Don't You Care For Dancing?" Said Lady Helen,  With Tears Running

Down Her Cheeks.

 

"Ra-Ther; See Me Dance The Polka,  Dear Girl." And They Went Banging

Through The Dancers. Snowdown And Dicky Shouted Approval.

 

  "What Cheer,  'Ria!

     'Ria's On The Job.

Chapter 5 Pg 44

   What Cheer,  'Ria!

     Speculate A Bob.

   'Ria Is A Toff,  And She Is Immensikoff--

   And We All Shouted,

   What Cheer,  'Ria!"

 

Amid The Uproar Lady Helen Danced With Lily Young. Insidious

Fragilities Of Eighteen Were Laid Upon The Plenitudes Of Thirty! Pure

Pink And Cream-Pink Floated On The Wind Of The Waltz,  Fading Out Of

Colour In Shadowy Corners,  Now Gliding Into The Glare Of Burnished

Copper,  To The Quick Appeal Of The 'Estudiantina.' A Life That Had

Ceased To Dream Smiled Upon One Which Had Begun To Dream. Sad Eyes Of

Summer,  That May Flame With No Desire Again,  Looked Into The Eyes Of

Spring,  Where Fancies Collect Like White Flowers In The Wave Of A

Clear Fountain.

 

Mike And Frank Turned Shoulder Against Shoulder Across The Room,  Four

Legs Following In Intricate Unison To The Opulent Rhythm Of The 'Blue

Danube'; And When Beneath Ruche-Rose Feet Died Away In Little

Exhausted Steps,  The Men Sprang From Each Other,  And The Rhythm Of

Sex Was Restored--Mike With Lily,  And Frank With Helen,  Yielding

Hearts,  Hands,  And Feet In The Garden Enchantment Oighest Paradise. The Maids Of

Heaven,  Inmates Of The Loftiest Mansions,  Will Circle Around It,  And The

Prophets Of God And His Chosen Ones Will Seek Its Companionship. With Them

That Soul Will Freely Converse,  And Will Recount Unto Them That Which It

Hath Been Made To Endure In The Path Of God,  The Lord Of All Worlds. If

Any Man Be Told That Which Hath Been