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

And This Idea Governs Them And Leads

Them To A Certain And Predestined End; And All Struggles With It Are

Delusions. A Life Idea In The Higher Classes Of Mind,  A Life Instinct

In The Lower. It Were Almost Idle To Differentiate Between Them,  Both

May Be Included Under The Generic Title Of The Soul,  And The Drama

Involved In Such Conflict Is Always Of The Highest Interest,  For If

We Do Not Read The Story Of Our Own Soul,  We Read In Each The Story

Of A Soul That Might Have Been Ours,  And That Passed Very Near To Us;

And Who Reading Of Mike's Torment Is Fortunate Enough To Say,  "I Know

Nothing Of What Is Written There."

 

His Steps Echoed Hollow On The Old Pavement. Full Of Shadow The Roofs

Of The Square Church Swept Across The Sky; The Triple Lancet Windows

Caught A Little Light From The Gaslight On The Buildings; And He

Wondered What Was The Meaning Of The Little Gold Lamb Standing Over

One Doorway,  And Then Remembered That In Various Forms The Same

Symbolic Lamb Is Repeated Through The Temple. He Passed Under The

Dining-Hall By The Tunnel,  And Roamed Through The Spaces Beneath The

Plane-Trees Of King's Bench Walk. "My Friends Think My Life Was A

Perfect Gift,  But A Burning Cinder Was Placed In My Breast,  And Time

Has Blown It Into Flame."

 

In The Soporific Scent Of The Lilies And The Stocks,  The Night

Drowsed In The Darkness Of The Garden; Mike Unlocked The Gate And

Passed Into The Shadows,  And Hypnotized By The Heavenly Spaces,  In

Which There Were A Few Stars; By The Earth And The Many Emanations Of

The Earth; By The Darkness Which Covered All Things,  Hiding The

Little Miseries Of Human Existence,  He Threw Himself Upon The Sward

Crying,  "Oh,  Take Me,  Mother,  Hide Me In Thy Infinite Bosom,  Give Me

Forgetfulness Of The Day. Take And Hide Me Away. We Leave Behind A

Corpse That Men Will Touch. Sooner Would I Give Myself To The Filthy

Beaks Of Vultures,  Than To Their More Defiling Sympathies. Why Were

We Born? Why Are We Taught To Love Our Parents? It Is They Whom We

Should Hate,  For It Was They Who,  Careless Of Our Sufferings,

Inflicted Upon Us The Evil Of Life. We Are Taught To Love Them

Because The World Is Mad; There Is Nothing But Madness In The World.

Night,  Do Not Leave Me; I Cannot Bear With The Day. Ah,  The Day Will

Come; Nothing Can Retard The Coming Of The Day,  And I Can Bear No

Longer With The Day."

 

Hearing Footsteps,  He Sprang To His Feet,  And Walking In The

Direction Whence The Sound Came,  He Found Himself Face To Face With

The Policeman.

 

"Not Able To Get To Sleep Sir?"

 

"No,  I Couldn't Sleep,  The Night Is So Hot; I Shall Sleep Presently

Though."

 

They Had Not Walked Far Before The Officer,  Pointing To One Of The

Gables Of The Temple Gardens,  Said--

 

"That's Where Mr. Williamson Threw Himself Over,  Sir; He Got Out On

The Roof,  On To The Highest Point He Could Reach."

 

"He Wanted," Said Mike,  "To Do The Job Effectually."

 

"He Did So; He Made A Hole Two Feet Deep."

 

"They Put Him Into A Deeper One."

 

The Officer Laughed; And They Walked Round The Gardens,  Passing By

The Embankment To King's Bench Walk. Opening The Gate There,  The

Policeman Asked Mike If He Were Coming Out,  But He Said He Would

Return Across The Gardens,  And Let Himself Out By The Opposite Gate.

He Walked,  Thinking Of What He And The Policeman Had Been Saying--The

Proposed Reduction In The Rents Of The Chambers,  The Late Innovation

Chapter 10 Pg 144

Of Throwing Open The Gardens To The Poor Children Of The

Neighbourhood,  And It Was Not Until He Stooped To Unlock The Gate

That He Remembered That He Was Alive.

 

Then The Voice That Had Been Counselling Him So Long,  Drew Strangely

Near,  And Said "Die." The Voice Sounded Strangely Clear In The Void

Of A Great Brain Silence. Earth Ties Seemed Severed,  And Then Quite

Naturally,  Without Any Effort Of Mind,  He Went Up-Stairs To Shoot

Himself. No Effort Of Mind Was Needed,  It Seemed The Natural And

Inevitable Course For Him To Take,  And He Was Only Conscious Of A

Certain Faint Surprise That He Had So Long Delayed. There Was No

Trace Of Fear Or Doubt In Him; He Walked Up The Long Staircase

Without Embarrassment,  And In A Heavenly Calm Of Mind Hastened To Put

His Project Into Execution,  Dreading The Passing Of The Happiness Of

His Present Mood,  And The Return Of The Fever Of Living. He Stopped

For A Moment To See Himself In The Glass,  And Looking Into The Depths

Of His Eyes,  He Strove To Read There The Story Of His Triumph Over

Life. Then Seeing The Disorder Of His Dress,  And The Untidy

Appearance Of His Unshaven Chin,  He Smiled,  Conceiving In That Moment

That It Would Be Consistent To Make As Careful A Toilette To Meet

Death,  As He Had Often Done To Meet A Love.

 

He Was Anxious For The World To Know That It Was Not After A Drunken

Bout He Had Shot Himself,  But After Philosophic Deliberation And

Judicious Reflection. And He Could Far Better Affirm His State Of

Mind By His Dress,  Than By Any Written Words. Lying On The Bed,

Cleanly Shaved,  Wearing Evening Clothes,  Silk Socks,  Patent Leather

Shoes And White Gloves? No,  That Would Be Vulgar,  And All Taint Of

Vulgarity Must Be Avoided. He Must Represent,  Even In A State Of

Symbol,  The Young Man,  Who Having Drunk Of Life To Repletion,  And

Finding That He Can But Repeat The Same Love Draughts,  Says: "It Is

Far Too Great A Bore,  I Will Go," And He Goes Out Of Life Just As

If He Were Leaving A Fashionable _Soirée_ In Piccadilly. That Was

Exactly The Impression He Wished To Convey. Yes,  He Would Have Out

His Opera Hat And Light Overcoat. He Was A Little Uncertain Whether

He Should Die In The Night,  Or Wait For The Day,  And Considering The

Question,  He Lathered His Face. "Curious It Is," He Thought,  "I Never

Was So Happy,  So Joyous In Life Before.... These Walls,  All That I

See,  Will In A Few Minutes Disappear; It Is This I,  This Ego,  Which

Creates Them; In Destroying Myself I Destroy The World.... How Hard

This Beard Is! I Never Can Shave Properly Without Hot Water!"

 

As He Pulled On A Pair Of Silk Socks And Tied His White Necktie He

Thought Of Lady Helen. Going To Bed Was Not A Bad Notion--Particularly

For A Woman,  And A Woman In Love,  But It Would Be Ridiculous For A

Man. He Looked At Himself Again In The Long Glass In The Door Of His

Carved Mahogany Wardrobe,  And Was Pleased To See That,  Although A

Little Jaded And Worn,  He Was Still Handsome. Having Brushed His Hair

Carefully,  He Looked Out The Revolver; He Did Not Remember Exactly

Where He Had Put It,  And In Turning Out His Drawers He Came Upon A

Bundle Of Old Letters. They Were Mostly From Frank And Lizzie,  And In

Recalling Old Times They Reminded Him That If He Died Without Making

A Will,  His Property Would Go To The Crown. It Displeased Him To

Think That His Property Should Pass Away In So Impersonal A Manner.

But His Mind Was Now Full Of Death; Like A Gourmet He Longed To Taste

Of The Dark Fruit Of Oblivion; And The Delay Involved In Making Out

A Will Exasperated Him,  And It Was With Difficulty That He Conquered

His Selfishness And Sat Down To Write. Fretful He Threw Aside The

Pen; This Little Delay Had Destroyed All His Happiness. To Dispose Of

His Property In Money And Land Would Take Some Time; The Day Would

Surprise Him Still In The World. After A Few Moments' Reflection He

Decided That He Would Leave Belthorpe Park To Frank Escott.

 

"I Dare Say I'm Doing Him An Injury ... But No,  There's No Time For

Paradoxes--I'll Leave Belthorpe Park To Frank Escott. The Aristocrat

Shall Not Return To The People. But To Whom Shall I Leave All My

Money In The Funds? To A Hospital? No. To A Woman? I Must Leave It To

A Woman; I Hardly Know Any One But Women; But To Whom? Suppose I Were

To Leave It To Be Divided Among Those Who Could Advance Irrefutable

Proof That They Had Loved Me! What A Throwing Over Of Reputation

There Would Be." Then A Sudden Memory Of The Girl By Whom He Had Had

Chapter 10 Pg 145

A Child Sprang Upon Him Like Something Out Of The Dark. He Wondered

For A Moment What The Child Was Like,  And Then He Wrote Leaving The

Interest Of His Money To Her,  Until His Son,  The Child Born In Such

A Year--He Had Some Difficulty In Fixing The Date--Came Of Age. She

Should Retain The Use Of The Interest Of Twelve Thousand Pounds,  And

At Her Death That Sum Should Revert To The Said Child Born In ----,

And If The Said Child Were Not Living,  His Mother Should Become

Possessor Of The Entire Monies Now Invested In Funds,  To Do With As

She Pleased.

 

"That Will Do," He Thought; "I Dare Say It Isn't Very Legal,  But It

Is Common Sense And Will Be Difficult To Upset. Yes,  And I Will Leave

All My Books And Furniture In Temple Gardens To Frank; I Don't Care

Much About The Fellow,  But I Had Better Leave It To Him. And Now,

What About Witnesses? The Policemen Will Do."

 

He Found One In King's Bench Walk,  Another He Met A Little Further

On,  Talking To A Belated Harlot,  Whom He Willingly Relinquished On

Being Invited To Drink. Mike Led The Way At A Run Up The High Steps,

The Burly Officers Followed More Leisurely.

 

"Come In," He Cried,  And They Advanced Into The Room,  Their Helmets

In Their Hands. "What Will You Take,  Whiskey Or Brandy?"

 

After Some Indecision Both Decided,  As Mike Knew They Would,  For The

Former Beverage. He Offered Them Soda-Water; But They Preferred A

Little Plain Water,  And Drank To His Very Good Health. They Were,  As

Before,  Garrulous To Excess. Mike Listened For Some Few Minutes,  So

As To Avoid Suspicion,  And Then Said--

 

"Oh,  By The Way,  I Wrote Out My Will A Night Or Two Ago--Not That I

Want To Die Yet,  But One Never Knows. Would You Mind Witnessing It?"

 

The Policemen Saw No Objection; In A Few Moments The Thing Was Done,

And They Retired Bowing,  And The Door Closed On Solitude And Death.

 

Mike Lay Back In His Chair Reading The Document. The Fumes Of The

Whiskey He Had Drunk Obscured His Sense Of Purpose,  And He Allowed

His Thoughts To Wander; His Eyes Closed And He Dozed,  His Head Leaned

A Little On One Side. He Dreamed,  Or Rather He Thought,  For It Was

Hardly Sleep,  Of The Dear Good Women Who Had Loved Him; And He Mused

Over His Folly In Not Taking One To Wife And Accepting Life In Its

Plain Naturalness.

 

Then As Sleep Deepened The Dream Changed,  Becoming Hyperbolical And

Fantastic,  Until He Saw Himself Descending Into Hell. The Numerous

Women He Had Betrayed Awaited Him And