Speaker 1: Chapter ten of They and I by Jerome K. Jerome.
Speaker 1: This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by
Speaker 1: debreel Inn They and I by Jerome K. Jerome. Chapter ten.
Speaker 1: She's a good woman, said Robina. Who's a good woman,
Speaker 1: I asked, he's trying, I expect, although he is an
Speaker 1: old deer to live with. I mean, continued Robina, addressing
Speaker 1: apparently the rising moon. And then there are all those
Speaker 1: children you are thinking of, missus Saint Leonard. I suggested,
Speaker 1: there seems no way of making her happy, explained Robina.
Speaker 1: On Thursday, I went round early in the morning to
Speaker 1: help Janie pack the baskets for the picnic. It was
Speaker 1: her own idea the picnic. Speaking of picnics, I said,
Speaker 1: you might have thought, went on Robina, that she was
Speaker 1: dressing for her own funeral. She said she knew she
Speaker 1: was going to catch her death of cold. Sitting on
Speaker 1: the wet grass. Something told her. I reminded her it
Speaker 1: hadn't rained for three weeks, and that everything was as
Speaker 1: dry as a bone. But she said that made no
Speaker 1: difference to grass. There was always a moisture in grass,
Speaker 1: and that cushions and all that only helped to draw
Speaker 1: it out, not that it mattered. The end had to come,
Speaker 1: and so long as the others were happy. You know
Speaker 1: her style, nobody ever thought of her. She was to
Speaker 1: be dragged here, dragged there. She talked about herself as
Speaker 1: if she were some sacred image. It got upon my
Speaker 1: nerves at last, so that I persuaded Janie to let
Speaker 1: me offer to stop at home with her. I wasn't
Speaker 1: too keen about going myself. Not by that time, when
Speaker 1: our desires leave us, says rouchef called. I remarked, we
Speaker 1: pride ourselves upon our virtue in having overcome them. Well,
Speaker 1: it was her fault, anyhow, retorted Robin, and I didn't
Speaker 1: make a virtue of it. I told her I'd just
Speaker 1: as soon not go, and that I felt sure the
Speaker 1: others would be all right without her, so that there
Speaker 1: was no need for her to be dragged anywhere. And
Speaker 1: then she burst into tears. She said, I suggested that
Speaker 1: it was hard on her to have children who could
Speaker 1: wish to go to a picnic and leave their mother
Speaker 1: at home. That it was little and enjoyment she had
Speaker 1: in her life. Heaven knows that if there was one
Speaker 1: thing she had been looking forward to, it was this
Speaker 1: day's outing. But still, of course, if everybody would be
Speaker 1: happier without her something of the sort, admitted Robina. Only
Speaker 1: there was a lot of it. We had to all
Speaker 1: fuss round her and swear that without her it wouldn't
Speaker 1: be worth calling a picnic. She brightened up. On the
Speaker 1: way home. The screech owl in the yew tree emitted
Speaker 1: a blood curdling scream. He purchased there each evening, on
Speaker 1: the extreme end of the longest bow, dimly outlined against
Speaker 1: the night. He has the appearance of a friendly hobgoblin.
Speaker 1: But I wish he didn't fancy himself as a vocalist.
Speaker 1: It is against his own interests. I am sure if
Speaker 1: he only knew it, that American college yell of his
Speaker 1: must have the effect of sending every living thing within
Speaker 1: half a mile back into its hole. Maybe it is
Speaker 1: a provision of nature for clearing off the very old
Speaker 1: mice who had become stone deaf and would otherwise be
Speaker 1: a burden on their relatives. The others, unless out for suicide.
Speaker 1: Must one things be tolerably safe. Ethel Bertha is persuaded
Speaker 1: he is a sign of death. But seeing there isn't
Speaker 1: a square quarter of a mile in this county without
Speaker 1: its screech owl. There can hardly, by this time be
Speaker 1: a resident that an assurance society would look at. Veronica
Speaker 1: likes him. She even likes his screech. I found her
Speaker 1: under the tree the other night, wrapped up in a shawl,
Speaker 1: trying to learn it, as if one of them were
Speaker 1: not enough. It may be quite cross with her. Besides,
Speaker 1: it wasn't a bit like it, as I told her.
Speaker 1: She said, it was better than I could do anyhow,
Speaker 1: and I was idiot enough to take up the challenge.
Speaker 1: It makes me angry now when I think of it,
Speaker 1: a respectable middle aged literary man standing under a yew
Speaker 1: tree trying to screech like an owl, and the bird
Speaker 1: was silly enough to encourage us. She was a charming girl,
Speaker 1: I said seven and twenty years ago when Saint Leonard
Speaker 1: fell in love with her. She had those dark, dreamy eyes,
Speaker 1: so suggestive of veiled mysteries, and her lips must have
Speaker 1: looked bewitching when they powdered, I expect they often did.
Speaker 1: They do so still, But the powatable woman of forty
Speaker 1: six no long longer fascinates to a pretty girl of
Speaker 1: nineteen a spice of temper and illogical unreasonableness. Our added attractions,
Speaker 1: the scratch of a blue eyed kitten only tempts us
Speaker 1: to tease her. The more young Hubert Saint Leonard, he
Speaker 1: had curly brown hair with a pretty trick of blushing,
Speaker 1: and was going to conquer the world, found her fretfulness,
Speaker 1: her very selfishness adorable, and told her so. Kneeling before her,
Speaker 1: gazing into her bewildering eyes only he called it her waywardness,
Speaker 1: her imperiousness, begged her for his sake to be more capricious,
Speaker 1: told her how beautiful she looked when displeased, So no
Speaker 1: doubt she did at nineteen. He didn't tell you all that, did,
Speaker 1: he demanded, robinon Not a word I reassured her, except
Speaker 1: that she was acknowledged by all authorities to have been
Speaker 1: the most beautiful girl in Tunbridge Wells, and that her
Speaker 1: father had been ruined by a rascally solicitor. No, I
Speaker 1: was merely, to use the phrase of the French police courts,
Speaker 1: reconstructing the crime. It may be all wrong, grumbled Robin. Huh,
Speaker 1: it may be, I agreed, but why does it strike
Speaker 1: you as improbable? We were sitting in the porch waiting
Speaker 1: for Dick to come by the white path across the field. No,
Speaker 1: answered Robin. It all sounds very probable. I wish it didn't.
Speaker 1: You must remember, I continued, that I am an old playgoer.
Speaker 1: I have set out so many of this world's dramas
Speaker 1: it is as easy to reconstruct them backwards as forwards.
Speaker 1: We are witnessing the last act of the Saint Leonard drama,
Speaker 1: that unsatisfactory last act that merely fills out time after
Speaker 1: the play has ended. The intermediate acts were probably more exciting,
Speaker 1: containing passionate scenes played with much earnestness, chiefly for the
Speaker 1: amusement of the servants. But the first act, with the
Speaker 1: Kentish lanes and woods for a backcloth, must have been charming.
Speaker 1: Here was the devout lover she had heard of, dreamed of.
Speaker 1: It is delightful to be regarded as perfection, not absolute perfection,
Speaker 1: for that might put a strain upon us to live
Speaker 1: up to. But it is so near perfection that to
Speaker 1: be more perfect would just spoil it. The spots upon
Speaker 1: us that unappreciative friends and relations would magnifying to blemishes
Speaker 1: seen in their true light. Artistic shading, relieving a faultlessness
Speaker 1: that might otherwise prove too glaring. Dear Hubert found her excellent,
Speaker 1: just as she was in every detail. It would have
Speaker 1: been a crime against love for her to seek to
Speaker 1: change herself. Well, then it was his fault, argued Robina.
Speaker 1: If he was silly enough to like her faults and
Speaker 1: encourage her in them, what could he have done, I asked,
Speaker 1: even if he had seen them. The lover does not
Speaker 1: point out his mistress's shortcomings to her. Much the more
Speaker 1: sensible plan if he did, insisted Robina, than if she
Speaker 1: cared for him, she could set to work to cure herself.
Speaker 1: You would like it, I said, You would appreciate it
Speaker 1: in your own case. Can you imagine young Butte. Why
Speaker 1: Young Butte, demanded Robina. What's he got to do with it? Nothing,
Speaker 1: I answered, except that he happens to be the first
Speaker 1: male creature you have ever come across since you were
Speaker 1: six that you haven't flirted with. I don't flirt with them,
Speaker 1: said Robin. I merely try to be nice to them,
Speaker 1: With the exception of young Butte, I persisted, he irritates me,
Speaker 1: Robina explained, I was reading, I said, the other day.
Speaker 1: An account of the marriage customs prevailing among the Lower Caucasians.
Speaker 1: The lover takes his stand beneath his lady's window, and,
Speaker 1: having attracted her attention, proceeds to sing. And if she
Speaker 1: seems to like it, if she listens to it without
Speaker 1: getting mad, that means she doesn't want him. But if
Speaker 1: she gets upset about it, slams down the window and
Speaker 1: walks away, then it's all right. I think it's The
Speaker 1: Lower Caucasians must be a very silly people, said Robina.
Speaker 1: I suppose a pail of water would be the highest
Speaker 1: proof of her affection. He could hope for a complex
Speaker 1: being man. I agreed. We will call him X. Can
Speaker 1: you imagine young X coming to you and saying, my
Speaker 1: dear Robina, you have many excellent qualities. You can be
Speaker 1: amiable so long as you are having your own way
Speaker 1: and everything, but thwarted, you can be just horrid. You
Speaker 1: are very kind to those who are willing for you
Speaker 1: to be kind to them in your own way, which
Speaker 1: is not always their way. You can be quite unselfish
Speaker 1: when you happen to be in an unselfish mood, which
Speaker 1: is far from frequent. You are capable and clever, but
Speaker 1: like most capable and clever people, impatient and domineering, highly
Speaker 1: energetic when not feeling lazy, ready to forgive the moment
Speaker 1: your temper is exhausted. You are generous and frank, but
Speaker 1: if your object could only be gained through meanness or deceit,
Speaker 1: you would not hesitate a moment longer than was necessary
Speaker 1: to convince yourself that the circumstances justified the means. You
Speaker 1: are sympathetic, tender hearted, and have a fine sense of justice.
Speaker 1: But I can see that tongue of yours if not
Speaker 1: carefully watched, wearing decidedly shrewish. You have any amount of grit.
Speaker 1: A man might go tiger hunting with you, with no
Speaker 1: one better. But you are obstinate, conceited, and exacting. In short,
Speaker 1: to sum you up, you have all the makings, and
Speaker 1: you have an ideal wife, combined with fault sufficient to
Speaker 1: make a Socrates regret he'd ever married you. Yes, I would,
Speaker 1: said Robina, springing to her feet. I could not see
Speaker 1: her face, but I knew there was the look upon
Speaker 1: it that made Priingate want to paint her as Joan
Speaker 1: of Arc. Only it would never stop long enough, I'd
Speaker 1: love him for talking like that, and I'd respect him
Speaker 1: if he was that sort of man. I'd pray God
Speaker 1: to help me to be the sort of woman he
Speaker 1: wanted me to be. I'd try. I'd try all day long.
Speaker 1: I would. I wonder, I said, Robina had surprised me.
Speaker 1: I admit it. I thought I knew the sex better
Speaker 1: any girl would, said Robin. He'd be worth it. It
Speaker 1: would be a new idea, I mused, God, im Himmel,
Speaker 1: what a new world might it not create? The fancy
Speaker 1: began to take hold of me. Love no longer blind love,
Speaker 1: refusing any more to be the poor, blind, fool sport
Speaker 1: of gods and men. Love no longer passioned slave, his
Speaker 1: bonds broken, the senseless bandage flung aside. Love helping life
Speaker 1: instead of muddling it. Marriage, the foundation of civilization, no
Speaker 1: longer reared upon the sands of lies delusions, but grappled
Speaker 1: to the rock of truth reality. Have you ever read
Speaker 1: Tom Jones? I said, no, answered robinon I've always heard
Speaker 1: it wasn't a nice book. It isn't, I said. Man
Speaker 1: isn't a nice animal, not all of him, nor woman either.
Speaker 1: There's a deal of the beast in man, What can
Speaker 1: you expect Till a few paltry thousands of years ago,
Speaker 1: he was a beast, fighting with other beasts, his fellow
Speaker 1: denizens of the woods and caves, watching for his prey,
Speaker 1: crouched in the long grass of the river's bank, tearing
Speaker 1: it with claws and teeth, growling as he ate. So
Speaker 1: he lived and died through the dim, unnamed ages, transmitting
Speaker 1: his beast's blood. His beast deal instincts to his offspring,
Speaker 1: growing ever stronger fiercer from generation to generation, while the
Speaker 1: rocks piled up their strata and the oceans shaped their beds. Moses,
Speaker 1: why Lord Rothschild's great grandfather, a few score times removed,
Speaker 1: must have known Moses talked with them. Babylon It is
Speaker 1: a modern city fallen into disuse for the moment, owing
Speaker 1: to alteration of traffic routs history. It is the tale
Speaker 1: of to day. Man was crawling about the world on
Speaker 1: all fours, learning to be an animal for millions of
Speaker 1: years before the secret of his birth was whispered to him.
Speaker 1: It is only during the last few centuries that he
Speaker 1: has been trying to be a man. Our modern morality, why,
Speaker 1: compared with the teachings of nature. It is but a
Speaker 1: few days old. What do you expect that he shall
Speaker 1: forget the lessons of the eons at the bidding of
Speaker 1: the hours? Then you advise me to read Tom Jones,
Speaker 1: said robinon Yes, I said I do. I should not
Speaker 1: if I thought you were still a child, knowing only
Speaker 1: blind trust or blind terror. The sun is not extinguished
Speaker 1: because occasionally obscured by mist. The scent of the rose
Speaker 1: is not dead because of the worm and the leaf.
Speaker 1: A healthy rose can afford a few worms has got
Speaker 1: to anyhow, all men are not Tom Jones's. The standard
Speaker 1: of masculine behavior continues to go up. Many of us
Speaker 1: make fine efforts to conform to it, and some of
Speaker 1: us succeed. But the Tom Jones is there in all
Speaker 1: of us who are not a knemic or consumptive. And
Speaker 1: there's no sense at all in getting cross with us
Speaker 1: about it, because we cannot help it. We are doing
Speaker 1: our best. In another hundred thousand years or so, provided
Speaker 1: all goes well, we shall be the perfect man. And
Speaker 1: seeing our early training, I flatter myself that up to
Speaker 1: the present we have done remarkably well. Nothing like being
Speaker 1: satisfied with one's self, said robinon. I'm not satisfied, I said,
Speaker 1: I'm only hopeful. But it irritates me when I hear
Speaker 1: people talk as though man had been born a white
Speaker 1: souled angel and was making supernatural efforts to become a sinner.
Speaker 1: That seems to me the way to discourage him what
Speaker 1: he wants is bucking up somebody to say to him, bravo,
Speaker 1: why this is splendid. Just think, my boy, what you were,
Speaker 1: and that not so very long ago, an unwashed harry savage,
Speaker 1: Your law that of the jungle, Your morals those of
Speaker 1: the rabbit warren. Now look at yourself, dressed in your
Speaker 1: little shiny hat, your trousers neatly creased, walking with your
Speaker 1: wife to church on Sunday. Keep on, That's all you've
Speaker 1: got to do. In a few more centuries, your own
Speaker 1: mother nature won't know you, you women, I continued, Why
Speaker 1: a handful of years ago we bought and sold you,
Speaker 1: kept you in cages, took the stick to you when
Speaker 1: you were not spry in doing what you were told.
Speaker 1: Did you ever read the history of patient Griselda, Yes,
Speaker 1: said Robina. I have I gathered from her tone that
Speaker 1: the joan of arc expression had departed, had Primgate wanted
Speaker 1: to paint her at that particular moment, I should have
Speaker 1: suggested Catherine during the earlier stages, listening to a curtain
Speaker 1: lecture from Petruccio, Are you suggesting that all women should
Speaker 1: take her for a model? No, I said, I'm not,
Speaker 1: though were we living in Chaucer's time, I might, and
Speaker 1: you would not think it even silly. What I'm impressing
Speaker 1: upon you is that the human race has yet a
Speaker 1: little way to travel before the average man can be
Speaker 1: regarded as an up to date edition of King Arthur,
Speaker 1: the King Arthur of the poetical legend. I mean, don't
Speaker 1: be too impatient with him, thinking what a beast he
Speaker 1: has been ought to make him impatient himself with himself
Speaker 1: considered Robin, he ought to be feeling so ashamed of
Speaker 1: himself as to be willing to do anything. The owl
Speaker 1: in the old youth screamed, whether with indignation or amusement.
Speaker 1: I cannot tell a woman, I said, had the power
Speaker 1: been hers? Which she have used it to sweeter purpose?
Speaker 1: Where is your evidence, your Cleopatras, pompadours Jezebels, your Catherines
Speaker 1: of Russia, late empresses of China, your foustines of all
Speaker 1: ages and all climes, your mother brown Rigs, your Lucretia
Speaker 1: Borges Salomes. I could weary you with names, Your Roman
Speaker 1: task mistresses, your drivers of lodging house slavies, your ladies
Speaker 1: who whipped their pages to death in the Middle Ages,
Speaker 1: Your modern dames of fashion, decked with the plumage of
Speaker 1: the tortured grove. There have been other women, also noble women,
Speaker 1: their names like beacon lights studying the dark waste of history.
Speaker 1: So there have been noble men, saints, martyrs, heroes. The
Speaker 1: sex line divides us physically, not morally. Woman has been
Speaker 1: man's accomplice, and too many crimes to claim to be
Speaker 1: his judge. Male and female created He them like and like,
Speaker 1: for good and evil, the good fortune. I found a
Speaker 1: loose match, I lighted a fresh cigar. Dick. I suppose
Speaker 1: is the average man, said Robina, most of us are,
Speaker 1: I said, when we are at home, Carlyle was the
Speaker 1: average man in the little front parlor and chaining row.
Speaker 1: Though to hear folks talk, you might think no married
Speaker 1: couple outside literary circles had ever been known to exchange
Speaker 1: a cross. Look so was Oliver Cromwell in his own
Speaker 1: palace with the door shut. Missus Cromwell must have thought
Speaker 1: him monstrous, silly placing sticky sweetmeats for his guests to
Speaker 1: sit on, told him so, most likely a cheery, kindly man. Notwithstanding,
Speaker 1: though given to moods, he and Missus Cromwell seemed to
Speaker 1: have rubbed along on the whole pretty well together. Old
Speaker 1: Sam Johnson, great, god fearing, lovable, cantankerous, old brute. Life
Speaker 1: with him in a small house on a limited income
Speaker 1: must have had its ups and downs. Milton and Frederick
Speaker 1: the Great were one hopes, a little below the average,
Speaker 1: did their best, no doubt lacked understanding. Not so easy
Speaker 1: as it looks, living up to the standard of the
Speaker 1: average man. Very clever people in particular find it tiring.
Speaker 1: I shall never marry, said Robina. At least I hope.
Speaker 1: I sha'n't. Why hope, I asked, because I hope I
Speaker 1: shall never be idiot enough, she answered, I see it
Speaker 1: all so clearly. I wish I didn't love. It's only
Speaker 1: an ugly thing with a pretty name. It will not
Speaker 1: be me that he will fall in love with. He
Speaker 1: will not know me until it is too late, how
Speaker 1: can he? It will be merely with the outside of me,
Speaker 1: my pink and white skin, my rounded arms. I feel
Speaker 1: it sometimes when I see men looking at me, and
Speaker 1: it makes me mad. And at other times the admiration
Speaker 1: in their eyes pleases me, and that makes me madder. Still,
Speaker 1: the moon had slipped behind the wood. She had risen,
Speaker 1: and leaning against the porch, was standing with her hands clasped.
Speaker 1: I fancy she had forgotten me. She seemed to be
Speaker 1: talking to the night. It's only a trick of nature
Speaker 1: to make fools of us, she said. He will tell
Speaker 1: me I am all the world to him, that his
Speaker 1: love will outlive the stars, will believe it himself at
Speaker 1: the time, poor fellow, he will call me a hundred
Speaker 1: pretty names. We'll kiss my feet and hands, and if
Speaker 1: I'm fool enough to listen to him, it may last.
Speaker 1: She laughed. It was rather an ugly laugh. Six months
Speaker 1: with luck, perhaps a year, if I'm careful not to
Speaker 1: go out in the east wind and come home with
Speaker 1: a red nose, and never let him catch me in
Speaker 1: curl papers. It will not be me that he will
Speaker 1: want only my youth and the novelty of me, and
Speaker 1: the mystery and when that is gone. She turned to me.
Speaker 1: It was a strange face I saw then in the
Speaker 1: pale light, quite a fierce little face. She laid her
Speaker 1: hands upon my shoulders, and I felt them cold. What
Speaker 1: comes when it is dead? She said? What follows? You
Speaker 1: must know? Tell me I want the truth. Her vehem
Speaker 1: had arisen, so suddenly the little girl I had set
Speaker 1: out to talk with was no longer there. To my bewilderment,
Speaker 1: it was a woman that was questioning me. I drew
Speaker 1: her down beside me, but the childish face was still stern.
Speaker 1: I want the truth, she said, so that I answered,
Speaker 1: very gravely. When the passion has passed, when the glory
Speaker 1: and the wonder of desire, nature's eternal ritual of marriage,
Speaker 1: solemnizing sanctifying it to her commands, has ended, When sooner
Speaker 1: or later, some gray dawn finds you wandering, bewildered in
Speaker 1: once familiar places, seeking vainly the lost palace of youth's dreams,
Speaker 1: When love's frenzy has faded, like the fragrance of the blossom,
Speaker 1: like the splendor of the dawn, there will remained to
Speaker 1: you just what was there before, no more, no less.
Speaker 1: If passion was all you had to give to one another.
Speaker 1: God help you. You have had your hour of madness.
Speaker 1: It is finished. If greed of praise and worship was
Speaker 1: your price, while you have had your payment, the bargain
Speaker 1: is complete. Your hope to be made happy was your allure.
Speaker 1: One pities you. We do not make each other happy.
Speaker 1: Happiness is the gift of the gods, not of man.
Speaker 1: The secret lies within you, not without What remains to
Speaker 1: you will depend not upon what you thought, but upon
Speaker 1: what you are. If behind the lover there was the man,
Speaker 1: behind the impossible goddess of his love, sick brain, some
Speaker 1: honest human woman, then life lies not behind you, but
Speaker 1: before you. Life is giving, not getting. That is the
Speaker 1: mistake we, most of us, set out with. It is
Speaker 1: the work that is the joy, not the wages, the game,
Speaker 1: not the score. The lover's delight is to yield, not
Speaker 1: to claim. The crown of motherhood is pain. To serve
Speaker 1: the state at cost of ease and leisure. To spend
Speaker 1: his thought and labor upon a hundred schemes is the
Speaker 1: man's ambition. Life is doing, not havy. It is to
Speaker 1: gain the peak. The climber strives, not to possess it.
Speaker 1: Fools marry thinking what they are going to get out
Speaker 1: of it? Good store of joys and pleasures, opportunities for
Speaker 1: self indulgence, eternal soft caresses, the wages of the wanton.
Speaker 1: The rewards of marriage are toil, duty, responsibility, manhood, womanhood,
Speaker 1: love's baby talk. You will have outgrown. You will no
Speaker 1: longer be his goddess, angel, popsy, wopsy, queen of his heart.
Speaker 1: There are finer names than these, wife, mother, priestess. In
Speaker 1: the temple of humanity, marriage is renunciation, the sacrifice of
Speaker 1: self upon the altar of the race. A trick of nature,
Speaker 1: you call it, perhaps, but a trick of nature compelling
Speaker 1: you to surrender yourself to the purposes of God. I
Speaker 1: fancy we must have sat in silence for quite a
Speaker 1: long while, for the moon creeping upward past the wood
Speaker 1: had flooded the fields again with light before Robina spoke.
Speaker 1: Then all love is needless, she said, We could do
Speaker 1: better without it. Choose with more discretion. If it is
Speaker 1: only something that worries us for a little while and
Speaker 1: then passes, what is the sense of it? You could
Speaker 1: ask the same question of life itself. I said, something
Speaker 1: that worries us for a little while then passes. Perhaps
Speaker 1: the worry, as you call it, has its uses. Volcanic
Speaker 1: upheavals are necessary to the making of a world. Without them,
Speaker 1: the ground would remain rock bound, unfitted for its purposes.
Speaker 1: That explosion of youths pent up forces that we term love,
Speaker 1: serves to the making of man and woman. It does
Speaker 1: not die, it takes new shape. The blossom fades as
Speaker 1: the fruit forms. The passion passes to give place to peace.
Speaker 1: The trembling lover has become the helper, the comforter, the husband.
Speaker 1: But the failures robin and persisted. I do not mean
Speaker 1: the silly or the wicked people, but the people who
Speaker 1: begin by really loving one another, only to end in disliking,
Speaker 1: almost hating one another. How do they get there? Sit down,
Speaker 1: I said, and I will tell you a story. Once
Speaker 1: upon a time, there was a girl and a boy
Speaker 1: who loved her. She was a clever, brilliant girl, and
Speaker 1: she had the face of an angel. They lived near
Speaker 1: to one another, seeing each other almost daily, but the boy,
Speaker 1: awed by the difference of their social position, kept his
Speaker 1: secret as he thought to himself, dreaming as youth will
Speaker 1: of the day when fame and wealth would bridge the
Speaker 1: gulf between them. The kind look in her eyes, the
Speaker 1: occasional seeming pressure of her hand he allowed to feed
Speaker 1: his hopes. And on the morning of his departure for London,
Speaker 1: an incident occurred that changed his vague imaginings to set resolve.
Speaker 1: He had sent on his scanty baggage by the carrier,
Speaker 1: intending to walk the three miles to the station. It
Speaker 1: was early in the morning, and he had not expected
Speaker 1: to meet a soul. But a mile from the village
Speaker 1: he overtook her. She was reading a book, but she
Speaker 1: made no pretense that the meeting was accidental, leaving him
Speaker 1: to form what conclusions he would. She walked with him
Speaker 1: some distance, and he told her of his plans and hopes,
Speaker 1: and she answered him quite simply, that she should always
Speaker 1: remember him, always be more glad than she could tell
Speaker 1: to hear of his success. Near the end of the
Speaker 1: lane they parted, she wishing him in that low, sweet
Speaker 1: woman's voice of hers all things good. He turned a
Speaker 1: little farther on and found that she had also turned.
Speaker 1: She waved her hand to him, smiling, And through the
Speaker 1: long day's journey and through many days to come, there
Speaker 1: remained with him that picture of her, bringing with it
Speaker 1: the scent of the pine woods, her white hand waving
Speaker 1: to him, her sweet eyes smiling wistfully. But fame and
Speaker 1: fortune are not won so quickly as boy's dream, nor
Speaker 1: his life as easy to live bravely as it looks
Speaker 1: in visions. It was nearly twenty years before they met again.
Speaker 1: Neither had married. Her people were dead, and she was
Speaker 1: living alone, and to him the world at last had
Speaker 1: opened her doors. She was still beautiful, a gracious, gentle lady.
Speaker 1: She had grown clothed with that soft, sweet dignity the
Speaker 1: time bestows upon rare women, rendering them fairer with the years.
Speaker 1: To the man, it seemed a miracle. The dream of
Speaker 1: those early days came back to him. Surely there was
Speaker 1: nothing now to separate them. Nothing had changed, but the years,
Speaker 1: bringing to them both with wider sympathies, calmer, more enduring emotions.
Speaker 1: She welcomed him again with the old kind smile, a
Speaker 1: warmer pressure of the hand, and allowing a little time
Speaker 1: to pass for courtesy's sake, He told her what was
Speaker 1: the truth, That he had never ceased to love her,
Speaker 1: never ceased to keep the vision of her fair, pure
Speaker 1: face before him. His ideal of all that man could
Speaker 1: find of help in womanhood, and her answer, until years
Speaker 1: later he read the explanation, remained a mystery to him.
Speaker 1: She told him that she loved him, that she had
Speaker 1: never loved any other man, and never should that his
Speaker 1: love for so long as he chose to give it
Speaker 1: to her, she should always prize as the greatest gift
Speaker 1: of her life. But with that, she prayed him to
Speaker 1: remain content. He thought perhaps it was a touch of
Speaker 1: woman's pride, of hurt dignity that he had kept silent
Speaker 1: so long, not trusting her, that perhaps as time went
Speaker 1: by she would change her mind. But she never did,
Speaker 1: and after a while, finding that his persistence only pained her,
Speaker 1: he accept to the situation. She was not the type
Speaker 1: of woman about whom people talk scandal, nor would it
Speaker 1: have troubled her much had they done so. Able Now
Speaker 1: to work where he would, he took a house in
Speaker 1: a neighboring village where for the best part of the
Speaker 1: year he lived near to her, and to the end
Speaker 1: they remained lovers. I think I understand, said Robina. I
Speaker 1: will tell you afterwards if I am wrong. I told
Speaker 1: the story to a woman many years ago. I said,
Speaker 1: and she also thought she understood, but she was only
Speaker 1: half right. We will see, said Robina. Go on. She
Speaker 1: left a letter to be given to him after her death,
Speaker 1: in case he survived her, if not to be burned unopened.
Speaker 1: In it, she told him her reason, or rather her reasons,
Speaker 1: for having refused him. It was an odd letter. The
Speaker 1: reasons sounded so pitiably insufficient until one took the pains
Speaker 1: to examine them in the cold light of experience. And
Speaker 1: then her letter struck one not as foolish, but as
Speaker 1: one of the grimest commentaries upon marriage that perhaps had
Speaker 1: ever been. It was because she had wished always to
Speaker 1: remain his ideal, to keep their love for one another
Speaker 1: to the end, untarnished to be his true help meet
Speaker 1: in all things, that she had refused to marry him
Speaker 1: hatty spoken. That morning she had waited for him in
Speaker 1: the lane. She had half hoped, half feared it. She
Speaker 1: might have given her promise for youth, So she wrote,
Speaker 1: always dreams it can find a new way. She thanked
Speaker 1: God that he had not sooner or later so ran
Speaker 1: the letter. You would have learned, dear, that I was
Speaker 1: neither saint nor angel, but just a woman such a tiresome,
Speaker 1: inconsistent creature. She would have exasperated you, full of a
Speaker 1: thousand follies and irritabilities that would have marred for you
Speaker 1: all that was good in her. I wanted you to
Speaker 1: have of me only what was worthy, and this seemed
Speaker 1: the only way. Counting the hours to your coming, hating
Speaker 1: the pain of your going, I could always give to
Speaker 1: you my best, the ugly words, the whims and frets
Speaker 1: that poisoned speech, they could wait. It was my lover's out,
Speaker 1: and you, dear, were always so tender, so gay. You
Speaker 1: brought me joy with both your hands. Would it have
Speaker 1: been the same had you been my husband? How could it?
Speaker 1: There were times, even as it was when you vexed
Speaker 1: me forgive me, dear. I mean it was my fault
Speaker 1: ways of thought and action that did not fit in
Speaker 1: with my ways, that I was not large minded enough
Speaker 1: to pass over as my lover. They were, but as
Speaker 1: spots upon the sun, it was easy to control the
Speaker 1: momentary irritation that they caused me. Time was too precious
Speaker 1: for even a moment of estrangement. As my husband, the
Speaker 1: jarring note would have been continuous, would have widened into discord.
Speaker 1: You see, dear, I was not great enough to love
Speaker 1: all of you. I remember as a child how indignant
Speaker 1: I always felt with God when my nurse told me
Speaker 1: he would not love me because I was naughty, that
Speaker 1: he only loved good children. It seemed such a poor
Speaker 1: sort of love that yet that is precisely how we
Speaker 1: men and women do love, taking only what gives us pleasure,
Speaker 1: repaying the rest with anger. There would have arisen the
Speaker 1: unkind words that can never be recalled, the ugly silences,
Speaker 1: the gradual withdrawing from one another. I dared not face it.
Speaker 1: It was not all selfishness. Truthfully, I can say I
Speaker 1: thought more of you than of myself. I wanted to
Speaker 1: keep the shadows of life away from you. We men
Speaker 1: and women are like the flowers. It is in sunshine
Speaker 1: that we come to our best. You were my hero.
Speaker 1: I wanted you to be great. I wanted you to
Speaker 1: be surrounded by lovely dreams. I wanted your love to
Speaker 1: be a thing wholly helpful to you. It was a
Speaker 1: long letter. I have given you the gist of it. Again,
Speaker 1: there was a silence between us. You think she did right,
Speaker 1: asked Robina. I cannot say, I answered, There are no
Speaker 1: rules for life only for the individual. I have read
Speaker 1: it somewhere, said Robina. Where was it love suffers all
Speaker 1: things and rejoices? Maybe in old Thomas kempess. I am
Speaker 1: not sure, I said. It seems to me, said that
Speaker 1: the explanation lies in that one sentence of hers, I
Speaker 1: was not great enough to love all of you. It
Speaker 1: seems to me, I said that the whole art of
Speaker 1: marriage is the art of getting on with the other fellow.
Speaker 1: It means patience, self control, forbearance. It means the laying
Speaker 1: aside of our self conceit and admitting to ourselves that,
Speaker 1: judged by eyes less partial than our own, there may
Speaker 1: be much in us that is objectionable, the calls for alteration.
Speaker 1: It means toleration for views and opinions diametrically opposed to
Speaker 1: our most cherished convictions. It means of necessity, the abandonment
Speaker 1: of many habits and indulgences that, however trivial, have grown
Speaker 1: to be important to us. It means the shaping of
Speaker 1: our own desires to the needs of others, the acceptance,
Speaker 1: often of surroundings and conditions personally distasteful to us. It
Speaker 1: means affection deep and strong enough to bear away the
Speaker 1: ugly things of life, its quarrels, wrongs, misunderstandings, swiftly and
Speaker 1: silently into the sea of forgetfulness. It means good humor,
Speaker 1: common sense. That is what I am saying, explained Robin.
Speaker 1: It means loving him even when he's naughty. Dick came
Speaker 1: across the fields, Robin arose and slipped into the house.
Speaker 1: You are looking mighty solemn, dad, said Dick, thinking of life. Dick,
Speaker 1: I confessed of the meaning and the explanation of it. Yes,
Speaker 1: it's a problem life, admitted Dick. A bit of a teaser,
Speaker 1: I agreed. We smoked in silence for a while. Loving
Speaker 1: a good woman must be a tremendous help to a man,
Speaker 1: said Dick. He looked very handsome, very gallant, his boyish
Speaker 1: face flashing challenge to the fates. Tremendous, Dick, I agreed.
Speaker 1: Robin recalled to him that his supper was ready. He
Speaker 1: knocked the ashes from his pipe and followed her into
Speaker 1: the house. Their laughing voices came to me, broken through
Speaker 1: the half closed doors. From the night. Around me rose
Speaker 1: a strange, low murmur. It seemed to me as though
Speaker 1: above the silence, I heard the far off music of
Speaker 1: the mills of God. End of Chapter ten,