Джон Голсуорси
Saint's Progress
The day was still glowing, and now, in the cool of evening, his refreshed senses soaked up its beauty. ‘God has so made this world,’ he thought, ‘that, no matter what our struggles and sufferings, it’s ever a joy to live when the sun shines, or the moon is bright, or the night starry. Even we can’t spoil it.’ In Regent’s Park the lilacs and laburnums were still in bloom though June had come, and he gazed at them in passing, as a lover might at his lady. His conscience pricked him suddenly. Mrs. Mitchett and the dark-eyed girl she had brought to him on New Year’s Eve, the very night he had learned of his own daughter’s tragedy – had he ever thought of them since? How had that poor girl fared? He had been too impatient of her impenetrable mood. What did he know of the hearts of others, when he did not even know his own, could not rule his feelings of anger and revolt, had not guided his own daughter into the waters of safety! And Leila! Had he not been too censorious in thought? How powerful, how strange was this instinct of sex, which hovered and swooped on lives, seized them, bore them away, then dropped them exhausted and defenceless! Some munition-wagons, painted a dull grey, lumbered past, driven by sunburned youths in drab. Life-force, Death-force – was it all one; the great unknowable momentum from which there was but the one escape, in the arms of their Heavenly Father? Blake’s little old stanzas came into his mind:
“And we are put on earth a little space,
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.
“For when our souls have learned the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice,
Saying: Come out from the grove, my love and care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice!”
Learned the heat to bear! Those lambs he had watched in a field that afternoon, their sudden little leaps and rushes, their funny quivering wriggling tails, their tiny nuzzling black snouts – what little miracles of careless joy among the meadow flowers! Lambs, and flowers, and sunlight! Famine, lust, and the great grey guns! A maze, a wilderness; and but for faith, what issue, what path for man to take which did not keep him wandering hopeless, in its thicket? ‘God preserve our faith in love, in charity, and the life to come!’ he thought. And a blind man with a dog, to whose neck was tied a little deep dish for pennies, ground a hurdy-gurdy as he passed. Pierson put a shilling in the dish. The man stopped playing, his whitish eyes looked up. “Thank you kindly, sir; I’ll go home now. Come on, Dick!” He tapped his way round the corner, with his dog straining in front. A blackbird hidden among the blossoms of an acacia, burst into evening song, and another great grey munition-wagon rumbled out through the Park gate. 2
The Church-clock was striking nine when he reached Leila’s flat, went up, and knocked. Sounds from-a piano ceased; the door was opened by Noel. She recoiled when she saw who it was, and said:
“Why did you come, Daddy? It was much better not.”
“Are you alone here?”
“Yes; Leila gave me her key. She has to be at the hospital till ten to-night.”
“You must come home with me, my dear.”
Noel closed the piano, and sat down on the divan. Her face had the same expression as when he had told her that she could not marry Cyril Morland.
“Come, Nollie,” he said; “don’t be unreasonable. We must see this through together.”
“No.”
“My dear, that’s childish. Do you think the mere accident of your being or not being at home can affect my decision as to what my duty is?”
“Yes; it’s my being there that matters. Those people don’t care, so long as it isn’t an open scandal.”
“Nollie!”
“But it is so, Daddy. Of course it’s so, and you know it. If I’m away they’ll just pity you for having a bad daughter. And quite right too. I am a bad daughter.”
Pierson smiled. “Just like when you were a tiny.”
“I wish I were a tiny again, or ten years older. It’s this half age – But I’m not coming back with you, Daddy; so it’s no good.”
Pierson sat down beside her.
“I’ve been thinking this over all day,” he said quietly. “Perhaps in my pride I made a mistake when I first knew of your trouble. Perhaps I ought to have accepted the consequences of my failure, then, and have given up, and taken you away at once. After all, if a man is not fit to have the care of souls, he should have the grace to know it.”
“But you are fit,” cried Noel passionately; “Daddy, you are fit!”
“I’m afraid not. There is something wanting in me, I don’t know exactly what; but something very wanting.”
“There isn’t. It’s only that you’re too good – that’s why!”
Pierson shook his head. “Don’t, Nollie!”
“I will,” cried Noel. “You’re too gentle, and you’re too good. You’re charitable, and you’re simple, and you believe in another world; that’s what’s the matter with you, Daddy. Do you think they do, those people who want to chase us out? They don’t even begin to believe, whatever they say or think. I hate them, and sometimes I hate the Church; either it’s hard and narrow, or else it’s worldly.” She stopped at the expression on her father’s face, the most strange look of pain, and horror, as if an unspoken treachery of his own had been dragged forth for his inspection.
“You’re talking wildly,” he said, but his lips were trembling. “You mustn’t say things like that; they’re blasphemous and wicked.”
Noel bit her lips, sitting very stiff and still, against a high blue cushion. Then she burst out again:
“You’ve slaved for those people years and years, and you’ve had no pleasure and you’ve had no love; and they wouldn’t care that if you broke your heart. They don’t care for anything, so long as it all seems proper. Daddy, if you let them hurt you, I won’t forgive you!”
“And what if you hurt me now, Nollie?”
Noel pressed his hand against her warm cheek.
“Oh, no! Oh, no! I don’t – I won’t. Not again. I’ve done that already.”
“Very well, my dear! then come home with me, and we’ll see what’s best to be done. It can’t be settled by running away.”
Noel dropped his hand. “No. Twice I’ve done what you wanted, and it’s been a mistake. If I hadn’t gone to Church on Sunday to please you, perhaps it would never have come to this. You don’t see things, Daddy. I could tell, though I was sitting right in front. I knew what their faces were like, and what they were thinking.”
“One must do right, Nollie, and not mind.”
“Yes; but what is right? It’s not right for me to hurt you, and I’m not going to.”
Pierson understood all at once that it was useless to try and move her.
“What are you going to do, then?”
“I suppose I shall go to Kestrel to-morrow. Auntie will have me, I know; I shall talk to Leila.”
“Whatever you do, promise to let me know.”
Noel nodded.
“Daddy, you – look awfully, awfully tired. I’m going to give you some medicine.” She went to a little three-cornered cupboard, and bent down. Medicine! The medicine he wanted was not for the body; knowledge of what his duty was – that alone could heal him!
The loud popping of a cork roused him. “What are you doing, Nollie?”
Noel rose with a flushed face, holding in one hand a glass of champagne, in the other a biscuit.
“You’re to take this; and I’m going to have some myself.”
“My dear,” said Pierson bewildered; “it’s not yours.”
“Drink it; Daddy! Don’t you know that Leila would never forgive me if I let you go home looking like that. Besides, she told me I was to eat. Drink it. You can send her a nice present. Drink it!” And she stamped her foot.
Pierson took the glass, and sat there nibbling and sipping. It was nice, very! He had not quite realised how much he needed food and drink. Noel returned from the cupboard a second time; she too had a glass and a biscuit.
“There, you look better already. Now you’re to go home at once, in a cab if you can get one; and tell Gratian to make you feed up, or you won’t have a body at all; you can’t do your duty if you haven’t one, you know.”
Pierson smiled, and finished the champagne.
Noel took the glass from him. “You’re my child to-night, and I’m going to send you to bed. Don’t worry, Daddy; it’ll all come right.” And, taking his arm, she went downstairs with him, and blew him a kiss from the doorway.
He walked away in a sort of dream. Daylight was not quite gone, but the moon was up, just past its full, and the search-lights had begun their nightly wanderings. It was a sky of ghosts and shadows, fitting to the thought which came to him. The finger of Providence was in all this, perhaps! Why should he not go out to France! At last; why not? Some better man, who understood men’s hearts, who knew the world, would take his place; and he could go where death made all things simple, and he could not fail. He walked faster and faster, full of an intoxicating relief. Thirza and Gratian would take care of Nollie far better than he. Yes, surely it was ordained! Moonlight had the town now; and all was steel blue, the very air steel-blue; a dream-city of marvellous beauty, through which he passed, exalted. Soon he would be where that poor boy, and a million others, had given their lives; with the mud and the shells and the scarred grey ground, and the jagged trees, where Christ was daily crucified – there where he had so often longed to be these three years past. It was ordained!
And two women whom he met looked at each other when he had gone by, and those words ‘the blighted crow’ which they had been about to speak, died on their lips.
VIII
Noel felt light-hearted too, as if she had won a victory. She found some potted meat, spread it on another biscuit, ate it greedily, and finished the pint bottle of champagne. Then she hunted for the cigarettes, and sat down at the piano. She played old tunes – “There is a Tavern in the Town,” “Once I Loved a Maiden Fair,” “Mowing the Barley,” “Clementine,” “Lowlands,” and sang to them such words as she remembered. There was a delicious running in her veins, and once she got up and danced. She was kneeling at the window, looking out, when she heard the door open, and without getting up, cried out:
“Isn’t it a gorgeous night! I’ve had Daddy here. I gave him some of your champagne, and drank the rest – ” then was conscious of a figure far too tall for Leila, and a man’s voice saying:
“I’m awfully sorry. It’s only I, Jimmy Fort.”
Noel scrambled up. “Leila isn’t in; but she will be directly – it’s past ten.”
He was standing stock-still in the middle of the room.
“Won’t you sit down? Oh! and won’t you have a cigarette?”
“Thanks.”
By the flash of his briquette she saw his face clearly; the look on it filled her with a sort of malicious glee.
“I’m going now,” she said. “Would you mind telling Leila that I found I couldn’t stop?” She made towards the divan to get her hat. When she had put it on, she found him standing just in front of her.
“Noel-if you don’t mind me calling you that?”
“Not a bit.”
“Don’t go; I’m going myself.”
“Oh, no! Not for worlds.” She tried to slip past, but he took hold of her wrist.
“Please; just one minute!”
Noel stayed motionless, looking at him, while his hand still held her wrist. He said quietly:
“Do you mind telling me why you came here?”
“Oh, just to see Leila.”
“Things have come to a head at home, haven’t they?”
Noel shrugged her shoulders.
“You came for refuge, didn’t you?”
“From whom?”
“Don’t be angry; from the need of hurting your father.”
She nodded.
“I knew it would come to that. What are you going to do?”
“Enjoy myself.” She was saying something fatuous, yet she meant it.
“That’s absurd. Don’t be angry! You’re quite right. Only, you must begin at the right end, mustn’t you? Sit down!”
Noel tried to free her wrist.
“No; sit down, please.”
Noel sat down; but as he loosed her wrist, she laughed. This was where he sat with Leila, where they would sit when she was gone. “It’s awfully funny, isn’t it?” she said.
“Funny?” he muttered savagely. “Most things are, in this funny world.”
The sound of a taxi stopping not far off had come to her ears, and she gathered her feet under her, planting them firmly. If she sprang up, could she slip by him before he caught her arm again, and get that taxi?
“If I go now,” he said, “will you promise me to stop till you’ve seen Leila?”
“No.”
“That’s foolish. Come, promise!”
Noel shook her head. She felt a perverse pleasure at his embarrassment.
“Leila’s lucky, isn’t she? No children, no husband, no father, no anything. Lovely!”
She saw his arm go up as if to ward off a blow. “Poor Leila!” he said.
“Why are you sorry for her? She has freedom! And she has you!”
She knew it would hurt; but she wanted to hurt him.
“You needn’t envy her for that.”
He had just spoken, when Noel saw a figure over by the door.
She jumped up, and said breathlessly:
“Oh, here you are, Leila! Father’s been here, and we’ve had some of your champagne!”
“Capital! You are in the dark!”
Noel felt the blood rush into her cheeks. The light leaped up, and Leila came forward. She looked extremely pale, calm, and self-contained, in her nurse’s dress; her full lips were tightly pressed together, but Noel could see her breast heaving violently. A turmoil of shame and wounded pride began raging in the girl. Why had she not flown long ago? Why had she let herself be trapped like this? Leila would think she had been making up to him! Horrible! Disgusting! Why didn’t he – why didn’t some one, speak? Then Leila said:
“I didn’t expect you, Jimmy; I’m glad you haven’t been dull. Noel is staying here to-night. Give me a cigarette. Sit down, both of you. I’m awfully tired!”
She sank into a chair, leaning back, with her knees crossed; and at that moment Noel admired her. She had said it beautifully; she looked so calm. Fort was lighting her cigarette; his hand was shaking, his face all sorry and mortified.
“Give Noel one, too, and draw the curtains, Jimmy. Quick! Not that it makes any difference; it’s as light as day. Sit down, dear.”
But Noel remained standing.
“What have you been talking of? Love and Chinese lanterns, or only me?”
At those words Fort, who was drawing the last curtain, turned round; his tall figure was poised awkwardly against the wall, his face, unsuited to diplomacy, had a look as of flesh being beaten. If weals had started up across it, Noel would not have been surprised.
He said with painful slowness:
“I don’t exactly know; we had hardly begun, had we?”
“The night is young,” said Leila. “Go on while I just take off my things.”
She rose with the cigarette between her lips, and went into the inner room. In passing, she gave Noel a look. What there was in that look, the girl could never make clear even to herself. Perhaps a creature shot would gaze like that, with a sort of profound and distant questioning, reproach, and anger, with a sort of pride, and the quiver of death. As the door closed, Fort came right across the room.
“Go to her;” cried Noel; “she wants you. Can’t you see, she wants you?”
And before he could move, she was at the door. She flew downstairs, and out into the moonlight. The taxi, a little way off, was just beginning to move away; she ran towards it, calling out:
“Anywhere! Piccadilly!” and jumping in, blotted herself against the cushions in the far corner.
She did not come to herself, as it were, for several minutes, and then feeling she ‘could no longer bear the cab, stopped it, and got out. Where was she? Bond Street! She began, idly, wandering down its narrow length; the fullest street by day, the emptiest by night. Oh! it had been horrible! Nothing said by any of them – nothing, and yet everything dragged out – of him, of Leila, of herself! She seemed to have no pride or decency left, as if she had been caught stealing. All her happy exhilaration was gone, leaving a miserable recklessness. Nothing she did was right, nothing turned out well, so what did it all matter? The moonlight flooding down between the tall houses gave her a peculiar heady feeling. “Fey” her father had called her. She laughed. ‘But I’m not going home,’ she thought. Bored with the street’s length; she turned off, and was suddenly in Hanover Square. There was the Church, grey-white, where she had been bridesmaid to a second cousin, when she was fifteen. She seemed to see it all again – her frock, the lilies in her hand, the surplices of the choir, the bride’s dress, all moonlight-coloured, and unreal. ‘I wonder what’s become of her!’ she thought. ‘He’s dead, I expect, like Cyril!’ She saw her father’s face as he was marrying them, heard his voice: “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part.” And the moonlight on the Church seemed to shift and quiver-some pigeons perhaps had been disturbed up there. Then instead of that wedding vision, she saw Monsieur Barra, sitting on his chair, gazing at the floor, and Chica nursing her doll. “All mad, mademoiselle, a little mad. Millions of men with white souls, but all a little tiny bit mad, you know.” Then Leila’s face came before her, with that look in her eyes. She felt again the hot clasp of Fort’s fingers on her wrist, and walked on, rubbing it with the other hand. She turned into Regent Street. The wide curve of the Quadrant swept into a sky of unreal blue, and the orange-shaded lamps merely added to the unreality. ‘Love and Chinese lanterns! I should like some coffee,’ she thought suddenly. She was quite close to the place where Lavendie had taken her. Should she go in there? Why not? She must go somewhere. She turned into the revolving cage of glass. But no sooner was she imprisoned there than in a flash Lavendie’s face of disgust; and the red-lipped women, the green stuff that smelled of peppermint came back, filling her with a rush of dismay. She made the full circle in the revolving cage; and came out into the street again with a laugh. A tall young man in khaki stood there: “Hallo!” he said. “Come in and dance!” She started, recoiled from him and began to walk away as fast as ever she could. She passed a woman whose eyes seemed to scorch her. A woman like a swift vision of ruin with those eyes, and thickly powdered cheeks, and loose red mouth. Noel shuddered and fled along, feeling that her only safety lay in speed. But she could not walk about all night. There would be no train for Kestrel till the morning – and did she really want to go there, and eat her heart out? Suddenly she thought of George. Why should she not go down to him? He would know what was best for her to do. At the foot of the steps below the Waterloo Column she stood still. All was quiet there and empty, the great buildings whitened, the trees blurred and blue; and sweeter air was coming across their flowering tops. The queer “fey” moony sensation was still with her; so that she felt small and light, as if she could have floated through a ring. Faint rims of light showed round the windows of the Admiralty. The war! However lovely the night, however sweet the lilac smelt-that never stopped! She turned away and passed out under the arch, making for the station. The train of the wounded had just come in, and she stood in the cheering crowd watching the ambulances run out. Tears of excited emotion filled her eyes, and trickled down. Steady, smooth, grey, one after the other they came gliding, with a little burst of cheers greeting each one. All were gone now, and she could pass in. She went to the buffet and got a large cup of coffee, and a bun. Then, having noted the time of her early morning train, she sought the ladies’ waiting-room, and sitting down in a corner, took out her purse and counted her money. Two pounds fifteen-enough to go to the hotel, if she liked. But, without luggage – it was so conspicuous, and she could sleep in this corner all right, if she wanted. What did girls do who had no money, and no friends to go to? Tucked away in the corner of that empty, heavy, varnished room, she seemed to see the cruelty and hardness of life as she had never before seen it, not even when facing her confinement. How lucky she had been, and was! Everyone was good to her. She had no real want or dangers, to face. But, for women – yes, and men too – who had no one to fall back on, nothing but their own hands and health and luck, it must be awful. That girl whose eyes had scorched her – perhaps she had no one – nothing. And people who were born ill, and the millions of poor women, like those whom she had gone visiting with Gratian sometimes in the poorer streets of her father’s parish – for the first time she seemed to really know and feel the sort of lives they led. And then, Leila’s face came back to her once more – Leila whom she had robbed. And the worst of it was, that, alongside her remorseful sympathy, she felt a sort of satisfaction. She could not help his not loving Leila, she could not help it if he loved herself! And he did – she knew it! To feel that anyone loved her was so comforting. But it was all awful! And she – the cause of it! And yet – she had never done or said anything to attract him. No! She could not have helped it.
She had begun to feel drowsy, and closed her eyes. And gradually there came on her a cosey sensation, as if she were leaning up against someone with her head tucked in against his shoulder, as she had so often leaned as a child against her father, coming back from some long darkening drive in Wales or Scotland. She seemed even to feel the wet soft Westerly air on her face and eyelids, and to sniff the scent of a frieze coat; to hear the jog of hoofs and the rolling of the wheels; to feel the closing in of the darkness. Then, so dimly and drowsily, she seemed to know that it was not her father, but someone – someone – then no more, no more at all.