South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) by Norman Douglas (novels for students TXT) π
The Bishop Was Feeling Rather Sea-Sick. Confoundedly Sea-Sick, In Fact.
This Annoyed Him. For He Disapproved Of Sickness In Every Shape Or
Form. His Own State Of Body Was Far From Satisfactory At That Moment;
Africa--He Was Bishop Of Bampopo In The Equatorial Regions--Had Played
The Devil With His Lower Gastric Department And Made Him Almost An
Invalid; A Circumstance Of Which He Was Nowise Proud, Seeing That
Ill-Health Led To Inefficiency In All Walks Of Life. There Was Nothing
He Despised More Than Inefficiency. Well Or Ill, He Always Insisted On
Getting Through His Tasks In A Businesslike Fashion. That Was The Way
To Live, He Used To Say. Get Through With It. Be Perfect Of Your Kind,
Whatever That Kind May Be. Hence His Sneaking Fondness For The
Natives--They Were Such Fine, Healthy Animals.
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- Author: Norman Douglas
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Kept His Brother Monks In Ignorance Of The Whole Affair. From That Time
Onward His Conduct Changed. He Grew Restless And Desirous Of Converting
The Heathen. He Set Sail For Lybia, Suffered Shipwreck In The Greater
Syrtis, And Narrowly Escaped With His Life. Thence He Passed Onward,
Preaching To Black Nations As He Moved Along, And Converting Tribes
Innumerable. For Three-And-Thirty Years He Wandered Till, One Evening,
He Saw The Moon Rise On The Right Side Of His Face.
He Had Entered The Land Of The Crotalophoboi, Cannibals And
Necromancers Who Dwelt In A Region So Hot, And With Light So Dazzling,
That Their Eyes Grew On The Soles Of Their Feet. Here He Laboured For
Eighty Years, Redeeming Them To Christianity From Their Magical And
Bloodthirsty Practices. In Recompense Whereof They Captured Him At The
Patriarchal Age Of 132, Or Thereabouts, And Bound Him With Ropes
Between Two Flat Boards Of Palmwood. Thus They Kept The Prisoner,
Feeding Him Abundantly, Until That Old Equinoctial Feast Drew Near. On
The Evening Of That Day They Sawed The Whole, Superstitiously, Into
Twelve Separate Pieces, One For Each Month Of The Year; And Devoured Of
The Saint What Was To Their Liking.
During This Horrid Banquet A Femur Or Thigh-Bone Was Accidentally Cast
Upon A Millstone Which Lay By The Shore, Having Been Borrowed By The
Crotalophoboi From The Neighbouring Tribe Of Garimanes A Good Many
Years Previously And Never Returned To Them By Reason, They Declared,
Of Its Excessive Weight. There It Remained Till, One Day, During A
Potent Sirocco Tempest, The Stone Was Uplifted By The Force Of The
Waters, And Miraculously Wafted Over The Sea To Nepenthe. Forthwith A
Chapel Was Built On The Spot, To Commemorate The Event And Preserve The
Sacred Relic Which Soon Began Working Wonders For The Good Of The
Island, Such As Warding Off Saracenic Invasions, Procuring Plentiful
Vintages, And Causing Sterile Cattle To Produce Offspring.
In Later Years The Main Church Was Dedicated To Saint Dodekanus And The
Relic Moved Thither And Enclosed Within That Silver Statue Of The Saint
Which Is Carried Abroad In Procession At His Annual Festival, Or On Any
Particular Occasion When His Help Is To Be Invoked. And All Through
Succeeding Ages The Cult Of The Saint Waxed In Pomp And Splendour.
Nobody, Probably, Has Done More To Foster Pious Feelings Towards Their
Island-Patron Than The Good Duke Alfred Who, Among Other Things, Caused
A Stately Frieze To Be Placed In The Church, Picturing In Twelve Marble
Tablets The Twelve Chief Episodes In The Life Of The Saint--One For Each
Month Of The Year. This Frieze Indeed Was Admired So Unreservedly, So
Recklessly, That The Good Duke Felt It His Duty To Remove The
Sculptor's Eyes And (On Second Thoughts) His Hands As Well, In Order
That No Other Sovereign Should Possess Works By So Consummate A Master
Of Stonecraft. There The Disciplinary Measures Ended. He Did His Best
To Console The Gifted Artist Who Was Fed, Henceforward, On Lobsters,
Decorated With The Order Of The Golden Vine, And Would Doubtless Have
Been Ennobled After Death, Had The Prince Not Predeceased The Sculptor.
Such, Briefly, Is The History Of Saint Dodekanus, And The Origin Of His
Cult On Nepenthe.
Legends Galore, Often Contradictory To This Account And To One Another,
Have Clustered Round His Name, As Was Inevitable. He Is Supposed To
Have Preached In Asia Minor; To Have Died As A Young Man, In His
Convent; To Have Become A Hermit, A Cobbler, A Bishop (Of Nicomedia), A
Eunuch, A Politician. Two Volumes Of Mediocre Sermons In The Byzantine
Tongue Have Been Ascribed To Him. These And Other Crudities May Be
Dismissed As Apocryphal. Even His Name Has Given Rise To Controversy,
Although Its Origin From The Greek Word Dodeka, Signifying Twelve And
Alluding To The Twelve Morsels Into Which His Body Was Superstitiously
Divided, Is As Self-Evident As Well Can Be. Thus A Worthy Young Canon
Of The Church Of Nepenthe, Giacinto Mellino, Who Has Lately Written A
Life Of Saint Eulalia, The Local Patroness Of Sailors--Her Festival
Occurs Twelve Days After That Of Saint Dodekanus--Takes Occasion, In
This Otherwise Commendable Pamphlet, To Scoff At The Old-Established
Derivation Of The Name And To Propose An Alternative Etymology. He Lays
It Down That Then Pagan Inhabitants Of The Island, Desirous Of Sharing
In The Benefits Of Christianity Which Had Already Reached The Mainland
But Left Untouched Their Lonely Rock, Sent A Missive To The Bishop
Containing The Two Words Do Dekanus: Give Us A Deacon! The Grammar Is
At Fault, He Explains, Because Of Their Rudimentary Knowledge Of The
Latin Tongue; They Had Only Learnt, Hitherto, The First Person Singular
And The Nominative Case--So He Says; And Then Proceeds To Demonstrate,
With Unanswerable Arguments, That Greek Was The Spoken Language Of
Nepenthe At This Period. Several Scholars Have Been Swayed By His
Specious Logic To Abandon The Older And Sounder Interpretation. There
Are Yet Other Conjectures About The Word Dodekanus, All More Or Less
Fanciful. . . .
If The Crotalophoboi Had Not Devoured The Missionary Dodekanus, We
Should Assuredly Never Have Heard Of Monsignor Perrelli, The Learned
And Genial Historian Of Nepenthe. It Was That Story, He Expressly Tells
Us, Which Inflamed Him, A Mere Visitor To The Place, With A Desire To
Know More About The Island. A People Like The Nepentheans, Who Could
Cherish In Their Hearts A Tale Of Such Beauty, Must Be Worthy, He
Concluded, "Of The Closest And Most Sympathetic Scrutiny." Thus, One
Thing Leading To Another, As Always Happens Where Local Researches Are
Concerned, He Soon Found Himself Collecting Other Legends, Traditions,
Historical Data, Statistics Of Agriculture And Natural Productions, And
So Forth. The Result Of These Labours Was Embodied In The Renowned
Antiquities Of Nepenthe.
This Book, A Model Of Its Kind, Is Written In Latin. It Seems To Have
Been The Author's Only Work, And Has Gone Through Several Editions; The
Last One--By No Means The Best As Regards Typography--Being That Of 1709.
The Crotalophoboi Therefore, Who Procured The Sanctification Of
Dodekanus By Methods Hardly Commendable To Decent Folks, Can Be Said To
Have Done Some Good In The World, If The Creation Of A Literary
Masterpiece Like These Antiquities, For Which They Are Indirectly
Responsible, May Be Classed Under That Head.
It Is A Pity We Know So Little Of The Life Of This Monsignor Perrelli.
He Is Disappointingly Reticent About Himself. We Learn That He Was A
Native Of The Mainland; That He Came Here, As A Youth, Afflicted With
Rheumatic Troubles; That These Troubles Were Relived By An Application
Of Those Health-Giving Waters Which He Lived To Describe In One Of The
Happiest Sections Of His Work, And Which Were To Become Famous To The
World At Large Through Certain Classical Experiments Carried Out Under
His Contemporary, The Good Duke Alfred--A Potentate Who, By The Way,
Does Not Seem To Have Behaved Very Prettily To Our Scholar. And That Is
Absolutely All We Know About Him. The Most Painstaking Enquiries On The
Part Of Mr. Eames Have Failed To Add A Single Item Of Positive
Information To Our Knowledge Of The Historian Of Nepenthe. We Cannot
Tell When, Or Where, He Died. He Seems To Have Ended In Regarding
Himself As A Native Of The Place. The Wealth Of Material Incorporated
In The Book Leads To The Supposition That He Must Have Spent Long Years
On The Island. We May Further Presume, From His Title, That He Belonged
To The Church; It Was The Surest Path Of Advancement For A Young Man Of
Quality In Those Days.
A Perfunctory Glance Into His Pages Will Suffice To Prove That He
Lacked What Is Called The Ecclesiastical Bent Of Mind. Reading Between
The Lines, One Soon Discovers That His Is Not So Much A Priest As A
Statesman And Philosopher, A Student Curious In The Lore Of Mankind And
Of Nature--Alert, Sagacious, Discriminating. He Tells Us, For Example,
That This Legend Of The Visions And Martyrdom Of Saint Dodekanus, Which
He Was The First To Disentangle From Its Heterogeneous Accretions, Was
Vastly To His Liking. Why? Because Of Its Churchly Flavour? Not So; But
Because He Detected Therein "Truth And Symbol. It Is A Tale Of
Universal Applicability; The Type, As It Were, Of Every Great Man's
Life, Endeavour, And Reward." The Introduction To These Antiquities,
Setting Forth His Maxims For The Writing Of History, Might Have Been
Composed Not Three Centuries Ago, But Yesterday--Or Even To-Morrow; So
Modern Is Its Note.
Hearken To These Weighty Words:
"Portraiture Of Characters And Events Should Take The Form Of One
Gentleman Conversing With Another, In The Easy Tone Of Good Society.
The Author Who Sets Out To Address A Crowd Defeats His Own Object; He
Eliminates The Essence Of Good Writing--Frankness. You Cannot Be Frank
With Men Of Low Condition. You Must Presuppose A Refined And Congenial
Listener, A Man Or Woman Whom You Would Not Hesitate To Take By The
Hand And Lead Into The Circle Of Your Own Personal Friends. If This
Applies To Literature Of Every Kind, It Applies To History In A
Peculiar Degree.
"History Deals With Situations And Figures Not Imaginary But Real. It
Demands Therefore A Combination Of Qualities Unnecessary To The Poet Or
Writer Of Romance--Glacial Judgment Coupled With Fervent Sympathy. The
Poet May Be An Inspired Illiterate, The Romance-Writer An Uninspired
Hack. Under No Circumstances Can Either Of Them Be Accused Of Wronging
Or Deceiving The Public, However Incongruous Their Efforts. They Write
Well Or Badly, And There The Matter Ends. The Historian, Who Fails In
His Duty, Deceives The Reader And Wrongs The Dead. A Man Weighted With
Such Responsibilities Is Deserving Of An Audience More Than Usually
Select--An Audience Of His Equals, Men Of The World. No Vulgarian Can Be
Admitted To Share Those Confidences. . . .
"The Greeks Figured Forth A Muse Of History; They Dared Express Their
Opinions. Genesis, That Ancient Barrier, Did Not Exist For Them. It
Stands In The Way Of The Modern Historian; It Involves Him In A
Ceaseless Conflict With His Own Honesty. If He Values His Skin, He Must
Accommodate Himself To Current Dogmas And Refrain From Truthful
Comments And Conclusions. He Has The Choice Of Being A Chronologer Or A
Ballad-Monger-Obsolete And Unimportant Occupations. Unenviable Fate Of
Those Who Aspire To Be Teachers Of Mankind, That They Themselves Should
Be Studied With A Kind Of Antiquarian Interest, Stimulating Thought Not
Otherwise Than As Warning Examples! Clio Has Fallen From Her Pedestal.
That Radiant Creature, In Identifying Her Interests With Those Of
Theocracy, Has Become The Hand-Maiden Of A Withered And Petulant
Mistress, A Mercenary Slut. So Things Will Remain, Till Mankind Has
Acquired A Fresh Body Of Ethics, Corresponding To Modern Needs. It Is
Useless, It Is Dangerous, To Pour New Wine Into Old Bottles. . . ."
He Carries Out His Theory. The Work Of Monsignor Perrelli Is, Above All
Things, A Human Document--The Revelation Of A Personality Cultured And
Free From Prejudice. Indeed, When One Considers The Religious Situation
Of Those Days, He Seems To Be Sailing Perilously Near The Wind In Some
Of His Theological Reflections; So Much So, That Mr. Eames Often
Wondered Whether This Might Not Account For Our Ignorance Of His Later
Life And The Manner Of His Death. He Held It Possible That The Scholar
May Have Fallen Into The Clutches Of The Inquisition, Never Again To
Return To The Surface Of Society. It Would Explain Why The First
Edition Of The Antiquities Is So Extremely Rare, And Why The Two
Subsequent Ones Were Issued, Respectively, At Amsterdam And Bale.
Incidentally, The Book Contains In Its Nine Hundred Pages All That
Could Possibly Interest A Contemporary Student About The History And
Natural Products Of Nepenthe. It Is Still A Mine Of Antiquarian
Information, Though Large Sections Of The Work Have Inevitably Become
Obsolete. To Bring The Antiquities Up To Date By Means Of A Revised And
Enlarged Version Enriched With Footnotes, Appendixes And Copious
Illustrations, Was The Ambition, The Sole Ambition, Of Mr. Ernest
Eames, R.A. . . .
It Was Not True To Say Of This Gentleman That He Fled From England To
Nepenthe Because He Forged His Mother's Will, Because He Was Arrested
While Picking The Pockets Of A Lady At Tottenham Court Road Station,
Because He Refused To Pay For The Upkeep Of His Seven Illegitimate
Children, Because He Was Involved In A Flamboyant Scandal Of
Unmentionable Nature And Unprecedented Dimensions, Because He Was
Detected While Trying To Poison The Rhinoceros At The Zoo With An
Arsenical Bun, Because He Strangled His Mistress, Because He Addressed
An Almost Disrespectful Letter To The Primate Of England Beginning "My
Good Owl"--Or For Any Suchlike Reason; And That He Now Remained On The
Island Only Because Nobody Was Fool Enough To Lend Him The Ten Pounds
Requisite For A Ticket Back Again.
He Came There Originally To Save Money; And He Stayed There Originally
Because, If He Had Happened To Die On His Homeward Journey, There Would
Not Have Been Enough Coppers In
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