Mike Fletcher by George Moore (ebook pc reader .txt) 📕

Cet Argot Mystique,  Creux Et Sonore,  Avec Lequel Pontifient Des Hommes

Comme Michelet,  Comme Hugo,  Cherchant À S'imposer À Leur Entourage,  Ainsi

Que Des Vaticinateurs Ayant Commerce Avec Les Dieux.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Dimanche De Pâques 1er Avril_.--Au Lit,  Où Je Passe Ma Journée,  Je Pense

Combien Cette Semaine Sainte M'est Mauvaise,  Depuis Des Années,  Combien

Elle Emporte De Ma Vitalité,  À Chaque Renouveau Des Printemps. Je Ne Peux

Traverser Les Tiédeurs Et Les Frigidités De L'air,  Je Ne Peux Vivre Dans

L'aigreur De L'atmosphère Du Printemps,  Sans Être Malade,  Et Malade D'un

Certain Malaise Qui Me Met En Communication Avec La Mort.

Cette Semaine Est Pour Moi,  Tant Qu'elle Dure,  Comme Une Entrée En

Chapelle. Avec Cette Idée Persistante De La Mort,  Qui Me Rapproche D'une

Autre Mort,  Avec Le Vague De L'esprit,  Et Cette _En Allée De Soi-Même_ Que

Donne Le Lit,  Toute La Journée,  Je L'ai Passée Avec Mon Frère,  Ainsi Que

Dans La Fréquentation D'un Vivant Avec Une Ombre,  Comme Si,  Ce Jour-Là,  Le

Christ,  Pour L'anniversaire De Sa Résurrection,  Donnait Congé Aux Âmes Des

Morts,  Et Leur Permettait De Vivre Autour Des Vivants,  Invisibles,  Mais

Amoureusement Présents.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Mardi 3 Avril_.--C'est Bien L'homme Le Plus Mal Élevé,  Et Le Plus

Furibondement Comique Qui Soit,  Que Ce Charles Blanc. Aujourd'hui,  À

Propos D'une Assertion Quelconque De Renan,  Il S'est Mis À Vociférer,  Que

Toutes Les Histoires De La Révolution Étaient Des Mensonges,  Que Tous Les

Historiens Étaient Des Imposteurs,--Et Qu'il N'y ARank Without His Wife,  And Lizzie Would Prejudice Him In The Eyes Of

The County People. Then,  As His Thoughts Detached Themselves,  He

Exclaimed Against The Sepulchral Solemnity Of The Library. The House

Was Soundless. At The Window He Heard The Soft Moonlight-Dreaming Of

The Rooks; And When He Threw Open The Window The White Peacock

Roosting There Flew Away And Paraded On The Pale Sward Like A Watteau

Lady.

Next Morning,  Rousing In The Indolence Of A Bed Hung With Curtains Of

Indian Pattern,  Mike Said To The Footman Who Brought In His Hot

Water--

"Tell The Coachman That I Shall Go Out Riding After Breakfast."

"What Horse Will You Ride,  Sir?"

"I Don't Know What Horses You Have In The Stable."

"Well,  Sir,  You Can Ride Either Her Ladyship's Hunter Or The Mare

That Brought You From The Station In The Dog-Cart."

"Very Well. I'll Ride Her Ladyship's Hunter. (My Hunter,  Damn The

Fellow," He Said,  Under His Breath.) "And Tell The Bailiff I Shall

Want Him; Let Him Come Round On His Horse. I Shall Go Over The Farms

With Him."

The Morning Was Chilly. He Stood Before The Fire While The Butler

Brought In Eggs,  Kidneys,  Devilled Legs Of Fowl,  And Coffee. The

Beauty Of The Coffee-Pot Caught His Eye,  And He Admired The Plate

That Made Such Rich Effect On The Old Chippendale Sideboard. The

Peacocks On The Window-Sills,  Knocking With Their Strong Beaks For

Bread,  Pleased Him; They Recalled Evenings Passed With Helen; She Had

Often Spoken Of Her Love For These Birds. He Went To The Window With

Bread For The Peacocks,  And The Landscape Came Into His Eyes: The

Clump Of Leafless Trees On The Left,  Rugged And Untidy With Rooks'

Nests; The Hollow,  Dipping Plain,  Melancholy Of Aspect Now,  Misty,

Gray And Brown Beneath A Lowering Sky,  Dipping And Then Rising In A

Long,  Wide Shape,  And Ringing The Sky With A Brown Line. The Terrace

With Its Straight Walks,  Balustrades,  Urns,  And Closely-Cropped Yews

Was A Romantic Note,  Severe,  Even Harsh.

One Day,  Wandering From Room To Room,  He Found Himself In Helen's

Bedroom. "There Is The Bed She Died In,  There Is The Wardrobe." Mike

Opened The Wardrobe. He Turned The Dresses Over,  Seeking For Those He

Knew; But He Had Not Seen Her For Three Years,  And There Were New

Dresses,  And He Had Forgotten The Old. Suddenly He Came Upon One Of

Soft,  Blue Material,  And He Remembered She Wore That Dress The First

Time She Sat On His Knees. Feeling The Need Of An Expressive Action,

He Buried His Face In The Pale Blue Dress,  Seeking In Its Softness

And Odour Commemoration Of Her Who Lay Beneath The Pavement. How

Desolate Was The Room! He Would Not Linger. This Room Must Be Forever

Closed,  Left To The Silence,  The Mildew,  The Dust,  And The Moth. None

Must Enter Here But He,  It Must Be Sacred From Other Feet. Once A

Year,  On Her Anniversary,  He Would Come To Mourn Her,  And Not On The

Anniversary Of Her Death,  But On That Of Their First Kiss. He Had

Forgotten The Exact Day,  And Feared He Had Not Preserved All Her

Letters. Perhaps She Had Preserved His.

Moved With Such An Idea He Passed Out Of Her Bedroom,  And Calling For

_His_ Keys,  Went Into Her Boudoir And Opened Her Escritoire,  And Very

Soon He Found His Letters; Almost The First He Read,  Ran As Follows--

"My Dear Helen,

"I Am Much Obliged To You For Your Kind Invitation. I Should Like

Very Much To Come And Stay With You,  If I May Come As Your Friend.

You Must Not Think From This That I Have Fallen In Love With Some One

Else; I Have Not. I Have Never Seen Any One I Shall Love Better Than

You; I Love You To-Day As Well As Ever I Did; My Feelings Regarding

You Have Changed In Nothing,  Yet I Cannot Come As Your Lover. I Am

Ashamed Of Myself,  I Hate Myself,  But It Is Not My Fault.

"I Have Been Your Lover For More Than A Year,  And I Could Not Be Any

One's Lover--No,  Not If She Were Venus Herself--For A Longer Time.

"My Heart Is Full Of Regret. I Am Losing The Best And Sweetest

Mistress Ever Man Had. No One Is Able To Appreciate Your Worth Better

Than I. Try To Understand Me; Do Not Throw This Letter Aside In A

Rage. You Are A Clever Woman; You Are,  I Know,  Capable Of

Understanding It. And If You Will Understand,  You Will Not Regret;

That I Swear,  For You Will Gain The Best And Most Loyal Friend. I Am

As Good A Friend As I Am A Worthless Lover. Try To Understand,  Helen,

I Am Not Wholly To Blame.

"I Love You--I Esteem You Far More To-Day Than I Did When I First

Knew You. Do Not Let Our Love End Upon A Miserable Quarrel--The

Commonplace Quarrel Of Those Who Do Not Know How To Love."

He Turned The Letter Over. He Was The Letter; That Letter Was His

Shameful Human Nature; And Worse,  It Was The Human Nature Of The

Whole Wide World. On The Same Point,  Or On Some Other Point,  Every

Human Being Was As Base As He. Such Baseness Is The Inalienable

Birth-Stain Of Human Life. His Poem Was No Pretty Imagining,  But The

Eternal,  Implacable Truth. It Were Better That Human Life Should

Cease. Until This Moment He Had Only Half Understood Its Awful,  Its

Terrifying Truth.... It Were Better That Man Ceased To Pollute The

Earth. His History Is But The Record Of Crime; His Existence Is But A

Disgraceful Episode In The Life Of One Of The Meanest Of The Planets.

We Cannot Desire What We Possess,  And So We Progress From Illusion To

Illusion. But When We Cease To Distinguish Between Ourself And

Others,  When Our Thoughts Are No Longer Set On The Consideration Of

Our Own Embarrassed Condition,  When We See Into The Heart Of Things,

Which Is One,  Then Disappointment And Suffering Cease To Have Any

Meaning,  And We Attain That True Serenity And Peace Which We

Sometimes See Reflected In A Seraph's Face By Raphael.

As Mike's Thoughts Floated In The Boundless Atmosphere Of

Schopenhauer's Poem,  Of The Denial Of The Will To Live,  He Felt

Creeping Upon Him,  Like Sleep Upon Tired Eyelids,  All The Sweet And

Suasive Fascination Of Death. "How Little," He Thought,  "Does Any Man

Know Of Any Other Man's Soul. Who Among My Friends Would Believe That

I,  In All My Intense Joys And Desire Of Life,  Am Perhaps,  At Heart,

The Saddest Man,  And Perhaps Sigh For Death More Ardently,  And Am

Tempted To Cull The Dark Fruit Which Hangs So Temptingly Over The

Wall Of The Garden Of Life More Ardently Than Any One?"

A Few Days After,  His Neighbour,  Lord Spennymoor,  Called,  And His

Visit Was Followed By An Invitation To Dinner. The Invitation Was

Accepted. Mike Was On His Best Behaviour. During Dinner He Displayed

As Much Reserve As His Nature Allowed Him To,  But Afterwards,

Yielding To The Solicitations Of The Women,  He Abandoned Himself,  And

When Twelve O'clock Struck They Were Still Gathered Round Him,

Listening To Him With Rapt Expression,  As If In Hearing Of Delightful

Music. Awaking Suddenly To A Sense Of The Hour And His Indiscretion,

He Bade Lord Spennymoor,  Who Had Sat Talking All Night With His

Brother In A Far Corner,  Good-Night.

When The Sound Of The Wheels Of His Trap Died Away,  When The Ladies

Had Retired,  Lord Spennymoor Returned To The Smoking-Room,  And At The

End Of A Long Silence Asked His Brother,  Who Sat Smoking Opposite

Him,  What He Thought Of Fletcher.

"He Is One Of Those Men Who Attract Women,  Who Attract Nine People

Out Of Ten.... Call It Magnetism,  Electro-Biology,  Give It What Name

You Will. The Natural Sciences----"

"Never Mind The Natural Sciences. Do You Think That Either Of My

Girls Were--Victoria,  For Instance,  Was Attracted By Him? I Don't

Believe For A Moment His Story Of Having Saved Lady Seeley From

Drowning In Italy,  But I'm Bound To Say He Told It Very Well. I Can

See The Girls Sitting Round Him Listening. Poor Mrs. Dickens,  Her

Eyes Were----"

"I Shan't Ask Her Here Again.... But Tell Me,  Do You Think He'll

Marry?"

"It Would Be Very Hard To Say What Will Become Of Him. He May

Suddenly Weary Of Women And Become A Woman-Hater,  Or Perhaps He May

Develop Into A Sort Of Baron Hulot. He Spoke About His Writings--He

May Become Ambitious,  And Spend His Life Writing Epics.... He May Go

Mad! He Seemed Interested In Politics,  He May Go Into Parliament; I

Fancy He Would Do Very Well In Parliament. A Sudden Loathing Of

Civilization May Come Upon Him And Send Him To Africa Or The Arctic

Regions. A Man's End Is Always Infinitely More In Accordance With His

True Character Than Any Conclusion We Could Invent. No Writer,  Even

If He Have Genius,  Is So Extravagantly Logical As Nature."

During The Winter Months Mike Was Extensively Occupied With The