CHAPTER II

Beforetheautumnwasatanend,andwhilethebrownleavesstillstoodthickonthebeechesinourpark,mybrotherandBerthawereengagedtoeachother,anditwasunderstoodthattheirmarriagewastotakeplaceearlyinthenextspring.InspiteofthecertaintyIhadfeltfromthatmomentonthebridgeatPrague,thatBerthawouldonedaybemywife,myconstitutionaltimidityanddistrusthadcontinuedtobenumbme,andthewordsinwhichIhadsometimespremeditatedaconfessionofmylove,haddiedawayunuttered.Thesameconflicthadgoneonwithinmeasbefore—thelongingforanassuranceoflovefromBertha’slips,thedreadlestawordofcontemptanddenialshouldfalluponmelikeacorrosiveacid.Whatwastheconvictionofadistantnecessitytome?Itrembledunderapresentglance,Ihungeredafterapresentjoy,Iwascloggedandchilledbyapresentfear.Andsothedayspassedon:IwitnessedBertha’sengagementandheardhermarriagediscussedasifIwereunderaconsciousnightmare—knowingitwasadreamthatwouldvanish,butfeelingstifledunderthegraspofhard-clutchingfingers. WhenIwasnotinBertha’spresence—andIwaswithherveryoften,forshecontinuedtotreatmewithaplayfulpatronagethatwakenednojealousyinmybrother—Ispentmytimechieflyinwandering,instrolling,ortakinglongrideswhilethedaylightlasted,andthenshuttingmyselfupwithmyunreadbooksforbookshadlostthepowerofchainingmyattention.Myself-consciousnesswasheightenedtothatpitchofintensityinwhichourownemotionstaketheformofadramawhichurgesitselfimperativelyonourcontemplation,andwebegintoweep,lessunderthesenseofoursufferingthanatthethoughtofit.Ifeltasortofpityinganguishoverthepathosofmyownlot:thelotofabeingfinelyorganizedforpain,butwithhardlyanyfibresthatrespondedtopleasure—towhomtheideaoffutureevilrobbedthepresentofitsjoy,andforwhomtheideaoffuturegooddidnotstilltheuneasinessofapresentyearningorapresentdread.Iwentdumblythroughthatstageofthepoet’ssuffering,inwhichhefeelsthedeliciouspangofutterance,andmakesanimageofhissorrows. Iwasleftentirelywithoutremonstranceconcerningthisdreamywaywardlife:Iknewmyfather’sthoughtaboutme:“Thatladwillneverbegoodforanythinginlife:hemaywastehisyearsinaninsignificantwayontheincomethatfallstohim:Ishallnottroublemyselfaboutacareerforhim.” OnemildmorninginthebeginningofNovember,ithappenedthatIwasstandingoutsidetheporticopattinglazyoldC?sar,aNewfoundlandalmostblindwithage,theonlydogthatevertookanynoticeofme—fortheverydogsshunnedme,andfawnedonthehappierpeopleaboutme—whenthegroombroughtupmybrother’shorsewhichwastocarryhimtothehunt,andmybrotherhimselfappearedatthedoor,florid,broad-chested,andself-complacent,feelingwhatagood-naturedfellowhewasnottobehaveinsolentlytousallonthestrengthofhisgreatadvantages. “Latimer,oldboy,”hesaidtomeinatoneofcompassionatecordiality,“whatapityitisyoudon’thavearunwiththehoundsnowandthen!Thefinestthingintheworldforlowspirits!” “Lowspirits!”Ithoughtbitterly,asherodeaway“thatisthesortofphrasewithwhichcoarse,narrownatureslikeyoursthinktodescribeexperienceofwhichyoucanknownomorethanyourhorseknows.Itistosuchasyouthatthegoodofthisworldfalls:readydulness,healthyselfishness,good-temperedconceit—thesearethekeystohappiness.” Thequickthoughtcame,thatmyselfishnesswasevenstrongerthanhis—itwasonlyasufferingselfishnessinsteadofanenjoyingone.Butthen,again,myexasperatinginsightintoAlfred’sself-complacentsoul,hisfreedomfromallthedoubtsandfears,theunsatisfiedyearnings,theexquisitetorturesofsensitiveness,thathadmadethewebofmylife,seemedtoabsolvemefromallbondstowardshim.Thismanneedednopity,nolovethosefineinfluenceswouldhavebeenaslittlefeltbyhimasthedelicatewhitemistisfeltbytherockitcaresses.Therewasnoevilinstoreforhim:ifhewasnottomarryBertha,itwouldbebecausehehadfoundalotpleasantertohimself. Mr.Filmore’shouselaynotmorethanhalfamilebeyondourowngates,andwheneverIknewmybrotherwasgoneinanotherdirection,IwentthereforthechanceoffindingBerthaathome.LateroninthedayIwalkedthither.Byarareaccidentshewasalone,andwewalkedoutinthegroundstogether,forsheseldomwentonfootbeyondthetrimly-sweptgravel-walks.IrememberwhatabeautifulsylphshelookedtomeasthelowNovembersunshoneonherblondhair,andshetrippedalongteasingmewithherusuallightbanter,towhichIlistenedhalffondly,halfmoodilyitwasallthesignBertha’smysteriousinnerselfevermadetome.To-dayperhaps,themoodinesspredominated,forIhadnotyetshakenofftheaccessofjealoushatewhichmybrotherhadraisedinmebyhispartingpatronage.SuddenlyIinterruptedandstartledherbysaying,almostfiercely,“Bertha,howcanyouloveAlfred?” Shelookedatmewithsurpriseforamoment,butsoonherlightsmilecameagain,andsheansweredsarcastically,“WhydoyousupposeIlovehim?” “Howcanyouaskthat,Bertha?” “What!yourwisdomthinksImustlovethemanI’mgoingtomarry?Themostunpleasantthingintheworld.IshouldquarrelwithhimIshouldbejealousofhimourménagewouldbeconductedinaveryill-bredmanner.Alittlequietcontemptcontributesgreatlytotheeleganceoflife.” “Bertha,thatisnotyourrealfeeling.Whydoyoudelightintryingtodeceivemebyinventingsuchcynicalspeeches?” “Ineednevertakethetroubleofinventioninordertodeceiveyou,mysmallTasso”—(thatwasthemockingnamesheusuallygaveme).“Theeasiestwaytodeceiveapoetistotellhimthetruth.” Shewastestingthevalidityofherepigraminadaringway,andforamomenttheshadowofmyvision—theBerthawhosesoulwasnosecrettome—passedbetweenmeandtheradiantgirl,theplayfulsylphwhosefeelingswereafascinatingmystery.IsupposeImusthaveshuddered,orbetrayedinsomeotherwaymymomentarychillofhorror. “Tasso!”shesaid,seizingmywrist,andpeepingroundintomyface,“areyoureallybeginningtodiscernwhataheartlessgirlIam?Why,youarenothalfthepoetIthoughtyouwereyouareactuallycapableofbelievingthetruthaboutme.” Theshadowpassedfrombetweenus,andwasnolongertheobjectnearesttome.Thegirlwhoselightfingersgraspedme,whoseelfishcharmingfacelookedintomine—who,Ithought,wasbetrayinganinterestinmyfeelingsthatshewouldnothavedirectlyavowed,—thiswarmbreathingpresenceagainpossessedmysensesandimaginationlikeareturningsirenmelodywhichhadbeenoverpoweredforaninstantbytheroarofthreateningwaves.Itwasamomentasdelicioustomeasthewakinguptoaconsciousnessofyouthafteradreamofmiddleage.Iforgoteverythingbutmypassion,andsaidwithswimmingeyes— “Bertha,shallyoulovemewhenwearefirstmarried?Iwouldn’tmindifyoureallylovedmeonlyforalittlewhile.” Herlookofastonishment,assheloosedmyhandandstartedawayfromme,recalledmetoasenseofmystrange,mycriminalindiscretion. “Forgiveme,”Isaid,hurriedly,assoonasIcouldspeakagain“IdidnotknowwhatIwassaying.” “Ah,Tasso’smadfithascomeon,Isee,”sheansweredquietly,forshehadrecoveredherselfsoonerthanIhad.“Lethimgohomeandkeephisheadcool.Imustgoin,forthesunissetting.” Ilefther—fullofindignationagainstmyself.Ihadletslipwordswhich,ifshereflectedonthem,mightrouseinherasuspicionofmyabnormalmentalcondition—asuspicionwhichofallthingsIdreaded.Andbesidesthat,IwasashamedoftheapparentbasenessIhadcommittedinutteringthemtomybrother’sbetrothedwife.Iwanderedhomeslowly,enteringourparkthroughaprivategateinsteadofbythelodges.AsIapproachedthehouse,Isawamandashingoffatfullspeedfromthestable-yardacrossthepark.Hadanyaccidenthappenedathome?Noperhapsitwasonlyoneofmyfather’speremptorybusinesserrandsthatrequiredthisheadlonghaste. NeverthelessIquickenedmypacewithoutanydistinctmotive,andwassoonatthehouse.IwillnotdwellonthesceneIfoundthere.Mybrotherwasdead—hadbeenpitchedfromhishorse,andkilledonthespotbyaconcussionofthebrain. Iwentuptotheroomwherehelay,andwheremyfatherwasseatedbesidehimwithalookofrigiddespair.Ihadshunnedmyfathermorethananyonesinceourreturnhome,fortheradicalantipathybetweenournaturesmademyinsightintohisinnerselfaconstantafflictiontome.Butnow,asIwentuptohim,andstoodbesidehiminsadsilence,Ifeltthepresenceofanewelementthatblendedusaswehadneverbeenblentbefore.Myfatherhadbeenoneofthemostsuccessfulmeninthemoney-gettingworld:hehadhadnosentimentalsufferings,noillness.Theheaviesttroublethathadbefallenhimwasthedeathofhisfirstwife.ButhemarriedmymothersoonafterandIrememberheseemedexactlythesame,tomykeenchildishobservation,theweekafterherdeathasb