[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"Life to come," he repeated. "No, I don't believe in any of that stuff--not since 1859. The 'Origin of Species'
changed my views, you know. No life to come for me, thank you! You don't remember the excitement of
course. You're very young Mr. Spode."
"Well, I'm not so old as I was," Spode replied. "You know how middle-aged one is as a schoolboy and
undergraduate. Now I'm old enough to know I'm young."
Spode was about to develop this little paradox further, but he noticed that Mr. Tillotson had not been listening.
He made a note of the gambit for use in companies that were more appreciative of the subtleties.
"You were talking about the 'Origin of Species,' " he said.
"Was I?" said Mr. Tillotson, waking from reverie.
"About its effect on your faith, Mr. Tillotson."
"To be sure, yes. It shattered my faith. But I remember a fine thing by the Poet Laureate, something about
there being more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in all the... all the... I forget exactly what; but you see
the train of thought. Oh, it was a bad time for religion. I am glad my master Haydon never lived to see it. He
was a man of fervour. I remember him pacing up and down his studio in Lisson Grove, singing and shouting
and praying all at once. It used almost to frighten me. Oh, but he was a wonderful man, a great man. Take him
for all in all, we shall not look upon his like again. As usual, the Bard is right. But it was all very long ago,
before your time, Mr. Spode."
"Well, I'm not as old as I was," said Spode, in the hope of having his paradox appreciated this time. But Mr.
Tillotson went on without noticing the interruption.
"It's a very, very long time. And yet, when I look back on it, it all seems but a day or two ago. Strange that
each day should seem so long and that many days added together should be less than an hour. How clearly I
can see old Haydon pacing up and down! Much more clearly, indeed, than I see you, Mr. Spode. The eyes of
memory don't grow dim. But my sight is improving, I assure you; it's improving daily. I shall soon be able to
see those ankles." He laughed,! like a cracked bell one of those little old bells, Spode fancied, that ring, with
much rattling of wires, in the far-off servants' quarters of ancient houses. "And very soon," Mr. Tillotson went
on, "I shall be painting again. Ah, Mr. Spode, my luck is extraordinary. I believe in it, I trust in it. And after
all, what is luck? Simply another name for Providence, in spite of the 'Origin of Species' and the rest of it.
How right the Laureate was when he said that there was more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in all
the... er, the ... er ... well, you know. I regard you, Mr. Spode, as the emissary of Providence. Your coming
marked a turning-point in my life, and the beginning, for me, of happier days. Do you know, one of the first
things I shall do when my fortunes are restored will be to buy a hedgehog."
"A hedgehog, Mr. Tillotson?" "For the black beetles. There's nothing like a hedgehog for beetles. It will eat
blackbeetles till it's sick, till it dies of surfeit. That reminds me of the time when I told my poor great master
45
Haydon in joke, of course that he ought to send in, a cartoon of King John dying of a surfeit of lampreys for
the frescoes in the new Houses of Parliament. As I told him, it's a most notable event in the annals of British
liberty the providential and exemplary removal of a tyrant."
Mr. Tillotson laughed again the little bell in the deserted house; a ghostly hand pulling the cord in the
drawing-room, and phantom footmen responding to the thin, flawed note.
"I remember he laughed, laughed like a bull in his old grand manner. But oh, it was a terrible blow when they
rejected his design, a terrible blow! It was the first and fundamental cause of his suicide."
Mr. Tillotson paused. There was a long silence. Spode felt strangely moved, he hardly knew why, in the
presence of this man, so frail, so ancient, in body three parts dead, in the spirit so full of life and hopeful
patience. He felt ashamed. What was the use of his own youth and cleverness? He saw himself suddenly as a
boy with a rattle scaring birds rattling his noisy cleverness, waving his arms in ceaseless and futile activity,
never resting in his efforts to scare away the birds that were always trying to settle in his mind. And what
birds! wide-winged and beautiful, all those serene thoughts and faiths and emotions that only visit minds that
have hufnbled themselves to quiet. Those gracious| visitants he was for ever using all his energies to drive
away. But this old man, with his hedgehogs and his honest doubts and all the rest of it his mind was like a
field made beautiful by the free coming and going, the unafraid alightings of a multitude of white, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl wyciskamy.pev.pl
"Life to come," he repeated. "No, I don't believe in any of that stuff--not since 1859. The 'Origin of Species'
changed my views, you know. No life to come for me, thank you! You don't remember the excitement of
course. You're very young Mr. Spode."
"Well, I'm not so old as I was," Spode replied. "You know how middle-aged one is as a schoolboy and
undergraduate. Now I'm old enough to know I'm young."
Spode was about to develop this little paradox further, but he noticed that Mr. Tillotson had not been listening.
He made a note of the gambit for use in companies that were more appreciative of the subtleties.
"You were talking about the 'Origin of Species,' " he said.
"Was I?" said Mr. Tillotson, waking from reverie.
"About its effect on your faith, Mr. Tillotson."
"To be sure, yes. It shattered my faith. But I remember a fine thing by the Poet Laureate, something about
there being more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in all the... all the... I forget exactly what; but you see
the train of thought. Oh, it was a bad time for religion. I am glad my master Haydon never lived to see it. He
was a man of fervour. I remember him pacing up and down his studio in Lisson Grove, singing and shouting
and praying all at once. It used almost to frighten me. Oh, but he was a wonderful man, a great man. Take him
for all in all, we shall not look upon his like again. As usual, the Bard is right. But it was all very long ago,
before your time, Mr. Spode."
"Well, I'm not as old as I was," said Spode, in the hope of having his paradox appreciated this time. But Mr.
Tillotson went on without noticing the interruption.
"It's a very, very long time. And yet, when I look back on it, it all seems but a day or two ago. Strange that
each day should seem so long and that many days added together should be less than an hour. How clearly I
can see old Haydon pacing up and down! Much more clearly, indeed, than I see you, Mr. Spode. The eyes of
memory don't grow dim. But my sight is improving, I assure you; it's improving daily. I shall soon be able to
see those ankles." He laughed,! like a cracked bell one of those little old bells, Spode fancied, that ring, with
much rattling of wires, in the far-off servants' quarters of ancient houses. "And very soon," Mr. Tillotson went
on, "I shall be painting again. Ah, Mr. Spode, my luck is extraordinary. I believe in it, I trust in it. And after
all, what is luck? Simply another name for Providence, in spite of the 'Origin of Species' and the rest of it.
How right the Laureate was when he said that there was more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in all
the... er, the ... er ... well, you know. I regard you, Mr. Spode, as the emissary of Providence. Your coming
marked a turning-point in my life, and the beginning, for me, of happier days. Do you know, one of the first
things I shall do when my fortunes are restored will be to buy a hedgehog."
"A hedgehog, Mr. Tillotson?" "For the black beetles. There's nothing like a hedgehog for beetles. It will eat
blackbeetles till it's sick, till it dies of surfeit. That reminds me of the time when I told my poor great master
45
Haydon in joke, of course that he ought to send in, a cartoon of King John dying of a surfeit of lampreys for
the frescoes in the new Houses of Parliament. As I told him, it's a most notable event in the annals of British
liberty the providential and exemplary removal of a tyrant."
Mr. Tillotson laughed again the little bell in the deserted house; a ghostly hand pulling the cord in the
drawing-room, and phantom footmen responding to the thin, flawed note.
"I remember he laughed, laughed like a bull in his old grand manner. But oh, it was a terrible blow when they
rejected his design, a terrible blow! It was the first and fundamental cause of his suicide."
Mr. Tillotson paused. There was a long silence. Spode felt strangely moved, he hardly knew why, in the
presence of this man, so frail, so ancient, in body three parts dead, in the spirit so full of life and hopeful
patience. He felt ashamed. What was the use of his own youth and cleverness? He saw himself suddenly as a
boy with a rattle scaring birds rattling his noisy cleverness, waving his arms in ceaseless and futile activity,
never resting in his efforts to scare away the birds that were always trying to settle in his mind. And what
birds! wide-winged and beautiful, all those serene thoughts and faiths and emotions that only visit minds that
have hufnbled themselves to quiet. Those gracious| visitants he was for ever using all his energies to drive
away. But this old man, with his hedgehogs and his honest doubts and all the rest of it his mind was like a
field made beautiful by the free coming and going, the unafraid alightings of a multitude of white, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]