the lesson of the master-第16章

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made　no　allusion　of　course　to　their　important　discussion。　　He　spoke

of　his　wife　as　frankly　and　generously　as　if　he　had　quite　forgotten

that　occasion；　and　the　feeling　of　deep　bereavement　was　visible　in

his　words。　　〃She　took　everything　off　my　hands　…　off　my　mind。　　She

carried　on　our　life　with　the　greatest　art；　the　rarest　devotion；　and

I　was　free；　as　few　men　can　have　been；　to　drive　my　pen；　to　shut

myself　up　with　my　trade。　　This　was　a　rare　service　…　the　highest　she

could　have　rendered　me。　　Would　I　could　have　acknowledged　it　more

fitly！〃



A　certain　bewilderment；　for　our　hero；　disengaged　itself　from　these

remarks：　　they　struck　him　as　a　contradiction；　a　retractation；

strange　on　the　part　of　a　man　who　hadn't　the　excuse　of　witlessness。

He　had　certainly　not　expected　his　correspondent　to　rejoice　in　the

death　of　his　wife；　and　it　was　perfectly　in　order　that　the　rupture

of　a　tie　of　more　than　twenty　years　should　have　left　him　sore。　　But

if　she　had　been　so　clear　a　blessing　what　in　the　name　of　consistency

had　the　dear　man　meant　by　turning　him　upside　down　that　night　…　by

dosing　him　to　that　degree；　at　the　most　sensitive　hour　of　his　life；

with　the　doctrine　of　renunciation？　　If　Mrs。　St。　George　was　an

irreparable　loss；　then　her　husband's　inspired　advice　had　been　a　bad

joke　and　renunciation　was　a　mistake。　　Overt　was　on　the　point　of

rushing　back　to　London　to　show　that；　for　his　part；　he　was　perfectly

willing　to　consider　it　so；　and　he　went　so　far　as　to　take　the

manuscript　of　the　first　chapters　of　his　new　book　out　of　his　table…

drawer；　to　insert　it　into　a　pocket　of　his　portmanteau。　　This　led　to

his　catching　a　glimpse　of　certain　pages　he　hadn't　looked　at　for

months；　and　that　accident；　in　turn；　to　his　being　struck　with　the

high　promise　they　revealed　…　a　rare　result　of　such　retrospections；

which　it　was　his　habit　to　avoid　as　much　as　possible：　　they　usually

brought　home　to　him　that　the　glow　of　composition　might　be　a　purely

subjective　and　misleading　emotion。　　On　this　occasion　a　certain

belief　in　himself　disengaged　itself　whimsically　from　the　serried

erasures　of　his　first　draft；　making　him　think　it　best　after　all　to

pursue　his　present　trial　to　the　end。　　If　he　could　write　as　well

under　the　rigour　of　privation　it　might　be　a　mistake　to　change　the

conditions　before　that　spell　had　spent　itself。　　He　would　go　back　to

London　of　course；　but　he　would　go　back　only　when　he　should　have

finished　his　book。　　This　was　the　vow　he　privately　made；　restoring

his　manuscript　to　the　table…drawer。　　It　may　be　added　that　it　took

him　a　long　time　to　finish　his　book；　for　the　subject　was　as

difficult　as　it　was　fine；　and　he　was　literally　embarrassed　by　the

fulness　of　his　notes。　　Something　within　him　warned　him　that　he　must

make　it　supremely　good　…　otherwise　he　should　lack；　as　regards　his

private　behaviour；　a　handsome　excuse。　　He　had　a　horror　of　this

deficiency　and　found　himself　as　firm　as　need　be　on　the　question　of

the　lamp　and　the　file。　　He　crossed　the　Alps　at　last　and　spent　the

winter；　the　spring；　the　ensuing　summer；　in　Italy；　where　still；　at

the　end　of　a　twelvemonth；　his　task　was　unachieved。　　〃Stick　to　it　…

see　it　through〃：　　this　general　injunction　of　St。　George's　was　good

also　for　the　particular　case。　　He　applied　it　to　the　utmost；　with

the　result　that　when　in　its　slow　order　the　summer　had　come　round

again　he　felt　he　had　given　all　that　was　in　him。　　This　time　he　put

his　papers　into　his　portmanteau；　with　the　address　of　his　publisher

attached；　and　took　his　way　northward。



He　had　been　absent　from　London　for　two　years　…　two　years　which；

seeming　to　count　as　more；　had　made　such　a　difference　in　his　own

life　…　through　the　production　of　a　novel　far　stronger；　he　believed；

than　〃Ginistrella〃　…　that　he　turned　out　into　Piccadilly；　the

morning　after　his　arrival；　with　a　vague　expectation　of　changes；　of

finding　great　things　had　happened。　　But　there　were　few

transformations　in　Piccadilly　…　only　three　or　four　big　red　houses

where　there　had　been　low　black　ones　…　and　the　brightness　of　the　end

of　June　peeped　through　the　rusty　railings　of　the　Green　Park　and

glittered　in　the　varnish　of　the　rolling　carriages　as　he　had　seen　it

in　other；　more　cursory　Junes。　　It　was　a　greeting　he　appreciated；　it

seemed　friendly　and　pointed；　added　to　the　exhilaration　of　his

finished　book；　of　his　having　his　own　country　and　the　huge

oppressive　amusing　city　that　suggested　everything；　that　contained

everything；　under　his　hand　again。　　〃Stay　at　home　and　do　things　here

…　do　subjects　we　can　measure；〃　St。　George　had　said；　and　now　it

struck　him　he　should　ask　nothing　better　than　to　stay　at　home　for

ever。　　Late　in　the　afternoon　he　took　his　way　to　Manchester　Square；

looking　out　for　a　number　he　hadn't　forgotten。　　Miss　Fancourt；

however；　was　not　at　home；　so　that　he　turned　rather　dejectedly　from

the　door。　　His　movement　brought　him　face　to　face　with　a　gentleman

just　approaching　it　and　recognised　on　another　glance　as　Miss

Fancourt's　father。　　Paul　saluted　this　personage；　and　the　General

returned　the　greeting　with　his　customary　good　manner　…　a　manner　so

good；　however；　that　you　could　never　tell　whether　it　meant　he　placed

you。　　The　disappointed　caller　felt　the　impulse　to　address　him；

then；　hesitating；　became　both　aware　of　having　no　particular　remark

to　make；　and　convinced　that　though　the　old　soldier　remembered　him

he　remembered　him　wrong。　　He　therefore　went　his　way　without

computing　the　irresistible　effect　his　own　evident　recognition　would

have　on　the　General；　who　never　neglected　a　chance　to　gossip。　　Our

young　man's　face　was　expressive；　and　observation　seldom　let　it

pass。　　He　hadn't　taken　ten　steps　before　he　heard　himself　called

after　with　a　friendly　semi…articulate　〃Er　…　I　beg　your　pardon！〃　　He

turned　round　and　the　General；　smiling　at　him　from　the　porch；　said：

〃Won't　you　come　in？　　I　won't　leave　you　the　advantage　of　me！〃　　Paul

declined　to　come　in；　and　then　felt　regret；　for　Miss　Fancourt；　so

late　in　the　afternoon；　might　return　at　any　moment。　　But　her　father

gave　him　no　second　chance；　he　appeared　mainly　to　wish　not　to　have

struck　him　as　ungracious。　　A　further　look　at　the　visitor　had

recalled　something；　enough　at　least　to　enable　him　to　say：　　〃You've

come　back；　you've　come　back？〃　　Paul　was　on　the　point　of　replying

that　he　had　come　back　the　night　before；　but　he　suppressed；　the　next

instant；　this　strong　light　on　the　immediacy　of　his　visit　and；

giving　merely　a　general　assent；　alluded　to　the　young　lady　he

deplored　not　having　found。　　He　had　come　late　in　the　hope　she　would

be　in。　　〃I'll　tell　her　…　I'll　tell　her；〃　said　the　old　man；　and　then

he　added　quickly；　gallantly：　　〃You'll　be　giving　us　something　new？

It's　a　long　time；　isn't　it？〃　　Now　he　remembered　him　right。



〃Rather　long。　　I'm　very　slow。〃　Paul　explained。　　〃I　met　you　at

Summersoft　a　long　time　ago。〃



〃Oh　yes　…　with　Henry　St。　George。　　I　remember　very　well。　　Before　his

poor　wife　…　〃　General　Fancourt　paused　a　moment；　smiling　a　little

less。　　〃I　dare　say　you　know。〃



〃About　Mrs。　St。　George's　death？　　Certainly　…　I　heard　at　the　time。〃



〃Oh　no；　I　mean　…　I　mean　he's　to　be　married。〃



〃Ah　I've　not　heard　that！〃　　But　just　as　Paul　was　about　to　add　〃To

whom？〃　the　General　crossed　his　intention。



〃When　did　you　come　back？　　I　know　you've　been　away　…　by　my　daughter。

She　was　very　sorry。　　You　ought　to　give　her　something　new。〃



〃I　came　back　last　night；〃　said　our　young　man；　to　whom　something　had

occurred　which　made　his　speech　for　the　moment　a　little　thick。



〃Ah　most　kind　of　you　to　come　so　soon。　　Couldn't　you　turn　up　at

dinner？〃



〃At　dinner？〃　Paul　just　mechanically　repeated；　not　liking　to　ask

whom　St。　George　was　going　to　marry；　but　thinking　only　of　that。



〃There　are　several　people；　I　believe。　　Certainly　St。　George。　　Or

afterwards　if　you　like　better。　　I　believe　my　daughter　expects　…　〃

He　appeared　to　notice　something　in　the　visitor's　raised　face　（on

his　steps　he　stood　higher）　which　led　him　to　interrupt　himself；　and

the　interruption　gave　him　a　mom