Chapter III. Natalie
Now what Bastin had said about marriage stuck in my mind as hisblundering remarks had a way of doing, perhaps because of the grainof honest truth with which they were often permeated. Probably in myposition it was more or less my duty to marry. But here came the rub;I had never experienced any leanings that way. I was as much a man asothers, more so than many are, perhaps, and I liked women, but at thesame time they repelled me.
My old fastidiousness came in; to my taste there was always somethingwrong about them. While they attracted one part of my nature theyrevolted another part, and on the whole I preferred to do without theirintimate society, rather than work violence to this second and higherpart of me. Moreover, quite at the beginning of my career I hadconcluded from observation that a man gets on better in life alone,rather than with another to drag at his side, or by whom perhaps he mustbe dragged. Still true marriage, such as most men and some women havedreamed of in their youth, had always been one of my ideals; indeed itwas on and around this vision that I wrote that first book of mine whichwas so successful. Since I knew this to be unattainable in our imperfectconditions, however, notwithstanding Bastin's strictures, again Idismissed the whole matter from my mind as a vain imagination.
As an alternative I reflected upon a parliamentary career which I wasnot too old to begin, and even toyed with one or two opportunities thatoffered themselves, as these do to men of wealth and advanced views.They never came to anything, for in the end I decided that Partypolitics were so hateful and so dishonest, that I could not bring myselfto put my neck beneath their yoke. I was sure that if I tried to doso, I should fail more completely than I had done at the Bar and inLiterature. Here, too, I am quite certain that I was right.
The upshot of it all was that I sought refuge in that last expedient ofweary Englishmen, travel, not as a globe-trotter, but leisurely and withan inquiring mind, learning much but again finding, like the ancientwriter whom I have quoted already, that there is no new thing under thesun; that with certain variations it is the same thing over and overagain.
No, I will make an exception, the East did interest me enormously. Thereit was, at Benares, that I came into touch with certain thinkers whoopened my eyes to a great deal. They released some hidden spring inmy nature which hitherto had always been striving to break through thecrust of our conventions and inherited ideas. I know now that what Iwas seeking was nothing less than the Infinite; that I had "immortallongings in me." I listened to all their solemn talk of epochs and yearsmeasureless to man, and reflected with a thrill that after all man mighthave his part in every one of them. Yes, that bird of passage as heseemed to be, flying out of darkness into darkness, still he might havespread his wings in the light of other suns millions upon millions ofyears ago, and might still spread them, grown radiant and glorious,millions upon millions of years hence in a time unborn.
If only I could know the truth. Was Life (according to Bickley) merelya short activity bounded by nothingness before and behind; or (accordingto Bastin) a conventional golden-harped and haloed immortality, a wordof which he did not in the least understand the meaning?
Or was it something quite different from either of these, something vastand splendid beyond the reach of vision, something God-sent, beginningand ending in the Eternal Absolute and at last partaking of Hisattributes and nature and from aeon to aeon shot through with His light?And how was the truth to be learned? I asked my Eastern friends, andthey talked vaguely of long ascetic preparation, of years upon years oflearning, from whom I could not quite discover. I was sure it could notbe from them, because clearly they did not know; they only passed onwhat they had heard elsewhere, when or how they either could not orwould not explain. So at length I gave it up, having satisfied myselfthat all this was but an effort of Oriental imagination called into lifeby the sweet influences of the Eastern stars.
I gave it up and went away, thinking that I should forget. But I didnot forget. I was quick with a new hope, or at any rate with a newaspiration, and that secret child of holy desire grew and grew withinmy soul, till at length it flashed upon me that this soul of mine wasitself the hidden Master from which I must learn my lesson. No wonderthat those Eastern friends could not give his name, seeing that whateverthey really knew, as distinguished from what they had heard, and it waslittle enough, each of them had learned from the teaching of his ownsoul.
Thus, then, I too became a dreamer with only one longing, the longingfor wisdom, for that spirit touch which should open my eyes and enableme to see.
Yet now it happened strangely enough that when I seemed within myselfto have little further interest in the things of the world, and leastof all in women, I, who had taken another guest to dwell with me,those things of the world came back to me and in the shape of Woman theInevitable. Probably it was so decreed since is it not written that noman can live to himself alone, or lose himself in watching and nurturingthe growth of his own soul?
It happened thus. I went to Rome on my way home from India, and stayedthere a while. On the day after my arrival I wrote my name in the bookof our Minister to Italy at that time, Sir Alfred Upton, not because Iwished him to ask me to dinner, but for the reason that I had heard ofhim as a man of archeological tastes and thought that he might enable meto see things which otherwise I should not see.
As it chanced he knew about me through some of my Devonshire neighbourswho were friends of his, and did ask me to dinner on the followingnight. I accepted and found myself one of a considerable party, some ofthem distinguished English people who wore Orders, as is customary whenone dines with the representative of our Sovereign. Seeing these, andthis shows that in the best of us vanity is only latent, for the firsttime in my life I was sorry that I had none and was only plain Mr.Arbuthnot who, as Sir Alfred explained to me politely, must go in todinner last, because all the rest had titles, and without even a lady asthere was not one to spare.
Nor was my lot bettered when I got there, as I found myself seatedbetween an Italian countess and a Russian prince, neither of whom couldtalk English, while, alas, I knew no foreign language, not even Frenchin which they addressed me, seeming surprised that I did not understandthem. I was humiliated at my own ignorance, although in fact I was notignorant, only my education had been classical. Indeed I was a goodclassic and had kept up my knowledge more or less, especially since Ibecame an idle man. In my confusion it occurred to me that the Italiancountess might know Latin from which her own language was derived, andaddressed her in that tongue. She stared, and Sir Alfred, who was notfar off and overheard me (he also knew Latin), burst into laughter andproceeded to explain the joke in a loud voice, first in French andthen in English, to the assembled company, who all became infected withmerriment and also stared at me as a curiosity.
Then it was that for the first time I saw Natalie, for owing toa mistake of my driver I had arrived rather late and had not beenintroduced to her. As her father's only daughter, her mother being dead,she was seated at the end of the table behind a fan-like arrangement ofwhite Madonna lilies, and she had bent forward and, like the others, waslooking at me, but in such a fashion that her head from that distanceseemed as though it were surrounded and crowned with lilies. Indeed thegreatest art could not have produced a more beautiful effect which was,however, really one of naked accident.
An angel looking down upon earth through the lilies of Heaven--that wasthe rather absurd thought which flashed into my mind. I did not quiterealise her face at first except that it seemed to be both dark andfair; as a fact her waving hair which grew rather low upon her forehead,was dark, and her large, soft eyes were grey. I did not know, and tothis moment I do not know if she was really beautiful, but certainly thelight that shone through those eyes of hers and seemed to be reflectedupon her delicate features, was beauty itself. It was like that glowingthrough a thin vase of the purest alabaster within which a lamp isplaced, and I felt this effect to arise from no chance, like that of thelily-setting, but, as it were, from the lamp of the
spirit within.
Our eyes met, and I suppose that she saw the wonder and admirationin mine. At any rate her amused smile faded, leaving the face ratherserious, though still sweetly serious, and a tinge of colour crept overit as the first hue of dawn creeps into a pearly sky. Then she withdrewherself behind the screen of lilies and for the rest of that dinnerwhich I thought was never coming to an end, practically I saw her nomore. Only I noted as she passed out that although not tall, shewas rounded and graceful in shape and that her hands were peculiarlydelicate.
Afterwards in the drawing-room her father, with whom I had talked at thetable, introduced me to her, saying:
"My daughter is the real archaeologist, Mr. Arbuthnot, and I think ifyou ask her, she may be able to help you."
Then he bustled away to speak to some of his important guests, from whomI think he was seeking political information.
"My father exaggerates," she said in a soft and very sympathetic voice,"but perhaps"--and she motioned me to a seat at her side.
Then we talked of the places and things that I more particularly desiredto see and, well, the end of it was that I went back to my hotel in lovewith Natalie; and as she afterwards confessed, she went to bed in lovewith me.
It was a curious business, more like meeting a very old friend from whomone had been separated by circumstances for a score of years or so thananything else. We were, so to speak, intimate from the first; weknew all about each other, although here and there was something new,something different which we could not remember, lines of thought,veins of memory which we did not possess in common. On one point I amabsolutely clear: it was not solely the everyday and ancient appeal ofwoman to man and man to woman which drew us together, though doubtlessthis had its part in our attachment as under our human conditions itmust do, seeing that it is Nature's bait to ensure the continuance ofthe race. It was something more, something quite beyond that elementaryimpulse.
At any rate we loved, and one evening in the shelter of the solemnwalls of the great Coliseum at Rome, which at that hour were shut toall except ourselves, we confessed our love. I really think we must havechosen the spot by tacit but mutual consent because we felt it to befitting. It was so old, so impregnated with every human experience,from the direst crime of the tyrant who thought himself a god, to thesublimest sacrifice of the martyr who already was half a god; with everyvice and virtue also which lies between these extremes, that it seemedto be the most fitting altar whereon to offer our hearts and all thatcaused them to beat, each to the other.
So Natalie and I were betrothed within a month of our first meeting.Within three we were married, for what was there to prevent or delay?Naturally Sir Alfred was delighted, seeing that he possessed butsmall private resources and I was able to make ample provision forhis daughter who had hitherto shown herself somewhat difficult in thisbusiness of matrimony and now was bordering on her twenty-seventh year.Everybody was delighted, everything went smoothly as a sledge slidingdown a slope of frozen snow and the mists of time hid whatever might beat the end of that slope. Probably a plain; at the worst the upward riseof ordinary life.
That is what we thought, if we thought at all. Certainly we neverdreamed of a precipice. Why should we, who were young, by comparison,quite healthy and very rich? Who thinks of precipices under suchcircumstances, when disaster seems to be eliminated and death is yet along way off?
And yet we ought to have done so, because we should have known thatsmooth surfaces without impediment to the runners often end in somethingof the kind.
I am bound to say that when we returned home to Fulcombe, where ofcourse we met with a great reception, including the ringing (out oftune) of the new peal of bells that I had given to the church, Bastinmade haste to point this out.
"Your wife seems a very nice and beautiful lady, Arbuthnot," hereflected aloud after dinner, when Mrs. Bastin, glowering as usual,though what at I do not know, had been escorted from the room byNatalie, "and really, when I come to think of it, you are an unusuallyfortunate person. You possess a great deal of money, much more than youhave any right to; which you seem to have done very little to earn anddo not spend quite as I should like you to do, and this nice property,that ought to be owned by a great number of people, as, according tothe views you express, I should have thought you would acknowledge, andeverything else that a man can want. It is very strange that you shouldbe so favoured and not because of any particular merits of your ownwhich one can see. However, I have no doubt it will all come even in theend and you will get your share of troubles, like others. Perhaps Mrs.Arbuthnot will have no children as there is so much for them to take. Orperhaps you will lose all your money and have to work for your living,which might be good for you. Or," he added, still thinking aloud afterhis fashion, "perhaps she will die young--she has that kind of face,although, of course, I hope she won't," he added, waking up.
I do not know why, but his wandering words struck me cold; theproverbial funeral bell at the marriage feast was nothing to them. Isuppose it was because in a flash of intuition I knew that they wouldcome true and that he was an appointed Cassandra. Perhaps this uncannyknowledge overcame my natural indignation at such super-gaucherie ofwhich no one but Bastin could have been capable, and even prevented mefrom replying at all, so that I merely sat still and looked at him.
But Bickley did reply with some vigour.
"Forgive me for saying so, Bastin," he said, bristling all over as itwere, "but your remarks, which may or may not be in accordance with theprinciples of your religion, seem to me to be in singularly bad taste.They would have turned the stomachs of a gathering of early Christians,who appear to have been the worst mannered people in the world, and atany decent heathen feast your neck would have been wrung as that of abird of ill omen."
"Why?" asked Bastin blankly. "I only said what I thought to be thetruth. The truth is better than what you call good taste."
"Then I will say what I think also to be the truth," replied Bickley,growing furious. "It is that you use your Christianity as a cloak forbad manners. It teaches consideration and sympathy for others of whichyou seem to have none. Moreover, since you talk of the death of people'swives, I will tell you something about your own, as a doctor, which Ican do as I never attended her. It is highly probable, in my opinion,that she will die before Mrs. Arbuthnot, who is quite a healthy personwith a good prospect of life."
"Perhaps," said Bastin. "If so, it will be God's will and I shall notcomplain" (here Bickley snorted), "though I do not see what you can knowabout it. But why should you cast reflections on the early Christianswho were people of strong principle living in rough times, and had towage war against an established devil-worship? I know you are angrybecause they smashed up the statues of Venus and so forth, but had Ibeen in their place I should have done the same."
"Of course you would, who doubts it? But as for the early Christians andtheir iconoclastic performances--well, curse them, that's all!" and hesprang up and left the room.
I followed him.
Let it not be supposed from the above scene that there was anyill-feeling between Bastin and Bickley. On the contrary they were muchattached to each other, and this kind of quarrel meant no more thanthe strong expression of their individual views to which they wereaccustomed from their college days. For instance Bastin was alwaystalking about the early Christians and missionaries, while Bickleyloathed both, the early Christians because of the destruction whichthey had wrought in Egypt, Italy, Greece and elsewhere, of all that wasbeautiful; and the missionaries because, as he said, they were degradingand spoiling the native races and by inducing them to wear clothes,rendering them liable to disease. Bastin would answer that their soulswere more important than their bodies, to which Bickley replied that asthere was no such thing as a soul except in the stupid imagination ofpriests, he differed entirely on the point. As it was quite impossiblefor either to convince the other, there the conversation would end, ordrift into something in which they were mutually interested, such asnatural histo
ry and the hygiene of the neighbourhood.
Here I may state that Bickley's keen professional eye was not mistakenwhen he diagnosed Mrs. Bastin's state of health as dangerous. As amatter of fact she was suffering from heart disease that a doctor canoften recognise by the colour of the lips, etc., which brought about herdeath under the following circumstances:
Her husband attended some ecclesiastical function at a town over twentymiles away and was to have returned by a train which would have broughthim home about five o'clock. As he did not arrive she waited atthe station for him until the last train came in about seveno'clock--without the beloved Basil. Then, on a winter's night she toreup to the Priory and begged me to lend her a dog-cart in which to driveto the said town to look for him. I expostulated against the folly ofsuch a proceeding, saying that no doubt Basil was safe enough but hadforgotten to telegraph, or thought that he would save the sixpence whichthe wire cost.
Then it came out, to Natalie's and my intense amusement, that all thiswas the result of her jealous nature of which I have spoken. She saidshe had never slept a night away from her husband since they weremarried and with so many "designing persons" about she could not saywhat might happen if she did so, especially as he was "such a favouriteand so handsome." (Bastin was a fine looking man in his rugged way.)
I suggested that she might have a little confidence in him, to which shereplied darkly that she had no confidence in anybody.
The end of it was that I lent her the cart with a fast horse and a gooddriver, and off she went. Reaching the town in question some two and ahalf hours later, she searched high and low through wind and sleet, butfound no Basil. He, it appeared, had gone on to Exeter, to look at thecathedral where some building was being done, and missing the last trainhad there slept the night.
About one in the morning, after being nearly locked up as a mad woman,she drove back to the Vicarage, again to find no Basil. Even then shedid not go to bed but raged about the house in her wet clothes, untilshe fell down utterly exhausted. When her husband did return on thefollowing morning, full of information about the cathedral, she wasdangerously ill, and actually passed away while uttering a violenttirade against him for his supposed suspicious proceedings.
That was the end of this truly odious British matron.
In after days Bastin, by some peculiar mental process, canonised her inhis imagination as a kind of saint. "So loving," he would say, "such adevoted wife! Why, my dear Humphrey, I can assure you that even in themidst of her death-struggle her last thoughts were of me," words thatcaused Bickley to snort with more than usual vigour, until I kicked himto silence beneath the table.