The Certain Hour (Dizain des Poëtes)

  CONCERNING CORINNA

  The matter hinges entirely upon whether or not Robert Herrick wasinsane. Sir Thomas Browne always preferred to think that he was;whereas Philip Borsdale perversely considered the answer to beoptional. Perversely, Sir Thomas protested, because he said that tobelieve in Herrick's sanity was not conducive to your own.

  This much is certain: the old clergyman, a man of few friends and nointimates, enjoyed in Devon, thanks to his time-hallowed reputation forsingularity, a certain immunity. In and about Dean Prior, forinstance, it was conceded in 1674 that it was unusual for a divine ofthe Church of England to make a black pig--and a pig of peculiarlydiabolical ugliness, at that--his ordinary associate; but Dean Priorhad come long ago to accept the grisly brute as a concomitant of Dr.Herrick's presence almost as inevitable as his shadow. It was no crimeto be fond of dumb animals, not even of one so inordinatelyunprepossessing; and you allowed for eccentricities, in any event, indealing with a poet.

  For Totnes, Buckfastleigh, Dean Prior--all that part of Devon, infact--complacently basked in the reflected glory of Robert Herrick.People came from a long distance, now that the Parliamentary Wars wereover, in order just to see the writer of the _Hesperides_ and the_Noble Numbers_. And such enthusiasts found in Robert Herrick ahideous dreamy man, who, without ever perpetrating any actualdiscourtesy, always managed to dismiss them, somehow, with a sense ofhaving been rebuffed.

  Sir Thomas Browne, that ardent amateur of the curious, came into Devon,however, without the risk of incurring any such fate, inasmuch as theknight traveled westward simply to discuss with Master Philip Borsdalethe recent doings of Cardinal Alioneri. Now, Philip Borsdale, as SirThomas knew, had been employed by Herrick in various transactions hereirrelevant. In consequence, Sir Thomas Browne was not greatlysurprised when, on his arrival at Buckfastleigh, Borsdale'sbody-servant told him that Master Borsdale had left instructions forSir Thomas to follow him to Dean Prior. Browne complied, because hisbusiness with Borsdale was of importance.

  Philip Borsdale was lounging in Dr. Herrick's chair, intent upon alengthy manuscript, alone and to all appearances quite at home. Thestate of the room Sir Thomas found extraordinary; but he had gravermatters to discuss; and he explained the results of his mission withoutextraneous comment.

  "Yes, you have managed it to admiration," said Philip Borsdale, whenthe knight had made an end. Borsdale leaned back and laughed,purringly, for the outcome of this affair of the Cardinal and the WaxImage meant much to him from a pecuniary standpoint. "Yet it is odd aprince of any church which has done so much toward the discomfiture ofsorcery should have entertained such ideas. It is also odd to note theseries of coincidences which appears to have attended this Alioneri'spractises."

  "I noticed that," said Sir Thomas. After a while he said: "You think,then, that they must have been coincidences?"

  "MUST is a word which intelligent people do not outwear by too constantusage."

  And "Oh----?" said the knight, and said that alone, because he wasfamiliar with the sparkle now in Borsdale's eyes, and knew it heraldedan adventure for an amateur of the curious.

  "I am not committing myself, mark you, Sir Thomas, to any statementwhatever, beyond the observation that these coincidences werenoticeable. I add, with superficial irrelevance, that Dr. Herrickdisappeared last night."

  "I am not surprised," said Sir Thomas, drily. "No possible anticswould astonish me on the part of that unvenerable madman. When I waslast in Totnes, he broke down in the midst of a sermon, and flung themanuscript of it at his congregation, and cursed them roundly for notpaying closer attention. Such was never my ideal of absolute decorumin the pulpit. Moreover, it is unusual for a minister of the Church ofEngland to be accompanied everywhere by a pig with whom he discussesthe affairs of the parish precisely as if the pig were a human being."

  "The pig--he whimsically called the pig Corinna, sir, in honor of thatimaginary mistress to whom he addressed so many verses--why, the pigalso has disappeared. Oh, but of course that at least is simply acoincidence. . . . I grant you it was an uncanny beast. And I grantyou that Dr. Herrick was a dubious ornament to his calling. Of that Iam doubly certain to-day," said Borsdale, and he waved his handcomprehensively, "in view of the state in which--you see--he left thisroom. Yes, he was quietly writing here at eleven o'clock last nightwhen old Prudence Baldwin, his housekeeper, last saw him. AfterwardDr. Herrick appears to have diverted himself by taking away the matsand chalking geometrical designs upon the floor, as well as by burningsome sort of incense in this brasier."

  "But such avocations, Philip, are not necessarily indicative of sanity.No, it is not, upon the whole, an inevitable manner for an elderlyparson to while away an evening."

  "Oh, but that was only a part, sir. He also left the clothes he waswearing--in a rather peculiarly constructed heap, as you can see.Among them, by the way, I found this flattened and corroded bullet.That puzzled me. I think I understand it now." Thus Borsdale, as hecomposedly smoked his churchwarden. "In short, the whole affair is asmysterious----"

  Here Sir Thomas raised his hand. "Spare me the simile. I detect avista of curious perils such as infinitely outshines verbal brilliancy.You need my aid in some insane attempt." He considered. He said: "So!you have been retained?"

  "I have been asked to help him. Of course I did not know of what hemeant to try. In short, Dr. Herrick left this manuscript, as well ascertain instructions for me. The last are--well! unusual."

  "Ah, yes! You hearten me. I have long had my suspicions as to thisHerrick, though. . . . And what are we to do?"

  "I really cannot inform you, sir. I doubt if I could explain in anyworkaday English even what we will attempt to do," said PhilipBorsdale. "I do say this: You believe the business which we havesettled, involving as it does the lives of thousands of men and women,to be of importance. I swear to you that, as set against what we willessay, all we have done is trivial. As pitted against the business wewill attempt to-night, our previous achievements are suggestive of theevolutions of two sand-fleas beside the ocean. The prize at which thisadventure aims is so stupendous that I cannot name it."

  "Oh, but you must, Philip. I am no more afraid of the localconstabulary than I am of the local notions as to what respectabilityentails. I may confess, however, that I am afraid of wagering againstunknown odds."

  Borsdale reflected. Then he said, with deliberation: "Dr. Herrick'swas, when you come to think of it, an unusual life. He is--or perhapsI ought to say he was--upward of eighty-three. He has lived here forover a half-century, and during that time he has never attempted tomake either a friend or an enemy. He was--indifferent, let us say.Talking to Dr. Herrick was, somehow, like talking to a man in afog. . . . Meanwhile, he wrote his verses to imaginary women--toCorinna and Julia, to Myrha, Electra and Perilla--those lovely, shadowwomen who never, in so far as we know, had any real existence----"

  Sir Thomas smiled. "Of course. They are mere figments of the poet,pegs to hang rhymes on. And yet--let us go on. I know that Herricknever willingly so much as spoke with a woman."

  "Not in so far as we know, I said." And Borsdale paused. "Then, too,he wrote such dainty, merry poems about the fairies. Yes, it was allof fifty years ago that Dr. Herrick first appeared in print with his_Description of the King and Queen of the Fairies_. The thought seemsalways to have haunted him."

  The knight's face changed, a little by a little. "I have long been anamateur of the curious," he said, strangely quiet. "I do not thinkthat anything you may say will surprise me inordinately."

  "He had found in every country in the world traditions of a race whowere human--yet more than human. That is the most exact fashion inwhich I can express his beginnings. On every side he found the notionof a race who can impinge on mortal life and partake of it--but alwayswithout exercising the last reach of their endowments. Oh, thetradition exists everywhere, whether you call these occasionalinterlopers fauns, fairies, gnomes, ondines, incubi, or demons.
Theycould, according to these fables, temporarily restrict themselves intoour life, just as a swimmer may elect to use only one arm--or, a morefitting comparison, become apparent to our human senses in the fashionof a cube which can obtrude only one of its six surfaces into a plane.You follow me, of course, sir?--to the triangles and circles andhexagons this cube would seem to be an ordinary square. Conceivingsuch a race to exist, we might talk with them, might jostle them in thestreets, might even intermarry with them, sir--and always see in themonly human beings, and solely because of our senses' limitations."

  "I comprehend. These are exactly the speculations that would appeal toan unbalanced mind--is that not your thought, Philip?"

  "Why, there is nothing particularly insane, Sir Thomas, in desiring toexplore in fields beyond those which our senses make perceptible. Itis very certain these fields exist; and the question of their extent Itake to be both interesting and important."

  Then Sir Thomas said: "Like any other rational man, I haveoccasionally thought of this endeavor at which you hint. We exist--youand I and all the others--in what we glibly call the universe. Allthat we know of it is through what we entitle our five senses, which,when provoked to action, will cause a chemical change in a few ouncesof spongy matter packed in our skulls. There are no grounds forbelieving that this particular method of communication is adequate, oreven that the agents which produce it are veracious. Meanwhile, we arein touch with what exists through our five senses only. It may be thatthey lie to us. There is, at least, no reason for assuming them to beinfallible."

  "But reflection plows a deeper furrow, Sir Thomas. Even in theexercise of any one of these five senses it is certain that we areexcelled by what we vaingloriously call the lower forms of life. A doghas powers of scent we cannot reach to, birds hear the crawling of aworm, insects distinguish those rays in the spectrum which lie beyondviolet and red, and are invisible to us; and snails and fish andants--perhaps all other living creatures, indeed--have senses which mandoes not share at all, and has no name for. Granted that we humanbeings alone possess the power of reasoning, the fact remains that weinvariably start with false premises, and always pass our judgmentswhen biased at the best by incomplete reports of everything in theuniverse, and very possibly by reports which lie flat-footedly."

  You saw that Browne was troubled. Now he rose. "Nothing will come ofthis. I do not touch upon the desirability of conquering those fieldsat which we dare only to hint. No, I am not afraid. I dare assist youin doing anything Dr. Herrick asks, because I know that nothing willcome of such endeavors. Much is permitted us--'but of the fruit of thetree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, to us who areno more than human, Ye shall not eat of it.'"

  "Yet Dr. Herrick, as many other men have done, thought otherwise. I,too, will venture a quotation. 'Didst thou never see a lark in a cage?Such is the soul in the body: this world is like her little turf ofgrass, and the heavens o'er our heads, like her looking-glass, onlygives us a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison.'Many years ago that lamentation was familiar. What wonder, then, thatDr. Herrick should have dared to repeat it yesterday? And what wonderif he tried to free the prisoner?"

  "Such freedom is forbidden," Sir Thomas stubbornly replied. "I havelong known that Herrick was formerly in correspondence with JohnHeydon, and Robert Flood, and others of the Illuminated, as they callthemselves. There are many of this sect in England, as we all know;and we hear much silly chatter of Elixirs and Philosopher's Stones inconnection with them. But I happen to know somewhat of their real aimsand tenets. I do not care to know any more than I do. If it be truethat all of which man is conscious is just a portion of a curtain, andthat the actual universe in nothing resembles our notion of it, I amwilling to believe this curtain was placed there for some righteous andwise reason. They tell me the curtain may be lifted. Whether this betrue or no, I must for my own sanity's sake insist it can never belifted."

  "But what if it were not forbidden? For Dr. Herrick asserts he hasalready demonstrated that."

  Sir Thomas interrupted, with odd quickness. "True, we must bear it inmind the man never married--Did he, by any chance, possess a crystal ofVenice glass three inches square?"

  And Borsdale gaped. "I found it with his manuscript. But he saidnothing of it. . . . How could you guess?"

  Sir Thomas reflectively scraped the edge of the glass with hisfinger-nail. "You would be none the happier for knowing, Philip. Yes,that is a blood-stain here. I see. And Herrick, so far as we know,had never in his life loved any woman. He is the only poet in historywho never demonstrably loved any woman. I think you had better read mehis manuscript, Philip."

  This Philip Borsdale did.

  Then Sir Thomas said, as quiet epilogue: "This, if it be true, wouldexplain much as to that lovely land of eternal spring and daffodils andfriendly girls, of which his verses make us free. It would evenexplain Corinna and Herrick's rapt living without any human ties. Forall poets since the time of AEschylus, who could not write until he wastoo drunken to walk, have been most readily seduced by whateverstimulus most tended to heighten their imaginings; so that for the sakeof a song's perfection they have freely resorted to divers artificialinspirations, and very often without evincing any unduesqueamishness. . . . I spoke of AEschylus. I am sorry, Philip, thatyou are not familiar with ancient Greek life. There is so much I couldtell you of, in that event, of the quaint cult of Kore, or Pherephatta,and of the swine of Eubouleus, and of certain ambiguous maidens, whomthose old Grecians fabled--oh, very ignorantly fabled, my lad, ofcourse--to rule in a more quietly lit and more tranquil world than weblunder about. I think I could explain much which now seemsmysterious--yes, and the daffodils, also, that Herrick wrote of soconstantly. But it is better not to talk of these sinister delusionsof heathenry." Sir Thomas shrugged. "For my reward would be to haveyou think me mad. I prefer to iterate the verdict of all logicalpeople, and formally to register my opinion that Robert Herrick wasindisputably a lunatic."

  Borsdale did not seem perturbed. "I think the record of hisexperiments is true, in any event. You will concede that their resultswere startling? And what if his deductions be the truth? what if ourlimited senses have reported to us so very little of the universe, andeven that little untruthfully?" He laughed and drummed impatientlyupon the table. "At least, he tells us that the boy returned. Ifervently believe that in this matter Dr. Herrick was capable of anycrime except falsehood. Oh, no I depend on it, he also will return."

  "You imagine Herrick will break down the door between this world andthat other inconceivable world which all of us have dreamed of! To me,my lad, it seems as if this Herrick aimed dangerously near torepetition of the Primal Sin, for all that he handles it like a problemin mechanical mathematics. The poet writes as if he were instructing adame's school as to the advisability of becoming omnipotent."

  "Well, well! I am not defending Dr. Herrick in anything save his desireto know the truth. In this respect at least, he has proven himself tobe both admirable and fearless. And at worst, he only strives to dowhat Jacob did at Peniel," said Philip Borsdale, lightly. "Thepatriarch, as I recall, was blessed for acting as he did. The legendis not irrelevant, I think."

  They passed into the adjoining room.

  Thus the two men came into a high-ceiled apartment, cylindrical inshape, with plastered walls painted green everywhere save for thequaint embellishment of a large oval, wherein a woman, having aneagle's beak, grasped in one hand a serpent and in the other a knife.Sir Thomas Browne seemed to recognize this curious design, and gave anominous nod.

  Borsdale said: "You see Dr. Herrick had prepared everything. And muchof what we are about to do is merely symbolical, of course. Mostpeople undervalue symbols. They do not seem to understand that therecould never have been any conceivable need of inventing a periphrasisfor what did not exist."

  Sir Thomas Browne regarded Borsdale for a while intently. Then theknight gave his habitual shru
gging gesture. "You are braver than I,Philip, because you are more ignorant than I. I have been too long anamateur of the curious. Sometimes in over-credulous moments I havealmost believed that in sober verity there are reasoning beings who arenot human--beings that for their own dark purposes seek union with us.Indeed, I went into Pomerania once to talk with John Dietrick ofRamdin. He told me one of those relations whose truth we dread, a talewhich I did not dare, I tell you candidly, even to discuss in my_Vulgar Errors_. Then there is Helgi Thorison's history, and that ofLeonard of Basle also. Oh, there are more recorded stories of thisnature than you dream of, Philip. We have only the choice betweenbelieving that all these men were madmen, and believing that ordinaryhuman life is led by a drugged animal who drowses through a purblindexistence among merciful veils. And these female creatures--theseCorinnas, Perillas, Myrhas, and Electras--can it be possible that theyare always striving, for their own strange ends, to rouse the sleepinganimal and break the kindly veils?--and are they permitted to use suchamiable enticements as Herrick describes? Oh, no, all this is just amadman's dream, dear lad, and we must not dare to consider itseriously, lest we become no more sane than he."

  "But you will aid me?" Borsdale said.

  "Yes, I will aid you, Philip, for in Herrick's case I take it that themischief is consummated already; and we, I think, risk nothing worsethan death. But you will need another knife a little later--a knifethat will be clean."

  "I had forgotten." Borsdale withdrew, and presently returned with abone-handled knife. And then he made a light. "Are you quite ready,sir?"

  Sir Thomas Browne, that aging amateur of the curious, could not resista laugh.

  And then they sat about proceedings of which, for obvious reasons, thedetails are best left unrecorded. It was not an unconscionable whilebefore they seemed to be aware of unusual phenomena. But as Sir Thomasalways pointed out, in subsequent discussions, these were quitepossibly the fruitage of excited imagination.

  "Now, Philip!--now, give me the knife!" cried Sir Thomas Browne. Heknew for the first time, despite many previous mischancy happenings,what real terror was.

  The room was thick with blinding smoke by this, so that Borsdale couldsee nothing save his co-partner in this adventure. Both men wereshaken by what had occurred before. Borsdale incuriously perceivedthat old Sir Thomas rose, tense as a cat about to pounce, and that hecaught the unstained knife from Borsdale's hand, and flung it like ajavelin into the vapor which encompassed them. This gesture stirredthe smoke so that Borsdale could see the knife quiver and fall, andnote the tiny triangle of unbared plaster it had cut in the paintedwoman's breast. Within the same instant he had perceived a naked manwho staggered.

  "_Iz adu kronyeshnago_----!" The intruder's thin, shrill wail was thatof a frightened child. The man strode forward, choked, seemed to gropehis way. His face was not good to look at. Horror gripped and tore atevery member of the cadaverous old body, as a high wind tugs at a flag.The two witnesses of Herrick's agony did not stir during the instantwherein the frenzied man stooped, moving stiffly like an ill-made toy,and took up the knife.

  "Oh, yes, I knew what he was about to do," said Sir Thomas Browneafterward, in his quiet fashion. "I did not try to stop him. IfHerrick had been my dearest friend, I would not have interfered. I hadseen his face, you comprehend. Yes, it was kinder to let him die. Itwas curious, though, as he stood there hacking his chest, how at eachstab he deliberately twisted the knife. I suppose the pain distractedhis mind from what he was remembering. I should have forewarnedBorsdale of this possible outcome at the very first, I suppose. But,then, which one of us is always wise?"

  So this adventure came to nothing. For its significance, if any,hinged upon Robert Herrick's sanity, which was at best a disputablequantity. Grant him insane, and the whole business, as Sir Thomas wasat large pains to point out, dwindles at once into the irresponsiblevagaries of a madman.

  "And all the while, for what we know, he had been hiding somewhere inthe house. We never searched it. Oh, yes, there is no doubt he wasinsane," said Sir Thomas, comfortably.

  "Faith! what he moaned was gibberish, of course----"

  "Oddly enough, his words were intelligible. They meant in Russian 'Outof the lowest hell.'"

  "But, why, in God's name, Russian?"

  "I am sure I do not know," Sir Thomas replied; and he did not appear atall to regret his ignorance.

  But Borsdale meditated, disappointedly. "Oh, yes, the outcome isambiguous, Sir Thomas, in every way. I think we may safely take it asa warning, in any event, that this world of ours, whatever itsdeficiencies, was meant to be inhabited by men and women only."

  "Now I," was Sir Thomas's verdict, "prefer to take it as a warning thatinsane people ought to be restrained."

  "Ah, well, insanity is only one of the many forms of being abnormal.Yes, I think it proves that all abnormal people ought to be restrained.Perhaps it proves that they are very potently restrained," said PhilipBorsdale, perversely.

  Perversely, Sir Thomas always steadfastly protested, because he saidthat to believe in Herrick's sanity was not conducive to your own.

  So Sir Thomas shrugged, and went toward the open window. Without theroad was a dazzling gray under the noon sun, for the sky was cloudless.The ordered trees were rustling pleasantly, very brave in theirautumnal liveries. Under a maple across the way some seven laborerswere joking lazily as they ate their dinner. A wagon lumbered by, thedriver whistling. In front of the house a woman had stopped torearrange the pink cap of the baby she was carrying. The child hadjust reached up fat and uncertain little arms to kiss her. Nothingthat Browne saw was out of ordinary, kindly human life.

  "Well, after all," said Sir Thomas, upon a sudden, "for one, I think itis an endurable world, just as it stands."

  And Borsdale looked up from a letter he had been reading. It was froma woman who has no concern with this tale, and its contents were of noimportance to any one save Borsdale.

  "Now, do you know," said Philip Borsdale, "I am beginning to think youthe most sensible man of my acquaintance! Oh, yes, beyond doubt it isan endurable sun-nurtured world--just as it stands. It makes it doublyodd that Dr. Herrick should have chosen always to

  'Write of groves, and twilights, and to sing The court of Mab, and of the Fairy King, And write of Hell.'"

  Sir Thomas touched his arm, protestingly. "Ah, but you have forgottenwhat follows, Philip--

  'I sing, and ever shall, Of Heaven,--and hope to have it after all.'"

  "Well! I cry Amen," said Borsdale. "But I wish I could forget the oldman's face."

  "Oh, and I also," Sir Thomas said. "And I cry Amen with far moreheartiness, my lad, because I, too, once dreamed of--of Corinna, shallwe say?"