IV
THAT, as you know, took place a dozen years ago and more, when I wasthirty-two, and time, in the interval, has wrought unexpected endsout of the material of my life. My trade as a soldier has led me toan administrative post in a distant land where, apparently, I havedeserved well of my King and Country, as they say in the obituaries.At any rate, the cryptic letters following my name, bear witness tosome kind of notoriety attained.
You were the first to welcome my success, and your congratulationswere the first I looked for, as surely as they were more satisfyingthan those our mother sent. You knew me better, it seems, than shedid. For you expressed the surprise that I, too, felt, whereas motherassured me she had "always known you would do well, my boy, and youhave only got your deserts in this tardy recognition." To her, ofcourse, even at forty-five, I was still her "little boy." You,however, guessed shrewdly that Luck had played strong cards inbringing me this distinction, and I will admit at once that it was,indeed, due to little born in me, but, rather, to some adventitiousaid that, curiously, seemed never lacking at the opportune moment.And this adventitious aid was new.
This is the unvarnished truth. A mysterious power dealt the cards forme with unfailing instinct; a fortunate combination of events placingin my hands, precisely at the moment of their greatest value, clearopportunities that none but a hopeless blunderer could havedisregarded. What men call Chance operated in my favour as thoughwith superb calculation, lifting me to this miniature pinnacle I couldnever have reached by my own skill and judgment.
So, at least, you and I, knowing my limited abilities, consent toattribute my success to luck, to chance, to fate, or to any othername for the destiny that has placed me on a height my talent nevercould have reached alone. You, and I, too, for that matter, are ashappy over the result as our mother is; only you and I are surprised,because we judge it, with some humour, out of greater knowledge.More--you, like myself, are a little puzzled, I think. We asktogether, if truth were told: Whose was the unerring, guiding hand?
Amid this uncertainty I give you now another curious item, about whichyou have, of course, been uninformed. For none could have detected itbut myself: namely, that apart from these opportunities chance setupon my path, an impulse outside myself--and an impulse that wasnew--drove me to make use of them. Sometimes even against my personalinclination, a power urged me into decided, and it so happened,always into faultless action. Amazed at myself, I yet invariablyobeyed.
How to describe so elusive a situation I hardly know, unless bytelling you the simple truth: I felt that somebody would be pleased.
And, with the years, I learned to recognize this instinct that neverfailed when a choice, and therefore an element of doubt, presenteditself. Invariably I was pushed towards the right direction. Moresingular still, there rose in me unbidden at these various junctures,a kind of inner attention which bade me wait and listen for theguiding touch. I am not fanciful, I heard no voice, I was aware ofnothing personal by way of guidance or assistance; and yet theguidance, the assistance, never failed, though often I was notconscious that they had been present until long afterwards. I felt,as I said above, that somebody would be pleased.
For it was a consistent, an intelligent guidance; operating, as itwere, out of some completer survey of the facts at a given momentthan my own abilities could possibly have compassed; my mediocrefaculties seemed gathered together and perfected--with the result, intime, that my "intuition," as others called it, came to be regardedwith a respect that in some cases amounted to half reverence. Theadjective "uncanny" was applied to me. The natives, certainly, wereaware of awe.
I made no private use of this unearned distinction; there is nothingin me of the charlatan that claimed mysterious power; but mysubordinates, ever in growing numbers as my promotions followed, heldme in greater respect, apparently, on that very account. The natives,especially, as I mentioned, attributed semi-deific properties to mypoor personality. Certainly my prestige increased out of allproportion to anything my talents deserved with any show of justice.
I have said that, so far as I was concerned, there lay nothingpersonal in this growth of divining intuition. I must now qualifythat a little. Nothing persuaded me that this guidance, soinfallible, so constant, owed its origin to what men call a being; Icertainly found no name for it; exactness, I think, might place itstruest description in some such term as energy, inner force orinspiration; yet I must admit that, with its steady repetition, thereawoke in me an attitude towards it that eluded somewhere also anemotion. And in this emotion, in its quality and character, hidremotely a personal suggestion: each time it offered itself, that is,I was aware of a sharp quiver of sensitive life within me, and ofthat sensation, extraordinarily sweet and wonderful, whichconstitutes a genuine thrill.
I came to look for this "thrill," to lie in wait with anticipatorywonder for its advent; and in a sense this pause in me, that was bothof expectancy and hope, grew slowly into what I may almost call ahabit. There was an emptiness in my heart before it came, a sense ofpeace and comfort when it was accomplished. The emptiness and thenthe satisfaction, as first and last conditions, never failed, andthat they took place in my heart rather than in my mind I can affirmwith equal certainty.
The habit, thus, confirmed itself. I admitted the power. Let me befrank--I sought it, even longing for it when there was no decisionto be made, no guidance therefore needed: I longed for it because ofthe great sweetness that it left within my heart. It was when Ineeded it, however, that its effect was most enduring. The methodbecame quite easy to me. When a moment of choice between two coursesof action presented itself, I first emptied my heart of all personalinclination, then, pausing upon direction, I knew--or ratherfelt--which course to take. My heart was filled and satisfied with anintention that never wavered. Some energy that made the choice for mehad been poured in. I decided upon this or that line of action. TheThrill, always of an instantaneous nature, came and went--andsomebody was pleased.
Moreover--and this will interest you more particularly--the emotionproduced in me was, so far as positive recognition went, a newemotion; it was, at any rate, one that had lain so feebly in mehitherto that its announcement brought the savour of an emotionbefore unrealized. I had known it but once, and that longyears before, but the man's mind in me increased and added to it. Forit seemed a development of that new perception which first dawnedupon me during my brief period of married life, and had since lainhidden in me, potential possibly, but inactive beyond all question,if not wholly dead. I will now name it for you, and for myself, asbest I may. It was the Thrill of Beauty.
I became, in these moments, aware of Beauty, and to a degree, while itlasted, approaching revelation. Chords, first faintly struck longyears before when my sense of Marion's forgiveness and generositystirred worship in me, but chords that since then had lain,apparently, unresponsive, were swept into resonance again. Possiblythey had been vibrating all these intervening years, unknown to me,unrecognized. I cannot say. I only know that here was the origin ofthe strange energy that now moved me to the depths. Some new worshipof Beauty that had love in it, of which, indeed, love was thedetermining quality, awoke in the profoundest part of me, and evenwhen the "thrill" had gone its way, left me hungry and yearning forits repetition. Here, then, is the "personal" qualification that Imentioned. The yearning and the hunger were related to my deepestneeds. I had been empty, but I would be filled. For a passionatelove, holding hands with a faith and confidence as passionate asitself, poured flooding into me and made this new sense of beauty seema paramount necessity of my life.
Will you be patient now, if I give you a crude instance of what Imean? It is one among many others, but I choose it because its verycrudeness makes my meaning clear.
In this fevered and stricken African coast, you may know, there isluxuriance in every natural detail, an exuberance that is lavish toexcess. Yet beauty lies somewhat coyly hid--as though suffocated byover-abundance of crowding wonder. I detect, indeed, almost a touchof the monstrous
in it all, a super-expression, as it were, thatbewilders, and occasionally even may alarm. Delicacy, subtlety,suggestion in any form, have no part in it. During the five years ofmy exile amid this tropical extravagance I can recall no singleinstance of beauty "hinting" anywhere. Nature seems, rather,audaciously abandoned; she is without restraint. She shows her all,tells everything--she shouts, she never whispers. You will understandme when I tell you that this wholesale lack of reticence and modestyinvolves all absence in the beholder of--surprise. A suddenravishment of the senses is impossible. One never can experience thatsweet and troubling agitation to which a breathless amazementproperly belongs. You may be stunned; you are hardly ever "thrilled."
Now, this new sensitiveness to Beauty I have mentioned has opened meto that receptiveness which is aware of subtlety and owns to sharpsurprise. The thrill is of its very essence. It is unexpected. Out ofthe welter of prolific detail Nature here glories in, a delicate hintof wonder and surprise comes stealing. The change, of course, is inmyself, not otherwise. And on the particular "crude" occasion I willbriefly mention, it reached me from the most obvious and banal ofconditions--the night sky and the moon.
Here, then, is how it happened: There had arisen a situation of gravedifficulty among the natives of my Province, and the need for takinga strong, authoritative line was paramount. The reports of mysubordinates from various parts of the country pointed to veryvigorous action of a repressing, even of a punitive, description. Itwas not, in itself, a complicated situation, and no Governor, who wassoldier too, need have hesitated for an instant. The variousStations, indeed, anticipating the usual course of action indicatedby precedent, had automatically gone to their posts, prepared for the"official instructions" it was known that I should send, wonderingimpatiently (as I learned afterwards) at the slight delay. For delaythere was, though of a few hours only; and this delay was caused bymy uncomfortable new habit--pausing for the guidance and the"thrill." Intuition, waiting upon the thrill of Beauty that guided it,at first lay inactive.
My behaviour seemed scarcely of the orthodox, official kind, soldierlyleast of all. There was uneasiness, there was cursing, probably;there were certainly remarks not complimentary. Prompt, decisiveaction was the obvious and only course... while I sat quietly in theHeadquarters Bungalow, a sensitive youth again, a dreamer, a poet,hungry for the inspiration of Beauty that the gorgeous tropical nightconcealed with her excess of smothering abundance.
This incongruity between my procedure and the time-honoured methods of"strong" Governors must have seemed exasperating to those who waited,respectful, but with nerves on edge, in the canvassed and tentedregions behind the Headquarters clearing. Indeed, the Foreign Office,could it have witnessed my unpardonable hesitation, might well havedismissed me on the spot, I think. For I sat there, dreaming in mydeck-chair on the verandah, smoking a cigarette, safe within my netfrom the countless poisonous mosquitoes, and listening to the wind inthe palms that fringed the heavy jungle round the building.
Smoking quietly, dreaming, listening, waiting, I sat there in thismood of inner attention and expectancy, knowing that the guidance Ianticipated must surely come.
A few clouds sprawled in their beds of silver across the sky; theheat, the perfume, were, as always, painfully, excessive; themoonlight bathed the huge trees and giant leaves with that habitualextravagance which made it seem ordinary, almost cheap andwonderless. Very silent the wooden house lay all about me, there wereno footsteps, there was no human voice. I heard only the wash of theheavy-scented wind through the colossal foliage that hardly stirred,and watched, as a hundred times before, the immense heated sky,drenched in its brilliant and intolerable moonlight. All seemed ariot of excess, an orgy.
Then, suddenly, the shameless night drew on some exquisite veil, asthe moon, between three-quarters and the full, slid out of sightbehind a streaky cloud. A breath, it seemed, of lighter wind woke allthe perfume of the burdened forest leaves. The shouting splendourhushed; there came a whisper and, at last--a hint.
I watched with relief and gratitude the momentary eclipse, for in thehalf-light I was aware of that sharp and tender mood which waspreparatory to the thrill. Slowly sailing into view again from behindthat gracious veil of cloud--
"The moon put forth a little diamond peak, No bigger than anunobserved star, Or tiny point of fairy scimitar; Bright signal thatshe only stooped to tie Her silver sandals, ere deliciously She bowedinto the heavens her timid head."
And then it came. The Thrill stole forth and touched me, passing likea meteor through my heart, but in that lightning passage, cleaving itopen to some wisdom that seemed most near to love. For power flowedin along the path that Beauty cleft for it, and with the beauty camethat intuitive guidance I had waited for.
The inspiration operated like a flash. There was no reasoning; I wasaware immediately that another and a better way of dealing with thesituation was given me.
I need not weary you with details. It seemed contrary to precedent,advice, against experience too, yet it was the right, the only way.It threatened, I admit, to destroy the prestige so long andlaboriously established, since it seemed a dangerous yielding to thenatives that must menace the white life everywhere and render trade inthe Colony unsafe. Yet I did not hesitate.... There was bustle atonce within that Bungalow; the orders went forth; I saw the way andchose it--to the dismay, outspoken, of every white man whose welfarelay in my official hands.
And the results, I may tell you now without pride, since, as we bothadmit, no credit attaches to myself--the results astonished theentire Colony.... The Chiefs came to me, in due course, bringingfruit and flowers and presents enough to bury all Headquarters, andwith a reverential obedience that proved the rising scotched todeath--because its subtle psychological causes had been marvellouslyunderstood.
Full comprehension, as I mentioned earlier in this narrative, wecannot expect to have. Its origin, I may believe, lies hid in thenature of that Beauty which is truth and love--in the source of ourvery life, perhaps, which lies hid again with beauty very faraway.... But I may say this much at least: that it seemed, my inspiredaction had co-operated with the instinctive beliefs of thesemysterious tribes--cooperated with their primitive and ancient senseof Beauty. It had, inexplicably to myself, fulfilled their sense ofright, which my subordinates would have outraged. I had acted with,instead of against, them.
More I cannot tell you. You have the "crude instance," and you havethe method. The instances multiplied, the method became habit. Theregrew in me this personal attitude towards an impersonal power Ihardly understood, and this attitude included an emotion--love. Withfaith and love I consequently obeyed it. I loved the source of myguidance and assistance, though I dared attach no name to it. Simpleenough the matter might have been, could I have referred its originto some name--to our mother or to you, to my Chief in London, to animpersonal Foreign Office that has since honoured me with money and acomplicated address upon my envelopes, or even, by a stretch ofimagination, to that semi-abstract portion of my being some men calla Higher Self.
To none of these, however, could I honestly or dishonestly ascribe it.Yet, as in the case of those congratulatory telegrams from our motherand yourself, I was aware--and this feeling never failed with eachseparate occurrence--aware that somebody, other than ourselvesindividually or collectively--was pleased.