CHAPTER XXVII
Among Leighton's many pet theories was one that he called the axiom ofthe propitious moment. Any tyro at life could tell that a thing neededsaying; skill came in knowing how to wait to say it. At Lady Derl'sdinner Leighton had decided to go away for several months. He hadsomething to say to Lewis before he went, but he passed nervous dayswaiting to say it. Then came the propitious moment. They were sittingalone over a cheerful small fire that played a sort of joyfulaccompaniment to the outdoor struggle of spring against the cold.
"In every society," said Leighton, breaking a long silence, "where womenhave been numerically predominant, the popular conception of moralityhas been lowered. Your historical limitations are such that you'll haveto take my say-so for the truth of that generality."
"Yes, sir," said Lewis.
"Man's greatest illusion in regard to woman," continued Leighton, "isthat she's fastidious. Men are fastidious and vulgar; women are neitherfastidious nor vulgar. There's a reason. Women have been too intimatelyconnected through the ages with the slops of life to be fastidious.That's driven them to look upon natural things with natural eyes. Theyknow that vulgarity isn't necessary, and they revolt from it. These areall generalities, of course."
"Yes, sir," said Lewis.
"Women are very wonderful. They are an unconscious incarnation ofknowledge. Knowledge bears the same relation to the wise that liquordoes to the man who decided the world would be better without alcoholand started to drink it all up. Man's premier temptation is to drink upwomen. Lots of men start to do it, but that's as far as they get. Onewoman can absorb a dozen men; a dozen men can't absorb one woman.Women--any one woman--is without end. Am I boring you?"
"No, sir," said Lewis. "You are giving me a perspective."
"You've struck the exact word. Since we met, I've given you several ofmy seven lives, but there's one life a man can't pass on to his son--hislife with relation to women. He can only give, as you said, aperspective."
Leighton chose a cigar carefully and lit it.
"Formerly woman had but one mission," he went on. "She arrived at itwhen she arrived at womanhood. The fashionable age for marriage wasfifteen. Civilization has pushed it along to twenty-five. Those tencumulative years have put a terrific strain on woman. On the whole, shehas stood it remarkably well. But as modernity has reduced ouranimalism, it has increased our fundamental immorality and put asubstantial blot on woman's mission as a mission. Woman has had to learnto dissemble charmingly, but in the bottom of her heart she has neverbelieved that her mission is intrinsically shameful. That's why everywoman feels her special case of sinning is right--until she gets caught.Do you follow me?"
"I think so," said Lewis.
"Well, if you've followed me, you begin to realize why a superfluity ofwomen threatens conventional life. There are an awful lot of women inthis town, Lew."
Leighton rose to his feet and started walking up and down, his handsclasped behind him, his head dropped.
"I haven't been feeding you on all these generalities just to kill time.A generality would be worth nothing if it weren't for its exceptions.Women are remarkable for the number of their exceptions. You arecrossing a threshold into a peculiarly lax section and age of woman. Iwant you to believe and to remember that the world still breeds nobleand innocent women."
Leighton stopped, threw up his head, and fixed Lewis with his eyes.
"Do you know what innocence is? Ask the average clergyman to describeinnocence to you, and when he gets through, think a bit, take off thetinsel words with which he has decked out his graven image, and you'llfind what? Ignorance enshrined. Every clergy the world has seen hasenshrined ignorance, and ignorance has no single virtue that a soundturnip does not share."
Leighton stopped and faced his son.
"Now, my boy," he said, "here comes the end of the sermon. Beware of thesecond-best in women. Many a man trades his soul not for the wholeworld, but for a bed-fellow." He paused. "I believe," he continued,flushing, "I still believe that for every man there is an all-embracingwoman to whom he is all-embracing. Thank God! I'm childish enough tobelieve in her still, though I speak through soiled lips--theall-embracing woman who alone can hold you and that you alone can hold."
Lewis stared absently into the fire.
"'The worlds of women are seven,'" he repeated, half to himself:"'spirit, weed, flower, the blind, the visioned, libertine, and saint.None of these is for thee. For each child of love there is a woman thatholds the seven worlds within a single breast. Hold fast to thybirthright, even though thou journey with thy back unto the light.'"
"What--where--what's that?" stammered Leighton, staring at his son.
Lewis looked up and smiled.
"Only Old Immortality. Do you remember her? The old woman who told myfortune. She said that. D'you know, I think she must have been adiscarded Gipsy. I never thought of it before. I didn't know then what aGipsy was."
"Gipsy or saint, take it from me, she was, and probably is, a wisewoman," said Leighton. "Somehow I'm still sure she can never die. Do youremember all she said when she told you your fortune?"
"Yes," said Lewis; "I think I do. Every once in a while I've said itover to myself."
"I wish you'd write down what she said and--and leave it on my table forme. You'll have to do it tonight, for I'm off to-morrow. Old Ivory and Ihave shot so much game we've grown squeamish about it, but it seemsthere's a terrific drought and famine on in the game country of the EastCoast, and all the reserves have been thrown open. The idea is meat forthe natives and a thinning out of game in the overstocked country. Weare going out this time not as murderers, but as philanthropists."
"I'd like to go, too," said Lewis, his eyes lighting. "Won't you letme?"
"Not this trip, my boy," said Leighton. "I hate to refuse you anything,but don't think I'm robbing you. I'm not. I merely don't wish you to eatlife too fast. Times will come when you'll _need_ to go away. Just nowyou've got things enough to hunt right here. One of them is art. You maythink you've arrived, but you haven't--not yet."
"I know I haven't," said Lewis.
Leighton nodded.
"Ever heard this sort of thing? 'Art is giving something for nothing.Art is the ensnaring of beauty in an invisible mesh. Art is the ideal ofcommon things. Art is a mirage stolen from the heavens and trapped on abit of canvas or on a sheet of paper or in a lump of clay.' And so onand so on."
Lewis smiled.
"As a matter of fact," continued Leighton, "those things are merely theprogeny of art. Art itself is work, and its chief end is expression withrepression. Remember that--with repression. Many an artist has missedgreatness by mistaking license for originality and producing debauch. Idon't want you to do that. I want you to stay here by yourself for awhile and work; not with your hands, necessarily, but with your mind.Get your perspective of life now. Most of the pathetic'what-might-have-beens' in the lives of men and women are due tomisplaced proportions that made them struggle greatly for littlethings."
Lewis looked up and nodded.
"Dad, you've got a knack of saying things that are true in a way thatmakes them visible. When you talk, you make me feel as though some onehad drawn back the screen from the skylight."
Leighton shrugged his shoulders. For a long moment he was silent; thenhe said:
"A life like mine has no justification if it can't let in light, eventhough it be through stained glass."
Lewis caught a wistful look in his father's eyes. He felt a sudden surgeof love such as had come to him long years before when he had firstsounded the depths of his father's tenderness. "There's no light in allthe world like cathedral light, Dad," he said with a slight tremble inhis voice, "and it shines through stained glass."
"Thanks, boy, thanks," said Leighton; then he smiled, and threw up hishead. Lewis had learned to know well that gesture of dismissal to amood.
"Just one more word," continued his father. "When you do get down toworking with your hands, don't forget repression. Clas
sicism bears therelation to art that religion does to the world's progress. It's adrag-anchor--a sound measure of safety--despised when seas are calm, buttreasured against the hour of stress. Let's go and eat."
Lewis rose and put his hand on his father's arm.
"I'll not forget this talk, Dad," he said.
"I hope you won't, boy," said Leighton. "It's harder for me to talk toyou than you think. I'm driven and held by the knowledge that there areonly two ways in which a father can lose his son. One is by talking toomuch, the other's by not talking enough. The old trouble of the deviland the deep, blue sea; the frying-pan and the fire. Come, we've beenbandying the sublime; let's get down to the level of stomachs and smile.The greatest thing about man is the range of his octaves."