 Chapter 12 of A Column of Dust by Evelyn Underhill, this LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Josh Middeldorf, Chapter 12, A Lecture and a Demonstration. Memento homo, qui apuvis est et impuverem reverteris. Remember, man, from dust thou comest, and to dust thou must return. Mrs. Reed munched on a biscuit and thought of transcendental things. The resulting sense of beatitude might be attributed in part to the exquisite crispness of a cream-cracker, which had come from a newly opened tin, in part to the serenity of spirit which is natural to any woman who is sure that she knows what she means by a categorical imperative. Ra lifted a slate-blue nose from the protective ambush of his tail, and snuffed the air, preserving a judicious mean between appetite and dignity. Helen broke off a small piece of biscuit, offered to him, and carefully removed the inevitable crumbs from the recesses of his fur frill. Mr. Reed, watching these attentions with the slight sensations of jealousy which they always provoked, said, You will spoil that cat, my love. If he were a baby, you could not fuss over him more than you do. Helen, who was completing Ra's toilette with a brush and a comb, stopped and answered, He has all Egypt in his eyes. What British baby brings such credentials as that? Also, he may come into the room during the lecture, and I prefer that he should look his best. Mr. Reed moved uneasily in his chair and fumbled for the stick at his side, his wife went to him, took each hand firmly in her own, and helped him to his feet with the unemotional position of a hospital nurse. Twenty past eleven, he said, Your young friend will soon be here. I think I'll be going. The woman who supported him waited patiently until the stick was adjusted to his liking. Then she put one arm about his shoulders, caught up a cushion with her other hand, and let him across the room. She was upon her face the guardian look of a creeping anxiety, an apprehension which has not yet been allowed to attain full consciousness. Poor old dear, she said. It seems a shame to turn you out like this, but you will really be more comfortable in the other room. Either the gas stove and the rug and hot water bottle are all ready. You will feel quite cozy, and as soon as the class is over I shall come and get you ready for lunch. Very good arrangement, very good arrangement indeed, said the old man slowly. I take my morning nap while you and young people have your class. What is it, the state of the dead, eh? Very interesting, very interesting indeed. I should have enjoyed it if I hadn't been quite so deaf. Never do to bribe you of your pleasures, you know. You would mope, shut up all day with an old fellow like me. As it is, we shall both be satisfied, just as it should be. Helen was by no means sure that she was wholly satisfied. Her husband seemed, she thought, more somnolent, less alert than usual, and she regretted the necessity of emuring him in a gas-warmed room for the rest of the morning. She said to herself that it would certainly lower his vitality, and he must have a little stimulant with his lunch. Also, Mrs. Weatherby had taken a ticket for her lectures, and whilst the growing expenses of beef essence, banger's food, and new-laid eggs forbade her to refuse the two guineas, she feared that they would prove to be hardly earned. Between these diverse anxieties the mood of serenity departed, and the material world surged in upon her with peculiar obstinacy. She was depressed by this exhibition of the power of circumstances, and said about the arranging of chairs, the placing of the ritual glass of water on the table in a state of mind which, in an inferior woman, might almost have become fussy. Mrs. Weatherby arrived first. She carried a large new notebook and a fat stylographic pen of the kind known as Teddy Bear. Her demeanor struck Mrs. Reid as excessively inappropriate. Well, she said as she entered, now I am going to improve my mind and find out what you clever people really mean by it all. I was determined to come this autumn, last winter, when one went out to tea, one never knew what the women were talking about. Besides, I always like a lecture. The questions afterward are such fun. Muriel is coming. I saw her motor trying to run into an omnibus as I arrived. She has got Felix with her. Quite the old-fashioned Calvinistic idea to teach children about hell before they've heard anything about heaven. It is about hell, isn't it? No? Well, it sounds like it. I hope you're not going to show any pictures of those peculiar gods. As it is, I expect the poor child won't sleep for nights. Oh, here they are! Muriel came in, holding Felix firmly by the hand. She said to Helen, you do not mind my bringing him to you? He has promised to be quite good. Being Saturday, he does not go to kindergarten today. He will not understand. One does not wish it. But I should like him to breathe the atmosphere for a little while. Atmosphere is so important in its influence on the developing mentality of the child. Felix removed his gloves, coat, and cap very carefully, revealing a thin, little body clad in a pale green jersey, and short, surged knickerbockers to match. He cast a searching glance into the corners of the room, peeked under the table, and then said, Where is Rah? Mrs. Reed answered, I am afraid that he is asleep just now in my husband's room. Felix observed. When I'm a bigger boy, I should do like that and sleep in another room when ladies talk. Father does, and I've quite decided that I am going to be a man, too. Muriel said hastily. He's a little fractious and disappointed today. Andrew wished to take him to see the royal procession this afternoon, but I preferred that he should stay with me. Children are so easily impressed by mere military display and acquire false standards of greatness. I tell him that when he is bigger he will understand the unimportance of these things, then he will see more essential beauty in the curves of Darwin's forehead than in a whole regiment of lifeguards. Felix murmured regretfully. Yes, but not lovely prancy horses and bands and things. I expect Andrew was disappointed, too, said Mrs. Weatherby. He enjoys taking the child about him so much. Oh no! answered Muriel. He gave the ticket to Miss Tyrell. He likes to take her out on Saturday afternoons when he can. She's so very good-natured and appears to appreciate almost any little expedition of that kind. It's a change for her, of course, after being shut up in that shop all the week. You are very unconventional, my dear, said Mrs. Weatherby. I try to be, replied Muriel, simply. The presence of other people prevented Mrs. Weatherby from making the observation which she considered adequate. She therefore contented herself with an inarticulate sound which the more worldly person's presence had little difficulty in translating. Miss Tyrell, said Phoebe quickly, is also unconventional, I think, though not perhaps in quite the same way. She is one of those strange and always interesting persons who appear to have no attachments to existence. She wanders in a desert of her own. The truth is, answered Mrs. Weatherby, that none of us knows where she wanders, or, for that matter, where she comes from. It may be a desert, or it may be something very much the reverse. That is the worst of London. In the country such a state of things would be impossible, the vicar would call and find it all out. I've been to her shop once or twice. Pure curiosity, I'm not ashamed of it. There she is, very sensible and business-like, in an extremely becoming overall. Always on the spot, always attentive, no silly arrow, don't forget that I'm a lady. I asked her to tea last week, and she came. Talked pleasantly for an hour and a half, and gave me an excellent pattern for a pin of whore. Economical to cut out, easy to wash, which I own surprised me, and when she left, I knew nothing about her, nothing at all. By no means the usual thing with reduced gentle lemon. It was Phoebe who said, one hardly conceives of her as that. Circumstances do not seem to belong to her, nor she to circumstances. She is wholly detached, wholly alone, unless indeed she has links to life of which we know nothing. Well, that is what I sometimes afraid of, replied Mrs. Weatherby, not that I have any good reason for saying it, but when you find a good-looking woman of that age entirely unattached, It proves, said Muriel, a certain wonderful aloofness from existence. Not always, my dear, aloofness of that kind may come from cussedness in the young, but it is generally the result of compulsion where it exists in the mature. Phoebe observed very gently, I feel so sorry for her. One divides that she is not really happy in her solitude. Probably she has never made her peace between the spirit and the flesh. Mrs. Reed, at last seeing an opportunity, remarked in her sweetest and most penetrating tone, at best that is but an armistice between irreconcilable foes. Oh, no, I think not, replied Phoebe firmly. That is a mistake which the contemplation of materialism is so apt to induce, but I see more and more of late that spirit in its purest manifestations is bound to express itself by means of the carnal veil. I had not supposed, said Mrs. Weatherby, that Freddie Burrows possessed such educational genius. There was a general sensation of surprise when it was observed that these words had caused Miss Foster to exhibit a quite commonplace embarrassment. Her pretty face grew pink, and she looked almost maidenly. Muriel, whose rather disintegrated nature contained several kindly patches, said instantly, I think it is so kind of you to go about with him as you do. After all, an uncongenial friendship is bound to tax one's tolerance, exhaust one's spiritual strength. I wonder sometimes whether Miss Tyrell experiences anything of that kind with Andrew. One can hardly suppose that they have much in common. If a woman is lonely enough, observed Mrs. Weatherby, she has something in common with the crossing-sweeper, but she would be rather surprised if she were told what that something was. Mrs. Reed was glad when the rest of her pupils assembled and the lecture at last began. She had prepared it carefully, and had combined mummies, metaphysics, alchemy, and the Book of the Dead in a very impressive way. Some of the ladies present were puzzled, but all were interested. The Egyptian underworld, said the lecturer in hieratic accents, calls to us for recognition across the chasm of five thousand years, and now, when dogma crumbles under our touch, the eternal realities of the immortal soul's progress and transmutations, the gates through which it passes to the central fire. The crucible, whence it emerges to be united with soul its source, appear to us as the most rational of all over beliefs. Do they, said Mrs. Weatherby, as she made her first note? The birth of Horus is for us the birth of the defied soul, for this is the mysterious magnum of existence, the sanction of the great work that Osiris and Horus are truly one. Death is the coming fourth of the philosopher's stone from the crucible of life. How joyous a moment when the emancipated soul, purged from its baser elements, breaks forth from its envelope and is delivered into the hands of Toth. The illuminated mind can but hail the deaths of those who it loves with triumph and delight, for there is a sense in which every living being wrapped in matter is but a mummy, till death comes to undo the swaddling bands of carnal things, then will be the beneficent action of salt, sulfur and mercury, those loving attendants about the fiery sepulchre of the grosser nature, permit the artist to pour forth the tincture of eternity and draw out from the furnace the golden Osiris soul, which shall return in its splendor and purity to the inevitable Osiris source. How beautiful, said Muriel. The other ladies sat for the most part with their mouths slightly open. Even Mrs. Weatherby was silenced, for Helen, exalted by her own eloquence, spoke with a dreamy and solemn fervor which her astonishing symbolism did little to impair. When the lecture was at an end and the last of her pupils had departed, Helen fetched a small can of hot water from the bathroom and went down the passage to the little bed-chamber in which her husband sat. She heard a faint scratching sound from within and then a mew. As she opened the door, Rah rushed out and fled to the darkest corner of the corridor. She said in astonishment, Why, what have you done to Rah? He seems quite frightened. Mr. Reed did not reply, and the hiss of the gas stove made the room seem curiously quiet. He sat huddled in his chair, stooping forward a little. His eyes were half open and his heavy head rested on one shoulder. When she was close to him, his wife saw with horror that his tongue lolled from between his lips. She dropped the little can and felt the soft warm touch of the water as it poured over her ankles and soaked the thin thread stockings that she wore. She thought vaguely, How stupid of me! I shall have to fetch a duster, I suppose. But she did not move. She could not, and presently the water spread upon the farnished floor, forming a shining pool which stretched from her feet to those of the corpse. It lay between them like a barrier. She knew that the barrier was an illusion, but it represented a Rubicon which she could not cross. CHAPTER XIII I spoke as I saw. I report as a man may of God's work. All's love, yet all's law. What, my soul, see thus far and no farther? When doors great and small, nine and ninety flew ope at one touch, should the hundredth appall? Browning, soul. The idea of friendship as also the idea of fatherhood was vaguely connected in Andrew's simple mind with the necessity of giving treats, hence when he was disappointed of his first intention and forbidden to take Felix to see the return of the Polish Emperor from his luncheon at the Guild Hall, he naturally and immediately conceived the notion of offering to Constance the pleasure which he might not give his son. The result had been odd and unexpected for both of them. Constance hitherto had left these pageants on one side, as events hardly affecting even the fringe of her consciousness. Andrew's solid acceptance of the thing as a pleasant and important, as something which counted in the Londoner's life, had start her to interest, and the watcher's inevitable questions concerning the necessity of running in crowds to see the ever decaying bodies of other little creatures carried by, had even urged her to a justification of the performance. In spite of her extended experience she was still bound by the emotional limitations of the citizen, the return from the hills to the hive had not been wholly destitute of joy. When she could forget the cold ring said about her, the adorable and uncomprehensible truth, which had somehow pierced the dream to tease her vision and elude her grasp, she resumed that vicarious arrogance which is the birthright of the London child. And her newfound adoration of beauty gave a touch of poetry to her pride. Westminster Abbey, the Whitechapel Road, the River, the Shops, the streaming traffic, the blue and golden lamps in the magic dusk, each seemed to her now significant and delightful things fully charged with the spirit of life, even the joyous clatter of Smithfield Market, the six-penny rabbits and nine-penny pines, the shops devoted to instruments of murder, the magnificent offices of the London Offal Company, she had held worthy of exhibition to the watcher whose nascent perceptions they confused. He said, The chemical side of life, the building up of all your fragile tissues to make them last until you have to go away, all this seems to give great pleasure. You seem to think that the manner of it matters a great deal. It is surprising, but I am glad I think it is in the ecstasy of eating that many of you come nearest the idea. But having been so kind to your bodies and cherished them, you must find it very hard at the finish to put them on one side. I suppose, however, that there are also many places where you may purchase food for the up-building of the soul. At that, in a dutiful spirit, she had shown him a church. Of course it was empty, for there was no service in progress, and she felt that he was becoming unreasonable when he drew her attention to this fact. The place was well kept, though naturally enough it seemed a little dingy when one contrasted it with the bright life of the theatre, the drawing-room, and the street. But there was a thick, expensive sanctuary carpet, and an extremely handsome river-dose behind the altar, carved and painted in a small archaic style with early Italian seraphim bearing a long, curled scroll. Therefore, with angels and archangels, and with all the company of heaven, we laud and magnify thy glorious name," said the scroll in golden, gothic letters. It flung the superb declaration down the chill and desolate church, which seemed to laugh cynically in reply. Outside in the sun the spirit of praise might be active, and with it the angels. That web of ministering love which men call natural forces, they are played without hindrance about all living things, inviting the crescent soul to adoration. Here the stiff, militant rows of red hasyx, like vigilant constables ready to check the results of a possible spiritual enthusiasm, reminded intending devotion that an established religion looks to comfort and decorum, even in the affairs of the soul. So people in general do know that we exist," said the watcher. Really no. Have even gone so far as to give us names and talk about us as if we were true. I'm surprised, and here they say that they unite with us. Unite in what? Nothing seems to be happening. There's no aspect of reality here. If there were surely some of you would feel it and care about it as he did whom we found in the hills. But you do not truly wish us to be with you. You would only be frightened and astonished if we came. You crowded peoples who build such dismal places as this out of respect for a reality that someone once told you about. It were better to go back to your eating and growing and begetting. Then he had whispered rather sadly, to lord and magnify, how great a destiny helping the idea loving it and increasing it, strange mad little people to find so great a concept and write it up and leave it all alone. Such experiences as these had not encouraged Constance to hope that the royal procession could make any pleasing impression upon so critical a creature who displayed, despite the varied opportunities that she had offered him, such astounding tardiness in the acquirement of common sense. As for her, she looked as a child-mite for some glittering regal thing, for an exhibition part splendid, part amusing, and for the presence of a crowd which always delighted her. Located by Andrew at the window in Oxford Street, where two admirable seats had been reserved, and looked down on the wide, graveled road and the thicket of heads on either side of it, peering anxiously for the first sweep of the soldiers, she caught their infection and became in her turn absurdly eager over this trivial passage of a doubtless, trivial personality from one end to the other of the town. Andrew was pleased and encouraged her, saying, ''Nearly time now. I think I hear him cheering. Hope he will get a good reception. These foreigners think a lot of that. By Jove! There are the guards already! Here he comes!'' The crowd bristled as if a breeze had passed over it, and down the centre of the wide pale street the solemn life-guards came trotting with the steady, unhurried air of dramatic things. And in the midst of the pageant, its very eye, guarded and carried as a sacred relic through the streets, there was a little old and wearied man, whom all Europe knew to be diseased, and whom some pitied, some despised, but none ever reverenced. The flashing and murderous swords of his bodyguard went before and behind him as a warning to the people that this one ebbing and imperfect life should be protected, even at the sacrifice of other growing lives. The little grey man was almost swallowed up by his huge carriage and by the imperial richness of the cloak that propped him in his place. He raised a claw-like hand to return the salutations of the people. Now here, as it seemed, was a manifest sham and absurdity. Here was something an inconsistent wreck for the savage ages, which pure and emancipated spirit could never understand. Where indeed could it touch eternal matters this temporary erection of impudent dolls? Once it had passed and the cheering had died, Constance herself thought it but foolishness, pathetic, perhaps, but evidently ripe for the destroying hand of that progress which talks so much about the trowel, but always seems more ready with the sword. Therefore it was with amazement that she perceived the watcher to abase himself with an eager comprehension as if here again he recognized something which had immediate relations with reality. He, it was plain, did not see the little huddled invalid, the remnant of a too adventurous youth who had set out upon his progress supported by stimulants and bore it by reason of a careful disposition of hot water-bottles. As the vision of the initiate passes on heating beyond the bread and wine and sees unveiled the object of all love, so he saw sovereignty, the ruling and governing idea behind its poor image, and hardly perceived the shabbiness of the symbol through which he gazed. Andrew, at her elbow, had whispered, by Jove the poor chap does look rocky, they say he can't last very long. Within her mind the watcher said, But this will last forever and forever, it is eternal, it is true, it is a showing of the will. She answered, No, you are mistaken, the tendency of social evolution is against it. We are eliminating these things from the modern state. He said, You cannot eliminate the idea, though apparently you find it very easy to forget. Oh, no, of course not, but monarchy has lost touch with the real. It is just a survival now, a picturesque sham. It is all one, all part of it, he exclaimed, and that is why, in spite of all your talking, you cannot, never will, shake off its spell. Love, law, authority, they all belong. They are the thinking, the living, the loving of the will. Do you not see the great rules, the huge lines of it, the meshes of the eternal web, love and the grail, law and the king? If you do not, what is the use of being here and what is the instinct that brings you all to look upon this sight? She had a glimpse of it then, was moved by the mighty ideal of government and by this small, insistent emblem of a stability which owed nothing to the individual but transcended persons, asserting itself as an actual expression of life. It was the aggregate reality of the state, brought to a point and expressed in personality, as the ideal truths which man is to assimilate must always be expressed. They had an early tea together with the friendly and irresponsible sense of picnicking, which is peculiar to London's Saturday afternoons. She already knew the exact amount of sugar that Andrew liked, and he was astonished that she should so easily remember a fact which Muriel had never learned. Then, because it was one of those soft October days when languid pleasures seemed the best, they walked into the park and sat there. The gentle grayness of the landscape pleased Constance, lulled her mind. London, when she dons her veil of citizenship, is always very friendly to the soul. The sky, she noticed, had that hint of coral pink in it, which only great cities seem able to impart, and against it the shrouded forms of the houses, the great mass of St. George's Hospital, stood up with a mild but invulnerable dignity. The motors and carriages as they passed were grey, too, and had grey people inside them. For this hour the illusion of colour was taken away from the world, and she obtained a new side of it, freed from the chains at least of one tyrannous sense. This, she thought, might indeed be a part of that dreamy universe, that projection of omnipotent will held in a ceaseless state of flux by the thought that informed it, which the watcher's vague statements seem to describe. Even such traffic as there was went dimly and silently. She gazed at it with sleepy eyes. When suddenly a rider brought his shadowy horse to the railings and disclosed him as being brown, after all, there was a touch of fairy in the transformation, and she said gently and vaguely, Isn't it strange and colourless this afternoon when that horse came up and disturbed things I was beginning to think that all the world was grey? Andrew replied, Afraid we shall have a foggy night, anti-cyclonic weather. It is beautiful, I love it. Yes, pretty effect, said Vince, but these early autumn fogs are nasty things for people who are weak about the chest. She returned automatically to the plane which her friend called actual, and said, half to herself, I suppose they are. I must be careful of Vera at the beginning of the winter she so easily picks up a cold. Ah, my little niece, you know, who lives with me. I didn't know, said Andrew, astonished. Awfully sorry, no notion of it. Poor little kid. Why didn't you tell me she might have come with us to see the show? She has gone to the zoo with some other children. They were her landlady's sons, but Constance did not think this detail essential. I'm awfully glad, observed Andrew presently, that you've got a little girl to look after. It's an interest, a woman all alone, no ties, no future, nothing to pet. One doesn't like the idea of it. Against nature, but children are ripping companions even when they're not your own. She had never looked upon Vera in this light. She felt that she had been corrected, and to her ears there was a new note of humility in her assent. Can't be bored by kids, continued Andrew, happily. There a sort of everlasting interest coming on all the while, developing, don't you know, and so on. Look at Felix, the boy in him just breaking out, a bit hard on Muriel after having him at her apron string for so long. I'm afraid she doesn't altogether like it. But life is life. It can't be helped. You must bring your little niece to tea one day. Good for Felix having other children to play with. Teaches them to give and take a bit, don't you know? I don't let her go to parties, said Constance hastily. You're quite right, it excites him. I don't mean a party, just a feed of bread and jam and a few games. The soft grey city was spoiled for her now, and the pleasant idle companionship. The watcher said, What is wrong, and why are you grieved? Is not this man your friend, and are you not together? And is this not what human beings always desire? You tire me, you are so full of confused witches and curious little griefs. I cannot help you, for I cannot find the thread. She rose in spite of Andrew's ex-postulations with the evident determination of saying good-bye. It had come into her mind that she might call on Mrs. Reed before returning home, and thus Vince would be unable to escort her to her lodgings and make the acquaintance of the child. She had wished, if she might, to preserve her simple relation with him as a solitary woman about whom there was nothing to be said. But Vera carried with her the note of squalor and confusion which wrecks platonic friendships and causes even the most cultivated and tolerant of hostesses to experience a certain searching of the heart. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 of The Column of Dust by Evelyn Underhill This LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Josh Middledorf, Chapter 14, Death and the Watcher And I, fire-exceptor of sacrifices, ravishing away from them their darkness, give the light. Not a natural light, but a supernatural, so that, though in darkness, they knew the truth. From the Divine Dialogue of St. Catherine of Sienna The door of Mrs. Reed's flat stood ajar, and Constance, having rung the bell and received no answer, pushed it open and went in. The sitting-room was empty, and the chairs stood in disorder as they had been left after the morning's class. She was surprised and uncertain as to her next action, for, even were Helen absent, she had expected to find Mr. Reed dozing as usual before the fire with the blue Persian cat upon his knee. Whilst she stood considering the matter, Ra appeared from some recess of the establishment and rubbed against her skirt with an excess of affection, which suggested extreme loneliness, if not actual hunger and thirst. She stooped to stroke his head, and he raised himself on his hind legs to meet her hand. An unprecedented act of condescension, then he purred twice, mewed once, walked to the closet door of the bedroom, and sat down on the mat. Constance knocked, waited for a reply, and then opened the door a little way, but Ra would not enter alone. He rubbed against her skirts with increased vehemence, and looked at her with imploring golden eyes. She opened the door wider, and then saw Mrs. Reed, who knelt before the gas stove. Her beads and scarabs hung round her neck, and jangled a little as she swayed to and fro. The air of the room was thick and hot as if the stove had been a light for many hours. Constance, astonished, halted upon the threshold, and then perceived the huddled corpse in the chair, sleeping persistently despite the swaying wretched woman at its feet. Death, it seemed, extended his right hand very gently, and Delta Shrewd blow with his left, tearing away the tidy surface of existence and disclosing certain raw realities beneath. What is this? said the watcher. Constance whispered, awestruck, I think that it is death. She felt his movement of withdrawal, but resisted it, saying, No, that would be cruel. We must not leave her alone. Mrs. Reed stopped swaying, and looked at Constance without surprise. She said apologetically, I found the door ajar. Helen answered in a slow, monotonous, explanatory voice. Yes, it does not matter. You see, I am quite alone now. Yes, quite alone. I went out to see if I were really alone, and there was nothing left, and then I thought perhaps if he wanted to come back, you know, but that's a mistake too. I made a great many mistakes today. Of course, he's here. Oh yes, he's still here. He is waiting. He does not like to go alone. I must not forget that. Constance made stiff and awkward by her insensations of horror and amazement moved towards her, but she raised herself upon her knees and shuffled towards the chair. She took one of the dead man's hands between her own and began to stroke it. One must hold on to life by something, she explained, as long as one can. Yes, as long as one possibly can. Even by death, whispered the watcher. You see, he is all mine, quite mine. I earned for him and arranged things. People think me intellectual, but that is only for odd times. I always washed his hands and brushed his hair. I did keep him nicely, didn't I? His hair is wonderful for his age, so thick and silky. She played with it for a little while, and then dropped it, and said wearily. But I have nothing to do now, nothing at all, so that nothing really matters any more. Then Constance found the voice of conventional consolation and said, But you will always have a beautiful memory of the years you were together, of the happiness you gave him, and all you were able to do. You have nothing to be sorry for, nothing to regret. You loved one another so very well. Helen stared at her. Did we? she answered. Perhaps we did. And it is so much better for him to go like this, to be saved from all the weariness and pain. Is it? I don't know. I can't see any farther, said Mrs. Reed. Then she exclaimed in a tone of horror. It has all gone black. Once I believed in such beautiful spiritual things, I seemed to see them. I thought I should rejoice when he died. I always taught people to do just that. But now, don't you understand? It's this that is real. This, this. She clutched the dead man's arm, and the corpse nodded towards her, and then fell back in the chair with a soft thud. And it's going to decay. I can't believe it, but it will. I shall sit here alone, and somewhere in the ground, this will dissolve, and terrible things will happen under the earth. And it will go, and the bones that I have never seen will be left. I shall not recognize them, and they will be him. And the thing I know will have gone. The greedy earth will eat it. I can see that going on. As long as I live, I shall never see anything else. She spoke with passion, and Constance found no words in which to reply. The sight of Helen's neat universe abruptly ruined, appalled her. It seemed fatuous to offer hints of reconstruction in the face of so utter a wreck. She wondered whether life were full of such events of mistaken creeds crushed by the first contact with actuality. Of ordinary people who did not seem to matter, rising at the touch of death to a sudden dominion and ruling the living from under the poppy crown. She looked at the quiet body which resisted with patience the onslaught of rebellious grief. Its invincible serenity in that feverish room was an earnest of its remoteness. Her vision was clarified so that she passed by its animal aspect and saw it in its truer relation as a poor and battered house ennobled by the memory that it once held one who afterwards became a king. She passed in imagination from this heated and cupboard-like place where opposition to the idea had quickened to agony. She saw this dead body under the simple and eternal categories against the amphitheater of the sky where no artifice cloaks the august and rhythmic processes of nascent, crescent and cadent life. Then she perceived how very beautiful, how very intimate it was as if Earth in claiming her handiwork had blessed it. She was lifted again into the peaceful dimension where the spirits of death and of life subsist side by side in perfect unison. She and the watcher together rested as it were in this loosened place aloof from the tormenting illusions of mortality. They accepted the vicissitudes of the body detecting therein certain majestic harmonies which drowned the sharp cry of those from whom this music was wrong. They were at one in this wide and calm vision of things. But there were odd and irreconcilable differences in the reaction to which it urged them. The watcher, it seemed, endured the situation unwillingly. He was stirred and grieved by the incurable torment that he witnessed and, alarmed by his own sadness, wished to be away. But Constance, though she felt herself to be raised with him beyond the mortal dread of death, felt also a deep dissatisfaction, a considerable shame at being so lifted and fenced from her sisters who were yet immersed in the agonizing sea of separation. She felt a sudden divine desire to be down amongst them, to renounce in their favour her strange inheritance, to share their mistakes. Her goddess lifted that obstinate veil of hers and looked her between the eyes. It was a glance of peculiar penetration and carried with it a peremptory command. She was infected by a sense of homeliness, by a longing to stay, to stoop, to help. She was in the ranks and there was an obligation upon her to raise the fallen as well as to prosecute her own advance. Orders were on her and that mysterious inhabitant of hers started to attention at its call. She must cast down the barriers that she had loved and merge her experience with this life and this death. Oh, do learn to love, said Martin. She wanted to now. She was willing, even in this unattractive school, where a shabby, shallow woman muttered crazily over the death of a tedious old man. Suddenly she lost herself and found instead the mighty battle. She was on her knees beside her fellow soldier. Her arm was about the shoulders that carried themselves usually was so important in air and she was whispering scattered senseless fragments of that immemorial language which all men speak in the presence of death. Helen turned and clutched her spasmodically. Oh, it's black, it's black, she said. And I'm angry, so angry with death. I've been a textbook for other people all my life and now I'm done for and life has torn me up. Constance answered, dear, you were dazed and bewildered at the moment. Do not try to think, it has been a terrible shock. But presently you will see clearly again. I see now, I had never seen death before. This is final, this is the end. That is an illusion which will pass away. Oh, I know, said Helen, wearily. I used to say those sorts of things. As they sat cuddled together on the floor, Rah climbed suddenly upon their knees and thrust a cold and importunate nose into his mistress's face. He was a true cat. The neighborhood of the dead induced in him a passionate appreciation of the society of the living. Constance said, have you fed Rah? Helen replied indifferently, What does that matter? He will die too. Shall I give him dinner? Mrs. Reed took no notice. She was again stroking the dead man's hand. Constance took the cat into the little kitchen, found his plate of cold fish, filled his milk bowl and went back again to Mrs. Reed. The watcher whispered, How it hurts! Poor, poor little men and women, how horribly you suffer in your blindness! Always the same thing, the everlasting want of one another. So this is the terrible cry that comes from the spinning earth, the wailing of the souls who are left behind. Oh, what can I do for her? Tell her to let go. She is clutching as well as loving. She is fighting with the will. After all, she will die too. She has forgotten that. That is one of the things which no one can remember when they want to. It is all blurred for her now. How strange! Does death cover the eyes of the living when he steals the souls of the slain? Well, look at her! She thought she had the light. But it is still there, he said, and the idea within it. Death cannot kill the real. It changes nothing. All is well. Can't you tell her? He answered, no. This pain comes of humanity and its healing must come by way of its humanity too. You are immersed in it. You are bound to it. You know it. You must see to your own affairs. I know, I see, that this must be the great matter. It is a cruel illusion, yet many great things are born of it. It is your touchstone of truth. But here you must help one another. It is not for the deathless to interfere. She, humbled by a knowledge of her own ineffectuality of the uselessness in this primary situation of all her theories of life, could only hold the hands of the half-stupified woman, keeping her, as it were, by mere physical contact in touch with the human side of things. They sat in the dusk, listening to the hiss of the gas stove, clinging to one another, weighed down by a sense of finality, but without any conscious thoughts. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. Constance felt all about her. A world of miserable women sitting helplessly beside the dead bodies of those in whom they had rooted their lives. Her little heaven seemed stagnant beside the vivid torment of these sisters in Purgatory. She longed to join hands with them and share their pain. Sacrifices were going forward and she stood before the altar of life without an offering. She saw now, faced by this most ordinary of events, that her quest of life should have been not a curious seeking out of adventure, but rather a deliberate nurture, a devout acceptance of all being, love and pain. She saw them as they stretched through the height and breadth of creation, the sheltering arm and the cleaving sword. Together they made that cross whose divine folly she had resisted with such a petulant contempt. Helen, with her silly creeds and her black despair, had them. She justified herself by their presence. She and a thousand other twisted souls who little understood the divine quality of their anguish, the destination of that mourning procession into which they had been pressed. They walked a rough road which wounded their feet. They cried under the pain, not recognizing in these ugly scars the birthmark of the royal line. As for Constance, she knew that the measure of her serenity was the measure of her failure in the way. Between the living and the dead she wept tears of a genuine contrition because she could not weep more. The clang of a bell aroused her. The neighboring church was ringing to even song. Then she perceived the gathering duskness, woke to practical affairs and said to Helen, you will want some help, won't you, and arrangements made? I must go, I think, before it is too late and send someone to you. Is she being left alone for a little while? Helen answered, no, no. I shall be quite busy, there are things, plenty of things that I must do. She looked at her husband. My old dear shan't be neglected, she said brightly. I'm beginning to remember a little. He must not feel lonely, you know. She heard Constance go and the door clicked behind her. Then she rose and rambled heavily into the kitchen. Ra was asleep in his basket. She looked at him for a moment with pleasure, for he was a living thing, warm, soft, and exquisitely groomed, the only remaining creature that she loved, the only helpless thing dependent on her care. As if even in his sleep he divined her presence, he cocked one year and raised his nose a little way that she might rub it. She was very glad of his existence. He had always been adorable at this moment. He was important, too. But for him she would be alone with the dead. Then she remembered that this good fortune of hers put the dead man at a disadvantage. It was he who was solitary now in the midst of the living. That was unendurable. That she should yet be surrounded by visible and homely things whilst he, who had always needed them so much, apart from amongst these domestic consolations, she owed him, at the very least, a parting gift. She stooped and seized on the cat with firm and merciless hands. My dear old dear Shant be lonely, she muttered. It is so terrible to be alone, to be all together alone. Ra only cried once. A long, thin cry. And then lay quite still. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of The Column of Dust by Evelyn Underhill. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Josh Middledorf. New fact for Constance and Andrew. Pilgrimage to the place of the wise is to find escape from the flame of separation. As tiny pebbles flung at random may cut a more cruel wound than the heavy missile thrown by a skillful hand, so it is often the little word, the little action, which most deeply scars the heart. During the following days, Constance became aware that two such trifles had hit her mind with a sharp and stinging impact, leaving little bruises which he was not able to forget. One had been tossed in all kindliness by Andrew in the moment in which she had told him of Vera's existence. That genial materialist had then affirmed casually as one endorses the unquestionable truths of life, the sanctity, delightfulness, and immeasurable importance of all growing budding creatures. The enviable lot of their protectors. I'm glad that you've got a little girl to look after. An interest. An interest she, poor Constance, had thought it an embarrassment, and thus missed an opportunity of selfless joy. Deceived by the shabbiness of the symbol, she had lost the secret gift. It was stupid. And she hated stupidity. Andrew, because he was her friend, had not even suspected this, that a child could be other than an occasion of happy service to those who watched it, that it could possibly be regarded as an obstruction, a complication of the individual life, had not occurred to him. The healthy dependence of bodily creatures on one another, the family link, was his way of seeing things. This pebble then had made a hole in her carefully constructed defenses, and through it she caught sight and sunny landscape from which she had fenced herself. The second blow was sharper. Mrs. Weatherby, coming to the bookshop on Monday morning in pretended search of a magazine which she knew that Lampton did not stock, discovered Constance in the act of making up counts, and naturally concluded that she was at leisure. I've just come from poor Mrs. Reads, she said. I heard of the old man's death on Sunday night, V. B. Foster called at her flat during the afternoon, and she opened the door an inch or so and told her, and then slammed it in her face. These clever people are so unpractical that I thought I'd better go round this morning and see if she had made any arrangements for the funeral. I put my foot in the doorway so that she couldn't shut it on me. It was a very good thing to be forced to see people when you were in trouble. Well, I got into the sitting-room and the first thing I saw was the dead body of the cat. It seemed it had died the same evening, quite suddenly. Extraordinary thing that it and the old man should go off together like that. I wonder if she is quite sure of her milkman. I don't know which of them the poor thing is more upset about. She couldn't look at it, and she wouldn't talk. I told her that she could have a grave for it in my garden, if she liked. These horrible modern flats have no provision for that sort of thing, and you can't expect a woman to put her last link with life into a sanitary dust bin. Constance felt sick when she heard this story. She had little doubt as to either the manner of Ra's death or his place of burial. Evidently it had not entered Helen's mind that one could refuse even the least appropriate of sacrifices to the beloved dead. She had put her creed into practice, a circumstance which always fills the creedless with amazement and unwilling awe. Miss Tyrell faced the thing in dull bewilderment. She writhed also under the weight of a profound mortification, for this which seemed to her so morbid, so insane, so unreal in act, was accepted by the watcher with the sympathy which he seldom extended to the normal proceedings of a civilized society. He saw here a plain and natural manifestation of that friendship for the dead upon which he had insisted so unpleasantly when she sat with him in the graveyard amongst the fells. And the absurdity of sacrificing a pet animal instead of an expensive wreath of flowers did not strike his limited imagination. She had held herself his teacher, but here as in the adventure of the cup she was baffled where he divined a guiding thread. She groped for it and stretching wild hands in the dark came on strange forms, amazing living things which defied her mania for classification. There was worse behind it. She might endure the superiority of the watcher, for he was a supernatural being with whom she could hardly compete. But in this dim strange tract of a country on which she had stumbled, in which the most ordinary objects and events seemed charged with menace for those who dared to walk alone, she had been forced to learn from persons whom she had scarcely thought it worthwhile to teach. Helen and Andrew, the one earthly, the other, absurd and taken her hands and brought them into sudden contact with certain unnoticed realities, aspects of that experience, that life which he had so loudly demanded and so utterly missed. Even now her touch upon these things was vague and clumsy. She was encased in the plate armor of her own personality, fretted within by her rebellious will but curbed and held safe by her well educated egotism. These other people, these foolish givers and lovers were unfettered. They rushed out to the encounter of dreary responsibilities, childish sacrifices and hideous griefs. They had much to endure little to show, but they lived were at one with life. It was the only grace she had asked of her goddess and now she knew that it had been refused. When the day's work was over and Vera had been put to bed the imperative inner voice which paid little attention to her tastes, urged her to return to Helen to serve her if she might. Constance went unwillingly for an attempt to gain admittance on Sunday had failed and this rebuff had wounded her young self-conscious sympathy even induced a certain bitterness. She had felt that her difficult attempts at consolation had their importance. It was amazing that Mrs. Reed should not desire them. Now she forgot this righteous anger and something that was almost diffidence took its place. She went to school in a new spirit of humility. She even bought a large bunch of white chrysanthemms on her way to the flat that there might be some visible excuse for her visit. She was surprised when the door was opened quickly. More when Mrs. Reed said to her, I am glad to see that you have come again. She glanced hastily about her it was no evidence of death. Mr. Reed's spectacle case and Ross' brush and comb had not yet been put away. Helen said, when you knocked at the door I was afraid that perhaps it might be Mrs. Vince. Has she not been? No, but she will come. She is sure to come isn't she? said Helen, wistfully. And then it will be difficult I must be so very careful today. Why? All she believes in me. She thinks I am spiritual, you know. I must never let her see it's all gone black. Then she would lose it too just as I have. She would never believe in mysteries again. I must prevent that from happening if I can. I have been thinking and thinking I know that I have got to pretend it will be something to do because I am responsible, you see. Death, the magnum opus of the divine. Oh, one should never see it if one wants to think of it like that. It's all emptiness. The symbols just melted away and there was nothing, nothing behind. The watcher murmured, I suppose this must always happen when death touches the teachers of your creeds they go on. Helen continued almost as if she would reply to him. But I taught it and now I have got to stand up to it. It sounded so splendid I felt so sure that it was true. One seemed to see it and now I see emptiness. But they mustn't they are young and hopeful it helps them and perhaps for them something true. Perhaps. You never believed in it said Helen you always seem to have a secret of your own that is why I wanted you now so much you were solid just yourself just alive and warm and I can say what I like foolish, dreadful, hopeless things but with the others what am I to do they fed on me they had no experience convinced by the rhythms of the words to tell them the truth would be cruel and I don't think being cruel can be right it would not be right to teach them your new lie is it a lie why can she not see it exclaimed the water our blindness and suffering also of the essence of the idea is it a lie asked Helen again I hope it is there's nothing else she approached Constance held her arm looked into her eyes you know something don't you you were different she said oh tell me if you know it if only he is all right if he lives and is not lonely I don't think that I mind being hurt having nothing to do Constance answered I know so very little I too am blinded but somehow I am sure that we are all together in one friendship the living and the dead you have only got to wait a little while presently the light will come back and you will know it too no it will never come back for me anymore but that does not really matter if my old deer is all right and if I am able to pretend the bell rang sharply and Mrs. Reed went almost with a certainty towards the door her mood had changed and she looked expectant I knew she said that Mrs. Vince would come Constance heard a heavy footstep and the sound of an umbrella placed with decision in the stand then Mrs. Reed came back and Andrew followed her into the room I came he said for Muriel bad headache awfully sorry wanted to know if there was anything we could do he sat down awkwardly and eyed Constance rather expected he remarked to find you here Helen looked crestfallen in the midst of her misery one corner of her mind had remained aware of her importance both as a teacher and as a widow she had supposed that she would be an object of interest as well as of sympathy to her followers having yet to learn that popularity seldom survives in the presence of grief moreover Muriel's avoidance of her in the hour of desolation wounded her heart as well as her pride she was fond of her and had thought of Mrs. Vince's delicate personality as one may think in moments of weariness of soft cushions an unattainable sense the mere fact of her prettiness would have made her visit comforting would have restored to Helen's darkened universe something of the light of life but Muriel had a headache and the other woman understood she rejected Andrew's advances very gently wanted nothing would tell him nothing the arrangements she said were made no, not cremation the other was not so bad she looked appealingly at Constance who interpreted the message as a request to remove Mr. Vince as quickly as she might he rose as she had expected when she did shook hands warmly with Helen and muttered hastily awfully grieved, don't you know dear old Reed, man I always respected one of the best he opened the door and Constance would have preceded him but Helen clutched her hand held her for a moment and Vince went out into the little hall come back, she said come back, won't you? promise that you will come back you see, the others are no good Constance replied humbly I'm no good either but I want to help you if I can she was reminded curiously of Vince's first overtures of friendship she seemed destined to take Muriel's leaveings to console them for their idols indifference it was hardly the part she would have chosen and she knew that she must not reject it I rather fancy said the watcher reflectively as they went down that long flight of stairs that you make it worse for yourselves by being so obstinate about it do you not? I see the will plating you together forcing you to interpenetrate each other's lives to pass through, to let go to move amongst experience perpetually to lose life and to find and you will not you make yourselves rigid you resist you clutch at one another crying mine, mine and then you must be torn apart but don't you see she answered that they care for one another if I only could learn to care like that that is foolish do you wish to suffer? stupid little creatures swept so quickly through the dream and feeling your chance encounters to be important and making such a fuss does no one amongst you love that which dies not that which is before instead of that which is behind? Vince replied for her saying shocking thing that poor woman left all alone nothing to look forward to only her death he looked at her with concern it is evidently upset you a bit he said not like you to have these morbid ideas shouldn't think about death might as well think about the dentist trying things these visits Muriel funked it poor girl when it came to the point said it left such a mark on the subconscious mind so she sent me along in her place I fancy she was afraid might show her the old chap's body these people have such queer ideas one thing her views and so on will be a comfort to her now not like a woman without any religion she's very wretched bound to be replied Andrew bound to be poor thing after all he was her husband do you think that makes any difference? like of course said Vince astonished a man don't you know who marries a woman sticks to her and so on she's bound to repay that with affection husbands and children one takes care of you and you take care of the other and so decent women even if they're clever always love them at the bottom and it is just at times like this that they find that out Constance brooded a little and then said it is because she took care of him so that now being his wife does not come in really always counts must do after all she had the protection of his name do you think one would mourn for that? it counts counts more than you think said Andrew again of course poor creature it's all the worse for her because she has no family pity she didn't adopt a child as you did most sensible thing I ever heard admire you for it Muriel is most interested anxious to talk to you about education character building and so on I know nothing about that just as well just as well bad for boys all this modern drivel and worse for girls in all the probability give her plenty of dolls and teacher plain sewing and she'll never miss the myths and nature study and all that other rot she should like for her to turn out satisfactorily of course you would main object of your existence bound to be something to leave behind you just my feeling about the boy must keep an eye on him see that he gets a proper chance in spite of the women easy enough for you got it all your own way she is rather a difficult child I like them to have spirit shows they're healthy namby pamby children are no good well she isn't bad I'm awfully keen to see that youngster said Andrew I believe she's a ripping kid when can I come it was only nine o'clock Vera looked her best when she was asleep Constance swiftly reviewing many dangers chose the least come now she said we're nearly there and you can have a peep at her in bed so they climbed the shabby stairs came to her sitting room and Andrew helped her to light the duplex lamp it smelled did not seem to annoy him but he looked with pity and surprise at the poor and dingy room at the worn carpet at the paralyzed Venetian blinds he wished all women to be comfortable and was shocked by this glaring testimony to the poverty of his friend it came suddenly to Miss Tyrell's mind that Vince was the first guest to be admitted to her lodging since the April night on which she had brought the watcher home he sat by the fireplace in the chair whence that wild-eyed thing had first gazed with fear and amazement on the life in which it was entrapped he too came as an inquisitor demanding admittance but for him there were no paradoxes no difficulties above all no mysteries only the plain straightforward natural things how comfortable a destiny she thought to see life single-eyed and see it wrong she crept to the bedroom assured herself that Vera slept and called Vince softly to her side they stood together looking in silence at the head sunk deep in its soft pillow at the scattered locks of black hair so like Miss Tyrell's own and at the little cruel face that they framed which seemed to have come from some alien strata of life when Andrew turned to his friend there were tears in his eyes he took her hand and squeezed it thank you he said for allowing me to come end of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 of The Column of Dust by Evelyn Underhill this liberal box recording is in the public domain recording by Josh Middledorf Chapter 16 Two Lovers Mortis Felvite Brevis est vox ite venite aspera vox ite vox ex jocundo venite 14th century epigram it was mid-December cold and snowy and the Christmas season was in full swing lamptons overflowed with children's books color books, day books, anthologies works of vague piety and pretty covers and reprints of the many classics which all give and none which to receive there was laws serious call in pink brocade with pigskin labels a new and dainty style as congreaves plays looking so respectable in pale grey buckram that old-fashioned mothers often bought the volume for their elder girls the shelf of illustrated fairy tales for grown-up people was emptied daily and that containing more solid books for the children's use was nearly as popular Miss Tyrell and her assistants lived at high pressure struggling to anticipate the unformulated wants of peevish customers leading on the more generously disposed from shelf to shelf probing and where possible changing the minds of the many ladies who knew the book they wanted but could remember neither its author nor its name the more bookish side of the business was now in abeyance its frankly popular aspect triumphed and the rows of old county histories, the early printed classics, the fathers and the excellent collection of rare and curious memoirs of the old French court were hidden by piles of cheap russkins the new six-penny Ibsen for which a great sale was expected by airship to Dante's Inferno the latest romance of the religio-scientific school and the baby Shakespeare illustrated in auto lithography by members of the international society there was an incessant crackling of brown paper as the parcels were folded tied and heaped upon the floor to await the delivery van exercise, mental and physical hardly ceased save for the slack interval at lunchtime from ten in the morning until an hour or so after the shutters were put up for the night Helen Reed, who had been engaged at Constance's suggestion as an extra assistant during the busy weeks found that she had little time in which to brood upon the destinies of the individual soul she was continually at the orders of persons who seemed unaware of her intellectual importance and utterly ignored her point of view their acceptance of her as an ordinary shop assistant was insulting the impervious ear which they turned to her advice disappointed her but the resultant irritation restored her interest in life with this first step in philanthropy was not to be wholly unsuccessful it had its disadvantages she was compelled to act as a buffer between Helen and Mr. John who detected in Mrs. Reed an unbusiness like inclination to direct the public attention to those thoughtful works which are always published at net prices and therefore represent a small profit hardly earned your friend, he said she is superior indeed a clever appearance which is of course a great point in a business of this kind it is a pity that she is so irresponsible she seems unable to grasp the importance of pressing the Christmas stock on the public as much as one can she is inexperienced at present it isn't inexperienced it is idiosyncrasy replied Lampton I watched her with an old lady yesterday I should have made her by the gracious gardens of our land a book that ought to be going very well instead of that Mrs. Reed actually allowed her to order Danby's Development of the Spirit of Man single copy small publisher, net book hardly pay us for the trouble of supplying it I'm sure, said Constance meekly, that she tries to get people the books they really want one doesn't run a house of this kind on the people who know what they want one runs it on the people who are persuaded to want what they see still, she takes an intelligent interest in literature and that does encourage the customer not the right sort of customer, said Mr. John crossly only the cultured misers who buy cheap copies of good stuff I hate intelligent assistants they always try to sell what they like he walked away and the watcher asked her is there any reason why you should try to sell anything else she was reminded of Martin's rule, the things one does not love are better left alone but even he, she's opposed had hardly intended this austere maxim to apply to commercial affairs in these hasty busy days with their constant scrimmage between art, cash-box and order-book it was easy to forget Martin and the impracticable things for which he stood even for her lodger and his whims she had little attention to spare the active interests of the moment overpowered his influence his demands upon her senses were easily repelled his anxious questions seldom touched her mind few women can realize the riddle of the universe when confronted by a pressing problem of how to serve four impatient customers at one and the same time without rousing their tempers or making mistakes in their bills Miss Tyrell's consciousness was monopolized by the practical and had no time for the real it danced upon the surface seized by a myriad things but seldom resting long on any one sometimes as she crept wearily to her lodging she wondered, why did she do it but the answer to this question awaited her within the imprisoned watcher who had begun to suspect in life some constant factor which spirit might attain to understand was bewildered anew by the baby turmoil the outrageous insincereities of trade peeping through her eyes when she could spare them from the duties of pouring over the ledger or hunting through the disordered shelves he saw this shop this scrap of seething world at its uttermost point of self-realization it was become a little throbbing center of those absorbing and scattering forces that systole and diastole movement, credit and debt which is the expression of life in the body, the business and the love of man perhaps too in that of God the shop collected and distributed it gave, it took it was fed it broth forth it reminded him that all the puzzling knots of infinity had been theaters where this one play was ceaselessly performed day after day carts came to the door and deposited great packages of Christmas stock repeat orders of the best-selling lines then cords were cut the outer cover the inner padding of old newspapers removed and out came red thoughts, the little diagrams by which men try to register ideas there for a few hours they lay upon the tables meek victims of the lust of men waiting till one out of the thronging purchasers should snatch their bodies or dare to pry into their souls it was an omnivorous public and parcels that began with the red rows of Eros often included ghosts the bab ballads and Alice in Wonderland and ended with a copy of Holy Living or The Little Flowers of Saint Francis which was very popular in limp brown suede tied with a triple-knotted string thus the books went out into new lives to form new concepts new combinations or at least new ornaments of the more cultured kind and others poured in a constant stream to take their place the watcher longed for some equilibrium to be struck for some moment when the ceaseless flux of things should hesitate if only for an instant that he might recapture the lost knowledge of that reality which is at rest but it never ceased it was life suddenly he realized the need the joy of death and desired it greatly for people whom he had accepted as his friends they had as he noticed odd consolations quaint hints of reality thrust in upon them as they hastened to and fro in the least expected points the veil was lifted and suddenly the light broke through a strong and shining beam in which the dust danced gaily the watcher was greatly interested in the case of Phoebe Foster who came often to the bookshop since Helen had been added to the staff Mrs. Reed's friends vaguely supposed that in enriching her employer they were somehow helping her a course which offered all the advantages of a bizarre and none of the disagreeables of unremunerative charity Phoebe then frequented Lamptons at this season most often in that slack interval about two p.m. the luncheon table competes successfully with the shop she seemed of late to be the seat of subtle changes there was a shifting of values as if certain forces long suppressed and half forgotten were rising slowly but irresistibly to a domination of her personality in this conflict her self-assurance her intelligent freedom of speech were worsted her acquaintances saw with astonishment you and inarticulate Phoebe emerge a gentle, shame-faced and primitive thing who was no longer able to speak of the unspeakable with the scientific indifference which is proper to her type Muriel, who was distressed by her friend's condition attributed it to some obscure psychic disease to the sudden uprush into conscious life of unfortunate ancestral traits latent in the subliminal field she said a case of pernicious atavism all the more acute because her education has held it in check so long expert opinion is not always correct about a week before Christmas Phoebe came to the bookshop there was upon her face a bashful radiance which seemed to mark a new stage in her infirmity it was like the humble yet fiery joy which might the newly inspired apostle of some singularly ecstatic faith she kissed Constance and Helen with fervor in spite of the disapproving presence of Mr. John how splendid it is she said to be a woman Helen replied with a touch of her old solemnity I cannot attribute great importance to the accident of sex oh can't you exclaimed Phoebe I can an enormous importance it is more than important really it is deeply and wonderfully significant mysterious almost Constance said yes that's true horribly mysterious full of splendor and full of evil too Phoebe looked at her with soft eyes that were full of a slightly patronizing sympathy and spoke in the quiet who is quite sure of her ground no she said not evil that's a mistake in itself it is wholly beautiful because it's a vital unchangeable thing much too noble and beautiful to be evil as well I hope said Mrs. Reed that you are not going to be led away by merely sentimental views of life some sentiments count replied Phoebe obstinately they arise in the soul and show on the meaning of things and there is a strange enhancement of life that comes from them from realizing one's essential womanhood she looked at the other woman appealingly you don't know she said or you would have to agree with me I wish I could describe it to you it is extraordinarily interesting I mean of course from the psychological view Helen observed these transitory ecstasies are seldom important to the soul oh not transitory answered Phoebe I knew you did not understand this is true one can always tell the difference at least I can nothing else matters it changes the values of life makes everything perfectly plain she thought that for instance's face blushed and added hastily as one penetrates below appearance it is in the simple and elementary things that one finds the deepest metaphysical meaning I think and then Ms. Tyrell did not hear the end of the sentence the shop door had been pushed open the bell rang and she turned automatically to attend to the incoming customer he stood for a moment with the pale light behind him staring into the shop she stared back at him vaguely conscious of the arrival of some familiar unexpected thing whilst he continued his keen peering into the dimness as if his coming had some finer objective than the mere spending of money and garnering up of books the watcher too moved eagerly in her mind as to the encounter of a friend and before she had time to sift her sensations Martin had discovered her and taken her hand she said you here in a city it's incredible he answered I in a city well why not there's a hiding place for everything here but why have you come he said in a lower tone because I dared not wait longer she looked at him then her first thought was that he was curiously alive with a whitened, ardent life which made the spirits of her companion seem but smouldering flames her next that he was very near to death he met her eyes I see he observed that you have guessed it I am going is it not splendid so quickly it came on me suddenly there was no mistake she saw the unpeopled hills the deserted shrine the extinguished light the cup unguarded and alone and exclaimed no you cannot go you must not needs must when marching orders come but you with a guardianship that cannot be forsaken that you should be snatched I too how cruel it is we are all slaves to this slaves he said slaves to death what a strange idea why it is our one earnest of liberty without that how could we be more than self-conscious mildew cumbering the wholesome surfaces of things and it is actively beneficent to the way the truth the life the real life not the dream it was through death that the cup came it is the true discipline of the secret but not for all for all he answered each of us lives toward that initiation every instant of our day it is going on we cannot be deprived of it we cannot miss it however stupid and cowardly we may be and you are glad to go you with your wonderful life why yes there was a wise physician once who said the misery of immortality in the flesh he undertook not that was immortal so how could we want it how awful a fate to wait the homegoing ship even in the fortunate isles the wandering Jew is really the only denizen of the only hell but you so soon why is it I always knew that it would not be long and this winter the snows have been heavy it has been an arctic business there these many weeks an everlasting fight with the drifts and plenty of rescue work among the flocks and evil nights of the storm I've come near to anticipating my burial many a time and it is put on the clock rather quickly that is all is it inevitable are you sure he answered mockingly do you wish to hear the name that is given to this particular method of crumbling then she saw with dismay the purest spot in her world shine out adorable only to be snatched from her the watcher exclaimed what will you now clutch at the dying and risk the blackness and the pain she turned from him and considered anew the radiant face of Martin that thin and eager face smiling into the very eyes of corruption she looked with him and saw death the faithful servant of true lovers preparing the bridal chamber of the soul Martin leaned forward with a gesture of gratitude and ecstasy to the fruition of his long desire he was glancing about him now full of the zest for little things which is peculiar to the utterly detached he said so this is the place I have often thought of it and of you since the day on which you came Helen and Phoebe were looking at him with a very human curiosity it's the first time that they had detected Miss Tyrell in the possession of a friend outside the limits of their own set Phoebe said to Mrs. Reed do you think I wonder she has never mentioned him but they seem to be great friends it would be so nice I am sure that her life is not a very happy one Helen replied no but no life is really happy oh it may be it can be exclaimed Phoebe quickly and clumsily if you give yourself give yourself altogether I mean and join in then you find your place and are at peace Mrs. Reed received these words in silence they were delivered with an accent of authority which she disliked but Martin who had heard them turned and smiled Phoebe smiled back there seemed instantly some link established between them as if they had common possession of a secret which the others sought in vain yes he said that is it it seems such a simple recipe doesn't it when once one has tried it it's wonderful it transforms the world yes it really does fulfill the whole claim of the philosopher's stone it confers eternal youth transmutes dull matter turns the dust to gold Mrs. Reed said with eagerness you are evidently interested in alchemy Martin who was considering Phoebe's gentle and radiant face with approval answered indifferently sometimes its language is useful and approximates to the truth Phoebe interrupted him but truth isn't words it's not definite and discoverable it is just a new way of seeing the ordinary things Martin said yes the way of love that's all Phoebe the word once mentioned seemed to experience a certain relief she looked at Constance as if there too she might expect a measure of comprehension I came to tell you something Phoebe said only you wouldn't understand me I'm going to be married the watcher muttered another link to be torn apart another pain how mad you are of course continued Phoebe hastily you understand I would not do it in the ordinary conventional way that would be disgusting it is because we feel the inner personal link so strongly because I have become convinced that we complete each other's lives if we fell out of love we should separate I told Freddy that a mere material prolongation of a tie whose reality is gone would become blasphemous the sin against Eros I suppose observed Martin that by falling out of love you really mean falling out of passion don't you how can one fall out of love any more than one can fall out of heaven it may be very tiresome but the onerous generally is I think in the end but it clings tight you carry it with you even to the deeps and it flames up when it is wanted flamma etterne cauritatis yes I think I mean I'm sure it is like that really replied Phoebe addressing him directly and in a very low voice the shop bell rang again and she became alert I expect that must be Freddy she said he promised to call for me at half past two Mr. Burroughs entered he bore himself with a new possessive air at once absurd charming and pathetic the ladies congratulated him and he answered with conviction that he was a lucky fellow I've got a taxi at the door and I thought Phoebe that we might run down to the palace and hear the new singing girl she's got a matinee today and then tea at the Carlton and stroll home in the dusk that is of course if you were quite sure you'd like it Helen who knew Ms. Foster's tastes waited with interest for her reply but Phoebe agreed with enthusiasm she was radiant plainly eager to be gone and waited upon her with great care and gentleness hooked her for coat adjusted her muff chain comfortably beneath the collar she accepted his mistrations with obvious pride Martin nodded at their departing figures and observed that's all right the simple but most excellent way later on it will hurt and then her chance will come she will emerge a completed animal and transfigured saint Constance said in a low tone oh, why did I miss it? that's the way in to give up one's will to be touched like that with respect by someone who cares he answered it is very agreeable but for some there is a better and a harder way end of chapter 16