 Borrowing a match, my Stephen Leacock. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Selbin. Borrowing a match, my Stephen Leacock. You might think that borrowing a match upon the street is a simple thing. But any man who has ever tried it will assure you that it is not and will be prepared to swear to the truth of my experience of the other evening. I was standing on the corner of the street with the cigar that I wanted to light. I had no match. I waited still a decent ordinary looking man came along. Then I said, excuse me sir, but could you oblige me with the loan of a match? A match? He said. Why? Suddenly. Then he unbuttoned his overcoat and put his hand in the pocket of his waistcoat. I know I have one. He went on. I'm not almost 12. It's in the bottom pocket. Or hold on. Though I guess it might be on the top. Just wait till I put these fossils down on the sidewalk. Oh, don't trouble, I said. It's really of no consequence. Oh, it's no trouble. I'll have it in a minute. I know there must be one in here somewhere. He was digging his fingers into his pocket as he spoke. But you see, this isn't the waistcoat I chained really. I saw the man was getting excited about it. Well, never mind, I protested. If that isn't the waistcoat that you chained really, why? It doesn't matter. Hold on now. Hold on, the man said. I've got one of the ghost things in here somewhere. I guess it must be in with my watch. No, it's not there either. Wait, do I try my coat? If I can sound it, Tyler only knew enough to mic a pocket so that a man could get at it. He was getting pretty well walked up now. He had thrown down his walking stick and was plunging at his pocket with his feet set. A fat ghost young boy of mine, he hissed. This comes off his pulling in my pockets. My God, perhaps I won't warm him up when I get home. Say, I'll bet that it's in my hip pocket. You just hold up the tail of my overcoat a second till I... No, no, I protested again. Please don't take all this trouble. It really doesn't matter. I'm sure you needed to take off your overcoat. And oh, pray, don't throw away your letters and sing in the slow like that and tear out your pockets by the roots. Please, please, don't trample over your overcoat and put your feet through the pussles. I do hate to hear you swearing at a little boy with that peculiar whine in your voice. Don't, please don't stare your clothes so savagely. Suddenly the man gave a guant of exaltation and drew his hand up from inside the lining of his coat. I've got it, he cried. Here you are. Then he brought it out under the light. It was a foot-pick. Yielding to the impulse of the moment, I pushed him under the wheels of a trolley car and ran, end of borrowing a match. Coward by Guy de Maupassant. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording by James Christopher, JXChristopher at Yahoo.com. Coward by Guy de Maupassant. In society he was called Handsome Signo. His name was Vikam Gontron-Yosef de Signo. An orphan and possessed of an ample fortune, he cut quite a dash, as it is called. He had an attractive appearance and manner, could talk well, had a certain inborn elegance, an air of pride and nobility, a good mustache, and a tender eye that always finds favor with women. He was in great request at receptions, waltzed to perfection, and was regarded by his own sex with that smiling hostility accorded to the popular society man. He had been suspected of more than one love affair, calculated to enhance the reputation of a bachelor. He lived a happy, peaceful life, a life of physical and mental well-being. He won considerable fame as a swordsman, and still more as a marksman. When the time comes for me to fight a duel, he said, I shall choose pistols. With such a weapon I am sure to kill my man. One evening, having accompanied two women friends of his with their husbands to the theater, he invited them to take some ice cream at Tortones after the performance. They had been seated a few minutes in the restaurant when Signeau noticed that a man was staring persistently at one of the ladies. She seemed annoyed and lowered her eyes. At last she said to her husband, there's a man over there looking at me. I don't know him. Do you? The husband, who had noticed nothing, glanced across at the offender and said, no, not in the least. His wife continued, half smiling, half angry. It's very tiresome. He quite spoils my ice cream. The husband shrugged his shoulders. Nonsense. Don't take any notice of him. If we were to bother our heads about all the ill-mannered people, we should have no time for anything else. But the V.com abruptly left his seat. He could not allow this insolent fellow to spoil an ice for a guest of his. It was for him to take cognizance of the offence. Since it was through him his friends had come to the restaurant. He went across to the man and said, Sir, you are staring at those ladies in a manner I cannot permit. I must ask you to desist from your rudeness. The other replied, Let me alone, will you? Take care, sir, said the V.com between his teeth, or you will force me to extreme measures. The man replied with a single word, a foul word, which could be heard from one end of the restaurant to the other, and which startled everyone there. All those whose backs were towards the two disputants turned round. All the others raised their heads. Three waders spun round on their heels like tops. The two lady cashiers jumped as if shot, then turned their bodies simultaneously like two automata worked by the same spring. There was a dead silence. Then suddenly a sharp, crisp sound. The V.com had slapped his adversary's face. Everyone rose to interfere. Cards were exchanged. When the V.com reached home he walked rapidly up and down his room for some minutes. He was in a state of too great agitation to think connectedly. One idea alone possessed him, a duel. But this idea roused in him as yet no emotion of any kind. He had done what he was bound to do. He had proved himself to be what he ought to be. He would be talked about, approved, congratulated. He repeated aloud, speaking as one does when under the stress of great mental disturbance. What a brute of a man! Then he sat down and began to reflect. He would have to find seconds as soon as morning came. Whom should he choose? He bethought himself of the most influential and best-known men of his acquaintance. His choice fell at last on the Marquis de la Tenor and Colonel Bourdain, a nobleman and a soldier. That would be just the thing. Their names would carry weight in the newspapers. He was thirsty and drank three glasses of water one after another. Then he walked up and down again. If he showed himself brave, determined, prepared to face a duel in deadly earnest, his adversary would probably draw back improper excuses. He picked up the card he had taken from his pocket and thrown on the table. He read it again, as he had already read it, first at a glance in the restaurant, and afterward on the way home in the light of each gas lamp. Georges Lemille, 51, rue Montsay. That was all. He examined closely this collection of letters, which seemed to him mysterious, fraught with many meanings. Georges Lemille, who was the man? What was his profession? Why had he stared so at a woman? Was it not monstrous that a stranger and unknown should thus all at once upset one's whole life, simply because it pleased him to stare rudely at a woman, and the V-com once more repeated aloud, what a brute. Then he stood motionless, thinking. His eyes still fixed on the card. Anger rose in his heart against the scrap of paper. A resentful anger mingled with a strange sense of uneasiness. It was a stupid business altogether. He took up a pen-knife which lay open within reach, and deliberately struck it into the middle of the printed name, as if he were stabbing someone. So he would have to fight, should he choose swords or pistols, for he considered himself as the insulted party. With the sword he would risk less, but with the pistol there was some chance of his adversary backing out. A duel with swords is rarely fatal, since mutual prudence prevents the combatants from fighting close enough to each other for a point to enter very deep. With pistols he would seriously risk his life, but on the other hand he might come out of the affair with flying colors, and without a duel after all. I must be firm, he said. The fellow will be afraid. The sound of his own voice startled him, and he looked nervously round the room. He felt unstrung. He drank another glass of water, and then began undressing, preparing to going to bed. As soon as he was in bed he blew out the light and shut his eyes. I have all day tomorrow, he reflected, for setting my affairs in order. I must sleep now in order to be calm when the time comes. He was very warm in bed, but could not succeed in losing consciousness. He tossed and turned, remained for five minutes lying on his back, then changed to his left side, then rolled over to his right. He was thirsty again, and rose to drink. Then a qualm seized him. Can it be possible I am afraid? Why did his heart beat so uncontrollably at every well-known sound in his room? When the clock was about to strike the preparatory grading of its spring made him start, and for several seconds he panted for breath, so unnerved was he. He began to reason with himself on the possibility of such a thing. Could I by any chance be afraid? No, indeed. He could not be afraid, since he was resolved to proceed to the last extremity, since he was irrevocably determined to fight without flinching. And yet he was so perturbed in mind and body that he asked himself, is it possible to be afraid in spite of oneself? In this doubt this fearful question took possession of him. If an irresistible power, stronger than his own will, were to quell his courage what would happen? He would certainly go to the place appointed. His will could force him that far. But supposing, when there, he were to tremble or faint. And he thought of a social standing, his reputation, his name. And he suddenly determined to get up and look at himself in the glass. He lighted his candle. When he saw his face reflected in the mirror he scarcely recognized it. He seemed to see before him a man whom he did not know. His eyes looked disproportionately large and he was very pale. He remained standing before the mirror. He put out his tongue as if to examine the state of his health. And all at once the thought flashed into his mind. At this time the day after tomorrow I may be dead. And his heart throb painfully. At this time the day after tomorrow I may be dead. This person in front of me, this eye whom I see in the glass will perhaps be no more. What! Here I am. I look at myself. I feel myself to be alive. And yet in twenty-four hours I may be lying on that bed with closed eyes dead, cold, inanimate. He turned round and could see himself distinctly lying on his back on the couch he had just quitted. He had the hollow face and the limp hands of death. Then he became afraid of his bed and to avoid seeing it went to his smoking-room. He mechanically took a cigar, lighted it, and began walking back and forth. He was cold. He took a step toward the bell to wake his valet, but stopped with hand raised toward the bell-rope. He would see that I am afraid. And, instead of ringing, he made a fire himself. His hands quivered nervously as they touched various objects. His head grew dizzy, his thoughts confused, disjointed, painful. A numbness seized his spirit as if he had been drinking. And all the time he kept on saying, What shall I do? What will become of me? His whole body trembled spasmodically. He rose and, going to the window, drew back the curtains. The day, a summer day, was breaking. A pink sky cast a glow on the city, its roofs and its walls. A flush of light enveloped the awakening world, like a caress from the rising sun. And the glimmer of dawn kindled a new hope in the breast of the V.com. What a fool he was to let himself succumb to fear before anything was decided. Before his seconds had interviewed those of George A. LaMille, before he even knew whether he would have to fight or not. He bathed, dressed, and left the house with a firm step. He repeated as he went, I must be firm, very firm. I must show that I am not afraid. His seconds, the marquee and the colonel, placed themselves at his disposal. Anne, having shaken him warmly by the hand, began to discuss details. You want a serious duel, asked the colonel? Yes, quite serious, replied the V.com. You insist on pistols, put in the marquee? Yes. Do you leave all the other arrangements in our hands? With a dry, jerky voice, the V.com answered. Twenty paces at a given signal. The arm to be raised, not lowered. One or the other is seriously wounded. Excellent conditions, declared the colonel in a satisfied tone. You are a good shot. All the chances are in your favor. Anne, they parted. The V.com returned home to wait for them. His agitation, only temporarily allayed, now increased momentarily. He felt in arms, legs and chest, a sort of trembling, a continuous vibration. He could not stay still, either sitting or standing. His mouth was parched, and he made every now and then a clicking movement of the tongue, as if to detach it from his palate. He attempted to take luncheon, but could not eat. Then it occurred to him to seek courage and drink, and he sent for a decanter of rum, of which he swallowed, one after another, six small glasses. A burning warmth, followed by a deadening of the mental faculties ensued. He said to himself, I know how to manage. But at the end of the hour he had emptied the decanter, and his agitation was worse than ever. A mad longing possessed him to throw himself on the ground, to bite, to scream. Night fell. A ring at the bell so unnerved him that he had not the strength to rise to receive his seconds. He dared not even to speak to them, wished them good day, utter a single word, lest his changed voice should betray him. Your adversary claimed at first the privilege of the offended part, but he yielded almost at once, and accepting your conditions. His seconds are two military men. Thank you," said the V.com. The Marquis added, please excuse us if we do not stay now, for we have a good deal to see to yet. We shall want a reliable doctor, since the duel is not to end until a serious wound has been inflicted, and you know that bullets are not to be trifled with. Please select a spot near some house to which the wounded party can be carried if necessary. In fact, the arrangements will take us another two or three hours at least. The V.com articulated for the second time. Thank you." You're all right," asked the Colonel. Quite calm. Perfectly calm. Thank you." The two men withdrew. When he was once more alone he felt as though he should go mad. His servant having lighted the lamps he sat down at his table to write some letters. When he had traced the top of a sheet of paper the words, this is my last will and testament. He started from his seat, feeling himself incapable of connected thought, of decision in regard to anything. So he was going to fight. He could no longer avoid it. What then possessed him? He wished to fight. He was fully determined to fight. And yet, in spite of all his mental effort, in spite of the exertion of all his will-power, he even preserved the strength necessary to carry him through the ordeal. He tried to conjure up a picture of the duel, his own attitude, and that of his enemy. Every now and then his teeth chattered audibly. He thought he would read, and took down Chateau Valar's rules of dueling. Then he said, Is the other man practice in the use of the pistol? Is he well known? How can I find out? He remembered Baron de Vaux's book on Marksman and searched it from end to end. He did not mention it. And yet, if he were not at a depth, would he have accepted without demure such a dangerous weapon and such deadly conditions? He opened a case of Gastein-René which stood on a small table and took from it a pistol. Next he stood in the correct attitude for firing and raised his arm. But he was trembling from head to foot and the weapon shook in his grasp. Then he said to himself, It is impossible. I cannot fight like this. He was spitting hole at the end of the pistol. He thought of dishonor, of the whispers at the club, the smiles in his friend's drawing-rooms, the contempt of women, the veiled sneers of the newspapers, the insults that would be hurled at him by cowards. He still looked at the weapon and raising the hammer saw the glitter of the priming below it. The pistol had been left loaded by some chance, some oversight, and the discovery rejoiced him. He knew not why. But he did not maintain, in the presence of his opponent, the steadfast bearing which was so necessary to his honour, he would be ruined forever. He would be branded, stigmatised as a coward, hounded out of society. And he felt, he knew, that he could not maintain that calm, unmoved demeanour. And yet he was brave, since the thought that followed was not even rounded to a finish in his mind. But, opening his mouth wide, he suddenly plunged the barrel of the pistol into his throat and pressed the trigger. When the valet, alarmed at the report, rushed into the room he found his master lying dead upon his back. A spurt of blood had splashed the white paper on the table and had made a great crimson stain beneath the words, This is my last will and testament. End of Coward by Guy de Maupassant This recording by James Christopher JxChristopher at yahoo.com Many years ago there was an emperor who was so exceedingly fond of new clothes that he spent all his money in dress. He did not trouble himself in the least about his soldiers, nor did he care to go either to the theatre or to the chase, except for the opportunities they afforded him for displaying his new clothes. He had a different suit for each hour of the day, and as of any other king or emperor, one is accustomed to say he is sitting in council. It was always said of him the emperor is sitting in his wardrobe. Time passed merrily in the large town which was his capital. Strangers arrived every day at the court. One day two rogues calling themselves weavers made their appearance. They gave out they knew how to weave stuffs of the most beautiful colours and elaborate patterns. The clothes manufactured from which should have the wonderful property of remaining invisible to everyone who was unfit for the office he held or who was extraordinarily simple in character. These must indeed be splendid clothes. Thought the emperor had I such a suit must find out what men in my realms are unfit for their office and also be able to distinguish the wise from the foolish. This stuff must be woven for me immediately. And he caused large sums of money to be given to both the weavers in order that they might begin their work directly. So the two pretended weavers set up two looms and affected to work very busily though in reality they did nothing at all. They asked for the most delicate silk and the purest gold thread put both into their own knapsacks and then continued their pretended work at the empty loom until late in the night. I should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my cloth," said the emperor to himself. After some little time had elapsed he was however rather embarrassed when he remembered that a simple tin or one unfit for his office would be unable to see the manufacture. To be sure he thought he had nothing to risk in his own person. But yet he would prefer to send somebody else to bring the intelligence about the weavers and their work before he troubled himself in the affair. All the people throughout the city had heard of the wonderful property that the cloth was to possess and all were anxious to learn how wise or how ignorant their neighbors might prove to be. I will send my faithful old ministers to the weavers," said the emperor at last after some deliberation. He will be best able to see how the cloth looks. For he is a man of sense and no one can be more suitable for his office than he is. So the faithful old minister went into the hall where the knaves were working with all their might at their empty looms. What can be the meaning of this? thought the old man, opening his eyes very wide. I cannot discover the least bit of thread on the looms. However he did not express his thoughts aloud. The imposters requested him thoroughly to be so good as to come nearer their looms and then asked him whether the design pleased him and whether the colors were not very beautiful at the same time pointing to the empty frames. The poor old minister looked and looked. He could not discover anything on the looms. For a very good reason, these there was nothing there. What? Thought he again. Well, that I am a simpleton? I have never thought so myself and no one must know it now if I am so. Can it be that I am unfit from my office? No. That must not be said either. I will never confess that I could not see the stuff. Well, sir minister said one of the knaves still pretending to work. You do not say whether the stuff is beautiful. Oh, it is excellent! replied the old minister looking at the loom through his spectacles. This pattern and the colors, yes. I will tell the emperor without delay how very beautiful I think them. We shall be much obliged to you. Said the imposters and then they named the different colors and described the patterns of the colors. The old minister listened attentively to their words in order that he might repeat them to the emperor. And then the knaves asked for more silk and gold saying that it was necessary to complete what they had begun. However they put all that was given them into their knapsacks and continued to work with as much apparent diligence as before at their empty looms. The emperor now sent another to see how the men were getting on and to ascertain whether the cloth would soon be ready. It was just the same with this gentleman as with the minister. He surveyed the looms on all sides but could see nothing at all but the empty frames. Does not the stuff appear as beautiful to you as it did to my lord the minister? Asked the imposters of the emperor's second ambassador at the same time making the same gestures as before and talking of the design and colors which were not there. I'm certainly not stupid thought the messenger. It must be that I am not fit for my good profitable office. That is very odd, however no one shall know anything about it. And accordingly he praised the stuff he could not see and declared that he was delighted with both colors and patterns. Indeed please your imperial majesty said he to his sovereign when he returned. The cloth which the weavers were preparing is extraordinarily magnificent. The whole city was talking of the splendid cloth which the emperor had ordered to be woven at his own expense and now the emperor himself wished to see the costly cloth while it was still in the loom. Accompanied by a select number of officers of the court among them whom were the two honest men who had already admired the cloth he went to the crafty imposters who as soon as they were aware of the emperor's approach went on working more diligently than ever. Although they still did not pass a single thread through the looms. He is not the work absolutely the two officers of the crown already mentioned. If your majesty will only be pleased to look down at it what a splendid design what glorious colors. And at the same time they pointed to the empty frames for they imagined that everyone else could see this exquisite piece of workmanship. How is this said the emperor to himself I can see nothing this is indeed a terrible affair. Am I a simpleton or am I unfit to be an emperor that would be the worst thing that could happen. Oh, the cloth is charming said he aloud. It has my complete approbation. And he smiled most graciously and looked closely at the empty looms for on no account would he say that he could not see all the officers of his court had praised so much. All his retinue now strained their eyes hoping to discover something on the looms but they could see no more than the others nevertheless they all exclaimed oh how beautiful and advised his majesty to have some new clothes made for this splendid material for the approaching procession Magnificent Excellent resounded on all sides and everyone was uncommonly gay. The emperor shared in the general satisfaction and presented the imposters with the ribbon of an order of knighthood to be worn in their buttonholes and the title of Gentlemen Weavers The rogue sat up the whole of the night before the day on which the procession was to take place and had sixteen lights burning so that everyone might see how anxious they were to finish the emperor's new suit. They pretended to roll the cloth off the looms, cut the air with their scissors and sewed with needles without any thread in them. See! cried they at last the emperor's new clothes are ready and now the emperor with all the grandees of his court came to the weavers and the rogues raised their arms as if in the act of holding something up saying Here are your majesty's trousers Here is the scarf Here is the mantle The whole suit is as light as a cobweb One may fancy that one has nothing at all long when dressed in it that, however, is the great virtue of this delicate cloth Yes, indeed said all the courtiers although not one of them could see anything of this exquisite manufacture If your imperial majesty would be graciously pleased to take off your clothes we will fit on the new suit in front of the looking-glass The emperor was accordingly undressed and the rogues pretended to array him in his new suit The emperor turned round and decided before the looking-glass Oh, how splendid his majesty looks in his new clothes and how well they fit Everyone cried out What a design! What colors! These are indeed royal robes The canopy which is to be born over your majesty in this procession is waiting announced the chief master of ceremonies I am quite ready answered the emperor Do my new clothes fit well? asked he turning himself round again before the looking-glass in order that he might appear to be examining his handsome suit The lords of the bed chamber who were to carry his majesty's train felt about on the ground as if they were lifting up the ends of the mantle and pretend to be carrying something for they would by no means betray anything like simplicity or unfitness for their office So now the emperor walked under the high canopy in the midst of the procession through the streets of his capital and all the people standing by and those in the windows cried out Oh, how beautiful are the emperor's new clothes What a magnificent train there is to the mantle and how gracefully the scarf hangs In short, no one would allow that he could not see these much admired clothes because in doing so he would have declared himself either a simpleton or unfit for his office Certainly none of the emperor's various suits had ever made so great an impression as these invisible ones But the emperor has nothing at all on said a little child listen to the voice of innocence exclaimed his father and what the child had said was whispered from one to another but he has nothing at all but he has nothing at all at all on had last cried out all the people the emperor was vexed for he knew that the people were right but he thought the procession must go on and the lords of the bed chamber took greater pains than ever to appear holding up a train although in reality there was no train to hold end of the emperor's new clothes Read for LibriVox.org by Alan Davis Drake A great mistake by Stephen Crane Read for LibriVox.org by Alan Davis Drake This is a LibriVox recording in the public domain For more information and to learn how to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org An Italian kept a fruit stand on the corner where he had good aim at the people who came down from the elevated station and at those who went along two throng streets He sat most of the day in a backless chair that was placed strategically There was a babe living hard by five flights of stairs who regarded the Italian as a tremendous being The babe had investigated this fruit stand It had thrilled him as few things he had met with in his travels had thrilled him The sweets of the world had laid there in dazzling rows tumbled in luxurious heaps When he gazed at this Italian seated there amid such splendid treasures his lower lip hung low and his eyes raised to the vendor's face were filled with deep respect worship as if he saw omnipotence The babe came often to this corner He hovered around the stand and watched each detail of the business He was fascinated by the tranquility of the vendor the majesty of power and possession At times he was so engrossed in his contemplation that people, hurrying cared to avoid bumping him down He had never ventured very near to the stand It was his habit to hang warily about the curb Even there he resembled a babe who looks unbidden at a feast of gods One day however as the baby was thus staring the vendor arose and going along the front of the stand began to polish oranges with a red pocket handkerchief The breathless spectator moved across the sidewalk until his small face almost touched the vendor's sleeve His fingers were gripped in a fold of his dress At last the Italian finished with the oranges and returned to his chair He drew a newspaper printed in his language from behind a bunch of bananas He settled himself in a comfortable position and began to glare savagely at the print The babe was left face to face with the massed joys of the world For a time he was a simple worshipper at this golden shrine Then tumultuous desires began to shake him His dreams were of conquest His lips moved Presently into his head there came a little plan He sidled nearer throwing swift and cunning glances at the Italian He strove to contain his conventional manner but the whole plot was written upon his countenance At last he had come near enough to touch the fruit From the tattered skirt came slowly his small dirty hand His eyes were still fixed upon the vendor His features were set save for the underlip which had a faint fluttering movement The hand went forward Elevated trains thundered to the station and the stairway poured people upon the sidewalks There was a deep sea roar from feet and wheels going carelessly None seemed to perceive the babe engaged in a great venture The Italian turned his paper Sudden panic smote the babe His hand dropped and he gave vent to a cry of dismay He remained for a moment staring at the vendor There was evidently a great debate in his mind His infant intellect had defined this Italian The latter was undoubtedly a man who would eat babies that provoked him And the alarm in the babe when this monarch had turned his newspaper brought vividly before him the consequences if he were detected But at this moment the vendor gave a blissful grunt and tilting his chair against a wall closed his eyes His paper dropped unheeded The babe ceased to scrutiny and again raised his hand It was moved with supreme caution towards the fruit The fingers were bent claw-like in the manner of a great heart-shaking reed Once he stopped and shattered convulsively because the vendor moved in his sleep The babe, with his eyes still upon the Italian again put forth his hand and the rapacious fingers closed over a round bulb And it was written that the Italian should at this moment open his eyes He glared at the babe a fierce question Thereupon the babe thrust the round ball behind him and with a face expressive of the deepest guilt began a wild but elaborate series of gestures declaring his innocence The Italian howled He sprang to his feet and with three steps overtook the babe He whirled him fiercely and took from the little fingers a lemon End of A Great Mistake This recording is in the public domain The Judgement of a Sage by Stephen Crane This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information and to learn how to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org A beggar crept whaling through the streets of a city A certain man came to him there and gave him bread saying I give you this loaf because of God's Word Another came to the beggar and gave him bread saying Take this loaf I give it because you are hungry Now there was a continual rivalry among the citizens of this town as to who should appear to be the most pious man and the event of the gifts to the beggar made discussion People gathered in knots and argued furiously to no particular purpose They appealed to the beggar but he bowed humbly to the ground as befitting one of his condition and then answered It is a singular circumstance that the loaves were of one size and of the same quality How then can I decide which of these men gave bread more piously? The people heard of a philosopher who traveled through their country and one said Behold, we who give not bread to beggars are not capable of judging those who have given bread to beggars Let us then consult this wise man But, said some Perhaps this philosopher according to your rule that one must have given bread before judging they who give bread will not be capable That is an indifferent matter to all truly great philosophers So they made search for the wise man and in time they came upon him strolling along at his ease in the manner of philosophers Oh, most illustrious sage they cried Yes said the philosopher promptly Oh, most illustrious sage there are two men in our city and one gave bread to a beggar saying because of God's word and the other gave bread to the beggar saying because you are hungry Now, which of these oh great illustrious sage is the most pious said the philosopher Which of these oh most illustrious sage is the most pious man My friends said the philosopher suavely addressing the concourse I see that you mistake me for an illustrious sage I am not he whom you seek However, I saw a man answering my description pass here some time ago the speed you may overtake him adieu and of the judgment of the sage by Stephen Crane read by Alan Davis Drake the man who could work miracles a pantoum in prose by H.G. Wells this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer visit LibriVox.org recording by Peter David Smith the man who could work miracles it is doubtful whether the gift was innate for my own part I think it came to him suddenly indeed until he was 30 he was a skeptic and did not believe in miraculous powers and here since it is the most convenient place I must mention that he was a little man and had eyes of a hot brown very erect red hair a moustache with ends that he twisted up and freckles his name was George McWhorter fathering gay not the sort of name by any means to lead to any expectation of miracles and he was Clarke at gom shots he was greatly addicted to assertive argument it was while he was asserting the impossibility of miracles that he had his first intimation of his extraordinary powers this particular argument was being held in the bar of the long dragon and Toddy Beamish was conducting the opposition by a monotonous but effective so you say that drove Mr. Fothering gay to the very limits of his patience there were present besides these two a very dusty cyclist Mr. Lord Cox and Miss Maybridge the perfectly respectable and rather portly barmaid of the dragon Miss Maybridge was standing with her back to Mr. Fothering gay washing glasses the others were watching him more or less amused by the present ineffectiveness of the assertive method goaded by the Torres Vedras tactics of Mr. Beamish Mr. Fothering gay determined to make an unusual rhetorical effort looky here Mr. Beamish said Mr. Fothering gay let us clearly understand what a miracle is it's something contrary wise to the course of nature done by power of will something that couldn't happen without being specially willed so you say said Mr. Beamish repulsing him Mr. Fothering gay appealed to the cyclist who had hitherto been a silent auditor and received his assent given with a hesitating cough and a glance at Mr. Beamish the landlord would express no opinion and Mr. Fothering gay returning to Mr. Beamish received the unexpected concession of a qualified assent to his definition of a miracle for instance said Mr. Fothering gay greatly encouraged here would be a miracle that lamp in the natural course of nature couldn't burn like that upsy down could it be you say it couldn't and you said Fothering gay you don't mean to say eh no said Beamish reluctantly no it couldn't very well said Mr. Fothering gay then here comes someone as it might be me along here and stands as it might be here and says to that lamp as I might do collecting all my will turn upsy down without breaking and go on burning steady and hello it was enough to make anyone say hello the impossible the incredible was visible to them all the lamp hung inverted in the air burning quietly with its flame pointing down it was as solid and indisputable as ever a lamp was the prosaic common lamp of the long dragon bar Mr. Fothering gay stood with an extended forefinger and the knitted brows of one anticipating a catastrophic smash the cyclist who was sitting next to the lamp ducked and jumped across the bar everybody jumped more or less Miss Maybridge turned and screamed for nearly three seconds the lamp remained still a faint cry of mental distress came from Mr. Fothering gay I can't keep it up he said any longer he staggered back and the inverted lamp suddenly flared fell against the corner of the bar bounced aside smashed upon the floor and went out it was lucky it had a metal receiver the place would have been in a blaze Mr. Cox was the first to speak in his remarks shorn of needless excretions was to the effect that Fothering gay was a fool Fothering gay was beyond disputing even so fundamental a proposition as that he was astonished beyond measure at the thing that had occurred the subsequent conversation threw absolutely no light on the matter so far as Fothering gay was concerned the general opinion not only followed Mr. Cox very closely but very vehemently everyone accused Fothering gay of a silly trick and presented him to himself as a foolish destroyer of comfort and security his mind was in a tornado of perplexity he was himself inclined to agree with them and he made a remarkably ineffectual opposition to the proposal of his departure he went home flushed and heated coat collar crumpled eyes smarting and ears red he watched each of the ten street lamps nervously as he passed it it was only when he found himself alone in his little bedroom in church row that he was able to grapple seriously with his memories of the occurrence and asked what on earth happened he had removed his coat and boots on the bed with his hands in his pockets repeating the text of his defence for the 17th time I didn't want the confounded thing too upset when it occurred to him that at the precise moment he had said the commanding words he had inadvertently willed the thing he said and that when he had seen the lamp in the air he had felt that it depended on him to maintain it there without being clear how this was to be done he had not a particularly complex mind or he might have stuck for a time at that inadvertently willed embracing as it does the abstrusest problems of voluntary action but as it was the idea came to him with a quite acceptable haziness and from that following as I must admit no clear logical path he came to the test of the experiment he pointed resolutely to his candle and collected his mind though he felt he did a foolish thing be raised up he said but in a second that feeling vanished the candle was raised hung in the air one giddy moment and as Mr. Fotheringay gasped fell with a smash on his toilet table leaving him in darkness safe for the expiring of its wick for a time Mr. Fotheringay sat in the darkness perfectly still it did happen after all he said how I'm to explain it I don't know he sighed heavily and began feeling in his pockets for a match he could find none and he rose and groped about the toilet table I wish I had a match he said he resorted to his coat and there was none there he wandered upon him that miracles were possible even with matches he extended the hand and scowled at it in the dark let there be a match in that hand he said he felt some light objects fall across his palm and his fingers closed upon a match after several ineffectual attempts to light this he discovered it was a safety he threw it down and that occurred to him that he might have willed it lit he did and perceived it burning in the midst of his toilet table match he caught it up hastily and it went out his perception of possibilities enlarged and he felt for and replaced the candle in its candlestick here you be lit said Mr. Fotheringay and forthwith the candle was flaring and he saw a little black hole in the toilet cover with a wisp of smoke rising from it for a time he stared from this little flame and back and then looked up and met his own gaze in the looking glass by this help he communed with himself in silence for a time how about miracles now said Mr. Fotheringay at last addressing his reflection the subsequent meditations of Mr. Fotheringay were of a severe but confused description so far he could see it was a case of pure willing with him the nature of his experiences so far disinclined him for any further experiments at least until he had reconsidered them but he lifted a sheet of paper and turned a glass of water pink and then green and he created a snail which he miraculously annihilated and got himself a miraculous new toothbrush somewhere in the small hours he had reached the fact that his willpower must be of a particularly rare and pungent quality a fact of which he had indeed had inklings before but no certain assurance the scare and perplexity of his first discovery was now qualified by pride in this evidence of singularity and by vague intimations of advantage he became aware that the church clock was striking one and as it did not occur to him that his daily duties and what might be miraculously dispensed with he resumed undressing in order to get to bed without further delay as he struggled to get his shirt over his head he was struck with a brilliant idea let me be in bed he said and found himself so undressed he stipulated and finding the sheets cold added hastily and in my night shirt in a nice soft woollen night shirt he said with immense enjoyment and now let me be comfortably asleep he awoke at his usual hour and was pensive all through breakfast time wondering whether his overnight experience might not be a particularly vivid dream at length his mind turned again to cautious experiments for instance he had three eggs for breakfast two his landlady had supplied good but choppy one was a delicious fresh goose egg laid cooked and served by his extraordinary will he hurried off to gom shots in a state of profound but carefully concealed excitement and only remembered the shell of the third egg when his landlady spoke of it that night all day he could do no work because of this astonishing new self-knowledge but this caused him no inconvenience because he made up for it miraculously in his last ten minutes as the day wore on his state of mind passed from wonder to elation albeit the circumstances of his dismissal from the long dragon were still disagreeable to recall and a garbled account of the matter that had reached his colleagues led to some bandonage it was evident that he must be careful how he lifted frangible articles but in other ways his gift promised more and more as it turned over in his mind he extended among other things to increase his personal property by an ostentatious act of creation he called into existence a pair of very splendid diamond studs and hastily annihilated them again as young gom shot came across the counting house to his desk he was afraid young gom shot might wonder how he had come by them he saw quite clearly the gift required caution and watchfulness in his exercise he could judge the difficulties attending upon its mastery would be no greater than those he had already faced in the study of cycling it was that analogy perhaps quite as much as the feeling he would be unwelcome in the long dragon that drove him out after supper into the lane beyond the gas works to rehearse a few miracles in private there was possibly a certain want of originality in his attempts for apart from his will power Mr. Fothering gave was not a very exceptional man the miracle of Moses rod came to his mind but the night was dark and unfavorable to the proper control of large miraculous snakes then he recollected the story of townhouser that he had read on the back of the Philharmonic program that seemed to him singularly attractive and harmless he stuck his walking stick a very nice Puna Penang lawyer into the turf that edged the footpath and commanded the dry wood to blossom the air was immediately full of the scent of roses and by means of a match he saw for himself that this beautiful miracle was indeed accomplished his satisfaction was ended by advancing footsteps afraid of a premature discovery of his powers he addressed the blossoming stick hastily go back what he meant was change back but of course he was confused the stick receded at a considerable velocity and incontinently came a cry of anger and a bad word from the approaching person who are you throwing brambles at your fool? cried a voice that got me on the shin I'm sorry old chap said Mr. Fotheringay and then realising the awkward nature of the explanation caught nervously at his moustache he saw Winch one of the three emmering constables advancing what do you mean by it? asked the constable hello it's you is it the gent that broke the lamp at the long dragon I don't mean anything by it said Mr. Fotheringay nothing at all what do you do it for then? oh bother said Mr. Fotheringay bother indeed do you know that stick hurt what do you do it for eh for the moment Mr. Fotheringay could not think what he had done it for his silence seemed to irritate Mr. Winch you've been assaulting the police young man this time that's what you've done look here Mr. Winch said Mr. Fotheringay annoyed and confused I'm sorry very the fact is well he could think of no way but the truth I was working a miracle he tried to speak in an off hand way but try as he would he couldn't working working a don't you talk rot working a miracle indeed miracle well that's downright funny I use the chap that don't believe in miracles fact is this is another of your silly conjuring tricks that's what this is now I tell you but Mr. Fotheringay never heard what Mr. Winch was going to tell him he realised he had given himself away from the constable's secret to all the winds of heaven a violent gust of irritation swept him to action he turned on the constable swiftly and fiercely here he said I've had enough of this I have I'll show you a silly conjuring trick I will go to Hades go now he was alone Mr. Fotheringay performed no more miracles that night nor did he be able to see what had become of his flowering stick he returned to the town scared and very quiet and went to his bedroom Lord he said it's a powerful gift an extremely powerful gift I didn't hardly mean as much as that not really I wonder what Hades is like he sat on the bed taking off his boots struck by a happy thought he transferred the constable to San Francisco and without any more interference with normal causation went soberly to bed in the night he dreamt of the anger of Winch the next day Mr. Fotheringay heard two interesting items of news someone had planted a most beautiful climbing rose against the elder Mr. Gomshot's private house in the Lullaburra Road and the river as far as Rawlings Mill was to be dragged for constable Winch Mr. Fotheringay was abstracted and thoughtful all day and performed no miracles except certain provisions for Winch and the miracle of completing his day's work with punctual perfection in spite of all the beast-warm of thoughts that hummed through his mind and the extraordinary abstraction and meekness of his manner was remarked by several people and made a matter for jesting for the most part he was thinking of Winch on Sunday evening he went to chapel and oddly enough Mr. Maydig who took a certain interest in occult matters preached about things that are not lawful Mr. Fotheringay was not a regular chapel-goer but the system of assertive skepticism to which I have already alluded was now very much shaken the tenor of the sermon threw an entirely new light on these novel gifts and he suddenly decided to consult Mr. Maydig immediately after the service so soon as that was determined he found himself wondering why he had not done so before Mr. Maydig a lean, excitable man with quite remarkably long wrists and neck was gratified at a request for a private conversation from a young man whose carelessness in religious matters was a subject for general remark in the town after a few necessary delays he conducted into the study of the men's which was contiguous to the chapel seated him comfortably and standing in front of a cheerful fire his legs threw a rodean arch of shadow on the opposite wall requested Mr. Fotheringay to state his business at first Mr. Fotheringay was a little abashed and found some difficulty in opening the matter you will scarcely believe me Mr. Maydig I am afraid and so forth for some time he tried a question at last and asked Mr. Maydig his opinion of miracles Mr. Maydig was still saying well in an extremely judicial tone when Mr. Fotheringay interrupted again you don't believe I suppose that some common sort of person like myself for instance as it might be sitting here now he might have some sort of twist inside him that made him able to do things by his will it's possible said Mr. Maydig something of the sort perhaps it is possible if I might make free with something here I think I might show you by a sort of experiment said Mr. Fotheringay now take that tobacco jar on the table for instance what I want to know is whether what I am going to do with it is a miracle or not just half a minute Mr. Maydig please he knitted his brows pointed to the tobacco jar and said be a bowl of violets the tobacco jar did as it was ordered Mr. Maydig started violently at the change and stood looking from the former turgist to the bowl of flowers he said nothing presently he ventured to lean over the table and smell the violets they were fresh picked and very fine ones then he stared at Mr. Fotheringay again how did he do that he asked Mr. Fotheringay pulled his moustache just told it and there you are is that a miracle or is it black art or what is it what do you think is the matter with me that's what I want to ask it's a most extraordinary occurrence and this day last week I knew no more that I could do things like that than you did it came quite sudden it's something odd about my will I suppose and that's as far as I can see is that the only thing could you do other things besides that Lord yes Mr. Fotheringay just anything he thought and suddenly recalled the conjuring entertainment he had seen here he pointed change into a bowl of fish no not there change into a glass of no not there change into a glass bowl full of water with goldfish swimming in it that's better you see that Mr. Mady it's astonishing it's incredible you are either a most extraordinary but no I could change it into anything said Mr. Fotheringay just anything here be a pigeon will you in another moment a blue pigeon was fluttering round the room and making Mr. Mady duck every time it came near him stop there will you said Mr. Fotheringay and the pigeon unemotionalist in the air I could change it back to a bowl of flour as he said replacing the pigeon on the table worked that miracle I expect you will want your pipe in a bit he said and restored the tobacco jar Mr. Mady had followed all these later changes in the sort of ejaculatory silence he stared at Mr. Fotheringay and in a very gingerly manner picked up the tobacco jar examined it replaced it on the table wow the only expression of his feelings now after that it's easier to explain what I came about said Mr. Fotheringay and proceeded to a lengthy and involved narrative of his strange experiences beginning with the affair of the lamp in the long dragon and complicated by persistent illusions to winch as he went on the transient pride Mr. Mady's consternation had caused passed away he became the very ordinary Mr. Fotheringay of everyday intercourse again Mr. Mady glistened intently the tobacco jar in his hand and his bearing changed also with the course of the narrative presently while Mr. Fotheringay was dealing with the miracle of the third egg the minister interrupted with a fluttering extended hand it is possible he said it is credible it is amazing of course while the number of amazing difficulties the power to work miracles is a gift a peculiar quality like genius or second sight here with two it has come very rarely and two exceptional people but in this case I've always wondered at the miracles of Mohammed and at Yogi's miracles and the miracles of Madame Blavatsky but of course yes it is simply a gift it carries out so beautifully the arguments of that great thinker Mr. Mady's voice sank his grace the Duke of Argyle here we plumb some profounder lore deeper than the ordinary laws of nature yes yes go on go on Mr. Fotheringay proceeded to tell him of his misadventure with winch and Mr. Madyk no longer overawed or scared to jerk his limbs about and interject astonishment it's this what troubled me most preceded Mr. Fotheringay it's this I'm most majately in want of advice for of course he's at San Francisco wherever San Francisco may be but of course it's awkward for both of us as you'll see Mr. Madyk I don't see how he can understand what has happened and I dare say he's scared and I've been frustrated something tremendous and trying to get at me I dare say he keeps on starting off to come here I send him back by a miracle every few hours when I think of it and of course that's the thing he won't be able to understand it's bound to annoy him and of course if he takes a ticket every time it will cost him a lot of money I've done the best I could for him but of course it's difficult for him I thought afterwards that his clothes might have got scorched you know if Hades is all it's supposed to be before I shifted him in that case I suppose they'd have locked him up in San Francisco of course I willed him a new suit of clothes on him directly I thought of it but you see I'm already in a juice of a tangle Mr. Madyk looks serious I see you are in a tangle yes it's a difficult position how you are to end it he became diffuse and inconclusive however we'll leave Winch for a little and discuss the larger question I don't think this is a case of the black art or anything of the sort I don't think there is any taint of criminality about it at all Mr. Foster and Gates none whatever unless you are suppressing material facts no it's miracles miracles if I may say so of the very highest class he began to paste the hearth rug and gesticulate while Mr. Foster and Gates sat with his arm on the table in his head on his arm looking worried I don't see how I'm to manage about Winch he said a gift of working miracles apparently a very powerful gift said Mr. Madyk we'll find a way about Winch never fear the most important man a man of the most astonishing possibilities as evidence for example and in other ways the things you may do yes I thought of a thing or two said Mr. Foster and Gates but some of the things came a bit twisty you saw that fish at first wrong sort of bowl and wrong sort of fish and I thought I'd ask someone a proper course said Mr. Madyk a very proper course altogether the proper course he stopped and looked at Mr. Foster and Gates it's practically an unlimited gift let us test your powers for instance if they really are all they seem to be and so incredible as it may seem in the study of the little house behind the congregational chapel on the evening of Sunday November 10th 1896 Mr. Foster and Gates egged on and inspired by Mr. Madyk began to work miracles the reader's attention is specially and definitely called to the date he will object probably has already objected that certain points in this story are improbable that if any things of the sort already described have indeed occurred they would have been in all the papers at that time the details immediately following he will find particularly hard to accept because among other things they involve the conclusion that he or she the reader in question must have been killed in a violent and unprecedented manner more than a year ago now a miracle is nothing if not improbable and as a matter of fact the reader was killed in a violent and unprecedented manner in 1896 in the subsequent course of this story that will become perfectly clear and credible as every right-minded and reasonable reader will admit but this is not the place for the end of the story being but little beyond the hither side of the middle and at first the miracles worked by Mr. Foster and Gates were timid little miracles little things with the cups and parlour fitments as feeble as the miracles of theosophists and feeble as they were to proceed with all by his collaborator he would have preferred to settle the winch business out of hand but Mr. Maydig would not let him but after they had worked a dozen of these domestic trivialities their sense of power grew their imagination began to show signs of stimulation and their ambition enlarged their first larger enterprise was due to hunger and the negligence of Mrs. Minchin Mr. Maydig's housekeeper the meal to which the minister conducted Mr. Foster and Gates was suddenly ill laid and uninviting as refreshment for the two industries' miracle workers but they were seated and Mr. Maydig was descanting in sorrow rather than in anger upon his housekeeper's shortcomings before it occurred to Mr. Foster and Gates but an opportunity lay before him don't you think Mr. Maydig he said if it isn't a liberty I my dear Mr. Foster and Gates of course no, I didn't think Mr. Foster and Gates waved his hand what shall we have he said in a large inclusive spirit and Mr. Maydig's order revised the supper very thoroughly as for me he said I am Mr. Maydig's selection I am always particularly fond of a tanket of stout and a nice Welsh rare bit and I'll order that I ain't much given to Burgundy and forthwith stout and Welsh rare bit promptly appeared at his command they sat long at their supper talking like equals as Mr. Foster and Gates presently perceived with a glow of surprise and gratification of all the miracles they would presently do and by and by Mr. Maydig said Mr. Foster and Gates I might perhaps be able to help you in a domestic way don't quite follow the miraculous old Burgundy Mr. Foster and Gates helped himself to a second Welsh rare bit out of vacancy and took a mouthful I was thinking he said I might be able Trom Trom to work Trom Trom a miracle with Mrs. Minchin Trom Trom to make her a better woman Mr. Maydig put down the glass and looked doubtful she's she strongly objects to interference you know Mr. Foster and Gates and as a matter of fact it's well past eleven and she's probably in bed and asleep do you think on the whole Mr. Foster and Gates considered these objections I don't see that it shouldn't be done in her sleep for a time Mr. Maydig opposed the idea and then he yielded Mr. Foster and Gates issued his orders and a little less at their ease perhaps the two gentlemen proceeded with their repast Mr. Maydig was enlarging on the changes he might expect in the housekeeper next day with an optimism that seemed even to Mr. Foster and Gates' super-senses a little forced and hectic when a series of confused noises from upstairs began their eyes exchanged interrogations and Mr. Maydig left the room hastily Mr. Foster and Gates heard him calling up to his housekeeper and then his footsteps going softly up to her in a minute or so the minister returned his step-light, his face radiant wonderful he said and touching most touching he began pacing the arthrop a repentance, a most touching repentance through the crack of the door poor woman, a most wonderful change she must have got up at once she had got up out of her sleep to smash a private bottle of brandy in her box and to confess it too but this gives us it opens a most amazing vista of possibilities if we can work this miraculous change in her the things unlimited seemingly said Mr. Foster and Gates and about Mr. Winch altogether unlimited and from the hearth rug Mr. Maydig waving the Winch difficulty aside unfolded a series of wonderful proposals proposals he invented as he went along now what those proposals were does not concern the essentials of this story Suffice it that they were designed in a spirit of infinite benevolence the sort of benevolence that used to be called post-prandial Suffice it too that the problem of Winch remained nor is it necessary to describe how far that series got to its fulfillment there were astonishing changes the small hours found Mr. Maydig and Mr. Fotheringay careering across the chilly market square under the still moon in a sort of ecstasy of formaturgy Mr. Maydig all flap and gesture Mr. Fotheringay short and bristling and no longer abashed at his greatness they had reformed every drunkard in the parliamentary division changed all the beer and alcohol to water Mr. Maydig had overrode Mr. Fotheringay on this point they had further greatly improved the railway communication of the place drained Flinders swamp improved the soil of one tree hill and cured the vickers ward they were going to see what could be done injured here at South Bridge the place Guest Mr. Maydig won't be the same place tomorrow how surprised and thankful everyone will be and just at that moment the church clock struck three I say said Mr. Fotheringay that's three o'clock I must be getting back I've got to be at business by eight and besides Mrs. Wim's we're only beginning said Mr. Maydig full of the sweetness of unlimited power we're only beginning think of all the good we're doing when people wake but said Mr. Fotheringay Mr. Maydig gripped his arms suddenly his eyes were bright and wild my dear chap he said there's no hurry look he pointed to the moon at the zenith Joshua Joshua said Mr. Fotheringay Joshua said Mr. Maydig why not Mr. Fotheringay looked at the moon that's a bit tall he said after a pause why not Mr. Maydig of course it doesn't stop you stop the rotation of the earth you know time stops it isn't as if we were doing harm hmm Mr. Fotheringay well he sighed I'll try here he buttoned up his jacket and addressed himself to the habitable globe with as good an assumption of confidence as lay in his power just stop rotating will you Mr. Fotheringay incontinently he was flying head over heels through the air at the rate of dozens of miles a minute in spite of the innumerable circles he was describing per second he thought for thought is wonderful sometimes as sluggish as flowing pitch sometimes as instantaneous as light he thought in a second and willed let me come down safe and sound whatever else happens let me come down safe and sound he willed it only just in time for his clothes heated by his rapid fly through the air were already beginning to singe he came down with a forceful but by no means injurious bump in what appeared to be a mound of fresh turned earth a large mass of metal and masonry extraordinary like the clock tower in the middle of the market square hit the earth near him ricocheted over him and flew into stonework, bricks and cement like a bursting bomb a hurtling cow hit one of the larger blocks and smashed like an egg there was a crash that made all the most violent crashes of his past life seemed like the sound of falling dust and this was followed by a descending series of lesser crashes a vast wind roared throughout earth and heaven so that he could scarcely lift his head to look for a while he was too breathless and astonished even to see where he was or what had happened and his first movement was to feel his head and reassure himself that his streaming hair was still his own Lord, God, Mr. Father and Gay scarce able to speak for the gale I've had a squeak what's gone wrong storms and thunder and only a minute ago a fine night it's Maydic set me on to this sort of thing what a wind if I go on fooling in this way I'm bound to have a thundering accident where's Maydic what a confounded mess everything's in he looked about him so far as his flapping jacket would permit the appearance of things was really extremely strange the sky's alright anyhow said Mr. Father and Gay and that's about all that is alright and even there it looks like it's a terrific gale coming up but there's the moon overhead just as it was just now bright as midday but as for the rest where's the village where's... where's anything and what on earth set this wind a-blowing I didn't order no wind Mr. Father and Gay struggled to get to his feet and after one failure remained on all fours holding on he surveyed the moonlit world to leeward with the tails of his jacket streaming over his head there's something seriously wrong said Mr. Father and Gay and what it is goodness knows far and wide nothing was visible in the white glare through the haze of dust that drove before a screaming gale the tumbled masses of earth and heaps of incoate ruins no trees no houses no familiar shapes only a wilderness of disorder vanishing at last into the darkness beneath the whirling columns and streamers the lightnings and thunderings of a swiftly rising storm near him in the livid glare was something that might once have been an elm tree a smashed mass of splinters shivered from bows to base and further a twisted mass of iron girders only too evidently the viaduct rose out of the piled confusion you see when Mr. Father and Gay had arrested the rotation of the solid globe he had made no stipulation concerning the trifling movables upon its surface and the earth spins so fast that the surface at its equator is travelling at rather more than a thousand miles an hour and in these latitudes at more than half that pace so that the village and Mr. Maydig and Mr. Father and Gay and everybody and everything had been jerked violently forward at about nine miles per second that is to say very much more violently than if they had been fired out of a cannon and every human being every living creature every house and every tree all the world as we know it had been so jerked and smashed and utterly destroyed that was all these things Mr. Father and Gay did not of course fully appreciate but he perceived that his miracle had miscarried and with that a great disgusted miracles came upon him he was in darkness now for the clouds had swept together and blotted out his momentary glimpse of the moon and the air was full of fitful struggling tortured ravers of hail a great roaring of wind and water filled earth and sky and peering under his hand through the dust and sleep to windward he saw by the play of the lightning a vast wall of water pouring towards him Maydig screamed Mr. Father and Gay's feeble voice amid the elemental uproar here Maydig stop cried Mr. Father and Gay to the advancing water oh for goodness sake stop just a moment said Mr. Father and Gay to the lightnings of thunder stop just a moment while I collect my thoughts and now what shall I do he said what shall I do lord I wish Maydig was about I know said Mr. Father and Gay and for goodness sake let's have it right this time he remained on all fours leaning against the wind very intent to have everything right ah he said let nothing what I'm going to order happen until I say off lord I wish I thought of that before he lifted his little voice against the whirlwind shouting louder and louder in the vain desire to hear himself speak now then here goes mind about that what I said just now in the first place when all I've got to say is done let me lose my miraculous power let my will become just like anybody else's will and all these dangerous miracles be stopped I don't like them I'd rather I didn't work them ever so much that's the first thing and the second is let me be back just before the miracles begin let everything be just as it was before that blessed lamp turned up it's a big job but it's the last have you got it? no more miracles everything as it was me back in the long dragon just before I drank my half pint that's it yes he dug his fingers into the mould closed his eyes and said off everything became perfectly still he perceived that he was standing erect so you say said a voice he opened his eyes he was in the bar of the long dragon arguing about miracles with Toddy Beamish he had a vague sense of some great thing forgotten that instantaneously passed you see that except for the loss of his miraculous power as everything was back as it had been his mind and memory therefore were now just as they had been at the time when the story began so that he knew absolutely nothing of all that is told here knows nothing of all that is told here to this day and among other things of course he still did not believe in miracles I tell you that miracles properly speaking can't possibly happen he said whatever you like to hold and I'm prepared to prove it up to the health that's what you think said Toddy Beamish and prove it if you can looky here Mr. Beamish said Mr. Father and Gay let us clearly understand what a miracle is it's something contrary wise to the course of nature done by the power of will end of The Man Who Could Work Miracles by H.G. Wells Recording by Peter David Smith www.artmovingon.blogspot.com My Platonic Sweetheart by Mark Twain Note Mark Twain was always interested in those psychic phenomena which we call dreams his own sleep fancies were likely to be vivid and it was his habit to recall them and to find interest and sometimes amusement in their detail in the story which follows he sat down and not without some fidelity to circumstance dream circumstance a phase of what we call recurrent dreams as the tale progressed he felt an inclination to treat the subject more fully more philosophically and eventually he laid the manuscript away the time did not come when he was moved to rewrite it and for the pure enjoyment of it as a delicate fancy it may be our good fortune that he left it unchanged A.B.P. I met her first when I was seventeen and she fifteen it was in a dream now I did not meet her I overtook her it was in a Missourian village which I had never been in before and was not in at that time except dream-wise in the flesh I was on the Atlantic Seaboard ten or twelve hundred miles away the thing was sudden and without preparation after the custom of dreams there I was crossing a wooden bridge that had a wooden rail and was untidy with scattered wisps of hay and there she was five steps in front of me half a second previously neither of us was there this was the exit of the village which lay immediately behind us its last house was the blacksmith's shop and the peaceful clinking of the hammers a sound which nearly always seems remote and is always touched with a spirit of loneliness and a feeling of soft regret for something you don't know what was wafted to my ear over my shoulder in front of us was the winding country road with woods on one side and on the other a rail fence with blackberry vines and hazel bushes crowding its angles on an upper rail a bluebird and scurrying toward him along the same rail a fox squirrel with his tail bent high like a shepherd's crook beyond the fence a rich field of grain and far away a farmer in shirt sleeves and straw hat wading knee deep through it no other representative of life and no noise at all everywhere a Sabbath stillness I remember it all and the girl too and just how she walked and how she was dressed the first moment I was five steps behind her in the next one I was at her side without either stepping or gliding it merely happened the transfer ignored space I noticed that but not with any surprise it seemed a natural process I was at her side I put my arm around her waist and drew her close to me for I loved her and although I did not know her my behavior seemed to me quite natural and right I had no misgivings about it she showed no surprise no distress no displeasure but put an arm around my waist and turned up her face to mine with a happy welcome in it and when I bent down to kiss her and she received the kiss as if she was expecting it and as if it was quite natural for me to offer it and her to take it and have pleasure in it the affection which I felt for her and which she manifestly felt for me was a quite simple fact but the quality of it was another matter it was not the affection of brother and sister it was closer than that more clinging more endearing more reverent and it was not the love of sweethearts for there was no fire in it it was somewhere between the two and was finer than either and more exquisite more profoundly contending we often experience this strange and gracious thing we dream loves and we remember it as a feature of our childhood loves too we strolled along across the bridge and down the road chatting like the oldest friends she called me George and that seemed natural and right though it was not my name and I called her Alice and she did not correct me though without doubt it was not her name everything that happened seemed just natural and to be expected once I said what a dear little hand it is and without any words she laid it gratefully in mind for me to examine it I did it remarking upon its littleness its delicate beauty and its satin skin then kissed it she put it up to her lips without saying anything and kissed it in the same place around a curve of the road at the end of half a mile we came to a log house and entered it and found the table set everything on it steaming hot a roast turkey, corn in the ear butter beans and the rest of the usual things and a cat curled up asleep in a splint-bottomed chair by the fireplace but no people, just emptiness and silence she said she would look in the next room if I would wait for her so I sat down and she passed through a door which closed behind her with a click of the latch I waited and waited up and followed for I could not any longer bear to have her out of my sight I passed through the door and found myself in a strange sort of cemetery a city of innumerable tombs and monuments stretching far and wide on every hand and flushed with pink and gold lights flung from the sinking sun I turned around and the log house was gone I ran here and there and yonder down the lanes between the rows of tombs and presently the night closed down and I could not find my way then I woke in deep distress over my loss and was in my bed in Philadelphia and I was not seventeen now but nineteen ten years afterward in another dream I found her I was seventeen again and she was still fifteen I was in a grassy place in the twilight deeps of a magnolia forest some miles above Natch's Mississippi the trees were snowed over with great blossoms and the air was loaded with her rich and strenuous fragrance the ground was high and through a rift in the wood a burnished patch of the river was visible in the distance I was sitting on the grass absorbed in thinking when an arm was laid around my neck and there was Alice sitting by my side and looking into my face a deep and satisfied happiness and an unwordable gratitude rose in me but with it there was no feeling of surprise and there was no sense of a time-lapse the ten years amounted to hardly even a yesterday indeed to hardly even a noticeable fraction of it we dropped in the tranquilest way into affectionate caressings and pettings and chatted along without a reference to the separation which was natural for I think we did not know there had been any that one might measure with either clock or almanac she called me Jack and I called her Helen and those seemed the right and proper names and perhaps neither of us suspected that we had ever born others or if we did suspect it it was probably not a matter of consequence she had been beautiful ten years before she was just as beautiful still girlishly young and sweet and innocent and she was still that now she had had blue eyes a hair of flossy gold before she had black hair now and dark brown eyes I noted these differences but they did not suggest change to me she was the same girl she was before absolutely it never occurred to me to ask what became of the log house I doubt if I even thought of it we were living in a simple and natural and beautiful world where everything that happened was natural and right and was not perplexed with the unexpected or with any forms of surprise and so there was no occasion for explanations and no interest attaching to such things we had a dear and pleasant time together and were like a couple of ignorant and contented children Helen had a summer hat on she took it off presently and said it was in the way now you can kiss me better it seemed to me merely a bit of courteous and considered wisdom nothing more and a natural thing for her to think of and do we went wandering through the woods and came to a limpid and shallow stream a matter of three yards wide she said I must not get my feet wet dear carry me over I took her in my arms and gave her my hat to hold this was to keep my own feet from getting wet I did not know why this should have that effect I merely knew it and she knew it too I crossed the stream and said I would go on carrying her because it was so pleasant and she said it was pleasant to her too and wished we had thought of it sooner it seemed to me a pity that we should have walked so far both of us on foot when we could have been having this higher enjoyment and I spoke of it regretfully as a something lost which could never be got back she was troubled about it too and said there must be some way to get it back and she would think after musing deeply a little while she looked up radiant and proud and said she had found it bring me back and start over again I can see now that that was no solution but at the time it seemed luminous with intelligence and I believed that there was not another little head in the world that could have worked out that difficult problem with such swiftness and success I told her that and it pleased her and she said she was glad it all happened so that I could see how capable she was after thinking a moment she added that it was quite atrious the word seemed to mean something I do not know why in fact it seemed to cover the whole ground and leave nothing more to say I admired the nice aptness and the flashing felicity of the phrase and was filled with respect for the marvelous mind that had been able to engender it I think less of it now it is a noticeable fact that the intellectual coinage of dreamland often passes for more there than it would fetch here many a time in after years my dream sweetheart threw off golden sayings which crumbled to ashes under my pencil when I was setting them down in my notebook after breakfast I carried her back and started over again and all the long afternoon I bore her in my arms miles upon miles and it never occurred to either of us that there was anything remarkable in a youth like me being able to carry that sweet bundle around half a day without some sense of fatigue or need of rest there are many dream worlds but none is so rightly and reasonably and pleasantly arranged as that one after dark we reached a great plantation house and it was her home I carried her in and the family knew me and I knew them although we had not met before and the mother asked me with ill-disguised anxiety how much twelve times fourteen was and I said a hundred and thirty-five and she put it down on a piece of paper saying it was her habit in the process of perfecting her education not to trust important particulars to her memory and her husband was offering me a chair but noticed that Helen was asleep so he said it would be best not to disturb her and he backed me softly against a wardrobe and said I could stand more easily now then a negro came in bowing humbly with his slouch hat in his hand and asked me if I would have my measure taken the question did not surprise me but it confused me and worried me and I said I should like to have advice about it he started toward the door to call advisers then he and the family and the lights began to grow dim and in a few moments the place was pitch dark but straightway there came a flood of moonlight and a gust of cold wind and I found myself crossing a frozen lake and my arms were empty the wave of grief that swept through me woke me up and I was sitting at my desk in the newspaper office in San Francisco and I noticed by the clock that I had been asleep less than two minutes and what was of more consequence I was 29 years old that was 1864 the next year and the year after I had momentary glimpses of my dream sweetheart but nothing more these are set down in my notebooks under their proper dates but with no talks nor other particulars added which is sufficient evidence to me that there were none to add in both of these instances there was the sudden meeting and recognition the eager approach then the instant disappearance leaving the world empty and of no worth I remember the two images quite well in fact I remember all the images of that spirit and can bring them before me without help of my notebook the habit of writing down my dreams of all sorts while they were fresh in my mind and then studying them and rehearsing them and trying to find out what the source of dreams is and which of the two or three separate persons inhabiting us is their architect has given me a good dream memory a thing which is not usual with people for few drill the dream memory and no memory can be kept strong without that I spent a few months in the Hawaiian Islands in 1866 and in October of that year I delivered my maiden lecture it was in San Francisco in the following January I arrived in New York and had just completed my 31st year in that year I saw my platonic dream sweetheart again in this dream I was again standing on the stage of the opera house in San Francisco ready to lecture and with the audience vividly individualized before me in the strong light I began, spoke a few words and stopped cold with fright for I discovered that I had no subject, no text nothing to talk about I choked for a while then got out a few words lame, poor attempt at humor the house made no response there was a miserable pause then another attempt and another failure there were a few scornful laughs otherwise the house was silent unsmilingly austere deeply offended I was consuming with shame in my distress I tried to work upon its pity I began to make servile apologies mixed with gross and ill-timed flatteries and to beg and plead for forgiveness this was too much and the people broke into insulting cries whistlings, hootings and cat-calls and in the midst of this they rose and began to struggle they used mass toward the door I stood dazed and helpless looking out over this spectacle and thinking how everybody would be talking about it next day and I could not show myself in the streets when the house was become wholly empty and still I sat down on the only chair that was on the stage and bent my head down on the reading desk to shut out the look of that place soon that familiar dream voice spoke my name and swept all my troubles away Robert? I answered Agnes the next moment we two were lounging up the blossomy gorge called the Iao Valley in the Hawaiian Islands I recognized without any explanations that Robert was not my name but only a pet name, a common noun and meant dear and both of us knew that Agnes was not a name but only a pet name a common noun whose spirit was affectionate but not conveyable with exactness in any but the dream language it was about the equivalent of dear but the dream vocabulary shaves meanings finer and closer than do the world's daytime dictionaries we did not know why those words should have those meanings we had used words which had no existence in any known language and had expected them to be understood and they were understood in my notebooks there are several letters from this dream and in some unknown tongue presumably dream tongue with translations added I should like to be master of that tongue then I could talk in shorthand here is one of those letters the whole of it translation when you receive this it will remind you that I long to see your face and touch your hand for the comfort of it and the peace it is swifter than waking thought your thought is not thought at all but only a vague and formless fog until it is articulated into words we wandered far up the fairy gorge gathering the beautiful flowers of the ginger plant and talking affectionate things and tying and retying each other's ribbons and cravats which didn't need it and finally sat down in the shade of a tree and climbed the vine-hung precipices with our eyes up and up and up toward the sky to where the drifting scarves of white mist clove them across and left the green summits floating pale and remote like spectral islands wandering in the deeps of space and then we descended to earth and talked again how still it is and soft and balmy and reposeful I could never tire of it you like it don't you Robert yes and I like the whole region all the islands Maui it is a darling island I have been here before have you once but it wasn't an island then what was it it was a Sufa I understood it was the dream word for part of a continent what were the people like they hadn't come yet there weren't any do you know Agnes was it here in your friend's time yes but it was burning do you travel much I think so not here much but in the stars a good deal is it pretty there she used a couple of dream words for you will go with me some time and you will see non-committal as one perceives now but I did not notice it then a man of warbird lit on her shoulder and caught it its feathers began to fall out and it turned into a kitten then the kitten's body began to contract itself to a ball and put out hairy long legs and soon it was a tarantula I was going to keep it but it turned into a starfish and I threw it away Agnes said it was not worthwhile to try to keep things there was no stability about them I suggested rocks she picked up a stone and it turned into a bat and flew away these curious matters interested me but that was all they did not stir my wonder while we were sitting there in the iao gorge talking a Kanakana came along who was wrinkled and bent and white-headed and he stopped and talked to us in the native tongue and we understood him without trouble and answered him in his own speech he said he was 130 years old he remembered Captain Cook well and was present when he was murdered saw it with his own eyes and also helped then he showed us his gun which was of strange make and he said it was his own invention and was to shoot arrows with though one loaded it with powder and it had a percussion lock he said it would carry a hundred miles it seemed a reasonable statement I had no fault to find with it and it did not in any way surprise me he loaded it and fired an arrow aloft and it darted into the sky and vanished then he went his way saying that the arrow would fall near us in half an hour and would go many yards into the earth not minding the rocks I took the time and we waited reclining upon the mossy slant at the base of a tree and gazing into the sky by and by there was a hissing sound followed by a dull impact she said in a series of fainting gasps take me to your arms it passed through me hold me to your heart I am afraid to die closer, closer it is growing dark I cannot see you don't leave me, where are you you are not gone you will not leave me I would not leave you then her spirit passed she was clay in my arms I reached in an instant and I was awake and crossing Bond Street in New York with a friend and it was snowing hard we had been talking and there had been no observable gaps in the conversation I doubt if I had made any more than two steps while I was asleep I am satisfied that even the most elaborate and incident-crowded dream is seldom more than a few seconds in length it would not cost me very much of a strain to believe in Mohammed's 70-year dream he knocked his glass over and ended in time for him to catch it before the water was spilled within a quarter of an hour I was in my quarters undressed, ready for bed and was jotting down my dream in my notebook a striking thing happened now I finished my notes and was just going to turn out the gas when I was caught with a most strenuous gape for it was very late and I was very drowsy I fell asleep and dreamed again and now follows occurred while I was asleep and when I woke again the gape had completed itself but not long before I think for I was still on my feet I was in Athens a city which I had not then seen but I recognized the Parthenon from the pictures although it had a fresh look and was in perfect repair I passed by it and climbed a grassy hill toward a palatial sort of mansion which was built of red terracotta and had a spacious portico and its roof was supported by a rank of fluted columns with Corinthian capitals it was noonday but I met no one I passed into the house and entered the first room it was very large and light its walls were of polished and richly tinted and veined onyx and its floor was a pictured pattern in soft colors laid in tiles I noted the details of the furniture and the ornaments a thing which I should not have