In the wilderness

The Project Gutenberg Etext of In the Wilderness, by Robert Hichens #5 in our series by Robert Hichens Copyright laws are changing all over the world Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this or any other Project Gutenberg file We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future readers Please do not remove this This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to view the etext Do not change or edit it without written permission The words are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they need to understand what they may and may not do with the etext To encourage this, we have moved most of the information to the end, rather than having it all here at the beginning **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** **Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** *****These Etexts Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get etexts, and further information, is included below We need your donations The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541 Find out about how to make a donation at the bottom of this file Title: In the Wilderness Author: Robert Hichens Edition: 10 Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII Release Date: November, 2003 [Etext #4603] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on February 17, 2002] The Project Gutenberg Etext of In the Wilderness, by Robert Hichens *******This file should be named ntwld10.txt or ntwld10.zip******* Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, ntwld11.txt VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, ntwld10a.txt Etext prepared by Dagny, dagnypg@yahoo.com and John Bickers, jbickers@ihug.co.nz Project Gutenberg Etexts are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US unless a copyright notice is included Thus, we usually do not keep etexts in compliance with any particular paper edition The “legal small print” and other information about this book may now be found at the end of this file Please read this important information, as it gives you specific rights and tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used IN THE WILDERNESS BY ROBERT HICHENS BOOK I HERMES AND THE CHILD CHAPTER I Amedeo Dorini, the hall porter of the Hotel Cavour in Milan, stood on the pavement before the hotel one autumn afternoon in the year 1894, waiting for the omnibus, which had gone to the station, and which was now due to return, bearing—Amedeo hoped—a load of generously inclined travelers During the years of his not unpleasant servitude Amedeo had become a student of human nature He had learnt to judge shrewdly and soundly, to sum up quickly, to deliver verdicts which were not unjust And now, as he saw the omnibus, with its two fat brown horses, coming slowly along by the cab rank, and turning into the Piazza that is presided over by Cavour’s statue, he prepared almost mechanically to measure and weigh evidence, to criticize and come to a conclusion He glanced first at the roof of the omnibus to take stock of the luggage pile there There was plenty of it, and a good deal of it was leather and reassuring Amedeo had a horror of tin trunks—they usually gave such small tips Having examined the luggage he sent a searching glance to two rows of heads which were visible inside the vehicle The brawny porters hurried out, the luggage chute was placed in position, the omnibus door was opened, and the first traveler stepped forth A German of the most economical type, large, red and wary, with a mouth like a buttoned-up pocket, was followed by a broad-waisted wife, with dragged hair and a looped-up gown Amedeo’s smile tightened A Frenchman followed them, pale and elaborate, a “one-nighter,” as Amedeo instantly decided in his mind Such Frenchmen are seldom extravagant in hotels This gentleman would want a good room for a small price, would be extremely critical about the cooking, and have a wandering eye and a short memory for all servants in the morning An elderly Englishwoman was the fourth personage to appear She was badly dressed in black, wore a tam-o’-shanter with a huge black-headed pin thrust through it, clung to a bag, smiled with amiable patronage as she emerged, and at once, without reason, began to address Amedeo and the porters in fluent, incorrect, and too carefully pronounced Italian Amedeo knew her—the Tabby who haunts Swiss and Italian hotels, the eternal Tabby drastically complete A gay Italian is gaiety in flight, a human lark with a song But a gloomy Italian is oppressive and almost terrible Despite the training of years Amedeo’s smile flickered and died out A ferocious expression surged up in his dark eyes as he turned rather bruskly to scrutinize without hope the few remaining clients But suddenly his face cleared as he heard a buoyant voice say in English: “I’ll get out first, Godfather, and give you a hand.” On the last word, a tall and lithe figure stepped swiftly, and with a sort of athletic certainty, out of the omnibus, turned at once towards it, and, with a movement eloquent of affection and almost tender reverence, stretched forth an arm and open hand A spare man of middle height, elderly, with thick gray hair, and a clean-shaven, much-lined face, wearing a large loose overcoat and soft brown hat, took the hand as he emerged He did not need it; Amedeo realized that, realized also that he was glad to take it, enjoyed receiving this kind and unnecessary help “And now for Beatrice!” he said And he gave in his turn a hand to the girl who followed him There were still two people in the omnibus, the elderly man’s Italian valet and an Englishman As the latter got out, and stretched his limbs cramped with much sitting, he saw Amedeo, with genuine smiles, escorting the two girls and the elderly man towards the glass-roofed hall, on the left of which was the lift The figure of the girl who had stepped out first was about to disappear As the Englishman looked she vanished But he had time to realize that a gait, the carriage of a head and its movement in turning, can produce on an observer a moral effect A joyous sanity came to him from this unknown girl and made him feel joyously sane It seemed to sweep over him, like a cool and fresh breeze of the sea falling through pine woods, to lift from him some of the dust of his journey He resolved to give the remainder of the dust to the public garden, told his name, Dion Leith, to the manager, learnt that the room he had ordered was ready for him, had his luggage sent up to it, and then made his way to the trees on the far side of the broad road which skirts the hotel When he was among them he took off his hat, kept it in his hand, and, so, strolled on down the almost deserted paths As he walked he tasted the autumn, not with any sadness, but with an appreciation that was almost voluptuous He was at a time of life and experience, when, if the body is healthy, the soul is untroubled by care, each season of the year holds its thrill for the strongly beating heart, its tonic gift for the mind Falling leaves were handfuls of gold for this man The faint chill in the air as evening drew on turned his thoughts to the brightness and warmth of English fires burning on the hearths of houses that sheltered dear and protected lives The far-off voices of calling children, coming to him from hidden places among the trees, did not make him pensive because of their contrast with things that were dying He hailed them as voices of the youth which lasts in the world, though the world may seem to be old to those who are old Dion Leith had a powerful grip on life and good things He was young, just twenty-six, strong and healthy, though slim-built in body, alert and vigorous in mind, unperturbed in soul, buoyant and warmly imaginative Just at that moment the joy of life was almost at full flood in him, for he had recently been reveling in a new and glorious experience, and now carried it with him, a precious memory He had been traveling, and his wanderings had given him glimpses of two worlds In one of these worlds he had looked into the depths, had felt as if he realized fully for the first time the violence of the angry and ugly passions that deform life; in the other he had scaled the heights, had tasted the still purity, the freshness, the exquisite calm, which are also to be found in life He had visited Constantinople and had sailed from it to Greece From Greece he had taken ship to Brindisi, and was now on his way home to England What he had thought at the time to be an ill chance had sent him on his way alone Guy Daventry, his great friend, who was to go with him, had been seized by an illness It was too late then to find another man free So, reluctantly, and inclined to grumble a little at fate, Dion had set off in solitude He knew now that his solitude had given him keen sensations, which he could scarcely have felt with the best of friends Never, in any company, had he been so repelled, enticed, disgusted, deeply enchanted, as on these lonely wanderings which were now a part of his life How he had hated Constantinople, and how he had loved Greece! His expectation had been betrayed by the event He had not known himself when he left England, or the part of himself which he had known had been the lesser part, and he had taken it for the greater For he had set out on his journey with his hopes mainly fixed on Constantinople Its road of wildness and tumult, its barbaric glitter, its crude mixture of races, even its passions and crimes—a legend in history, a solid fact of to-day—had allured his mind The art of Greece had beckoned to him; its ancient shrines had had their strong summons for his brain; but he had scarcely expected to love the country He had imagined it as certainly beautiful but with an austere and desolate beauty that would be, perhaps, almost repellent to his nature He had conceived of it as probably sad in its naked calm, a country weary with the weight of a glorious past But he had been deceived, and he was glad of that Because he had been able to love Greece so much he felt a greater confidence in himself Without any ugly pride he said to himself: “Perhaps my nature is a little bit better, a little bit purer than I had supposed.” As the breeze in the public garden touched his bare head, slightly lifting his thick dark hair, he remembered the winds of Greece; he remembered his secret name for Greece, “the land of the early morning.” It was good to be able to delight in the early morning— pure, delicate, marvelously fresh He at down on a bench under a chestnut tree The children’s voices had died away Silence seemed to be drawing near to the garden He saw a few moving figures in the shadows, but at a distance, fading towards the city The line of the figure, the poise of the head of that girl with whom he had driven from the station, came before Dion’s eyes CHAPTER II One winter day in 1895—it was a Sunday—when fog lay thickly over London, Rosamund Everard sat alone in a house in Great Cumberland Place, reading Dante’s “Paradiso.” Her sister, Beatrice, a pale, delicate and sensitive shadow who adored her, and her guardian, Bruce Evelin, a well-known Q.C now retired from practice, had gone into the country to visit some friends Rosamund had also been invited, and much wanted, for there was a party in the house, and her gaiety, her beauty, and her fine singing made her a desirable guest; but she had “got out of it.” On this particular Sunday she specially wished to be in London At a church not far from Great Cumberland Place—St Mary’s, Welby Street—a man was going to preach that evening whom she very much wanted to hear Her guardian’s friend, Canon Wilton, had spoken to her about him, and had said to her once, “I should particularly like you to hear him.” And somehow the simple words had impressed themselves upon her So, when she heard that Mr Robertson was coming from his church in Liverpool to preach at St Mary’s, she gave up the country visit to hear him Beatrice and Bruce Evelin had no scruples in leaving her alone for a couple of days They knew that she, who had such an exceptional faculty for getting on with all sorts and conditions of men and women, and who always shed sunshine around her, had within her a great love of, sometimes almost a thirst for, solitude “I need to be alone now and then,” they had heard her say; “it’s like drinking water to me.” Sitting quietly by the fire with her delightful edition of Dante, her left hand under her head, her tall figure stretched out in a low chair, Rosamund heard a bell ring below It called her from the “Paradiso.” She sprang up, remembering that she had given the butler no orders about not wishing to be disturbed At lunch-time the fog had been so dense that she had not thought about possible visitors; she hurried to the head of the staircase “Lurby! Lurby! I’m not at—” It was too late The butler must have been in the hall She heard the street door open and a man’s voice murmuring something Then the door shut and she heard steps She retreated into the drawing-room, pulling down her brows and shaking her head No more “Paradiso,” and she loved it so! A moment before she had been far away The book was lying open on the armchair in which she had been sitting She went to close it and put it on a table For an instant she looked down on the page, and immediately her dream returned Then Lurby’s dry, soft voice said behind her: “Mr Leith, ma’am.” “Oh!” She turned, leaving the book Directly she looked at Dion Leith she knew why he had come “I’m all alone,” Rosamund said “I stayed here, instead of going to Sherrington with Beattie and my guardian, because I wanted to hear a sermon this evening Come and sit down by the fire.” “What church are you going to?” “St Mary’s, Welby Street.” “Shall I go with you?” Rosamund had taken up the “Paradiso” and was shutting it “I think I’ll go alone,” she said gently but quite firmly “What are you reading?” “Dante’s ‘Paradiso.’” She put the book down on a table at her elbow “I don’t believe you meant me to be let in,” he said bluntly “I didn’t know it was you How could I know?” “And if you had known?” She hesitated His brows contracted till he looked almost fierce “I’m not sure Honestly I’m not sure I’ve been quite alone since Friday, when they went And I’d got it into my head that I wasn’t going to see any one till tomorrow, except, of course, at the church.” Dion felt chilled almost to the bone “I can’t understand,” he almost burst out, in an uncontrolled way that surprised himself “Are you completely self-sufficing then? But it isn’t natural Could you live alone?” “I didn’t say that.” She looked at him steadily and calmly, without a hint of anger “But could you?” “I don’t know Probably not I’ve never tried.” “But you don’t hate the idea?” His voice was almost violent “No; if—if I were living in a certain way.” “What way?” But she did not answer his question “I dare say I might dislike living alone I’ve never done such a thing, therefore I can’t tell.” “You’re an enigma,” he exclaimed “And you seem so—so—you have this extraordinary, this abnormal power of attracting people to you You are friends with everybody.” “Indeed I’m not.” “I mean you’re so cordial, so friendly with everybody Don’t you care for anybody?” had come to that place of the dead absolutely resolved to ask forgiveness of Dion And yet now that she saw his body the sense of personal outrage woke in her, gripped her She grew hot, she tingled A fierce jealousy of the flesh tormented her And suddenly she was afraid of herself Was her body then more powerful than her soul? Was she, who had always cared for the things of the soul hopelessly physical? It seemed to her that even now she might succumb to what she supposed was an overwhelming personal pride, that even now she might be unable to do what she had come all the long way from England to do But she forced herself to go onward up the path She looked down; she would not see that body of a man which had belonged to her and to which she had belonged; but she made herself go towards it Presently she felt that she was drawing near to it; then that she was close to it Then she stopped Standing still for a moment she prayed She prayed that she might be able in this supreme crisis of her life to govern the baser part of herself, that she might be allowed, might be helped, to rise to those heights of which Father Robertson had spoken to her, that she might at last realize the finest possibilities of her nature, that she might be able to do the most difficult thing, to be humble, to forget any injury which had been inflicted upon herself, and to remember only the tremendous injury she had inflicted upon another When her prayer was finished she did not know whether it had been heard, whether, if it had been heard, it had been accepted and would be granted She did not know at all what she would be able to do But she looked up and saw Dion He was close to her, was standing just in front of her, with one arm holding the cypress trunk, trembling slightly and gazing at her, gazing at her with eyes that were terrible because they revealed so much of agony, of love and of terror She looked into those eyes, she looked at the frightful change written on the face that had once been so familiar to her, and suddenly an immense pity inundated her It seemed to her that she endured in that moment all the suffering which Dion had endured since the tragedy at Welsley added to her own suffering She stood there for a moment looking at him Then she said only: “Forgive me, oh, forgive me!” Tears rushed into her eyes She had been able to say it It had not been difficult to say She could not have said anything else And her soul had said it as well as her lips “Forgive me! Forgive me!” she repeated She went up to Dion, took his poor tortured temples, from which the hair, once so thick, had retreated, in her hands, and whispered again in the midst of her tears: “Forgive me!” “I’ve been false to you,” he said huskily “I’ve broken my vow to you I’ve lived with another woman—for months I’ve been a beast I’ve wallowed I’ve gone right down Everything horrible—I’ve—I’ve done it Only last night I meant to —to—I only broke away from it all last night I heard you were here and then I —I–-” “Forgive me!” She felt as if God were speaking in her, through her She felt as if in that moment God had taken complete possession of her, as if for the first time in her life she was just an instrument, formed for the carrying out of His tremendous purposes, able to carry them out Awe was upon her But she felt a strange joy, and even a wonderful sense of peace “But you don’t hear what I tell you I have been false to you I have sinned against you for months and months.” “Hush! It was my sin.” “Yours? Oh, Rosamund!” She was still holding his temples He put his hands on her shoulders “Yes, it was my sin I understand now how you love me I never understood till to-day.” “Yes, I love you.” “Then,” she said, very simply “I know you will be able to forgive me Don’t tell me any more ever about what you have done It’s blotted out Just forgive me— and let us begin again.” She took away her hands from his temples He did not kiss her, but he took one of her hands, and they stood side by side looking towards Stamboul, towards the City of the Unknown God His eyes and hers were on the minarets, those minarets which seem to say to those who have come to them from afar, and whose souls are restless: “In the East thou shalt find me if thou hast not found me in the West.” After a long silence Rosamund pressed Dion’s hand, and it seemed to him that never, in the former days of their union—not even in Greece —had she pressed it with such tenderness, with such pulse-stirring intimacy and trust in him Then, still with her eyes upon the minarets, she said in a low voice: “I think Robin knows.” CHAPTER XVII Not many days later, when the green valley of Olympia was wrapped in the peace of a sunlit afternoon, and a faint breeze drew from the pine trees on the hills of Kronos a murmur as of distant voices whispering the message of Eternity, the keeper of the house of the Hermes was disturbed in a profound reverie by the sound of slow footfalls not far from his dwelling He stirred, lifted his head and stared vaguely about him No travelers had come of late to the shrine he guarded Hermes had been alone with the child upon his arm, dreaming of its unclouded future with the serenity of one who had trodden the paths where the gods walk, and who could rise at will above the shadowed ways along which men creep in anxiety, dreading false steps and the luring dangers of their fates Hermes had been alone with his happy burden, forgotten surely by the world which his delicate majesty ignored without disdain But now pilgrims, perhaps from a distant land, were drawing near to look upon him, to spend a little while in the atmosphere of his shining calm, perhaps to learn something of the message he had to give to those who were capable of receiving it A man and a woman, moving slowly side by side, came into the patch of strong sunshine which made a glory before the house, paused there and stood still From the shadow in which he was sitting the guardian examined them with the keen eyes of one who had looked upon travelers of many nations He knew at once that the woman was English As for the man— yes, probably he was English too, Dark, lean, wrinkled, he was no doubt an Englishman who had been much away from his own country, which the guardian conceived of as wrapped in perpetual fogs and washed by everlasting rains The guardian stared hard at this man, then turned his bright eyes again upon the woman As he looked at her some recollection began to stir in his mind Not many travelers came twice to the green recesses of Elis He was accustomed to brief acquaintanceships, closed by small gifts of money, and succeeded by farewells which troubled his spirit not at all But this woman seemed familiar to him; and even the man–He got up from his seat and went towards them As he came into the sunlight the woman saw him and smiled And, when she smiled, he knew he had seen her before The deep gravity of her face as she approached had nearly tricked his memory, but now he remembered all about her She was the beautiful fair Englishwoman who had camped on the hill of Drouva not so many years ago, who had gone out shooting with that young rascal, Dirmikis, and who had spent solitary hours wrapt in contemplation of the statue whose fame doubtless had brought her to Elis Not so many years ago! But was this the man the husband who had been with her then, and who had evidently been deeply in love with her? It seemed to the guardian that there was some puzzling change in the beautiful woman As to the man–- Still wondering, the guardian took off his cap politely and uttered a smiling welcome in Greek Then the man smiled too, faintly, and still preserving the under-look of deep gravity, and the guardian knew him It was indeed the husband, but grown to look very much older, and different in some almost mysterious way The woman made a gesture towards the museum The guardian bowed, turned and moved to lead the way through the vestibule into the great room of the Victory But the woman spoke behind him and he paused He did not understand what she said, but the sound of her voice seemed to plead with him—or to command him He looked at her and understood She was gazing at him steadily, and her eyes told him not to go before her, told him to stay where he was He nodded his head, slightly pursing his small mouth She knew the way of course How should she not know it? Gently she came up to him and just touched his coat sleeve—to thank him Then she went on slowly with her companion, traversed the room of the Victory, looking neither to right nor left, crossed the threshold of the smaller chamber beyond it and disappeared For a moment the guardian stood at gaze Then he went back to his seat, sat down and sighed A faint sense of awe had come upon him He did not understand it, and he sighed again Then, pulling himself together, he felt for a cigarette, lit it and began to smoke, staring at the patch of sunlight outside, and at the olive tree which grew close to the doorway * Within the chamber of the Hermes for a long time there was silence Rosamund was sitting before the statue Dion stood near to her, but not close to her The eyes of both of them were fixed upon Hermes and the child Once again they were greeted by the strange and exquisite hush which seems, like a divine sentinel, to wait at the threshold of that shrine in Elis; once again the silence seemed to come out of the marble and to press softly against their two hearts But they were changed, and so the great peace of the Hermes seemed to them subtly changed They knew now the full meaning of torment—torment of the body and of the soul They knew the blackness of rebellion But they knew also, or at least were beginning to know, the true essence of peace And this beginning of knowledge drew them nearer to the Hermes than they had been in the bygone years, than they had ever been before the coming of little Robin into their lives, and before Robin had left them, obedient to the call from beyond The olive branch was gone from the doorway Something beautiful was missing from the picture of Elis which had reminded Rosamund of the glimpse of distant country in Raphael’s “Marriage of the Virgin.” And they longed to have it there, that little olive branch—ah, how they longed! There was pain in their hearts But there was no longer the cruel fierceness of rebellion They were able to gaze at the child on whom Hermes was gazing, if not with his celestial serenity yet with a resignation that was even subtly mingled with something akin to gratitude “Shall we reach that goal and take a child with us?” Long ago that had been Dion’s thought in Elis And long ago Rosamund had broken the silence within that room by the words: “I’m trying to learn something here, how to bring him up if he ever comes.” And now God had given them a child, and God had taken him from them Robin had gone from all that was not intended, but that, for some inscrutable reason, had come to be Robin was in the released world As the twilight began to fall another twilight came back flooding with its green dimness the memories of them both And at last Rosamund spoke “Dion!” “Yes.” “Come a little nearer to me.” He came close to her and stood beside her “Do you remember something you said to me here? It was in the twilight–-” She paused Tears had come into her eyes and her voice had trembled “It was in the twilight You said that it seemed to you as if Hermes were taking the child away, partly because of us.” Her voice broke “I—I disliked your saying that I told you I couldn’t feel that.” “I remember.” “And then you explained exactly what you meant And we spoke of the human fear that comes to those who look at a child they love and think, ‘what is life going to do to the child?’ This evening I want to tell you that in a strange way I am able to be glad that Robin has gone, glad with some part of me that is more mother than anything else in me, I think Robin is—is so safe now.” The tears came thickly and fell upon her face She put out a hand to Dion He clasped it closely “God took him away, and perhaps because of us I think it may have been to teach us, you and me Perhaps we needed a great sorrow Perhaps nothing else could have taught us something we had to learn.” “It may be so,” he almost whispered She got up and leaned against his shoulder “Whatever happens to me in the future,” she said, “I don’t think I shall ever distrust God again.” He put his arm round her and, for the first time since their reunion, he kissed her, and she returned his kiss Over Elis the twilight was falling, a green twilight, sylvan and very ethereal, tremulous in its delicate beauty It stole through the green doors, and down through the murmuring pine trees The sheep-bells were ringing softly; the flocks were going homeward from pasture; and the chime of their little bells mingled with the wide whispering of the eternities among the summits of the pine trees Music of earth mingled with the music from a distance that knew what the twilight knew Presently the two marble figures in the chamber of the Hermes began to fade away gradually, as if deliberately withdrawing themselves from the gaze of men At last only their outlines were visible to Rosamund and to Dion But even these told of the Golden Age, of the age of long peace “FAREWELL!” Some one had said it within that chamber, and a second voice had echoed it As the guardian of the Hermes watched the two pilgrims walking slowly away down the valley he noticed that the man’s right arm clasped the woman’s waist And, so, they passed from his sight and were taken by the green twilight of Elis The Project Gutenberg Etext of In the Wilderness, by Robert Hichens *******This file should be named ntwld10.txt or ntwld10.zip******* Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, ntwld11.txt VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, ntwld10a.txt Etext prepared by Dagny, dagnypg@yahoo.com and John Bickers, jbickers@ihug.co.nz More information about this book is at the top of this file We are now trying to release all our etexts one year in advance of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, even years after the official publication date Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month A preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment and editing by those who wish to do so Most people start at our Web sites at: http://gutenberg.net or http://promo.net/pg These Web sites include award-winning information about Project Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new etexts, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!) 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Rosamund “to the land of the early morning.” They arrived in Greece at the beginning of May, when the rains were over and the heats of summer were at hand The bed of Ilissus was empty Dust lay white in the streets of Athens and along the road to Phaleron and the sea... But she could not, for the fog pressed against the window panes and hid the street and the houses opposite “It is bad.” She dropped the blind, let the curtains fall into place and turned round “But I’d rather go alone... in the streets of Athens and along the road to Phaleron and the sea The lowlying tracts of country were desert-dry, and about Athens the world was arrayed in the garb of the East Nevertheless there was still a delicate freshness in the winds