Part 12

He followed them for miles and miles. Of how he was subsequently examined, disbelieved, threatened with fine and imprisonment, and at last escaped only by an appeal to his consul in Sienna, you may read in the interesting memoirs which he is about to publish under the title of "Etruscan Wine and Song."

Meanwhile in Radicofani the Brigand drinks and sings.

THE HONEST MAN AND THE DEVIL

A man who prided himself very justly upon his uncompromising temper and love of truth had the misfortune the other night to wake at about three o'clock in the morning and to see the Devil standing by his bedside, who begged him that he (the Honest Man) should sell him (the Devil) his soul.

"I will do nothing of the kind," said the Honest Man in a mixture of sleepiness and alarm.

"Very well," said the Devil, quite obviously put out, "you shall go your own way; but I warn you, if you will have nothing to do with me I will have nothing to do with you!"

"I ask for nothing better," said the Honest Man, turning over on his right side to get to sleep again, "I desire to follow Truth in all her ways, and to have nothing more to do with you." With these words he began a sort of regular and mechanical breathing which warned the Devil that the interview was now at an end. The Devil, therefore, with a grunt, went out of the bedroom and shut the door smartly behind him, shaking all the furniture; which was a rude thing to do, but he was very much annoyed.

Next morning the Honest Man, before going out to business, dictated his letters as was his wont into a phonograph; this little instrument (which, by the way, had been invented by the Devil though he did not know it) is commonly used in the houses of the busy for the reception of dictated correspondence, comic verse, love sonnets, and so forth; and if the busy also live by their pen, the phonograph spares them the use of this instrument. The Honest Man of whom I speak had no such profession; he used the phonograph for his daily correspondence, which was enormous; he dictated his answers into it before leaving his private house, and during the forenoon his secretary would take down those answers by reversing the machine and putting it at a slower pace so that what it said could easily go down upon the typewriter.

At about half-past five the Honest Man came back from his business, and was met by his secretary in a very nervous fashion.

"I fear, sir," said the secretary, "that there must be some mistake about your correspondence. I have taken it down literally as was my duty, and certainly the voice sounded like yours, but the letters are hardly such as I would post without your first reading them. I have therefore forborne to sign them in your name, and have kept them to show you upon your return. Here they are. Pray, pray read them in seclusion, and advise me at the earliest moment." With these words the secretary handed the documents to his bewildered employer, and went out of the room with his eyes full of nervous tears.

The Honest Man put on a pair of gold spectacles, exchanged these for some gold pince-nez, hummed twice, then began to read. This is what he read--

I

_The Laurels, Putney Heath, S. W. November 9._

DEAR LADY WHERNSIDE,

Yes, I will come to Whernside House next Thursday. I do not know you well, and I shall feel out of place among your friends, but I need not stop long. I think that to be seen at such a gathering, even for but a few moments, is of general advantage to my business; otherwise I should certainly not come. One thing I beg of you, which is that you will not ask me a number of private questions under the illusion that you are condescending. The habit is very offensive to me, and it is the chief drawback I feel in visiting your house. I may add that though I am of the middle classes, like your late father, I have a very pretty taste in furniture, and the inside of your house simply makes me sick.

I am, Very faithfully yours, JOHN ROE.

II

_The Laurels, Putney Heath, S. W. November 9._

DEAR SIR,

No; I will not entertain your proposal to use the Imperial British Suction Apparatus upon my ships. It may be a very good apparatus, and it might possibly increase my profits by £2000 in the year, but the fact is that I am so well to do it is hardly worth my while to bother about these little things. The bother of arranging the new installation, and the risk that, after all, my men might not know how to use it, has decided me. I note what you say, that the French, the German, the Italian, the Russian, and the United States Governments have all bought your patent for use in their Navies; but it does not influence me one jot. What are they, after all, but foreigners? Besides which, it is my experience that somehow or other I muddle through, and I hate having to think.

We are, Your obedient Servants, JOHN ROE & COMPANY.

III

_The Laurels, Putney Heath, S. W. November 9._

DEAR DOCTOR BURTON,

I wish you would come round this afternoon or to-morrow morning and see my eldest child, James. There is nothing whatever the matter with him, but his mother is in a flurry, because some children with whom he went out to a party the other evening have developed mumps, and his voice is husky, which she idiotically believes to be a symptom of that disease. Your visit will cost me two guineas; but it is well worth my while to spend that sum if only to avoid her intolerable fussing. My advice to you as man to man is, to look at the child's tongue, give him some plain water by way of medicine, and go off again as quick as you can. Your fee will be the same in any case, and it is ridiculous to waste time over such business.

I am, Your sincere friend, JOHN ROE.

IV

_The Laurels, Putney Heath, S. W. November 9._

DEAR DOCTOR MILLS,

I enclose five guineas and a subscription for your new church. I confess that I do not clearly see what advantage this expenditure will do me, and I should have some hesitancy in setting down in black and white my reasons for sending you the money at all. Your style of preaching is monotonous, your doctrines (if they are really your doctrines) are particularly offensive to me; and after all we could get along perfectly well with the old church. At bottom I think this kind of thing is a sort of blackmail; you know I cannot afford to have my name left out of your subscription list, and probably the same motive is causing many another sensible neighbour of mine to part most reluctantly with a portion of his property. Perhaps the best way out of it would be to form a sort of union and to strike all together against your exactions; but I cannot be at the pains of wasting any more time upon the matter, so here's your five guineas and be hanged to you!

Very faithfully and respectfully yours, JOHN ROE.

V

_The Laurels, Putney Heath, S. W. November 9._

DEAR SIR,

I have received your estimate for the new conservatory; I have figured it out and undoubtedly you will lose upon the contract. I therefore accept it without reserve and beg you to begin work as soon as possible. I fully appreciate your motive in making so extraordinary a bargain: you know that I shall make further alterations to the house, and you hope by throwing away a sprat to catch a whale. Do not imagine that I shall be misled in this regard. The next alteration I have to make I will accept the tender of some other builder as gullible as yourself, and so forth to the end of the chapter. And I am,

Your obedient servant, JOHN ROE.

VI

_The Laurels, Putney Heath, S. W. November 9._

MY DEAR ALICE,

I will not send the small sum which you ask me as a brother to afford you, though I am well aware that it would save you very poignant anxiety. My reason for acting thus is that a little annoyance is caused me when I have to disburse even a small sum without the chance of any possible return, and especially when I have to do it to benefit some one who cannot make things uncomfortable for me if I refuse. I have a sort of sentimental feeling about you, because you are my sister, and to that extent my refusal does give me a slight, though a passing sense of irrision. But that will very soon disappear, and when I balance it against the definite sacrifice of a sum of money, however small, I do not hesitate for a moment. Please do not write to me again.

Your affectionate brother, JOHN ROE.

VII

_The Laurels, Putney Heath, S. W. November 9._

DEAR SIR,

I enclose a cheque for £250, my annual subscription to the local War Chest of the Party. I beg you particularly to note that this subscription makes me the creditor of the Party to the extent of over £3000, counting interest at one above bank rate from the first subscription. I have carefully gone into this and there can be no error. I would further have you note that I desire no reward or recognition for my disbursement of this sum beyond the baronetcy of which we spoke the last time I visited you, in the presence of a third party; and I must conclude by assuring you that any lengthy negotiation would be extremely distasteful to me. You need not fear my attitude in the approaching election; I am quite indifferent to parliamentary honours, I will take the chair five times and no more; I am good for one large garden party, three dinners, and a set of fireworks. I will have absolutely nothing to do with the printing, and I am,

Always at your service, JOHN ROE.

When the Honest Man had perused these letters he decided that they should not be posted in their present form; but upon attempting to amend them he found himself singularly lacking in those phrases which he could usually discover so readily for the purposes of his correspondence.

He sent, therefore, for his secretary, and told him to re-write the letters himself according to his own judgment, which that gentleman did with singular skill and dispatch, maintaining the cheques as drafted and putting every matter in its proper light.

That night the Honest Man, who was sleeping soundly, was more annoyed than ever at the reappearance of the Devil at his bedside in the middle of the night.

"Now," said the Devil, "have I brought you to your senses?"

"No," said the Honest Man, composing himself for sleep as before, "you have not. You should have remembered that I have a secretary."

"Oh, the devil!" said the Devil impatiently, "one cannot be thinking of everything!" And he went out even more noisily than the night before.

In this way the Honest Man saved his soul and at the same time his face, which, if it were the less valuable of the two organs, was none the less of considerable moment to him in this mundane sphere.

COMPIÈGNE

[_The Main Room over the Terrace of the Palace in Compiègne. An autumn night in 1782. The room is lit with many candles, and there is dancing. The Queen of France is present, the Court, and some few of the neighbouring gentry, among whom a Lady called Madame d'Escurolles, about forty, silent, and rather timid. A gentleman about the Court, a trifle older than herself, stands by and talks to her as she sits and looks at the dancing. He takes his title from Noirétable in the Forèz, but he has never been there._]

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. I cannot see anything in the Queen of what you say, M. de Noirétable. She seems to be a little violent, but not vulgar.

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. It is precisely as you will, but I confess she spoils a room for me. The truth is that if she jostled and elbowed she would please me better; she always looks as though she would. I am disappointed in my amusement.

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. M. de Noirétable, she is a good woman. I can see it in her eyes. They are very frank.

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. Oh! Yes! Madame, they are frank enough. They are being frank just now to half the room. Ugh! I have seen market women looking so, but only at the return from market (_he pauses_). Have you ridden to-day?

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_laughing gently_). No, sir, I have not ridden. We do not ride at my age in Compiègne ... but, tell me, do you not think there is something majestic about the Queen?... You must remember I have not seen her for three years, and it may be you are used to her carriage. But do you not admire that poise of the head and that high manner; or perhaps I should say, have you not admired them?

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. Oh! yes, Madame, I have admired it, and I do, as also her hairdresser and her shoemaker. Am I not at Court?

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. But they say it is at Court that she is least admired?

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_shocked_). I would not presume to say that! God forbid! From what I have heard in the street I would say she was least admired in Paris, or, perhaps--(_musing_)--perhaps in the village of Louveciennes ... nay, I have forgotten St. Cloud. St. Cloud would run Louveciennes hard.

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. I have do doubt these names are well known in Versailles.

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. Madame, Versailles knows everything and everybody, because Versailles is the Queen. For myself, after many years in the full view of Versailles and taking my money from Versailles, yet I cannot say I like Versailles.

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_innocently_). And why not, sir?

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_looking vaguely at the distant candles and speaking as vaguely_). Upon my soul I cannot say!... It may be that Versailles is too frank or perhaps there is too much poise about it ... it is certainly majestic.

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_as though merely to continue_). It must compare well with poor Compiègne!

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_ceasing to look at the candles_). I would not compare Versailles with Compiègne because I have seen Versailles so much and Compiègne so little. Indeed, Madame (if you will believe me!), I have but twice visited Compiègne since my year in garrison there, but that was fifteen years ago, and in those days, as you will remember, it was your father who befriended me. I found Compiègne very hospitable, and if I have returned there too seldom I very readily acknowledge my error.

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_as though to change the subject_). Pray, sir, do you not find Compiègne much older? They say that age particularly affects Compiègne.

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_with a little humour_). I know that _I_ have aged, but I would not swear for Compiègne. Madame d'Escurolles (_with enthusiasm_), I cannot forbear to tell you that Compiègne in my eyes does not age, but grows. The walls of Compiègne are more subtle and her woods more deep; her air is more gracious and full of certitude and peace than in those days I speak of when she held me for a full year.

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. Oh! _Held_ you, Monsieur de Noirétable! You were under no constraint. It was your garrison.

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_rapidly_). Madame, my youth was held. But I have not told you all of my own ageing nor of this return to Compiègne.... You say the town has aged also. Ah! You should see other towns! There is in Compiègne to-day, I swear to you, more deep and more desirable laughter than in the youngest and most virginal of towns!

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. Why, M. de Noirétable, you grow lyrical! (_Smiling._) One would think you had seen too many towns!

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_lightly and rapidly_). A man in the Service must see many towns.... It is not wholly his choice. I volunteered as well, and saw more towns than I positively needed, Madame; to tell the truth, a man is none the better for visiting too many towns.

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. It is the appetite for travel, Monsieur, and the love of adventure.

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. Precisely, Madame, you put it very well ... the appetite, Madame, and the love ... of adventure ... you put it very well indeed. (_Abruptly._) It led me to Narbonne, to Florac, and to Cahors.

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_shuddering_). Oh! Monsieur de Noirétable! What dreadful names!

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_lightly_). Not at all, Madame! Not at all! Delightful!... but passing, very passing! Believe me, in the presence of Compiègne, no man desires to return to Florac or to Narbonne, nor even to Cahors.

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. No ... but he may choose to visit other places.

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_gravely_). He may be compelled to visit them, Madame. (_She looks away._)

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_is silent for a little while and then looks up at him as gravely_). _Must_ he visit so many towns?

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_slightly lifting his shoulders_). Oh! Must! Must! Must is a strong word, Madame. But _Does, Does_; _does_ is a working word, Madame. And a man _does_ visit many towns, and he comes back to Compiègne.

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_thoughtfully_). Sir, Compiègne has age upon it, though you are pleased to call it by prettier names. Compiègne is even sad with age. I will not deny her charm, I will even concede her beauty--but it is harder than ever to-day to be content with Compiègne. (_With a sudden change of tone._) We have spoken too much of cities. We old friends who do not dance treat the place too much like a card-room, and we converse when younger souls are full of the music.... Tell me, Monsieur de Noirétable--since the subject is more consonant with music and with dancing--are you fond of verse?

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_solemnly_). I dote upon it! especially such verse as may be written in praise of Compiègne....

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_laughing_). Oh! Monsieur de Noirétable, you begin to be ridiculous. Come, is there no verse you may cite as your favourite?

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. Why, Madame, I fear to seem even more ridiculous if I quote Latin.

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_good-humouredly_). Not at all, sir! We know Latin in Compiègne!

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_grimly_). So I seemed to remember. Well, then, I confess my favourite verse is the Horatian Ode which begins--

Donec gratus eram tibi ...

and which ends (_he speaks glowingly_)--

... Iracundior Hadria Tecum vivere amem; tecum obeam libens!

MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_doubtfully_). Are you quite sure you have the Latin right? (_She ponders awhile._) For my own part I prefer the simple songs of our own people about here and the rhymes of children. Do you know

Nous n'irons plus aux bois Les lauriers sont coupés?

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_almost yawning_). Oh! Bless you, yes. Who does not.... Madame?

(_The music ceases and the reverences to the Queen begin. Madame d'Escurolles, as she moves forward, says in a low tone to Monsieur de Noirétable as she passes him_, "When do you next come to Compiègne?")

MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_as he goes out alone, to himself_). When Compiègne comes to meet me halfway; which is perhaps a little difficult for so much stone.

THE CANDOUR OF MATURITY

(_The Marquis_ DE LA MISE-EN-SCÈNE _is discovered writing at a little inlaid table. He is about 42 years of age, and looks worse than that. He believes himself to be alone in the room, when he is somewhat suddenly addressed from the open door by the Duchess_ DE LA TOUR-DE-FORCE_, who has just entered. She is a woman of about 55, somewhat too commanding. The place is Versailles, and the time is 1753._)

THE DUCHESS DE LA TOUR-DE-FORCE. What are you doing, Monsieur de la Mise-en-Scène?

THE MARQUIS DE LA MISE-EN-SCÈNE (_continuing to write and without turning round_). I am writing, Duchess, as you can plainly see.

DUCHESS. Unfortunately I cannot see through your body, but I see you are seated at a table, and from the constrained attitude of your elbow and the awkward wagging of your head I can well believe that you are occupied as you say.

THE MARQUIS (_without turning round_). Come, Duchess, would you have me jump up like a bourgeois? Shall I ask after your health, which I know to be robust, or murmur something polite about your niece? Shall I come and hold the door for you, or do any of those things to which you are used in provincial hotels? Or shall I go on writing? (_He goes on writing._) (_A pause._) (_The_ DUCHESS _walks into the room, shuts the door rather noisily, and sits down upon a chair. She sighs._)

THE MARQUIS (_still writing, murmuring to himself_). "Indifferent"! Tut, tut, how does one spell "indifferent"? "You cannot be indifferent to my plea" ... "plea." ... I know how to spell "plea," but how does one spell "indifferent"? (_Turning round for the first time to the Duchess and showing a set, half-ironical face, with thin lips and steady grey eyes._) Duchess, how do you spell "indifferent"?

DUCHESS (_carelessly_). Oh, I spell it sometimes one way, sometimes another. But I believe there are two f's.

MARQUIS (_turning again to his letters_). "Indifferent" (with two f's) "to my plea...." (_He leans back and looks at the paper with his head on one side as though he were examining a picture._) It looks all right, Duchess. I always go by that, though I think it is easier to tell whether a bit of spelling is right if you can see it in print.

DUCHESS (_gravely_). I thoroughly agree with you, Marquis de la Mise-en-Scène. (_A pause during which the scratching of the quill continues._) I do not think she will mind about the spelling; but if I know anything of her sex she will not read the end of the letter if you make it too long.

MARQUIS (_still writing away busily_). Yes, she will, for it is full of business.

DUCHESS (_with some interest in her voice_). Why? What kind of business?

MARQUIS. I'm writing a proposal of marriage, Madam.

DUCHESS (_really startled_). Good heavens, Monsieur de la Mise-en-Scène! I always thought you were married!

MARQUIS (_continuing to write_). Madame de la Tour-de-Force, that is the malicious sort of thing people say at Versailles about provincials. (_He continues to write._)

DUCHESS. I don't care how much business you put into it; if you make it as long as that she won't read to the end.

MARQUIS. Oh, yes, she will. The letter isn't very long, but I'm writing it out several times.

DUCHESS. Really! Your cynicism! And suppose the various ladies meet, or suppose two of them accept you at once! What then?

MARQUIS (_getting up quickly_). I never thought of that! (_He puts his left hand on to the hilt of his sword, puts his right hand to his chin, and thoughtfully paces up and down the room._) Yes, Duchess, that would be very awkward. In fact (_going to the window and looking out_)--in fact, now that you have suggested it ... of course I might write to the second and say I already had an engagement ... but I think I shall drive tandem and not send off the second letter until I have received an answer to the first; nor the third until I have received an answer to the second, and so forth.... On the other hand, I'm glad I've got the work done, because the business part at the end is very complicated.

DUCHESS (_as though to make conversation_). Have you ever written a proposal of marriage before, Monsieur de la Mise-en-Scène?

MARQUIS. No, Duchess, I have not; and, what is more curious, no lady has ever shown me one. But I have a book in which various forms of letters are set down to be used upon different occasions in life. I have taken all the first part of this letter of mine from this book. The long part at the end which is all about business I got out of a letter from my solicitor.

DUCHESS (_quietly, as she folds her hands upon her lap_). If you will take my advice, Marquis, you will not put in so much business upon the very first occasion. I should have asked--Have you actually met any of these ladies?