CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 ENGLISH COLLECTION 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 JAMES MORGAN HART 
 
 PROFESSOR OF ENGUSH 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013554039 
 
ON THE CHOICE OF A 
 PROFESSION • 
 
 BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 /\ 
 
 The original manuscript of this essay lay for years in a bundle of old papers, 
 and was always assumed to be the "Letter to a Young Gentleman Who Proposes to 
 Embrace the Career of Art." Recently, however, a closer examination revealed it 
 to be a hitherto unpublished piece of work, and for a while I was greatly mystified 
 as to its origin and the reason for its suppression. Its general character, the peculiar 
 quality of the paper, even the handwriting itself — ^all went to show it was composed 
 in Saranac in the winter of 1887-88. But why had it been suppressed? 
 
 Then in the dim, halting way things recur to one, I began to recall its history. 
 It had been adjudged too cynical, too sombre, in tone, too out of keeping with the 
 helpful philosophy always associated with R. L. S. Instead of assisting the. Young 
 Gentleman it was thought to be only too likely to discourage and depress him. Thus 
 it was laid aside in favpr of the other essay on the Career of Art. Whether we are 
 right in publishing it now is for the public to decide. We seem to be going against 
 the wishes of the author, who had evidently been content to leave it in oblivion; 
 yet on the other hand it appears wrong to keep so fine an effort, and one so brilliant 
 and grimly humorous from the many who would find pleasure in it. After all, 
 there are others to be considered besides Young Gentlemen; and perhaps with these 
 warned away we shall incur no reproach from the general lovers of literature, but 
 on the contrary gain their support and commendation in the course we have taken. 
 
 Lloyd Osbouene. 
 
 YOU write to me, my dear sir, request- 
 ing advice at one of the most momen- 
 tous epochs in a young man's life. 
 You are about to choose a profession; and 
 with a diffidence highly pleasing at your 
 age, you would be glad, you say, of some 
 guidance in the choice. There is nothing 
 more becoming than for youth to seek 
 counsel; nothing more becoming to age 
 than to be able to give it; and in a civilisa- 
 tion, old and complicated like ours, where 
 practical persons boast a kind of practical 
 philosophy superior to all others, you would 
 very naturally expect to find all such ques- 
 tions systematically answered. For the 
 dicta of the Practical Philosophy, you 
 come to me. What, you ask, are the 
 principles usually followed by the wise in 
 the like critical junctures? There, I con- 
 fess, you pose me on the threshold. I 
 have examined my own recollections; I 
 have interrogated others; and with all the 
 will in the world to serve you better, I 
 fear I can only tell you that the wise, in 
 these circumstances, act upon no princi- 
 ples whatever. This is disappointing to 
 66 
 
 you; it was painful to myself; but if I 
 am to declare the truth as I see it, I must 
 repeat that wisdom has nothing to do with 
 the choice of a profession. 
 
 We all know what people say, and very 
 foolish it usually is. The question is to 
 get inside of these flourishes, and discover 
 what it is they think and ought to say: 
 to perform, in short, the Socratic Opera- 
 tion. — The more ready-made answers 
 there are to any question, the more ab- 
 struse it becomes; for those of whom we 
 make the enquiry have the less need of 
 consideration before they reply. The 
 world beiug more or less beset with Anx- 
 ious Enquirers of the Socratic persuasion, 
 it is the object of a Liberal Education 
 to equip people with a proper number of 
 these answers by way of passport; so they 
 can pass swimmingly to and fro on their 
 affairs without the trouble of thinking. 
 How should a banker know his own mind? 
 It takes him all his time to manage his 
 bank. If you saw a company of pilgrims, 
 walking as if for a wager, each with his 
 teeth set; and if you happened to ask 
 
On the Choice of a Profession 
 
 67 
 
 them one after another: Whither they 
 were going? and from each you were to 
 receive the same answer: that positively 
 they were all in such a hurry, they had 
 never found leisure to enquire into the na- 
 ture of their errand: — confess, my dear 
 sir, you would be startled at the indiffer- 
 ence they exhibited. Am I going too far, 
 if I say that this is the condition of the 
 large majority of our fellow men and 
 almost all our fellow women? 
 
 I stop a banker. 
 
 "My good fellow," I say, "give me a 
 moment." 
 
 "I have not a moment to spare," says 
 he. 
 
 "Why?" I enquire. 
 
 "I must be banking," he replies. "I 
 am so busily engaged in banking all day 
 long that I have hardly leisure for my 
 meals." 
 
 "And what," I continue my interroga- 
 tory, "is banking?" 
 
 "Sir," says he, "it is my business." 
 
 "Your business?" I repeat. "And 
 what is a man's business?" 
 
 "Why," cries the banker, "a man's 
 business is his duty." And with that he 
 breaks away from me, and I see him 
 skimming to his avocations. 
 
 But this is a sort of answer that pro- 
 vokes reflection. Is a man's business his 
 duty? Or perhaps should not his duty be 
 his business? If it is not my duty to con- 
 duct a bank (and I contend that it is not) 
 is it the duty of my friend the banker? 
 Who told him it was? Is it in the Bible? 
 Is he sure that banks are a good thing? 
 Might it not have been his duty to stand 
 aside, and let some one else conduct the 
 bank? Or perhaps ought he not to have 
 been a ship-captain instead? All these 
 perplexing queries may be summed up 
 under one head: the grave problem which 
 my friend offers to the world: Why is he a 
 Banker ? 
 
 Well, why is it? There is one prin- 
 cipal reason, I conceive: that the man 
 was trapped. Education, as practised, is 
 a form of harnessing with the friendliest 
 intentions. The fellow was hardly in 
 trousers before they whipped him into 
 school; hardly done with school before 
 they smuggled him into an office; it is ten 
 to one they have had him married into the 
 bargain; and all this before he has had 
 
 time so much as to imagine that there 
 may be any other practicable course. 
 Drum, drum, drum; you must be in time 
 for school; you must do your Cornelius 
 Nepos; you must keep your hands clean; 
 you must go to parties — a young man 
 should make friends; and, finally — ^you 
 must take this opening in a bank. He 
 has been used to caper to this sort of pip- 
 ing from the first; and he joins the regi- 
 ment of bank clerks for precisely the same 
 reason as he used to go to the nursery at 
 the stroke of eight. Then at last, rub- 
 bing his hands with a complacent smile, 
 the parent lays his conjuring pipe aside. 
 The trick is performed, ladies and gentle- 
 men; the wild ass's colt is broken in; and 
 now sits diligently scribing. Thus it is, 
 that, out of men, we make bankers. 
 
 You have doubtless been present at the 
 washing of sheep, which is a brisk, high- 
 handed piece of manceuvring, in its way; 
 but what is it, as a subject of contempla- 
 tion, to the case of the poor young animal, 
 Man, turned loose into this roaring world, 
 herded by robustious guardians, taken 
 with the panic before he has wit enough 
 to apprehend its cause, and soon flying 
 with all his heels in the van of the gener- 
 al stampede? It may be that in after 
 years, he shall fall upon a train of reflec- 
 tion, and begin narrowly to scrutinize the 
 reasons that decided his path and his con- 
 tinued mad activity in that direction. 
 And perhaps he may be very well pleased 
 at the retrospect, and see fifty things that 
 might have been worse, for one that would 
 have been better; and even supposing him 
 to take the other cue, bitterly to deplore 
 the circumstances in which he is placed and 
 bitterly to reprobate the jockeying that 
 got him into them, the fact is, it is too 
 late to indulge such whims. It is too late, 
 after the train has started, to debate the 
 needfulness of this particular journey: the 
 door is locked, the express goes tearing 
 overland at sixty mUes an hour; he had 
 better betake himself to sleep or the daily 
 paper, and discourage unavailing thought. 
 He sees many pleasant places out of the 
 window: cottages in a garden, angles by 
 the riverside, balloons voyaging the sky; 
 but as for Mm, he is booked for all his 
 natural days, and must remain a banker 
 to the end. 
 
 If the juggling only began with school- 
 
On the Choice of a Profession 
 
 time, if even the domineering friends and 
 counsellors had made a choice of, their 
 own, there might still be some pretension 
 to philosophy in the affair. But no. They 
 too were trapped; they are but tame el- 
 ephants unwittingly ensnaring others, 
 and were themselves ensnared by tame, 
 elephants of an older domestication. We 
 have all learned our tricks in captivity, 
 to the spiriting of Mrs. Grundy and a sys- 
 tem of rewards and punishments. The 
 crack of the whip and the trough of fodder : 
 the cut direct and an invitation to dinner: 
 the gallows and the Shorter Catechism : a 
 pat upon the head and a stinging lash on 
 the reverse: these are the elements of edu- 
 cation and the principles of the Practical 
 Philosophy. Sir Thomas Browne, in the 
 earlier part of the Seventeenth Century, 
 had already apprehended the staggering 
 fact that geography is a considerable part 
 of orthodoxy; and that a man who, when 
 born in London, makes a conscientious 
 Protestant, would have made an equally 
 conscientious Hindu if he had first seen 
 daylight in Benares. This is but a small 
 part, however important, of the things 
 that are settled for us by our place of 
 birth.H An Englishman drinks beer and 
 tastes his liquor in the throat; a French- 
 man drinks wine and tastes it in the front 
 of the mouth. Hence, a single beverage 
 lasts the Frenchman all afternoon; and 
 the Englishman cannot spend above a 
 very short time in a cafe, but he must 
 swallow half a bucket. The Englishman 
 takes a cold tub every morning in his bed- 
 room; the Frenchman has an occasional 
 hot bath. The Englishman has an un- 
 limited family and will die in harness; the 
 Frenchman retires upon a competency 
 with three children at the outside. So 
 this imperative national tendency follows 
 us through all the privacies of life, dic- 
 tates our thoughts and attends us to the 
 grave.^ We do nothing, we say nothing, 
 we wear nothing, but it is stamped with 
 the Queen's Arms. We are English down 
 to our boots and into our digestions. 
 There is not a dogma of all those by which 
 we lead young men, but we get it our- 
 selves, between sleep and waking, be- 
 tween death and life, in a complete abey- 
 ance of the reasoning part. 
 
 "But how, sir," (you will ask) "is there 
 then no wisdom in the world? And when 
 
 my admirable father was this day urging 
 me, with the most affecting expressions, to 
 decide on an industrious, honest and lucra- 
 tive employment — ?" Enough, sir; I fol- 
 low your thoughts, and will answer them to 
 the utmost of my ability. Your father, 
 for whom I entertain a singular esteem, is 
 I am proud to believe a professing Chris- 
 tian : the Gospel, therefore, is or ought to be 
 his rule of conduct. Now, I am of course 
 ignorant of the terms employed by your 
 father ; but I quote here from a very urgent 
 letter, written by another parent, who was 
 a man of sense, integrity, great energy and 
 a Christian persuasion, and who has per- 
 haps set forth the common view with a 
 certain innocent openness of his own : 
 
 "You are now come to that time of 
 life," he writes to his son, "and have rea- 
 son within yourself to consider the abso- 
 lute necessity of making provision for the 
 time when it will be asked Who is this 
 man? Is he doing any good in the world? 
 Has he the means of being ' One of us ' ? 
 I beseech you," he goes on, rising in emo- 
 tion, and appealing to his son by name, 
 "I beseech you do not trifle with this 
 till it actually comes upon you. Bethink 
 yourself and bestir yourself as a man. 
 This is the time — " and so forth. This 
 gentleman has candor; he is perspicacious, 
 and has to deal apparently with a per- 
 spicacious pick-logic of a son; and hence 
 the startling perspicacity of the document. 
 But, my dear sir, what a principle of life! 
 To "do good in the world" is to be re- 
 ceived into a society, apart from personal 
 affection. I could name many forms of 
 evil vastly more exhilarating whether in 
 prospect or enjoyment. If I scraped 
 money, believe me, it should be for some 
 more cordial purpose. And then, scraping 
 money? It seems to me as if he had 
 forgotten the Gospel. This is a view of 
 life not quite the same as the Christian, 
 which the old gentleman professed and 
 sincerely studied to practise. But upon 
 this point, I dare dilate no further. Suf- 
 fice it to say, that looking round me on 
 the manifestations of this Christian so- 
 ciety of ours, I have been often tempted 
 to exclaim: What, then, is Antichrist? 
 
 A wisdom, at least, which professes one 
 set of propositions and yet acts upon an- 
 other, can be no very entire or rational 
 ground of conduct. Doubtless, there is 
 
On the Choice of a Profession 
 
 69 
 
 much in this question of money; and for 
 my part, I believe no young man ought 
 to be at peace tUI he is self-supporting, 
 and has an open, clear life of it on his own 
 foundation. But here a consideration oc- 
 curs to me of, as I must consider, startling 
 originality. It is this : That there are two 
 sides to this question as well as to so many 
 others. Make more? — ^Aye, or spend less? 
 There is no absolute call upon a man to 
 make any specific income, unless, indeed, 
 he has set his immortal soul on being 
 "One of us." 
 
 A thoroughly respectable income is as 
 much as a man spends. A luxurious in- 
 come, or true opulence, is something more 
 than a man spends. Raise the income, 
 lower the expenditure, and, my dear sir, 
 surprising as it seems, we have the same 
 result. But I hear you remind me, with 
 pursed lips, of privations — of hardships. 
 Alas! sir, there are privations upon either 
 side; the banker has to sit all day in his 
 bank, a serious privation; can you not 
 conceive that the landscape painter, whom 
 I take to be the meanest and most lost 
 among contemporary men, truly and de- 
 liberately prefers the privations upon his 
 side — to wear no gloves, to drink beer, to 
 live on chops or even on potatoes, and 
 lastly, not to be "One of us" — truly and 
 deliberately prefers his privations to those 
 of the banker? I can. Yes, sir, I repeat 
 the words; I can. Believe me, there are 
 Rivers in Bohemia! — but there is nothing 
 so hard to get people to xmderstand as this : 
 That they pay for their money; and noth- 
 ing so difficult to make them remember as 
 this: That money, when they have it, is, 
 for most of them at least, only a cheque 
 to purchase pleasure with. How then if 
 a man gets pleasure in following an art? 
 He might gain more cheques by following 
 another; but then, although there is. a dif- 
 ference in cheques, the amount of pleasure 
 is the same. He gets some of his directly ; 
 unlike the bank clerk, he is having his 
 fortnight's holiday, and doing what de- 
 lights him, all the year. 
 
 All these patent truisms have a very 
 strange air, when written down. But 
 that, my dear sir, is no fault of mine or 
 of the truisms. There they are. I be- 
 seech you do not trifle with them. Be- 
 think yourself like a man. This is the time. 
 
 But, you say, all this is very well; it 
 does not help me to a choice. Once more, 
 sir, you have me; it does not. What shall 
 I say? A choice, let us remember, is 
 almost more of a negative than a positive. 
 You embrace one thing; but you refuse a 
 thousand. The most liberal profession im- 
 prisons many energies and starves many 
 affections. If you are in a bank, you 
 cannot be much upon the sea. You can- 
 not be both a firstrate violinist and a 
 firstrate painter: you must lose in the one 
 art if you persist in following both. If 
 you are sure of your preference, follow it. 
 If not — nay, my dear sir, it is not for me 
 or any man, to go beyond this point. 
 God made you; not I. I cannot even 
 make you over again. I have heard of a 
 schoolmaster, whose specialty it was to 
 elicit the bent of each pupil: poor school- 
 master, poor pupils! As for me, if you 
 have nothing indigenous in your own 
 heart, no living preference, no fine, hu- 
 man scorn, I leave you to the tide; it will 
 sweep you somewhere. Have you but a 
 grain of inclination, I will help you. If 
 you wish tobe a costermonger, be it, shame 
 the devil; and I will stand the donkey. 
 If you wish to be nothing, once more I 
 leave you to the tide. 
 
 I regret profoundly, my dear yoimg 
 sir, not only for you, in whom I see such a 
 lively promise of the future, but for the 
 sake of your admirable and truly worthy 
 father and your no less excellent mamma, 
 that my remarks should seem no more 
 conclusive. I can give myself this praise, 
 that I have kept back nothing; but this, 
 alas ! is a subject on which there is little to 
 put forward. It will probably not much 
 matter what you decide upon doing; for 
 most men seem to sink at length to the 
 degree of stupor necessary for content- 
 ment in their different estates. Yes, sir, 
 this is what I have observed. Most 
 men are happy, and most men dishon- 
 est. Their mind sinks to the proper lev- 
 el; their honour easily accepts the custom 
 of the trade. I wish you may find de- 
 generation no more painful than your 
 neighbours, soon sink into apathy, and 
 be long spared in a state of respectable 
 somnambulism, from the grave to which 
 we haste. 
 
 R. L. S. 
 
RHEIMS DURING THE 
 BOMBARDMENT 
 
 BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS 
 
 E left Paris with the idea 
 of watching from a point 
 south of Soissons the battle 
 then in progress on the 
 Aisne. Our going, to 
 Rheims was an after- 
 thought. Ashmead-Bartlett, of the Lon- 
 don Daily Telegraph, Captain Granville 
 Fortescue, of the Hearst newspapers, Ger- 
 ald Morgan, of the same syndicate, and I 
 shared the automobile. To Morgan any 
 map is an open book ; so we had left it tb 
 him to plan our route. He arranged one 
 which, while apparently not intended to 
 lead us to any particular place, would keep 
 us away from Villers-Cotterets. 
 
 "Veal cutlets," as the Tommies had 
 christened it, was our dead-line. The of&- 
 cers of the English General Staff had made 
 it their headquarters, and had they been 
 afflicted with leprosy, smallpox, and bu- 
 bonic plague, we could not have feared 
 them more. Against war correspondents 
 they had declared war to the death. Un- 
 less the jetting sun did not show a line of 
 correspondents in chains, they considered 
 that day wasted. During that week they 
 had "bagged" thirteen, and the day be- 
 fore we had seen John Reed and Robert 
 Dunn, who had ventured hat in hand into 
 the presence of General Sir Horace Smith- 
 Dorrien, fast in his net, and on their way 
 to the prison at Tours. So, with the En- 
 glish army, although we much desired to 
 follow it, we were taking no chances. 
 Any man in khaki filled us with terror. If 
 we met even a stray Tommie, trying to 
 find his way back to his regiment, the 
 chaufieur turned the car and fled. 
 
 So, in avoiding Villers-Cotterets, we 
 found ourselves on the hills above the 
 Vesle River, and below us, mounting from 
 the plain like a great fortress, the cathedral 
 of Rheims. From what I had seen of the 
 destruction of Louvain, I did not believe 
 the Germans could for two weeks occupy 
 Rheims and leave the cathedral intact; 
 and I urged that in America there would 
 be more interest in any affront put upon 
 70 
 
 Rheims cathedral than in the result of that 
 day's battle. The others disagreed, but as 
 in the automobile I was a fourth owner, it 
 was arranged that that fourth should go 
 to Rheims and later accompany the other 
 three-fourths to Soissons. What we saw 
 in the cathedral kept us in Rheims. This 
 was on the i8th of September, before the 
 roof caught fire, when the greatest dam- 
 age the cathedral had suffered was the 
 destruction of her windows, and when it 
 was being used as a hospital for German 
 wounded. On the two towers Red Cross 
 flags were flying. 
 
 The wounded lay in the western end of 
 the building, which opens on the square. 
 The praying-chairs that once had filled the 
 nave had been pushed aside and the stone 
 floor was piled knee-deep with loose straw. 
 On this lay the men to the number of 
 sixty. With them was a young lieutenant 
 who was shot through the eyes, and an 
 elderly major, a reservist, who looked less 
 a soldier than a professor. With his back 
 to a stone pillar he sat half-buried in the 
 straw with one hand pressing tight a shat- 
 tered arm. To protect the privacy of the 
 wounded aU the doors had been closed, 
 and the light came only from the windows; 
 and as they are high above the floor, the 
 lower half of the cathedral was in twilight. 
 
 To the east were the carved screens, the 
 chapels, tapestries, altars, the brass and 
 silver candlesticks, the statues of the holy 
 family, of saints and angels, of Joan of 
 Arc. To the west was the yellow straw in 
 which lay the gray ghosts nursing bloody 
 bandages. Impartially upon the sacred 
 symbols of the church, and upon the dirt 
 and blood-stained men battered near to 
 death by their fellow men, the famous 
 windows of Rheims shone like vast jewels. 
 For, in spite of the shells, parts of the 
 stained glass still remained, and into the 
 gray shadows cast pointing rays of blue 
 and crimson. But the perfect glory of the 
 glass was gone. Shrapnel and flying bits 
 of masonry had cut through the expanses 
 of deep blue, a blue which is as pure and 
 
Rheims During the Bombardment 
 
 71 
 
 cold as the blue of a winter sky by moon- 
 light, and in them torn great gashes. 
 Through these wounds you saw the dull 
 sky and the falling rain. In one place in 
 the wall a shell had made a breach so large 
 that through it might have passed a taxi- 
 cab. In spite of the nature of the build- 
 ing, in spite of the Red Cross flags, the shell 
 had come shrieking into this by-path of the 
 war, and aimed by Germans had killed 
 two of the German wounded. With their 
 toes pointing stiffly, they lay under little 
 mounds of straw, their gray, wax-like 
 hands folded in peace. 
 
 We were escorted through the cathedral 
 by the cure doyen of the church of Saint 
 Jacques, Chanoihe A. Frezet. His own 
 church up to that time had not greatly suf- 
 fered; nor was he one of the staff of the 
 cathedral, but, like every other man, wom- 
 an, and child in Rheims, he felt as though 
 the stained-glass windows belonged to 
 him. He spoke of the loss of them as of 
 the dead. 
 
 "Except at Chartres and at Burgos, in 
 Spain," he said, "there was in all the 
 world no glass so beautiful. It was seven 
 hundred years old; and the glass is gone, 
 and the secret of it is gone." 
 
 When we saw the havoc caused by the 
 howitzers we had planned at once to carry 
 the story of the desecration of the cathe- 
 dral back to Paris. But while we still 
 were in the cathedral two French batteries 
 of field-guns from the outskirts of Rheims 
 opened on the German positions across 
 the river, and the Germans again began 
 to bombard the city. As this still further 
 threatened the cathedral, we decided, until 
 we knew the result of the bombardment, 
 to wait. We told our chauffeur to make 
 his headquarters in the square in front of 
 the cathedral. We chose that spot be- 
 cause from every part of Rheims the two 
 towers were visible, and to find our way 
 back appeared easy. We did not then 
 suppose the Germans would make the ca- 
 thedral their chief target. We walked to 
 the outskirts of the town to watch the 
 French artillery, but the end of each street 
 was blocked with barricades, and through 
 these the French ofScers would not allow 
 us to pass. To view the work of the Ger- 
 man batteries it was not necessary to 
 leave the city. In it the six-inch howitr 
 zer shells were now falling fast. They fol- 
 lowed each other with the regularity of 
 
 trolley-cars, and the people were closing 
 the shutters and taking refuge in their cel- 
 lars, or in the caves of the champagne 
 companies, or through the streets were 
 flying toward the road to Paris. When 
 the shells struck in the street, the heavy 
 stones gave them greater power. 
 
 At the battle of Soissons we had 
 watched them fall in the fields, where they 
 had thrown out black fumes and ploughed 
 up the turnips. In the soft soil they were 
 less destructive than picturesque. But, 
 just as it is easier to "line out" a swift ball 
 .than a slow one, so, in Rheims, when 
 the shells struck the stone pavements 
 and the brick and stucco houses, their re- 
 sistance aided the explosive power of the 
 shells and the result was great excavations 
 in the streets and the wiping out of entire 
 buildings. These latter in one second the 
 shells lifted, shook, and deposited in rub- 
 bish in the cellar. In other bon^bard- 
 ments I have watched a house lose its roof 
 much as a hat is snatched off by the wind, 
 a cornice carried away, windows punched 
 out, and finally the whole structure bat- 
 tered to its knees. 
 
 It took time, and you saw the wall, or 
 fort, or house disintegrate. But these 
 six-inch German howitzer shells do not 
 dismember; they destroy. It was like a 
 gigantic conjuring trick. Over your head 
 an invisible express train swept through 
 space; in front of you a house disappeared. 
 Except for those who were escaping, and 
 the infantry who guarded the town, the 
 streets were empty. The infantry told us 
 they had just returned from Belgium. 
 They were lean, tanned, clear-eyed. In 
 spite of their long "hike" they were nei- 
 ther footsore nor weary. Instead, they 
 were extremely fit and cheerful. They 
 disregarded the shells entirely; and were 
 moving from house to house inquiring 
 anxiously for any cigarettes the Germans 
 might have overlooked. 
 
 The shells had been faUing near the 
 cathedral; and when we returned to the 
 square we di(f not expect to find our 
 chauffeur. And, as it turned out, save 
 for the statue of Joan of Arc, the square 
 was empty. A sentry ran from one of the 
 portals of the church and told us the 
 chauffeur had arranged with himself to 
 meet us outside the gate to Paris. He 
 had waited, the sentry explained, until 
 two houses within a hundred yards of 
 
72 
 
 Rheims During the Bombardment 
 
 him had vanished, then he, too; had van- 
 ished. In the rue de Vesle we joined the 
 stream of people making toward the city- 
 gate. They formed only a small part of 
 the population. The rest of Rheims was 
 standing in the doors, or on the sidewalk, 
 watching those who fled. Those who had 
 elected to remain did not appear disturbed. 
 Young people, arm in arm, were parading 
 the street, searching the sky for air-ships, 
 pointing eagerly when a column of black 
 smoke or powdered cement marked where 
 a shell had burst. 
 
 At the gate of the city we asked if any- 
 one had seen our car. A man in a blouse 
 had not seen it; but he knew how we 
 could find it. We had only to accompany 
 him to the general staff, who were occu- 
 P3dng the gendarmerie. If there were any 
 people we were less anxious to meet than 
 the general staff it was the gendarmes. 
 We tried to escape from the man in the 
 blouse. 
 
 Whether he was a secret agent who 
 thought we were spies, or the village pest, 
 we could not tell ; but he would not leave 
 us. We whispered to each other and in 
 the crowd lost ourselves. But the man in 
 the blouse, accompanied by a policeman, 
 pursued. The captain of gendarmes de- 
 sired to speak with us. We knew what 
 that meant. It meant showing ourpapers, 
 which would disclose the damning fact 
 that we were correspondents, and that 
 meant Tours. 
 
 And Tours is a "long, long way from 
 Tipperary. It's a long way to go." 
 
 The captain of gendarmes regarded us 
 sternly. 
 
 "Is your car a limousine with a gray 
 body?" he asked. We admitted that it 
 was. "You will find it a mile farther up 
 this road," he said. He will never know 
 why we thanked him so extravagantly. 
 Probably he still thinks, so anxious were 
 we to escape, that only a car could take us 
 away fast enough. The chauffeur was 
 sure he could sleep just as^well outside of 
 Rheims as in it, and on foot we returned to 
 the city. It had now grown dark, and, as 
 though eager to make use of the light still 
 remaining, the salvos from the French ar- 
 tillery and the return fire of the Ger- 
 mans had quickened. Many of those we 
 met were now panic-stricken, and, as they 
 ran, stumbled and tripped. Women were 
 weeping, praying aloud, and crossing 
 
 themselves, and, when the shells burst, 
 screaming in terror. 
 
 The streets and sidewalks were strewn 
 an inch deep with the broken glass of the 
 window-panes, and under the hurrying 
 feet of the refugees this carpet gave out 
 sharp, metallic echoes. With the whis- 
 tUng and grinding of the shells, and the 
 crash of the falUng masonry, is always as- 
 sociated in my mind this tinkling, musical 
 accompaniment. Seekingalodgingforthe 
 night, and pounding on the closed doors, 
 we walked over half the city. But no one 
 invited us, and we were preparing to sleep 
 in the car when we stumbled upon the 
 H6tel du Nord. 
 
 We found it running smoothly, and ex- 
 cept for one man who made the beds, run 
 by a staff composed entirely of women. 
 That French women are capable is a bro- 
 mide, but these women, under trying con- 
 ditions, were especially so. They were 
 acting as clerks, cooks, butlers, waiters, 
 and, when their duties permitted, were in- 
 dustriously knitting. Their guests also 
 were women. But they were refugees, 
 and having no responsibility they were not 
 capable. They sat in the pretty garden, 
 their poodle-dogs and handbags on their 
 knees; and each time the guns spoke, each 
 would duck. At eight o'clock the firing 
 had sunk to a low growl like the passing of 
 a summer thunder-storm; and until four 
 in the morning, when the bombardment 
 again shook the city, there was silence. 
 We thought what we had seen of the de- 
 struction of the cathedral required us to 
 get our story at once on the wire; and we 
 returned to Paris. But our judgment was 
 at fault; we should have remained where 
 we were. The next morning in Paris the 
 eleven-o'clock communique told that the 
 cathedral was in flames, and again we 
 started toward Rheims. It was a most 
 difficult, and, with constantly before us the 
 chance of arrest, a most anxious journey. 
 A turning movement on a big scale was 
 going forward and every foot of the way 
 was blocked with troops. The roads 
 could not hold them and across country 
 they were making short cuts, the wheels 
 of the artillery and of the motor-trucks 
 ploughing deep furrows in the wheat-fields. 
 We were smothered with soldiers; they 
 clung to the running-boards of the car, 
 were silhouetted against the sky-line, hke 
 lakes of blue they spread across the val- 
 
Painted by N. C. Iiyn/i. 
 
 THORGUNNA, THE WAIK WOMAN', 
 
ScRiBNER's Magazine 
 
 VOL. LVI 
 
 DECEMBER, 1914 
 
 NO. 6 
 
 '^^:- 
 
 ^K. 
 
 THE WAIF WOMAN 
 
 A CUE— FROM A SAGA 
 BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 Illustrations by N. C. Wyeth 
 
 A . 
 ^HIS is a tale of Iceland, the 
 isle of stories, and of a thing 
 that befell in the year of the 
 coming there of Christian- 
 ity. 
 In the spring of that year 
 a ship sailed from the South Isles to traffic, 
 and fell becalmed inside Snowfellness. 
 The winds had speeded her; she was the 
 first comer of the year; and the fishers 
 drew alongside to hear the news of the 
 south, and eager folk put out in boats to 
 see the merchandise and make prices. 
 From the doors of the hall on Frodis 
 
 %* This unpublished story, preserved among Mrs. Steven- 
 son's papers, is mentioned by Mr. Balfour in his life of 
 Stevenson. Writing of the fables which Stevenson began 
 before he had left England and "attacked again, and from 
 time to time added to their number" in 1803, Mr. Balfour 
 says: "The reference to Odin [Fable XVII] perhaps is due 
 to his reading of the Sagas, which led him to attempt a tale 
 in the same style, called 'The Waif Woman.' " 
 
 Water, the house folk saw the ship be- 
 calmed and the boats about her, coming 
 and going; and the merchants from the 
 ship could see the smoke go up and the 
 men and women trooping to their meals 
 in the hall. 
 
 The goodman of that house was called 
 Finnward Keelfarer, and his wife Aud the 
 Light-Minded; and they had a son Eyolf, 
 a likely boy, and a daughter Asdis, a slip 
 of a maid. Finnward was well to do in his 
 affairs, he kept open house and had good 
 friends. But Aud his wife was not so 
 much considered: her mind was set on 
 trifles, on bright clothing, and the admira- 
 tion of men, and the envy of women; and 
 it was thought she was not always so cir- 
 cumspect in her bearing as she might have 
 been, but nothing to hurt. 
 
 Copyright, 1914, by Charles Scribner's Sons. All rights reserved. 
 
 Vol. LVI.— 71 
 
 687 
 
688 
 
 The Waif Woman 
 
 On the evening of the second day men 
 came to the house from sea. They told of 
 the merchandise in the ship, which was 
 well enough and to be had at easy rates, 
 and of a waif woman that sailed in her, 
 no one could tell why, and had chests of 
 clothes beyond comparison, fine colored 
 stuffs, finely woven, the best that ever 
 came into that island, and gewgaws for a 
 queen. At the hearing of that Aud's eyes 
 began to glisten. She went early to bed; 
 and the day was not yet red before she 
 was on the beach, had a boat launched, 
 and was pulling to the ship. By the way 
 she looked closely at all boats, but there 
 was no woman in any; and at that she 
 was better pleased, for she had no fear of 
 the men. 
 
 When they came to the ship, boats were 
 there already, and the merchants and the 
 shore folk sat and jested and chaffered in 
 the sterni But in the fore part of the ship, 
 the woman sat alone, and looked before 
 her sourly at the sea. They called her 
 Thorgunna. She was as tall as a man and 
 high in flesh, a buxom wife to look at. 
 Her hair was of the dark red, time had not 
 changed it. Her face was dark, the cheeks 
 full, and the brow smooth. Some of the 
 merchants told that she was sixty years of 
 age and others laughed and said she was 
 but forty; but they spoke of her in whis- 
 pers, for they seemed to think that she 
 was ill to deal with and not more than 
 ordinary canny. 
 
 Aud went to where she sat and made her 
 welcome to Iceland. Thorgunna did the 
 honors of the ship. So for a while they car- 
 ried it on, praising and watching each 
 other, in the way of women. But Aud 
 was a little vessel to contain a great long- 
 ing, and presently the cry of her heart 
 came out of her. 
 
 "The folk say," says she, "you have 
 the finest women's things that ever came 
 to Iceland?" and as she spoke her eyes 
 grew big. 
 
 "It would be strange if I had not," 
 quoth Thorgunna. "Queens have no 
 finer." 
 
 So Aud begged that she might see them. 
 
 Thorgunna looked on her askance. 
 "Truly," said she, "the things are for no 
 use but to be shown." So she fetched a 
 chest and opened it. Here was a cloak of 
 the rare scarlet laid upon with silver. 
 
 beautiful beyond belief; hard by was a 
 silver brooch of basket-work that was 
 wrought as fine as any shell and was as 
 broad as the face of the full moon; and 
 Aud saw the clothes lying folded in the 
 chest, of all the colors of the day, and fire, 
 and precious gems; and her heart burned 
 with envy. So, because she had so huge a 
 mind to buy, she began to make light of 
 the merchandise. 
 
 "They are good enough things," says 
 she, " though I have better in my chest at 
 home. It is a good enough cloak, and I 
 am in need of a new cloak." At that she 
 fingered the scarlet, and the touch of the 
 fine stuff went to her mind like singing. 
 "Come," says she, "if it were only for 
 your civility in showing it, what will you 
 have for your cloak?" 
 
 "Woman," said Thorgunna, "I am no 
 merchant." And she closed the chest and 
 locked it, like one angry. 
 
 Then Aud fell to protesting and caress- 
 ing her. That was Aud's practice; for she 
 thought if she hugged and kiss'ed a person 
 none could say her nay. Next she went to 
 flattery, said she knew the things were too 
 noble for the like of her — they were made 
 for a stately, beautiful woman like Thor- 
 gunna; and at that she kissed her again, 
 and Thorgunna seemed a little pleased. 
 And now Aud pled poverty and begged 
 for the cloak in a gift; and now she 
 vaunted the wealth of her goodman and 
 offered ounces and ounces of fine silver, 
 the price of three men's lives. Thorgimna 
 srtiiled, but it was a grim smile, and still 
 she shook her head. At last Aud wrought 
 herself into extremity and wept. 
 
 " I would give my soul for it," she cried. 
 
 " Fool ! " said Thorgunna. "But there 
 have been fools before you ! ' ' And a little 
 after, she said this: "Let us be done with 
 beseeching. The things are mine. I was 
 a fool to show you them; but where is 
 their use, unless we show them? Mine 
 they are and mine they shall be till I die. 
 I have paid for them dear enough," said 
 she. 
 
 Aud saw it was of no avail; so she dried 
 her tears, and asked Thorgunna about her 
 voyage, and made believe to listen while 
 she plotted in her little mind. "Thor- 
 gunna," she asked presently, "do you 
 count kin with any folk in Iceland?" 
 
 "I count kin with none," replied Thor- 
 
ntedbyN C II j 
 
 IHE FIRST WALKING OF THORGUNNA. 
 Great fear fell upon them; the marrow of their back grew cold. — Page 694. 
 
 689 
 
The Waif Woman 
 
 691 
 
 gunna. "My kin is of the greatest, but I 
 have not been always lucky, so I say the 
 less." 
 
 "So that you have no house to pass the 
 time in till the ship return ? " cries Aud. 
 "Dear Thorgunna, you must come and 
 live with us. My goodman is rich, his 
 hand and his house are open, and I will 
 cherish you like a daughter." 
 
 At that Thorgunna smiled on the one 
 side; but her soul laughed within her at 
 the woman's shallowness. " I will pay her 
 for that word daughter," she thought, and 
 she smiled again. 
 
 ' "I will live with you gladly," says she, 
 "for your house has a good name, and I 
 have seen the smoke of your kitchen from 
 the ship. But one thing you shall under- 
 stand. I make no presents, I give nothing 
 where I go — not a rag and not an ounce. 
 Where I stay, I work for my upkeep ; and 
 as I am strong as a man and hardy as an 
 ox, they that have had the keeping of me 
 were the better pleased." 
 
 It was a hard job for Aud to keep her 
 countenance, for she was like to have 
 wept. And yet she felt it would be un- 
 seemly to eat her invitation; and like a 
 shallow woman and one that had always 
 led her husband by the nose, she told 
 herself she would find some means to ca- 
 jole Thorgunna and come by her purpose 
 after all. So she put a good face on the 
 thing, had Thorgunna into the boat, her 
 and her two great chests, and brought her 
 home with her to the hall by the beach. 
 
 All the way in she made much of the 
 wife; and when they were arrived gave 
 her a locked bed-place in the hall, where 
 was a bed, a table, and a stool, and space 
 for the two chests. 
 
 "This shall be yours while you stay 
 here," said Aud. And she attended on 
 her guest. 
 
 Now Thorgunna opened Uhe second 
 chest and took out her bedding — sheets of 
 English linen, the like of it never seen, a 
 cover of quilted silk, and curtains of pur- 
 ple wrought with silver. At the sight of 
 these Aud was like one distracted, greed 
 blinded her mind; the cry rose strong in 
 her throat, it must out. 
 
 " What will you sell your bedding for ? " 
 she cried, and her cheeks were hot. 
 
 Thorgunna looked upon her with a 
 dusky countenance. "Truly you are a 
 
 courteous hostess," said she, ','but I will 
 not sleep on straw for your amusement." 
 
 At that Aud's two ears grew hot as her 
 cheeks; and she took Thorgunna at her 
 word, and left her from that time in peace. 
 
 The woman was as good as her spoken 
 word. Inside the house and out she 
 wrought like three, and all that she put 
 her hand to was well done. When she 
 milked, the cows yielded beyond custom; 
 when she made hay, it was always dry 
 weather; when she took her turn at the 
 cooking, the folk licked their spoons. Her 
 manners when she pleased were outside 
 imitation, like one that had sat with kings 
 in their high buildings. It seemed she was 
 pious too, and the day never passed but 
 she was in the church there praying. The 
 rest was not so well. She was of few 
 words, and never one about her kin and 
 fortunes. Gloom sat on her brow, and she 
 was ill to cross. Behind her back they 
 gave her the name of the Waif Woman or 
 the Wind Wife; to her face it must al- 
 ways be Thorgunna. And if any of the 
 young men called her mother, she would 
 speak no more that day, but sit apart in 
 the hall and mutter with her lips. 
 
 "This is a queer piece of goods that we 
 have gotten," says Finnward Keelfarer, 
 " I wish we get no harm by her ! But the 
 goodwife's pleasure must be done," said 
 he, which was his common word. 
 
 When she was at work, Thorgunna 
 wore the rudest of plain clothes, though 
 ever clean as a cat; but at night in the 
 hall she was more dainty, for she loved to 
 be admired. No doubt she made herself 
 look well, and many thought she was a 
 comely woman still, and to those she was 
 always favorable and full of pleasant 
 speech. But the more that some pleased 
 her, it was thought by good judges that 
 they pleased Aud the less. 
 
 When midsummer was passed, a com- 
 pany of young men upon a journey came 
 to the house by Frodis Water. That was 
 always a great day for Aud, when there 
 were gallants at table; and what made 
 this day the greater, Alf of the Fells was in 
 the company, and she thought Alf fancied 
 her. So be sure Aud wore her best. But 
 when Thorgunna came from the bed-place, 
 she was arrayed like any queen and the 
 broad brooch was in her bosom. All night 
 in the hall these women strove with each 
 
It was a rough day, the sea was wild, the boat labored exceedingly. ^Page 698. 
 
 Other; and the little maid, Asdis, looked 
 on, and was ashamed and knew not why. 
 But Thorgunna pleased beyond all; she 
 told of strange things that had befallen in 
 the world; when she pleased, she had the 
 cue to laughter; she sang, and her voice 
 was full and her songs new in that island; 
 and whenever she turned, the eyes shone 
 in her face and the brooch glittered at her 
 bosom. So that the young men forgot the 
 word of the merchants as to the woman's 
 age, and their looks followed her all night. 
 Aud was sick with envy. Sleep fled 
 her; her husband slept, but she sat up- 
 right beside him in the bed, and gnawed 
 her fingers. Now she began to hate Thor- 
 gunna, and the glittering of the great 
 brooch stood before her in the dark. 
 "Sure," she thought, "it must be the 
 glamour of that brooch ! She is not so fair 
 as I; she is as old as the dead in the hill- 
 side; and as for her wit and her songs, it 
 is little I think of them ! " Up she got at 
 that, took a light from the embers, and 
 came to her guest's bed-place. The door 
 was locked, but Aud had a master-key 
 and could go in. Inside, the chests were 
 open, and in the top of one the light of 
 her taper shone upon the glittering of 
 the brooch. As a dog snatches food she 
 snatched it, and turned to the bed. Thor- 
 692 
 
 gunna lay on her side ; it was to be thought 
 she slept, but sEe talked the whUe to her- 
 self, and her lips moved. It seemed her 
 years returned to her in slumber, for her 
 face was gray and her brow knotted; and 
 the open eyes of her stared in the eyes of 
 Aud. The heart of the foolish woman 
 died in her bosom; but her greed was the 
 stronger, and she fled with that which she 
 had stolen. 
 
 When she was back in bed, the word of 
 Thorgunna came to her mind, that these 
 things were for no use but to be shown. 
 Here she had the brooch and the shame of 
 it, and might not wear it. So all night she 
 quaked with the fear of discovery, and 
 wept tears of rage that she should have 
 sinned in vain. Day came, and Aud must 
 rise; but she went about the house like a 
 crazy woman. She saw the eyes of Asdis 
 rest on her strangely, and at that she beat 
 the maid. She scolded the house folk, and, 
 by her way of it, nothing was done aright. 
 First she was loving to her husband and 
 made much of him, thinking to be on his 
 good side when trouble came. Then she 
 took a better way, picked a feud with him, 
 and railed on the poor man till his ears 
 rang, so that he might be in the wrong 
 beforehand. The brooch she hid without, 
 in the side of a hayrick. 
 
The Waif Woman 
 
 693 
 
 All this while Thorgunna lay in the bed- 
 place, which was not her way, for by cus- 
 tom she was early astir. At last she came 
 forth, and there was that in her face that 
 made all the house look one at the other 
 and the heart of Aud to be straitened. 
 Never a word the guest spoke, not a bite 
 she swallowed, and they saw the strong 
 shudderings take and shake her in her 
 place. Yet a little, . and still without 
 speech, back she went into her bed-place, 
 and the door was shut. 
 
 "That is a sick wife," said Finnward. 
 ' ' Her weird has come on her . " 
 
 And at that the heart of Aud was lifted 
 up with hope. 
 
 All day Thorgunna'lay on her bed, and 
 the next day sent for Finnward. 
 
 "Finnward Keelfarer," said she, "my 
 trouble is come upon me, and I am at the 
 end of my days." 
 
 He made the customary talk. 
 
 "I have had my good things; now my 
 hour is come; and let sufl&ce," quoth she. 
 "I did not send for you to hear your 
 prating." 
 
 Finnward knew not what to answer, for 
 he saw her soul was dark. 
 
 "I sent for you on needful matters," 
 she began again. " I die here— I !— in this 
 black house, in a bleak island, far from 
 all decency and proper ways of men; and 
 now my treasure must be left. Small 
 pleasure have I had of it, arid leave it with 
 the less ! " cried she. 
 
 " Good woman, as the saying is, needs 
 must," says Finnward, for he was nettled 
 with that speech. 
 
 "For that I called you," quoth Thor- 
 gunna. "In these two chests are much 
 wealth and things greatly to be desired. 
 I wish my body to be laid in Skalaholt in 
 the new church, where I trust to hear the 
 mass-priests singing over my head so long 
 as time endures. To that church I will 
 you to give what is sufficient, leaving your 
 conscience judge of it. My scarlet cloak 
 with the silver, I will to that poor fool 
 your wife. She longed for it so bitterly, I 
 may not even now deny her. Give her the 
 brooch as well. I warn you of her; I was 
 such as she, only wiser; I warn you, the 
 ground she stands upon is water, and who- 
 so trusts her leans on rottenness. I hate 
 her and I pity her. When she comes to 
 lie where I lie — " There she broke ofiE. 
 Vol. LVI.— 72 
 
 "The rest of my goods I leave to your 
 black-eyed maid, young Asdis, for her 
 slim body and clean mind. Only the 
 things of my bed, you shall see burned." 
 
 "It is well," said Finnward. 
 
 "It may be well," quoth she, "if you 
 obey. My life has been a wonder to all 
 and a fear to many. While I lived none 
 thwarted me and prospered. See to it 
 that none thwart me after I am dead. It 
 stands upon your safety." 
 
 "It stands upon my honor," quoth 
 Finnward, "and I have the name of an 
 honorable man." 
 
 "You have the name of a weak one," 
 says Thorgunna. "Look to it, look to it, 
 Finnward. Your house shall rue it else." 
 
 "The rooftree of my house is my word," 
 said Finnward. 
 
 "And that is a true saying," says the 
 woman. " See to it, then. The speech of 
 Thorgunna is ended." 
 
 With that she turned her face against 
 the wall and Finnward left her. 
 
 The same night, in the small hours of 
 the clock, Thorgimna passed. It was a 
 wild night for summer, and the wind sang 
 about the eaves and clouds covered, the 
 moon, when the dark woman wended. 
 From that day to this no rdan has learned 
 her story or her people's name; but bte 
 sure the one was stormy and the other 
 great. She had come to that isle, a waif 
 woman, on a ship; thence she flitted, and 
 no more remained of her but her heavy 
 chests and her big body. 
 
 In the morning the house women 
 streaked and dressed the corpse. Then 
 came Finnward, and carried the sheets 
 and curtains from the house, and caused 
 build a fire upon the sands. But Aud had 
 an eye on her man's doings. 
 
 "And what is this that you are at?" 
 said she. 
 
 So he told her. 
 
 "Burn the good sheets!" she cried. 
 "And where would I be with my two 
 hands? No, troth," said Aud, "not so 
 long as your wife is above ground !" 
 
 "Good wife," said Finnward, "this is 
 beyond your province. Here is my word 
 pledged and the woman dead I pledged it 
 to. So much the more am I bound. Let 
 me be doing as I must; goodwife." 
 
 "Tilly-valley ! " says she, " and a fiddle- 
 stick's end, goodman ! You may know 
 
694 
 
 The Waif Woman 
 
 well about fishing and be good at shearing 
 sheep for what I know; but you are little 
 of a judge of damask sheets. And the best 
 word I can say is just this," she says, lay- 
 ing hold of one end of the goods, " that if 
 ye are made up to burn the plenishing, 
 you must burn your wife along with it." 
 
 "I trust it will not go so hard," says 
 Finn ward, " and I beg you not to speak so 
 loud and let the house folk hear you." 
 
 "Let them speak low that are 
 ashamed!" cries Aud. "I speak only in 
 reason." 
 
 "You are to consider that the woman 
 died in my house," says Finnward, "and 
 this was her last behest. In truth, good- 
 wife, if I were to fail, it is a thing that 
 would stick long in my throat, and would 
 give us an ill name with the neighbors." 
 
 "And you are to consider," says she, 
 "that I am your true wife and worth all 
 the witches ever burnt, and loving her old 
 husband" — here she put her arms about 
 his neck. " And you are to consider that 
 what you wish to do is to destroy fine 
 stuff, such as we have no means of re- 
 placing; and that she bade you do it 
 singly to spite me, for I sought to buy this 
 bedding from her while she was alive at 
 her own price; and that she hated me be- 
 cause I was young and handsome." 
 
 "That is a true word that she hated 
 you, for she said so herself before she 
 wended," says Finnward. 
 
 " So that here is an old fagot that hated 
 me, and she dead as a bucket," says Aud; 
 " and here is a young wife that loves you 
 dear, and is alive forby" — and at that she 
 kissed him — "and the point is, which are 
 you to do the will of ? " 
 
 The man's weakness caught him hard, 
 and he faltered. "I fear some hurt will 
 come of it," said he. 
 
 There she cut in, and bade the lads 
 tread out the fire, and the lasses roll the 
 bed-stuff up and carry it within. 
 
 "My dear," says he, "my honor — this 
 is against my honor." 
 
 But she took his arm under hers, and 
 caressed his hand, and kissed his knuck- 
 les, and led him down the bay. " Bubble- 
 bubble-bubble ! " says she, imitating him 
 like a baby, though she was none so 
 young. "Bubble-bubble, and a silly old 
 man ! We must bury the troll wife, and 
 here is trouble enough, and a vengeance ! 
 
 Horses will sweat for it before she comes 
 to Skalaholt; 'tis my belief she was a man 
 in a woman's habit. And so now, have 
 done, good man, and let us get her waked 
 and buried, which is more than she de- 
 serves, or her old duds are like to pay for. 
 And when that is ended, we can consult 
 upon the rest." 
 
 So Finnward was but too well pleased to 
 put it off. 
 
 The next day they set forth early for 
 Skalaholt across the heaths. It was heavy 
 weather, and gray overhead; the horses 
 sweated and neighed, and the men went 
 silent, for it was nowhere in their minds 
 that the dead wife was canny. Only Aud 
 talked by the way, like a silly sea-gull pip- 
 ing on a cliff, and the rest held their peace. 
 The sun went down before they were 
 across Whitewater; and the black night 
 fell on them this side of Nethemess. At 
 Netherness they beat upon the door. The 
 goodman was not abed nor any of his folk, 
 but sat in the hall talking; and to them 
 Finnward made clear his business. 
 
 "I will never deny you a roof," said 
 the goodman of Netherness. "But I 
 have no food ready, and if you cannot be 
 doing without meat, you must e'en fare 
 farther." 
 
 They laid the body in a shed, made fast 
 their horses, and came into the house, and 
 the door was closed again. So there they 
 sat about the lights, and there was little 
 said, for they were none so well pleased 
 with their reception. Presently, in the 
 place where the food was kept, began a 
 clattering of dishes; and it fell to a bond- 
 man of the house to go and see what made 
 the clatter. He was no sooner gone than 
 he was back again; and told it was a big, 
 buxom woman, high in flesh and naked as 
 she was born, setting meats upon a dresser. 
 Finnward grew pale as the dawn; he got 
 to his feet, and the rest rose with him, and 
 all the party of the funeral came to the 
 buttery-door. And the dead Thorgunna 
 took no heed of their coming, but went on 
 setting forth meats, and seemed to talk 
 with herself as she did so; and she was 
 naked to the buff. 
 
 Great fear fell upon them; the marrow 
 of their back grew cold. Not one word 
 they spoke, neither good nor bad; but 
 back into the hall, and down upon their 
 bended knees, and to their prayers. 
 
Painted by N. C. Wyetli. 
 
 THE DEATH OF FINNWARD KEEJ^FARER. 
 This was the first vengeance of Thorgunna. — Page 6g8. 
 
 69s 
 
The Waif Woman 
 
 697 
 
 "Now, in the name of God, what ails 
 you?" cried the goodman of Nethemess. 
 
 And when they had told him, shame 
 fell upon him for his churlishness. 
 
 "The dead wife reproves me," said the 
 honest man. 
 
 And he blessed himself and his house, 
 and caused spread the tables, and they all 
 ate of the meats that the dead wife laid 
 out. 
 
 This was the first walking of Thor- 
 gunna, and it is thought by good judges it 
 would have been the last as well, if men 
 had been more wise. 
 
 The next day they came to Skalaholt, 
 and there was the body buried^ and the 
 next after they set out for home. Finn- 
 ward's heart was heavy, and his mind 
 divided. He feared the dead wife and the 
 living; he feared dishonor and he feared 
 dispeace; and his will was like a sea-gull in 
 the wind. Now he cleared his throat and 
 made as if to speak; and at that Aud 
 cocked her eye and looked at the good- 
 man mocking, and his voice died unborn. 
 At the last, shame gave him courage. 
 
 "Aud," said he, "yon was a most un- 
 canny thing at Nethemess." 
 
 "No doubt," said Aud. 
 
 " I have never had it in my mind," said 
 he, "that yon woman was the thing she 
 should be." 
 
 "I dare say not," said Aud. "I never 
 thought so either." 
 
 "It stands beyond question she was 
 more than canny," says Finnward, shak- 
 ing his head. "No manner of doubt but 
 what she was ancient of mind." 
 
 "She was getting pretty old in body, 
 too," says Aud. 
 
 "Wife," says he, "it comes in upon me 
 strongly this is no kind of woman to dis- 
 obey; above all, being dead and her walk- 
 ing. I think, wife, we must even do as she 
 commanded." 
 
 "Now what is ever your word?" says 
 she, riding up close and setting her hand 
 upon his shoulder. " 'The goodwife's 
 pleasure must be done'; is not that my 
 Finnward?" 
 
 "The good God knows I grudge you 
 nothing," cried Finnward. "But my 
 blood runs cold upon this business. 
 Worse will come of it !" he cried, "worse 
 will flow from it ! " 
 
 "What is this todo?" cries Aud. 
 
 "Here is an old brimstone hag that should 
 have been stoned with stones, and hated 
 me besides. Vainly she tried to frighten 
 me when she was living; shall she frighten 
 me now when she is dead and rotten ? I 
 trow not. Think shame to your beard, 
 goodman ! Are these a man's shoes I see 
 you shaking in, when your wife rides by 
 your bridle-hand, as bold as naUs?" 
 
 "Ay, ay," quoth Finnward. "But 
 there goes a bj^word in the country: 
 Little wit, little fear." 
 
 At this Aud began to be concerned, for 
 he was usually easier to lead. So now she 
 tried the other method on the man. 
 
 "Is that your word?" cried she. "I 
 kiss the hands of ye ! If I have not wit 
 enough, I can rid you of my company. 
 Wit is it he seeks?" she cried. "The old 
 broomstick that we buried yesterday had 
 wit for you." 
 
 So she rode on ahead and looked not the 
 road that he was on. 
 
 Poor Finnward followed on his horse, 
 but the light of the day was gone out, for 
 his wife was like his Ufe to him. He went 
 six miles and was true to his heart; but 
 the seventh was not half through when he 
 rode up to her. 
 
 "Is it to be the goodwife's pleasure?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Aud, you shall have your way," says 
 he; " God grant there come no ill of it !" 
 
 So she made much of him, and his heart 
 was comforted. 
 
 When they came to the house, Aud had 
 the two chests to her own bed-place, and 
 gloated all night on what she found. 
 Finnward looked on, and trouble dark- 
 ened his mind. 
 
 "Wife," says he at last, "you will not 
 forget these things belong to Asdis?" 
 
 At that she barked upon him like a dog. 
 
 " Am I a thief ? " she cried. " The brat 
 shall have them in her turn when she 
 grows up. Would you have me give her 
 them now to turn her minx's head with ? " 
 
 So the weak man went his way out of 
 the house in sorrow and fell to his affairs. 
 Those that wrought with him that day 
 observed that now he would labor and toil 
 like a man furious, and now would sit and 
 stare like one stupid; for in truth he 
 judged the business would end ill. 
 
 For a while there was no more done and 
 no more said. Aud cherished her treasures 
 
698 
 
 The Waif Woman 
 
 by herself, and none was the wiser except 
 Finnward. Only the cloak she sometimes 
 wore, for that was hers by the will of the 
 dead wife; but the others she let lie, be- 
 cause she knew she had them foully, and 
 she feared Finnward somewhat and Thor- 
 gunna much. 
 
 At last husband and wife were bound 
 to bed one night, and he was the first 
 stripped and got it. 
 
 "What sheets are these?" he screamed, 
 as his legs touched them, for these were 
 smooth as water, but the sheets of Iceland 
 were like sacking. 
 
 " Clean sheets, I suppose," says Aud, but 
 her hand quavered as she wound her hair. 
 
 " Woman ! " cried Finnward, " these are 
 the bed-sheets of Thorgunna — these are 
 the sheets she died in ! do not lie to me ! " 
 
 At that Aud turned and looked at him. 
 "Well?" says she, "they have been 
 washed." 
 
 Finnward lay down again in the bed 
 between Thorgunna's sheets, and groaned; 
 never a word more he said, for now he 
 knew he was a coward and a man dis- 
 honored. Presently his wife came beside 
 him, and they lay still, but neither slept. 
 
 It might be twelve in the night when 
 Aud felt Finnward shudder so strong that 
 the bed shook. 
 
 "What ails you?" said she. 
 
 "I know not," he said. "It is a chill 
 like the chill of death. My soul is sick 
 with it." His voice fell low. "It was so 
 Thorgunna sickened," said he. And he 
 arose and walked in the hall in the dark 
 till it came morning. 
 
 Early in the morning he went forth to 
 the sea-fishing with four lads. Aud was 
 troubled at heart and watched him from 
 the door, and even as he went down the 
 beach she saw him shaken with Thor- 
 gunna's shudder. It was a rough day, the 
 sea was wild, the boat labored exceedingly, 
 and it may be that Finnward's mind was 
 troubled with his sickness. Certain it is 
 that they struck, and their boat was burst, 
 upon a skerry under Snowfellness. The 
 four lads were spilled into the sea, and the 
 sea broke and buried them, but Finnward 
 was cast upon the skerry, and clambered 
 up, and sat there all day long: God knows 
 his thoughts. The sun was half-way down, 
 when a shepherd went by on the cliffs 
 about his business, and spied a man in the 
 
 midst of the breach of the loud seas, upon 
 a pinnacle of reef. He hailed him, and the 
 man turned and hailed again. There was 
 in that cove so great a clashing of the seas 
 and so shrill a cry of sea-fowl that the herd 
 might hear the voice and not the words. 
 But the name Thorgunna came to him, 
 and he saw the face of Finnward Keelfarer 
 like the face of an old man. Lively ran 
 the herd to Finnward's house; and when 
 his tale was told there, Eyolf the boy was 
 lively to out a boat and hasten to his 
 father's aid. By the strength of hands 
 they drove the keel against the seas, and 
 with skill and courage Eyolf won upon the 
 skerry and climbed up. There sat his 
 father dead; and this was the first ven- 
 geance of Thorgxmna against broken faith. 
 
 It was a sore job to get the corpse on 
 board, and a sorer yet to bring it home be- 
 fore the rolling seas. But the lad Eyolf 
 was a lad of promise, and the lads that 
 pulled for him were sturdy men. So the 
 break-faith's body was got home, and 
 waked, and buried on the hill. Aud was a 
 good widow and wept much, for she liked 
 Finnward well enough. Yet a bird sang in 
 her ears that now she might marry a 
 young man. Little fear that she might 
 have her choice of them, she thought, with 
 all Thorgunna's fine things; and her heart 
 was cheered. 
 
 Now, when the corpse was laid in the 
 hill, Asdis came where Aud sat solitary in 
 hall, and stood by her awhile without 
 speech. 
 
 "Well, child?" says Aud; and again 
 "Well?" and then "Keep us holy, if you 
 have anything to say, out with it ! " 
 
 So the maid came so much nearer. 
 "Mother," says she, "I wish you would 
 not wear these things that were Thor- 
 gunna's." 
 
 "Aha," cries Aud. "This is what it is? 
 You begin early, brat ! And who has been 
 poisoning your mind? Your fool of a 
 father, I suppose." And then she stopped 
 and went all scarlet. " Who told you they 
 were yours?" she asked again, taking it 
 all the higher for her stumble. ' ' When you 
 are grown, then you shall have your share, 
 and not a day before. These things are 
 not for babies." 
 
 The child looked at her and was amazed. 
 "I do not wish them," she said. "I wish 
 they might be burned." 
 
699 
 
700 
 
 The Waif Woman 
 
 "Upon my word, what next?" cried 
 Aud. " Andwhyshould theybe burned? " 
 
 "I know my father tried to burn these 
 things," said Asdis, " and he named Thor- 
 gunna's name upon the skerry ere he died. 
 And, O mother, I doubt they have brought 
 ill luck." 
 
 But the more Aud was terrified, the 
 more she would make light of it. 
 
 Then the girl put her hand upon her 
 mother's. "I fear they are ill come by," 
 said she. 
 
 The blood sprang in Aud's face. " And 
 who made you a judge upon your mother 
 that bore you?" cried she. 
 
 "Kinswoman," said Asdis, looking 
 down, "I saw ^ou with the brooch." 
 
 ' ' What do you mean ? When ? Where 
 did you see me?" cried the mother. 
 
 "Here in the hall," said Asdis, looking 
 on the floor, "the night you stole it." 
 
 At that Aud let out a cry. Then she 
 heaved up her hand to strike the child. 
 "You little spy!" she cried. Then she 
 covered her face, and wept, and rocked 
 herself. "What can you know?" she 
 cried. "How can you understand, that 
 are a baby, not so long weaned ? He could 
 — your father could, the dear good man, 
 dead and gone ! He could understand and 
 pity, he was good to me. Now he has left 
 me alone with heartless children! As- 
 dis," she cried, "have you no nature in 
 your blood? You do not know what I 
 have done and suffered for them. I have 
 done — oh, and I could have done anything ! 
 •And there is your father dead. And after 
 all, you ask me not to use them? No 
 woman in Iceland has the like. And you 
 wish me to destroy them? Not if the 
 dead should rise !" she cried. "No, no," 
 and she stopped her ears, " not if the dead 
 should rise, and let that end it!" 
 
 So she ran into her bed-place, and 
 clapped to the door, and left the child 
 amazed. 
 
 But for all Aud spoke with so much pas- 
 sion, it was noticed that for long she left 
 the things unused. Only she would be 
 locked somewhile daily in the bed-place, 
 where she pored on them and secretly 
 wore them for her pleasure. 
 
 Now winter was at hand; the days 
 grew short and the nights long; and under 
 the golden face of morning the isle would 
 stand silver with frost. Word came from 
 
 Holyf ell to Frodis Water of a company of 
 young men upon a journey; that night 
 they supped at Holj^ell, the next it would 
 be at Frodis Water; and Alf of the Fells 
 was there, and Thongbrand Ketilson, and 
 Hall the Fair. Aud went early to her bed- 
 place, and there she pored upon these 
 fineries till her heart was melted with self- 
 love. There was a kirtle of a mingled 
 color, and the blue shot into the green, 
 and the green lightened from the blue, as 
 the colors play in the ocean between deeps 
 and shallows: she thought she could en- 
 dure to live no longer and not wear it. 
 There was a bracelet of an ell long, 
 wrought like a serpent and with fiery 
 jewels for the eyes; she saw it shine on her 
 white arm and her head grew dizzy with 
 desire. "Ah!" she thought, "never were 
 fine lendings better met with a fair 
 wearer." And she closed her eyelids, and 
 she thought she saw herself among the 
 company and the men's eyes go after her 
 admiring. With that she considered that 
 she must soon marry one of them and 
 wondered which; and she thought Alf 
 was perhaps the best, or Hall the Fair, but 
 was not certain ; and then she remembered 
 Finnward Keelfarer in his cairn upon the 
 hill, and was concerned. " Well, he was a 
 good husband to me," she thought, "and 
 I was a good wife to him. But that is an 
 old song now." So she turned again to 
 handling the stuffs and jewels. At last 
 she got to bed in the smooth sheets, and 
 lay, and fancied how she would look, and 
 admired herself, and saw others admire 
 her, and told herself stories, till her heart 
 grew warm and she chuckled to herself be- 
 tween the sheets. So she shook awhile 
 with laughter; and then the mirth abated 
 but not the shaking; and a grue took hold 
 upon her flesh, and the cold of the grave 
 upon her belly, and the terror of death 
 upon her soul. With that a voice was in 
 her ear: '" It was so Thorgunna sickened." 
 Thrice in the night the chill and the terror 
 took her, and thrice it passed away; and 
 when she rose on the morrow, death had 
 breathed upon her countenance. 
 
 She saw the house folk and her children 
 gaze upon her; well she knew why ! She 
 knew her day was come, and the last of 
 her days, and her last hour was at her 
 back; and it was so in her soul that she 
 scarce minded. All was lost, all was past 
 
Another Dark Lady 
 
 701 
 
 mending, she would carry on until she fell. 
 So she went as usual, and hurried the 
 feast for the young men, and railed upon 
 her house folk, but her feet stumbled, and 
 her voice was strange in her own ears, and 
 the eyes of the folk fled before her. At 
 times, too, the chill took her and the fear 
 along with it; and she must sit down, and 
 the teeth beat together in her head, and 
 the stool tottered on the floor. At these 
 times, she thought she was passing, and 
 the voice of Thorgunna sounded in her 
 ear: "The things are for no use but to be 
 shown," it said. "Aud, Aud, have you 
 shown them once ? No, not once ! " And 
 at the sting of the thought her courage 
 and strength would revive, and she would 
 rise again and move about her business. 
 
 Now the hour drew near, and Aud went 
 to her bed-place, and did on the bravest of 
 her finery, and came forth to greet her 
 guests. Was never, woman in Iceland 
 robed as she was. The words of greeting 
 were yet between her lips, when the shud- 
 dering fell upon her strong as labor, and 
 a horror as deep as hell. Her face was 
 changed amidst her finery, and the faces 
 of her guests were changed as they be- 
 held her: fear puckered their brows, fear 
 drew back their feet; and she took her 
 doom from the looks of them, and fled to 
 her bed-place. There she flung herself on 
 
 the wife's coverlet, and turned her face 
 against the wall. 
 
 That was the end of all the words of 
 Aud; and in the small hours on the clock 
 her spirit wended. Asdis had come to and 
 fro, seeing if she might help, where was no 
 help possible of man or woman. It was 
 light in the bed-place when the maid re- 
 turned, for a taper stood upon a chest. 
 There lay Aud in her fine clothes, and 
 there by her side on the bed the big dead 
 wife Thorgunna squatted on her hams. 
 No sound was heard, but it seemed by the 
 movement of her mouth- as if Thorgunna 
 sang, and she waved her arms as if to 
 singing. 
 
 " God be good to us ! " cried Asdis, " she 
 is dead." 
 
 "Dead," said the dead wife. 
 
 "Is the weird passed?" cried Asdis. 
 
 "When the sin is done the weird is 
 dreed," said Thorgunna, and with that 
 she was not. 
 
 But the next day Eyolf and Asdis 
 caused build a fire on the shore betwixt 
 tide-marks. There they burned the bed- 
 clothes, and the clothes, and the jewels, 
 and the very boards of the waif woman's 
 chests; and when the tide returned it 
 washed away their ashes. So the weird of 
 Thorgunna was lifted from the house on 
 Frodis Water. 
 
 ANOTHER DARK LADY 
 
 By Edwin Arlington Robinson 
 
 Think not, because I wonder where you fled, 
 That I would lift a pin to see you there; 
 You may, for me, be prowling anywhere. 
 So long as you show not your little head: 
 No dark and evil story of the dead 
 Would leave you less pernicious or less fair — 
 Not even Lilith, with her famous hair; 
 And Lilith was the devil, I have read. 
 
 I cannot hate you, for I loved you then. 
 
 The woods were golden then. There was a road 
 
 Through beeches; and I said their smooth feet showed 
 
 Like yours. Truth must have heard me from afar, 
 
 For I shall never have to learn again 
 
 That yours are cloven as no beech's are. 
 
"TO BE TREATED AS A SPY" 
 
 BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS 
 
 ^jHIS story is a personal ex- 
 perience, but is told in spite 
 of that fact, and because it 
 illustrates a side of war that 
 is unfamiliar. It is unfa- 
 miliar for the reason that it 
 is seamy and uninviting. With bayonet- 
 charges, bugle-calls, and aviators it has 
 nothing in common. 
 
 Espionage is that kind of warfare of 
 which even when it succeeds no country 
 boasts. It is military service an officer, 
 may not refuse but which few seek. Its 
 reward is prompt promotion, and its pun- 
 ishment, in war-time, is swift and without 
 honor. This story is intended to show 
 how an army in the field must be on its 
 guard against even a supposed spy and 
 how it treats him. 
 
 The war ofi&ces of France and Russia 
 would not permit an American corre- 
 spondent to accompany their armies; the 
 English granted that privilege to but one 
 correspondent, and that gentleman al- 
 ready had been chosen. So I was with- 
 out credentials. To oblige Mr. Brand 
 Whitlock, our minister to Belgium, the 
 government there was willing to give me 
 credentials, but on the day I was to re- 
 ceive them the government moved to 
 Antwerp. Then the Germans entered 
 Brussels, and as no one could foresee that 
 Belgium would heroically continue fight- 
 ing, on the chance the Germans would be- 
 siege Paris, Iplanned to go to that city. To 
 b e bombarded you do not need credentials. 
 For three days a steel-gray column of 
 Germans had been sweeping through Brus- 
 sels, and to meet them, from the direction 
 of Vincennes and Lille, the English and 
 French had crossed the border. It was 
 falsely reported that already the English 
 had reached Hal, a town only eleven miles 
 from Brussels, that the night before there 
 had been a fight at Hal, and that close 
 behind the English were the French. 
 
 With Gerald Morgan, of the London 
 Daily Telegraph, with whom I had been in 
 other wars, I planned to drive to Hal and 
 702 
 
 from there on foot continue, if possible, 
 into the arms of the French or English. 
 We both were without credentials, but 
 once with the Allies we believed we would 
 not need them. It was the Germans we 
 doubted. To satisfy them we had only a 
 passport and a laisser passer issued by Gen- 
 eral von Jarotsky, the new German mili- 
 tary governor of Brussels, and his chief of 
 staff, Lieutenant Geyer. Mine stated that 
 I represented the Wheeler Syndicate of 
 American newspapersy~the London Daily 
 Chronicle, and this magazine, and that I 
 could pass German niilitary lines in Brus- 
 sels and her environs. Morgan had a pass 
 of the same sort. The question to be de- 
 termined was what were "environs" and 
 how far do they extend? How far in 
 safety would the word carry us forward ? 
 On August 23 we set forth from Brussels 
 in a taxi-cab to find out. At Hal, where 
 we intended to abandon the cab and con- 
 tinue on foot, we found out. We were 
 arrested by a smart and most intelligent- 
 looking officer, who rode up to the side of 
 the taxi and pointed an automatic at us. 
 Me were innocently seated in a public cab, 
 in a street crowded with civilians and the 
 passing column of soldiers, and why any 
 one should think he needed a gun only 
 the German mind can explain. Later, I 
 found that all German officers introduced 
 themselves and made requests gun in 
 hand. Whether it was because from 
 every one they believed themselves in 
 danger or because they simply did not 
 know any better, I still am unable to de- 
 cide. With no other army have I seen an 
 officer threaten with a pistol an unarmed 
 civilian. Were an American or English 
 officer to act in such a fashion he might 
 escape looking like a fool, he certainly 
 would feel like one. 
 
 The four soldiers the officer told off to 
 guard us climbed with alacrity into our 
 cab and drove with us until the street 
 grew too narrow both for their regiment 
 and our taxi, when they chose the regi- 
 ment and disappeared. We paid ofi the 
 
" To be Treated as a Spy " 
 
 703 
 
 cabman and followed them. To reach 
 the front there was no other way, and the 
 very openness with which we trailed along 
 beside their army, very much like small 
 boys following a circus procession, seemed 
 to us to show how innocent was our intent. 
 The column stretched for fifty miles. 
 Where it was going we did not know, but 
 we argued if it kept on going and we kept 
 on with it, eventually we must stumble 
 upon a battle. The story that at Hal 
 there had been a fight was evidently un- 
 true; and the manner in which the column 
 was advancing showed it was not expect- 
 ing one. At noon it halted at Brierges, 
 and Morgan decided Brierges was out of 
 bounds, and that the limits of our "en- 
 virons" had been reached. 
 
 "If we go any farther," he argued, "the 
 next oflicer who reads our papers will or- 
 der us back to Brussels under arrest, and 
 we will lose our laisser passer. Along this 
 road there is no chance of seeing anything. 
 I prefer to keep my pass and use it in ' en- 
 virons ' where there is fighting." So he 
 returned to Brussels. I thought he was 
 most wise, and I wanted to return with 
 him. But I did not want to go back only 
 because I knew it was the right thing to 
 do, but to be ordered back so that I could 
 explain to my newspapers that I rieturned 
 because Colonel This or General That sent 
 me back. It was a form of vanity for 
 which I was properly punished. 
 
 That Morgan was right was demon- 
 strated as soon as he left me. I was seated 
 against a tree by the side of the road eat- 
 ing a sandwich, an occupation which seems 
 almost idyllic in its innocence but which 
 could not deceive the Germans. In me 
 they saw ihthsX&ASpion, and from behind 
 me, across a ploughed field, four of them, 
 each with an automatic, made me prisoner. 
 One of them, who was an enthusiast, 
 pushed his gun deep into my stomach. 
 With the sandwich still in my hand, I held 
 up my arms high and asked who spoke 
 English. It turned out that the enthu- 
 siast spoke that language, and I suggested 
 he did not need so many guns and that he 
 could find my papers in my inside pocket. 
 With four automatics rubbing against my 
 ribs, I would not have lowered my arms 
 for all the papers in the Bank of England. 
 They took me to a cafe, where their colonel 
 had just finished Ixmch and was in a most 
 
 genial humor. First he gave the enthu- 
 siast a drink as a reward for arresting me, 
 and then, impartially, gave me one for 
 being arrested. He wrote on my pass- 
 port that I could go to Enghien, which was 
 two miles distant. That pass enabled me 
 to proceed unmolested for nearly two hun- 
 dred yards. I was then again arrested 
 and taken before another group of officers. 
 This time they searched my knapsack and 
 wanted to requisition my maps, but one 
 of them pointed out they were only auto- 
 mobile maps and, as compared to their 
 own, of no value. They permitted me to 
 proceed to Enghien. I went to Enghien, 
 intending to spend the night and on the 
 morning continue. I could not see why 
 I might not be able to go on indefinitely. 
 As yet no one who had held me up had 
 suggested I should turn back, and as long 
 as I was willing to be arrested it seemed as 
 though I might accompany the German 
 army even to the gates of Paris. But my 
 reception in Enghien should have warned 
 me to get back to Brussels. The Ger- 
 mans, thinking I was an English spy, 
 scowled at me; and the Belgians, thinking 
 the same thing, wirfked at me; and the 
 landlord of the only hotel said I was "sus- 
 pect" and would not give me a bed. But 
 I sought out the burgomaster, a most 
 charming man named Delano, and he 
 wrote out a pass permitting me to sleep 
 one night in Enghien. 
 
 "You really do not need this," he said; 
 " as an American you are free to stay here 
 as long as you wish." Then he, too, 
 winked. 
 
 "But I am an American," I protested. 
 
 "But certainly," he said gravely, and 
 again he winked. It was then I should 
 have started back to Brussels. Instead, I 
 sat on a moss-covered, arched stone bridge 
 that binds the town together, and until 
 night fell watched the gray tidal waves 
 rush up and across it, stamping, tripping, 
 stumbling, beating the broad, clean stones 
 with thousands of iron heels, steel hoofs, 
 steel chains, and steel-rimmed wheels. 
 You hated it, and yet could not keep 
 away. The Belgians of Enghien hated it, 
 and they could not keep away. Like a 
 great river in flood, bearing with it de- 
 struction and death, you feared and 
 loathed it, and yet it fascinated you and 
 pulled you to the brink. All through the 
 
704 
 
 " To be Treated as a Spy " 
 
 night, as already for three nights and 
 three days at Brussels, I had heard it; it 
 rumbled and growled, rushing forward 
 without pause or breath, with inhuman, 
 pitiless persistence. At daybreak I sat on 
 the edge of the bed and wondered whether 
 to go on or turn back. I still wanted 
 some one in authority, higher than my- 
 self, to order me back. So, at six, riding 
 for a fall, to find that one, I went, as I 
 thought, along the road to Soignes. The 
 gray tidal wave was still roaring past. It 
 was pressing forward with greater speed, 
 but in nothing else did it difiEer from the 
 tidal wave that had swept through Brus- 
 sels. • 
 
 There was a group of oflScers seated 
 by the road, and as I passed I wished 
 them good-morning and they said good- 
 morning in return. I had gone a hundred 
 feet when one of them galloped after me 
 and asked to look at my papers. With re- 
 lief I gave them to him. I was sure now I 
 would be told to return to Brussels. I 
 calculated if at Hal I had luck in finding a 
 taxi-cab, by limch-time I would be in the 
 Palace Hotel. 
 
 "I think," said the officer, "you had 
 better see our general. He is ahead of 
 us." 
 
 I thought he meant a few hundred yards 
 ahead, and to be ordered back by a gen- 
 eral seemed more convincing than to be 
 returned by a mere captain. So I started 
 to walk on beside the mounted officers. 
 This, as it seemed to presume equaUty 
 with them, scandalized them greatly, and 
 I was ordered into the ranks. But the 
 one who had arrested me thought I was 
 entitled to a higher rating and placed me 
 with the color-guard, who objected to my 
 presence so violently that a long discus- 
 sion followed, which ended with my being 
 ranked below a second lieutenant and 
 above a sergeant. Between one of each of 
 these I was definitely placed and for five 
 hours I remained definitely placed. We 
 advanced with a rush that showed me I 
 had surprised a surprise movement. The 
 fact was of interest not because I had dis- 
 covered one of their secrets, but because 
 to keep up with the column I was forced 
 for five hours to move at what was a 
 steady trot. It was not so fast as the run- 
 ning step of the Italian bersagliere, but as 
 fast as our " double-quick." The men did 
 
 not bend the knees, but, keeping the legs 
 straight, shot them forward with a quick, 
 sliding movement, like men skating or 
 skiing. The toe of one boot seemed al- 
 ways tripping on the heel of the other. As 
 the road was paved with roughly hewn 
 blocks of Belgian granite this kind of go- 
 ing was very strenuous, and had I not 
 been in good shape I could not have kept 
 up. As it was, at the end of the five hours 
 I had lost fifteen poimds, which did not 
 help me, as during the same time the 
 knapsack had taken on a hundred. For 
 two days the men in the ranks had been 
 rushed forward at this unnatural gait and 
 were moving like automatons. Many of 
 them fell by the wayside, but they were 
 not permitted to lie there. Instead of 
 summoning the ambulance, they were 
 lifted to their feet and flung back into the 
 ranks. Many of them were moving in 
 their sleep, in that partly comatose state 
 in which you have seen men during the 
 last hours of a six days' walking match. 
 Their rules, so the sergeant said, were to 
 halt every hour and then for ten minutes' 
 rest. But that rule is probably only for 
 route marching. On account of the speed 
 with which the surprise movement was 
 made our halts were more frequent, and 
 so exhausted were the men that wh'en 
 these "thank you, ma'ams" arrived, in- 
 stead of standing at ease and adjusting 
 their accoutrements, as though they had 
 been struck with a club they dropped to 
 thestones. Someinaninstantwereasleep. 
 I do not mean that some sat down ; I mean 
 that the whole column lay flat in the road. 
 The officers also, those that were not 
 mounted, would tumble on the grass or 
 into the wheat-field and lie on their backs, 
 their arms flung out like dead men. To 
 the fact that they were lying on their 
 field-glasses, holsters, swords, and water^ 
 bottles they appeared indifferent. At the 
 rate the column moved it would have 
 covered thirty miles each day. It was 
 these forced marches that later brought 
 Von Kluck's army to the right wing of the 
 Allies before the army of the crown prince 
 was prepared to attack, and which at 
 Sezanne led to his repulse and to the fail- 
 ure of his advance upon Paris. 
 
 While we were pushing forward we 
 passed a wrecked British air-ship, around 
 which were gathered a group of staff- 
 
" To be Treated as a Spy " 
 
 705 
 
 officers. My papers were given to one of 
 them, but our column did not halt and I 
 was not allowed to speak. A few minutes 
 later they passed in their automobiles on 
 their way to the front; and my papers 
 went with them. Already I was miles 
 beyond the environs, and with each step 
 away from Brussels my pass was becom- 
 ing less of a safeguard than a menace., 
 For it showed what restrictions General 
 Jarotsky had placed on my movements, 
 and my presence so far out of bounds 
 proved I had disregarded them. But still I 
 did not suppose that in returning to Brus- 
 sels there would be any difficulty. I was 
 chiefly concerned with the thought that 
 the length of the return march was rapidly 
 increasing and with the fact that one of 
 my shoes, a faithful friend in other cam- 
 paigns, had turned traitor and was cutting 
 my foot in half. I had started with the 
 column at seven o'clock, and at noon an 
 automobile, with flags flying and the 
 black eagle of the staff enamelled on the 
 door, came speeding back from the front. 
 In it was a very blond and distinguished- 
 looking officer of high rank and many 
 decorations. He used a single eye-glass, 
 and his poUteness and his English were 
 faultless. He invited me to accompany 
 hiiB to the general staff. 
 
 That was the first intimation I had that 
 I was in danger. I saw they were giving 
 me far too much attention. I began in- 
 stantly to work to set myself free, and 
 there was not a minute for the next 
 twenty-four hours that I was not working. 
 Before I stepped into the car I had de- 
 cided upon my line of defence. I would 
 pretend to be entirely unconscious that I 
 had in any way laid myself open to sus- 
 picion; that I had erred through pure 
 stupidity and that I was where I was 
 solely because I was a damn fool. I be- 
 gan to act like a damn fool. Effusively I 
 expressed my regret at putting the gen- 
 eral staff to inconvenience. 
 
 "It was really too stupid of me," I said. 
 "I cannot forgive myself. I should not 
 have come so far without asking Jarotsky 
 for proper papers. I am extremely sorry 
 I have given you this trouble. I would 
 like to see the general and assure him I 
 will return at once to Brussels." I ignored 
 the fact that I was being taken to the gen- 
 eral at the rate of sixty miles an hour. 
 
 The blond officer smiled uneasily and 
 with his single glass studied the sky. 
 When we reached the staff he escaped 
 from me with the alacrity of one released 
 from a disagreeable and humiliating duty. 
 The staff were at luncheon, seated in their 
 luxurious motor-cars, or on the grass by 
 the side of the road. On the other side of 
 the road the column of dust-covered gray 
 ghosts were being rushed past us. The 
 staff in dress uniforms, flowing cloaks, and 
 gloves belonged to a different race. They 
 knew that. Among themselves they were 
 like priests breathing incense. Whenever 
 one of them spoke to another they saluted, 
 their heels clicked, their bodies bent at the 
 belt line. 
 
 One of them came to where, in the mid- 
 dle of the road, I was stranded and trying 
 not to feel as lonely as I looked. He was 
 much younger than myself and dark and 
 handsome. His face was smooth-shaven, 
 his figure tall, lithe, and alert. He wore a 
 uniform of light blue and silver that clung 
 to him and high boots of patent leather. 
 His waist was like a girl's, and, as though 
 to show how supple he was, he kept con- 
 tinually bowing and shrugging his shoul- 
 ders and in elegant protest gesticulating 
 with his gloved hands. He should have 
 been a moving-picture actor. He re- 
 minded me of Anthony Hope's fascinating 
 but wicked Rupert of Hentzau. He cer- 
 tainly was wicked, and I got to hate him 
 as I never imagined it possible to hate any- 
 body. He had been told off to dispose of 
 my case, and he delighted in it. He en- 
 joyed it as a cat enjoys plajdng with a 
 mouse. As actors say, he saw himself in 
 the part. He "ate" it. 
 
 " You are an English officer out of uni- 
 form," he began. " You have been taken 
 inside our lines." He pointed his fore- 
 finger at my stomach and wiggled his 
 thumb. "And you know what that 
 means!" 
 
 I saw playing the damn fool with him 
 would be waste of time. 
 
 "I followed your army," I told him, 
 " because it's my business to follow armies 
 and because yours is the best-looking 
 army I ever saw." He made me one of 
 his mocking bows. 
 
 "We thank you," he said, grinning. 
 "But you have seen too much." 
 
 "I haven't seen anything," I said. 
 
706 
 
 To be Treated as a Spy" 
 
 " that everybody in Brussels hasn't seen 
 for three days." 
 
 He shook his head reproachfully and 
 with a gesture signified the group of o&- 
 cers. 
 
 "You have seen enough in this road," 
 he said, "to justify us in shooting you 
 now." 
 
 The sense of drama told him it was a 
 good exit line, and he returned to the 
 group of ofi&cers. I now saw what had 
 happened. At Enghien I had taken the 
 wrong road. I remembered that, to con- 
 fuse the Germans, the names on the sign- 
 post at the edge of the town had been 
 painted out, and that instead of taking the 
 road to Soignes I was on the road to Ath. 
 What I had seen, therefore, was an army 
 corps making a turning movement in- 
 tended to catch the English on their right 
 and double them up upon their centre. 
 The success of this manoeuvre depended 
 upon the speed with which it was executed 
 and upon its being a complete surprise. 
 As later in the day I learned, the Germans 
 thought I was an English officer who had 
 followed them from Brussels and who was 
 trying to slip past them and warn his coun- 
 trymen. What Rupert of Hentzau meant 
 by what I had seen in the road was that, 
 having seen the Count de Schwerin, who 
 commanded the Seventh Division in the 
 road to Ath, I must necessarily know that 
 the army corps to which he was attached 
 had separated from the main army of Von 
 Kluck, and that, in going so far south at 
 such speed, it was bent upon an attack on 
 the English flank. All of which at the 
 time I did not know and did not want to 
 know. All I wanted was to prove I was 
 not an English officer, but an American 
 correspondent who by accident had stum- 
 bled upon their secret. To convince them 
 of that, strangely enough, was difficult. 
 
 When Rupert of Hentzau returned, the 
 other officers were with him, and, fortu- 
 nately for me, they spoke or understood 
 English. For the rest of the day what fol- 
 lowed was like a legal argument. It was 
 as cold-blooded as a game of bridge. 
 Rupert of Hentzau wanted an English 
 spy shot for his supper; just as he might 
 have desired a grilled bone. He showed 
 no personal animus, and, I must say for 
 him, that he conducted the case for the 
 prosecution without heat or anger. He 
 
 mocked me, grilled and taunted me, but 
 he was always charmingly polite. 
 
 As Whitman said, "I want Becker," so 
 Rupert said, " Fe, fo, fi, fum, I want the 
 blood of an Englishman." He was de- 
 termined to get it. I was even more in- 
 terested that he should not. The points 
 he made against me were that my Ger- 
 man pass was signed neither by General 
 Jarotsky nor by Lieutenant Geyer, but 
 only stamped, and that any rubber stamp 
 could be forged; that my American pass- 
 port had not been issued at Washington, 
 but in London, where an Englishman 
 might have imposed upon our embassy; 
 and that in the photograph pasted on the 
 passport I was wearing the uniform of a 
 British officer. I explained that thephoto- 
 graph was taken eight years ago, and that 
 the uniform was one I had seen on the 
 west coast of Africa worn by the West 
 African Field Force. Because it was un- 
 like any known military uniform, and as 
 cool and comfortable as a golf-jacket, I 
 had had it copied. But since that time it 
 had been adopted by the English Brigade 
 of Guards and the Territorials. I knew it 
 sounded like fiction; but it was quite true. 
 
 Rupert of Hentzau smiled delightedly. 
 
 "Do you expect us to believe that? " he 
 protested. • 
 
 "Listen," I said. "If you could invent 
 an explanation for that uniform as quickly 
 as I told you that one, standing in a road 
 with eight officers trying to shoot you, you 
 would be the greatest general in Ger- 
 many." 
 
 That made the others laugh; and Ru- 
 pert retorted: "Very well, then, we will 
 concede that the entire British army has 
 changed its uniform to suit your photo- 
 graph. But if you are not an 9fficer, why, 
 in the photograph, are you wearing war 
 ribbons?" 
 
 I said the war ribbons were in my favor, 
 and I pointed out that no officer of any 
 one country could have been in the differ- 
 ent campaigns for which the ribbons were 
 issued. 
 
 "They prove," I argued, "that I am a. 
 correspondent, for only a correspondent 
 could have been in wars in which his own 
 country was not engaged." 
 
 I thought I had scored; but Rupert in- 
 stantly turned my own witness against 
 me. 
 
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