T HE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 AND OTHER PHANTASIES 
 
 <By FRANCES FORBES ROBERTSON 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 AND OTHER PHANTASIES 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 https://archive.org/details/devilspronounothOOforb 
 
T HE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 AND OTHER PHANTASIES 
 <By FRANCES FORBES ROBERTSON 
 
 With Five Designs by E. F. R. 
 
 Reeves 6° Turner 
 5 Wellington Street 
 Strand London 1894 
 
To the 
 
 REVEREND ROBERT FRANCIS CLARKE 
 Priest and Sage 
 
 1 humbly dedicate this little book, 
 in respect and affection, without his permission 
 
 F. F. R. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Devil's ‘Pronoun 
 
 ‘Page I 
 
 Fabius the Dean-sower 
 
 21 
 
 (Me riel 
 
 47 
 
 Phile 
 
 65 
 
 The Two S.S. 
 
 89 
 
 Johan and Kina 
 
 103 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 A Legend 
 
 “ For ye have eaten up the vineyard ; t?Le 
 spoil of the poor is in your houses 
 
 “ What mean ye that ye beat my people to 
 pieces , and grind the faces of the poor f ” 
 
 Isaiah iii. 
 
 There was an Island lovely from sea- 
 boundary to sea-boundary, rich in all such 
 produce as was needful to man. 
 
 Those who dwelt there were a race of 
 
 3 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 fair and happy people, tilling the soil and 
 living in peaceful commune. 
 
 They had no king nor master, nor 
 indeed were they governed or ruled by 
 any, unless perhaps by a certain charming 
 sway of childhood’s power. 
 
 They spoke a language which radically 
 differed from all others in the peculiar 
 absence of the possessive pronoun, and 
 some strange customs were practised 
 which, doubtless, to the uninitiated, would 
 seem very odd. There were no prison- 
 houses, courts of law, money-exchange, 
 nor laboratories for the cutting up of live 
 creatures ; neither had they communica- 
 tion with the world beyond the seas. 
 
 “ Parents, respect the little children,” 
 seemed to be the basis of their moral 
 code : all was understood when this say- 
 ing was pronounced; and, if one may 
 judge by the universal practice of virtue, 
 4 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 the maxim was not only admirable, but 
 all-sufficing. 
 
 Eminently characteristic was their 
 form of “ Thank you !” — ‘ ‘ Revi-zelto ! ” — 
 God reigns, or God is here ! It was 
 as if evil had failed to enter this land 
 because of the very childheartedness 
 of the race. The hissing creature had 
 omitted to take up abode with them, since 
 there was no charity to be done, or 
 justice to be rendered, or punishment to 
 be inflicted. Doubtless some beings 
 would be very unhappy if they had not 
 their little charities to administer, and the 
 world would seem a dull place in which 
 this pet luxury was taken from them — 
 this peculiarly insidious form of the Devil’s 
 influence rooted out, and that homage we 
 name nobly, “gratitude,” claimed from the 
 beggar for the penny given, denied them. 
 
 However, they were not unhappy in 
 
 5 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 Green Island, in spite of this serious 
 want : for, indeed, they were as those 
 living in a golden age, with little sorrow 
 and no evil to make weary their days. 
 Happiness seemed to be a rightful herit- 
 age of all ; and it was even expounded by 
 some, who were given to serious thought, 
 that this state was as necessary to life 
 as air and food, or health, and that no 
 creature could thrive without a given 
 amount ; but this, undoubtedly, was only 
 a subjective hypothesis, since they had 
 not yet learned to demonstrate the 
 truth of an idea by objective test. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 In the darkest corner of space Satan 
 stood exulting in his sway over all lands. 
 His pale, beautiful countenance, illumined 
 by a white radiance emanating from his 
 person, bore the marks of everlasting pain 
 and eternal revolt. 
 
 6 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 Then the spirit Ferras, hideous and 
 grinning, he who embodied the meanest 
 attributes of his master, cried, “ Nay, 
 thou hast not yet conquered the Green 
 Isle 1 ” And the Master looked at him 
 a while in silence, gazing at this strange, 
 worm-white, mean creature who dared to 
 stay the rejoicings of his pride. 
 
 “ I might doubt my sovereignty, crawl- 
 ing viper, if, for loathsomeness, the sove- 
 reign claimed supremacy ! ’’ 
 
 “I am thy creature,” answered the spfrit. 
 “ Thou lying one ! Thou darest not 
 say ‘e’en thy basest self’!” — and he 
 paused ; then added : “ What care I for 
 such children as are of Green Island ? ” 
 
 “ Care ! Since thou art powerless ’t 
 would be of little avail ! But why remain 
 powerless ? Hast thou ceased to wage 
 still thy war, O Lucifer ? ” 
 
 “ For thee to devise a method ! ” 
 
 7 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 answered the Indomitable One. The 
 creature at this command grew serious in 
 thought, and the sickly grin went from his 
 parched face, and his eyes fired with rapid 
 thought as he pondered. At last he 
 turned slowly, and with a look of exultant 
 greed cried : 
 
 “The Possessive Pronoun ! ” 
 
 Then a strange mocking laugh rose 
 out of space and echoed down the filmy 
 walls of the great atmosphere. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Not many days had passed before a 
 wondrous vessel, with sails gleaming in 
 the gold of the sun, which pierced the 
 stormy clouds and came down in a 
 great shaft of light amidst the tossing 
 crests of raging waves, neared the 
 Island of Peace. And the people thereof 
 watched her course, whilst the storm 
 8 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 rose high in pitiless power, and giant 
 clouds covered the face of the sun, and 
 all the winds seemed in wild conflict, 
 so that the ship was wrecked in the 
 waste of the sea, and five men, naked 
 and bruised, were dashed upon the mercy 
 of her shores. 
 
 And the good people went down to the 
 edge of the land, and led the exhausted 
 survivors to shelter, and gave them rai- 
 ments and food, showing them all such 
 hospitality as lay in their power. 
 
 The dark new-comers seemed gracious 
 men, and spoke the language of their hosts, 
 with the addition of some odd words 
 of which the Islanders had no wot of the 
 meaning, sounding sinister and ugly to the 
 unaccustomed ear, and at first no man had 
 dared to ask explanation of them. But 
 these visitors, who seemed to have come 
 to stay, proved so amiable, and full of 
 9 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 learning, that at last courage was found to 
 broach the subjeet. 
 
 “Thou sayest ‘mine’: what meaneth the 
 expression ? ” said a youth. 
 
 The fatal word, once pronounced by 
 their own people, was caught up and fled 
 over the face of the Island quickly, from 
 mouth to mouth, even as an overflowing 
 river covereth the plains. And uncon- 
 sciously those who uttered it tightened 
 their grip of such things as they held, and 
 greed came into the eyes of the lover as 
 he gazed at his betrothed, and reluctance 
 into those of the dispenser as he dealt 
 out bread to the people. 
 
 The strangers laughed : they were 
 seated, counting some gold coins saved 
 from the wreck, in a cask, and they grasped 
 more tightly the metal in their hands as 
 they proceeded to explain, though the 
 Islanders had shown no desire to possess 
 
 io 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 what appeared to them but some kind 
 of toy. 
 
 The explanation was long, and the many 
 who gathered round to hear grew fascin- 
 ated, though hardly understanding. 
 
 “You see,” continued the eldest of the 
 strangers, “it is wise that house and 
 property should be your own, so that you 
 can save for a time when food might 
 be scarce, and ensure you and your wives 
 and children from want ! ” 
 
 “ Nay,” answered the Islanders, “ but 
 what you say seems foolish, for should we 
 not have to give part of our store to those 
 who were without? Therefore it would 
 no longer be our own.” 
 
 “ Why should you give to those who had 
 not heeded to save? On the contrary, shut 
 your doors, and bid them live as you have 
 lived, abstaining, and without doubt they 
 could do so, and learn the lesson of thrift !” 
 
 1 1 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 “ Then, surely, things would even be as 
 they are now?” laughed the crowd, so that 
 the strangers waxed angry. “ But,” re- 
 peated the youth, “we are willing that ye 
 call the houses ye live in yours — if ye will ; 
 we see no harm, only little use, good 
 stranger 1 ” 
 
 So things were left, and the Islanders 
 went into house and jested over such 
 ways, and the children, in sport, used the 
 odd words till they grew accustomed to the 
 sound. Thus the seed was sown down in 
 their hearts — first in jest, then habit forgot, 
 and found serious meaning, and wise use, 
 in the words. 
 
 Gradually a strange change took place. 
 The strangers, who had come to these 
 shores ragged and hungry, kept to them- 
 selves all that they found for their use, and 
 built higher walls round the houses they 
 lived in. The people, who knew no reason 
 
 12 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 why they should act in this way, began to 
 follow in like manner. Then arose disputes 
 as to what each had a right to claim, and 
 they went to the foreigners to settle such 
 disputes ; and the foreigners settled these 
 things, but demanded portions of land 
 or property in return for the trouble, and 
 so well did they explain the justice of 
 all this, that the people marvelled at 
 such reasoning and knowledge, and were 
 content. 
 
 For a time things went thus ill, seeming 
 well enough ; the Islanders grew less inti- 
 mate with one another, and he who had 
 found favour with the judge was shunned 
 by the neighbour who had not. 
 
 Thus enmity grew up in their hearts, 
 and even amongst the little children dis- 
 putes arose, so that they followed in the 
 steps of those parents who had ceased 
 to respect them, those parents who 
 i3 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 quarrelled openly before them, and even 
 commanded that they should pass their 
 neighbour without salute. The old maxim, 
 “ Parents, respect the little children,” was 
 heard no more ; only, continually, “ Child- 
 ren, respect your parents and superiors.” 
 But the children did not ; for how could 
 they, young and unreasoning, when their 
 parents respected not them ? 
 
 Thus evil grew in man’s disposition ; evil, 
 called wrongly by many “ human nature,” 
 throve in the soil where good had been 
 chased out, even as the weed takes root 
 on the untended ground. 
 
 So pride and envy and greed had 
 entered their homes, and those of the 
 Green Island were happy no more. 
 
 And some, through advantage of better 
 soil, grew rich and idle ; and others worked 
 all day, but could not raise sufficient food 
 for their families ; and they became de- 
 H 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 spondent and careless, and envied and 
 hated the successful. 
 
 And it happened, when in dire want, one 
 man laughed aloud, saying : “ But I have 
 nothing now, not even to eat, and they 
 deny me food. Why, I can but go and 
 take some, as in the old time.” And, 
 knowing naught of wrong in so doing, 
 since surely he had a right to live as 
 well as they, he went forth and did this 
 thing. 
 
 Then was the first man cast into 
 prison, — cast into prison by those 
 strangers from the seas whom he had 
 befriended in their sore need. For they 
 had grown rich from the spoil of the 
 poor, and the people had elected them 
 governors. 
 
 Therewith things grew ever worse. 
 The sons of the strangers succeeded to 
 their fathers, and the poor grew e’en 
 IS 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 poorer in working, and the rich richer in 
 idleness. The use of money had crept 
 in and the natural changed to the “ com- 
 petitive ” or market value. 
 
 Then a famine fell on the land, and 
 those who suffered knocked at the 
 doors of the rich and asked for food, and 
 they were denied ; and they went in a 
 crowd, indignant, at last to the Governors’ 
 house, and threatened to burn it there, 
 if relief for their hungry children was not 
 afforded ; so that the Governors were 
 obliged to notice them, and, with no 
 little inward trepidation, but much out- 
 ward show of equanimity, came, accom- 
 panied by armed servants, down from their 
 palaces to the open in solemn procession, 
 clad, not in their usual bright gar- 
 ments, but in sombre draperies, inoffen- 
 sive to the ragged rabble : the jewelled 
 raiments were within, hanging on pegs, 
 16 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 to be donned at the feast when these 
 tiresome affairs were over. 
 
 The gravity of their countenances and 
 the solemn proceedings awed the crowd. 
 Long orations were delivered, seeming 
 full of sympathy for the distressed and 
 just propositions for the alleviation of 
 suffering. They alluded to the immense 
 benefits of the splendid system which 
 had brought education and the money- 
 market to the Island, and to the great 
 institutions of law and charity which 
 rose up in grand edifices over the face 
 of the whole country. Then they pro- 
 ceeded — as the people, carried away 
 by the innate delight of grandiloquence, 
 cheered — to lay their proposition before 
 them. 
 
 At first a groan went through the crowd, 
 as it was understood that they were asked 
 to dig for certain minerals under the 
 17 B 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 ground every day and all day ! And for 
 this service those who owned the land 
 would find support for them and their 
 families ! Rage leapt in their hearts — but 
 
 they were hungry ! 
 
 Thus the free men entered into ser- 
 vitude, and even the women ; and as the 
 new generation sprang up the re- 
 membrance of other times died. Under 
 the ground they toiled in darkness all the 
 days of their life ; and if, sometimes, the 
 old desire for pleasure and freedom over- 
 mastered them, and they went out for 
 some days and laughed and sang and 
 drank of the poison their masters made 
 for others’ consumption — drank to drown 
 the remembrance of the long hours spent 
 below the fair, flowery earth — their idle 
 brothers quoted this as a sign of innate 
 evil, and breathed “ blackguards ” of those 
 who kept then in luxury and their wives 
 18 
 
THE DEVIL’S PRONOUN 
 
 in silk, and who for generations worked 
 without murmuring. 
 
 And Satan in one strange, wild moment 
 of pity — or was it contempt ? — cried : 
 “ Revolt ! War ! Kill your oppressors ! ” 
 But Ferras answered : “Nay, Master ; 
 out of this would come good. With such 
 thou hast nothing to do ! ” And the 
 look of everlasting pain deepened on the 
 Master’s face, till eternal rage gleamed 
 there again. 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
EABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 An Allegory 
 
 “ udnd fear not them which kill the body, 
 but are not able to kill the soul 
 
 Matthew x. 28. 
 
 The green mountains undulated away 
 on all sides from where he stood, and the 
 blue canopy overhead seemed to end at 
 their farthermost line. The world, to the 
 boy, was a great verdant place of hill and 
 vale, with few trees and many flowers — 
 little violet stars on the heights, nestling 
 in between the very blades of grass ; and 
 yellow balls, and golden cups, and saffron 
 bells in the valleys, near to where silver 
 •threads of hastening water wound about 
 
 23 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 the more level way, and tumbled in foam- 
 ing laughter over stony impediments. He 
 wore, girthed about his fair limbs, a skin 
 of some wild creature ; his eyes reminded 
 one of the gentians at his feet, and had 
 something of their starry look ; the sun- 
 light seemed to nestle in his hair and creep 
 through his curling locks to line them with 
 its gold ; his red, curved lips were parted 
 as if in anticipated pain, and the gleaming 
 teeth closed in seeming forbearance. 
 
 He stood, tall and slender, tapering from 
 shoulders to ankle, that curved out again 
 to feet which clung with naked tenacity 
 to the yielding turf ; his fair form was 
 silhouetted against the enshrining green, 
 and the beauty everywhere appeared to 
 culminate in the central figure of the 
 lovely boy Fabius, the son of Ermas. 
 
 He dropped his arms, which had been 
 stretched outward in a kind of despairing 
 24 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 embrace of the verdant world, and sped 
 away with lithesome movement to a 
 grey hut lying in the lap of a small 
 hollow on the hill before him. He stood 
 irresolute at the door ; then, with a sigh, 
 lifted the latch and entered into the dark 
 of a low-roofed room, with but one small 
 window set, like a jewel, in the dusky 
 walls of the hut : the outward aspect of 
 emerald gleamed within. 
 
 “ Thou art quite sure,” he said, ad- 
 dressing two figures busily counting 
 seeds, “ thou art quite sure thou wouldst 
 have me go to the Black Town to work 
 with Master Silas ? Will it not suffice 
 that I mind the white lambs on the hill, 
 that I dig the ground and sow the seeds 
 of corn, and trim the climbing vine ? Will 
 not this, my service, from when the sun 
 riseth over yonder points till it setteth 
 again behind the cottage, suffice thee ? ” 
 
 25 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 “ Nay, we are decided : we would have 
 thee go and work for gold,” Ermas 
 answered : 
 
 “ Hast thou not enough gold in the 
 broad beams of sunlight which turn the 
 green oats yellow for our food, and w T arm 
 the heart of the vine, that its fruit may be 
 plentiful for our consumption ? ” 
 
 “ Enough, thou art a dreamer.” 
 
 “ Nay, I am but a bean-sower.” 
 
 “ We would have thee bring gold — gold 
 from the earth’s bowels. Dost hear ? ” 
 
 “ Nay, my father and mother, and will 
 it not harden our hearts ? ” 
 
 As he thus spake a laugh broke from 
 the aged people : the old man rose, seeming 
 a giant near the slender boy, and stretched 
 out a sinew}^ arm to catch at his son. 
 
 “ When thy heart,” he said, in scoffing 
 accents, “ is hard with too much gold, then 
 bring it hither, and we will rid thee of it, 
 26 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 though we tear thy girlish flesh to get at 
 it.” 
 
 Their laugh echoed about the boy’s 
 ears, and he shrank from the hand that 
 threatened him even in pleasantry. 
 
 “ Then good-bye,” he said, and moved 
 nearer his mother. 
 
 “ Good-bye,” quoth she, in a hurry, and 
 continued to count her seeds. 
 
 Therewith he turned and went away. 
 
 The long, fiery arms of the setting sun 
 seemed to clasp the hill-tops in an angry 
 grasp as Fabius, with tears in his blue 
 eyes, sped down the precipitous path to 
 the dark town, far distant in the plain. 
 Some young lambs raised their heads, 
 then hurried together to a point, and 
 bleated as their shepherd passed below : 
 a stray goat rubbed its horny head 
 against his knees, then followed part of 
 the way down the steep. 
 
 2 7 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 Still the lad sped on “ But she is 
 my mother and he is my father,” he 
 murmured ever and anon, and the stones 
 sprang from under his feet and led the 
 way before in a dizzy rush. 
 
 Spreading far beneath was the great 
 grey plain lying in the shadow of the 
 mountain : a dark river intersected it like 
 a curving snake with wet gleaming body. 
 
 On the banks stood the Black City. 
 
 At nightfall he entered the gates. The 
 glare of lights shimmered here and there, 
 revealing the blackest of the Black City’s 
 blackness, and noise, everywhere, stunned 
 the youth with its boisterous greeting. 
 Sudden knots of people revelled before 
 him and then dispersed, to disappear like 
 phantoms through shadowy arches or un- 
 perceived ways, whilst new comers loitered 
 into notice, their unhallowed voices jarring 
 suddenly on the ear. None paid heed 
 28 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 to the boy from the hills as he stole, 
 like a frightened creature, to the heart of 
 the city and lay himself down under a 
 great wall in a deserted square. He 
 stretched his full length and closed his 
 eyelids, now heavy with desire of sleep, 
 when he was disturbed by a fitful light 
 which flashed on the buildings about and 
 startled him to sudden wakefulness. He 
 crouched nearer the stone-work as a 
 medley of riotous youths, bearing torches, 
 crossed the square. 
 
 “ To the Enchanted Princess ! ” cried 
 one, and raised a cup of wine to his lips ; 
 the toast resounded through the crowd 
 with ribald glee. “ To her sad eyes ! ” 
 said a pale boy, and a shout of laughter 
 rose and re-echoed as they passed by, 
 grey silence spreading wide in their wake. 
 “To her white arms ! ” was borne back 
 on the wave of sound. 
 
 29 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 Fabius flushed carnation pink, and 
 tossed his head to breathe a fresher air ; 
 then he smiled and looked long upwards, 
 for there were stars here too, and the 
 great glorious heavens were over the 
 Black City even as over the hills. 
 
 Then his golden head fell in sleep, and 
 he dreamed that the Enchanted Princess 
 looked at him down from the glimmering 
 stars. 
 
 # * # # 
 
 “Who is the Enchanted Princess?” 
 demanded Fabius on the third day of his 
 work at the iron forge. 
 
 “Hush!” said his companion, and the 
 boy thought the laugh he gave was forced. 
 
 Later he questioned again some ap- 
 prentices : “Tell me of the Enchanted 
 Princess?” 
 
 “ Faith, if thou keepest so serious a face 
 thou wilt not work long here !” whispered 
 30 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 one. “Our master doth not like the matter 
 spoken of, unless in jest 1 ” 
 
 “What of the Enchanted Princess ?j” 
 persisted Fabius to another. 
 
 “I know naught of such things,” he 
 answered. “They say she is charmed by 
 an evil spirit; but it’s all nonsense, I dare 
 swear!” 
 
 “Her lips are red as wine and she 
 loveth well,” quoth another, and he laughed 
 so that Fabius blushed. 
 
 Some time after he had spent many 
 days and nights in the city, he sat, one 
 midday, eating bread with a knot of fellow- 
 workers, when the master came by and 
 accused one of speaking too seriously of 
 the Enchanted Princess. 
 
 “Good only with our drink!” said he. 
 
 “Nay, we were but laughing,” they 
 answered. 
 
 “Thou may’st take thy fill of laughter 
 3i 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 at the maid, ’tis good for such young as 
 thou — for thy pleasure — but ye all know 
 the penalty of serious converse concerning 
 the enchanted minx, the very existence of 
 whom, [in truth, is but a myth. I will have 
 no one here, however well he work, who 
 talketh in seriousness of such folly.” 
 
 “But if she be troubled,” said Fabius, 
 “may we not help her? If she be chained, 
 as some have told, could we not break the 
 irons with our hammers ? Surely laughter 
 will never free her ! ” 
 
 “Cease, thou stripling ! Who hath filled 
 thy head with such stories?” — and he 
 strode away in anger. And those about 
 Fabius smote him for a fool who had 
 betrayed them. 
 
 But time went its quick way, and the 
 boy still pondered on the Princess, and 
 when he heard their ribald words of her 
 he would turn away, sick at heart, albeit he 
 32 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 could not help at times questioning them 
 concerning her; so that at last they began 
 to point at him, and jeer, and shun his 
 society. Then the days seemed long 
 indeed and cheerless, and the work grew 
 heavy to the unused hands, and the light 
 went from the gentian eyes, and the mouth 
 was like a red stain on the pale face, and 
 he longed for the blue hills wearily. 
 
 So it happened one morning that the 
 boy, deep in thought, exclaimed aloud, 
 not seeing the master near at hand : 
 “ But where doth she dwell, the Enchanted 
 Princess?” Wherefore they turned him 
 out into the noisy street by the great 
 river. 
 
 Fabius stood bewildered. He gazed 
 down into the black, moving volume of 
 slow, unreflecting waters ; then the thought 
 of a mountain rivulet babbled in his fancy, 
 and, hardly realising what had happened, 
 33 
 
 c 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 only conscious of his freedom, the boy 
 leapt the bridge, and fled down the narrow 
 streets and across the sunless square as 
 one pursued. 
 
 He escaped out of the gates and 
 traversed the great plain with eager haste, 
 so that when he turned at last to look back 
 the Black City lay far below at his feet. 
 
 With a cry of exultant joy he threw 
 himself down in the long grass, and kissed 
 the green blades which pressed on his 
 cheeks, and, at the warm touch of the sun- 
 wooed earth, dug his nails into the soft 
 ground with passionate reiteration. 
 
 He tossed away the superfluous draperies 
 the Black City had forced him to w 7 ear, 
 and kicked, in free delight, his boyish 
 limbs, which gleamed in the weaving grass 
 and scintillating sunlight. Blue butterflies 
 fell flapping on his body, and tiny black 
 ones sailed round his golden head, whilst 
 34 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 a great bee hummed about, and the grass- 
 hoppers trilled — a thousand voices every- 
 where — and he laughed to keep them 
 company, moving gently with his hand a 
 stray leaf, that a fat beetle might continue 
 its solemn march ; then his eyelids drooped 
 from fatigue of so hasty a journey, and, 
 with a smile still lurking near his lips, he 
 fell asleep. 
 
 When Fabius awoke the world around 
 was drowsing in the grey shadows of the 
 coming even, and as he sprang to his feet 
 the last rim of the day’s beacon had shot 
 beneath the horizon, and a quick breeze 
 rose over the hills and bowed the tips 
 of the long grass in a silver wave of 
 motion. He thrilled with the sense of it ; 
 then started forward up the steep path, 
 stretching an arm to grasp a bramble or 
 projecting stone thereby to help his spring; 
 for he had lost much strength in those 
 35 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 days spent in the plain, so that he grew 
 quite wearied as he went. 
 
 But on the summit new vigour leapt 
 within his veins, and, full riotous with 
 laughter, he beat an entry on the cottage 
 door. 
 
 “Who’s there?” came from within. 
 
 “’Tis I, thy son Fabius!” he shouted : 
 then he bent his head and caught the sound 
 of a shuffling gait. The door slowly opened, 
 and the giant figure of Ermas loomed from 
 out the uncertain light of the cottage; he 
 peered at his son with unsteady eye, and 
 Fabius guessed at wine in the cup he 
 held. 
 
 “Thou! And thy gold? Hast brought 
 gold with thee?” 
 
 The boy’s hands drooped to his side and 
 his lips trembled as he stammered : 
 
 “Nay, but I have no gold. They sent me 
 away, and I did forget my wage, for I was 
 36 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 overjoyed to come back to thee — I thought 
 of naught but home.” 
 
 “Thou crazy creature ! And wherefore 
 did Master Silas send thee forth?” 
 
 “He is more cunning than crazy,” cried 
 Martha, his mother, in anger ; she was 
 still counting her seeds at the table. “For 
 without doubt he hath spent this money 
 in the city and doth fool us with excuses : 
 see how pale he wears ! ” 
 
 “’Twas for the Enchanted Princess,” 
 said Fabius, and his eyes lit up with a 
 strange and lovely light. 
 
 “ Thou darest to mock us, thou white 
 imp!” roared Ermas, and therewith he laid 
 hands on the boy and beat him till he fell 
 senseless — the blood in coloured blemishes 
 streamed on the white of his skin and 
 bespattered the gold of his hair. Then 
 rudely they took him and laid him on his 
 bed, up the wooden stairs without, in a 
 37 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 low-roofed chamber, and locked the door 
 upon him. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 A stream of sudden light filled the little 
 room, and Hope, winged with feathers of 
 iridescent green, stood upon the threshold, 
 and Fabius awoke, crying: “Nay, but I 
 will to the Black City, and demand the 
 wages my due ; only stay thy hand from 
 beating me, for it hurteth sorely!” 
 
 Then a soft voice, like the murmuring 
 of the wind, called “Fabius !” and a cool 
 breath, as if caused by the beating of 
 wings on the air, swept over his couch, and 
 he started up in fear: “Who calleth ? ” 
 and Hope answered back : 
 
 “Wouldst thou free the Enchanted 
 Princess ? ” and the starry eyes of Fabius 
 looked up in wonder. 
 
 “ What availeth my aid if thou hast 
 failed, winged spirit ? ” 
 
 38 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 “ I am thou,” answered the angel, and 
 the boy stretched out his hands and 
 cried : 
 
 “ Then teach me how I may be thee ! ” 
 And the wings of Hope spread wide as 
 she stooped and kissed his mouth. 
 
 The walls fell in darkness about them 
 and quick winds hurried by. 
 
 “Look up, Fabius ! ” 
 
 And Fabius raised his eyes and saw 
 that they stood in a great hall, and he 
 clutched the hand of Hope as the mist 
 before them dissolved. 
 
 High above she was seated, the 
 Enchanted One ; on a black marble throne 
 she sat, her hair like broad ribbons of 
 saffron gold entwining its dusky surface. 
 
 Her white arms stretched out to guide 
 the spinning-wheel, and in her eyes there 
 dwelt a whole world of pathos, the 
 weariness of anticipated joy never come. 
 39 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 She spun, and as she spun there came 
 a pattern of a heart upon her cloth, and 
 when in clear outline it appeared, a drop 
 of blood fell from her own heart and 
 dyed it crimson red, and she sighed as 
 butterfly wings finished the design ; and 
 she went on to weave another heart, 
 dyeing it again with her own blood ; but 
 still the wings of butterflies grew, and 
 another sigh echoed through the still 
 atmosphere. 
 
 “ Why doth she spin thus ? ” quoth 
 Fabius, “ and why doth she sigh so ? ” 
 
 “ She is in this way enchanted,” Hope 
 answered, “ until a heart shall appear on 
 her cloth broken in two, and on which 
 there shall be no wings — only then will 
 the spell be broken ; but if within a given 
 time such cometh not she will die from 
 the loss of her heart’s blood.” 
 
 “Nay,” said Fabius, “she shall not die !” 
 40 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 And his voice resounded through the wide 
 hall, and the Princess turned her head, 
 and for one moment her sad eyes rested 
 on his ; then a great noise thundered 
 about him, and glinting metals flashed 
 on his sight, and he found himself in 
 a vast work-place, hammering on iron : 
 the din of grinding wheels and beating 
 metals echoed and re-echoed against the 
 walls, and huge and hideous machines 
 hissed out on the air from the confines of 
 their gnashing teeth. 
 
 Several youths were at work, and their 
 faces were young and beautiful, their 
 tunics of soft draperies embroidered at 
 the hem. Near to where they stood was 
 a great gaping hole, from which emerged 
 the groans of crunching rollers : for a 
 moment Fabius peered in, to shrink back 
 in horror from the swaying mass of 
 whirring steel and swollen, jointed 
 4i 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 machinery, vibrating with a seemingly 
 impotent greed ; yet fear had no part in 
 his horror. 
 
 “ Who cometh ? ” he asked of his com- 
 panion, later, as a tall figure entered, clad 
 in plain white, with neither fold nor seam, 
 and a hood about his head. 
 
 “’Tis Master Ambition!” answered a 
 youth, and as the figure passed silently 
 along, looking at none, each seemed to 
 work the better ; but Fabius caught the 
 face beneath the cowl, and there looked 
 at him but the hollow cavities of a skull’s 
 head, and Fabius trembled and worked 
 but ill. Then angry voices made him 
 turn, and there a creature, with vicious 
 eyes and stunted figure, robed in a gown 
 of richest gold, threatened a youth, who, 
 pale before him, stammered weak-hearted 
 protests. 
 
 “ Who is he ? ” pressed Fabius. 
 
 42 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 “ Master Gold, our master ; the youth 
 no doubt hath dreamed of the Princess, 
 which it is forbidden here to do. He 
 will be thrown into the machinery of 
 the world.” 
 
 “ Where is the machinery of the 
 world ? ” 
 
 “ In the great chasm at our feet ! ” 
 
 But as the apprentice was about to 
 fall he leapt, and a door opened suddenly 
 to save him ; then Fabius again saw the 
 Enchanted One, the black of her throne, 
 the gold of her hair, the white of her 
 arms, and the spell of her eyes ; and again 
 the wings came upon her cloth, again 
 her blood dyed the heart red, again she 
 sighed — and the vision passed. 
 
 “ Did he love the Princess ? ” he asked. 
 
 “Aye." 
 
 And Fabius was silent. 
 
 Three days he worked, and one by one 
 43 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 the lovers fled in fear from the vengeance 
 of their master, and even,’ time the 
 blue-eyed one looked sadly from her 
 throne, and her blood dyed yet another 
 winged heart. Each day Ambition 
 silently walked through — each da}’ Gold 
 warned, then threatened — each day there 
 was one worker the less — each da}- a 
 winged heart the more ! 
 
 “Amd thou?” quoth the master in 
 sudden fury, as Fabius stood dreaming on 
 the fourth da}-, “have I not warned thee 
 ofttimes ? ” 
 
 “ I care not for thy warning ! ” the in- 
 trepid one answered, so that the stunted 
 master doubled up with very rage, and 
 put an ugly hand round the lovely body 
 of the youthful worker, who struggled 
 not, though he paled as when death 
 comes. 
 
 And in the black chasm of grinding 
 
 +4 
 
FABIUS THE BEAN-SOWER 
 
 steel Fabius the bean-sower was crushed 
 — Fabius the gentian-eyed. 
 
 Ah ! the pain, the pain ! Would it 
 never cease ? Surely not eternal pain ? 
 Ah ! pity, pity ! 
 
 Then all had ending, and he woke 
 with his head in the lap of the Princess, 
 her face quite near to his, and the sorrow 
 gone from her eyes. 
 
 * « * * 
 
 Ermas, in the cold light of early dawn, 
 crept up the wooden stair, and opened 
 the creaking door. He had resolved to 
 send his son back to the Black City even 
 now ; but he stopped on the threshold in 
 sudden fear, and called Martha his wife. 
 Guiltily they crawled to the bed, hand in 
 hand, then white and shrivelled they 
 looked at one another, for Fabius was 
 dead ; and about his body was wrapped 
 a wondrous cloth with a little broken 
 heart woven thereon. 
 
 45 
 
MERIEL 
 
MERIEL 
 
 “ And all our righteousnesses are as 
 filthy rags." 
 
 Isaiah Ixiv. 6. 
 
 With Wisdom grey by her side, Meriel 
 rested at last on the Earth’s yielding 
 surface, and with bated breath peered 
 at the World — the wondrous world of 
 gleaming water tossing and laughing at her 
 feet and of green soft plains — in repeated 
 waves immutable and still — retreating far, 
 to rise at last in jagged points high into 
 the unreflecting glimmer of the skies, 
 tremulous, at this early hour, with the 
 first touch of the rising sun. She sat 
 with a certain laughing fear in her 
 49 d 
 
MERIEL 
 
 gleaming, inquisitive eyes, and pressed 
 with chary touch the bladed turf about 
 her ; then tried to catch with lifted fingers 
 the breath of wind which tossed her long 
 hair in a floating red aureole wide. 
 
 “ I would for ever stay here,” she 
 murmured ; “ the World is fairer than all 
 the stars in starry space.” And the Spirit 
 of Wisdom answered : 
 
 “ Stay, Meriel, until such beauty fill thy 
 heart with wearied pain.” 
 
 “ Thou art ever serious, good Wisdom,” 
 she returned. “ Thou hast steered me 
 here through seeming endless darkness, 
 through angry storms of wrestling ele- 
 ments which encircle only this strange 
 globe, lovelier than all her sisters — and 
 now thou wouldst have me go ! Nay, I 
 fain would stay ; so, good-bye.” 
 
 She rose, with arms uplifted, in playful- 
 ness to drive her unwanted companion 
 5 ° 
 
MERIEL 
 
 hence, then turned and went her way. 
 She danced on the green sward, her 
 purple draperies as wings outspread ; then 
 chased the breeze in gleeful race. 
 
 She tried to touch the gold of the 
 sun’s first rays, and crouched low 
 down at the sight of a tree, thinking 
 the outspread branches would take her, 
 unwilling, in their grasp ; but when she 
 crawled at last under the leafy umbrage, 
 she laughed again at the gleaming lights 
 without, which tried to gain an entry 
 between the leaves. 
 
 Thus Meriel wandered about the sweet 
 earth — through her woods and by her 
 rivulets, among her flowers or with her 
 falling waves. 
 
 And as she walked on a rocky way, 
 near the sea, yet shadowed by trees 
 which edged a grassy place stretching 
 to cornfields bounded again by wood, she 
 5i 
 
MERIEL 
 
 rested for some moments, when a youth, 
 beautiful as the morning and sad even as 
 the night, came to where she was and 
 looked into her e}^es. 
 
 “ Who art thou ? ” she questioned, 
 dreaming naught of audacity. And he 
 smiled so that she knew he was sad, so 
 sad was his smile. 
 
 “ Who art thou , who hast a look of other 
 worlds in thine eyes, and who knowest 
 not of one whom they once called Love, 
 but since have named Sin ? ” 
 
 Full of wonder, she said : “ Why do they 
 call thee Sin ? ” 
 
 The youth turned and looked at the far 
 sea, a blue ribbon seeming to divide the 
 white of the heavens from the green of 
 the land : 
 
 “ I know not — perhaps because they 
 mistake me for my twin-brother, who is 
 mad, and to whom they have given the 
 name of Vice.” 
 
 5 2 
 
MERIEL 
 
 u Where is he ? ” 
 
 “ He roameth about, wild, unclad and 
 hungry, in the woods. Should he emerge 
 in daytime they would stone him and in 
 chains bear him publicly to prison.” 
 
 “ And at night ? ” 
 
 “ They steal out, masked, and carry 
 food to him : so that he who would die 
 liveth by their hands.” 
 
 “ Canst thou do naught ? ” 
 
 “ Nay, for when I do pursue him he 
 flieth, and where I am there he never is.” 
 Something of sadness crept over the 
 face of Meriel, and she stretched out a 
 hand, saying : “I am sorry for thee ! 
 Wilt thou come and pick flowers with 
 Meriel ? ” 
 
 “ Art thou not afraid, Meriel, of the 
 World ? ” 
 
 “ The World ? No ; why should I be 
 afraid ? It seems all kindness, this lovely 
 world, with flowers growing even at our 
 S3 
 
MERIEL 
 
 feet ! I had dreamed of flowers, but 
 never of such fragrant blossoms as these ! 
 And then the wide, leaved trees to shade 
 one weary of too much sun — and such a 
 silver stream to babble music in our ears ! 
 — and the great sea, which threatens in 
 playfulness to depart, and, creeping away, 
 riotously comes laughing back ! Why 
 wouldst thou have me afraid ? ” 
 
 “ But I have an evil name ! ” 
 
 “ Then we will change thy name.” She 
 smiled, but the smile died before it was 
 full grown by reason of the strange 
 appearance of a woman nearing them, 
 who wore no garments, albeit her hands 
 were swathed in coverings. 
 
 “ Who cometh this way ? Look how 
 she treadeth down the corn !” 
 
 “ ’Tis Virtue, so-called,” said the youth. 
 “ She weareth gloves, and her hair is 
 parted down the middle ! ” 
 
 54 
 
MERIEL 
 
 “ Thou likest her not ? ” 
 
 “ She speaketh unwonted truths about 
 her friends, and lieth about herself ! ” 
 
 “ Wherefore lieth she ? ” 
 
 “ She doth but what she is !” 
 
 “ Thou speakest as Sin would — 
 denying good 1 ” 
 
 “ Nay, I deny not goodness — it dwelleth 
 with us still,” he answered, and was 
 silent. 
 
 “ Where ? ” she pleaded in gentle 
 atonement. 
 
 “ In the heart of a peasant, and in the 
 soul of a poet.” 
 
 “Are there many poets and peasants?” 
 “Yea, more than all others.” 
 
 “ Then Goodness reigneth on this fair 
 Earth, which in all her beauty chal- 
 lengeth that we love her not, knowing 
 we are wholly hers — surely we will love 
 her, since Goodness reigneth ? ” 
 
 55 
 
MERIEL 
 
 “Nay, Meriel, the ‘others’ rule. 
 Peasants and poets go in rags, whilst the 
 world liveth on the poor man’s produce, 
 and when the hungry ask for food, Dame 
 Virtue, from her gilded throne in the 
 public square, giveth a penny and buyeth 
 the name of Charity.” 
 
 “Thou talkest of naught but ugly 
 things, sir youth, and I would fain not 
 have met thee ! ” and Meriel turned her 
 look from him, even in anger. 
 
 “I am grieved to grieve thee, gentle one. 
 A herald, once, of joy, I have been to thee 
 but a messenger of pain .... yet it is 
 for sorrow for that bleeding heart — the 
 human heart of this thy lovely World, 
 which knoweth only of sad love — I beg 
 thy pity. In labour and poverty joyous 
 love hath starved. In luxury and sin 
 joyous love hath died.” 
 
 Then the fair youth, beautiful as the 
 56 
 
MERIEL 
 
 morning and sad even as the night, turned 
 and went away. 
 
 Meriel watched him go, and, when she 
 could see him no more, she tossed her hair 
 and caught some meshes between her 
 gleaming teeth, then sang a little song to 
 cheat herself from sadness. 
 
 She wandered further along the path, her 
 purple draperies clinging now V-wise down 
 to her little feet, her red-crowned head of 
 wondrous hair drooped ; and though the 
 starry flowers, the yellow-hearted daisies, 
 peered up at her from their dark myrtle- 
 green beds, they only seemed to Meriel 
 like tears fallen from Sin’s sad eyes. 
 
 And she came to where some men were 
 labouring in a field. They bent low over 
 the ground and toiled sadly, unconscious 
 of the floods of sunshine around them. 
 They were as dark and unseemly patches 
 on the fair landscape to Meriel, for the 
 57 
 
MERIEL 
 
 grim, weather-beaten faces lacked the 
 beauty of the sad youth she had just 
 quitted, and Necessity seemed to have 
 chased even sorrow from their countenances 
 to engrave her own hard image on them. 
 
 Not far off lounged some youths, in soft 
 clothes, watching. 
 
 “Ye seem to be working hard, good 
 friends,” she said : “ there are some idle 
 lads quite near who look tired from very 
 weariness of doing nothing — will they not 
 help ye ? ” 
 
 And the rough men all laughed, and 
 continued their labour, and Meriel knew 
 not why they laughed, and said again in 
 question : “They have an holiday?” 
 
 “Yea,” answered one, “every day of the 
 year and every year of their lives ! ” 
 
 “But how get they food, if they help not 
 to procure their substance ? Surely they 
 will find but a scanty meal to-night ? ” 
 
 58 
 
MERIEL 
 
 Again the men laughed, and their laugh 
 echoed harshly, and Meriel grew frightened, 
 for such a laugh is, indeed, the ugliest of 
 all human sounds — it speaks of tragedy 
 without dignity, rage without use, and 
 hatred combined with the impotence of 
 despair and the necessity of virtueless 
 resignation. And she moved away; but 
 as she went they said : 
 
 “ ’Tis we who will have poor fare ! ” 
 
 And she thought they were mocking her, 
 so that she hastened from their company till 
 she was alone again near the shore. Lifting 
 her head with a sigh, she looked before her, 
 where, leaning against a tree, a grey-haired 
 man stood, with raised, contemplative head. 
 
 She stood quite still to look at him, and 
 a thought of the Spirit of Wisdom came to 
 her, yet there was more in his face ; it was 
 not Pity, or Sorrow, or Love, or Hope, or 
 Power, or Strength, or Knowledge, or 
 59 
 
MERIEL 
 
 Truth, or Wit ; neither of the Judge or the 
 Advocates, the Teacher or the Doer, the 
 Hero or the Labourer ; yet something of 
 all these attributes, of all these powers, lived 
 in the keen, sensitive visage whose im- 
 penetrable eyes gave no quarter to weak- 
 ness. Meriel felt desire to bend a knee ; 
 then she looked to where he gazed, and 
 there, from the wood, emerged two pro- 
 cessions, and wound down the path to the 
 sea. They were women all, and young ; 
 the half were clad in white soft garments ; 
 they had fair sweet faces and soft tresses 
 of hair ; they smiled as they went, and 
 seemed to know of naught but happiness. 
 Near to them walked those others, young, 
 yet seeming born old, in tattered gowns or 
 gaudy raiments, who laughed likewise, but 
 loudly and harshly : the unhallowed sound 
 echoed on the air ; their girlish faces were 
 bedaubed with carmine, and now and then 
 60 
 
MERIEL 
 
 they threw a mocking jest at a near 
 sister in spotless attire, who recoiled back 
 with horror to the shelter of her friends. 
 Nefarious, wanton words grappled for 
 supremacy, and befouled the air with 
 poisonous breath as they emerged from 
 even childish lips. 
 
 Then Meriel stood, tall in anger, and 
 cried : “Who are those vile creatures who 
 walk so near to women? Who are they 
 who cheat us into thinking they may be 
 women too? What strange and devilish 
 reflection of our own selves lurks within 
 their eyes? Who are they who dare to 
 ape womanhood?” 
 
 The old man answered in measured 
 words : 
 
 “ They are thus vile that their sisters 
 may be virtuous — thus ill-clad that those 
 others should wear white — impure that 
 they by their side may be pure.” 
 
 61 
 
MERIEL 
 
 “ Know good women this thing ? ’’ 
 breathed Meriel. 
 
 “ No, they think their own gift heaven- 
 given and their sisters’ by their own sin 
 begotten. And if by chance one in 
 gentle kindness stretcheth a hand to help 
 one fallen thus, Virtue and Maternity 
 whisper in her ear, ‘ They must be ! ’ And 
 should she answer the lie with question : 
 ‘ If the demand be no wrong, wherefore 
 should the supply be sin ? ’ Virtue 
 shuddereth and putteth on her gloves : 
 but Truth shrieks out with finger pointed 
 at these pure, loveless maids who sell not 
 for bread, but for luxury : 
 
 “The Reserve!” 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Meriel crouched on the ground, her 
 face quite near the blades of grass, which 
 caught the tears as they sped down her 
 62 
 
MERIEL 
 
 cheeks. Then she rose and said : “ Is 
 there no help ? ” 
 
 And the old man answered with seeming 
 fire in his eyes : 
 
 “ No, not till good women go down on 
 bended knees and ask forgiveness of these 
 poor wanton ones, saying : ‘ We have 
 wronged ye, even we ! ’ ” 
 
 “ And shall it happen ? ” 
 
 He turned his head and looked at the 
 sea crimsoned by the setting of the great 
 disc, and murmured : 
 
 “ When Pity, chased by Gold to some 
 far sphere, returns, or is born again, and 
 Love bringeth her back to Earth — only 
 then ! ” Therewith he rose and with 
 shuffling gait passed into the wood ; and 
 Meriel cried softly: “Pity shall come back!” 
 Then she turned and went to the very 
 edge of the sea, and the red light reddened 
 all her garments, and Love came to where 
 
 63 
 
MERIEL 
 
 she was, and, kneeling down, looked into 
 her eyes, and, seeing tears there, wiped 
 them with his hand away : 
 
 “ Meriel I have waited long for thee ! ” 
 And she put her palm upon his palm 
 and said : 
 
 “We will go and look for Pity, Love, 
 thou and I — through starry space we will 
 seek for Pity, thou and I ! ” 
 
 * # # # 
 
 Then Love and Meriel left the World 
 of flowers and sin. And the last ray of 
 ruddy light dyed the woods a deep red, 
 even like the colour of blood, and there 
 echoed over the land the wanton laugh of 
 the mad twin-brother they called Vice. 
 
 64 
 
PHILE 
 
PHILE 
 
 The enemy kings were friends at last, 
 and the son of the one was thereupon 
 betrothed to the fair daughter of the 
 other, and nothing of the young people’s 
 inclination was asked, for each was 
 beautiful and young and rich, and en- 
 dowed with every attribute that most 
 befits the child of a king. 
 
 When the day of the marriage came, all 
 the splendour was displayed customary 
 at a festivity of such royal import. The 
 dark cedar-trees were decked with bright- 
 eoloured shields emblazoned with two 
 67 
 
PHILE 
 
 kings’ arms, and garlands hung upon them 
 of wondrous flowers. 
 
 The little children danced for joy and 
 laughed, and tossed the roses at one 
 another, whilst the youths sported in the 
 open, and the old men pressed the juice 
 from the grapes into silvern goblets for 
 the women to drink thereof. 
 
 Great banners waved in the air, scented 
 from the garlands of flowers, and the 
 voices of singing boys were borne upon 
 the breeze. 
 
 The poor forgot their poverty in such 
 revelry, and the hungry were fed. The 
 very sunshine seemed to take part in the 
 festivity, and dazzled all in its golden 
 fury, cheating brightness from the dullest 
 stones, and creeping through fretted 
 leaves to spread a yellow carpet at their 
 feet. 
 
 Light and laughter dwelt everywhere 
 68 
 
PHILE 
 
 but in the sad eyes of the Princess and 
 the cold countenance of him she had 
 wedded, as they passed among the 
 shouting people. The kings, their fathers, 
 rode before, united at last in a haughty 
 friendship through the betrothal of their 
 children. Greed for wealth had separated 
 these iron warriors, and greed for more had 
 united them : but the smile on their faces 
 was set, and, indeed, the poor, ragged 
 man had more joy in his countenance who 
 said : “ Faith 1 I have naught to be happy 
 for, but I will be gay since the rich ap- 
 pear to be much rejoicing.” Yet withal 
 the bride seemed as one in sorrow : her 
 head drooped as a wilted flower, and her 
 cheeks were whiter than the lilies in her 
 crown. For in her heart there dwelt the 
 remembrance of a knight still most dear to 
 her, and she knew not how to forget him. 
 
 And the bridegroom looked wearily 
 69 
 
PHILE 
 
 over the crowd and omitted to seek the 
 smile of his bride. 
 
 And it was murmured among his friends 
 that a maid far away was weeping for him. 
 
 The procession swept by, and the peo- 
 ple wotted naught of such sorrow ; but 
 only gazed in wonder at the rich garments 
 of fine spun gold the royal heirs wore, 
 and laughed because it was good to laugh. 
 How could they dream a Prince was 
 sad ? 
 
 Then a wild hurrah echoed from side 
 to side, and gleaming swords flashed in 
 the air, and a blast of trumpets heralded 
 the entrance of the Prince and Princess 
 to their home — a home resplendent 
 with all the beauty of art’s most precious 
 labour : statues wrought in gold and 
 silver ; pale ivory faced with fiery orbs of 
 jewels; hangings of richest purple with 
 star-flowers interwoven near the edge — 
 70 
 
PHILE 
 
 red-hearted, for the love they symbolised 
 — such a dwelling-place as must render 
 happy those who lived therein. 
 
 Yet he led her through the painted 
 halls with no look of happiness. The 
 sound of the tumult without grew fainter 
 on their ears as they went, till it quite 
 ceased, and they found themselves alone 
 in a great chamber. 
 
 They stood before the open window 
 in silence, for they had nothing to say 
 to one another. A breath of warm, un- 
 knowing wind tossed the gauzy draperies 
 on her breast ; but she laid a cold hand 
 to still them, and the wind shivered and 
 went its way. 
 
 He looked to the west, where the sun 
 was sinking and the hill-tops were edged 
 with a streak of red light, and he thought 
 of that other maid. And she raised her 
 sad eyes to the east, pale in the glimmer 
 7i 
 
PHILE 
 
 of the rising moon, and prayed not to 
 think unloyally. 
 
 He caught her pained look, yet guessed 
 not the reason thereof, and was sorry, 
 seeing she was hapless. So he put forth 
 his hand and gathered a fresh rose which 
 clung to the casement without, and offered 
 it to her ; but the petals fell one by one 
 to their feet, and the kind speech died 
 on his lips even as a sigh on the air. 
 
 Spring fled to summer and autumn to 
 winter, and the young Prince passed the 
 time in hunting, and the Princess dwelt in 
 the topmost tower with her face turned to 
 the east, and fashioned strange devices in 
 tapestry. And though there was much 
 noise of revelry in the palace and out- 
 ward showof festivity, though all discussed 
 the ball of yesterday and the great hunt 
 of the morrow in apparent good humour, 
 a gloom seemed to settle in the very 
 72 
 
PHILE 
 
 midst of their wildest gaieties, and the 
 youths of the Court became cynical and 
 overdressed ; and, because they sought 
 only pleasure, pleasure ceased to please, 
 and life became burdensome to them ; 
 and some were known who stole away, 
 disguised, to find happiness where this 
 strange soul-sickness of the loveless Court 
 had not penetrated. And then it came 
 that the Princess bore a son, and she 
 died in giving it life, and as she died her 
 last thought was for the knight in the 
 east : and the gloom deepened over the 
 palace when it was known that because 
 there had been no love at his begetting 
 the child was born without a heart. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 As was his custom, the Prince was far 
 from home, wearily whipping his steed to 
 gain still a new road, that he might dream 
 through its strangeness that he were not 
 73 
 
PHILE 
 
 the Prince of Telmaris, and that his heart 
 did not long to go west to the maid far 
 away. Then witchery turned his bridle, 
 and the great black horse bore him 
 swiftly from the east, since Conscience 
 had outwitted herself and, pale in dilemma, 
 said “ Go ” ; but a cold hand smote 
 him in the face, and the dark creature 
 reared high, then dashed on a wild career, 
 for the Prince of two kingdoms was 
 dead. 
 
 * # * * 
 
 The little babe waxed strong and fair, 
 and as he grew to childhood, then to 
 youth and manhood, many marvelled at 
 his strange intelligence and wondrous 
 beauty ; but none spoke of his love or 
 charity, or his smiles ; for the young 
 Prince had no heart, and naught pleased 
 him, and he cared for naught. 
 
 Only, just before eventide, he was wont 
 74 
 
PHILE 
 
 to stray on the seashore, and, resting on 
 the rocks, watch, ever expressionless, the 
 vast stretch of level water for many hours 
 together, as if that hope he lacked might 
 come from over the limitless horizon, and 
 give him that which the poorest creature 
 possessed. 
 
 Now there dwelt, near to where the 
 surf whitened the edge of the land, a 
 young girl called Phile, and she lived 
 alone in a small stone house and mended 
 the net of fishermen. 
 
 She heard of the Prince who was born 
 without a heart, who knew nothing of 
 sorrow, neither of joy, who loved not nor 
 hated, who was wise in all things and 
 beautiful as the Sun-God, and she watched 
 him come every evening and go, and 
 there grew up in her heart a great love 
 and pity for him, so that she would creep 
 out among the rocks and sit near to where 
 75 
 
PHILE 
 
 he was, half hidden, at his feet. Therefore 
 it happened that he noticed her, and he 
 spoke to her, and discoursed of many things 
 — concerning the sea and the fish therein, 
 and the heavens and the stars thereof ; 
 and she hearkened with wide open eyes 
 and breathed in his words in extasy. But 
 when he had finished he went his way ; 
 and she returned to her lonely little home 
 with the mingled sense of joy and sorrow 
 in her heart. 
 
 Next day at sunset he came, and as 
 before he spoke to her, so that she was 
 full of gladness whilst he was there, and 
 when he was gone she was sad. 
 
 Many days passed in this way : all the 
 happinessof the little fisherman's daughter 
 was comprised in these moments at sun- 
 set, and afterwards in the anticipation of 
 the morrow or the remembrance of the 
 yesterday. As she mended her nets, 
 7 6 
 
PHILE 
 
 catching up the broken threads and 
 uniting them again, or weaving in a new 
 cord, she thought of all the things he had 
 told her, and laughed to herself from 
 very pleasure in pondering on his words. 
 
 Sometimes the thought of the little 
 bright fish, with their pearly sides, 
 deterred her lithesome fingers : for she 
 found pain in the consideration of how 
 this brown, rough net was to hold them 
 prisoners, and take them from their great 
 sea to suffocate in the heavy air ; and 
 she wished she might leave just a little 
 hole that they could escape through ; 
 and therewith she would desist from her 
 work and go out and sit on the rocks far 
 out to sea, and tell the little fish how she 
 loved the Prince, and how sad he was, 
 and how it were better to be as they, and 
 even be caught at last and die, than to 
 live without a heart. 
 
 77 
 
PHILE 
 
 And it happened that for several days 
 he did not come, and the little maid grew 
 very sad, and when at last he approached 
 he made no move to speak to her, and 
 she, forsaken, crept out to her rock and 
 sang to the little fish. 
 
 The next time she saw him she noticed 
 a wearied look on his face, as one over- 
 burdened with indifference, and this 
 look grew with the passing of the days, 
 and Phile’s pain, with pity for him, 
 deepened almost to despair. One night 
 she wandered out on the sands at that 
 hour when the vaulted heavens are alight 
 with shining stars, and she gazed up into 
 their faces. 
 
 Would they not tell her how to serve 
 the Prince ? 
 
 And a quick wind whistled past her 
 ears, and she listened to the tumbling of 
 the wild waves and the swoop of the 
 78 
 
PHILE 
 
 great birds’ wings, and she cried aloud : 
 “ World ! O World ! how can I give the 
 Prince a heart ? ” 
 
 Then a voice from the darkness called 
 to her : 
 
 “ Phile, Phile, if thou lovest well, take 
 thou a silver goblet to the fountain of 
 Eros and carry water therefrom, which 
 thou shalt bring to thy Prince to drink.” 
 And the voice died on the breath of the 
 wind ; and Phile flew to her little cottage, 
 full of fear. 
 
 In the morning the sun crept through 
 her window and broke the spell of sleep 
 about her. And a soft voice murmured 
 in her ears : “ Phile, Phile, if thou lovest 
 well ” ; and she was no longer afeared, 
 and prepared such things as she should 
 need for the journey to the Fountain of 
 Eros. But when she was ready, then it 
 came to her that she had no silver goblet, 
 79 
 
PHILE 
 
 neither any money wherewith to buy 
 one, and she sat down, sick at heart, and 
 pondered long. 
 
 Now, with the maids of Telmaris it was 
 a custom that every one should inherit 
 from her mother a wedding-robe em- 
 broidered in silver and ofttimes jewels, 
 and that she, in her turn, should bequeath 
 it to her daughter, so that for many 
 generations these vestments were handed 
 from parent to child. 
 
 Phile was very poor, and her only 
 possession was a like robe ; she cherished 
 it with pride, and loved it, for it was all 
 she had in the world, and there were 
 silver daisies worked round the hem. 
 
 She thought now of it and knew she 
 must sell it at the market-place. Forthwith 
 she rose, and took it gently, and hurried 
 out, not daring to glance at its shining 
 folds, lest she should repent her. 
 
 80 
 
PHILE 
 
 And the girls at the market-place 
 mocked and whispered unkind words ; for 
 no maid sold her wedding-gown — at 
 Telmaris ’twas deemed dishonour — and 
 they turned away from her, and she felt 
 the hot tears scalding her eyes as they 
 whispered one to another : “ Know you that 
 Phile sells her wedding-robe ? Is she not 
 shameless 1 ” But Phile cried within her : 
 “ Nay, I do but sell it for love ! ” 
 
 And a merchant of the East noted her 
 confusion, and the bright garment in her 
 arms, and did take advantage thereof, and 
 prolfered but half the value for the 
 raiment, saying : “ One who sells her 
 marriage-gown shall not make terms ; ” and 
 he did leer at her, and Phile was afraid, so 
 that she grasped the silver coins and fled 
 as the girls and youths laughed and jeered 
 at her. 
 
 She came to a seller of silver things 
 
 81 F 
 
PHILE 
 
 and she purchased a goblet, and inquired 
 of him who sold it her the way to the 
 Fountain of Eros ; and he answered in 
 haste that he knew not. Then a white 
 dove rose up from the ground and flew 
 south, and Phile understood she must go 
 that way ; so she tied the goblet to her 
 girdle and went forth alone. 
 
 The road was rough, and sharp flints cut 
 her naked feet, and there were no trees to 
 shelter her from the sun, or flowers by the 
 way to gladden her heart ; but she sang a 
 little song as she went, that she might not 
 heed how sharp the stones were, or how 
 dreary the aspect. A whole long day passed 
 and the grey shadows of even spread round 
 her, and still she sped over the ground, till 
 dark night stayed her tired feet, and 
 hunger denied her strength ; then she 
 rested on a rock by the way and ate of the 
 bread she brought with her. All the next 
 82 
 
PHILE 
 
 day she walked, and the third day, and 
 likewise on the fourth, though she had no 
 more food ; and she came to the Fountain 
 of Eros, in a green place with tall trees 
 about it, and the bright water falling into 
 a sleek pool beneath where the grass-bank 
 hemmed it in. Phile raised her cup to 
 catch the water, and looked up into the 
 face of the young god, and for that moment 
 she was not weary ; then she turned and 
 went back as she had come, only she sang 
 not. 
 
 The road stretched a grey line before 
 the wayfarer far across the plain, and 
 there were low rocks on either side like 
 faceless creatures keeping guard, and the 
 sun was high and beat a white heat 
 down from the colourless heavens. The 
 path seemed even more rough, for her 
 feet were sore and cut, and her garment 
 torn about her ankles so that as she 
 83 
 
PHILE 
 
 stepped it was with difficulty she held the 
 cup in such a manner that the water 
 might not spill. Night came on when 
 she had traversed but a little way, and, 
 because she was faint and hungry, sleep 
 fled from her, and she felt afraid in 
 the great plain alone, as darkness en- 
 compassed all things, and silence seemed 
 to echo back on her ears. Quite still she 
 sat, still as the night about her, till morn- 
 ing came from very pity and covered the 
 road with a glory of red. 
 
 For three more da}'s Phile wandered 
 alone ; she had naught to eat or to drink 
 and she slept not, and each night her fear 
 grew greater. 
 
 At last the blue sea spread before her, 
 and the salt breeze fanned her cheeks, and 
 she sighed a little sigh of joy, “O m}- 
 Prince ! my Prince ! I am coming ! But at 
 84 
 
PHILE 
 
 each step she faltered, and the breath 
 would not come to her parched lips, and 
 the hands which grasped the goblet were 
 benumbed, and she knew not how she 
 held it. 
 
 The sun was sinking over the sea in a 
 blaze of royal colour, and shafts of golden 
 light stretched from the red disc to the 
 nethermost points of the heavens ; and 
 the Prince sat on the rocks and gazed 
 before him, and knew not that Phile was 
 near. 
 
 She stood quite still, and despair looked 
 out of her eyes. 
 
 Then a young girl, passed by, with fair 
 hair wafted by the wind and crowned with 
 a wreath of flowers, and she sang as she 
 came. Her eyes were blue like the 
 heavens in daytime, and her lips red as 
 wine, and white like the morning was the 
 85 
 
PHILE 
 
 robe she wore. And Phile cried to her : 
 “ Nay, stop, pretty creature, and take for 
 me this goblet of water to the Prince 
 yonder, and make him drink thereof.” 
 
 And the young girl laughed, and won- 
 deringly took it in her hand, and danced 
 on her way to the Prince. 
 
 He rose as she came, and drank of the 
 water she offered, then he gave her back 
 the silver cup and his hand did meet hers 
 in the returning of it, and through a long 
 full gaze their eyes in one another’s lived. 
 She smiled as he kissed her face, as the 
 waves kissed the rocks at her feet, and 
 hand in hand they wandered down on 
 the shore through the red of the lover’s 
 sun, and they came to the body of Phile 
 stretched across their path — and she was 
 dead 1 
 
 And it was because they loved that the}' 
 86 
 
PHILE 
 
 understood what she had done, and they 
 raised a tomb unto her, and thencefor- 
 ward all the youths and maids of Telmaris 
 came to the edge of the sea, to the shrine 
 of Phile, and did honour to her there. 
 
 3 ; 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 They were hot in discussion, and the fair 
 boy, with all the ardour of youth, strode 
 about the room, and in poetical language 
 pushed his arguments and hurled his 
 epithets with infinite determination and 
 conviction against the elder man, who, 
 albeit he grew hot at times, was on the 
 9 1 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 whole more quiet, speaking, if with less 
 heart, with more reason. 
 
 Particularly interesting was the manner 
 in which each embodied the spirit of his 
 respective cause in the form of a personal 
 creature of goodness and beneficence, 
 disinterestedly striding over the world 
 with a hand outstretched to help and 
 purify humanity, whilst describing that of 
 his adversary as an undoubted evil to be 
 crushed with no quarter. 
 
 The youth alluded to the depraved and 
 selfish monster who, through greed of 
 impotent knowledge, tortured the suffer- 
 ing. Whilst the other received “ im- 
 potent ” with a sneer, and described 
 sentimentality and personal fear of 
 suffering as the basis of all evil, which 
 deterred progress and prevented the 
 alleviation of the pain of countless 
 thousands in the future by an hysterical 
 92 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 horror of inflicting any kind of immediate 
 suffering. 
 
 The discussion was started on the 
 question of Science and Sentiment. I 
 became half mesmerised by the continuous 
 flow of words, which promised little vari- 
 ation at last, and closed my eyes. 
 
 When I opened them, seemingly, a half 
 minute later, the noise of talk had died ; 
 I found myself in a great meadow where 
 sat, not far from me, two little girls, 
 and, strangely enough, I found I could 
 understand their innermost thoughts even 
 as if I were of them, and one seemed to 
 be the child of Science and the other of 
 Sentiment, and their names were Luzia 
 and Estrith. 
 
 They sat, these two little creatures, on 
 the grass, which sloped down to a full 
 stream, then rose again up to the confines 
 of a dense fir wood which was as a black 
 93 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 line on the horizon dividing the green from 
 the intense blue of a summer sunlit sky. 
 
 There was something of the fair meadow 
 and luminous heavens in the countenance 
 of the one, whilst that of the other, a 
 strange, elfish little person with pale face 
 and dusky hair, suggested the wood 
 beyond of impenetrable shadow. Her 
 unchildish hands were narrow and with 
 pointed fingers, and her countenance quite 
 serious. She held a fly in her hand, and 
 was deeply interested in its movements, 
 threatening to disembarrass the poor 
 crawling creature of its wings, and quite 
 indifferent to the pressing protestations 
 of her companion, who was not to be 
 persuaded to take part in the operation, 
 even for the promised delight of “ seeing 
 what would happen.” 
 
 The latter was the younger of the two, 
 and, in spite of her opposition, seemed to 
 94 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 be in some awe of her playmate. She 
 spoke with a certain beseeching humble- 
 ness — she would pay homage, even though 
 the fly were tortured ; but until then she 
 would continue the fight to save it. The 
 inevitable quarrel ensued ; the fly lost 
 its wings, and the little person — such a 
 tiny little girl — who wanted to see what 
 would happen, forgot her interest and 
 walked solemnly away. 
 
 Estrith sat quite still — the tears slowly 
 crept into her eyes and coursed down her 
 cheeks, whilst Luzia hovered apart, pull- 
 ing flowers and humming a little song. 
 The diswinged fly crawled unhappily on 
 the ground between them. 
 
 Some time passed in this manner, till 
 the little maid gathering flowers suddenly 
 cast them down and proceeded to amuse 
 herself by solemnly rolling down the 
 grassy steep. The other, equally solemn, 
 95 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 watched her go through this performance 
 several times and gradually grew fasci- 
 nated. 
 
 Rolling was irresistible ; she forgot her 
 tears and her fly and fell to doing like- 
 wise. Down they went, these two, over 
 and over, still without a smile, when at 
 last a very jerky, unexpected bound 
 started a laugh, and therewith the quarrel 
 was obliterated. They raced each other 
 to the top only to fling themselves down 
 again, pressing the long grass flat with 
 their warm little bodies, and shouting at 
 the top of their tiny voices as they came 
 dangerously near side by side. 
 
 The gleaming golden curls were in 
 close proximity to the little black head. 
 Collision was imminent, and when it came 
 they received the shock with a redoubled 
 shout of hilarity. 
 
 To tumble over one another seemed 
 96 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 wonderful sport, and then, in the midst of 
 such a moment, a thin little hand stretched 
 out and pulled vigorously at the yellow 
 mesh of hair. Immediately they both 
 sat up, flushed and rough-headed. 
 
 “ What did you do that for ? ” queried 
 the offended one. 
 
 “ Pooh ! ” said the other, “ to see if it 
 would hurt.” 
 
 The perfect calmness of this reply was 
 peculiarly stinging, so that the tears 
 started afresh into the baby’s eyes, whilst 
 the elfish Luzia looked oddly at her 
 for a moment, then danced off after a 
 butterfly, with an expression on her face 
 of absolute scorn for one who would cry 
 at so little provocation; and after flitting 
 about, one moment in a broad flood of 
 sunshine, then in the blue shadowy places, 
 pursuing the butterflies with unabated 
 energy, she returned, her hat in her hand, 
 97 g 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 carefully covered with a large leaf to 
 prevent the escape of two yellow-winged 
 little prisoners ; and, ignoring the fact that 
 Estrith was still very doleful, she com- 
 manded her amicably to take care of “ the 
 capture.” Undoubtedly Luzia was con- 
 scious of her power, for she was obeyed 
 with alacrity, and the charge was accepted 
 with evident pride at so much confidence 
 shown. Consequently, the little hunts- 
 woman departed again in hot pursuit. 
 
 She seemed a long time away to the 
 wistful keeper, who, so long as her com- 
 panion remained in sight, was amply 
 amused in watching her flit to and fro ; 
 but upon her departure to an adjoining field 
 the sunny-haired little girl found time 
 begin to hang heavily indeed, and sought 
 to amuse herself in vain ; then she gave a 
 peep under the leaf. There they were, 
 those poor imprisoned ones, beating their 
 98 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 wings sadly against the side of their 
 small cell ! She wondered if they could 
 breathe there ? And if they knew they 
 were doomed to be stuck on card- 
 board ? 
 
 “ Poor wee, wee butterflies ! ” she 
 chanted in an odd little voice, and covered 
 them again. 
 
 Still Luzia did not come, and the sound 
 of their flapping wings seemed to increase. 
 Perhaps they were very frightened. Per- 
 haps a great big butterfly was waiting for 
 them on some flower. She peeped again. 
 The soft yellow powder from their bodies 
 stained the hat ; she tossed off the leaf 
 angrily, but they seemed powerless to 
 move ; she touched one with the tip of 
 her baby-finger, therewith they rose and 
 flew away, and she watched their flight 
 with the sweetest smile in the world on 
 her tiny face. 
 
 99 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 When they were quite gone and she 
 glanced back at the empty hat she was 
 frightened, and she waited with a brave 
 little white face for the coming of her 
 friend. She came, Luzia, and as she real- 
 ised what had happened a flush of anger 
 crept over her countenance, and then — 
 which seemed to Estrith by far the worst 
 to bear — an expression of contempt took 
 possession of her whole demeanour, and 
 she turned and walked away towards home. 
 
 The baby did not cry this time ; she 
 understood the other’s displeasure, and 
 was sorry that she had caused it, but she 
 did not regret what she had done. She got 
 up and toddled after her ; the uneven 
 steep was very difficult to descend, but 
 she determined to bear the penalty for 
 her disloyalty, only she thought about it 
 in quite a different way. 
 
 They went some distance in this odd 
 
 ioo 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 fashion, the elder hurrying along heedless 
 of the disgraced one following. The sun 
 had set, and the world, from all its golden 
 brightness, had turned into a pale, shadowy 
 place, and the trees and grass seemed to 
 shiver with the new cold breath rising up 
 everywhere, and smiting, even as a damp 
 hand, on the face. Cold, too, she felt, little 
 Estrith, right down in her heart, and fright 
 of the big bushes began to creep over her. 
 
 Then, suddenly, Luzia turned abruptly 
 and walked straight back to the little one, 
 just as she was stumbling over a stone, 
 and took her hand in hers with a warm, 
 firm grip. There was a sense to Estrith 
 of wonderful protection in the touch of 
 her hand : and indeed in the elfish, dark, 
 little person there was a strange look of 
 the maternal as she came back, when it 
 was growing dusky, not as the offended 
 playmate, but as the protector of the help- 
 
 xoi 
 
THE TWO S.S. 
 
 less, the mother to the child even though 
 a little, child the mother ! 
 
 # # # * 
 
 I stirred, and on looking up found my 
 friends sitting silently, each with a look 
 of perpetual implacability, and the demon 
 of scorn in their eyes. “ After all,” I said, 
 “ you are both right. Science and Senti- 
 ment are sisters, and, hand in hand, they 
 may shower beneficence wherever they 
 go ; whilst, severed, one stumbles in the 
 dark, and the other grows savage in de- 
 structive greed. Surely one built the great 
 ship which was to bound the waves, and, it 
 seems to me, the other inspired him who 
 was to dare her command.” 
 
 102 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 The Story of a Poet-Child 
 
 The children sat round and listened to 
 the words of the priest, who came but 
 once in three months and taught them all 
 the little they knew. He had, therefore, 
 a great deal to say, and was relating, in 
 simple words, the story of the “Passion ” 
 to these wild little creatures of the 
 mountains, who lived in black huts cling- 
 ing on the edge of the rugged steep, far 
 apart from one another, so that a whole 
 morning’s walking divided them ; and, but 
 for those few dwelling-places, the moun- 
 tains stretched uninhabited and solitary 
 105 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 far to the north, to the east, and to the 
 west ; only south in the plains, more 
 distant than the eye could penetrate, were 
 there signs of human habitations. They 
 sat in a little circle on the verdant ground 
 in a hollow on the hill, their bright, 
 fair faces all uplifted, their baby-mouths 
 open, and their eyes riveted, expectant, 
 on the speaker. 
 
 He was old, with quite white hair ; but 
 something of the purity of childhood 
 seemed still to linger about the sweet 
 graveness of a face which dared to smile 
 e’en when most serious. 
 
 He had nigh ended, saying: “He gave 
 His life that God might turn His wrath 
 from the evil-doer ; Christ died on the 
 
 cross because men had sinned ” when 
 
 he was interrupted. 
 
 “What is ‘sinned’?” said a little child. 
 
 The good priest hesitated : he glanced 
 106 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 from the faces of his children-listeners to 
 the mountain world around, to the im- 
 measurable skies which seemed to laugh 
 at change in their own changing aspects — 
 the figure of truth with her mantles of 
 disguising clouds, to the religious mind 
 a figure of immortality. 
 
 As he gazed the present grew dim, 
 whilst the past rose up — crowds of suc- 
 ceeding events inundating those lonely 
 giant mountains, which formed a setting 
 to the fantasy, even as they may have to 
 the reality, centuries before. “What is 
 sin ? ” And lo I the figure of Cain, with his 
 angered and jealousy-stricken features, 
 came before the quickened imagination of 
 the old man. Aye, the sin of jealousy ! . . . . 
 Yet he had loved his God seemingly over- 
 much ! Then all the flood of iniquity 
 over long, long ages swept past. What 
 was this triumphant shriek of horror? 
 
 107 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 or was it the cry for God from the beast ? 
 — the impotent demand for good, giving 
 expression, because impotent, to evil which 
 mothered again Virtue — then should 
 heaven be born of hell ! .... A moment’s 
 dream, rising in the still hills and dying 
 there — a breath of wind laden with un- 
 meaning philosophy; and he answered 
 serene again from such unwonted medita- 
 tion, safe within the portals of orthodoxy : 
 “ Sin is what a man doeth, knowing that 
 that which he doeth is wrong, and hurtful 
 to his brother or harmful to a fellow- 
 creature, though it be but a mule of burden 
 
 or e’en an enemy And it was in those 
 
 times that men fought as beasts, and killed 
 one another, as your father might kill 
 the wild chamois, and God was angered 
 against them, and only the death of 
 Christ on the cross would turn His anger 
 into the channel of mercy.” 
 
 108 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 Then the good Father rose and bid 
 them get up and walk down a little of the 
 way with him. 
 
 And the spell of seriousness broke at 
 the sound of the changed tone, and they 
 scrambled to their feet, half tumbling 
 over one another, like a medley of flowers 
 taking wing. They clustered about the 
 priest ; one held either hand, and several 
 clutched his long black gown, hazarding 
 his very life at every step, dangerous 
 pioneers that they were ! But there was 
 a laugh at a slip, and tiny voices echoed 
 about the silent world like the clinking 
 of silver bells. 
 
 All the time of the lesson Johan and 
 Kina had sat wistful and intent, hand in 
 hand, with some shyness of the other 
 children, whom they knew not well. So 
 alike were these two that the little girl 
 seemed only the bright reflection of the 
 109 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 grave boy, whose eyes had never reverted 
 for one moment from those of the speaker. 
 On rising, neither of them laughed as 
 the others did, and they followed some 
 way behind the train of babbling ones 
 down the hill. Midway they halted and 
 stood staring at the retreating procession, 
 which gradually diminished as now 
 and then some child dropped apart to 
 take a particular footway home. When 
 the priest was quite alone, a black figure 
 in the world-wide spread of green, he 
 turned to wave a hand at those higher up 
 diverging on their several ways, and he 
 caught sight of Johan and Kina — tiny 
 creatures, dusky crowned, gazing solemnly 
 after him with wide eyes, as the chamois 
 looks, unfrightened yet by the hunter. He 
 waved an extra “Good-bye,” and a faint 
 sweet look of acceptance spread over their 
 faces as they shyly returned the salute. 
 
 i io 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 Then these strange little persons 
 scampered home, hand in hand, their 
 brown wee feet beating on the hardened 
 turf of the natural terrace, which widened 
 out at last into the loveliest of all lovely 
 places — a valley high up in the mountains, 
 verdant as only such valleys are, with, 
 deep in its very heart, a white quick- 
 running stream. 
 
 A great crucifix stood in the open, and 
 as Johan and Kina passed they slackened 
 pace, and both the little heads turned up- 
 wards, and their eyes rested on the Christ 
 the aged priest had told them of. Then 
 they scrambled up the precipitous way to 
 the higher level, where a sombre cottage 
 clung to the very face of the rugged steep. 
 
 They entered into the low-roofed hut, 
 and ran, laughing, to a great big peasant 
 with dark beard and tanned countenance, 
 and in the beautiful dialect of the hills 
 
 1 1 1 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 poured out their quaint talk. He continued 
 eating, not heeding them much ; only now 
 and then his white teeth gleamed as some 
 babble fell more winsome, and this sign 
 was full happiness to them, and they 
 gobbled up their pottage like little 
 hungry animals, dispensing quickly enough 
 with the necessity of a meal. Mothered 
 by the big peasant only, they were quite 
 unused to softness ; but the love-bond 
 was strong between them, even as the 
 sunlight between heaven and earth, and 
 the clinging of the reaching skies to their 
 own mountain peaks. Johan eyed the big 
 gun over the fireplace as he ate. Then 
 the three cleared the things away, and the 
 man came out, stooping as he emerged 
 from the low door, and sat on the wooden 
 steps, and Johan and Kina sat a little 
 way off, and Kina chanted into the ear of 
 a big daffodil, which raised its head high 
 
 I 12 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 above the waving grass ; whilst Johan 
 watched the smoke curl out of the 
 peasant’s pipe, and in the light clouds 
 which hovered in the heavy atmosphere 
 he fashioned the scenes of the story of 
 Christ, the words of which echoed still in 
 his ears from the morning ; and at last he 
 grew sleepy, and the head of the black 
 bearded father became the crowned God 
 on the cross. 
 
 * * # * 
 
 One early morning, a full year later, 
 when autumn was speeding again to 
 winter, and the first snows were 
 threatening to chase the shepherds to 
 the lower valleys, where war was 
 waging, Johan, breathless and half- 
 clad, called : 
 
 “ Kina ! the great gun is gone from 
 over the chimney ! ” 
 
 “ Aye, Johan ! ” 
 
 1 1 3 H 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 “ Kina, our father is killing men, even 
 as he killeth the chamois ! ” 
 
 Then Kina sat up in the deep shadow 
 of her bed and peeped out at Johan 
 as he stood, pale, with the look of storm- 
 lit heavens in his grey eyes, and her fair 
 little face reflected the horror in his. 
 
 “ No, Johan ! it is not true ? ” 
 
 “ Yea, Kina ; for I looked out over the 
 valley, and father was there, and they were 
 shooting ; and I looked to see the horned 
 creatures — but, Kina, they were men ! ” 
 Kina slipped out of bed, and, going 
 to where he stood, took hold of his hand. 
 They knew nothing, these two little 
 persons, of war — nothing of how a hand- 
 ful of grown men called kings, or Govern- 
 ments, inveigled the poor of the land to 
 slay one another that their disputes might 
 be decided — the disputes of these masters 
 who sat and watched the flow of blood from 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 afar and cried exultant : “ Mine where 
 the stream runs thickest ! Victory ! ” 
 
 And the blood too, O ye kings ! 
 
 These children of the mountains 
 guessed only that their father was sinning 
 even as they sinned for whom the “ Man ” 
 had died — that King crowned on the 
 cross — on the big wooden cross without, 
 and the terror of the thought made 
 pale their childish faces.* The priest 
 had said that only by Christ’s death were 
 those others forgiven. Who, then, would 
 save their father ? Christ was not there — 
 no one to die for him ! 
 
 * It should be noted here that the unusual 
 horror Johan experiences at the thought of the 
 sin of causing death is a particular instance 
 arising out of the explanation given of sin to a 
 poetically-minded peasant child, living with the 
 only companionship of a little sister and a taciturn 
 father ; and serves to illustrate the extreme inten- 
 sity of child faith. 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 “ Kina ! ” said the boy after a pause : 
 “ God cannot pardon our father ! ” and 
 he tightened his brown fingers over hers. 
 Then, hand in hand, they ran out down the 
 steep to the open. The world lay in the all- 
 pervading whiteness of the hour claimed 
 neither by night nor day. Grey and 
 shadowy, the mountains seemed unreal, 
 and the earth as nothing, and the heavens 
 vast and infinite. Space had become 
 conscious and breathing, and men as 
 crawling phantoms. The quick sound 
 of firing re-echoed though the air, and 
 the peasants hurried ever to a new 
 ambush, disorganised, defeated, yet de- 
 termined e’en to death. They reached 
 the Calvary, in the midst of the 
 firing, Johan and Kina, unconscious of 
 danger, and knelt down, and thought 
 of all the prayers they knew, and 
 said them one after another in haste, 
 1 1 6 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 as if time were short for God to hear 
 them — two little brown figures hardly 
 visible a few yards distant. 
 
 A stray shot cut the air where the 
 little girl knelt and splintered the wood 
 of the cross. Johan ceased praying, and 
 looked oddly at the place. 
 
 Then a strange thought crept in, and 
 took possession midst the distraught 
 confusion of his mind. He drew Kina 
 from where she was, and knelt closer 
 himself, and there was a look on his 
 face as of one waiting. 
 
 How long a time passed before that 
 great lull he heeded not, but the sound of 
 Kina’s voice had ceased with the firing, 
 and the snow was falling thickly about. 
 A sudden horror of the still silence 
 gripped the boy, and, with a sense of 
 uncontrollable fear leaping in his heart, 
 he turned his head slowly round : 
 "7 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 “ Kina I ” 
 
 But she answered not : her little body 
 lay across the steps of the Calvary, face 
 downward and silent. 
 
 “ Kina, it’s all right — they are not 
 fighting any more ! ” he cried, and tugged 
 at her gown ; then he lifted her head. 
 “ Kina ! Kina ! ” he cried, louder and 
 louder; but the echo of his voice beat 
 back on his ears, and still Kina was 
 silent. 
 
 He sat a long time near, brushing the 
 snow away which kept piling up about 
 her. He watched pathetically her face, 
 as one hardly conscious of what had 
 happened ; then dawned over his child- 
 countenance a wondrous look of under- 
 standing : “ Kina, thou hast done it ! ” he 
 said, as if she might hear him. “ God will 
 forgive our father now ! ” 
 
 Therewith he sprang up and ran home. 
 
 1 18 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 God would forgive his father ! God would 
 forgive his father ! — over and over again 
 the thought whirred in his poor little 
 head, and the look of horror had passed ; 
 hut as he neared the hut he perceived 
 two men, who bore a burden between 
 them, approaching. He stood still, 
 unnoticed, and they entered into his 
 home, and came out ; and when they 
 came out their hands were free, and one 
 said : “ The war is ended, but not our 
 woe ! ” And the other answered : “ God 
 curse the tyrant ! ” And they went their 
 way. 
 
 Johan for a moment hesitated, then ran 
 in. Stretched on the bed lay his father, 
 white, with a fixed gaze ; and he knew they 
 had slain him, and the tears welled up 
 into his e3 r es, and he shivered where 
 he stood. The look of the dead man 
 frightened him, for there was the stain 
 1 19 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 of blood on his face ; the teeth gleamed 
 through the parting lips as if in anger, 
 and the silence of the cottage was round 
 him, and Johan was quite alone, and the 
 snow still fell without. Then he crept 
 out of the house and back the way he 
 had come, and as white as the snow was 
 his face, and the snow was not whiter 
 than his face. 
 
 But lo ! when he came to the Calvary, 
 Kina was not there ; only, resting in her 
 place, was the figure of a winged man — 
 a still angel ! 
 
 # * * # 
 
 The good priest climbed slowly up 
 the mountain-path with such things in a 
 satchel as might be needful to the wounded 
 peasants, who, at the end of the war, 
 had made this sudden, unpremeditated 
 resistance, rushing from their huts with 
 rage in their hearts and death in their 
 
 1 20 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 eyes, to fall, surely, before the trained 
 arms-men of the oppressor. 
 
 It had been but a light skirmish up 
 here in the heights, and quiet had taken 
 her place quickly again in this early 
 morning. The snow had fallen unre- 
 mittingly, the snow, which was to remain 
 the whole winter through, covering all 
 with its white hand, and levelling the way 
 about. Clouds covered the distant peaks, 
 and the whiteness and the silence dazed 
 the old man, fatigued from long adminis- 
 tration. He rested a while in the valley, 
 where stood the great cross. And, as he 
 pondered, he saw a strange little figure, 
 half-clad, kneeling there with upraised 
 face and outstretched hand. 
 
 “ Kina, Kina, I have come back ! ” 
 
 Then full and perfect sounded the 
 words from One unseen : 
 
 “ She is not here. She is risen ! ” 
 
 I 2 I 
 
JOHAN AND KINA 
 
 And the boy got up slowly and came 
 towards him like a maimed creature, no 
 recognition in his wild eyes. 
 
 # * * * 
 
 The Sceptic murmurs : “The aged priest 
 had mistaken the voice of the wind ! The 
 angel was but the figment of a child- 
 poet’s mind ! And the snow, in her shroud, 
 had only covered up the dead Kina ! ” 
 
 * # * * 
 
 That which we truly believe is. 
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. 
 London & Edinburgh 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 “IN HERSELF COMPLETE.” 
 
 “ This charming little love-idyll is sketched with 
 pathetic grace. The story is slight, suggested 
 rather than told, but it shows genuine poetical 
 instinct. This is especially perceived in the scene 
 of Freda’s funeral." — Morning Post. 
 
 •' ‘ In Herself Complete ’ is a sad but interesting 
 
 little ‘ love-story ’ of the Midland Counties 
 
 The courtship of Maurice Martley and pretty Freda 
 de Maur is freshly and prettily described. The 
 girl herself is charming, and all must wish the 
 lovers a happier fate." — Academy. 
 
 “ A good deal of romance of the past is cleverly 
 woven about the more idyllic part of the story. 
 The character of Freda is certainly very prettily 
 conceived and naturally delineated, and some 
 passages in the tale are pathetic.’’ — Public Opinion. 
 
 “ The description of Tewkesbury is good .... 
 she gives happy impressions of sunny Worcester- 
 shire country. As a first attempt the work is 
 promising. ’ ’ — A tlienceum . 
 
 “ It glows all over like a stained glass window in 
 the sunlight.” — Scotsman. 
 
 " This is a very peculiar, although well-writte 
 tale.” — Queen. 
 
Works of William Morris. 
 
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 Hopes and Fears for Art, Five Lectures 
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Works of Williasn Morris — continued. 
 
 The /Eneids of Virgil, done into English Verse, 
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Works of William Morris — continued. 
 
 News from Nowhere; or, An Epoch of Rest. 
 Being some Chapters from a Utopian Romance, 
 Second Edition, 238 pp„ cloth, is. 6d. 
 
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 Poems by the Way, post 8vo, buckram, 1892, 6s. 
 
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