WHEN the ladies had left the room the vicar took the chair on the
right of his host, and then he said across the table to George Speke:
“Talking of poor Brandon, what opinion did you form of him mentally
when you saw him this afternoon?”
“Mentally!... I thought him rather wonderful.”
The eyes of the vicar searched those of the man opposite. If this was a
conventional statement it was the clear desire of those eyes to expose
it.
“The poise of his mind seemed to me perfect. And somehow one hadn’t
quite expected it.”
“You felt he was in full possession of his whole mental faculty?”
“Didn’t you?”
The vicar’s failure to answer the question might be taken for a
negative.
“Moreover, he greatly impressed me,” Speke added. There were two George
Spekes. One had the departmental mind; the other was something more
considerable than a rather arid public record indicated. “I always knew
that he had a very first-rate intellect, but this afternoon it was
even more striking than usual.”
“But,” said the vicar cautiously, “don’t you think it may be misleading
him?”
“How? In what way?”
“I will give you a concrete instance of what I mean.” The vicar spoke
very gravely. “And by the way, Whymper, it is a matter I want to talk
to you about particularly. At Penfold, we are cursed with a sort of
village ne’er-do-well, who has taken to writing poetry, blaspheming the
Creator, and upholding the cause of the enemy. I am sorry to say that
for some years now Brandon has been this man’s friend, lent him books
from his private collection, helped to support him, and so on. Well,
this morning, when I went to Hart’s Ghyll, Brandon told me that he had
lately read a poem of this fellow John Smith’s, and that it had made a
very deep impression upon him.”
“That’s interesting,” said Speke. “He told me the same. He said that
a young man who lived in the village had lately produced the most
wonderful poem he had ever read.”
“On the face of it, didn’t that strike you as nonsense?”
“No, not in the way that Brandon said it. He spoke as one having
authority; and in the matter of poetry, he is thought, I believe, to
have a good deal.”
“It may be so. But one mustn’t forget that in this case he is claiming
semidivine honors for a half-educated, wholly mad village wastrel.”
“Mad!”
“So mad that we are having to arrange for him to be taken care of.”
“But surely such a man as Brandon could hardly be deceived by one of
that caliber! He gave chapter and verse. He said that John Smith was
a great clairvoyant, who had more windows open in his soul than other
people.”
“Didn’t it strike you as a fantastic statement?”
“Why should it? I haven’t seen the poem, and he has; I don’t know John
Smith and he does. Why should it strike one as a fantastic statement?”
“No, of course, you couldn’t be expected to know that John Smith is as
mad as a hatter. But Brandon should know that as well as I do.”
“He says the man’s inspired--_Gottbetrunken_ was the word he used.”
“The man is a blasphemer and an atheist, and a pro-German to boot. And,
as I say, steps are being taken to put him in a place of safety. We
shall need _your_ help, Whymper; there’ll be a magistrates’ order for
you to sign presently. But the distressing thing is that such a mind as
Gervase Brandon’s should be susceptible to the man’s claptrap. The only
explanation that occurs to one is that the poor dear fellow’s brain is
going.”
“Well, I can only say that there seemed no trace of it this afternoon.
I’ll admit that I thought him a little exalted, a little more the
seer and the visionary than one quite liked to see him. But after all
he must have walked pretty close with God. If a man gives up all the
fair and easy things of life to storm the beaches of Gallipoli, it is
not unlikely that a corner of the prophet’s mantle may be found for
him--even if one agrees that it is a rather uncomfortable vestment.”
“There may be something in what you say.” The vicar shook a sad,
unconvinced head. “But we have to deal with the thing as it exists. We
have to look the facts in the face.”
“But what are the facts--that the poet bears the prosaic name of John
Smith, that he belongs to the charming village of Penfold, and that he
is an atheist.”
“A blasphemer and a pro-German, and that circumstances have made it
necessary to inquire into his mental condition. His recent conduct
in the village has made him amenable to the Blasphemy Laws and the
Defense of the Realm Regulations.”
“Does Brandon know this?”
“Unfortunately he does. And that is why one is compelled to take such a
gloomy view of the poor dear fellow at the present time.”
“Very odd,” said George Speke.
“Very tragic,” said the vicar.