'Well,' said the curate, 'if I may not kiss Virginia, I will drink
brandy instead. That will make me happy enough; and then we shall all be
radiant.'
He soon put his resolve into practice. He got a bottle of brandy, he sat
himself down under a palm-tree, and told the Professor he was going to
make an afternoon of it.
'Foolish man!' said the Professor; 'I was never drunk myself, it is
true; but I know that to get drunk makes one's head ache horribly. To
get drunk is, therefore, horribly immoral; and therefore I cannot permit
it.'
'Excuse me,' said the curate; 'it is a self-regarding action. Nobody's
head will ache but mine; so that is my own look-out. I have been
expelled from school, from college, and from my first curacy for
drinking. So I know well enough the balance of pains and pleasures.'
Here he pulled out his brandy bottle, and applied his lips to it.
'Oh, Humanity!' he exclaimed, 'how solemn this brandy tastes!'
Matters went on like this for several days. The curate was too much
frightened to again approach Virginia. Virginia at last became convinced
that he did not care about kissing her. Her vanity was wounded, and she
became sullen; and this made the Professor sullen also. In fact, two
thirds of Humanity were overcast with gloom. The only happy section of
it was the curate, who alternately smoked and drank all day long.
'The nasty little beast!' said Virginia to the Professor, 'he is nearly
always drunk. I am beginning quite to like you, Paul, by comparison
with him. Let us turn him out, and not let him live in the cottage.'
'No,' said the Professor; 'for he is one third of Humanity. You do not
properly appreciate the solidarity of mankind. His existence, however, I
admit is a great difficulty.'
One day at dinner-time, shortly afterwards, Paul came in radiant.
'Oh holy, oh happy event!' he exclaimed; 'all will go right at last.'
Virginia inquired anxiously what had happened, and Paul informed her
that the curate, who had got more drunk than usual that afternoon, had
fallen over a cliff, and been dashed to pieces.
'What event,' he asked, 'could be more charming more unspeakably holy?
It bears about it every mark of sanctity. It is for the greatest
happiness of the greatest number. Come,' he continued, 'let you and me
together, purged of sin, and purged of sorrow as we are--let us begin
our love-feast. Let us each seek the happiness of the other. Let us
instantly be sublime and happy.'