By this time we were near enough to the fountain to hear the water
falling, falling, with its never-ending splash; and from this point we
could look up and down the different avenues that stretched away from
us like the spokes of a gigantic wheel, of which we were the hub.
“And who are those up that avenue? And these here, who are they?”
“Those and these, all of them,” quoth the Axilla, “the misfits and the
unfits, they are the people who have nothing to do.”
“I notice that most of them stop as they pass and drink at this
fountain.”
“Aye, verily,” answered the Axilla, “for these are the waters of the
Fountain of Endurance.”
Before leaving this spot I did not fail to observe one among them who,
by his countenance, clothing and deportment, seemed out of place. I
noted that apparently he was doing exactly what I was doing, looking
about and observing his fellow beings with scrutiny.
“What have you got him in here for?” I asked.
“Don’t be so petulant, little visitor,” answered the Great Axilla, “I
have him here for the reason that he belongs here. He is one of the
so-called dilettanti. He imagines that he is different from the horde,
because he sits by and watches them, calling himself a student of human
nature. But mark me, he has the streak in common with the rest of
them--he is tired of it all, for he, too, has nothing to do. Follow his
gaze now, and you may again query whether that spectacle is germane to
this exhibit.”
I looked in the direction in which the dilettante was looking, toward
the border of the park, and I saw a wide, white boulevard. Many people
were driving and riding thereon, carrying whips with ribbons, or
beautifully painted sun-shades. The vehicles themselves were splendid
equipages, some were swung high, and some were swung low, according to
the fancy and ease of the owners; and the coachmen and the footmen in
their uniforms of sombre and brilliant hues made a showy spectacle to
behold.
“I confess I can not see why they should be exhibited with these
misfits and unfits.”
“That is because your physical eye is not near enough to see them
clearly, puny one,” replied His Excelsior, “take you this strong
field-glass,” continued he, offering me the instrument, “and examine
the faces of those you see upon horse-back and in the various vehicles.”
I looked first at the face of a woman, protected by a gaudy parasol.
She was driving in an open landau. Hers was the face of a woman
far beyond maidenhood. There was something make-believe about her
expression, as though in reality she was not free from care, as though
her landau were neither carrying her to nor taking her from the realms
of realized anticipations. Then I cast the glasses hastily upon a man
on horse-back. He had the frame of one who was trying to recover a
wasted constitution; but he had begun too late. A cigarette drooped
languidly from his lips. He looked overfed with foods and wines that
could no longer nourish him. Bah! I dropped the glasses from my eyes.
“Aha!” smiled the Excelsior, “now you perceive that they, too, have the
same awful streak in their aspect.”
“But, Great Axilla,” cried I, “you surely allow them to drink also at
the Fountain of Endurance?”
“Not so!” he exclaimed, “see their exclusive bowers which line the
boulevard and into which they pass now and again? In those massive
places they quench their thirst by sucking the juice from the acrid
grapes of Ennui.”
I pondered once more, but said nothing. The path we were treading led
toward the edge of the park. We walked on, fist on fist, which is a
sign of cordiality in the Excelsior’s country. I had never known my
host to be so familiar. Presently we came to a curve in our path, and
there, hidden by a row of privet bushes was a long bench with arms at
each seat for comfort. All of the occupants of this settee were women.
“I did not think that you had them in here, too;” I said sadly.
“Oh yes” said the Axilla, “that bench is reserved exclusively for them.”
“Why is that?”
“Because it looks more comfortable than the others, but in reality
it is hard and poses them in unnatural postures. How they paint and
powder, and their cologne fairly makes me ill. I guess that you
recognize them,” concluded the Excelsior, eyeing me slyly, “they are
the sort whom you meet seldom by day, and who abound late at night.”
“Yes, I imagined as much; but, sire, I am again at a loss to account
for their being exhibited here.”
“You are not very bright, or else you sham stupidity,” quoth the
Great Axilla, “surely you know that a strumpet is both an unfit and
a misfit--isn’t she? She is a product of your civilization just as
much as those poor men whom you saw sitting on the other side of this
transformed, grass-growing ash heap.”