THE GARDEN
OF RESURRECTION
_BEING THE LOVE STORY
OF AN UGLY MAN_
BY
E. TEMPLE THURSTON
MITCHELL KENNERLEY
NEW YORK
1911
COPYRIGHT 1911 BY MITCHELL KENNERLEY
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
TO
W.R. DAKIN, M.D.
_My Dear Dakin_:
_Partly because you have a love of gardens, partly because together we
have seen Ballysheen when the gorse was in its full blast of yellow,
but most of all because I feel I owe you a debt of gratitude for a
great friendship, I am asking you to accept this book of mine. It was
after a talk with you one night that I went straight home and wrote
Chapter I on a clean sheet of paper, therefore the book is doubly yours
and I ask you to accept it in proof of the fact that, not only am I
grateful, but also that I am_
_Your sincere friend,
E. Temple Thurston._
_Adelphi, 1911._
_The Garden of Resurrection_
CHAPTER I
It was the first, the very first, day of spring. A man walked by me
with a narcissus in his coat and he was humming a tune.
By the looks of him--the tail-coat, the bowler hat, the little leather
hand-bag--he was an artisan. You know that game of placing people.
I put him down as an electrician. He had been attending to a job up
West. He was returning to the premises of his firm in Bond Street. All
this, of course, was surmise. But of one thing I was certain. He had
no business to be walking through the Park. He ought to have been on a
'bus, or in the Underground Railway, speeding back to save his firm's
most precious time, ready to start forth once more upon his firm's most
urgent errands. Instead of this--it was the first day of spring--he was
walking through the Park and I was envying him. I envied the narcissus
in his coat. Even the very tune he was humming touched a sense of
covetousness in my heart.
"Nor his ox," thought I, "nor his ass, nor anything that is his." A
very stern Commandment that; for even as I took off my silk hat and
brushed the rim of it once with my sleeve, I envied him for his
tail-coat and his billy-cock.
It was little enough to want of any man, his tail-coat or his
billy-cock, his narcissus or the tune set humming from his heart. I did
not want his leather bag at all. He could keep that. Yet it seemed that
I was to break the tenth decree of Moses to its last letter, or, since
I was going backwards, to its first; for after he had gone by some
thirty yards or so, I was envying him for something else altogether.
A few moments before he came, a little nursemaid had wheeled her pram
down the path where I was sitting. She was one of those rosy-cheeked
creatures who come up from the country to grow pale in London, just as
the flowers come up of a morning to Covent Garden and wither perhaps
before the night is out. She must have been very new to it all, for she
had all the country freshness about her still. Her cheeks glowed in the
quick, bright air. Her hair blew loosely over her forehead--through
the stray, fine threads of it her eyes danced, glittering with youth.
I remember now of what it must have reminded me. You have seen those
spiders' webs, caught on the points of furze which, early on a crisp
May morning, glisten with drops of dew? Those eyes of hers through her
hair reminded me of that. And as she passed me by, leaning forward
again and again to whisper to that fat, round baby in the pram, she
chanced to look at me.
You must take my word for it that it was not from any thwarted desire
to draw her into conversation that the expression in those eyes of hers
chilled me. I have never had the courage or, which again I envy so much
in others, the presence of mind which brings knowledge to a man, that a
woman would answer if he addressed her in the street. I believe there
are many women, the most virtuous in the world, who have had little
adventures of this kind. God knows, life would be dull without such
interludes. But as yet no such woman has come my way. It were better
put if I said that I have never come hers. Therefore, there was no
desire on my part to say a word to this little nursery maid; yet the
swift look in her eyes made a thrill of coldness quiver through me.
That a woman looks her disapproval of you can be borne. But it is hard
to bear, that look in a woman's eyes which sees you not at all; when in
one woman's face you read the disapproval of her whole sex.
I don't know why it should have struck me so strangely that morning,
for I am used to it by now. I have known it so long. In any case, it
is not a thing to talk about. You have it there in that nursery maid's
eyes. I am an ugly devil, not even with that ugliness which pleads a
charm to many a woman's heart. I am an ugly devil, and that is all
there is about it. The only creatures who have ever gazed at me as
though I were the image of God were my mother and my dog. The one is
dead. I have only to stretch down my hand from my chair and the other
will gaze at me in such fashion now. He sat upon a chair next to me
that morning and, as I paid his penny to the collector, he gave me a
glance from his brown eyes which I chose to take for gratitude. He
thanked me--why not? He had not got any pennies with him. There are
times when I am that way myself.
Now, when the nursery maid's eyes had passed me over, they looked
at Dandy and her whole expression changed. I caught the sign of
friendliness, the gentle come-hitherly glance which I know is the first
step in those little adventures leading to chance acquaintanceship. For
that look he would have spoken to her had he been a man--by reason of
that look, had he been a man, she would have answered him. As it was,
only his tail wagged; but she did not see that. And so she passed on
while Dandy and I sat gazing after her.
I will not depart into reasons as to why I called him Dandy. This
incident alone will serve to tell you why. He was a dandy and so much
better-looking than I, wherefore I gave him that name--an unnecessary
yet unconscious criticism of myself.
It was a moment or two after this that my electrician strolled by and I
began to envy him. Dandy and I both turned our heads to watch him out
of sight, and then it was that I coveted most of all those things which
were his. For this was what happened. When she had reached the end of
the path, had stood a moment to watch the horses as they turned and
started their canter once more down the Row, the little nursery maid
wheeled round her pram and began retracing her steps.
"Dandy," said I, and his eyes shot round to mine, "they're going to
meet."
We watched them closely as they passed.
"I wonder how she looked at him," I muttered. "If he turns, we shall
see. Will he turn? Will he turn?"
Dandy's tail wagged, and he turned.
But that was not all; for, as he looked over his shoulder, the little
nursery maid whipped round as well, and in the electrician's eyes I
saw a smile. When then she turned her head about, I saw a smile there
too. Twice they looked back over their shoulders, after which the
electrician's steps grew slow. I settled myself back in my chair, so
that they should not guess I had seen; for I was really interested by
this. The premises of that firm in Bond Street were getting further
away with every step he took in their direction. Another hesitating
stride or two and they had vanished out of sight altogether. He had
turned and was coming back.
For the third time the little nursery maid looked over her shoulder.
Oh, you should not say she was leading him on. Such a thought as that
never enters a woman's head. She is only curious to see what will
happen. When, for instance, as in such a case as this, a woman looks
back at you when you have passed, it is not to encourage you to look
back at her, it is only to see if you are. But no woman will ever
persuade a man to learn that; what is more, no woman would ever be so
foolish as to try. It is a man's mistaken ideas about women--or it is
love, if you like that better--which makes the world go round.
I could see that my little maid had not the faintest conception of what
would have been the result of her glances. Any one might have seen it,
for directly she understood that he was following, a great leaping of
her heart quickened her steps and she came past me once more, wheeling
the pram so fast that the fat, round baby jumped and jumped again.
And all this sudden increase of pace was in order to escape him. Not
for one moment was there a desire in the heart of her to be caught.
Indeed, in her face there was a set determination that she should not
be overtaken--and certainly not opposite me.
Now whether she kept up this pace or not, I am in no position to say.
The movement of a receding figure--I speak almost in terms of physical
laws--is well-nigh impossible to estimate. I feel sure, however, that
she did. The only means therefore by which I can satisfactorily justify
the result in my mind is by the assumption that he must have been
walking quicker than she. Whichever it was, he caught her.
He had forgotten his tune as he came by me. I think it was quite right
of him. When life is holding out to you its greatest possibility, that
is no time for humming a tune. Nevertheless, he did his best to look
unconcerned. He pretended he had forgotten something at that house
in the West End. In fact, as he passed me, he took out his watch and
distinctly I heard him say--"Sch! Sch!"
"Splendid fellow," I said to Dandy. And so he was. I would have given
much to be in need of such little deception myself. Some one else's
romance, however, is very engrossing when it happens that you have none
of your own. Dandy and I followed him secretly with our eyes as he
sailed down the path like a bold man-o'-war in pursuit of his capture.
I say, secretly. There was no secrecy about Dandy. He jumped off his
chair and, standing in the middle of the path, he looked directly after
them. At least, I think it was after them. There was another dog in
sight, but he was very far away.
However that may be, we were not permitted to see the most interesting
part of it. She was quick and she was cunning in her manœuvres, was
that little nursery maid. Before I could have contemplated the action,
she had put about and was off up the path which turns sharply to the
right and leads into the solitary heart of the Park. That pram went
round that corner bumping on two wheels. I saw the fat, round baby
clinging to the sides. Then, sure enough, round went my electrician
after her and, but for Dandy, the Park seemed empty once more.
"Well," said I, "that's all there is to that," and I leant back again
with disappointment in my chair. There was no such thing as following
them. It was not to be done. Love is a timid thing at such a stage
as this, and I would not have frightened it for the world. I will
confess that I enjoyed the thought that it was generous of me. I fancy,
moreover, that Providence, who superintends all these matters, thought
so too. In any case, she gave me my reward.
It was a good hour later. Hundreds of men and women had passed by in
that time for me to look at--nearly as many dogs for Dandy. I had
well-nigh forgotten my electrician when, happening to look down towards
that sudden corner, I saw him hurry round it and make to come past me
once more. I smiled in gratitude to Providence, but my reward was not
full even then. He had an unlighted cigarette in his mouth, and, seeing
me once more, knowing I was a friend no doubt, he stopped and asked me
for a match. I took out my box.
"Did you find what you wanted?" said I, as he lit his cigarette.
He threw away the match and looked at me.
"I beg your pardon," said he.
"'Twas only," said I, "that you passed me here about an hour ago. You
passed me twice. First time you were going out of the Park, the second
time you came back. I saw you look at your watch. I imagined that you'd
left some instrument at the house up West where you'd been working. You
were evidently annoyed at the waste of time."
His eyes opened in some sort of amazement.
"Very quick of you to have noticed it, sir."
"Well--not very," I replied. "I sit here in the Park most mornings and
amuse myself that way."
He gave me back my match-box.
"Well--that was just about it," he said. "I'd been fixing some blinds
ready for the summer."
"Blinds for the summer," I echoed, "there's a sound about that."
He smiled broadly as he thought of it.
"By the way," said I, "you've lost your narcissus." He looked down
quickly at his coat.
"Sch! Sch!" he said again, and with that turned and went away. I think
he was beginning to mistrust me. He explained as he left me that he was
in a great hurry. I have no doubt he was.
Now that really was the end of it, and for that I broke the very first
letter of the tenth decree of Moses. For that lost narcissus, I envied
him most of all. But when I say that I confess to envying him his
little nursery maid, I simply mean that I envy every man his womenfolk,
and the mood was heavy on me that morning. This little incident served
only to make it the heavier. But for this incident, in fact, I might
never have taken up my pen; certain it is I should never have gone
forth on that wild, mad errand which is to become the subject of these
pages.
Indeed, nothing less than this had happened--my electrician and his
nursery maid had superinduced a mood, a growing, convincing belief that
it was not worth while going on. I said aloud that there is nothing
more lonely in this world than a lonely man. I made the remark to
Dandy. I dared not tell it solely to myself, it would have been too
real.
"There's nothing more lonely, Dandy," said I, "in this world than a
lonely man."
Dandy stretched out a paw for my hand. He kept beating the air until
he got it. When I felt his cold little pads in my palm, I added an
amendment--"Unless it be a dog that is lost."
Confident then that in that short statement we had compassed the woes
of the whole world, there came a momentary relief. It did not last for
long. That vulture of a mood flapped its wings again and settled down
once more to feed upon our minds. Neither Dandy nor I could shake him
off. For this is the way with dogs, as you know well enough who have
one. They are partners for better or for worse in the little limited
company of hopes and fears that you see fit to float upon the world.
The more shares are taken up, the better it is for you, the more going
a concern it will be. But every human being has his own company and
every one his own allotment. By which you may so easily understand that
every man himself is his largest shareholder. Often, indeed, he marries
and takes a partner; but even she has floated some little company of
her own.
Now it is not this way with a dog. Take a dog into partnership and
he halves your losses and your profits to the last. Little deals of
his own, little speculations he may make in the street when the real
business of the day is done. But during those working hours on 'Change
when the vital affairs of life are afoot, there is he by the side of
you, ready to laugh with you at the profits of your hopes, ready to
despair with you at the losses you had feared.
Dandy was sharing my losses with me that morning. So fast as depression
set in upon me, so, surely did his little ears droop down, his head
hang lower and his tail fall limp. Why, even when some beautiful lady
smiled at him as she passed, he turned away. I would have sworn he
closed his eyes.
"My God," said I, in a supreme effort, "this'll never do," and at that
moment came my doctor through the Park. I held up my hand in salute. It
was more than a salute. I beckoned him to stop and speak to me. He got
down from his car; came across and sat beside me.
"Lazy, lucky devil," said he.
I nodded my head. All men call me that.
"Do you ever give consultations in a place like this?" I asked.
He would have made me a professional answer had I not stopped him.
"Talk away," said he, and I talked.
It is marvellous how subtle and how eloquent one can be over the
description of one's ills when there is really nothing the matter at
all. I talked for ten minutes.
"It comes to this," said I, in conclusion, "every man jack of us is
over-civilized. We're like a breed of race-horses that has outbred the
strain which made it famous. We're over-bred."
He nodded.
"The worst of consultation in a place like this," said he, "is that I
can't look at your tongue."
I don't suppose that Dandy heard this. In any case the sun was burning
down on his head. Whichever it was, a broad smile wrinkled his face and
his tongue lolled out. I pointed to him.
"You can look at that," said I; "we live the same sort of lives.
Nothing the matter with that, is there?"
"Well--of course--it's an obvious thing to say," he began.
"I want a change?"
"That's it. A complete change of place."
"You're wrong," said I. "I want a complete change of time. I want to go
back to a hundred years ago."
"Yes," he agreed, "better still, but I can't advise you how to get
there. No--look here--it's not too late. Run off to Italy for a week
or two--drop down into Sicily--take your time over it--get out of the
train and walk if you like--and don't go alone."
"I shouldn't," said I.
"You know of some one?"
I looked down at Dandy. Dandy looked up at me.
"But I sha'n't go," I said. "You haven't diagnosed the disease. You
don't seem to realize the worst symptom of it all."
"What's that?" he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders.
"I'm an ugly devil," said I.