My father, schooled under adversity, knew that it was never well to
press advantage too far. He took the equivalent of five shillings for
three brace, which was somewhat less than the birds would have been
worth when things were as he had known them. Moreover, he consented
to take a shilling’s worth of Musical Bank money, which (as he has
explained in his book) has no appreciable value outside these banks.
He did this because he knew that it would be respectable to be seen
carrying a little Musical Bank money, and also because he wished to
give some of it to the British Museum, where he knew that this curious
coinage was unrepresented. But the coins struck him as being much
thinner and smaller than he had remembered them.
It was Panky, not Hanky, who had given him the Musical Bank money.
Panky was the greater humbug of the two, for he would humbug even
himself--a thing, by the way, not very hard to do; and yet he was
the less successful humbug, for he could humbug no one who was worth
humbugging--not for long. Hanky’s occasional frankness put people
off their guard. He was the mere common, superficial, perfunctory
Professor, who, being a Professor, would of course profess, but would
not lie more than was in the bond; he was log-rolled and log-rolling,
but still, in a robust wolfish fashion, human.
Panky, on the other hand, was hardly human; he had thrown himself so
earnestly into his work, that he had become a living lie. If he had had
to play the part of Othello he would have blacked himself all over, and
very likely smothered his Desdemona in good earnest. Hanky would hardly
have blacked himself behind the ears, and his Desdemona would have been
quite safe.
Philosophers are like quails in the respect that they can take two or
three flights of imagination, but rarely more without an interval of
repose. The Professors had imagined my father to be a poacher and a
ranger; they had imagined the quails to be wanted for Sunday’s banquet;
they had imagined that they imagined (at least Panky had) that they
were about to eat landrails; they were now exhausted, and cowered down
into the grass of their ordinary conversation, paying no more attention
to my father than if he had been a log. He, poor man, drank in every
word they said, while seemingly intent on nothing but his quails, each
one of which he cut up with a knife borrowed from Hanky. Two had been
plucked already, so he laid these at once upon the clear embers.
“I do not know what we are to do with ourselves,” said Hanky, “till
Sunday. To-day is Thursday--it is the twenty-ninth, is it not? Yes,
of course it is--Sunday is the first. Besides, it is on our permit.
To-morrow we can rest; what, I wonder, can we do on Saturday? But the
others will be here then, and we can tell them about the statues.”
“Yes, but mind you do not blurt out anything about the landrails.”
“I think we may tell Dr. Downie.”
“Tell nobody,” said Panky.
They then talked about the statues, concerning which it was plain that
nothing was known. But my father soon broke in upon their conversation
with the first instalment of quails, which a few minutes had sufficed
to cook.
“What a delicious bird a quail is,” said Hanky.
“Landrail, Hanky, landrail,” said the other reproachfully.
Having finished the first birds in a very few minutes they returned to
the statues.
“Old Mrs. Nosnibor,” said Panky, “says the Sunchild told her they were
symbolic of ten tribes who had incurred the displeasure of the sun, his
father.”
I make no comment on my father’s feelings.
“Of the sun! his fiddlesticks’ ends,” retorted Hanky. “He never called
the sun his father. Besides, from all I have heard about him, I take it
he was a precious idiot.”
“O Hanky, Hanky! you will wreck the whole thing if you ever allow
yourself to talk in that way.”
“You are more likely to wreck it yourself, Panky, by never doing so.
People like being deceived, but they like also to have an inkling of
their own deception, and you never inkle them.”
“The Queen,” said Panky, returning to the statues, “sticks to it
that . . . ”
“Here comes another bird,” interrupted Hanky; “never mind about the
Queen.”
The bird was soon eaten, whereon Panky again took up his parable about
the Queen.
“The Queen says they are connected with the cult of the ancient Goddess
Kiss-me-quick.”
“What if they are? But the Queen sees Kiss-me-quick in everything.
Another quail, if you please, Mr. Ranger.”
My father brought up another bird almost directly. Silence while it was
being eaten.
“Talking of the Sunchild,” said Panky; “did you ever see him?”
“Never set eyes on him, and hope I never shall.”
And so on till the last bird was eaten.
“Fellow,” said Panky, “fetch some more wood; the fire is nearly dead.”
“I can find no more, sir,” said my father, who was afraid lest some
genuine ranger might be attracted by the light, and was determined to
let it go out as soon as he had done cooking.
“Never mind,” said Hanky, “the moon will be up soon.”
“And now, Hanky,” said Panky, “tell me what you propose to say on
Sunday. I suppose you have pretty well made up your mind about it by
this time.”
“Pretty nearly. I shall keep it much on the usual lines. I shall dwell
upon the benighted state from which the Sunchild rescued us, and shall
show how the Musical Banks, by at once taking up the movement, have
been the blessed means of its now almost universal success. I shall
talk about the immortal glory shed upon Sunch’ston by the Sunchild’s
residence in the prison, and wind up with the Sunchild Evidence
Society, and an earnest appeal for funds to endow the canonries
required for the due service of the temple.”
“Temple! what temple?” groaned my father inwardly.
“And what are you going to do about the four black and white horses?”
“Stick to them, of course--unless I make them six.”
“I really do not see why they might not have been horses.”
“I dare say you do not,” returned the other drily, “but they were black
and white storks, and you know that as well as I do. Still, they have
caught on, and they are in the altar-piece, prancing and curvetting
magnificently, so I shall trot them out.”
“Altar-piece! Altar-piece!” again groaned my father inwardly.
He need not have groaned, for when he came to see the so-called altar-
piece he found that the table above which it was placed had nothing in
common with the altar in a Christian church. It was a mere table, on
which were placed two bowls full of Musical Bank coins; two cashiers,
who sat on either side of it, dispensed a few of these to all comers,
while there was a box in front of it wherein people deposited coin of
the realm according to their will or ability. The idea of sacrifice was
not contemplated, and the position of the table, as well as the name
given to it, was an instance of the way in which the Erewhonians had
caught names and practices from my father, without understanding what
they either were or meant. So, again, when Professor Hanky had spoken
of canonries, he had none but the vaguest idea of what a canonry is.
I may add further that as a boy my father had had his Bible well
drilled into him, and never forgot it. Hence biblical passages and
expressions had been often in his mouth, as the effect of mere
unconscious cerebration. The Erewhonians had caught many of these,
sometimes corrupting them so that they were hardly recognizable. Things
that he remembered having said were continually meeting him during the
few days of his second visit, and it shocked him deeply to meet some
gross travesty of his own words, or of words more sacred than his own,
and yet to be unable to correct it. “I wonder,” he said to me, “that no
one has ever hit on this as a punishment for the damned in Hades.”
Let me now return to Professor Hanky, whom I fear that I have left too
long.
“And of course,” he continued, “I shall say all sorts of pretty things
about the Mayoress--for I suppose we must not even think of her as Yram
now.”
“The Mayoress,” replied Panky, “is a very dangerous woman; see how she
stood out about the way in which the Sunchild had worn his clothes
before they gave him the then Erewhonian dress. Besides, she is a
sceptic at heart, and so is that precious son of hers.”
“She was quite right,” said Hanky, with something of a snort. “She
brought him his dinner while he was still wearing the clothes he came
in, and if men do not notice how a man wears his clothes, women do.
Besides, there are many living who saw him wear them.”
“Perhaps,” said Panky, “but we should never have talked the King over
if we had not humoured him on this point. Yram nearly wrecked us by her
obstinacy. If we had not frightened her, and if your study, Hanky, had
not happened to have been burned . . . ”
“Come, come, Panky, no more of that.”
“Of course I do not doubt that it was an accident; nevertheless if
your study had not been accidentally burned, on the very night the
clothes were entrusted to you for earnest, patient, careful, scientific
investigation--and Yram very nearly burned too--we should never have
carried it through. See what work we had to get the King to allow the
way in which the clothes were worn to be a matter of opinion, not
dogma. What a pity it is that the clothes were not burned before the
King’s tailor had copied them.”
Hanky laughed heartily enough. “Yes,” he said, “it was touch and go.
Why, I wonder, could not the Queen have put the clothes on a dummy that
would show back from front? As soon as it was brought into the council
chamber the King jumped to a conclusion, and we had to bundle both
dummy and Yram out of the royal presence, for neither she nor the King
would budge an inch.”
Even Panky smiled. “What could we do? The common people almost worship
Yram; and so does her husband, though her fair-haired eldest son was
born barely seven months after marriage. The people in these parts
like to think that the Sunchild’s blood is in the country, and yet
they swear through thick and thin that he is the Mayor’s duly begotten
offspring--Faugh! Do you think they would have stood his being jobbed
into the rangership by any one else but Yram?”
My father’s feelings may be imagined, but I will not here interrupt the
Professors.
“Well, well,” said Hanky; “for men must rob and women must job so long
as the world goes on. I did the best I could. The King would never have
embraced Sunchildism if I had not told him he was right; then, when
satisfied that we agreed with him, he yielded to popular prejudice and
allowed the question to remain open. One of his Royal Professors was to
wear the clothes one way, and the other the other.”
“My way of wearing them,” said Panky, “is much the most convenient.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Hanky warmly. On this the two Professors fell
out, and the discussion grew so hot that my father interfered by
advising them not to talk so loud lest another ranger should hear them.
“You know,” he said, “there are a good many landrail bones lying about,
and it might be awkward.”
The Professors hushed at once. “By the way,” said Panky, after a pause,
“it is very strange about those footprints in the snow. The man had
evidently walked round the statues two or three times, as though they
were strange to him, and he had certainly come from the other side.”
“It was one of the rangers,” said Hanky impatiently, “who had gone a
little beyond the statues, and come back again.”
“Then we should have seen his footprints as he went. I am glad I
measured them.”
“There is nothing in it; but what were your measurements?”
“Eleven inches by four and a half; nails on the soles; one nail missing
on the right foot and two on the left.” Then, turning to my father
quickly, he said, “My man, allow me to have a look at your boots.”
“Nonsense, Panky, nonsense!”
Now my father by this time was wondering whether he should not set upon
these two men, kill them if he could, and make the best of his way
back, but he had still a card to play.
“Certainly, sir,” said he, “but I should tell you that they are not my
boots.”
He took off his right boot and handed it to Panky.
“Exactly so! Eleven inches by four and a half, and one nail missing.
And now, Mr. Ranger, will you be good enough to explain how you became
possessed of that boot. You need not show me the other.” And he spoke
like an examiner who was confident that he could floor his examinee in
_vivâ voce_.
“You know our orders,” answered my father, “you have seen them on your
permit. I met one of those foreign devils from the other side, of whom
we have had more than one lately; he came from out of the clouds that
hang higher up, and as he had no permit and could not speak a word of
our language, I gripped him, flung him, and strangled him. Thus far I
was only obeying orders, but seeing how much better his boots were than
mine, and finding that they would fit me, I resolved to keep them. You
may be sure I should not have done so if I had known there was snow on
the top of the pass.”
“He could not invent that,” said Hanky; “it is plain he has not been up
to the statues.”
Panky was staggered. “And of course,” said he ironically, “you took
nothing from this poor wretch except his boots.”
“Sir,” said my father, “I will make a clean breast of everything. I
flung his body, his clothes, and my own old boots into the pool; but
I kept his blanket, some things he used for cooking, and some strange
stuff that looks like dried leaves, as well as a small bag of something
which I believe is gold. I thought I could sell the lot to some dealer
in curiosities who would ask no questions.”
“And what, pray, have you done with all these things?”
“They are here, sir.” And as he spoke he dived into the wood, returning
with the blanket, billy, pannikin, tea, and the little bag of nuggets,
which he had kept accessible.
“This is very strange,” said Hanky, who was beginning to be afraid of
my father when he learned that he sometimes killed people.
Here the Professors talked hurriedly to one another in a tongue
which my father could not understand, but which he felt sure was the
hypothetical language of which he has spoken in his book.
Presently Hanky said to my father quite civilly, “And what, my good
man, do you propose to do with all these things? I should tell you at
once that what you take to be gold is nothing of the kind; it is a base
metal, hardly, if at all, worth more than copper.”
“I have had enough of them; to-morrow morning I shall take them with me
to the Blue Pool, and drop them into it.”
“It is a pity you should do that,” said Hanky musingly: “the things are
interesting as curiosities, and--and--and--what will you take for them?”
“I could not do it, sir,” answered my father. “I would not do it, no,
not for--” and he named a sum equivalent to about five pounds of our
money. For he wanted Erewhonian money, and thought it worth his while
to sacrifice his ten pounds’ worth of nuggets in order to get a supply
of current coin.
Hanky tried to beat him down, assuring him that no curiosity dealer
would give half as much, and my father so far yielded as to take £4,
10s. in silver, which, as I have already explained, would not be worth
more than half a sovereign in gold. At this figure a bargain was
struck, and the Professors paid up without offering him a single
Musical Bank coin. They wanted to include the boots in the purchase,
but here my father stood out.
But he could not stand out as regards another matter, which caused him
some anxiety. Panky insisted that my father should give them a receipt
for the money, and there was an altercation between the Professors
on this point, much longer than I can here find space to give. Hanky
argued that a receipt was useless, inasmuch as it would be ruin to my
father ever to refer to the subject again. Panky, however, was anxious,
not lest my father should again claim the money, but (though he did
not say so outright) lest Hanky should claim the whole purchase as his
own. In so the end Panky, for a wonder, carried the day, and a receipt
was drawn up to the effect that the undersigned acknowledged to have
received from Professors Hanky and Panky the sum of £4, 10s. (I
translate the amount), as joint purchasers of certain pieces of yellow
ore, a blanket, and sundry articles found without an owner in the
King’s preserves. This paper was dated, as the permit had been, XIX.
xii. 29.
My father, generally so ready, was at his wits’ end for a name, and
could think of none but Mr. Nosnibor’s. Happily, remembering that
this gentleman had also been called Senoj--a name common enough in
Erewhon--he signed himself “Senoj, Under-ranger.”
Panky was now satisfied. “We will put it in the bag,” he said, “with
the pieces of yellow ore.”
“Put it where you like,” said Hanky contemptuously; and into the bag it
was put.
When all was now concluded, my father laughingly said, “If you have
dealt unfairly by me, I forgive you. My motto is, ‘Forgive us our
trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us.’”
“Repeat those last words,” said Panky eagerly. My father was alarmed at
his manner, but thought it safer to repeat them.
“You hear that, Hanky? I am convinced; I have not another word to
say. The man is a true Erewhonian; he has our corrupt reading of the
Sunchild’s prayer.”
“Please explain.”
“Why, can you not see?” said Panky, who was by way of being great at
conjectural emendations. “Can you not see how impossible it is for the
Sunchild, or any of the people to whom he declared (as we now know
provisionally) that he belonged, could have made the forgiveness of his
own sins depend on the readiness with which he forgave other people?
No man in his senses would dream of such a thing. It would be asking a
supposed all-powerful being not to forgive his sins at all, or at best
to forgive them imperfectly. No; Yram got it wrong. She mistook ‘but
do not’ for ‘as we.’ The sound of the words is very much alike; the
correct reading should obviously be, ‘Forgive us our trespasses, but do
not forgive them that trespass against us.’ This makes sense, and turns
an impossible prayer into one that goes straight to the heart of every
one of us.” Then, turning to my father, he said, “You can see this, my
man, can you not, as soon as it is pointed out to you?”
My father said that he saw it now, but had always heard the words as he
had himself spoken them.
“Of course you have, my good fellow, and it is because of this that I
know they never can have reached you except from an Erewhonian source.”
Hanky smiled,--snorted, and muttered in an undertone, “I shall begin to
think that this fellow is a foreign devil after all.”
“And now, gentlemen,” said my father, “the moon is risen. I must be
after the quails at daybreak; I will therefore go to the ranger’s
shelter” (a shelter, by the way, which existed only in my father’s
invention), “and get a couple of hours’ sleep, so as to be both close
to the quail-ground; and fresh for running. You are so near the
boundary of the preserves that you will not want your permit further;
no one will meet you, and should any one do so, you need only give your
names and say that you have made a mistake. You will have to give it up
to-morrow at the Ranger’s office; it will save you trouble if I collect
it now, and give it up when I deliver my quails.
“As regards the curiosities, hide them as you best can outside the
limits. I recommend you to carry them at once out of the forest, and
rest beyond the limits rather than here. You can then recover them
whenever, and in whatever way, you may find convenient. But I hope you
will say nothing about any foreign devil’s having come over on to this
side. Any whisper to this effect unsettles people’s minds, and they are
too much unsettled already; hence our orders to kill any one from over
there at once, and to tell no one but the Head Ranger. I was forced
by you, gentlemen, to disobey these orders in self-defence; I must
trust your generosity to keep what I have told you secret. I shall, of
course, report it to the Head Ranger. And now, if you think proper, you
can give me up your permit.”
All this was so plausible that the Professors gave up their permit
without a word but thanks. They bundled their curiosities hurriedly
into “the poor foreign devil’s” blanket, reserving a more careful
packing till they were out of the preserves. They wished my father a
very good night, and all success with his quails in the morning; they
thanked him again for the care he had taken of them in the matter of
the landrails, and Panky even went so far as to give him a few Musical
Bank coins, which he gratefully accepted. They then started off in the
direction of Sunch’ston.
My father gathered up the remaining quails, some of which he meant to
eat in the morning, while the others he would throw away as soon as he
could find a safe place. He turned towards the mountains, but before
he had gone a dozen yards he heard a voice, which he recognised as
Panky’s, shouting after him, and saying--
“Mind you do not forget the true reading of the Sunchild’s prayer.”
“You are an old fool,” shouted my father in English, knowing that he
could hardly be heard, still less understood, and thankful to relieve
his feelings.