THE GODDESS
I had been wondering, while Lawrence had been speaking, where,
exactly, in what he said, was the dividing line between truth and
falsehood; between sanity and madness. I could not satisfy myself upon
the point; either then or afterwards. That the wildness of his speech
and manner was an indication of the disorder of his mind was obvious;
that in his brain there were the fires of delirium was sure; that the
tale which he told was not all raving was as certain. It is probable
that the life of dissipation which he had led had told upon his
physical health; and that, as usual, the body had reacted on the mind.
Yet there was such an air of conviction in his bearing, and so much
method in his madness, that even in his most amazing statements one
could not but suspect, at least, a basis of fact. And it was because
this was so that we listened, fascinated, to assertions which savoured
of a world of dreams; and hung, with breathless interest, on words
which told, as if they were everyday occurrences, of things of which
it is not good to even think as coming within the sweep of
possibility.
He held up his finger, repeating his last words in the form of an
inquiry.
“Hark! don’t you hear her laughing now?”
I know not what we heard; I know not. We had been following, one by
one, the steps which marked the progress of disorder in this man’s
brain, until our own minds had become unbalanced too. But I thought
that I heard the sound of a woman’s laughter, and it was because it
appeared to come from behind the screen that I stepped forward to move
the barrier, so that we might learn what it concealed. Lawrence sprang
in front of me.
“Don’t!” he cried. “She’s there! You shall see her; I’ll show you her
at the proper time.”
I could have thrust him aside, but there was that about him which
dissuaded me. And when the lady, laying her hand upon my arm, drew me
away from him, I let him tell his tale in his own fashion. He passed
his fingers across his brow, as if in an effort to collect his
thoughts.
“Well, the time went, forgetting to bring me ease of mind, until
Bernstein wrote to ask my brother where it would best meet his
convenience to have the bills presented, which were on the point of
falling due.”
“It was the usual custom,” struck in the Jew.
“It’s the usual custom, Bernstein says, and I’m not denying it. When
Philip got the letter, he came red-hot to me, asking what it meant. I
had had a bad day or two, and some unpleasant nights, and was feeling
hipped just when he came. Besides, his coming took me unawares; I was
not expecting him--for the present. When I perceived what was in his
voice, and in his eyes, and in the twitchings of his hands, I was
afraid. I lied to him; pretending that I had no notion of what it was
that Bernstein wrote; protesting that any bills which he might hold
had nothing at all to do with me. I could see he doubted, but having
no proof positive that what I said was false, he went, warning me what
I might expect if it turned out that I had lied. It was good hearing,
to know what I might expect--from him--if it turned out that I had
lied.
“I went to Bernstein, to implore him to have mercy; though I knew that
in him mercy was less frequent than water in a rock.”
“I am a man of business! You had had my money! I am a business man!”
“He would have none. I found young Moore. I told him that certain
bills had been discounted which bore my brother’s name, and since he
had put it there I should be compelled, in self-defence, to tell the
simple truth.”
“When I put it there there was nothing on the bills--not a word; I
declare it. They were nothing but five blank slips of paper, on my
sacred word of honour, I will swear to it. He filled them up himself;
then he wanted to put it on to me.”
“Yes, it was odd how I wanted to put it upon every one except myself;
very odd indeed. That night I was not happy. I had some conversation
with The Goddess; from which I derived comfort, of a kind, though it
was not much, either for quantity or quality. The next day I had
brought myself closer to the sticking point; as, I fancy, men are apt
to do when they know that the music really is about to play. In the
evening I had a game of cards with Ferguson. You remember?”
“I do. You cheated me.”
“I did. Which, again, was odd. For it was the first time I ever had
cheated at cards, and it was the last. You went out of the room
believing that you would have to pay me £1880, and with, at the
bottom of your heart, the knowledge that the man whom you had supposed
to be your friend was, after all, a rogue. The consciousness that you
had this knowledge was, for me, the top brick. I had chosen to carry
myself well in your eyes, and believed I had succeeded; yet, after
all, I’d failed. When you had gone I turned for consolation to The
Goddess.
“Bringing her from my bedroom, I placed her on her own particular
stand. I was just about to request her to go through one of her
unrivalled performances when, turning, I saw in the open doorway of my
room a lady. Here is that lady now.”
He waved his hand towards Miss Moore. She gave what seemed to be a
start of recollection.
“I remember. I had knocked at the door again and then again; no one
answered. I tried the handle; the door opened; you were there.”
“Which was most fortunate for me. It was an entrancing figure which I
saw, in a cloak all glory; with a face--a face which would haunt the
dreams of a happier man than I. It was a late hour for so enchanting a
vision to pay a first call upon a single gentleman, but, when I
learned that this was the sister of the ingenuous Tom, I understood; I
understood still more when the lady’s tongue was once set wagging, for
sometimes even charming visions do have tongues. Dear Tom had told his
tale on his own lines.”
“It was gospel truth, every word I said to her. I’ll take my oath it
was.”
“There’s not a doubt you will. But as the tale came from the lady’s
lips to me, it seemed surprising. I’d no idea, until she told me, that
I was so old in sin and dear Tom so young. It seemed that I had
corrupted the boy’s fresh innocence; that I had even taught him how to
write--especially other people’s names. To me it sounded odd. I had
met young Tom; I was beginning to wonder if his sister ever had. I
knew something of his history; one could scarcely credit that she knew
anything at all. However, one was glad to learn that so fair a lady
had so excellent a brother, though it seemed unfortunate that he
should have such curious associates. Of one of them she was giving her
opinion, to the extent of several volumes, when once more the door was
opened, this time, I really think, without any preliminary knocking;
for I am incapable of suggesting that the lady’s voice could by any
possibility have drowned even a rapping of the knuckles. My brother
was the interrupter--the uninvited, unwelcome interrupter, of our
_tête-à-tête_.
“Then I knew that the end had come; that the game was blown upon; that
the music would have to be faced. I knew this in an instant. It was
written large all over him. He had a trick, when he was in a rage, of
seeming to swell; as if the wind of his passion had distended him. I
had never seen him look so large before. He was trembling--not with
fear. His fingers were opening and closing--as they were apt to do
when the muscles which controlled them reached the point of working by
themselves. His lips were parted; he drew great breaths; his eyes had
moved forward in his head. It did not need more than a single glance
at him to enable me to understand that he had learned that I had lied,
and that now had come the tug of war.
“I cannot say if he noticed that I was with a lady. He did not
acknowledge her presence if he did, not even by so much as the removal
of his hat. So soon as he saw me he began to edge his way into the
room, with little, awkward, jerky movements, which experience had
taught me were the invariable preliminaries to an outburst of
insensate fury. ‘I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!’ He
repeated the three words, as if he were speaking half to himself and
half to me, in a husky voice, which was not nice to hear.
“My first thought was of The Goddess!”
As if he had had, from the beginning, an eye to what would be the
proper dramatic effect, when he got so far, Lawrence, with a hasty
movement towards the daïs, struck the crimson screen, so that it came
clattering forward on to the floor. Extending his arms on either side
of him, he cried: “Behold! The Goddess!”
I do not know what the others were prepared to find revealed, nor even
what it was which I had myself expected. There had been in my mind a
vague anticipation of some incredible horror; something neither human
nor inhuman, neither alive nor dead. What I actually did see
occasioned me, at first sight, a shock of surprise. A moment’s
reflection, however, disclosed my own stupidity. Much that had gone
before should have prepared me for exactly this. Only my mental
opaqueness could have prevented my seeing to what Lawrence’s words
directly pointed. And yet, after all, this that I saw did not provide
an adequate explanation; did not, for instance, shed light on what I
had seen in my dream.
The downfall of the screen had revealed an idol; apparently a Hindoo
goddess. She was squatted on what looked like an ebony pedestal,
perhaps a foot or eighteen inches from the floor. The figure was
nearly four feet high. It represented a woman squatting on her
haunches. Her arms were crossed upon her breast, her fingers
interlaced. Two things struck me as peculiar. One, that the whole
figure was of a brilliant scarlet; the other, that its maker had
managed to impart to it a curious suggestion of life. To this fact
Lawrence himself drew our attention.
“You see how alive she is? She only needs a touch to fill her with
impassioned frenzy. It is for that touch that she waits and watches.”
It was exactly what I had myself observed. The figure needed only some
little thing to give it at least the semblance of actual life. I could
not make out of what substance it was compounded; certainly neither of
wood nor stone.
“As Philip came at me across the room I moved towards The Goddess.
‘Take care,’ I said. ‘Don’t be a fool! Don’t you see that there’s a
lady here?’ He did not; or if he did he showed no signs of doing so. I
doubt even if he saw The Goddess. It was his way. In his fits of
passion he was like some maddened bull; he had eyes only for the
object of his rage. ‘I’ll kill you!’ he kept on muttering, in a voice
which fury had made husky. ‘Don’t be an ass!’ I cried. But he was an
ass. Presently there came the rush which I was looking for. He went
for me as the bull goes for the toreador. And instead of me he met The
Goddess. It had to be, or I should not have lived to tell the tale.
“As it chanced The Goddess was between us. I had in my fingers this
little cord--you see I have it here. My scarlet beauty was an obstacle
of which he took no account at all. He made as if he would dash her
into splinters and scatter them about the room. But The Goddess is not
so easily to be brushed aside. As he rushed at her she leaped at
him--like this.”
Suddenly throwing out his arms he cried, in a loud voice, “Take me,
for I am yours, O thou Goddess of the Scarlet Hands.”
How exactly it all happened, even now I find it hard to say. As
Lawrence sprang forward, the figure rose to its feet, and in an
instant was alive. It opened its arms; from its finger-tips came
knives. Stepping forward it gripped Lawrence with its steel-clad
hands, with a grip from which there was no escaping. From every part
of its frame gleaming blades had sprung; against this
_cheval-de-frise_ it pressed him again and again, twirling him round
and round, moving him up and down, so that the weapons pierced and
hacked back and front. Even from its eyes, mouth, and nostrils had
sprung knives. It kept jerking its head backwards and forwards, so
that it could stab with them at his face and head. And, all the while,
from somewhere came the sound of a woman’s laughter--that dreadful
sound which I had heard in my dream.