treachery to him was nothing to the grief of losing her, yet it was more
insidious and lasting. At first, from a mere nothing, this pain grew
gradually until it was a torture to him. If he had been one of your
stock ordinary husbands, such a one who by experience has learnt never
to enquire too closely into his wife's doings, her comings or goings,
and never to ask her, "How she has spent the day?" for fear he should be
made the more of a fool, had Mr. Tebrick been such a one he had been
luckier, and his pain would have been almost nothing. But you must
consider that he had never been deceived once by his wife in the course
of their married life. No, she had never told him as much as one white
lie, but had always been frank, open and ingenuous as if she and her
husband were not husband and wife, or indeed of opposite sexes. Yet we
must rate him as very foolish, that living thus with a fox, which beast
has the same reputation for deceitfulness, craft and cunning, in all
countries, all ages, and amongst all races of mankind, he should expect
this fox to be as candid and honest with him in all things as the
country girl he had married.
His wife's sullenness and bad temper continued that day, for she cowered
away from him and hid under the sofa, nor could he persuade her to come
out from there. Even when it was her dinner time she stayed, refusing
resolutely to be tempted out with food, and lying so quiet that he heard
nothing from her for hours. At night he carried her up to the bedroom,
but she was still sullen and refused to eat a morsel, though she drank a
little water during the night, when she fancied he was asleep.
The next morning was the same, and by now Mr. Tebrick had been through
all the agonies of wounded self-esteem, disillusionment and despair that
a man can suffer. But though his emotions rose up in his heart and
nearly stifled him he showed no sign of them to her, neither did he
abate one jot his tenderness and consideration for his vixen. At
breakfast he tempted her with a freshly killed young pullet. It hurt him
to make this advance to her, for hitherto he had kept her strictly on
cooked meats, but the pain of seeing her refuse it was harder still for
him to bear. Added to this was now an anxiety lest she should starve
herself to death rather than stay with him any longer.
All that morning he kept her close, but in the afternoon let her loose
again in the garden after he had lopped the pear tree so that she could
not repeat her performance of climbing.
But seeing how disgustedly she looked while he was by, never offering to
run or to play as she was used, but only standing stock still with her
tail between her legs, her ears flattened, and the hair bristling on her
shoulders, seeing this he left her to herself out of mere humanity.
When he came out after half-an-hour he found that she was gone, but
there was a fair sized hole by the wall, and she just buried all but her
brush, digging desperately to get under the wall and make her escape.
He ran up to the hole, and put his arm in after her and called to her to
come out, but she would not. So at first he began pulling her out by the
shoulder, then his hold slipping, by the hind legs. As soon as he had
drawn her forth she whipped round and snapped at his hand and bit it
through near the joint of the thumb, but let it go instantly. They
stayed there for a minute facing each other, he on his knees and she
facing him the picture of unrepentant wickedness and fury. Being thus on
his knees, Mr. Tebrick was down on her level very nearly, and her muzzle
was thrust almost into his face. Her ears lay flat on her head, her gums
were bared in a silent snarl, and all her beautiful teeth threatening
him that she would bite him again. Her back too was half-arched, all her
hair bristling and her brush held drooping. But it was her eyes that
held his, with their slit pupils looking at him with savage desperation
and rage.
The blood ran very freely from his hand but he never noticed that or the
pain of it either, for all his thoughts were for his wife.
"What is this, Silvia?" he said very quietly, "what is this? Why are you
so savage now? If I stand between you and your freedom it is because I
love you. Is it such torment to be with me?" But Silvia never stirred a
muscle.
"You would not do this if you were not in anguish, poor beast, you want
your freedom. I cannot keep you, I cannot hold you to vows made when you
were a woman. Why, you have forgotten who I am."
The tears then began running down his cheeks, he sobbed, and said to
her:
"Go--I shall not keep you. Poor beast, poor beast, I love you, I love
you. Go if you want to. But if you remember me come back. I shall never
keep you against your will. Go--go. But kiss me now."
He leant forward then and put his lips to her snarling fangs, but though
she kept snarling she did not bite him. Then he got up quickly and went
to the door of the garden that opened into a little paddock against a
wood.
When he opened it she went through it like an arrow, crossed the paddock
like a puff of smoke and in a moment was gone from his sight. Then,
suddenly finding himself alone, Mr. Tebrick came as it were to himself
and ran after her, calling her by name and shouting to her, and so went
plunging into the wood, and through it for about a mile, running almost
blindly.
At last when he was worn out he sat down, seeing that she had gone
beyond recovery and it was already night. Then, rising, he walked slowly
homewards, wearied and spent in spirit. As he went he bound up his hand
that was still running with blood. His coat was torn, his hat lost, and
his face scratched right across with briars. Now in cold blood he began
to reflect on what he had done and to repent bitterly having set his
wife free. He had betrayed her so that now, from his act, she must lead
the life of a wild fox for ever, and must undergo all the rigours and
hardships of the climate, and all the hazards of a hunted creature. When
Mr. Tebrick got back to the cottage he found Mrs. Cork was sitting up
for him. It was already late.
"What have you done with Mrs. Tebrick, sir? I missed her, and I missed
you, and I have not known what to do, expecting something dreadful had
happened. I have been sitting up for you half the night. And where is
she now, sir?" She accosted him so vigorously that Mr. Tebrick stood
silent. At length he said: "I have let her go. She has run away."
"Poor Miss Silvia!" cried the old woman, "Poor creature! You ought to be
ashamed, sir! Let her go indeed! Poor lady, is that the way for her
husband to talk! It is a disgrace. But I saw it coming from the first."
The old woman was white with fury, she did not mind what she said, but
Mr. Tebrick was not listening to her. At last he looked at her and saw
that she had just begun to cry, so he went out of the room and up to
bed, and lay down as he was, in his clothes, utterly exhausted, and fell
into a dog's sleep, starting up every now and then with horror, and then
falling back with fatigue. It was late when he woke up, but cold and
raw, and he felt cramped in all his limbs. As he lay he heard again the
noise which had woken him--the trotting of several horses, and the
voices of men riding by the house. Mr. Tebrick jumped up and ran to the
window and then looked out, and the first thing that he saw was a
gentleman in a pink coat riding at a walk down the lane. At this sight
Mr. Tebrick waited no longer, but pulling on his boots in mad haste, ran
out instantly, meaning to say that they must not hunt, and how his wife
was escaped and they might kill her.
But when he found himself outside the cottage words failed him and fury
took possession of him, so that he could only cry out:
"How dare you, you damned blackguard?" And so, with a stick in his hand,
he threw himself on the gentleman in the pink coat and seized his
horse's rein, and catching the gentleman by the leg was trying to throw
him. But really it is impossible to say what Mr. Tebrick intended by his
behaviour or what he would have done, for the gentleman finding himself
suddenly assaulted in so unexpected a fashion by so strange a touzled
and dishevelled figure, clubbed his hunting crop and dealt him a blow on
the temple so that he fell insensible.
Another gentleman rode up at this moment and they were civil enough to
dismount and carry Mr. Tebrick into the cottage, where they were met by
old Nanny who kept wringing her hands and told them Mr. Tebrick's wife
had run away and she was a vixen, and that was the cause that Mr.
Tebrick had run out and assaulted them.
The two gentlemen could not help laughing at this; and mounting their
horses rode on without delay, after telling each other that Mr. Tebrick,
whoever he was, was certainly a madman, and the old woman seemed as mad
as her master.
This story, however, went the rounds of the gentry in those parts and
perfectly confirmed everyone in their previous opinion, namely that Mr.
Tebrick was mad and his wife had run away from him. The part about her
being a vixen was laughed at by the few that heard it, but was soon left
out as immaterial to the story, and incredible in itself, though
afterwards it came to be remembered and its significance to be
understood. When Mr. Tebrick came to himself it was past noon, and his
head was aching so painfully that he could only call to mind in a
confused way what had happened.
However, he sent off Mrs. Cork's son directly on one of his horses to
enquire about the hunt.
At the same time he gave orders to old Nanny that she was to put out
food and water for her mistress, on the chance that she might yet be in
the neighbourhood.
By nightfall Simon was back with the news that the hunt had had a very
long run but had lost one fox, then, drawing a covert, had chopped an
old dog fox, and so ended the day's sport.
This put poor Mr. Tebrick in some hopes again, and he rose at once from
his bed, and went out to the wood and began calling his wife, but was
overcome with faintness, and lay down and so passed the night in the
open, from mere weakness.
In the morning he got back again to the cottage but he had taken a
chill, and so had to keep his bed for three or four days after.
All this time he had food put out for her every night, but though rats
came to it and ate of it, there were never any prints of a fox.
At last his anxiety began working another way, that is he came to think
it possible that his vixen would have gone back to Stokoe, so he had his
horses harnessed in the dogcart and brought to the door and then drove
over to Rylands, though he was still in a fever, and with a heavy cold
upon him. After that he lived always solitary, keeping away from his
fellows and only seeing one man, called Askew, who had been brought up a
jockey at Wantage, but was grown too big for his profession. He mounted
this loafing fellow on one of his horses three days a week and had him
follow the hunt and report to him whenever they killed, and if he could
view the fox so much the better, and then he made him describe it
minutely, so he should know if it were his Silvia. But he dared not
trust himself to go himself, lest his passion should master him and he
might commit a murder.
Every time there was a hunt in the neighbourhood he set the gates wide
open at Rylands and the house doors also, and taking his gun stood
sentinel in the hope that his wife would run in if she were pressed by
the hounds, and so he could save her. But only once a hunt came near,
when two fox-hounds that had lost the main pack strayed on to his land
and he shot them instantly and buried them afterwards himself.
It was not long now to the end of the season, as it was the middle of
March.
But living as he did at this time, Mr. Tebrick grew more and more to be
a true misanthrope. He denied admittance to any that came to visit him,
and rarely showed himself to his fellows, but went out chiefly in the
early mornings before people were about, in the hope of seeing his
beloved fox. Indeed it was only this hope that he would see her again
that kept him alive, for he had become so careless of his own comfort in
every way that he very seldom ate a proper meal, taking no more than a
crust of bread with a morsel of cheese in the whole day, though
sometimes he would drink half a bottle of whiskey to drown his sorrow
and to get off to sleep, for sleep fled from him, and no sooner did he
begin dozing but he awoke with a start thinking he had heard something.
He let his beard grow too, and though he had always been very particular
in his person before, he now was utterly careless of it, gave up
washing himself for a week or two at a stretch, and if there was dirt
under his finger nails let it stop there.
All this disorder fed a malignant pleasure in him. For by now he had
come to hate his fellow men and was embittered against all human
decencies and decorum. For strange to tell he never once in these months
regretted his dear wife whom he had so much loved. No, all that he
grieved for now was his departed vixen. He was haunted all this time not
by the memory of a sweet and gentle woman, but by the recollection of an
animal; a beast it is true that could sit at table and play piquet when
it would, but for all that nothing really but a wild beast. His one hope
now was the recovery of this beast, and of this he dreamed continually.
Likewise both waking and sleeping he was visited by visions of her; her
mask, her full white-tagged brush, white throat, and the thick fur in
her ears all haunted him.
Every one of her foxey ways was now so absolutely precious to him that I
believe that if he had known for certain she was dead, and had thoughts
of marrying a second time, he would never have been happy with a woman.
No, indeed, he would have been more tempted to get himself a tame fox,
and would have counted that as good a marriage as he could make.
Yet this all proceeded one may say from a passion, and a true conjugal
fidelity, that it would be hard to find matched in this world. And
though we may think him a fool, almost a madman, we must, when we look
closer, find much to respect in his extraordinary devotion. How
different indeed was he from those who, if their wives go mad, shut them
in madhouses and give themselves up to concubinage, and nay, what is
more, there are many who extenuate such conduct too. But Mr. Tebrick was
of a very different temper, and though his wife was now nothing but a
hunted beast, cared for no one in the world but her.
But this devouring love ate into him like a consumption, so that by
sleepless nights, and not caring for his person, in a few months he was
worn to the shadow of himself. His cheeks were sunk in, his eyes hollow
but excessively brilliant, and his whole body had lost flesh, so that
looking at him the wonder was that he was still alive.
Now that the hunting season was over he had less anxiety for her, yet
even so he was not positive that the hounds had not got her. For between
the time of his setting her free, and the end of the hunting season
(just after Easter), there were but three vixens killed near. Of those
three one was a half-blind or wall-eyed, and one was a very grey
dull-coloured beast. The third answered more to the description of his
wife, but that it had not much black on the legs, whereas in her the
blackness of the legs was very plain to be noticed. But yet his fear
made him think that perhaps she had got mired in running and the legs
being muddy were not remarked on as black. One morning the first week
in May, about four o'clock, when he was out waiting in the little copse,
he sat down for a while on a tree stump, and when he looked up saw a fox
coming towards him over the ploughed field. It was carrying a hare over
its shoulder so that it was nearly all hidden from him. At last, when it
was not twenty yards from him, it crossed over, going into the copse,
when Mr. Tebrick stood up and cried out, "Silvia, Silvia, is it you?"
The fox dropped the hare out of his mouth and stood looking at him, and
then our gentleman saw at the first glance that this was not his wife.
For whereas Mrs. Tebrick had been of a very bright red, this was a
swarthier duller beast altogether, moreover it was a good deal larger
and higher at the shoulder and had a great white tag to his brush. But
the fox after the first instant did not stand for his portrait you may
be sure, but picked up his hare and made off like an arrow.
Then Mr. Tebrick cried out to himself: "Indeed I am crazy now! My
affliction has made me lose what little reason I ever had. Here am I
taking every fox I see to be my wife! My neighbours call me a madman and
now I see that they are right. Look at me now, oh God! How foul a
creature I am. I hate my fellows. I am thin and wasted by this consuming
passion, my reason is gone and I feed myself on dreams. Recall me to my
duty, bring me back to decency, let me not become a beast likewise, but
restore me and forgive me, Oh my Lord."
With that he burst into scalding tears and knelt down and prayed, a
thing he had not done for many weeks.
When he rose up he walked back feeling giddy and exceedingly weak, but
with a contrite heart, and then washed himself thoroughly and changed
his clothes, but his weakness increasing he lay down for the rest of the
day, but read in the Book of Job and was much comforted.
For several days after this he lived very soberly, for his weakness
continued, but every day he read in the bible, and prayed earnestly, so
that his resolution was so much strengthened that he determined to
overcome his folly, or his passion, if he could, and at any rate to live
the rest of his life very religiously. So strong was this desire in him
to amend his ways that he considered if he should not go to spread the
Gospel abroad, for the Bible Society, and so spend the rest of his days.
Indeed he began a letter to his wife's uncle, the canon, and he was
writing this when he was startled by hearing a fox bark.
Yet so great was this new turn he had taken that he did not rush out at
once, as he would have done before, but stayed where he was and finished
his letter.
Afterwards he said to himself that it was only a wild fox and sent by
the devil to mock him, and that madness lay that way if he should
listen. But on the other hand he could not deny to himself that it might
have been his wife, and that he ought to welcome the prodigal. Thus he
was torn between these two thoughts, neither of which did he completely
believe. He stayed thus tormented with doubts and fears all night.
The next morning he woke suddenly with a start and on the instant heard
a fox bark once more. At that he pulled on his clothes and ran out as
fast as he could to the garden gate. The sun was not yet high, the dew
thick everywhere, and for a minute or two everything was very silent. He
looked about him eagerly but could see no fox, yet there was already joy
in his heart.
Then while he looked up and down the road, he saw his vixen step out of
the copse about thirty yards away. He called to her at once.
"My dearest wife! Oh, Silvia! You are come back!" and at the sound of
his voice he saw her wag her tail, which set his last doubts at rest.
But then though he called her again, she stepped into the copse once
more though she looked back at him over her shoulder as she went. At
this he ran after her, but softly and not too fast lest he should
frighten her away, and then looked about for her again and called to her
when he saw her among the trees still keeping her distance from him. He
followed her then, and as he approached so she retreated from him, yet
always looking back at him several times.
He followed after her through the underwood up the side of the hill,
when suddenly she disappeared from his sight, behind some bracken.
When he got there he could see her nowhere, but looking about him found
a fox's earth, but so well hidden that he might have passed it by a
thousand times and would never have found it unless he had made
particular search at that spot.
But now, though he went on his hands and knees, he could see nothing of
his vixen, so that he waited a little while wondering.
Presently he heard a noise of something moving in the earth, and so
waited silently, then saw something which pushed itself into sight. It
was a small sooty black beast, like a puppy. There came another behind
it, then another and so on till there were five of them. Lastly there
came his vixen pushing her litter before her, and while he looked at her
silently, a prey to his confused and unhappy emotions, he saw that her
eyes were shining with pride and happiness.
She picked up one of her youngsters then, in her mouth, and brought it
to him and laid it in front of him, and then looked up at him very
excited, or so it seemed.
Mr. Tebrick took the cub in his hands, stroked it and put it against his
cheek. It was a little fellow with a smutty face and paws, with staring
vacant eyes of a brilliant electric blue and a little tail like a
carrot. When he was put down he took a step towards his mother and then
sat down very comically.
Mr. Tebrick looked at his wife again and spoke to her, calling her a
good creature. Already he was resigned and now, indeed, for the first
time he thoroughly understood what had happened to her, and how far
apart they were now. But looking first at one cub, then at another, and
having them sprawling over his lap, he forgot himself, only watching the
pretty scene, and taking pleasure in it. Now and then he would stroke
his vixen and kiss her, liberties which she freely allowed him. He
marvelled more than ever now at her beauty; for her gentleness with the
cubs and the extreme delight she took in them seemed to him then to make
her more lovely than before. Thus lying amongst them at the mouth of the
earth he idled away the whole of the morning.
First he would play with one, then with another, rolling them over and
tickling them, but they were too young yet to lend themselves to any
other more active sport than this. Every now and then he would stroke
his vixen, or look at her, and thus the time slipped away quite fast and
he was surprised when she gathered her cubs together and pushed them
before her into the earth, then coming back to him once or twice very
humanly bid him "Good-bye and that she hoped she would see him soon
again, now he had found out the way."
So admirably did she express her meaning that it would have been
superfluous for her to have spoken had she been able, and Mr. Tebrick,
who was used to her, got up at once and went home.
But now that he was alone, all the feelings which he had not troubled
himself with when he was with her, but had, as it were, put aside till
after his innocent pleasures were over, all these came swarming back to
assail him in a hundred tormenting ways.
Firstly he asked himself: Was not his wife unfaithful to him, had she
not prostituted herself to a beast? Could he still love her after that?
But this did not trouble him so much as it might have done. For now he
was convinced inwardly that she could no longer in fairness be judged as
a woman, but as a fox only. And as a fox she had done no more than other
foxes, indeed in having cubs and tending them with love, she had done
well.
Whether in this conclusion Mr. Tebrick was in the right or not, is not
for us here to consider. But I would only say to those who would censure
him for a too lenient view of the religious side of the matter, that we
have not seen the thing as he did, and perhaps if it were displayed
before our eyes we might be led to the same conclusions.
This was, however, not a tenth part of the trouble in which Mr. Tebrick
found himself. For he asked himself also: "Was he not jealous?" And
looking into his heart he found that he was indeed jealous, yes, and
angry too, that now he must share his vixen with wild foxes. Then he
questioned himself if it were not dishonourable to do so, and whether
he should not utterly forget her and follow his original intention of
retiring from the world, and see her no more.
Thus he tormented himself for the rest of that day, and by evening he
had resolved never to see her again.
But in the middle of the night he woke up with his head very clear, and
said to himself in wonder, "Am I not a madman? I torment myself
foolishly with fantastic notions. Can a man have his honour sullied by a
beast? I am a man, I am immeasurably superior to the animals. Can my
dignity allow of my being jealous of a beast? A thousand times no. Were
I to lust after a vixen, I were a criminal indeed. I can be happy in
seeing my vixen, for I love her, but she does right to be happy
according to the laws of her being."
Lastly, he said to himself what was, he felt, the truth of this whole
matter: