plans Benham had made for the survey and study of the world, and it was
through a series of modifications, replacements and additions that it
became at last a prolonged and very picturesque tour in Switzerland,
the Austrian Tyrol, North Italy, and down the Adriatic coast. Amanda
had never seen mountains, and longed, she said, to climb. This took them
first to Switzerland. Then, in spite of their exalted aims, the devotion
of their lives to noble purposes, it was evident that Amanda had no
intention of scamping the detail of love, and for that what background
is so richly beautiful as Italy? An important aspect of the grand tour
round the world as Benham had planned it, had been interviews, inquiries
and conversations with every sort of representative and understanding
person he could reach. An unembarrassed young man who wants to know and
does not promise to bore may reach almost any one in that way, he is as
impersonal as pure reason and as mobile as a letter, but the presence of
a lady in his train leaves him no longer unembarrassed. His approach has
become a social event. The wife of a great or significant personage must
take notice or decide not to take notice. Of course Amanda was prepared
to go anywhere, just as Benham's shadow; it was the world that was
unprepared. And a second leading aspect of his original scheme had been
the examination of the ways of government in cities and the shifting
and mixture of nations and races. It would have led to back streets, and
involved and complicated details, and there was something in the fine
flame of girlhood beside him that he felt was incompatible with those
shadows and that dust. And also they were lovers and very deeply
in love. It was amazing how swiftly that draggled shameful London
sparrow-gamin, Eros, took heart from Amanda, and became wonderful,
beautiful, glowing, life-giving, confident, clear-eyed; how he changed
from flesh to sweet fire, and grew until he filled the sky. So that you
see they went to Switzerland and Italy at last very like two ordinary
young people who were not aristocrats at all, had no theory about the
world or their destiny, but were simply just ardently delighted with the
discovery of one another.
Nevertheless Benham was for some time under a vague impression that in
a sort of way still he was going round the world and working out his
destinies.
It was part of the fascination of Amanda that she was never what he had
supposed her to be, and that nothing that he set out to do with her ever
turned out as they had planned it. Her appreciations marched before her
achievement, and when it came to climbing it seemed foolish to toil
to summits over which her spirit had flitted days before. Their Swiss
expeditions which she had foreseen as glorious wanderings amidst the
blue ice of crevasses and nights of exalted hardihood became a walking
tour of fitful vigour and abundant fun and delight. They spent a long
day on the ice of the Aletsch glacier, but they reached the inn on its
eastward side with magnificent appetites a little late for dinner.
Amanda had revealed an unexpected gift for nicknames and pretty fancies.
She named herself the Leopard, the spotless Leopard; in some obscure
way she intimated that the colour was black, but that was never to be
admitted openly, there was supposed to be some lurking traces of a rusty
brown but the word was spotless and the implication white, a dazzling
white, she would play a thousand variations on the theme; in moments of
despondency she was only a black cat, a common lean black cat, and
sacks and half-bricks almost too good for her. But Benham was always
a Cheetah. That had come to her as a revelation from heaven. But so
clearly he was a Cheetah. He was a Hunting Leopard; the only beast that
has an up-cast face and dreams and looks at you with absent-minded eyes
like a man. She laced their journeys with a fantastic monologue telling
in the third person what the Leopard and the Cheetah were thinking and
seeing and doing. And so they walked up mountains and over passes and
swam in the warm clear water of romantic lakes and loved each other
mightily always, in chestnut woods and olive orchards and flower-starred
alps and pine forests and awning-covered boats, and by sunset and
moonlight and starshine; and out of these agreeable solitudes they
came brown and dusty, striding side by side into sunlit entertaining
fruit-piled market-places and envious hotels. For days and weeks
together it did not seem to Benham that there was anything that mattered
in life but Amanda and the elemental joys of living. And then the
Research Magnificent began to stir in him again. He perceived that Italy
was not India, that the clue to the questions he must answer lay in the
crowded new towns that they avoided, in the packed bookshops and the
talk of men, and not in the picturesque and flowery solitudes to which
their lovemaking carried them.
Moods began in which he seemed to forget Amanda altogether.
This happened first in the Certosa di Pavia whither they had gone one
afternoon from Milan. That was quite soon after they were married. They
had a bumping journey thither in a motor-car, a little doubtful if
the excursion was worth while, and they found a great amazement in
the lavish beauty and decorative wealth of that vast church and its
associated cloisters, set far away from any population as it seemed in
a flat wilderness of reedy ditches and patchy cultivation. The
distilleries and outbuildings were deserted--their white walls were
covered by one monstrously great and old wisteria in flower--the soaring
marvellous church was in possession of a knot of unattractive guides.
One of these conducted them through the painted treasures of the gold
and marble chapels; he was an elderly but animated person who evidently
found Amanda more wonderful than any church. He poured out great
accumulations of information and compliments before her. Benham dropped
behind, went astray and was presently recovered dreaming in the great
cloister. The guide showed them over two of the cells that opened
thereupon, each a delightful house for a solitary, bookish and clean,
and each with a little secret walled garden of its own. He was covertly
tipped against all regulations and departed regretfully with a beaming
dismissal from Amanda. She found Benham wondering why the Carthusians
had failed to produce anything better in the world than a liqueur. “One
might have imagined that men would have done something in this beautiful
quiet; that there would have come thought from here or will from here.”
“In these dear little nests they ought to have put lovers,” said Amanda.
“Oh, of course, YOU would have made the place Thelema....”
But as they went shaking and bumping back along the evil road to Milan,
he fell into a deep musing. Suddenly he said, “Work has to be done.
Because this order or that has failed, there is no reason why we should
fail. And look at those ragged children in the road ahead of us, and
those dirty women sitting in the doorways, and the foul ugliness of
these gaunt nameless towns through which we go! They are what they are,
because we are what we are--idlers, excursionists. In a world we ought
to rule....
“Amanda, we've got to get to work....”
That was his first display of this new mood, which presently became a
common one. He was less and less content to let the happy hours slip
by, more and more sensitive to the reminders in giant ruin and deserted
cell, in a chance encounter with a string of guns and soldiers on their
way to manoeuvres or in the sight of a stale newspaper, of a great
world process going on in which he was now playing no part at all. And
a curious irritability manifested itself more and more plainly, whenever
human pettiness obtruded upon his attention, whenever some trivial
dishonesty, some manifest slovenliness, some spiritless failure, a
cheating waiter or a wayside beggar brought before him the shiftless,
selfish, aimless elements in humanity that war against the great dream
of life made glorious. “Accursed things,” he would say, as he flung some
importunate cripple at a church door a ten-centime piece; “why were they
born? Why do they consent to live? They are no better than some chance
fungus that is because it must.”
“It takes all sorts to make a world,” said Amanda.
“Nonsense,” said Benham. “Where is the megatherium? That sort of
creature has to go. Our sort of creature has to end it.”
“Then why did you give it money?”
“Because-- I don't want the thing to be more wretched than it is. But if
I could prevent more of them--... What am I doing to prevent them?”
“These beggars annoy you,” said Amanda after a pause. “They do me. Let
us go back into the mountains.”
But he fretted in the mountains.
They made a ten days' tour from Macugnaga over the Monte Moro to Sass,
and thence to Zermatt and back by the Theodule to Macugnaga. The sudden
apparition of douaniers upon the Monte Moro annoyed Benham, and he was
also irritated by the solemn English mountain climbers at Saas Fee.
They were as bad as golfers, he said, and reflected momentarily upon
his father. Amanda fell in love with Monte Rosa, she wanted to kiss its
snowy forehead, she danced like a young goat down the path to Mattmark,
and rolled on the turf when she came to gentians and purple primulas.
Benham was tremendously in love with her most of the time, but one
day when they were sitting over the Findelen glacier his perceptions
blundered for the first time upon the fundamental antagonism of their
quality. She was sketching out jolly things that they were to do
together, expeditions, entertainments, amusements, and adventures, with
a voluble swiftness, and suddenly in a flash his eyes were opened, and
he saw that she would never for a moment feel the quality that made life
worth while for him. He saw it in a flash, and in that flash he made
his urgent resolve not to see it. From that moment forth his bearing was
poisoned by his secret determination not to think of this, not to admit
it to his mind. And forbidden to come into his presence in its proper
form, this conflict of intellectual temperaments took on strange
disguises, and the gathering tension of his mind sought to relieve
itself along grotesque irrelevant channels.
There was, for example, the remarkable affair of the drive from
Macugnaga to Piedimulera.
They had decided to walk down in a leisurely fashion, but with the
fatigues of the precipitous clamber down from Switzerland still upon
them they found the white road between rock above and gorge below
wearisome, and the valley hot in the late morning sunshine, and already
before they reached the inn they had marked for lunch Amanda had
suggested driving the rest of the way. The inn had a number of
brigand-like customers consuming such sustenance as garlic and salami
and wine; it received them with an indifference that bordered on
disrespect, until the landlord, who seemed to be something of a beauty
himself, discovered the merits of Amanda. Then he became markedly
attentive. He was a large, fat, curly-headed person with beautiful eyes,
a cherished moustache, and an air of great gentility, and when he had
welcomed his guests and driven off the slatternly waiting-maid, and
given them his best table, and consented, at Amanda's request, to open a
window, he went away and put on a tie and collar. It was an attention
so conspicuous that even the group of men in the far corner noticed and
commented on it, and then they commented on Amanda and Benham,
assuming an ignorance of Italian in the visitors that was only partly
justifiable. “Bellissima,” “bravissima,” “signorina,” “Inglesa,” one
need not be born in Italy to understand such words as these. Also they
addressed sly comments and encouragements to the landlord as he went to
and fro.
Benham was rather still and stiff during the meal, but it ill becomes
an English aristocrat to discuss the manners of an alien population, and
Amanda was amused by the effusion of the landlord and a little disposed
to experiment upon him. She sat radiating light amidst the shadows.
The question of the vehicle was broached. The landlord was doubtful,
then an idea, it was manifestly a questionable idea, occurred to him.
He went to consult an obscure brown-faced individual in the corner,
disappeared, and the world without became eloquent. Presently he
returned and announced that a carozza was practicable. It had been
difficult, but he had contrived it. And he remained hovering over the
conclusion of their meal, asking questions about Amanda's mountaineering
and expressing incredulous admiration.
His bill, which he presented with an uneasy flourish, was large and
included the carozza.
He ushered them out to the carriage with civilities and compliments. It
had manifestly been difficult and contrived. It was dusty and blistered,
there had been a hasty effort to conceal its recent use as a hen-roost,
the harness was mended with string. The horse was gaunt and scandalous,
a dirty white, and carried its head apprehensively. The driver had but
one eye, through which there gleamed a concentrated hatred of God and
man.
“No wonder he charged for it before we saw it,” said Benham.
“It's better than walking,” said Amanda.
The company in the inn gathered behind the landlord and scrutinized
Amanda and Benham intelligently. The young couple got in. “Avanti,” said
Benham, and Amanda bestowed one last ineradicable memory on the bowing
landlord.
Benham did not speak until just after they turned the first corner, and
then something portentous happened, considering the precipitous position
of the road they were upon. A small boy appeared sitting in the grass
by the wayside, and at the sight of him the white horse shied
extravagantly. The driver rose in his seat ready to jump. But the crisis
passed without a smash. “Cheetah!” cried Amanda suddenly. “This isn't
safe.” “Ah!” said Benham, and began to act with the vigour of one
who has long accumulated force. He rose in his place and gripped the
one-eyed driver by the collar. “ASPETTO,” he said, but he meant “Stop!”
The driver understood that he meant “Stop,” and obeyed.
Benham wasted no time in parleying with the driver. He indicated to him
and to Amanda by a comprehensive gesture that he had business with the
landlord, and with a gleaming appetite upon his face went running back
towards the inn.
The landlord was sitting down to a little game of dominoes with his
friends when Benham reappeared in the sunlight of the doorway. There was
no misunderstanding Benham's expression.
For a moment the landlord was disposed to be defiant. Then he changed
his mind. Benham's earnest face was within a yard of his own, and a
threatening forefinger was almost touching his nose.
“Albergo cattivissimo,” said Benham. “Cattivissimo! Pranzo cattivissimo
'orrido. Cavallo cattivissimo, dangerousissimo. Gioco abominablissimo,
damnissimo. Capisce. Eh?” [*]
* This is vile Italian. It may--with a certain charity to
Benham--be rendered: “The beastliest inn! The beastliest!
The beastliest, most awful lunch! The vilest horse! Most
dangerous! Abominable trick! Understand?”
The landlord made deprecatory gestures.
“YOU understand all right,” said Benham. “Da me il argento per il
carozzo. Subito?” [*]
* “Give me back the money for the carriage. QUICKLY!”
The landlord was understood to ask whether the signor no longer wished
for the carriage.
“SUBITO!” cried Benham, and giving way to a long-restrained impulse
seized the padrone by the collar of his coat and shook him vigorously.
There were dissuasive noises from the company, but no attempt at rescue.
Benham released his hold.
“Adesso!” said Benham. [*]
* “NOW!”
The landlord decided to disgorge. It was at any rate a comfort that the
beautiful lady was not seeing anything of this. And he could explain
afterwards to his friends that the Englishman was clearly a lunatic,
deserving pity rather than punishment. He made some sound of protest,
but attempted no delay in refunding the money Benham had prepaid.
Outside sounded the wheels of the returning carriage. They stopped.
Amanda appeared in the doorway and discovered Benham dominant.
He was a little short of breath, and as she came in he was addressing
the landlord with much earnestness in the following compact sentences.
“Attendez! Ecco! Adesso noi andiamo con questa cattivissimo cavallo a
Piedimulera. Si noi arrivero in safety, securo that is, pagaremo. Non
altro. Si noi abbiamo accidento Dio--Dio have mercy on your sinful soul.
See! Capisce? That's all.” [*]
* “Now we will go with this beastly horse to Piedimulera. If
we get there safely I will pay. If we have an accident,
then--”
He turned to Amanda. “Get back into the thing,” he said. “We won't have
these stinking beasts think we are afraid of the job. I've just made
sure he won't have a profit by it if we smash up. That's all. I might
have known what he was up to when he wanted the money beforehand.”
He came to the doorway and with a magnificent gesture commanded the
perplexed driver to turn the carriage.
While that was being done he discoursed upon his adjacent
fellow-creatures. “A man who pays beforehand for anything in this filthy
sort of life is a fool. You see the standards of the beast. They think
of nothing but their dirty little tricks to get profit, their garlic,
their sour wine, their games of dominoes, their moments of lust. They
crawl in this place like cockroaches in a warm corner of the fireplace
until they die. Look at the scabby frontage of the house. Look at the
men's faces.... Yes. So! Adequato. Aspettate.... Get back into the
carriage, Amanda.”
“You know it's dangerous, Cheetah. The horse is a shier. That man is
blind in one eye.”
“Get back into the carriage,” said Benham, whitely angry. “I AM GOING TO
DRIVE!”
“But--!”
Just for a moment Amanda looked scared. Then with a queer little laugh
she jumped in again.
Amanda was never a coward when there was excitement afoot. “We'll
smash!” she cried, by no means woefully.
“Get up beside me,” said Benham speaking in English to the driver but
with a gesture that translated him. Power over men radiated from
Benham in this angry mood. He took the driver's seat. The little driver
ascended and then with a grim calmness that brooked no resistance Benham
reached over, took and fastened the apron over their knees to prevent
any repetition of the jumping out tactics.
The recovering landlord became voluble in the doorway.
“In Piedimulera pagero,” said Benham over his shoulder and brought the
whip across the white outstanding ribs. “Get up!” said Benham.
Amanda gripped the sides of the seat as the carriage started into
motion.
He laid the whip on again with such vigour that the horse forgot
altogether to shy at the urchin that had scared it before.
“Amanda,” said Benham leaning back. “If we do happen to go over on THAT
side, jump out. It's all clear and wide for you. This side won't matter
so--”
“MIND!” screamed Amanda and recalled him to his duties. He was off the
road and he had narrowly missed an outstanding chestnut true.
“No, you don't,” said Benham presently, and again their career became
erratic for a time as after a slight struggle he replaced the apron over
the knees of the deposed driver. It had been furtively released. After
that Benham kept an eye on it that might have been better devoted to the
road.
The road went down in a series of curves and corners. Now and then there
were pacific interludes when it might have been almost any road. Then,
again, it became specifically an Italian mountain road. Now and then
only a row of all too infrequent granite stumps separated them from a
sheer precipice. Some of the corners were miraculous, and once they had
a wheel in a ditch for a time, they shaved the parapet of a bridge over
a gorge and they drove a cyclist into a patch of maize, they narrowly
missed a goat and jumped three gullies, thrice the horse stumbled and
was jerked up in time, there were sickening moments, and withal they
got down to Piedimulera unbroken and unspilt. It helped perhaps that the
brake, with its handle like a barrel organ, had been screwed up before
Benham took control. And when they were fairly on the level outside the
town Benham suddenly pulled up, relinquished the driving into the proper
hands and came into the carriage with Amanda.
“Safe now,” he said compactly.
The driver appeared to be murmuring prayers very softly as he examined
the brake.
Amanda was struggling with profound problems. “Why didn't you drive down
in the first place?” she asked. “Without going back.”
“The landlord annoyed me,” he said. “I had to go back.... I wish I had
kicked him. Hairy beast! If anything had happened, you see, he would
have had his mean money. I couldn't bear to leave him.”
“And why didn't you let HIM drive?” She indicated the driver by a motion
of the head.
“I was angry,” said Benham. “I was angry at the whole thing.”
“Still--”
“You see I think I did that because he might have jumped off if I hadn't
been up there to prevent him--I mean if we had had a smash. I didn't
want him to get out of it.”
“But you too--”
“You see I was angry....”
“It's been as good as a switchback,” said Amanda after reflection. “But
weren't you a little careless about me, Cheetah?”
“I never thought of you,” said Benham, and then as if he felt that
inadequate: “You see--I was so annoyed. It's odd at times how annoyed
one gets. Suddenly when that horse shied I realized what a beastly
business life was--as those brutes up there live it. I want to clear out
the whole hot, dirty, little aimless nest of them....”
“No, I'm sure,” he repeated after a pause as though he had been
digesting something “I wasn't thinking about you at all.”
4