come in the Second Canto when Lancelot says good-bye to Princess Asra.
The situation is roughly that the Princess bullies him and he gets sick
of it and goes--and then, of course, she's sorry, when it's too late.
He sings the song as he's going. She overhears it. I was rather pleased
with it. Hilda said: "Oh! of course I know I worry you with my
attentions." What this had got to do with the poem I can't think. It was
all because last night, when I was working, Hilda came into my room and
said: "Are you warm enough?" and I said "Yes," rather absent-mindedly,
as I was in the middle of my work. Ten minutes later she looked in again
and asked me if I wanted some beer, and I said "No," without looking up.
Then very soon afterwards she came in a third time, and asked me if I
was sure I wasn't cold, and whether I wouldn't have the fire lit. Rather
snappishly--because it is a bore to be interrupted just when one's on
the verge of getting an idea fixed--I said "No."
I'm afraid this hurt her feelings.
_October_ 9.--Since Hilda has given up her sketching she has nothing to
do. I was very busy this afternoon finishing my weekly article in time
for the post. She rushed into the room and said didn't I think a
butterfly settling on a jock was the ultimate symbol of love and the
mind of man? I said I thought she was very probably right. Heavens knows
what she meant. Women's minds move by jerks, one never knows what
they'll say next. They're so irrelevant.
_October_ 10.--It's blowing a gale. Stuck in the poem. Hilda says it's
cynical. I don't know what she means. She says she didn't know I was so
bitter. I said: "It's only a kind of fairy tale." She said: "Yes; but
that makes it worse." "But it's only an ordinary love story," I said.
She said: "Of course I know nothing can go on being the same. It can no
doubt be better, but not the same as it was before." "But Princess Asra
is only an incident in my poem," I said. Hilda said nothing, but after a
time she asked me whether I thought that was the meaning of the moan of
the wind. I have no idea what she meant by "that." She is very cryptic
sometimes.
_October_ 11.--Lovely day. The sun came out and I suggested that I
should take a holiday, and that we should go and have a picnic on the
rocks. I was afraid Hilda might have something against the plan--one
never knows. But she didn't. On the contrary she seemed delighted. She
made a hamper and I carried it down to the rocks. We caught shrimps and
threw stones into the sea just like children. I think Hilda enjoyed
herself. On the way home, I asked her why she didn't go on with her
drawing. I really think it's a great pity she has given it up. She has
real talent. She said: "I will if you wish it." I said: "Of course I
don't want you to do it, if you don't like; but I do think it's a pity
to waste such a very real talent." She said: "I quite understand," and
sighed. I wonder what she was thinking of. Hilda is absurdly modest. She
draws extremely well, especially figures.
_October_ 12.--Hilda has begun drawing again. I am delighted. She began
copying the cast of a hand; but I suggested to her that it would be far
more interesting for her to draw a real hand from nature. So she got a
little girl from the village to sit for her. I am delighted. It gives
her an occupation, and I really am very busy just now. After all, we
came here so as not to be disturbed--to be away from people and
interruptions; and I find that in the last two months I have got through
less work than I did in London in June. I must make up for lost time. I
can't get on with the poem. I think I shall leave it for a time. I
should immensely like Hilda's opinion on what ought to happen next. She
can be of the greatest help and use when she chooses. Unfortunately she
has taken one of those unreasonable and entirely unaccountable dislikes
to this poem, and no argument is of the slightest use. It's no good even
mentioning it. I shall leave it for a time and go on with my other work.
It is most unfortunate that Hilda should look upon it in this light,
especially as she doesn't even know what the subject is; but she has
taken an episode--in fact, one little song--as symbolic of the whole.
But then logic never was Hilda's strong point.
_October_ 13.--Hilda is getting on very well with the hand. She seems to
enjoy it, which is the great thing.
_October_ 24.--Have been too busy all these last days thinking, even to
write my diary. Believe I have at last really got an idea for the poem.
Shall begin to-morrow. Have not dared mention it to Hilda. Fortunately
she is still utterly absorbed in her drawing.
_October_ 27.--Great disappointment. Last night Hilda said it was no
good concealing things any longer, and that one must look facts in the
face. I had no idea what she meant. Then she said she had noticed for
some time past how bored I was here, and how I was longing to get rid
of her. Nothing I could say would persuade her of the contrary. I tried
to explain that I had been searching for a new idea and that this had no
doubt made me appear more absent-minded than usual. She said: "I am not
going to worry you any longer. I am going to set you free." And to my
intense surprise she announced that she had booked a berth on the
steamer for the day after to-morrow. I knew that argument wouldn't be of
any use, so I gave in at once. It is most disappointing just as I had
got an idea I wanted to consult her about.
_October_ 29.--On board the steamer _Queen Marguerite_. Saw Hilda off.
She insisted on going and refused to argue. Deeply regret she is
leaving. Hilda is the only woman I ever met who remains tidy even on a
steamer. The sea-air suits her. It has done her a world of good, and
it's a great pity she is leaving so soon--she says it's for good; but
that, of course, is ridiculous.
VIII
FROM THE DIARY OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
_Baker Street, January_ 1.--Starting a diary in order to jot down a few
useful incidents which will be of no use to Watson. Watson very often
fails to see that an unsuccessful case is more interesting from a
professional point of view than a successful case. He means well.
_January_ 6.--Watson has gone to Brighton for a few days, for change of
air. This morning quite an interesting little incident happened which I
note as a useful example of how sometimes people who have no powers of
deduction nevertheless stumble on the truth for the wrong reason. (This
never happens to Watson, _fortunately_.) Lestrade called from Scotland
Yard with reference to the theft of a diamond and ruby ring from Lady
Dorothy Smith's wedding presents. The facts of the case were briefly
these: On Thursday evening such of the presents as were jewels had been
brought down from Lady Dorothy's bedroom to the drawing-room to be shown
to an admiring group of friends. The ring was amongst them. After they
had been shown, the jewels were taken upstairs once more and locked in
the safe. The next morning the ring was missing. Lestrade, after
investigating the matter, came to the conclusion that the ring had not
been stolen, but had either been dropped in the drawing-room, or
replaced in one of the other cases; but since he had searched the room
and the remaining cases, his theory so far received no support. I
accompanied him to Eaton Square to the residence of Lady Middlesex, Lady
Dorothy's mother.
While we were engaged in searching the drawing-room, Lestrade uttered a
cry of triumph and produced the ring from the lining of the arm-chair. I
told him he might enjoy the triumph, but that the matter was not quite
so simple as he seemed to think. A glance at the ring had shown me not
only that the stones were false, but that the false ring had been made
in a hurry. To deduce the name of its maker was of course child's play.
Lestrade or any pupil of Scotland Yard would have taken for granted it
was the same jeweller who had made the real ring. I asked for the
bridegroom's present, and in a short time I was interviewing the
jeweller who had provided it. As I thought, he had made a ring, with
imitation stones (made of the dust of real stones), a week ago, for a
young lady. She had given no name and had fetched and paid for it
herself. I deduced the obvious fact that Lady Dorothy had lost the real
ring, her uncle's gift, and, not daring to say so, had had an imitation
ring made. I returned to the house, where I found Lestrade, who had
called to make arrangements for watching the presents during their
exhibition.
I asked for Lady Dorothy, who at once said to me:
"The ring was found yesterday by Mr Lestrade."
"I know," I answered, "but which ring?"
She could not repress a slight twitch of the eyelids as she said:
"There was only one ring."
I told her of my discovery and of my investigations.
"This is a very odd coincidence, Mr Holmes," she said. "Some one else
must have ordered an imitation. But you shall examine my ring for
yourself." Where-upon she fetched the ring, and I saw it was no
imitation. She had of course in the meantime found the real ring.
But to my intense annoyance she took it to Lestrade and said to him:
"Isn't this the ring you found yesterday, Mr Lestrade?"
Lestrade examined it and said, "Of course it is absolutely identical in
every respect."
"And do you think it is an imitation?" asked this most provoking young
lady.
"Certainly not," said Lestrade, and turning to me he added: "Ah!
Holmes, that is where theory leads one. At the Yard we go in for facts."
I could say nothing; but as I said good-bye to Lady Dorothy, I
congratulated her on having found the real ring. The incident, although
it proved the correctness of my reasoning, was vexing as it gave that
ignorant blunderer an opportunity of crowing over me.
_January_ 10.--A man called just as Watson and I were having breakfast.
He didn't give his name. He asked me if I knew who he was. I said,
"Beyond seeing that you are unmarried, that you have travelled up this
morning from Sussex, that you have served in the French Army, that you
write for reviews, and are especially interested in the battles of the
Middle Ages, that you give lectures, that you are a Roman Catholic, and
that you have once been to Japan, I don't know who you are."
The man replied that he _was_ unmarried, but that he lived in
Manchester, that he had never been to Sussex or Japan, that he had never
written a line in his life, that he had never served in any army save
the English Territorial force, that so far from being a Roman Catholic
he was a Freemason, and that he was by trade an electrical engineer--I
suspected him of lying; and I asked him why his boots were covered with
the clayey and chalk mixture peculiar to Horsham; why his boots were
French Army service boots, elastic-sided, and bought probably at Valmy;
why the second half of a return ticket from Southwater was emerging from
his ticket-pocket; why he wore the medal of St Anthony on his
watch-chain; why he smoked Caporal cigarettes; why the proofs of an
article on the Battle of Eylau were protruding from his breast-pocket,
together with a copy of the _Tablet_; why he carried in his hand a
parcel which, owing to the untidy way in which it had been made (an
untidiness which, in harmony with the rest of his clothes, showed that
he could not be married) revealed the fact that it contained
photographic magic lantern slides; and why he was tattooed on the left
wrist with a Japanese fish.
"The reason I have come to consult you will explain some of these
things," he answered.
"I was staying last night at the Windsor Hotel, and this morning when I
woke up I found an entirely different set of clothes from my own. I
called the waiter and pointed this out, but neither the waiter nor any
of the other servants, after making full enquiries, were able to
account for the change. None of the other occupants of the hotel had
complained of anything being wrong with their own clothes.
"Two gentlemen had gone out early from the hotel at 7.30. One of them
had left for good, the other was expected to return.
"All the belongings I am wearing, including this parcel, which contains
slides, belong to someone else.
"My own things contained nothing valuable, and consisted of clothes and
boots very similar to these; my coat was also stuffed with papers. As to
the tattoo, it was done at a Turkish bath by a shampooer, who learnt the
trick in the Navy."
The case did not present any features of the slightest interest. I
merely advised the man to return to the hotel and await the real owner
of the clothes, who was evidently the man who had gone out at 7.30.
This is a case of my reasoning being, with one partial exception,
perfectly correct. Everything I had deduced would no doubt have fitted
the real owner of the clothes.
Watson asked rather irrelevantly why I had not noticed that the clothes
were not the man's own clothes.
A stupid question, as the clothes were reach-me-downs which fitted him
as well as such clothes ever do fit, and he was probably of the same
build as their rightful owner.
_January_ 12.--Found a carbuncle of unusual size in the plum-pudding.
Suspected the makings of an interesting case. But luckily, before I had
stated any hypothesis to Watson--who was greatly excited--Mrs Turner
came in and noticed it and said her naughty nephew Bill had been at his
tricks again, and that the red stone had come from a Christmas tree. Of
course, I had not examined the stone with my lens.
IX
FROM THE DIARY OF THE EMPEROR TITUS
Titus reginam Berenicem ... cui etiam nuptias
pollicitus ferebatur ... statim ab urbe demisit invitus
invitam. --TACITUS.
_Rome, Monday_.--The eruption at Vesuvius does not after all appear to
have been greatly exaggerated, as I at first had thought on receiving
Pliny's graphic letter. One never can quite trust literary men when
facts are in question. It is clear that I missed a very fine and
interesting spectacle. In fact I have lost a day. Good phrase, that.
Must try and bring it in some time or other.
_Tuesday_.--I fear there is no doubt of Berenice's growing
unpopularity. It is tiresome, as I was hoping that the marriage might
take place soon--quietly. She insists on wearing a diadem--which is
unnecessary; and her earrings--made of emeralds and gold cupids--are too
large. She asked me, to-day, if I didn't think she resembled the Rose of
Sharon. I said I supposed she meant the rose of Paestum. She said, "Ah!
You've never read the Song of Songs." I said I had read all Sappho. She
said, "It's not by Sappho, it's by Solomon." I had no idea King Solomon
wrote.
_Wednesday_.--Berenice has asked some of her relations to stay with her.
They arrived this morning. Her mother, her sister, her younger brother,
and her cousin. They are very conversational. They chatter together like
parrots or cockatoos. They are also insatiably inquisitive. Talked
finance with Paulinus. He says that the Treasury is practically empty.
Nobody in the palace appears to have any ready money. When the usual
crowd of beggars came to the palace this evening for their daily
allowance I had to send them away. It was the first time, Paulinus
remarked, that I had let a day go by without making a gift. "Yes," I
answered, "I have lost a day." The phrase, I am glad to say, was heard
by everybody. I afterwards borrowed a little money from Berenice's
brother, who made no difficulties. He is a nice, generous lad, if a
little talkative, but then we all of us have our faults. Berenice's
mother loses no opportunity of asking when the wedding day is to be.
Most awkward. I temporised.
_Thursday_.--Berenice's relations have spread the news in the Court, by
telling it to one of the matrons in strict confidence, that I am about
to marry Berenice almost immediately. This is most unfortunate. The news
has created a sensation, and they all say that such a match would be
more than unpopular amongst the people. Berenice has not mentioned it
herself. Lost heavily at dice yesterday. Accepted the offer of
Berenice's brother to lend me a lump sum, instead of constantly
borrowing small coins. I have no doubt that is the wiser course.
_Thursday, a week later_.--The strain on my purse is terrible. Had, of
course, to subscribe largely to the Pompeii and Herculaneum fund, also
to the pestilence relief, also to the Flavian Amphitheatre fund.
Borrowed another lump sum from Berenice's brother. He is certainly very
good-natured. Berenice's mother again referred to the marriage
question. I said this was an unlucky month for marriages. "Not if you
are born in December," she answered. Unfortunately I was born in
December.
_Friday_.--Do not know where to turn for money. Do not always want to be
borrowing from Berenice's brother. Somehow or other it makes them all so
familiar. Given the circumstances, and the extreme unpopularity of their
presence here, it is awkward. Besides, it is a shame to trade on the
good-nature of a youth. Have sold all the decorations of the Imperial
residence and devoted a portion of the proceeds to the Relief Fund. Some
one spread the rumour among the dear people that I had devoted the whole
of the money to the Relief Fund. I cannot think how these rumours get
about.
_Saturday, a week later_.--This has been a most expensive fortnight.
Have had to do a lot of entertaining, and I regret to say I have been
once more obliged to borrow a lump sum from Berenice's brother. How I
shall ever be able to pay him back the gods alone know! Had the news of
my marriage unofficially announced, followed immediately by a
semi-official and ambiguous denial, made to see what effect the news
would have among the public. Paulinus says the impression produced was
deplorable. The Romans cannot, he says, forget that Berenice is a queen.
Of course they can't, if she will wear a crown. People say, he says,
that even Nero and Caligula avoided offending public opinion on this
point. They refer also to Julius Cæsar's action on the Lupercal. There
is no doubt that such a course will ensure me a lasting unpopularity.
But what is to be done? Berenice's relations talk of the marriage as a
matter of course. I have practically promised marriage. Berenice herself
says nothing, but her silence is eloquent. Her brother becomes more and
more familiar, and presses me to accept further loans. I do my best to
refuse, and I have made a vow that the lump sum which he lent me to-day
shall be positively the last one.
_Monday_.--Paulinus tells me that the Senate have decided to present me
with a monster petition against my marriage. Since it is obviously
impossible--owing to the strong feeling raised and the present excited
state of popular opinion--I have resolved to anticipate events, and I
have given leave to Paulinus to contradict _officially_ the rumours of
my impending marriage. He is to add (unofficially) that Berenice is
shortly leaving Rome for change of air; and that she will probably
spend the summer months in her charming villa on the Dead Sea. In the
meantime I have got to break the news to Berenice before to-morrow
morning. Antiochus, the king of Commagene, arrived here this morning.
More expense!
_Monday night, later_.--The crisis is partially over. It has been
extremely painful. Berenice at first was incredulous. Then she was
upset, and left me, threatening to kill herself. I sent Paulinus to try
and calm her. She then said she would leave Rome without setting eyes on
me again, and state her reasons in an open letter which she would issue
for private circulation only. This, of course, would have been most
undesirable. Her mother and sister backed her up, and threw up at me the
example of Antony, taunting me with cowardice, of being afraid of the
Senate, and of outraging the dignity of a family, royal in rank, and of
immemorial lineage. (Berenice is directly descended from King Solomon on
her mother's side.) Finally, Berenice's brother came to me and said that
as he would shortly be leaving Rome he would be obliged if I could pay
him back the trifling loans he had favoured me with. He brought a list
of them. He charges interest. It is a tradition, he says, in his family,
to charge 90 per cent, interest on _Royal_ loans. He said that he was
quite willing to apply to the Senate, if the reimbursement in any way
incommoded me. This was a great shock to me. Immediate repayment was and
is impossible. The marriage is equally impossible. I told Berenice
frankly that I could not remain in Rome as Emperor and the husband of a
foreign _Queen_. She said, "But why shouldn't I be Empress?" Woman-like,
she missed the point. I said I was willing to follow her to her villa
and renounce all claim to the Empire. Having offered her this
alternative, I summoned Antiochus, who is an old friend of hers, to be
the arbiter. As soon as the facts were put before him I left them and
Antiochus had a lengthy interview with Berenice in private. I was
convinced this was the best course. At the end of it, Berenice
generously refused to accept my sacrifice, and while renouncing all idea
of self-slaughter or retaliation announced her intention of leaving
Rome. But those loans! and their terrible interest! that matter is still
unsettled!
_Tuesday_.--All has been settled. Antiochus has lent me the whole sum
due to Berenice's brother, and a handsome margin for my personal use. I
restored the interest and capital of the loan to Berenice's brother.
Said farewell to the family before the whole Court, and handed
Berenice's brother a fine gold chain as a slight token of my esteem.
"This," he said, "is too much." "No man," I answered, "should leave his
prince's presence dissatisfied." Hereupon the whole Court murmured
applause, and by a slight gesture I indicated that the audience was at
an end. Berenice, alas! left Rome at noon, escorted by Antiochus, who is
to spend the summer with her in Palestine. To-day I can say in all
conscientiousness that I have not lost a day; but it seems to me that I
have lost everything else that there is to lose in this life.
X
FROM THE DIARY OF HARRIET SHELLEY
_George Street, Edinburgh, September_ 6, 1811.--Mr Hogg arrived this
morning. He seemed at first to be quite oblivious of the fact that he
was in the city of the unfortunate Queen Mary. Bysshe and I conducted
him to the palace of Holyrood immediately, where we inspected the
instructive and elegant series of portraits of the Scottish kings. I was
much affected by the sight of the unfortunate Queen's bedroom.
Mr Hogg has not been well grounded in history; and he was on more than
one occasion inaccurate. He had never heard of Fergus the Just. Bysshe
was much moved, and enchanted by the objects of interest. He ran through
the rooms at a great pace, now and then pointing back at an object of
interest and exclaiming: "That is good." I regretted the absence of
Eliza, but perhaps it is as well that she was not with us on this
occasion. She would not have permitted me to contemplate the tragic
stain of Rizzio's wound, for fear of the effect the sight might have on
my nerves. Mr Hogg was strangely insensible to the sorrowful
associations of the spot.
After we had inspected the rooms and the relics, Bysshe with intent, I,
with renewed awe, and Mr Hogg with a somewhat inopportune levity, Bysshe
was obliged to go home and write letters, and so I suggested that Mr
Hogg should conduct me to Arthur's Seat, in order to enjoy the sublime
prospect which that eminence commands.
So sublime, so grand, so inspiring was the view that even Mr Hogg was
impressed. As for myself, words fail to express the manifold and
conflicting emotions which were stirred in my breast. The weather was
fine, clear and tranquil; but alas! no sooner had we started on our
descent than the wind began to blow with great violence. It was of
course impossible for me in such circumstances to risk the impropriety
which might be occasioned, had the wind, as was only too probable, so
disturbed my dress as to reveal to my companion the indelicate spectacle
of my decently concealed ankles, so I seated myself on a rock resolving
to wait until the violence of the wind should subside. Mr Hogg, who laid
unnecessary stress on the fact that he had not dined on either of the
preceding days, and being deficient in a proper sense of delicacy and
seemliness, vowed he would desert me and proceed home by himself. To my
dismay he began to carry his threat into execution, and it was with the
utmost difficulty that I succeeded in accomplishing the descent without
affording him any unseemly exhibition.