arehidden
away
under
their
roofs
.
Then
they
do
not
break
its
claim
with
either
their
mirth
or
their
brutality
;
then
the
vile
and
revolting
coarseness
of
their
works
,
that
blot
it
with
so
much
deformity
,
is
softened
and
obscured
in
the
purple
breadths
of
shadow
and
the
dim
tender
gleam
of
stars
;
and
it
was
then
that
he
loved
best
to
move
abroad
.
Sometimes
the
shepherd
going
to
his
flocks
,
or
the
housewife
opening
her
shutter
in
the
wayside
cabin
,
or
the
huckster
driving
early
his
mule
seawards
to
meet
the
fish
that
the
night‐trawlers
had
brought
,
saw
them
together
thus
,
and
talked
of
it
;
and
said
that
these
two
,
accursed
of
all
honest
folk
,
were
after
some
unholy
work
—
coming
from
the
orgy
of
some
witches’
sabbath
,
or
seeking
some
devil’s
root
that
would
give
them
the
treasured
gold
of
misers’
tombs
,
or
the
powers
of
life
and
death
.
For
these
things
are
still
believed
by
many
a
peasant’s
hearth
,
and
whispered
darkly
as
night
closes
in
and
the
wind
rises
.
Wading
in
the
shallow
streams
,
with
the
breeze
tossing
her
hair
,
and
the
dew
bright
on
her
sheaf
of
herbs
,
Folle‐Farine
paid
thus
the
only
wages
that
she
could
for
leaning
the
art
of
letters
.
One
day
he
had
said
to
her
,
half
unconsciously
,
“
If
only
you
were
not
so
ignorant
!
”
—
and
since
that
day
she
had
set
herself
to
clear
away
her
ignorance
little
by
little
,
as
she
would
have
cleared
brushwood
with
her
hatchet
.
It
was
the
sweetest
hour
which
she
had
ever
known
when
she
was
able
to
stand
before
him
and
say
,
“
The
characters
that
men
print
are
no
longer
riddles
to
me
.
”
He
praised
her
;
and
she
was
glad
and
proud
.
It
was
love
that
had
entered
into
her
,
but
a
great
love
,
full
of
intense
humility
,
of
supreme
self‐sacrifice
;
a
love
that
unconsciously
led
her
to
chasten
into
gentleness
the
fierce
soul
in
her
,
and
to
try
and
seek
light
for
the
darkness
of
her
mind
.
He
saw
the
influence
he
had
on
her
,
but
he
was
careless
of
it
.
A
gipsy‐child
working
for
bread
at
a
little
mill‐house
in
these
Norman
woods
,
—
what
use
would
be
to
her
beauty
of
thought
,
grace
of
fancy
,
the
desire
begotten
of
knowledge
,
the
poetry
learned
from
the
past
?
Still
,
he
gave
her
these
;
partly
because
he
pitied
her
,
partly
because
in
his
exhaustion
and
solitude
this
creature
,
in
her
beauty
and
her
submission
,
was
welcome
to
him
.
And
yet
he
thought
so
little
of
her
,
and
chiefly
,
when
he
thought
of
her
,
chose
to
perplex
her
or
to
wound
her
,
that
he
might
see
her
eyes
dilate
in
wondering
amaze
,
or
her
face
quiver
and
flush
,
and
then
grow
dark
,
with
the
torment
of
a
mute
and
subdued
pain
.
She
was
a
study
to
him
,
as
was
the
scarlet
rose
in
the
garden
ways
,
or
the
purple‐breasted
pigeon
in
the
woods
;
he
dealt
with
her
as
he
would
have
dealt
with
the
flower
or
the
bird
if
he
had
wished
to
study
them
more
nearly
,
by
tearing
the
rose
open
at
its
core
,
or
casting
a
stone
at
the
blue‐rock
on
the
wing
.
This
was
not
cruelty
in
him
;
it
was
only
habit
—
habit
,
and
the
callousness
begotten
by
his
own
continual
pain
.
The
pain
as
of
a
knife
for
ever
thrust
into
the
loins
,
of
a
cord
for
ever
knotted
hard
about
the
temples
,
which
is
the
daily
and
nightly
penalty
of
those
mad
enough
to
believe
that
they
have
the
force
in
them
to
change
the
sluggard
appetites
and
the
hungry
cruelties
of
their
kind
into
a
life
of
high
endeavour
and
divine
desire
.
He
held
that
a
man’s
chief
passion
is
his
destiny
,
and
will
shape
his
fate
,
roughhew
his
fate
as
circumstance
or
as
hazard
may
.
His
chief
,
his
sole
passion
was
a
great
ambition
—
a
passion
pure
as
crystal
,
since
the
eminence
he
craved
was
for
his
creations
,
not
for
his
name
:
yet
it
had
failed
to
compel
the
destiny
that
he
believed
to
be
his
own
;
and
every
hour
he
seemed
to
sink
lower
and
lower
into
oblivion
,
further
and
further
from
the
possibility
of
any
fulfillment
of
his
dreams
;
and
the
wasted
years
of
his
life
fell
away
one
by
one
into
the
gulf
of
the
past
,
vain
,
unheard
,
unfruitful
,
as
the
frozen
words
on
the
deck
of
the
ship
of
Pantagruel
.
“
What
is
the
use
?
”
he
muttered
,
half
aloud
,
one
day
before
his
paintings
.
“
What
is
the
use
?
If
I
die
tomorrow
they
will
sell
for
so
much
rubbish
to
heat
a
bakery
store
.
It
is
only
a
mad
waste
of
hours
—
waste
of
colour
,
of
canvas
,
of
labour
.
The
world
has
told
me
so
,
many
years
.
The
world
always
knows
what
it
wants
.
It
selects
unerringly
.
It
must
judge
better
than
I
do
.
The
man
is
a
fool
,
indeed
,
who
presumes
himself
to
be
wiser
than
all
his
generation
.
If
the
world
will
have
nothing
to
do
with
you
,
go
and
hang
yourself
—
or
if
you
fear
to
do
that
,
dig
a
ditch
or
a
grave
for
a
daily
meal
.
Give
over
dreams
.
The
world
knows
what
it
wants
,
and
if
it
wanted
you
would
take
you
.
It
has
brazen
lungs
to
shout
for
what
it
needs
;
the
lungs
of
a
multitude
.
It
is
no
use
what
your
own
voice
whispers
you
unless
those
great
lungs
also
shout
before
you
,
Hosannah
.
”
So
he
spoke
to
himself
in
the
bitterness
of
his
soul
,
standing
before
his
cartoons
in
which
he
had
put
all
the
genius
there
was
in
him
,
and
which
hung
there
unseen
save
by
the
spider
that
wove
and
the
moth
that
flew
over
them
.
Folle‐Farine
,
who
was
that
day
in
his
chamber
,
looked
at
him
with
the
wistful
far‐reaching
comprehension
which
an
unerring
instinct
taught
her
.
“
Of
a
winter
night
,
”
she
said
,
slowly
,
“
I
have
heard
old
Pitchou
read
aloud
to
Flamma
,
and
she
reads
of
their
God
,
the
one
they
hang
everywhere
on
the
crosses
here
;
and
the
story
ran
that
the
populace
scourged
and
nailed
to
death
the
one
whom
they
knew
afterwards
,
when
too
late
,
to
have
been
the
great
man
that
they
looked
for
,
and
that
,
being
bidden
to
make
their
choice
of
one
to
save
,
they
chose
to
ransom
and
honour
a
thief
:
one
called
Barabbas
.
Is
it
true
?
—
If
the
world’s
choice
were
wrong
once
,
why
not
twice
?
”
Arslàn
smiled
;
the
smile
she
knew
so
well
,
and
which
had
no
more
warmth
than
the
ice
floes
of
his
native
seas
.
“
Why
not
twice
?
Why
not
a
thousand
times
?
A
thief
has
the
world’s
sympathies
always
.
It
is
always
the
Barabbas
—
the
trickster
in
talent
,
the
forger
of
stolen
wisdom
,
the
bravo
of
political
crime
,
the
huckster
of
plundered
thoughts
,
the
charlatan
of
false
art
,
whom
the
vox
populi
elects
and
sets
free
,
and
sends
on
his
way
rejoicing
.
‘Will
ye
have
Christ
or
Barrabas
?
’
Every
generation
is
asked
the
same
question
,
and
every
generation
gives
the
same
answer
;
and
scourges
the
divinity
out
of
its
midst
,
and
finds
its
idol
in
brute
force
and
low
greed
.
”
She
only
dimly
comprehended
,
not
well
knowing
why
her
words
had
thus
roused
him
.
She
pondered
awhile
,
then
her
face
cleared
.
“
But
the
end
?
”
she
asked
.
“
The
dead
God
is
the
God
of
all
these
people
round
us
now
,
and
they
have
built
great
places
in
his
honour
,
and
they
bow
when
they
pass
his
likeness
in
the
highway
or
the
market
place
.
But
with
Barabbas
—
what
was
the
end
?
It
seems
that
they
loathe
and
despise
him
?
”
Arslàn
laughed
a
little
.
“
His
end
?
In
Syria
maybe
the
vultures
picked
his
bones
,
where
they
lay
whitening
on
the
plains
—
those
times
were
primitive
,
the
world
was
young
.
But
in
our
day
Barabbas
lives
and
dies
in
honour
,
and
has
a
tomb
that
stares
all
men
in
the
face
,
setting
forth
his
virtues
,
so
that
all
who
run
may
read
.
In
our
day
Barabbas
—
the
Barabbas
of
money
greeds
and
delicate
cunning
,
and
the
theft
which
has
risen
to
science
,
and
the
assassination
that
kills
souls
and
not
bodies
,
and
the
crime
that
deals
moral
death
and
not
material
death
—
our
Barabbas
,
who
is
crowned
Fraud
in
the
place
of
mailed
Force
—
lives
always
in
purple
and
fine
linen
,
and
ends
in
the
odours
of
sanctity
with
the
prayers
of
priests
over
his
corpse
.
”
He
spoke
with
a
certain
fierce
passion
that
rose
in
him
whenever
he
thought
of
that
world
which
had
rejected
him
,
and
had
accepted
so
many
others
,
weaker
in
brain
and
nerve
,
but
stronger
in
one
sense
,
because
more
dishonest
;
and
as
he
spoke
he
went
straight
to
a
wall
on
his
right
where
a
great
sea
of
grey
paper
was
stretched
,
untouched
,
and
ready
to
his
hand
.
She
would
have
spoken
,
but
he
made
a
motion
to
silence
.
“
Hush
!
be
quiet
,
”
he
said
to
her
,
almost
harshly
,
“
I
have
thought
of
something
.
”
And
he
took
the
charcoal
and
swept
rapidly
with
it
over
the
dull
blank
surface
till
the
vacancy
glowed
with
life
.
A
thought
had
kindled
in
him
;
a
vision
had
arisen
before
him
.
The
scene
around
him
vanished
utterly
from
his
sight
.
The
grey
stone
walls
,
the
square
windows
through
which
the
fading
sun
rays
fell
,
the
level
pastures
and
sullen
streams
,
and
paled
skies
without
;
all
faded
away
as
though
they
had
existed
only
in
a
dream
.
All
the
empty
space
about
him
became
peopled
with
many
human
shapes
that
for
him
had
breath
and
being
,
though
no
other
eye
could
have
beheld
them
.
The
old
Syrian
world
of
eighteen
hundred
years
before
arose
and
glowed
before
him
.
The
things
of
his
own
life
died
away
,
and
in
their
stead
he
saw
the
fierce
flame
of
eastern
suns
,
the
gleaming
range
of
marble
palaces
,
the
purple
flush
of
pomegranate
flowers
,
the
deep
colour
of
oriental
robes
,
the
soft
silver
of
hills
olive
crested
,
the
tumult
of
a
city
at
high
festival
.
And
he
could
not
rest
until
all
he
thus
saw
in
his
vision
he
had
rendered
as
far
as
his
hand
could
render
it
;
and
what
he
drew
was
this
.
A
great
thirsty
,
heated
,
seething
crowd
;
a
crowd
that
had
manhood
and
womanhood
,
age
and
infancy
,
youths
and
maidens
,
within
its
ranks
;
a
crowd
in
whose
faces
every
animal
lust
and
every
human
passion
were
let
loose
;
a
crowd
on
which
a
noon
sun
without
shadow
streamed
;
a
sun
which
parched
and
festered
and
engendered
all
corruption
in
the
land
on
which
it
looked
.
This
crowd
was
in
a
city
,
a
city
on
whose
flat
roofs
the
myrtle
and
the
cistus
bloomed
;
above
whose
walls
the
plumes
of
olives
waved
;
upon
whose
distant
slopes
the
darkling
cedar
groves
rose
straight
against
the
sky
,
and
on
whose
loft
temple
plates
of
gold
glistened
against
the
shining
heavens
.
This
crowd
had
scourges
,
and
stones
,
and
goads
in
their
hands
;
and
in
their
midst
they
led
one
clothed
in
white
,
whose
head
was
thorn‐crowned
,
and
whose
eyes
were
filled
with
a
god’s
pity
and
a
man’s
reproach
;
and
him
they
stoned
,
and
lashed
,
and
hooted
.
And
triumphant
in
the
throng
,
whose
choice
he
was
,
seated
aloft
upon
men’s
shoulders
,
with
a
purple
robe
thrown
on
his
shoulders
,
there
sat
a
brawny
,
grinning
,
bloated
,
jibbering
thing
,
with
curled
lips
and
savage
eyes
,
and
satyr’s
leer
:
the
creature
of
greed
,
of
lust
,
of
obscenity
,
of
brutality
,
of
avarice
,
of
desire
.
This
thing
the
people
followed
,
rejoicing
exceedingly
,
content
in
the
guide
whom
they
had
chosen
,
victorious
in
the
fiend
for
whom
they
spurned
a
deity
;
crying
,
with
wide‐open
throats
and
brazen
lungs
,
“
Barabbas
!
”
There
was
not
a
form
in
all
this
close‐packed
throng
which
had
not
a
terrible
irony
in
it
,
which
was
not
in
itself
a
symbol
of
some
appetite
or
vice
,
for
which
women
and
men
abjure
the
godhead
in
them
.
A
gorged
drunkard
lay
asleep
with
his
amphora
broken
beneath
him
,
the
stream
of
the
purple
wine
lapped
eagerly
by
ragged
children
.
A
money‐changer
had
left
the
receipt
of
custom
,
eager
to
watch
and
shout
,
and
a
thief
clutched
both
hands
full
of
the
forsaken
coins
and
fled
.
A
miser
had
dropped
a
bag
of
gold
,
and
stopped
to
catch
at
all
the
rolling
pieces
,
regardless
in
his
greed
how
the
crowd
trampled
and
trod
on
him
.
A
mother
chid
and
struck
her
little
brown
curly
child
,
because
he
stretched
his
arms
and
turned
his
face
towards
the
thorn‐crowned
captive
.
A
priest
of
the
temple
,
with
a
blood‐stained
knife
thrust
in
his
girdle
,
dragged
beside
him
,
by
the
throat
,
a
little
tender
lamb
doomed
for
the
sacrifice
.
A
dancing
woman
with
jewels
in
her
ears
,
and
half
naked
to
the
waist
,
sounding
the
brazen
cymbals
above
her
head
,
drew
a
score
of
youths
after
her
in
Barabbas’
train
.
On
one
of
the
flat
roof
tops
,
reclining
on
purple
and
fine
linen
,
looking
down
on
the
street
below
from
the
thick
foliage
of
her
citron
boughs
and
her
red
Syrian
roses
,
was
an
Egyptian
wanton
;
and
leaning
beside
her
,
tossing
golden
apples
in
her
bosom
,
was
a
young
centurion
of
the
Roman
guard
,
languid
and
laughing
,
with
his
fair
chest
bare
to
the
heat
,
and
his
armour
flung
in
a
pile
beside
him
.
And
thus
,
in
like
manner
,
every
figure
bore
its
parable
:
and
above
all
was
the
hard
,
hot
,
cruel
,
cloudless
sky
of
blue
,
without
one
faintest
mist
to
break
its
horrible
serenity
,
whilst
high
in
the
azure
ether
and
against
the
sun
,
an
eagle
and
a
vulture
fought
,
locked
close
,
and
tearing
at
each
other’s
breasts
.
Six
nights
this
conception
occupied
him
.
His
days
were
not
his
own
,
he
spent
them
in
a
rough
mechanical
labour
which
his
strength
executed
while
his
mind
was
far
away
from
it
;
but
the
nights
were
all
his
,
and
at
the
end
of
the
sixth
night
the
thing
arose
,
perfect
as
far
as
his
hand
could
perfect
it
;
begotten
by
a
chance
and
ignorant
word
as
have
been
many
of
the
greatest
works
the
world
has
seen
;
—
oaks
sprung
from
the
acorn
a
careless
child
has
let
fall
.
When
he
had
finished
it
his
arm
dropped
to
his
side
,
he
stood
motionless
;
the
red
glow
of
the
dawn
lighting
the
depths
of
his
sleepless
eyes
.
The
artist
,
for
one
moment
of
ecstasy
,
realises
the
content
of
a
god
when
,
resting
from
his
labours
,
he
knows
that
those
labours
have
borne
their
full
fruit
.
It
is
only
for
a
moment
;
the
greater
the
artist
the
more
swiftly
will
discontent
and
misgiving
overtake
him
,
the
more
quickly
will
the
feebleness
of
his
execution
disgust
him
in
comparison
with
the
splendour
of
his
ideals
;
the
more
surely
will
he
—
though
the
world
ring
with
applause
for
him
—
be
enraged
and
derisive
and
impatient
at
himself
.
But
while
the
moment
lasts
it
is
a
rapture
;
keen
,
pure
,
intense
,
surpassing
every
other
.
In
it
,
fleeting
though
it
be
,
he
is
blessed
with
a
blessing
that
never
falls
on
any
other
creature
.
The
work
of
his
brain
and
of
his
hand
contents
him
,
—
it
is
the
purest
joy
on
earth
.
Arslàn
knew
that
joy
as
he
looked
on
the
work
for
which
he
had
given
up
sleep
,
and
absorbed
in
which
he
had
almost
forgotten
hunger
and
thirst
and
the
passage
of
time
.
He
had
known
no
rest
until
he
had
embodied
the
shapes
that
pursued
him
.
He
had
scarcely
spoken
,
barely
slumbered
an
hour
;
tired
out
,
consumed
with
restless
fever
,
weak
from
want
of
sleep
and
neglect
of
food
,
he
had
wrought
on
,
and
on
,
and
on
,
until
the
vision
as
he
had
beheld
it
lived
there
,
recorded
for
the
world
that
denied
him
.
As
he
looked
on
it
he
felt
his
own
strength
,
and
was
glad
:
he
had
faith
in
himself
,
though
he
had
faith
in
no
other
thing
;
he
ceased
to
care
what
other
fate
befell
him
,
so
that
only
this
supreme
power
of
creation
remained
with
him
.
His
lamp
died
out
;
the
bell
of
a
distant
clock
chimed
the
fourth
hour
of
the
passing
night
.
The
day
broke
in
the
east
,
beyond
the
grey
levels
of
the
fields
and
plains
;
the
dusky
crimson
of
the
dawn
rose
over
the
cool
dark
skies
;
the
light
of
the
morning
stars
came
in
and
touched
the
visage
of
his
fettered
Christ
;
—
all
the
rest
was
in
shadow
.
He
himself
remained
motionless
before
it
.
He
knew
that
in
it
lay
the
best
achievement
,
the
highest
utterance
,
the
truest
parable
,
that
the
genius
in
him
had
ever
conceived
and
put
forth
;
—
and
he
knew
too
that
he
was
as
powerless
to
raise
it
to
the
public
sight
of
men
as
though
he
were
stretched
dead
beneath
it
;
he
knew
that
there
would
be
none
to
heed
whether
it
rotted
there
in
the
dust
,
or
perished
by
moth
or
by
flame
;
unless
illness
should
befall
him
,
and
it
should
be
taken
with
the
rest
to
satisfy
some
petty
debt
of
bread
,
or
oil
,
or
fuel
.
There
,
on
the
wall
,
he
had
written
with
all
the
might
there
was
in
him
,
his
warning
to
the
age
in
which
he
lived
,
his
message
to
future
generations
,
his
claims
to
men’s
remembrance
after
death
:
and
there
were
none
to
see
,
none
to
read
,
none
to
ratify
his
heirship
.
Great
things
,
beautiful
things
,
things
of
wisdom
,
things
of
grace
,
things
terrible
in
their
scorn
and
divine
in
their
majesty
,
rose
up
about
him
,
incarnated
by
his
mind
and
his
hand
—
and
their
doom
was
to
fade
and
wither
without
leaving
one
human
mind
the
richer
for
their
story
,
one
human
soul
the
nobler
for
their
meaning
.
A
year
of
labour
,
and
the
cartoon
could
be
transferred
to
the
permanent
life
of
the
canvas
;
and
he
was
a
master
of
colour
,
and
loved
to
wrestle
with
its
intricacies
as
the
mariner
struggles
with
the
storm
.
“
But
what
were
the
use
?
”
he
pondered
as
he
stood
there
.
“
What
the
use
to
be
at
pains
to
give
it
its
full
life
on
canvas
?
No
man
will
ever
look
on
it
.
”
All
labours
of
his
art
were
dear
to
him
,
and
none
wearisome
:
yet
he
doubted
what
it
would
avail
to
commence
the
perpetuation
of
this
work
on
canvas
.
If
the
world
were
never
to
know
that
it
existed
,
it
would
be
as
well
to
leave
it
there
on
its
grey
sea
of
paper
,
to
be
moved
to
and
fro
with
each
wind
that
blew
through
the
broken
rafters
,
and
to
be
brushed
by
the
wing
of
the
owl
and
the
flittermouse
.
The
door
softly
unclosed
:
he
did
not
hear
it
.
Across
the
chamber
Folle‐Farine
stole
noiselessly
.
She
had
come
and
gone
thus
a
score
of
times
through
those
six
nights
of
his
vigil
;
and
he
had
seldom
seen
her
,
never
spoken
to
her
;
now
and
then
she
had
touched
him
,
and
placed
before
him
some
simple
meal
of
herbs
and
bread
,
and
he
had
taken
it
half
unconsciously
,
and
drunk
great
draughts
of
water
,
and
turned
back
again
to
his
work
,
not
noticing
that
she
had
brought
to
him
what
he
sorely
needed
,
and
yet
would
not
of
himself
have
remembered
.
She
came
to
him
without
haste
and
without
sound
,
and
stood
before
him
and
looked
;
—
looked
with
all
her
soul
in
her
awed
eyes
.
The
dawn
was
brighter
now
,
red
and
hazy
with
curious
faint
gleams
of
radiance
from
the
sun
,
that
as
yet
had
not
risen
.
All
the
light
there
was
fell
on
the
crowed
of
Jerusalem
.
She
stood
and
gazed
at
it
.
She
had
watched
it
all
grow
gradually
into
being
out
from
the
chaos
of
dull
spaces
and
confused
lines
.
This
art
,
which
could
call
life
from
the
dry
wastes
of
wood
and
paper
,
and
shed
perpetual
light
where
all
was
darkness
,
was
ever
to
her
an
alchemy
incomprehensible
,
immeasurable
;
a
thing
not
to
be
criticised
or
questioned
,
ut
adored
in
all
its
inscrutable
and
majestic
mystery
.
To
her
it
could
not
have
been
more
marvellous
if
his
hand
had
changed
the
river
sand
to
gold
,
or
his
touch
had
wakened
the
dead
cornflowers
to
bloom
afresh
as
living
asphodels
.
But
now
for
once
she
forgot
the
sorcery
of
the
art
in
the
terror
and
the
pathos
of
the
story
it
told
;
now
for
once
she
forgot
,
in
the
creation
,
its
creator
.
All
she
saw
was
the
face
of
the
Christ
,
—
the
pale
bent
face
,
in
whose
eyes
there
was
a
patience
so
perfect
,
a
pity
so
infinite
,
a
reproach
that
had
no
wrath
,
a
scorn
that
had
no
cruelty
.
She
had
hated
the
Christ
on
the
cross
,
because
he
was
the
God
of
the
people
she
hated
,
and
in
whose
name
they
reviled
her
.
But
this
Christ
moved
her
strangely
—
there
,
in
the
light
,
alone
;
betrayed
and
forsaken
,
while
the
crowd
rushed
on
,
lauding
Barabbas
.
Ignorant
though
she
was
,
the
profound
meaning
of
the
parable
penetrated
her
with
their
ironies
and
with
their
woe
—
the
parable
of
the
genius
rejected
and
the
thief
exalted
.
She
trembled
and
was
silent
;
in
her
eyes
sudden
tears
swam
.
Arslàn
turned
and
looked
at
her
.
“
Does
it
move
you
so
?
”
he
said
,
slowly
.
“
Well
—
the
world
refuses
me
fame
;
but
I
do
not
know
that
the
world
could
give
me
a
higher
tribute
than
yours
.
”
“
The
world
?
”
she
echoed
.
“
The
world
?
You
care
for
the
world
—
you
?
—
who
have
painted
that
?
”
Arslàn
did
not
answer
her
:
he
felt
the
rebuke
.
He
had
drawn
the
picture
in
all
its
deadly
irony
,
in
all
its
pitiless
truth
,
only
himself
to
desire
and
strive
for
the
wine
streams
,
and
the
painted
harlotry
,
and
the
showers
of
gold
,
and
the
false
gods
,
of
a
worldly
success
.
Was
he
a
renegade
to
his
own
religion
;
a
sceptic
of
his
own
teaching
?
It
was
not
for
the
first
time
that
the
dreamy
utterances
of
this
untrained
and
imperfect
intelligence
had
struck
home
to
the
imperious
and
mature
intellect
of
the
man
of
genius
.
He
flung
his
charcoal
away
,
and
looked
at
the
sun
as
it
rose
.
“
Care
?
I
?
”
he
answered
her
.
“
We
,
who
call
ourselves
poets
or
painters
,
can
see
the
truth
and
can
tell
it
—
we
are
prophets
so
far
;
but
when
we
come
down
from
our
Horeb
we
hanker
for
the
flesh‐pots
and
the
dancing
women
,
and
the
bags
of
gold
,
like
all
the
rest
.
We
are
no
better
than
those
we
preach
to
;
perhaps
we
are
worse
.
Our
eyes
are
set
to
the
light
;
but
our
feet
are
fixed
in
the
mire
.
”
She
did
not
hear
him
;
and
had
she
heard
,
would
not
have
comprehended
.
Her
eyes
were
still
fastened
on
the
picture
,
and
the
blood
in
her
cheeks
faded
and
glowed
at
every
breath
she
drew
,
and
in
her
eye
there
was
the
wistful
wondering
,
trustful
reverence
,
which
shone
in
those
of
the
child
,
who
,
breaking
from
his
mother’s
arms
,
and
regardless
of
the
soldier’s
stripes
,
clung
to
the
feet
of
the
scourged
captive
,
and
there
kneeled
and
prayed
.
Without
looking
at
her
,
Arslàn
went
out
to
his
daily
labour
on
the
waters
.
The
sun
had
fully
risen
;
the
day
was
red
and
clear
;
the
earth
was
hushed
in
perfect
stillness
,
the
only
sounds
there
were
came
from
the
wings
and
voices
of
innumerable
birds
.
“
And
yet
I
desire
nothing
for
myself
,
”
he
thought
.
“
I
would
lie
down
and
die
to‐morrow
,
gladly
,
did
I
know
that
they
would
live
.
”
Yet
he
knew
that
to
desire
a
fame
after
death
,
was
as
idle
as
to
desire
,
with
a
child’s
desire
,
the
stars
.
For
the
earth
is
crowded
full
with
clay
gods
and
false
prophets
,
and
fresh
legions
for
ever
arriving
to
carry
on
the
old
strife
for
supremacy
;
and
if
a
man
pass
unknown
all
the
time
that
his
voice
is
audible
,
and
his
hand
visible
,
through
the
sound
and
smoke
of
the
battle
,
he
will
dream
in
vain
of
any
remembrance
when
the
gates
of
the
grave
shall
have
closed
on
him
and
shut
him
for
ever
from
sight
.
When
the
world
was
in
its
youth
,
it
had
leisure
to
treasure
its
recollections
;
even
to
pause
and
look
back
;
and
to
see
what
flower
of
a
fair
thought
,
what
fruit
of
a
noble
art
,
it
might
have
overlooked
or
left
down‐trodden
.
But
now
it
is
so
old
,
and
is
so
tired
;
it
is
purblind
and
heavy
of
foot
;
it
does
not
notice
what
it
destroys
;
it
desires
rest
,
and
can
find
none
;
nothing
can
matter
greatly
to
it
;
its
dead
are
so
many
that
it
cannot
count
them
;
and
being
thus
worn
and
dulled
with
age
,
and
suffocated
under
the
weight
of
its
innumberable
memories
,
it
is
very
slow
to
be
moved
,
and
swift
—
terribly
swift
—
to
forget
.
Why
should
it
not
be
?
It
has
known
the
best
,
it
has
known
the
worst
,
that
ever
can
befall
it
.
And
the
prayer
that
to
the
heart
of
a
man
seems
so
freshly
born
from
his
own
desire
,
what
is
it
on
the
weary
ear
of
the
world
,
save
the
same
old
,
old
cry
which
it
has
heard
through
all
the
ages
,
empty
as
the
sound
of
the
wind
,
and
for
ever
—
for
ever
—
unanswered
?
CHAPTER
VII
.
SHE
was
his
absolute
slave
;
and
he
used
his
influence
with
little
scruple
.
Whatever
he
told
her
she
believed
:
whatever
he
desired
,
she
obeyed
.
With
little
effort
Arslàn
persuaded
her
that
to
lend
her
beauty
to
the
purpose
of
his
art
was
a
sacrifice
pure
and
supreme
;
repaid
,
it
might
be
,
with
immortality
,
like
the
immortality
of
the
Mona
Lisa
.
It
was
ever
painful
and
even
loathsome
to
her
to
give
her
beauty
to
the
merciless
imitations
of
art
;
it
stung
the
dignity
and
purity
that
were
inborn
in
the
daughter
of
an
outlawed
people
;
it
wounded
,
and
hurt
,
and
humiliated
her
.
She
knew
that
these
things
were
only
done
that
one
day
the
eyes
of
thousands
and
of
tens
of
thousands
might
gaze
on
them
;
and
the
knowledge
was
hateful
to
her
.
But
as
she
would
have
hewn
wood
or
carried
water
for
him
,
as
she
would
have
denied
her
lips
the
least
morsel
of
bread
that
his
might
have
fed
thereon
,
as
she
would
have
gone
straight
to
the
river’s
edge
at
his
bidding
,
and
have
stood
still
for
the
stream
to
swell
and
the
floods
to
cover
her
,
so
she
obeyed
him
,
and
let
him
make
of
her
what
he
would
.
He
painted
or
sketched
her
in
nearly
every
attitude
,
and
rendered
her
the
centre
of
innumerable
stories
.
He
placed
her
form
in
the
crowd
of
dancing‐women
that
followed
after
Barabbas
.
He
took
her
for
Persephone
,
as
for
Phryne
.
He
couched
her
on
the
bleak
rocks
and
the
sea‐sands
of
barren
Tenedos
.
He
made
her
beauty
burn
through
the
purple
passion
vines
and
the
roses
of
silence
of
the
Venusberg
.
He
pourtrayed
her
as
Daphne
,
with
all
her
soft
human
form
changing
and
merging
into
the
bitter
roots
and
the
poisonous
leaves
of
the
laurel
that
was
the
fruit
of
love
.
He
drew
her
as
Læna
,
whose
venal
lips
yet
,
being
purified
by
a
perfect
love
,
were
sealed
mute
unto
death
,
and
for
love’s
sake
spake
not
.
He
sketched
her
in
a
hundred
shapes
and
for
a
hundred
stories
,
taking
her
wild
deer‐like
grace
,
and
her
supple
mountain‐bred
strength
,
and
her
beauty
that
had
all
the
richness
and
the
freshness
that
sun
and
wind
and
rain
and
the
dews
of
the
nights
can
give
,
taking
these
as
he
in
other
years
had
taken
the
bloom
of
the
grape
,
the
blush
of
the
sea‐shell
,
the
red
glow
of
the
desert
reed
,
the
fleeting
glory
of
anything
that
,
by
its
life
or
by
its
death
,
would
minister
to
his
dreams
or
his
desires
.
Of
all
the
studies
he
made
from
her
—
he
all
the
while
cold
to
her
as
any
priest
of
old
to
the
bird
that
he
seethed
in
its
blood
on
his
altars
of
sacrifice
,
—
those
which
were
slightest
of
all
,
yet
of
all
pleased
him
best
,
were
two
twin
studies
which
were
fullest
of
that
ruthless
and
unsparing
irony
with
which
in
every
stroke
of
his
pencil
he
cut
as
with
a
knife
into
the
humanity
he
dissected
.
In
the
first
,
he
painted
her
in
all
the
warm
,
dreaming
,
palpitating
slumber
of
youth
,
asleep
in
a
field
of
poppies
:
thousands
of
the
brilliant
blossoms
were
crushed
under
her
slender
,
pliant
,
folded
limbs
;
the
intense
scarlet
of
the
flowers
burned
everywhere
,
above
,
beneath
,
around
her
;
purple
shadow
and
amber
light
contended
for
the
mastery
upon
her
;
her
arms
were
lightly
tossed
above
her
head
;
her
mouth
smiled
in
her
dreams
;
over
her
a
butterfly
flew
,
spreading
golden
wings
to
the
sun
;
against
her
breast
the
great
crimson
cups
of
the
flowers
of
sleep
curled
and
glowed
;
amongst
them
,
hiding
and
gibbering
and
glaring
at
her
with
elfin
eyes
,
was
the
Red
Mouse
of
the
Brocken
—
the
one
touch
of
pitiless
irony
,
of
unsparing
cynicism
,
that
stole
like
a
snake
through
the
hush
and
the
harmony
and
the
innocence
of
repose
.
In
the
second
there
was
still
the
same
attitude
,
the
same
solitude
,
the
same
rest
,
but
the
sleep
was
the
sleep
of
death
.
Stretched
on
a
block
of
white
marble
,
there
were
the
same
limbs
,
but
livid
and
lifeless
,
and
twisted
in
the
contortions
of
a
last
agony
:
there
was
the
same
loveliness
,
but
on
it
the
hues
of
corruption
had
already
stolen
;
the
face
was
still
turned
upward
,
but
the
blank
eyes
stared
hideously
,
and
the
mouth
was
drawn
back
from
teeth
closely
clenched
;
upon
the
stone
there
lay
a
surgeon’s
knife
and
a
sculptor’s
scalpel
;
between
her
lips
the
Red
Mouse
sat
,
watching
,
mouthing
,
triumphant
.
All
the
beauty
was
left
still
,
but
it
was
left
ghastly
,
dis‐
coloured
,
ruined
,
—
ready
for
the
mockery
of
the
clay
,
for
the
violation
of
the
knife
,
—
ready
for
the
feast
of
the
blind‐worm
,
for
the
narrow
home
dug
in
darkness
and
in
dust
.
And
these
two
pictures
were
so
alike
and
yet
so
unlike
,
so
true
to
all
the
glory
of
youth
,
so
true
to
all
the
ghastliness
of
death
,
that
they
were
terrible
;
they
were
terrible
even
to
the
man
who
drew
them
with
so
unsparing
and
unfaltering
a
hand
.
Only
to
her
they
were
not
terrible
,
because
they
showed
his
power
,
because
they
were
his
will
and
work
.
She
had
no
share
in
the
shudder
,
which
even
he
felt
,
at
that
visible
presentment
of
corruption
to
which
her
beauty
in
its
human
perfection
was
destined
:
since
it
pleasured
him
to
do
it
,
that
was
all
she
cared
.
She
would
have
given
her
beauty
to
the
scourge
of
the
populace
,
or
to
the
fish
of
the
sea
,
at
his
bidding
.
She
had
not
asked
him
even
what
the
Red
Mouse
meant
.
She
was
content
that
he
should
deal
with
her
in
all
things
as
he
would
.
That
such
pourtrayals
of
her
were
cruel
she
never
once
thought
:
to
her
all
others
had
been
so
brutal
that
the
cruelties
of
Arslàn
seemed
soft
as
the
south
wind
.
To
be
for
one
instant
a
thing
in
the
least
wished
for
and
endeared
was
to
her
a
miracle
so
wonderful
,
and
so
undreamt
of
,
that
it
made
her
life
sublime
to
her
.
“
Is
that
all
the
devil
has
done
for
you
?
”
cried
the
gardener’s
wife
from
the
vine‐hung
lattice
,
leaning
out
while
the
boat
from
Yprès
went
down
the
water‐street
beneath
.
“
It
was
scarcely
worth
while
to
be
his
offspring
if
he
deal
you
no
better
gifts
than
that
.
He
is
as
niggard
as
the
saints
are
—
the
little
mean
beasts
.
Do
you
know
that
the
man
who
paints
you
brings
death
they
say
—
sooner
or
later
—
to
every
creature
that
lives
again
for
him
in
his
art
?
”
Folle‐Farine
,
beneath
the
dense
brown
shadows
cast
from
the
timbers
of
the
leaning
houses
,
raised
her
eyes
;
the
eyes
smiled
,
and
yet
they
had
a
look
in
them
that
chilled
even
the
mocking
,
careless
wanton
temper
of
the
woman
who
leaned
above
amongst
the
roses
.
“
I
have
heard
it
,
”
she
said
,
simply
,
as
her
oar
broke
the
shadows
.
“
And
you
have
no
fear
?
”
“
I
have
no
fear
.
”
The
gardener’s
wife
laughed
aloud
,
the
silver
pins
shaking
in
her
yellow
tresses
.
“
Well
—
the
devil
gives
strength
,
no
doubt
.
But
I
will
not
say
much
for
the
devil’s
wage
.
A
fine
office
he
set
you
—
his
daughter
—
to
lend
yourself
to
a
painter’s
eyes
like
any
wanton
that
he
could
hire
in
the
market‐place
for
a
drink
of
wine
.
If
the
devil
do
no
better
than
that
for
you
—
his
own
begotten
,
—
I
will
cleave
close
to
the
saints
and
the
angels
henceforth
,
though
they
do
take
all
the
gems
and
the
gold
and
the
lace
for
their
altars
,
and
bestow
so
little
in
answer
.
”
The
boat
had
passed
on
with
slow
and
even
measure
;
no
words
of
derision
which
they
could
cast
at
her
had
power
to
move
her
any
more
than
the
fret
of
the
ruffling
rooks
had
power
to
move
the
cathedral
spires
around
which
they
beat
with
their
wings
the
empty
air
.
The
old
dull
,
grey
routine
of
perpetual
toil
was
illumined
and
enriched
.
If
any
reviled
her
,
she
heard
not
.
If
any
flung
a
stone
at
her
,
she
caught
it
and
dropped
it
on
the
grass
,
and
went
on
with
a
glance
of
pardon
.
When
the
rude
children
ran
after
her
footsteps
bawling
and
mouthing
,
she
turned
and
looked
at
them
with
a
dreaming
tenderness
in
her
eyes
that
rebuked
them
and
held
them
silenced
and
afraid
.
Now
,
she
hated
none
;
nor
could
she
envy
any
.
The
women
were
welcome
to
their
little
joys
of
hearth
and
home
;
they
were
welcome
to
look
for
their
lovers
across
the
fields
with
smiling
eyes
shaded
from
the
sun
,
or
to
beckon
their
infants
from
the
dusky
orchards
to
murmur
fond
foolish
words
and
stroke
the
curls
of
flaxen
down
,
—
she
begrudged
them
nothing
:
she
,
too
,
had
her
portion
and
her
treasure
.
Base
usage
cannot
make
base
a
creature
that
gives
itself
nobly
,
purely
,
with
unutterable
and
exhaustless
love
;
and
whilst
the
people
in
the
country
round
muttered
at
her
for
her
vileness
and
disgrace
,
she
,
all
unwitting
and
made
proud
,
raised
high
above
the
reach
of
taunt
and
censure
by
a
deep
and
speechless
joy
that
rendered
hunger
,
and
labour
,
and
pain
,
and
brutal
tasks
,
and
jibing
glances
indifferent
to
her
—
nay
,
unfelt
—
went
on
her
daily
ways
with
a
light
richer
than
the
light
of
the
sun
in
her
eyes
,
and
in
her
step
the
noble
freedom
of
one
who
has
broken
from
bondage
and
entered
into
a
heritage
of
grace
.
She
was
proud
as
with
the
pride
of
one
selected
for
some
great
dignity
;
graced
with
the
grace
that
a
supreme
devotion
and
a
supreme
ignorance
made
possible
to
her
.
He
was
as
a
god
to
her
;
and
she
had
found
favour
in
his
sight
.
Although
by
all
others
despised
,
to
him
she
was
beautiful
;
a
thing
to
be
desired
,
not
abhorred
;
a
creature
not
cursed
for
daring
to
have
a
breath
of
mortal
life
,
but
thought
worthy
of
life
eternal
amidst
the
deathless
children
of
his
genius
.
It
seemed
to
her
so
wonderful
that
,
night
and
day
,
in
her
heart
she
praised
God
for
it
—
that
dim
unknown
God
of
whom
no
man
had
taught
her
,
but
whom
she
had
vaguely
grown
to
dream
of
and
to
honour
,
and
to
behold
in
the
setting
of
the
sun
,
and
in
the
flux
of
the
sea
,
and
in
the
mysteries
of
the
starlit
skies
.
Of
shame
to
her
in
it
she
had
no
thought
:
a
passion
strong
as
fire
in
its
force
,
pure
as
crystal
in
its
unselfishness
,
possessed
her
for
him
,
and
laid
her
at
his
feet
to
be
done
with
as
he
would
.
She
would
have
crouched
to
him
like
a
dog
;
she
would
have
worked
for
him
like
a
slave
;
she
would
have
killed
herself
if
he
had
bidden
her
without
a
word
of
resistance
or
a
moan
of
regret
.
To
be
touched
by
him
one
moment
as
his
hand
moved
some
wave
of
her
hair
or
some
fold
of
her
drapery
,
as
he
studied
an
outline
or
changed
an
attitude
,
was
to
her
the
greatest
glory
life
could
know
.
To
be
a
pleasure
to
him
for
one
hour
,
to
see
his
eyes
tell
her
once
,
however
carelessly
or
coldly
,
that
she
had
any
beauty
fit
for
his
pourtrayal
,
was
to
her
the
noblest
fate
that
could
befall
her
.
To
him
she
was
no
more
than
the
cluster
of
grapes
to
the
wayfarer
,
who
brushes
their
bloom
off
and
steals
their
sweetness
,
then
casts
them
down
to
be
trampled
on
,
by
whosoever
the
next
comer
be
.
But
to
this
creature
,
who
had
no
guide
except
her
instincts
of
passion
and
sacrifice
,
who
had
no
guard
except
the
pure
scorn
that
had
kept
her
from
the
meanness
and
coarseness
of
the
vices
around
her
,
this
was
unintelligible
,
unsuspected
;
and
if
she
had
understood
it
,
she
would
have
accepted
it
mutely
,
in
that
abject
humility
which
had
bent
the
dauntless
temper
in
her
to
his
will
.
To
be
of
use
to
him
,
—
to
be
held
of
any
worth
to
him
,
—
to
have
his
eyes
find
any
loveliness
to
study
in
her
,
—
to
be
to
him
only
as
the
flower
which
he
broke
from
the
stem
to
copy
its
bloom
on
his
canvas
,
and
then
cast
out
on
the
sand
to
wither
as
it
would
,
—
this
,
even
this
,
seemed
to
her
the
highest
fate
to
which
she
could
have
had
election
.
That
he
only
borrowed
the
colour
of
her
cheek
and
the
outline
of
her
limbs
,
as
he
had
borrowed
a
thousand
times
ere
then
the
venal
charms
of
the
dancing‐women
of
taverns
and
play‐houses
,
and
the
hireling
graces
of
the
wanton
who
strayed
in
the
public
ways
,
was
a
knowledge
that
never
touched
her
with
its
indignity
.
To
her
his
art
was
a
religion
,
supreme
,
passionless
,
eternal
,
whose
sacrificial
fires
ennobled
and
consecrated
all
that
they
consumed
.
“
Though
I
shall
die
as
the
leaf
dies
in
my
body
,
yet
I
shall
live
for
ever
embalmed
amidst
the
beauty
of
his
thoughts
,
”
she
told
herself
perpetually
,
and
all
her
life
became
transfigured
.
CHAPTER
VIII
.
ONE
day
,
while
the
year
was
still
young
,
though
the
first
thunder‐heats
of
the
early
summer
had
come
,
he
asked
her
to
go
with
him
to
the
sea
ere
the
sun
set
.
“
The
sea
!
”
she
repeated
.
“
What
is
that
?
”
“
Is
it
possible
that
you
do
not
know
?
”
he
asked
,
in
utter
wonder
—
“
you
who
have
lived
all
these
years
within
two
leagues
of
it
!
”
“
I
have
heard
of
it
,
”
she
said
,
simply
;
“
but
I
cannot
tell
what
it
is
.
”
“
The
man
has
never
lived
yet
who
could
tell
—
in
fit
language
.
Poseidon
is
the
only
one
of
all
the
old
gods
of
Hellas
who
still
lives
and
reigns
.
We
will
go
to
his
kingdom
.
Sight
is
better
than
speech
.
”
So
he
took
her
along
the
slow
course
of
the
inland
water
through
the
osiers
and
the
willows
,
down
to
where
the
slow
river‐ripples
would
meet
the
swift
salt
waves
.
It
was
true
what
she
had
said
,
that
she
had
never
even
beheld
the
sea
.
Her
errands
had
always
been
to
and
fro
between
the
mill
and
the
quay
in
the
town
,
no
farther
;
she
had
exchanged
so
little
communion
with
the
people
of
the
district
that
she
knew
nothing
of
whither
the
barges
went
that
took
away
the
corn
and
fruit
,
nor
whence
the
big
boats
came
that
brought
the
coals
and
fish
;
when
she
had
a
little
space
of
leisure
to
herself
she
had
wandered
indeed
but
never
so
far
as
the
shore
;
almost
always
in
the
woods
and
the
meadows
,
never
where
the
river
,
widening
as
it
ran
,
spread
out
between
level
banks
,
until
,
touching
the
sea
,
it
became
a
broad
estuary
.
She
had
heard
speak
of
the
sea
,
indeed
,
as
of
some
great
highway
on
which
men
travelled
incessantly
to
and
fro
;
as
of
something
unintelligible
,
remote
,
belonging
to
others
,
indifferent
and
alien
to
herself
.
When
she
had
thought
of
it
at
all
,
she
had
only
thought
of
it
as
probably
some
wide
canal
black
with
mud
and
dust
,
and
edged
by
dull
pathways
slippery
and
toilsome
,
along
which
tired
horses
towed
heavy
burdens
all
day
long
,
that
men
and
women
might
be
thereby
enriched
.
Of
the
beauty
and
the
mystery
,
of
the
infinite
sweetness
and
solace
of
the
sea
,
she
knew
no
more
than
she
knew
of
any
loveliness
or
of
any
pity
in
human
nature
.
A
few
leagues
off
,
where
the
stream
widened
into
a
bay
and
was
hemmed
in
by
sand‐banks
in
lieu
of
its
flat
green
pastures
,
there
was
a
little
fishing
town
,
built
under
the
great
curve
of
beetling
cliffs
,
and
busy
with
all
the
stir
and
noise
of
mart
and
wharf
.
There
the
sea
was
crowded
with
many
masts
and
ruddy
with
red‐brown
canvas
;
and
the
air
was
full
of
the
salt
scent
of
rotting
sea‐weed
,
of
stiff
sails
spread
out
to
dry
,
of
great
shoals
of
fish
poured
out
upon
the
beach
,
and
of
dusky
noisome
cabins
,
foul‐smelling
,
and
made
hideous
by
fish‐wives’
oaths
,
and
the
death‐screams
of
scalded
shell‐fish
.
He
did
not
take
her
thither
.
He
took
her
half‐way
down
the
stream
whilst
it
was
still
sleepily
beautiful
with
pale
grey
willows
and
green
meadow
land
,
and
acres
of
silvery
reeds
,
and
here
and
there
some
quaint
old
steeple
or
some
apple‐hidden
roofs
on
either
side
its
banks
.
But
midway
he
left
the
water
and
stretched
out
across
the
country
,
she
beside
him
,
moving
with
that
rapid
,
lithe
,
and
stag‐like
ease
of
limbs
which
have
never
known
restraint
.
Some
few
people
passed
them
on
their
way
;
a
child
,
taking
the
cliff‐road
to
his
home
under
the
rocks
,
with
a
big
blue
pitcher
in
his
hands
;
an
old
man
,
who
had
a
fishing‐brig
at
sea
and
toiled
up
there
to
look
for
her
,
with
a
grey
dog
at
his
heels
,
and
the
smell
of
salt‐water
in
his
clothes
;
a
goat‐herd
,
clad
in
rough
skins
wool
outward
,
and
killing
birds
with
stones
as
he
went
;
a
woman
,
with
a
blue
skirt
and
scarlet
hose
,
and
a
bundle
of
boughs
and
brambles
on
her
head
,
with
here
and
there
a
stray
winter
berry
glowing
red
through
the
tender
green
leafage
;
all
these
looked
askance
at
them
,
and
the
goat‐herd
muttered
a
curse
,
and
the
woman
a
prayer
,
and
gave
them
wide
way
through
the
stunted
furze
,
for
they
were
both
of
them
accursed
in
the
people’s
sight
.
“
You
find
it
hard
to
live
apart
from
your
kind
?
”
he
asked
her
suddenly
as
they
gained
the
fields
where
no
human
habitation
at
all
was
left
,
and
over
which
hung
,
in
the
radiance
of
the
sunlit
skies
,
the
pale
crescent
of
a
week‐old
moon
.
“
To
live
apart
?
”
—
she
did
not
understand
.
“
Yes
—
like
this
.
To
see
no
child
smile
,
to
hear
no
woman
gossip
,
no
man
exchange
good
morrow
with
you
.
Is
it
any
sorrow
to
you
?
”
Her
eyes
flashed
fiercely
.
“
What
does
it
matter
?
It
is
best
so
.
One
is
free
.
One
owes
nothing
—
not
so
much
as
a
fair
word
.
That
is
well
.
”
“
I
think
it
is
well
—
if
one
is
strong
enough
for
it
.
It
wants
strength
.
”
“
I
am
strong
.
”
She
spoke
quietly
,
with
the
firm
and
simple
consciousness
of
force
,
which
has
as
little
of
vanity
in
it
as
it
has
of
weakness
.
“
To
live
apart
,
”
she
said
,
after
a
pause
,
in
which
he
had
not
answered
.
“
I
know
what
you
mean
—
now
.
It
is
well
—
it
is
well
with
those
men
you
tell
me
of
when
the
world
was
young
,
who
left
all
other
men
and
went
to
live
with
the
watercourse
and
the
wild
dove
,
and
the
rose
and
the
palm
,
and
the
great
yellow
desert
;
was
it
not
well
?
”
“
So
well
with
them
that
men
worshipped
them
for
it
.
But
there
is
no
such
worship
now
.
The
cities
are
the
kingdom
of
heaven
;
not
the
deserts
;
and
he
who
hankers
for
the
wilderness
is
stoned
in
the
streets
as
a
fool
.
And
how
should
it
be
well
with
you
,
who
have
neither
wild
rose
nor
wild
dove
for
compensation
,
but
are
only
beaten
and
hooted
,
and
hated
and
despised
?
”
Her
eyes
glittered
,
and
her
voice
was
hard
and
fierce
as
she
answered
him
.
“
See
here
.
—
There
is
a
pretty
golden
thing
in
the
west
road
of
the
town
who
fears
me
horribly
,
Yvonne
,
the
pottery
painter’s
daughter
.
She
says
to
her
father
at
evening
,
‘I
must
go
read
the
offices
to
old
Mother
Margot
;
’
and
he
says
,
‘Go
,
my
daughter
;
piety
and
reverence
of
age
are
twin
blossoms
off
one
stem
of
a
tree
that
grows
at
the
right
hand
of
God
in
Paradise.’
“
And
she
goes
;
not
to
Margot
,
but
to
a
little
booth
where
there
is
dancing
and
singing
and
brawling
,
that
her
father
has
forbade
her
to
go
near
by
a
league
.
“
There
is
an
old
man
at
the
corner
of
the
market‐place
,
Ryno
,
the
fruit
seller
,
who
says
that
I
am
accursed
,
and
spits
out
at
me
as
I
pass
.
He
says
to
the
people
as
they
go
by
his
stall
,
‘See
these
peaches
,
they
are
smooth
and
rosy
as
a
child’s
cheek
;
sweet
and
firm
;
not
their
like
betwixt
this
and
Paris
.
I
will
let
you
have
them
cheap
,
so
cheap
;
I
need
sorely
to
send
money
to
my
sick
son
in
Africa.’
And
the
people
pay
,
greedily
;
and
when
the
peaches
are
home
they
see
a
little
black
speck
in
each
of
them
,
and
all
save
their
bloom
is
rottenness
.
“
There
is
a
woman
who
makes
lace
at
the
windows
of
the
house
against
the
fourth
gate
;
Marion
Silvis
;
she
is
white
and
sleek
,
and
blue‐eyed
;
the
priests
honour
her
,
and
she
never
misses
a
mass.
She
has
an
old
blind
mother
whom
she
leaves
in
her
room
.
She
goes
out
softly
at
nightfall
,
and
she
slips
to
a
wine‐shop
full
of
soldiers
,
and
her
lovers
kiss
her
on
the
mouth
.
And
the
old
mother
sits
moaning
and
hungry
at
home
;
and
a
night
ago
she
was
badly
burned
,
being
alone
.
Now
—
is
it
well
or
not
to
be
hated
of
those
people
?
If
I
had
loved
them
,
and
they
me
,
I
might
have
become
a
liar
,
and
have
thieved
,
and
have
let
men
kiss
me
,
likewise
.
”
She
spoke
with
aa
thoughtful
and
fierce
earnestness
,
not
witting
of
the
caustic
in
her
own
words
,
meaning
simply
what
she
said
,
and
classing
the
kisses
of
men
as
some
sort
of
weakness
and
vileness
,
like
those
of
a
theft
and
a
lie
;
as
she
had
come
to
do
out
of
a
curious
,
proud
,
true
instinct
that
was
in
her
,
and
not
surely
from
the
teaching
of
any
creature
.
She
in
her
way
loved
the
man
who
walked
beside
her
;
but
it
was
a
love
of
which
she
was
wholly
unconscious
;
a
pity
,
a
sorrow
,
a
reverence
,
a
cultus
,
a
deification
,
all
combined
,
that
had
little
or
nothing
in
common
with
the
loves
of
human
kind
,
and
which
still
left
her
speech
as
free
,
and
her
glance
as
fearless
,
with
him
as
with
any
other
.
He
knew
that
;
and
he
did
not
care
to
change
it
;
it
was
singular
,
and
gave
her
half
her
charm
of
savagery
and
innocence
commingled
.
He
answered
her
merely
,
with
a
smile
:
“
You
are
only
a
barbarian
;
how
should
you
understand
that
the
attractions
of
civilization
lie
in
its
multiplications
of
the
forms
of
vice
?
Men
would
not
bear
its
yoke
an
hour
if
it
did
not
in
return
facilitate
their
sins
.
You
are
an
outcast
from
it
;
—
so
you
have
kept
your
hands
honest
and
your
lips
pure
.
You
may
be
right
to
be
thankful
—
I
would
not
pretend
to
decide
.
”
“
At
least
—
I
would
not
be
as
they
are
,
”
she
answered
him
with
a
curl
of
the
mouth
,
and
a
gleam
in
her
eyes
:
the
pride
of
the
old
nomadic
tribes
,
whose
blood
was
in
her
,
asserting
itself
against
the
claimed
superiority
of
the
tamed
and
hearth‐bound
races
—
blood
that
ran
free
and
fearless
to
the
measure
of
boundless
winds
and
rushing
waters
;
that
made
the
forest
and
the
plain
,
the
dawn
and
the
darkness
,
the
flight
of
the
wild
roe
and
the
hiding‐place
of
the
wood‐pigeon
,
dearer
than
any
roof‐tree
,
sweeter
than
any
nuptial
bed
.
She
had
left
the
old
life
so
long
;
—
so
long
that
even
her
memories
of
it
were
dim
as
dreams
,
and
its
language
had
died
off
her
lips
in
all
save
the
broken
catches
of
her
songs
;
but
the
impulses
of
it
were
in
her
,
vivid
and
ineradicable
,
and
the
scorn
with
which
the
cowed
and
timid
races
of
shed
and
of
homestead
regarded
her
,
she
,
the
daughter
of
Taric
,
gave
back
to
them
in
tenfold
measure
.
“
I
would
not
be
as
they
are
!
”
she
repeated
.
“
To
sit
and
spin
;
to
watch
their
soup
pot
boil
;
to
spend
their
days
under
a
close
roof
;
to
shut
the
stars
out
,
and
cover
themselves
in
their
beds
,
as
swine
do
with
their
straw
in
the
sty
;
to
huddle
altogether
in
thousands
,
fearing
to
do
what
they
will
,
lest
the
tongue
of
their
neighbour
wag
evil
of
it
;
to
cheat
a
little
and
steal
a
little
,
and
lie
always
when
the
false
word
serves
them
,
and
to
mutter
to
themselves
,
‘God
will
wash
us
free
of
our
sins
,
’
and
then
to
go
and
sin
again
stealthily
,
thinking
men
will
not
see
and
sure
that
their
God
will
give
them
a
quittance
;
—
that
is
their
life
.
I
would
not
be
as
they
are
.
”
And
her
spirits
rose
,
and
her
earliest
life
in
the
Liébana
seemed
to
flash
on
her
for
one
moment
clear
and
bright
through
the
veil
of
the
weary
years
,
and
she
walked
erect
and
swiftly
through
the
gorse
,
singing
by
his
side
the
bold
burden
of
one
of
the
old
sweet
songs
.
And
for
the
first
time
the
thought
passed
over
Arslàn
,
“
This
tameless
wild
doe
would
crouch
like
a
spaniel
,
and
be
yoked
as
a
beast
of
burden
,
—
if
I
chose
.
”
Whether
or
not
he
chose
he
was
not
sure
.
She
was
beautiful
in
her
way
;
barbaric
,
dauntless
,
innocent
,
savage
;
he
cared
to
hurt
,
to
please
,
to
arouse
,
to
study
,
to
pourtray
her
;
but
to
seek
love
from
her
he
did
not
care
.
And
yet
she
was
most
lovely
in
her
own
wild
fashion
,
like
a
young
desert
mare
,
or
a
seagull
on
the
wing
;
and
he
wondered
to
himself
that
he
cared
for
her
no
more
,
as
he
moved
beside
her
through
the
thickets
of
the
gorse
and
against
the
strong
winds
blowing
from
the
sea
.
There
was
so
little
passion
in
him
.
He
had
tossed
aside
the
hair
of
dead
women
and
pourtrayed
the
limbs
and
the
features
of
living
ones
till
that
ruthless
pursuit
had
brought
its
own
penalty
with
it
;
and
the
beauty
of
women
scarcely
moved
him
more
than
did
the
plumage
of
a
bird
or
the
contour
of
a
marble
.
His
senses
were
drugged
,
and
his
heart
was
dead
;
it
was
well
that
it
should
be
so
,
he
had
taught
himself
to
desire
it
;
and
yet
—
.
As
they
left
the
cliff
road
for
the
pathless
downs
that
led
toward
the
summit
of
the
rocks
,
they
passed
by
a
little
way‐side
hut
,
red
with
climbing
creepers
,
and
all
alone
on
the
sandy
soil
,
like
the
little
nest
of
a
yellowhammer
.
Through
its
unclosed
shutter
the
light
of
the
sun
streamed
on
to
the
pathway
;
the
interior
was
visible
.
It
was
very
poor
;
a
floor
of
mud
,
a
couch
of
rushes
;
a
hearth
on
which
a
few
dry
sticks
were
burning
;
walls
lichen‐covered
and
dropping
moisture
.
Before
the
sticks
,
kneeling
and
trying
to
take
them
burn
up
more
brightly
to
warm
the
one
black
pot
that
hung
above
them
,
was
a
poor
peasant
girl
,
and
above
her
leaned
a
man
who
was
her
lover
,
a
fisher
of
the
coast
,
as
poor
,
as
hardy
,
and
as
simple
as
herself
.
In
the
