conversationbe
without
these
?
But
it
is
not
these
only
that
we
owe
to
the
same
source
.
All
our
finer
pleasures
are
indebted
for
their
chief
taste
to
it
likewise
.
Love
in
itself
,
for
instance
,
is
,
as
everyone
knows
who
has
felt
it
,
the
coarsest
and
most
foolish
of
all
our
feelings
.
Leave
it
free
to
do
what
it
pleases
,
and
we
soon
cease
to
care
what
it
does
.
But
Christianity
,
with
a
miraculous
ingenuity
,
has
confined
and
cramped
it
into
so
grotesque
and
painful
a
posture
,
and
set
such
vigilant
guardians
to
keep
it
there
,
that
any
return
to
its
natural
freedom
is
a
rapture
,
an
adventure
,
and
a
truimph
,
which
none
but
the
wisest
and
most
skilful
can
compass
with
grace
or
safety
,
and
which
wise
men
,
therefore
,
think
worth
compassing
.
It
is
indeed
the
same
with
all
the
natural
and
true
pleasures
of
life
—
poor
tasteless
things
not
worth
living
for
,
in
themselves
;
but
they
have
been
so
hidden
away
from
us
,
and
have
come
to
be
in
such
bad
odour
with
the
world
,
that
only
the
wisest
—
for
wisdom
is
but
the
detection
of
falsehood
—
see
that
they
may
be
taken
,
and
have
the
courage
to
take
them
;
and
the
wisdom
they
are
conscious
of
in
doing
this
,
forms
a
delicious
sauce
piquante
—
(
of
which
humour
,
wit
,
and
so
on
,
are
some
of
the
flavours
)
—
to
these
same
poor
pleasures
,
that
can
give
us
a
real
zest
for
them
.
‘Such
a
life
of
wisdom
is
,
of
course
,
only
for
the
few
.
The
wise
must
always
be
few
,
as
the
rich
must
.
The
poor
must
make
fine
food
for
the
rich
to
eat
.
The
fools
must
make
fine
follies
for
the
wise
to
detect
.
We
cannot
all
be
happy
in
a
rational
way
.
It
is
at
least
best
that
some
of
us
should
be
.
But
what
I
want
to
point
out
to
you
,
my
boy
,
is
,
that
if
society
goes
on
as
it
is
going
on
now
,
nobody
will
be
able
soon
to
be
rationally
happy
at
all
.
It
is
true
that
I
do
not
now
live
much
in
the
world
;
but
I
have
sufficient
means
of
seeing
the
course
it
is
taking
.
I
,
like
Hamlet
,
have
heard
of
its
“
paintings
,
”
how
it
“
jigs
and
ambles
and
lisps
,
and
nick-names
God’s
creatures
.
”
I
know
how
fast
all
Christian
moral
sentiment
is
silently
dying
out
of
it
.
Indeed
,
so
rapid
do
I
imagine
to
be
the
way
in
which
it
is
losing
all
proper
feeling
,
that
I
should
not
be
surprised
were
society
in
another
five
years
,
if
I
am
not
dead
by
that
time
,
to
receive
me
back
again
.
Now
,
as
long
as
Christianity
was
firmly
fixed
as
a
faith
,
we
might
amuse
ourselves
by
offending
against
its
morals
as
much
as
we
liked
;
for
our
acts
were
in
no
danger
of
losing
their
forbidden
character
.
There
would
always
be
a
persecution
,
under
which
pleasure
might
thrive
.
But
now
,
since
faith
is
dead
,
we
have
only
the
moral
sentiments
left
to
us
;
and
if
we
once
get
rid
of
these
by
a
too
reckless
violation
of
them
,
the
whole
work
of
Christianity
,
which
I
have
been
trying
to
explain
to
you
,
will
be
undone
.
Wit
and
humour
,
love
and
poetry
,
will
all
alike
have
left
us
.
Life
will
have
lost
its
seasonings
and
its
sauces
:
and
served
up
to
us
au
naturel
it
will
only
nauseate
us
.
Man
,
indeed
,
will
then
be
only
separated
from
the
animals
by
his
capacity
for
ennui
.
‘I
had
once
hoped
that
the
middle
classes
—
that
vast
and
useless
body
,
who
have
neither
the
skill
that
produces
their
wealth
,
nor
the
taste
that
can
enjoy
it
—
might
have
proved
themselves
at
least
of
some
use
,
by
preserving
the
traditions
of
a
sound
,
respectable
morality
;
that
they
might
have
kept
alive
the
nation’s
power
of
being
shocked
and
scandalised
at
wit
,
or
grace
,
or
freedom
.
But
no
;
they
too
are
changed
.
With
awkward
halting
gait
they
are
waddling
in
the
footsteps
of
their
betters
,
and
they
will
soon
have
made
vice
as
vulgar
as
they
long
ago
made
virtue
.
‘To
me
,
of
course
,
all
this
matters
little
.
Such
flavours
as
life
has
,
have
lasted
me
this
far
;
nor
will
the
world’s
growing
blankness
affect
me
.
I
shall
never
look
into
a
woman’s
eyes
again
.
One
of
my
own
is
blind
now
,
and
the
other
is
so
dim
that
I
doubt
if
the
best-paid
beauty
could
contrive
to
look
into
it
with
more
than
an
ironical
tenderness
.
All
this
matters
nothing
to
me
.
But
you
,
my
boy
—
what
will
be
left
for
you
,
when
I
am
taken
away
from
the
evil
that
is
to
come
?
Your
prospect
does
not
seem
to
me
a
cheerful
one
.
But
alas
!
I
can
offer
no
remedy
.
I
can
only
beguile
my
time
by
warning
you
.
At
any
rate
,
it
is
always
good
to
think
a
little
about
the
roots
of
things
:
so
I
trust
you
will
be
in
some
way
profited
by
these
patruæ
verbera
linguæ
.’
When
Laurence
closed
the
book
there
was
a
silence
of
some
moments
,
as
if
no
one
knew
exactly
how
to
take
what
had
just
been
read
.
But
at
last
Donald
Gordon
exclaimed
,
in
his
devoutest
of
soft
whispers
:
‘Is
Saul
also
among
the
prophets
?
’
The
words
acted
like
a
spell
;
the
ice
was
broken
,
and
Mr.
Herbert
,
who
hitherto
had
hardly
uttered
a
syllable
the
whole
afternoon
,
now
broke
out
suddenly
in
his
most
emphatic
accents
.
‘Thank
you
,
my
dear
Laurence
,
’
he
exclaimed
;
‘thank
you
much
,
indeed
.
There
is
something
in
what
you
have
just
read
us
that
seems
to
me
quite
precious
and
peculiar
.
Nor
do
I
find
any
such
honesty
in
any
creed
sung
by
priests
in
churches
,
as
I
do
in
this
sardonic
confession
of
that
great
truth
,
which
the
present
age
as
a
whole
is
resolutely
bent
upon
forgetting
—
that
the
grand
knowledge
for
a
man
to
know
is
the
essential
and
eternal
difference
between
right
and
wrong
,
between
base
and
noble
;
that
there
is
a
right
and
a
noble
to
be
striven
for
,
not
for
the
sake
of
its
consequences
,
but
in
spite
of
them
;
and
that
it
is
this
fact
alone
which
,
under
countless
forms
,
is
the
one
thing
affirmed
in
all
human
art
and
implied
in
all
serviceable
learning
,
Your
Cervantes
smiles
it
to
you
;
your
Swift
curses
it
to
you
;
your
Bernard
of
Morlaix
hymns
it
to
you
;
your
saddened
Shakespeare
tells
it
to
you
in
every
way
.
Strange
indeed
is
it
,
and
mournful
,
that
we
see
a
time
when
the
one
truth
that
we
live
and
die
by
not
only
needs
to
be
pointed
out
to
us
,
but
asserted
passionately
in
the
teeth
of
those
whom
we
have
elected
as
our
wisest
teachers.’
Mr.
Saunders
at
once
took
this
to
be
a
special
allusion
to
himself
,
and
his
face
involuntarily
began
to
array
itself
in
a
smile
of
triumph
.
‘However
,
’
Mr.
Herbert
went
on
benignantly
,
‘you
have
truly
gone
the
right
way
to
work
in
constructing
an
ideal
society
,
if
you
make
it
recognise
this
before
all
things
,
and
see
how
witness
is
borne
to
it
by
every
pleasure
and
every
interest
of
life.’
‘Ah
,
yes
,
’
exclaimed
Mr.
Stockton
,
‘it
is
just
this
noble
discrimination
between
right
and
wrong
,
Mr.
Herbert
,
that
modern
enlightenment
will
so
preeminently
encourage
and
foster
.
Morality
is
quite
indispensable
to
any
dream
of
the
future
.
And
as
to
religion
—
the
motto
of
the
future
is
freedom
—
holy
awful
,
individual
freedom
.
We
shall
each
be
free
to
choose
or
evolve
the
religion
most
profoundly
suited
to
us.’
‘Well
,
’
said
Lady
Ambrose
,
‘as
long
as
I
may
keep
my
own
religion
,
I
shall
be
quite
satisfied
;
and
about
other
people
,
I
really
don’t
think
I’m
bigoted
—
not
as
long
,
you
know
,
as
they
belong
to
some
church
.
But
religion
is
the
thing
I
want
.
Of
course
we
must
have
morality
.
Mustn’t
we
?
’
she
added
,
with
a
half-puzzled
expression
,
turning
to
Lady
Grace
.
‘Must
!
’
sighed
Mrs.
Sinclair
.
‘It’s
very
easy
to
say
must
.’
‘Of
course
we
must
,
’
said
Lady
Grace
cheerfully
.
‘My
dear
,
’
she
went
on
,
with
a
little
kindly
laugh
towards
Mr.
Saunders
,
‘he
doesn’t
really
doubt
it.’
Mr.
Saunders
sprang
to
his
feet
as
if
an
adder
had
stung
him
.
‘What
!
’
he
exclaimed
,
standing
in
the
centre
of
the
group
,
and
looking
round
him
,
‘and
do
I
not
really
doubt
that
the
degrading
practice
of
prayer
,
the
fetish-worship
of
celibacy
,
of
mortification
,
and
so
forth
—
do
I
not
doubt
that
the
foul
faith
in
a
future
life
,
the
grotesque
conceptions
of
the
theological
virtues
,
and
that
preposterous
idol
of
the
marketplace
,
the
sanctity
of
marriage
,
—
do
you
think
I
do
not
really
doubt
that
we
must
retain
these
?
Do
you
think
,
on
the
contrary
,
I
do
not
know
that
they
are
already
doomed
?
However
,
’
here
Mr.
Saunders
paused
suddenly
and
again
sat
down
on
the
grass
,
‘there
is
no
need
for
me
at
this
moment
to
destroy
any
cherished
illusions
;
though
I
shall
be
happy
to
show
my
analysis
of
them
that
I
spoke
about
just
now
to
anyone
who
is
not
afraid
to
inspect
it
.
I
hear
much
said
about
tolerance
,
as
a
characteristic
of
your
society
.
All
I
ask
is
,
that
you
have
the
courage
to
extend
your
tolerance
to
me
.
Your
new
Republic
may
be
full
of
illusions
then
.
The
great
labour
of
destroying
them
will
be
positively
delicious
to
me.’
‘Well
,
’
said
Mr.
Stockton
,
with
a
mixture
of
deference
and
patronage
,
‘and
what
does
Miss
Merton
think
?
’
‘Oh
,
’
said
Miss
Merton
with
a
slow
smile
,
‘I
am
all
in
favour
of
toleration
.
I
think
that
what
I
consider
truth
is
quite
good
enough
to
stand
on
its
own
merits
,
if
unprejudiced
eyes
can
only
be
got
to
see
them
.
And
I
honestly
do
think
,
that
with
really
high-breeding
,
and
with
what
we
apparently
mean
by
culture
,
we
should
have
at
least
one
part
of
the
world
as
good
as
we
could
wish
it
.
But
yet
—
’
she
added
,
hesitating
a
little
,
‘we
have
surely
settled
only
half
the
question
yet
.
We
have
said
a
good
deal
about
this
wide
and
discerning
taste
that
is
to
guide
us
,
We
have
not
said
much
yet
about
the
particular
things
—
the
occupations
,
the
duties
,
the
pleasures
,
that
it
will
lead
us
to
choose.’
‘No
,
’
began
Mr.
Rose
,
‘I
should
like
myself
very
much
to
say
something
as
to
that
—
as
to
the
new
pleasures
that
modern
culture
has
made
possible
for
us.’
‘Suppose
—
’
said
Lady
Ambrose
with
one
of
her
most
beaming
smiles
,
as
she
pushed
her
hat
away
over
the
back
of
her
head
,
‘suppose
we
talk
of
this
by-and-by
—
at
dinner
,
or
in
the
evening
.
Let
us
just
enjoy
a
little
now
.
The
air
now
is
so
truly
delicious
.
It
seems
quite
like
a
sin
,
doesn’t
it
,
to
think
of
going
in
to
dinner
by-and-by.’
A
happy
thought
struck
Lady
Grace
.
‘Suppose
we
have
dinner
out
of
doors
,
Otho
,
’
she
said
,
‘in
the
pavilion
with
the
roses
round
it
that
you
used
to
call
the
summer
dining-room.’
This
proposal
was
received
with
what
was
little
short
of
rapture
.
‘That
really
would
be
too
delightful
!
’
exclaimed
Lady
Ambrose
.
‘And
what
place
could
sound
more
perfect
for
us
to
finish
our
new
Republic
in
!
’
It
was
arranged
accordingly
.
‘And
now
,
’
exclaimed
Lady
Ambrose
to
Laurence
confidentially
,
as
the
conversation
ceased
to
be
general
,
‘I
want
you
to
let
me
have
a
look
at
that
book
of
your
uncle’s
.
I
have
often
heard
it
spoken
about
.
Lord
Heartpool
had
a
copy
,
which
he
showed
my
poor
father
in
Paris
.
Come
,
Mr.
Laurence
,
you
need
not
hold
it
back
.
I’m
sure
there’s
nothing
in
it
that
would
do
me
any
harm.’
‘Well
—
no
,
’
said
Laurence
;
‘in
this
volume
I
don’t
think
there
is.’
‘Because
what
you
read
just
now
,
’
said
Lady
Ambrose
,
‘was
all
really
in
favour
of
goodness
,
though
it
is
true
I
didn’t
quite
like
the
tone
of
some
of
it.’
‘What
,
’
interposed
Mr.
Rose
,
‘is
there
another
volume
?
I
should
much
like
to
see
that.’
‘I
declare
,
Mr.
Laurence
,
’
said
Lady
Ambrose
,
who
had
now
got
the
book
in
her
hand
,
‘here’s
something
really
quite
pretty
—
at
least
,
I’ve
only
got
as
far
as
the
first
verse
yet
.
It’s
a
little
poem
called
“
To
the
Wife
of
an
old
Schoolfellow
.
”
’
‘Read
it
out
to
us
—
do
,
’
said
Laurence
,
with
a
soft
smile
.
‘It
will
illustrate
very
well
the
letter
we
had
just
now.’
‘Do
you
know
,
I
really
think
I
might
manage
this
,
’
she
said
,
‘although
I’m
not
in
the
least
by
way
of
being
a
reader
out
.
Listen
,
then
,
and
please
don’t
laugh
at
me.’
Let
others
seek
for
wisdom’s
way
In
modern
science
,
modern
wit
,
—
I
turn
to
love
,
for
all
that
these
,
These
two
can
teach
,
is
taught
by
it
.
Yes
,
all
.
In
that
first
hour
we
met
And
smiled
and
spoke
so
soft
and
long
,
love
,
Did
wisdom
dawn
;
and
I
began
To
disbelieve
in
right
and
wrong
,
love
.
Then
,
as
love’s
gospel
clearer
grew
,
And
I
each
day
your
doorstep
trod
,
love
,
I
learned
that
love
was
all
in
all
,
And
rose
to
disbelieve
in
God
,
love
.
Yes
,
wisdom’s
book
!
you
taught
me
this
,
And
ere
I
half
had
read
you
through
,
love
,
I
learned
a
deeper
wisdom
yet
—
I
learned
to
disbelieve
in
you
,
love
.
So
now
,
fair
teacher
,
I
am
wise
,
And
free
:
’tis
truth
that
makes
us
free
,
love
.
But
you
—
you’re
pale
!
grow
wise
as
I
,
As
Lady
Ambrose
had
read
on
,
her
voice
had
grown
more
and
more
disapproving
,
and
several
times
she
had
shown
symptoms
of
being
on
the
point
of
stopping
.
‘I’ve
no
doubt
it’s
all
very
witty
,
’
she
said
,
putting
down
the
book
,
which
was
eagerly
caught
up
by
Mr.
Rose
,
‘but
—
but
that
sort
of
thing
,
you
know
,
’
she
exclaimed
at
last
,
‘I
think
is
rather
better
in
the
smoking-room
.
However
,
I
saw
something
next
to
those
verses
,
that
I
think
would
suit
Miss
Merton
.
It
seemed
to
be
a
sort
of
address
to
the
Virgin
Mary.’
Miss
Merton
looked
a
little
embarrassed
;
Laurence
looked
astonished
.
‘Let
me
read
it
,
’
exclaimed
Mr.
Rose
,
rapidly
turning
over
the
pages
.
‘This
must
be
what
Lady
Ambrose
means
,
I
think
:
—
My
own
,
my
one
desire
,
‘Yes
,
’
said
Lady
Ambrose
,
‘that’s
it.’
‘Oh
,
’
said
Laurence
,
‘that
is
not
my
uncle’s
;
it
is
mine
.
It
is
the
earliest
copy
of
verses
I
ever
wrote
.
I
was
seventeen
then
,
and
by
an
odd
freak
my
uncle
printed
them
in
the
end
of
his
own
collection.’
Miss
Merton’s
embarrassment
in
a
great
measure
disappeared
.
She
looked
interested
;
and
Mr.
Rose
,
in
slow
,
suave
tones
went
on
to
read
:
—
Mine
own
,
my
one
desire
,
Virgin
most
fair
Of
all
the
virgin
choir
!
Hail
,
O
most
pure
,
most
perfect
,
loveliest
one
!
Lo
,
in
my
hand
I
bear
,
Woven
for
the
circling
of
thy
long
gold
hair
,
Culled
leaves
and
flowers
,
from
places
which
the
sun
The
spring
long
shines
upon
,
Where
never
shepherd
hath
driven
flock
to
graze
,
Nor
any
grass
is
mown
;
But
there
sound
through
all
the
sunny
sweet
warm
days
,
Mid
the
green
holy
place
,
The
wild
bee’s
wings
alone
.
Yea
,
and
with
jealous
care
The
maiden
Reverence
tends
the
fair
things
there
,
And
watereth
all
of
them
with
sprinkling
showers
Of
pearled
grey
dew
from
a
clear
running
river
.
Whoso
is
chaste
of
spirit
utterly
,
May
gather
there
the
leaves
and
fruits
and
flowers
—
The
unchaste
,
never
.
(
‘I
don’t
at
all
approve
of
this
,
’
murmured
Lady
Ambrose
.
)
Take
,
and
about
thine
hair
This
anadem
entwine
—
Take
,
and
for
my
sake
wear
,
Who
am
more
to
thee
than
other
mortals
are
,
Whose
is
the
holy
lot
As
friend
with
friend
to
walk
and
talk
with
thee
,
Hearing
thy
sweet
mouth’s
music
in
mine
ear
,
‘Ah
,
they
are
sweet
verses
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
;
‘a
little
too
ascetic
,
perhaps
,
to
be
quite
Greek
.
They
are
from
Euripides
,
I
see
—
the
address
to
Artemis
of
Hippolytus.’
‘Yes
,
’
said
Laurence
;
‘I
don’t
think
I
ever
wrote
any
original
poetry.’
‘It’s
exactly
like
Mr.
Laurence
—
that
bit
,
’
whispered
Mrs.
Sinclair
.
‘And
now
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
‘as
I
suppose
we
shall
ere
long
be
all
going
to
dress
for
dinner
,
I
will
go
,
Mr.
Laurence
,
if
you
will
let
me
,
and
examine
that
other
volume
you
spoke
of
,
of
your
uncle’s
Miscellanies.’
Mr.
Rose
moved
slowly
away
;
and
as
he
did
so
,
there
came
the
sound
of
the
distant
dressing-bell
,
which
warned
the
whole
party
that
it
was
time
to
be
following
his
example
.
BOOK
IV
.
CHAPTER
I
.
NO
proposal
could
have
been
happier
than
Lady
Grace’s
,
of
the
garden
banquet
in
the
pavilion
.
It
seemed
to
the
guests
,
when
they
were
all
assembled
there
,
that
the
lovely
summer’s
day
was
going
to
close
with
a
scene
from
fairyland
.
The
table
itself
,
with
its
flowers
,
and
glowing
fruit
,
and
its
many-coloured
Venetian
glass
,
shone
and
gleamed
and
sparkled
,
in
the
evening
light
,
that
was
turning
outside
to
a
cool
mellow
amber
;
and
above
,
from
the
roof
,
in
which
the
dusk
was
already
darkness
,
hung
china
lamps
,
in
the
shape
of
green
and
purple
grape-clusters
,
looking
like
luminous
fruits
stolen
from
Aladdin’s
garden
.
The
pavilion
,
open
on
all
sides
,
was
supported
on
marble
pillars
,
that
were
almost
hidden
in
red
and
white
roses
.
Behind
,
the
eye
rested
on
great
tree-trunks
,
and
glades
of
rich
foliage
;
and
before
,
it
would
pass
over
turf
and
flowers
,
till
it
reached
the
sea
beyond
,
on
which
,
in
another
hour
,
the
faint
silver
of
the
moonlight
would
begin
to
tremble
.
There
was
something
in
the
whole
scene
that
was
at
once
calming
and
exhilarating
;
and
nearly
all
present
seemed
to
feel
in
some
measure
this
double
effect
of
it
.
Dr.
Jenkinson
had
been
quite
restored
by
an
afternoon’s
nap
;
and
his
face
was
now
all
a-twinkle
with
a
fresh
benignity
,
that
had
however
,
like
an
early
spring
morning
,
just
a
faint
suspicion
of
frost
in
it
.
Mr.
Storks
even
was
less
severe
than
usual
;
and
as
he
raised
his
champagne
to
his
lips
,
he
would
at
times
look
very
nearly
conversational
.
‘My
dear
Laurence
,
’
exclaimed
Mr.
Herbert
,
‘it
really
almost
seems
as
if
your
visions
of
the
afternoon
had
come
true
,
and
that
we
actually
were
in
your
new
Republic
already
.
I
can
only
say
that
,
if
it
is
at
all
like
this
,
it
will
be
an
entirely
charming
place
—
too
charming
,
perhaps
.
But
now
,
remember
this
—
you
have
but
half
got
through
the
business
to
which
you
first
addressed
yourselves
—
that
of
forming
a
picture
of
a
perfect
aristocracy
—
an
aristocracy
in
the
true
and
genuine
sense
of
the
word
.
You
are
all
to
have
culture
,
or
taste
.
Very
good
,
you
have
talked
a
great
deal
about
that
,
and
you
have
seen
what
you
mean
by
it
;
and
you
have
recognised
,
above
all
,
that
it
includes
a
discrimination
between
right
and
wrong
.
But
now
,
you
with
all
this
taste
and
culture
—
you
gifted
men
and
women
of
the
nineteenth
century
,
—
what
sort
of
things
does
your
taste
teach
you
to
reach
out
towards
?
In
what
actions
and
aims
,
in
what
affections
and
emotions
,
would
you
place
your
happiness
?
That
is
what
I
want
to
hear
—
the
practical
manifestations
of
this
culture.’
‘Ah
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
‘I
have
at
this
moment
a
series
of
essays
in
the
press
,
which
would
go
far
towards
answering
these
questions
of
yours
.
They
do
,
indeed
,
deal
with
just
this
—
the
effect
of
the
choicer
culture
of
this
century
on
the
soul
of
man
—
the
ways
in
which
it
endows
him
with
new
perceptions
—
how
it
has
made
him
,
in
fact
,
a
being
altogether
more
highly
organised
.
All
I
regret
is
,
that
these
choicer
souls
,
these
χαρίεντες
,
are
as
yet
like
flowers
that
have
not
found
a
climate
in
which
they
can
thrive
properly
.
That
mental
climate
will
doubtless
come
with
time
.
What
we
have
been
trying
to
do
this
afternoon
is
,
I
imagine
,
nothing
more
than
to
anticipate
it
in
imagination.’
‘Well
,
’
said
Mr.
Herbert
,
with
a
little
the
tone
of
an
inquisitor
,
‘that
is
just
what
I
have
been
asking
.
What
will
this
climate
be
like
,
and
what
will
these
flowers
be
like
in
this
climate
?
How
would
your
culture
alter
and
better
the
present
,
if
its
powers
were
equal
to
its
wishes
?
’
Mr.
Rose’s
soft
lulling
tone
harmonised
well
with
the
scene
and
hour
,
and
the
whole
party
seemed
willing
to
listen
to
him
;
or
at
any
rate
no
one
felt
any
prompting
to
interrupt
him
.
‘I
can
show
you
an
example
,
Mr.
Herbert
,
’
he
said
,
‘of
culture
demanding
a
finer
climate
,
in
—
if
you
will
excuse
my
seeming
egoism
—
in
myself
.
For
instance
,
(
to
take
the
widest
matter
I
can
fix
upon
—
the
general
outward
surroundings
of
our
lives
)
,
often
,
when
I
walk
about
London
,
and
see
how
hideous
its
whole
external
aspect
is
,
and
what
a
dissonant
population
throng
it
,
a
chill
feeling
of
despair
comes
over
me
.
Consider
how
the
human
eye
delights
in
form
and
colour
,
and
the
ear
in
tempered
and
harmonious
sounds
;
and
then
think
for
a
moment
of
a
London
street
!
Think
of
the
shapeless
houses
,
the
forest
of
ghastly
chimney-pots
,
of
the
hell
of
distracting
noises
made
by
the
carts
,
the
cabs
,
the
carriages
—
think
of
the
bustling
,
commonplace
,
careworn
crowds
that
jostle
you
—
think
of
an
omnibus
—
think
of
a
four-wheeler
—
’
‘I
often
ride
in
an
omnibus
,
’
said
Lord
Allen
,
with
a
slight
smile
to
Miss
Merton
.
‘It
is
true
,
’
replied
Mr.
Rose
,
only
overhearing
the
tone
in
which
these
words
were
said
,
‘that
one
may
ever
and
again
catch
some
touch
of
sunlight
that
will
for
a
moment
make
the
meanest
object
beautiful
with
its
furtive
alchemy
.
But
that
is
Nature’s
work
,
not
man’s
;
and
we
must
never
confound
the
accidental
beauty
that
Nature
will
bestow
on
man’s
work
,
even
at
its
worst
,
with
the
rational
and
designed
beauty
of
man’s
work
at
its
best
.
It
is
this
rational
human
beauty
that
I
say
our
modern
city
life
is
so
completely
wanting
in
;
nay
,
the
look
of
out-of-door
London
seems
literally
to
stifle
the
very
power
of
imagining
such
beauty
possible
.
Indeed
,
as
I
wander
along
our
streets
,
pushing
my
way
among
the
throngs
of
faces
—
faces
puckered
with
misdirected
thought
,
or
expressionless
with
none
—
barbarous
faces
set
towards
Parliament
,
or
Church
,
or
scientific
lecture-rooms
,
or
Government
offices
,
or
counting-houses
—
I
say
,
as
I
push
my
way
amongst
all
the
sights
and
sounds
of
the
streets
of
our
great
city
,
only
one
thing
ever
catches
my
eye
,
that
breaks
in
upon
my
mood
,
and
warns
me
I
need
not
despair.’
‘And
what
is
that
?
’
asked
Allen
,
with
some
curiosity
.
‘The
shops
,
’
Mr.
Rose
answered
,
‘of
certain
of
our
upholsterers
and
dealers
in
works
of
art
.
Their
windows
,
as
I
look
into
them
,
act
like
a
sudden
charm
on
me
—
like
a
splash
of
cold
water
dashed
on
my
forehead
when
I
am
fainting
.
For
I
seem
there
to
have
got
a
glimpse
of
the
real
heart
of
things
;
and
as
my
eyes
rest
on
the
perfect
pattern
(
many
of
which
are
really
quite
delicious
;
indeed
,
when
I
go
to
ugly
houses
,
I
often
take
a
scrap
of
some
artistic
crétonne
with
me
in
my
pocket
as
a
kind
of
æsthetic
smelling
salts
)
,
I
say
,
when
I
look
in
at
their
windows
,
and
my
eyes
rest
on
the
perfect
pattern
of
some
new
fabric
for
a
chair
or
for
a
window-curtain
,
or
on
some
new
design
for
a
wallpaper
,
or
on
some
old
china
vase
,
I
become
at
once
sharply
conscious
,
Mr.
Herbert
,
that
,
despite
the
ungenial
mental
climate
of
the
present
age
,
strange
yearnings
for
,
and
knowledge
of
,
true
beauty
,
are
beginning
to
show
themselves
like
flowers
above
the
weedy
soil
;
and
I
remember
,
amidst
the
roar
and
clatter
of
our
streets
,
and
the
mad
noises
of
our
own
times
,
that
there
is
amongst
us
a
growing
number
who
have
deliberately
turned
their
backs
on
all
these
things
,
and
have
thrown
their
whole
souls
and
sympathies
into
the
happier
art-ages
of
the
past
.
They
have
gone
back
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
raising
his
voice
a
little
,
‘to
Athens
and
to
Italy
,
to
the
Italy
of
Leo
and
to
the
Athens
of
Pericles
.
To
such
men
the
clamour
,
the
interests
,
the
struggles
of
our
own
times
,
become
as
meaningless
as
they
really
are
.
To
them
the
boyhood
of
Bathyllus
is
of
more
moment
than
the
manhood
of
Napoleon
.
Borgia
is
a
more
familiar
name
than
Bismarck
.
I
know
,
indeed
—
and
I
really
do
not
blame
them
—
several
distinguished
artists
who
,
resolving
to
make
their
whole
lives
consistently
perfect
,
will
,
on
principle
,
never
admit
a
newspaper
into
their
houses
that
is
of
later
date
than
the
times
of
Addison
;
and
I
have
good
trust
that
the
number
of
such
men
is
on
the
increase
—
men
I
mean
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
toying
tenderly
with
an
exquisite
wine-glass
of
Salviati’s
,
‘who
with
a
steady
and
set
purpose
follow
art
for
the
sake
of
art
,
beauty
for
the
sake
of
beauty
,
love
for
the
sake
of
love
,
life
for
the
sake
of
life.’
Mr.
Rose’s
slow
gentle
voice
,
which
was
apt
at
certain
times
to
become
peculiarly
irritating
,
sounded
now
like
the
evening
air
grown
articulate
,
and
had
secured
him
hitherto
a
tranquil
hearing
,
as
if
by
a
kind
of
spell
.
This
however
seemed
here
in
sudden
danger
of
snapping
.
‘What
,
Mr.
Rose
!
’
exclaimed
Lady
Ambrose
,
‘do
you
mean
to
say
,
then
,
that
the
number
of
people
is
on
the
increase
who
won’t
read
the
newspapers
?
’
‘Why
,
the
men
must
be
absolute
idiots
!
’
said
Lady
Grace
,
shaking
her
grey
curls
,
and
putting
on
her
spectacles
to
look
at
Mr.
Rose
.
Mr.
Rose
however
was
imperturbable
.
‘Of
course
,
’
he
said
,
‘you
may
have
newspapers
if
you
will
:
I
myself
always
have
them
;
though
in
general
they
are
too
full
of
public
events
to
be
of
much
interest
.
I
was
merely
speaking
just
now
of
the
spirit
of
the
movement
.
And
of
that
we
must
all
of
us
here
have
some
knowledge
.
We
must
all
of
us
have
friends
whose
houses
more
or
less
embody
it
.
And
even
if
we
had
not
,
we
could
not
help
seeing
signs
of
it
—
signs
of
how
true
and
earnest
it
is
,
in
the
enormous
sums
that
are
now
given
for
really
good
objects.’
‘That
,
’
said
Lady
Grace
,
with
some
tartness
,
‘is
true
enough
,
thank
God
!
’
‘But
I
can’t
see
,
’
said
Lady
Ambrose
,
whose
name
often
figured
in
the
Times
,
in
the
subscription-lists
of
advertised
charities
—
‘I
can’t
see
,
Mr.
Rose
,
any
reason
in
that
why
we
should
not
read
the
newspapers.’
‘The
other
day
,
for
instance
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
reflectively
,
‘I
heard
of
eight
Chelsea
shepherdesses
,
picked
up
by
a
dealer
,
I
really
forget
where
—
in
some
common
cottage
,
if
I
recollect
aright
,
covered
with
dirt
,
giving
no
pleasure
to
anyone
—
and
these
were
all
sold
in
a
single
day
,
and
not
one
of
them
fetched
less
than
two
hundred
and
twenty
pounds.’
‘
I
can’t
help
thinking
they
must
have
come
from
Cremorne
,
’
said
Mrs.
Sinclair
softly
.
‘But
why
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
‘should
I
speak
of
particular
instances
?
We
must
all
of
us
have
friends
whose
houses
are
full
of
priceless
treasures
such
as
these
—
the
whole
atmosphere
of
whose
rooms
really
seems
impregnated
with
art
—
seems
in
fact
,
Mr.
Herbert
,
such
an
atmosphere
as
we
should
dream
of
for
our
new
Republic.’
‘To
be
sure
,
’
exclaimed
Lady
Ambrose
,
feeling
that
she
had
at
last
got
upon
solid
ground
.
‘By
the
way
,
Mr.
Rose
,
’
she
said
,
with
her
most
gracious
of
smiles
,
‘I
suppose
you
have
hardly
seen
Lady
Julia
Hayman’s
new
house
in
Belgrave
Square
?
I’m
sure
that
would
delight
you
.
I
should
like
to
take
you
there
some
day
,
and
show
it
to
you.’
‘I
have
seen
it
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
with
languid
condescension
.
‘It
was
very
pretty
,
I
thought
—
some
of
it
really
quite
nice.’
This
and
the
slight
rudeness
of
manner
it
was
said
with
,
raised
Mr.
Rose
greatly
in
Lady
Ambrose’s
estimation
,
and
she
began
to
think
with
respect
of
his
late
utterances
.
‘Well
,
Mr.
Herbert
,
’
Mr.
Rose
went
on
,
‘what
I
want
to
say
is
this
.
We
have
here
in
the
present
age
,
as
it
is
,
fragments
of
the
right
thing
.
We
have
a
number
of
isolated
right
interiors
;
we
have
a
few
,
very
few
right
exteriors
.
But
in
our
ideal
state
,
our
entire
city
—
our
London
—
the
metropolis
of
our
society
,
would
be
as
a
whole
as
perfect
as
these
fragments
.
Taste
would
not
there
be
merely
an
indoor
thing
.
It
would
be
written
visibly
for
all
to
look
upon
,
in
our
streets
,
our
squares
,
our
gardens
.
Could
we
only
mould
England
to
our
wishes
,
the
thing
to
do
,
I
am
persuaded
,
would
be
to
remove
London
to
some
kindlier
site
,
that
it
might
there
be
altogether
born
anew
.
I
myself
would
have
it
taken
to
the
south-west
,
and
to
the
sea-coast
,
where
the
waves
are
blue
,
and
where
the
air
is
calm
and
fine
,
and
there
—
’
‘Ah
me
!
’
sighed
Mr.
Luke
with
a
lofty
sadness
,
‘
cœlum
non
animam
mutant
.’
‘Pardon
me
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
‘few
paradoxes
—
and
most
paradoxes
are
false
—
are
,
I
think
,
so
false
as
that
.
This
much
at
least
of
sea-like
man’s
mind
has
,
that
scarcely
anything
so
distinctly
gives
a
tone
to
it
as
the
colour
of
the
skies
he
lives
under
.
And
I
was
going
to
say
,
’
he
went
on
,
looking
out
dreamily
towards
the
evening
waves
,
‘that
as
the
imagination
is
a
quick
workman
,
I
can
at
this
moment
see
our
metropolis
already
transplanted
and
rebuilt
.
I
seem
to
see
it
now
as
it
were
from
a
distance
,
with
its
palaces
,
its
museums
,
its
churches
,
its
convents
,
its
gardens
,
its
picture-galleries
—
a
cluster
of
domed
and
pillared
marble
,
sparkling
on
a
gray
headland
.
It
is
Rome
,
it
is
Athens
,
it
is
Florence
,
arisen
and
come
to
life
again
,
in
these
modern
days
.
The
aloe-tree
of
beauty
again
blossoms
there
,
under
the
azure
stainless
sky.’
‘Do
you
know
,
Mr.
Rose
,
’
said
Lady
Ambrose
in
her
most
cordial
manner
,
‘all
this
is
very
beautiful
;
and
certainly
no
one
can
think
London
as
it
is
more
ugly
than
I
do
.
That’s
natural
in
me
,
isn’t
it
,
being
a
denizen
of
poor
prosaic
South
Audley
Street
as
I
am
?
But
don’t
you
think
that
your
notion
is
—
it’s
very
beautiful
,
I
quite
feel
that
—
but
don’t
you
think
it
is
perhaps
a
little
too
dream-like
—
too
unreal
,
if
you
know
what
I
mean
?
’
‘Such
a
city
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
earnestly
,
‘is
indeed
a
dream
,
but
it
is
a
dream
which
we
might
make
a
reality
,
would
circumstances
only
permit
of
it
.
We
have
many
amongst
us
who
know
what
is
beautiful
,
and
who
passionately
desire
it
;
and
would
others
only
be
led
by
these
,
it
is
quite
conceivable
that
we
might
some
day
have
a
capital
,
the
entire
aspect
of
which
should
be
the
visible
embodiment
of
our
finest
and
most
varied
culture
,
our
most
sensitive
taste
,
and
our
deepest
æsthetic
measure
of
things
.
This
is
what
this
capital
of
our
new
Republic
must
be
,
this
dwelling-place
of
our
ideal
society
.
We
shall
have
houses
,
galleries
,
streets
,
theatres
,
such
as
Giulio
Romano
or
Giorgio
Vasari
,
or
Giulio
Campi
would
have
rejoiced
to
look
at
;
we
shall
have
metal-work
worthy
of
the
hand
of
Ghiberti
and
the
praise
of
Michel
Angelo
;
we
shall
rival
Domenico
Beccafumi
with
our
pavements
.
As
you
wander
through
our
thoroughfares
and
our
gardens
,
your
feelings
will
not
be
jarred
by
the
presence
of
human
vulgarity
,
or
the
desolating
noise
of
traffic
;
nor
in
every
spare
space
will
your
eyes
be
caught
by
abominable
advertisements
of
excursion
trains
to
Brighton
,
or
of
Horniman’s
cheap
tea
.
They
will
rest
instead
,
here
on
an
exquisite
fountain
,
here
on
a
statue
,
here
on
a
bust
of
Zeus
or
Hermes
or
Aphrodite
,
glimmering
in
a
laurelled
nook
;
or
on
a
Mater
Dolorosa
looking
down
on
you
from
her
holy
shrine
;
or
on
the
carved
marble
gate-posts
of
our
palace
gardens
,
or
on
their
wrought
iron
or
wrought
bronze
gates
;
or
perhaps
on
such
triumphal
arches
as
that
which
Antonio
San
Gallo
constructed
in
honour
of
Charles
V.
,
and
of
which
you
must
all
remember
the
description
given
by
Vasari
.
Such
a
city
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
‘would
be
the
externalisation
of
the
human
spirit
in
the
highest
state
of
development
that
we
can
conceive
for
it
.
We
should
there
see
expressed
openly
all
our
appreciations
of
all
the
beauty
that
we
can
detect
in
the
world’s
whole
history
.
The
wind
of
the
spirit
that
breathed
there
would
blow
to
us
from
all
the
places
of
the
past
,
and
be
charged
with
infinite
odours
.
Every
frieze
on
our
walls
,
every
clustered
capital
of
a
marble
column
,
would
be
a
garland
or
nosegay
of
associations
.
Indeed
,
our
whole
city
,
as
compared
with
the
London
that
is
now
,
would
be
itself
a
nosegay
as
compared
with
a
faggot
;
and
as
related
to
the
life
that
I
would
see
lived
in
it
,
it
would
be
like
a
shell
murmuring
with
all
the
world’s
memories
,
and
held
to
the
ear
of
the
two
twins
,
Life
and
Love.’
Mr.
Rose
had
got
so
dreamy
by
this
time
that
he
felt
himself
the
necessity
of
turning
a
little
more
matter-of-fact
again
.
‘You
will
see
what
I
mean
,
plainly
enough
,
’
he
said
,
‘if
you
will
just
think
of
our
architecture
,
and
consider
how
that
naturally
will
be
—
’
‘Yes
,
’
said
Mr.
Luke
,
‘I
should
be
glad
to
hear
about
our
architecture.’
‘
—
How
that
naturally
will
be
,
’
Mr.
Rose
went
on
,
‘of
no
style
in
particular.’
‘The
deuce
it
won’t
!
’
exclaimed
Mr.
Luke
.
‘No
,
’
continued
Mr.
Rose
,
unmoved
;
‘no
style
in
particular
,
but
a
renaissance
of
all
styles
.
It
will
matter
nothing
to
us
whether
they
be
pagan
or
Catholic
,
classical
or
mediæval
.
We
shall
be
quite
without
prejudice
or
bigotry
.
To
the
eye
of
true
taste
,
an
Aquinas
in
his
cell
before
a
crucifix
,
or
a
Narcissus
gazing
at
himself
in
a
still
fountain
,
are
—
in
their
own
ways
,
you
know
—
equally
beautiful.’
‘Well
,
really
,
’
said
Miss
Merton
,
‘I
can
not
fancy
St.
Thomas
being
a
very
taking
object
to
people
who
don’t
believe
in
him
either
as
a
saint
or
a
philosopher
.
I
always
think
that
,
except
from
a
Christian
point
of
view
,
a
saint
can
be
hardly
better
described
than
by
Newman’s
lines
,
as
—
A
bundle
of
bones
,
whose
breath
Infects
the
world
before
his
death.’
‘I
remember
the
lines
well
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
calmly
,
‘and
the
writer
you
mention
puts
them
in
the
mouth
of
a
yelping
devil
.
But
devils
,
as
far
as
I
know
,
are
not
generally
—
except
,
perhaps
,
Milton’s
—
conspicuous
for
taste
:
indeed
,
if
we
may
trust
Goethe
,
the
very
touch
of
a
flower
is
torture
to
them.’
‘Dante’s
biggest
devil
,
’
cried
Mr.
Saunders
,
to
everyone’s
amazement
,
‘chewed
Judas
Iscariot
like
a
quid
of
tobacco
,
to
all
eternity
.
He
,
at
any
rate
,
knew
what
he
liked.’
Mr.
Rose
started
,
and
visited
Mr.
Saunders
with
a
rapid
frown
.
He
then
proceeded
,
turning
again
to
Miss
Merton
as
if
nothing
had
happened
.
‘Let
me
rather
,
’
he
said
,
‘read
a
nice
sonnet
to
you
,
which
I
had
sent
to
me
this
morning
,
and
which
was
in
my
mind
just
now
.
These
lines’
—
Mr.
Rose
here
produced
a
paper
from
his
pocket
—
‘were
written
by
a
boy
of
eighteen
—
a
youth
of
extraordinary
promise
,
I
think
,
whose
education
I
may
myself
claim
to
have
had
some
share
in
directing
.
Listen
,
’
he
said
,
laying
the
verses
before
him
,
on
a
clean
plate
.
Three
visions
in
the
watches
of
one
night
Made
sweet
my
sleep
—
almost
too
sweet
to
tell
.
One
was
Narcissus
by
a
woodside
well
,
And
on
the
moss
his
limbs
and
feet
were
white
;
And
one
,
Queen
Venus
,
blown
for
my
delight
Across
the
blue
sea
in
a
rosy
shell
;
And
one
,
a
lean
Aquinas
in
his
cell
,
Kneeling
,
his
pen
in
hand
,
with
aching
sight
Strained
towards
a
carven
Christ
;
and
of
these
three
I
knew
not
which
was
fairest
.
First
I
turned
Towards
that
soft
boy
,
who
laughed
and
fled
from
me
;
Towards
Venus
then
;
and
she
smiled
once
,
and
she
Fled
also
.
Then
with
teeming
heart
I
yearned
,
‘Yes
,
’
murmured
Mr.
Rose
to
himself
,
folding
up
the
paper
;
‘they
are
dear
lines
.
Now
,
there
,
’
he
said
,
‘we
have
a
true
and
tender
expression
of
the
really
Catholic
spirit
of
modern
æstheticism
,
which
holds
nothing
common
or
unclean
.
It
is
in
this
spirit
,
I
say
,
that
the
architects
of
our
state
will
set
to
work
.
And
thus
for
our
houses
,
for
our
picture-galleries
,
for
our
churches
—
I
trust
we
shall
have
many
churches
—
they
will
select
and
combine
—
’
‘Do
you
seriously
mean
,
’
broke
in
Allen
,
a
little
impatiently
,
‘that
it
is
a
thing
to
wish
for
and
to
look
forward
to
,
that
we
should
abandon
all
attempts
at
original
architecture
,
and
content
ourselves
with
simply
sponging
on
the
past
?
’
‘I
do
,
’
replied
Mr.
Rose
suavely
;
‘and
for
this
reason
,
if
for
no
other
,
that
the
world
can
now
successfully
do
nothing
else
.
Nor
,
indeed
,
is
it
to
be
expected
or
even
wished
that
it
should.’
‘You
say
we
have
no
good
architecture
now
!
’
exclaimed
Lady
Ambrose
;
‘but
,
Mr.
Rose
,
have
you
forgotten
our
modern
churches
?
Don’t
you
think
them
beautiful
?
Perhaps
you
never
go
to
All
Saints’
?
’
‘I
every
now
and
then
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
‘when
I
am
in
the
weary
mood
for
it
,
attend
the
services
of
our
English
Ritualists
,
and
I
admire
their
churches
very
much
indeed
.
In
some
places
the
whole
thing
is
really
managed
with
surprising
skill
.
The
dim
religious
twilight
,
fragrant
with
the
smoke
of
incense
;
the
tangled
roofs
that
the
music
seems
to
cling
to
;
the
tapers
,
the
high
altar
,
and
the
strange
intonation
of
the
priests
,
all
produce
a
curious
old-world
effect
,
and
seem
to
unite
one
with
things
that
have
been
long
dead
.
Indeed
,
it
all
seems
to
me
far
more
a
part
of
the
past
than
the
services
of
the
Catholics.’
Lady
Ambrose
did
not
express
her
approbation
of
the
last
part
of
this
sentiment
,
out
of
regard
for
Miss
Merton
;
but
she
gave
a
smile
and
a
nod
of
pleased
intelligence
to
Mr.
Rose
.
‘Yes
,
’
Mr.
Rose
went
on
,
‘there
is
a
regretful
insincerity
about
it
all
,
that
is
very
nice
,
and
that
at
once
appeals
to
me
,
“
Gleich
einer
alten
halbverklungen
Sage
.
”
The
priests
are
only
half
in
earnest
;
the
congregations
,
even
—
’
‘Then
I
am
quite
sure
,
’
interrupted
Lady
Ambrose
with
vigour
,
‘that
you
can
never
have
heard
Mr.
Cope
preach.’
‘I
don’t
know
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
languidly
.
‘I
never
enquired
,
nor
have
I
ever
heard
anyone
so
much
as
mention
,
the
names
of
any
of
them
.
Now
all
that
,
Lady
Ambrose
,
were
life
really
in
the
state
it
should
be
,
you
would
be
able
to
keep.’
‘Do
you
seriously
,
and
in
sober
earnest
,
mean
,
’
Allen
again
broke
in
,
‘that
you
think
it
a
good
thing
that
all
our
art
and
architecture
should
be
borrowed
and
insincere
,
and
that
our
very
religion
should
be
nothing
but
a
dilettante
memory
?
’
‘The
opinion
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
‘which
by
the
way
you
slightly
misrepresent
,
is
not
mine
only
,
but
that
of
all
those
of
our
own
day
who
are
really
devoting
themselves
to
art
for
its
own
sake
.
I
will
try
to
explain
the
reason
of
this
.
In
the
world’s
life
,
just
as
in
the
life
of
a
man
,
there
are
certain
periods
of
eager
and
all-absorbing
action
,
and
these
are
followed
by
periods
of
memory
and
reflection
.
We
then
look
back
upon
our
past
,
and
become
for
the
first
time
conscious
of
what
we
are
,
and
of
what
we
have
done
.
We
then
see
the
dignity
of
toil
,
and
the
grand
results
of
it
,
the
beauty
and
the
strength
of
faith
,
and
the
fervent
power
of
patriotism
;
which
,
whilst
we
laboured
,
and
believed
,
and
loved
,
we
were
quite
blind
to
.
Upon
such
a
reflective
period
has
the
world
now
entered
.
It
has
acted
and
believed
already
;
its
task
now
is
to
learn
to
value
action
and
belief
—
to
feel
and
to
be
thrilled
at
the
beauty
of
them
.
And
the
chief
means
by
which
it
can
learn
this
is
art
—
the
art
of
a
renaissance
.
For
by
the
power
of
such
art
,
all
that
was
beautiful
,
strong
,
heroic
,
or
tender
in
the
past
—
all
the
actions
,
passions
,
faiths
,
aspirations
of
the
world
,
that
lie
so
many
fathom
deep
in
the
years
—
float
upwards
to
the
tranquil
surface
of
the
present
,
and
make
our
lives
like
what
seems
to
me
one
of
the
loveliest
things
in
nature
,
the
iridescent
film
on
the
face
of
a
stagnant
water
.
Yes
;
the
past
is
not
dead
unless
we
choose
that
it
shall
be
so
.
Christianity
itself
is
not
dead
.
There
is
“
nothing
of
it
that
doth
fade
,
”
but
turns
“
into
something
rich
and
strange
,
”
for
us
to
give
a
new
tone
to
our
lives
with
.
And
,
believe
me
,
’
Mr.
Rose
went
on
,
gathering
earnestness
,
‘that
the
happiness
possible
in
such
conscious
periods
is
the
only
true
happiness
.
Indeed
,
the
active
periods
of
the
world
were
not
really
happy
at
all
.
We
only
fancy
them
to
have
been
so
by
a
pathetic
fallacy
.
Is
the
hero
happy
during
his
heroism
?
No
,
but
after
it
,
when
he
sees
what
his
heroism
was
,
and
reads
the
glory
of
it
in
the
eyes
of
youth
or
maiden.’
‘
this
is
very
poor
stuff
—
very
poor
stuff
,
’
murmured
Dr.
Jenkinson
,
whose
face
had
become
gradually
the
very
picture
of
crossness
.
‘Do
you
mean
,
Mr.
Rose
,
’
said
Miss
Merton
,
with
a
half
humorous
,
half
incredulous
smile
,
‘that
we
never
value
religion
till
we
have
come
to
think
it
nonsense
?
’
‘Not
nonsense
—
no
,
’
exclaimed
Mr.
Rose
in
gentle
horror
;
‘I
only
mean
that
it
never
lights
our
lives
so
beautifully
as
when
it
is
leaving
them
like
the
evening
sun
.
It
is
in
such
periods
of
the
world’s
life
that
art
springs
into
being
in
its
greatest
splendour
.
Your
Raphael
,
Miss
Merton
,
who
painted
you
your
“
dear
Madonnas
,
”
was
a
luminous
cloud
in
the
sunset
sky
of
the
Renaissance
,
—
a
cloud
that
took
its
fire
from
a
faith
that
was
sunk
or
sinking.’
‘I’m
afraid
that
the
faith
is
not
quite
sunk
yet
,
’
said
Miss
Merton
,
with
a
slight
sudden
flush
in
her
cheeks
,
and
with
just
the
faintest
touch
of
suppressed
anger
.
Mr.
Saunders
,
Mr.
Stockton
,
Mr.
Storks
,
and
Mr.
Luke
all
raised
their
eyebrows
.
‘No
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
‘such
cyclic
sunsets
are
happily
apt
to
linger.’
‘Mr
.
Rose
,
’
exclaimed
Lady
Ambrose
,
with
her
most
gracious
of
smiles
,
‘of
course
everyone
who
has
ears
must
know
that
all
this
is
very
beautiful
,
but
I
am
positively
so
stupid
that
I
haven’t
been
quite
able
to
follow
it
all.’
‘I
will
try
to
make
my
meaning
clearer
,
’
he
said
,
in
a
brisker
tone
.
‘I
often
figure
to
myself
an
unconscious
period
and
a
conscious
one
,
as
two
women
—
one
an
untamed
creature
with
embrowned
limbs
native
to
the
air
and
the
sea
;
the
other
marble-white
and
swan-soft
,
couched
delicately
on
cushions
before
a
mirror
,
and
watching
her
own
supple
reflection
gleaming
in
the
depths
of
it
.
On
the
one
is
the
sunshine
and
the
sea-spray
.
The
wind
of
Heaven
and
her
unbound
hair
are
playmates
.
The
light
of
the
sky
is
in
her
eyes
;
on
her
lips
is
a
free
laughter
.
We
look
at
her
,
and
we
know
that
she
is
happy
.
We
know
it
,
mark
me
;
but
she
knows
it
not
.
Turn
,
however
,
to
the
other
,
and
all
is
changed
.
Outwardly
,
there
is
no
gladness
there
.
Her
dark
,
gleaming
eyes
open
depth
within
depth
upon
us
,
like
the
circles
of
a
new
Inferno
.
There
is
a
clear
,
shadowy
pallor
on
her
cheek
.
Only
her
lips
are
scarlet
.
There
is
a
sadness
—
a
languor
,
even
in
the
grave
tendrils
of
her
heavy
hair
,
and
in
each
changing
curve
of
her
bosom
as
she
breathes
or
sighs.’
‘What
a
very
odd
man
Mr.
Rose
is
!
’
said
Lady
Ambrose
in
a
loud
whisper
.
‘He
always
seems
to
talk
of
everybody
as
if
they
had
no
clothes
on
.
And
does
he
mean
by
this
that
we
ought
to
be
always
in
the
dumps
?
’
‘Yes
,
’
Mr.
Rose
was
meanwhile
proceeding
,
his
voice
again
growing
visionary
,
‘there
is
no
eagerness
,
no
action
there
;
and
yet
all
eagerness
,
all
action
is
known
to
her
as
the
writing
on
an
open
scroll
;
only
,
as
she
reads
,
even
in
the
reading
of
it
,
action
turns
into
emotion
,
and
eagerness
into
a
sighing
memory
.
Yet
such
a
woman
really
may
stand
symbolically
for
us
as
the
patroness
and
the
lady
of
all
gladness
,
who
makes
us
glad
in
the
only
way
now
left
us
.
And
not
only
in
the
only
way
,
but
in
the
best
way
—
the
way
of
ways
.
Her
secret
is
self-consciousness
.
She
knows
that
she
is
fair
;
she
knows
,
too
,
that
she
is
sad
;
but
she
sees
that
sadness
is
lovely
,
and
so
sadness
turns
to
joy
.
Such
a
woman
may
be
taken
as
a
symbol
,
not
of
our
architecture
only
,
but
of
all
the
eesthetic
surroundings
with
which
we
shall
shelter
and
express
our
life
.
Such
a
woman
do
I
see
whenever
I
enter
a
ritualistic
church
—
’
‘I
know
,
’
said
Mrs.
Sinclair
,
‘that
very
peculiar
people
do
go
to
such
places
;
but
,
Mr.
Rose
,
’
she
said
with
a
look
of
appealing
enquiry
,
‘I
thought
they
were
generally
rather
over-dressed
than
otherwise
?
’
‘The
imagination
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
opening
his
eyes
in
grave
wonder
at
Mrs.
Sinclair
,
‘may
give
her
what
garb
it
chooses
.
Our
whole
city
,
then
—
the
city
of
our
new
Republic
—
will
be
in
keeping
with
this
spirit
.
It
will
be
the
architectural
and
decorative
embodiment
of
the
most
educated
longings
of
our
own
times
after
order
and
loveliness
and
delight
,
whether
of
the
senses
or
the
imagination
.
It
will
be
,
as
it
were
,
a
resurrection
of
the
past
,
in
response
to
the
longing
and
the
passionate
regret
of
the
present
.
It
will
be
such
a
resurrection
as
took
place
in
Italy
during
its
greatest
epoch
,
only
with
this
difference
—
’
‘You
seem
to
have
forgotten
trade
and
business
altogether
,
’
said
Dr.
Jenkinson
.
‘I
think
,
however
rich
you
intend
to
be
,
you
will
find
that
they
are
necessary.’
‘Yes
,
Mr.
Rose
,
you’re
not
going
to
deprive
us
of
all
our
shops
,
I
hope
?
’
said
Lady
Ambrose
.
‘Because
,
you
know
,
’
said
Mrs.
Sinclair
,
with
a
soft
maliciousness
,
‘we
can’t
go
without
dresses
altogether
,
Mr.
Rose
.
And
if
I
were
there
,
’
she
continued
plaintively
,
‘I
should
want
a
bookseller
to
publish
the
scraps
of
verse
—
poetry
,
as
I
am
pleased
to
call
it
—
that
I
am
always
writing.’
‘Pooh
!
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
a
little
annoyed
,
‘we
shall
have
all
that
somewhere
,
of
course
;
but
it
will
be
out
of
the
way
,
in
a
sort
of
Piræus
,
where
the
necessary
καπήλοι
—
’
‘A
sort
of
what
?
’
said
Lady
Ambrose
.
‘Mr
.
Rose
merely
means
,
’
said
Donald
Gordon
,
‘that
there
must
be
good
folding-doors
between
the
offices
and
the
house
of
life
;
and
that
the
servants
are
not
to
be
seen
walking
about
in
the
pleasure-grounds.’
‘Yes
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
‘exactly
so.’
‘Well
,
then
,
’
said
Lady
Ambrose
,
‘I
quite
agree
with
you
,
Mr.
Rose
;
and
if
wishing
were
only
having
,
I’ve
not
the
least
doubt
that
we
should
all
of
us
be
going
back
to
Mr.
Rose’s
city
to-morrow
,
instead
of
to
London
,
with
its
carts
,
and
cabs
,
and
smoke
,
and
all
its
thousand-and-one
drawbacks
.
I’m
sure
,
’
she
said
,
turning
to
Miss
Merton
,
‘you
would
,
my
dear
,
with
all
your
taste.’
‘It
certainly
,
’
said
Miss
Merton
,
smiling
,
‘all
sounds
very
beautiful
.
All
I
am
afraid
of
is
that
we
should
not
be
quite
worthy
of
it.’
‘Nay
,
’
said
Mr.
Rose
,
‘but
the
very
point
is
that
we
shall
be
worthy
of
it
,
and
that
it
will
be
worthy
of
us
.
I
said
,
if
you
recollect
,
just
now
,
that
the
world’s
ideal
of
the
future
must
resemble
in
many
ways
its
memory
of
the
Italian
Renaissance
.
But
don’t
let
that
mislead
you
.
It
may
resemble
that
,
but
it
will
be
something
far
in
advance
of
it
.
During
the
last
three
hundred
years
—
in
fact
,
during
the
last
sixty
or
seventy
years
,
the
soul
of
man
has
developed
strangely
in
its
sentiments
and
its
powers
of
feeling
;
in
its
powers
,
in
fact
,
of
enjoying
life
.
As
I
said
,
I
have
a
work
in
the
press
,
devoted
entirely
to
a
description
of
this
growth
.
I
have
some
of
the
proof
sheets
with
me
;
and
if
you
will
let
me
I
should
like
to
read
you
one
or
two
passages.’
‘I
don’t
think
much
can
be
made
out
of
that
,
’
said
Dr.
Jenkinson
,
with
a
vindictive
sweetness
.
‘Human
sentiment
dresses
itself
in
different
fashions
,
as
human
ladies
do
;
but
I
think
beneath
the
surface
it
is
much
the
same
.
I
mean
,
’
he
added
,
suddenly
recollecting
that
he
might
thus
seem
to
be
rooting
up
the
wheat
of
his
own
opinions
along
with
the
tares
of
Mr.
Rose’s
,
‘I
mean
that
I
don’t
think
in
seventy
years
,
or
even
in
three
hundred
,
you
will
be
able
to
show
that
human
nature
has
very
much
changed
.
I
don’t
think
so.’
Unfortunately
,
however
,
the
Doctor
found
that
,
instead
of
putting
down
Mr.
Rose
by
this
,
he
had
only
raised
up
Mr.
Luke
.
‘Ah
,
Jenkinson
,
I
think
you
are
wrong
there
,
’
said
Mr.
Luke
.
‘As
long
as
we
recognise
that
this
growth
is
at
present
confined
to
a
very
small
minority
,
the
fact
of
such
growth
is
the
most
important
,
the
most
significant
of
all
facts
.
Indeed
,
our
friend
Mr.
Rose
is
quite
right
thus
far
,
in
the
stress
he
lays
on
our
appreciation
of
the
past
,
that
we
have
certainly
in
these
modern
times
acquired
a
new
sense
,
by
which
alone
the
past
can
be
appreciated
truly
,
the
sense
which
,
if
I
may
invent
a
phrase
for
it
,
I
should
call
that
of
Historical
Perspective
;
so
that
now
really
for
the
first
time
the
landscape
of
history
is
beginning
to
have
some
intelligible
charm
for
us
.
And
this
,
you
know
,
is
not
all
.
Our
whole
views
of
things
—
(
you
,
Jenkinson
,
must
know
this
as
well
as
I
do
)
—
the
Zeitgeist
breathes
upon
them
,
and
they
do
not
die
;
but
they
are
changed
—
they
are
enlightened.’
The
Doctor
was
too
much
annoyed
to
make
any
audible
answer
to
this
;
but
he
murmured
with
some
emphasis
to
himself
,
‘That’s
not
what
Mr.
Rose
was
saying
;
that’s
not
what
I
was
contradicting.’
‘You
take
,
Luke
,
a
rather
more
rose-coloured
view
of
things
than
you
did
last
night
,
’
said
Mr.
Storks
.
‘No
,
’
said
Mr.
Luke
,
with
a
sigh
,
‘far
from
it
.
I
am
