happiness or peace; for I speak the living
truth when I tell you that your ambitious hopes will vanish the cloud now
rising like a veil between us, and the memory of this year will haunt you day
and night, till the remorse you painted shall be written upon heart, and face,
and life. Now go!”
Her
swift words and forceful gesture seemed to banish me for ever, and, like one
walking in his sleep, I left her there, a stern, still figure, with its
shattered image at its feet.
That
instant I departed, but not far — for as yet I could not clearly see which way
duty led me. I made no confidante, asked no sympathy or help, told no one of my
purpose, but resolving to take no decisive step rashly, 1 went away to a
country house of Agatha’s, just beyond the city, as I had once done before when
busied on a work that needed solitude and quiet, so that if gossip rose it
might be harmless to us both. Then I sat down and thought. Submit I would not,
desert her utterly I could not, but I dared defy her, and I did; for as if some
viewless spirit whispered the suggestion in my ear, I determined to oppose my
will to hers, to use her weapons if
I
could, and teach her to be merciful through suffering like my own. She had
confessed my power to draw her to me, in spite of coldness, poverty and all
lack of the attractive graces women love; that clue inspired me with hope. I
got books and pored over them till their meaning grew clear to me; I sought out
learned men and gathered help from their wisdom; I gave myself to the task w
ith indomitable zeal, for I was struggling for the liberty that alone made life
worth possessing. The world believed me painting mimic woes, but I was living
through a fearfully real one; friends fancied me busied with the mechanism of
material bodies, but I was prying into the mysteries of human souls; and many
envied my luxurious leisure in that leafy nest, while I was leading the life of
a doomed convict, for as I kept my sinful vow so Agatha kept hers.
She
never wrote, or sent, or came, but day and night she called me — dav and night
I resisted, saved only by the desperate means I used — means that made my own
servant think me mad. I bid him lock me in my chamber; I dashed out at all
hours to walk fast and far awav into the lonely forest; I drowned consciousness
in wine; I drugged mvself with opiates, and when the crisis had passed, woke
spent but victorious. All arts I tried, and slowly found that in this conflict
of opposing wills my own grew stronger with each
success, the other lost power with each defeat. I never wished to harm mv wife,
never called her, never sent a baneful thought or desire along that mental
telegraph which stretched and thrilled between us; I onlv longed to free
myself, and in this struggle weeks passed, vet neither won a signal \ ictory,
for neither proud heart knew the beauty of self-conquest and the power of
submission.
One
night I w ent up to the lonely tower that crowned the
house, to watch the equinoctial storm that made a Pandemonium of the elements
without. Rain streamed as if a second deluge was at hand; whirlwinds tore down
the valley; the river chafed and foamed with an angrv dash, and the city lights
shone dimly through the flying mist as I watched them from my loftv room. The
tumult suited me, for mv own mood was stormv, dark and bitter, and when the
cheerful fire invited me to bask before it I sat there wrapped in reveries as
gloomy as the night. Presently the well-know n premonition came with its sudden
thrill through blood and nerves, and with a revengeful strength never felt
before I gathered up my energies for the trial, as I waited some more urgent
summons. None came, but in its place a sense of power flashed over me, a swift
exultation dilated within me, time seemed to pause, the present rolled away,
and nothing but an isolated memory remained, for
truth when I tell you that your ambitious hopes will vanish the cloud now
rising like a veil between us, and the memory of this year will haunt you day
and night, till the remorse you painted shall be written upon heart, and face,
and life. Now go!”
Her
swift words and forceful gesture seemed to banish me for ever, and, like one
walking in his sleep, I left her there, a stern, still figure, with its
shattered image at its feet.
That
instant I departed, but not far — for as yet I could not clearly see which way
duty led me. I made no confidante, asked no sympathy or help, told no one of my
purpose, but resolving to take no decisive step rashly, 1 went away to a
country house of Agatha’s, just beyond the city, as I had once done before when
busied on a work that needed solitude and quiet, so that if gossip rose it
might be harmless to us both. Then I sat down and thought. Submit I would not,
desert her utterly I could not, but I dared defy her, and I did; for as if some
viewless spirit whispered the suggestion in my ear, I determined to oppose my
will to hers, to use her weapons if
I
could, and teach her to be merciful through suffering like my own. She had
confessed my power to draw her to me, in spite of coldness, poverty and all
lack of the attractive graces women love; that clue inspired me with hope. I
got books and pored over them till their meaning grew clear to me; I sought out
learned men and gathered help from their wisdom; I gave myself to the task w
ith indomitable zeal, for I was struggling for the liberty that alone made life
worth possessing. The world believed me painting mimic woes, but I was living
through a fearfully real one; friends fancied me busied with the mechanism of
material bodies, but I was prying into the mysteries of human souls; and many
envied my luxurious leisure in that leafy nest, while I was leading the life of
a doomed convict, for as I kept my sinful vow so Agatha kept hers.
She
never wrote, or sent, or came, but day and night she called me — dav and night
I resisted, saved only by the desperate means I used — means that made my own
servant think me mad. I bid him lock me in my chamber; I dashed out at all
hours to walk fast and far awav into the lonely forest; I drowned consciousness
in wine; I drugged mvself with opiates, and when the crisis had passed, woke
spent but victorious. All arts I tried, and slowly found that in this conflict
of opposing wills my own grew stronger with each
success, the other lost power with each defeat. I never wished to harm mv wife,
never called her, never sent a baneful thought or desire along that mental
telegraph which stretched and thrilled between us; I onlv longed to free
myself, and in this struggle weeks passed, vet neither won a signal \ ictory,
for neither proud heart knew the beauty of self-conquest and the power of
submission.
One
night I w ent up to the lonely tower that crowned the
house, to watch the equinoctial storm that made a Pandemonium of the elements
without. Rain streamed as if a second deluge was at hand; whirlwinds tore down
the valley; the river chafed and foamed with an angrv dash, and the city lights
shone dimly through the flying mist as I watched them from my loftv room. The
tumult suited me, for mv own mood was stormv, dark and bitter, and when the
cheerful fire invited me to bask before it I sat there wrapped in reveries as
gloomy as the night. Presently the well-know n premonition came with its sudden
thrill through blood and nerves, and with a revengeful strength never felt
before I gathered up my energies for the trial, as I waited some more urgent
summons. None came, but in its place a sense of power flashed over me, a swift
exultation dilated within me, time seemed to pause, the present rolled away,
and nothing but an isolated memory remained, for
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