The Burning Spear

J >> John Galsworthy >> The Burning Spear


"Can it be that we are to adventure above them?" thought Mr. Lavender.
"I hope not, for they seem to me fearful." His alarm was soon appeased,
for the machine began to take a level course a thousand feet, perhaps,
below the clouds, whence little wraiths wandering out now and again
dimmed Mr. Lavender's vision and moistened his brow.

Blink having retired again between her master's legs, a sense of
security and exaltation was succeeding to the natural trepidation of Mr.
Lavender's mood. "I am now," he thought, "lifted above all petty plots
and passions on the wings of the morning. Soon will great thoughts begin
to jostle in my head, and I shall see the truth of all things made clear
at last."

But the thoughts did not jostle, a curious lethargy began stealing over
him instead, so that his head fell back, and his mouth fell open. This
might have endured until he returned to earth had not the airman stopped
the engines so that they drifted ruminantly in space below the clouds.
With the cessation of the noise Mr. Lavender's brain regained its
activity, and he was enchanted to hear the voice of his pilot saying:

"How are you getting on, sir?"

"As regards the sensation," Mr. Lavender replied, "it is marvellous, for
after the first minute or two, during which the unwonted motion causes
a certain inconvenience, one grasps at once the exhilaration and joy of
this great adventure. To be in motion towards the spheres, and see the
earth laid out like a chess-board below you; to feel the lithe creature
beneath your body responding so freely to every call of its gallant
young pilot; to be filled with the scream of the engines, as of an eagle
at sport; to know that at the least aberration of the intrepid airman
we should be dashed into a million pieces; all this is largely
to experience an experience so unforgettable that one will
never--er--er--forget it."

"Gosh!" said the young airman.

"Yes," pursued Mr. Lavender, who was now unconsciously reading himself
in his morning's paper, "one can only compare the emotion to that which
the disembodied spirit might feel passing straight from earth to heaven.
We saw at a great depth below us on a narrow white riband of road two
crawling black specks, and knew that they were human beings, the same
and no more than we had been before we left that great common place
called Earth."

"Gum!" said the young airman, as Lavender paused, "you're getting it
fine, sir! Where will it appear?"

"Those great fleecy beings the clouds," went on Mr. Lavender, without
taking on the interruption, "seemed to await our coming in the morning
glory of their piled-up snows; and we, with the rarefied air in our
lungs, felt that we must shout to them." And so carried away was Mr.
Lavender by his own style that he really did begin to address the
clouds: "Ghosts of the sky, who creep cold about this wide blue air, we
small adventuring mortals great-hearted salute you. Humbly proud of our
daring have we come to sport with you and the winds of Ouranos, and, in
the rapturous corridors between you, play hide-and seek, avoiding your
glorious moisture with the dips and curves and skimming of our swallow
flights--we, the little unconquerable Spirits of the Squirth!"

The surprise which Mr. Lavender felt at having uttered so peculiar
a word, in the middle of such a flow of poetry reduced him to sudden
silence.

"Golly!" said the airman with sudden alarm in his voice. "Hold tight!"
And they began to shoot towards earth faster than they had risen. They
came down, by what seemed a miracle to Mr. Lavender, who was still
contemplative, precisely where they had gone up. A little group was
collected there, and as they stepped out a voice said, "I beg your
pardon," in a tone so dry that it pierced even the fogged condition
in which Mr. Lavender alighted. The gentleman who spoke had a dark
moustache and thick white hair, and, except that he wore a monocle, and
was perhaps three inches taller, bore a striking resemblance to himself.

"Thank you," he replied, "certainly."

"No," said the gentleman, "not at all--on the contrary, Who the hell are
you?"

"A public man," said Mr. Lavender, surprised; "at least," he added
conscientiously, "I am not quite certain."

"Well," said the gentleman, "you've jolly well stolen my stunt."

"Who, then, are you?" asked Mr. Lavender.

"I?" replied the gentleman, evidently intensely surprised that he was
not known; "I--my name----"

But at this moment Mr. Lavender's attention was diverted by the sight of
Blink making for the horizon, and crying out in a loud voice: "My dog!"
he dropped the coat in which he was still enveloped and set off running
after her at full speed, without having taken in the identity of the
gentleman or disclosed his own. Blink, indeed, scenting another flight
in the air, had made straight for the entrance of the enclosure, and
finding a motor cab there with the door open had bolted into it, taking
it for her master's car. Mr. Lavender sprang in after her. At the shake
which this imparted to the cab, the driver, who had been dozing, turned
his head.

"Want to go back, sir?" he said.

"Yes," replied Mr. Lavender, breathless; "London."




XVIII

SEES TRUTH FACE TO FACE

"I fear," thought Mr. Lavender, as they sped towards Town, "that I have
inadvertently taken a joy-ride which belonged to that distinguished
person with the eyeglass. No matter, my spirit is now bright for the
adventure I have in hand. If only I knew where I could find the Unseen
Power--but possibly its movements may be recorded in these journals."
And taking from his pocket his morning papers, which he had not yet had
time to peruse, he buried himself in their contents. He was still deeply
absorbed when the cab stopped and the driver knocked on the window. Mr.
Lavender got out, followed by Blink, and was feeling in his pocket for
the fare when an exclamation broke from the driver:

"Gorblimy! I've brought the wrong baby!"

And before Mr. Lavender had recovered from his surprise, he had whipped
the car round and was speeding back towards the flying ground.

"How awkward!" thought Mr. Lavender, who was extremely nice in money
matters; "what shall I do now?" And he looked around him. There, as it
were by a miracle, was the office of a great journal, whence obviously
his distinguished colleague had set forth to the flying grounds, and to
which he had been returned in error by the faithful driver.

Perceiving in all this the finger of Providence, Mr. Lavender walked in.
Those who have followed his experiences so far will readily understand
how no one could look on Mr. Lavender without perceiving him to be a man
of extreme mark, and no surprise need be felt when he was informed that
the Personage he sought was on the point of visiting Brighton to open a
hospital, and might yet be overtaken at Victoria Station.

With a beating heart he took up the trail in another taxi-cab, and,
arriving at Victoria, purchased tickets for himself and Blink, and
inquired for the Brighton train.

"Hurry up!" replied the official. Mr. Lavender ran, searching the
carriage windows for any indication of his objective. The whistle
had been blown, and he was in despair, when his eye caught the label
"Reserved" on a first-class window, and looking in he saw a single
person evidently of the highest consequence smoking a cigar, surrounded
by papers. Without a moment's hesitation he opened the door, and,
preceded by Blink, leaped in. "This carriage is reserved, sir," said the
Personage, as the train moved out.

"I know," said Mr. Lavender, who had fallen on to the edge of the seat
opposite; "and only the urgency of my business would have caused me
to violate the sanctity of your retreat, for, believe me, I have the
instincts if not the habits of a gentleman."

The Personage, who had made a move of his hand as if to bring the
train to a standstill, abandoning his design, replaced his cigar, and
contemplated Mr. Lavender from above it.

The latter remained silent, returning that remarkable stare, while Blink
withdrew beneath the seat and pressed her chin to the ground, savouring
the sensation of a new motion.

"Yes," he thought, "those eyes have an almost superhuman force and
cunning. They are the eyes of a spider in the centre of a great web.
They seem to draw me."

"You are undoubtedly the Unseen Power, sir," he said suddenly, "and I
have reached the heart of the mystery. From your own lips I shall soon
know whether I am a puppet or a public man."

The Personage, who by his movements was clearly under the impression
that he had to do with a lunatic, sat forward with his hands on his
knees ready to rise at a moment's notice; he kept his cigar in his
mouth, however, and an enforced smile on the folds of his face.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he said.

"Will you have a cigar?"

"No, thank you," replied Mr. Lavender, "I must keep the eyes of my
spirit clear, and come to the point. Do you rule this country or do you
not? For it is largely on the answer to this that my future depends.
In telling others what to do am I speaking as my conscience or as your
conscience dictates; and, further, if indeed I am speaking as your
conscience dictates, have you a conscience?"

The Personage, who had evidently made up his mind to humour the
intruder, flipped the ash off his cigar.

"Well, sir, he said, I don't know who the devil you may be, but my
conscience is certainly as good as yours."

"That," returned Mr. Lavender with a sigh, "is a great relief, for
whether you rule the country or not, you are undoubtedly the source
from which I, together with the majority of my countrymen, derive our
inspirations. You are the fountainhead at which we draw and drink.
And to know that your waters are pure, unstained by taint of personal
prejudice and the love of power, will fortify us considerably. Am I
to assume, then, that above all passion and pettiness, you are an
impersonal force whose innumerable daily editions reflect nothing but
abstract truth, and are in no way the servants of a preconceived and
personal view of the situation?"

"You want to know too much, don't you think?" said the Personage with a
smile.

"How can that be, sir?" asked Mr. Lavender: "If you are indeed the
invisible king swaying the currents of national life, and turning its
tides at will, it is essential that we should believe in you; and before
we can believe in you must we not know all about you?"

"By Jove, sir," replied the Personage, "that strikes me as being
contrary to all the rules of religion. I thought faith was the ticket."

By this answer Mr. Lavender was so impressed that he sat for a moment in
silence, with his eyebrow working up and down.

"Sir," he said at last, "you have given me a new thought. If you are
right, to disbelieve in you and the acts which you perform, or rather
the editions which you issue, is blasphemy."

"I should think so," said the Personage, emitting a long whiff of smoke.
"Hadn't that ever occurred to you before?"

"No," replied Mr. Lavender, naively, "for I have never yet disbelieved
anything in those journals."

The Personage coughed heartily.

"I have always regarded them," went on Mr. Lavender, "as I myself should
wish to be regarded, 'without fear and without reproach.' For that is,
as I understand it, the principle on which a gentleman must live, ever
believing of others what he would wish believed of himself. With the
exception of Germans," he added hastily.

"Naturally," returned the Personage. "And I'll defy you to find anything
in them which disagrees with that formula. Everything they print refers
to Germans if not directly then obliquely. Germans are the 'idee fixe',
and without an 'idee fixe', as you know, there's no such thing as
religion. Do you get me?"

"Yes, indeed," cried Mr. Lavender, enthused, for the whole matter now
seemed to him to fall into coherence, and, what was more, to coincide
with his preconceptions, so that he had no longer any doubts. "You,
sir--the Unseen Power--are but the crystallized embodiment of the
national sentiment in time of war; in serving you, and fulfilling the
ideas which you concrete in your journals, we public men are servants
of the general animus, which in its turn serves the blind and burning
instinct of justice. This is eminently satisfactory to me, who would
wish no better fate than to be a humble lackey in that house." He had
no sooner, however, spoken those words than Joe Petty's remarks about
Public Opinion came back to him, and he added: "But are you really
the general animus, or are you only the animus of Mayors, that is the
question?"

The personage seemed to follow this thought with difficulty. "What's
that?" he said.

Mr. Lavender ran his hands through his hair.

"And turns," he said, "on what is the unit of national feeling and
intelligence? Is it or is it not a Mayor?"

The Personage smiled. "Well, what do you think?" he said. "Haven't you
ever heard them after dinner? There's no question about it. Make your
mind easy if that's your only trouble."

Mr. Lavender, greatly cheered by the genial certainty in this answer,
said: "I thank you, sir. I shall go back and refute that common scoffer,
that caster of doubts. I have seen the Truth face, to face, and am
greatly encouraged to further public effort. With many apologies I can
now get out," he added, as the train stopped at South Croydon. "Blink!"
And, followed by his dog, he stepped from the train.

The Personage, who was indeed no other than the private secretary of the
private secretary of It whom Mr. Lavender had designated as the Truth
watched him from the window.

"Well, that WAS a treat, dear papa!" he murmured to himself, emitting a
sigh of smoke after his retreating interlocutor.




XIX

IS IN PERIL OF THE STREET

On the Sunday following this interview with the Truth Mr. Lavender, who
ever found the day of rest irksome to his strenuous spirit, left his
house after an early supper. It, had been raining all day, but the
sinking sun had now emerged and struck its level light into the tree
tops from a still cloudy distance. Followed by Blink, he threaded the
puddled waste which lies to the west of the Spaniard's Road, nor was
it long before the wild beauty of the scene infected his spirit, and
he stood still to admire the world spread out. The smoke rack of misted
rain was still drifting above the sunset radiance in an apple-green sky;
and behind Mr. Lavender, as he gazed at those clouds symbolical of the
world's unrest, a group of tall, dark pine-trees, wild and witch-like,
had collected as if in audience of his cosmic mood. He formed a striking
group for a painter, with the west wind flinging back his white hair,
and fluttering his dark moustache along his cheeks, while Blink, a
little in front of him, pointed at the prospect and emitted barks whose
vigour tossed her charming head now to this side now to that.

"How beautiful is this earth!" thought Mr. Lavender, "and how simple to
be good and happy thereon. Yet must we journey ten leagues beyond the
wide world's end to find justice and liberty. There are dark powers
like lions ever in the path. Yes," he continued, turning round to the
pinetrees, who were creaking slightly in the wind, "hate and oppression,
greed, lust, and ambition! There you stand malevolently regarding me.
Out upon you, dark witches of evil! If I had but an axe I would lay you
lower than the dust." But the poor pine-trees paid no attention save
to creak a little louder. And so incensed was Mr. Lavender by this
insensibility on the part of those which his own words had made him
perceive were the powers of darkness that he would very likely have
barked his knuckles on them if Blink by her impatience had not induced
him to resume his walk and mount on to the noble rampart of the
Spaniard's Road.

Along this he wandered and down the hill with the countless ghosts
and shadows of his brain, liberating the world in fancy from all the
hindrances which beset the paths of public men, till dark fell, and he
was compelled to turn towards home. Closely attended by the now sobered
Blink he had reached the Tube Station when he perceived in the inky
war-time dusk that a woman was following him. Dimly aware that she was
tall and graceful he hurried to avoid her, but before long could but
note that she was walking parallel and turning her face towards him. Her
gloved hand seemed to make a beckoning movement, and perceiving at once
that he was the object of that predatory instinct which he knew from
the many letters and protests in his journals to be one of the most
distressing features of the War, he would have broken into a run if he
had not been travelling up-hill; being deprived of this means of escape,
his public nature prevailed, and he saw that it was his duty to confront
the woman, and strike a blow at, the national evil stalking beside
him. But he was in a difficulty, for his natural delicacy towards
women seemed to preclude him from treating her as if she were what she
evidently was, while his sense of duty--urged him with equal force to do
so.

A whiff of delicious scent determined him. "Madam," he said, without
looking in her face, which, indeed, was not visible--so great was the
darkness, "it is useless to pursue one who not only has the greatest
veneration for women but regards you as a public danger at a time when
all the energies of the country should be devoted to the defeat of our
common enemies."

The woman, uttering a sound like a laugh, edged towards him, and Mr.
Lavender edged away, so that they proceeded up the street crabwise, with
Blink adhering jealously to her master's heels.

"Do you know," said Mr. Lavender, with all the delicacy in his power,
"how terribly subversive of the national effort it is to employ your
beauty and your grace to snare and slacken the sinews of our glorious
youth? The mystery of a woman's glance in times like these should be
used solely to beckon our heroes on to death in the field. But you,
madam, than whom no one indeed has a more mysterious glance, have turned
it to ends which, in the words of a great public man, profane the temple
of our--our----"

Mr. Lavender stopped, for his delicacy would not allow him even in so
vital a cause to call bodies bodies. The woman here edged so close that
he bolted across her in affright, and began to slant back towards the
opposite side of the street.

"Madam," he said, "you must have perceived by now that I am, alas! not
privileged by age to be one of the defenders of my country; and though
I am prepared to yield to you, if by so doing I can save some young hero
from his fate, I wish you to clearly understand that only my sense of
duty as a public man would induce me to do any such thing." At this he
turned his eyes dreadfully upon her graceful form still sidling towards
him, and, conscious again of that delightful scent, felt a swooning
sensation which made him lean against a lamp-post. "Spare me, madam," he
said in a faint voice, "for my country's sake I am ready to do anything,
but I must tell you that I worship another of your sex from afar, and if
you are a woman you will not seek to make me besmirch that adoration or
imperil my chivalry."

So saying, he threw his arms round the lamppost and closed his eyes,
expecting every moment to be drawn away against his will into a life of
vice.

A well-known voice, strangled to the pitch almost of inaudibility, said
in his ear:

"Oh, Don Pickwixote, Don Pickwixote, you will be the death of me!"

Electrified, Mr. Lavender opened his eyes, and in the dull orange rays
of the heavily shaded lamp he saw beside him no other than the writhing,
choking figure of Aurora herself. Shocked beyond measure by the mistake
he had made, Mr. Lavender threw up his hands and bolted past her through
the gateway of his garden; nor did he cease running till he had reached
his bedroom and got under the bed, so terribly was he upset. There, in
the company of Blink, he spent perhaps the most shame-stricken hours of
his existence, cursing the memory of all those bishops and novelists who
had caused him to believe that every woman in a dark street was a danger
to the State; nor could the persuasion of Mrs. Petty or Joe induce him
to come out, so that in despair they were compelled to leave him to pass
the night in this penitential position, which he did without even taking
out his teeth.




XX

RECEIVES A REVELATION

Fully a week elapsed before Mr. Lavender recovered from the effects of
the night which he had spent under his bed and again took his normal
interest in the course of national affairs. That which at length tore
him from his torpid condition and refixed his imagination was an article
in one of, his journals on the League of Nations, which caused him
suddenly to perceive that this was the most important subject of the
day. Carefully extracting the address of the society who had the matter
in hand, he determined to go down forthwith and learn from their own
lips how he could best induce everybody to join them in their noble
undertaking. Shutting every window, therefore and locking Blink
carefully into his study, he set forth and took the Tube to Charing
Cross.

Arriving at the premises indicated he made his way in lifts and
corridors till he came to the name of this great world undertaking
upon the door of Room 443, and paused for a moment to recover from the
astonishment he felt that the whole building at least was not occupied
by the energies of such a prodigious association.

"Appearances, however, are deceptive," he thought; "and from a single
grain of mustard-seed whole fields will flower." He knocked on the door,
therefore, and receiving the reply, "Cub id," in a female voice, he
entered a room where two young ladies with bad colds were feebly tapping
type-writers.

"Can I see the President?" asked Mr. Lavender.

"Dot at the bobent," said one of the young ladies. "Will the Secretary
do?"

"Yes," replied Mr. Lavender "for I seek information."

The young ladies indulged in secret confabulation, from which the
perpetual word "He" alone escaped to Mr. Lavender's ears.

Then one of them slipped into an inner room, leaving behind her a
powerful trail of eucalyptus. She came back almost directly, saying, "Go
id."

The room which Mr Lavender entered contained two persons, one seated at
a bureau and the other pacing up and down and talking in a powerful bass
voice. He paused, looked at Mr. Lavender from under bushy brows, and at
once went on walking and talking, with a sort of added zest.

"This must be He," thought Mr. Lavender, sitting down to listen, for
there was something about the gentleman which impressed him at once. He
had very large red ears, and hardly a hair on his head, while his full,
bearded face and prominent eyes were full of force and genius.

"It won't do a little bit, Titmarsh," he was saying, "to allow the
politicians to meddle in this racket. We want men of genius, whose
imaginations carry them beyond the facts of the moment. This is too big
a thing for those blasted politicians. They haven't shown a sign so far
of paying attention to what I've been telling them all this time. We
must keep them out, Titmarsh. Machinery without mechanism, and a change
of heart in the world. It's very simple. A single man of genius from
each country, no pettifogging opposition, no petty prejudices."

The other gentleman, whom Mr. Lavender took for the Secretary, and who
was leaning his head rather wearily on his hand, interjected: "Quite so!
And whom would you choose besides yourself? In France, for instance?"

He who was walking stopped a moment, again looked at Mr. Lavender
intently, and again began to speak as if he were not there.

"France?" he said. "There isn't anybody--Anatole's too old--there isn't
anybody."

"America, then?" hazarded the Secretary.

"America!" replied the other; "they haven't got even half a man. There's
that fellow in Germany that I used to influence; but I don't know--no, I
don't think he'd be any good."

"D'Annunzio, surely----" began the Secretary.

"D'Annunzio? My God! D'Annunzio! No! There's nobody in Italy or
Holland--she's as bankrupt as Spain; and there's not a cat in Austria.
Russia might, perhaps, give us someone, but I can't at the moment think
of him. No, Titmarsh, it's difficult."

Mr. Lavender had been growing more and more excited at each word he
overheard, for a scheme of really stupendous proportions was shaping
itself within him. He suddenly rose, and said: "I have an idea."

The Secretary sat up as if he had received a Faradic shock, and he who
was walking up and down stood still. "The deuce you have, sir," he said.

"Yes," cried Mr. Lavender and in concentration and marvellous
simplicity, "it has, I am sure, never been surpassed. It is clear to me,
sir, that you, and you alone, must be this League of Nations. For if it
is entirely in your hands there will be no delay. The plan will spring
full fledged from the head of Jove, and this great and beneficial change
in the lot of mankind will at once become an accomplished fact. There
will be no need for keeping in touch with human nature, no call for
patience and all that laborious upbuilding stone by stone which is so
apt to discourage mankind and imperil the fruition of great reforms. No,
sir; you--you must be this League, and we will all work to the end that
tomorrow at latest there may be perfected this crowning achievement of
the human species."