27.The Forethought of HoprigCOME now,” said St. Hoprig, as he laid down the wood, “but here is that abominable ward of mine! and upon the point of defying me too!” Whereon he shook hands cordially with Florian.“Ah, but, monsieur,” said Florian, “be logical! We meet as enemies.”“Frequently,” observed the saint, “that is the speediest way of reaching a thorough understanding. I suppose that you have come about your foolish bargain with Janicot.”“Upon my word,” replied Florian, “but all my business affairs appear to be well known to everybody upon Morven!”The saint had turned to Melior, with a wise nod. “So, you perceive, madame, our precautions were justified. Now, my dear son, do not worry any more about your contract with the powers of evil, but off with your things, and have some supper with us. For I have excellent news for you. You wereto sacrifice to Janicot the first child that you and Madame Melior might have, and she was then to vanish. Your bargain is void, or, rather, the terms have not yet been fulfilled.”Florian looked forlornly at his wife, then toward the cradle, and he said, “I fail to perceive the omission, Monsieur Hoprig.”“Luckily for human society, my son, a great many persons are similarly obtuse.”“Ah,” said Florian, “but let us have no daring coruscations of wit where plain talking is needed.”“I must tell you, then,” the saint continued, “that, when my suspicions were aroused at Brunbelois, I communicated with higher powers, and the Recording Angel obliged me with a fair copy of your first interview with Janicot. He objected to giving it: but I stood up for my rights as a saint, and in the end, after some little unpleasantness, he did give it. One really has to be firm with these angels, I find, in order to get the least bit of service. After that, at all events, the way to foil your wicked scheme was clear enough: in fact, it was the one possible way to prevent, without open scandal, your begetting of a child upon your wife for deplorable purposes. I advised the Princess to follow this way, and to make sure before marrying you that you should win to her embraces a bit too late to be the father of her child.”“That seems to be unprecedented advice,” said Florian, sternly, “to have come from a saint of the Calendar.”He tried, at least, to speak sternly: but a dreadful thought had smitten him, and Florian knew that he, who had wondered what people meant when they talked about fear, had done with wondering.“It was for your own good and eternal salvation,” observed Melior, “though, to be sure, all men are like that, and, as I often think, the more you do for them the less they seem to appreciate your trouble—”Florian said only, “May I inquire, madame, without appearing unduly intrusive, who was your collaborator in arranging this infant’s début?”“Why, but of course she received all the necessary assistance,” replied St. Hoprig, “from me. I never grudge the efforts necessary to a good action of this sort: and all night long, my son, I labored cheerfully for your salvation. For it was my plain duty as your celestial patron to save you, at any cost, from falling into grave sin: and, besides, it was a matter hardly to be entrusted to any other gentleman without considerable possibilities of scandal.”Florian looked from one to the other. “So it was to prevent scandal that my wife and my patron saint have put together their heads: and beauty and holiness—they also!—must combine to avoid offendingagainst the notions of the neighbors. You will permit the remark that here is ambiguous logic.”“Ah, but my dear,” replied Melior, “can you with logic deny that we did it for your own good? So often, when affairs look wrong, if you will just regard the spirit of the thing—”“Madame,” said Florian, without unkindliness, “let us not argue about that. I am sure you were persuaded as to the spirit of the thing, when no doubt Monsieur Hoprig went into it at full length—”Yet Florian spoke perturbedly, for in his heart remained despair and terror. To find that he had been hoodwinked was not a discovery to upset a person used to the ways of the world and of more wives than he had ever married: to be hoodwinked was the métier of husbands. Moreover, reflection had already suggested that the saint had followed the honorable old tradition of various nations who deputed exactly the task which Hoprig had spared Florian to their most holy persons.Florian took snuff. With his chin well up, he inhaled luxuriously....Yes, Florian reflected, there were priests everywhere,—the Brahmans of Malabar, the Piaches of the Arawaks, the Dedes of Lycia, the Chodsas of the Dersim uplands, and the Ankuts of the Esquimaux,—to all these priests was formally relegated the performing of this task when a woman wasabout to marry. Every part of the world wherein mankind remained unspoiled by civilization, reflected Florian, afforded an exact and honorable precedent: and he could advance no ground for complaint. For one was logical. Certain physical reservations were made much of, to be sure, in Holy Writ and in the sermons preached in convents to auditories of schoolgirls. And this theory perhaps did no great harm. But, after all, there was a grain of folly in this theory that to-day’s letters still in the post contained of necessity more virtuous matter than did yesterday’s letters, whose seals had been broken. No, let us be logical about this theory.He closed his snuff-box. The lid bore the portrait of poor Philippe. He regretted Philippe, who had been destroyed with no real gain to anybody. Florian slipped the box into his waistcoat pocket....Hoprig’s painstaking forethought, then, gave a philosopher no ground for wonder or dissatisfaction. But none the less, in the heart of Florian was despair and terror. The terms of his bargain had not been fulfilled, and the one course open to a gentleman who held by his word was to go on living with his disenchanted princess for, at the very least—he estimated, appalled,—another full year.Florian extended his right hand, dusting the fingers one against the other. He liked those long white fingers. But this was simply dreadful: andhe would have to speak now, he would have to say something. They were both waiting. Negligently he straightened the Mechlin ruffles at his throat....Then with a riotous surge of joy, he recollected that the current conventions of society afforded him a colorable pretext to provoke the saint into annihilating him. As against continuing to live within earshot of Melior’s insufferable jabbering,—as against a year of hourly frettings under a gross-minded idiot’s blasphemies against the bright and flawless shrine of beauty which she inhabited,—the everywhere betrayed romantic had still the refuge of bodily destruction in this world and damnation in the next. And all because of a graceful social convention! all because of one of those fine notions which, precisely as he had always contended, made human living among the amenities of civilization so much more comely and more satisfying than was the existence of such savages as lived ignobly with no guide except common-sense. The Piaches and the Brahmans and the Ankuts were all savages, and their obscene notions were wholly abominable.“Madame,” said Florian, with his best dignity, “whatever the contrast between the purity of your intentions and of your conduct, I shall cling to the old simple faith of my ancestors. I am a Puysange. I do not care for airdrawn abstractions, I do not palter with such dangerous subtleties as you suggest.I act with the forthright simplicity which becomes a gentleman, and I avenge my wounded honor.”Whereupon, with due respect for the possible incandescence of a halo, Florian struck Hoprig on the jaw.“Now, holy Michael aid me!” cried the saint, and he closed upon Florian, straightforwardly, without any miracle-working.And as Hoprig spoke, there was a great peal of thunder. The crash, with its long shuddering reverberations was utterly appalling, but Hoprig was not appalled. Instead, he had drawn away from Florian, and Hoprig was now smiling deprecatingly.“Dear me!” the saint observed, “but I am always forgetting. And now, I suppose, they will be vexed again.”Lizard crawling from pot
27.The Forethought of Hoprig
27.The Forethought of Hoprig
C
OME now,” said St. Hoprig, as he laid down the wood, “but here is that abominable ward of mine! and upon the point of defying me too!” Whereon he shook hands cordially with Florian.
“Ah, but, monsieur,” said Florian, “be logical! We meet as enemies.”
“Frequently,” observed the saint, “that is the speediest way of reaching a thorough understanding. I suppose that you have come about your foolish bargain with Janicot.”
“Upon my word,” replied Florian, “but all my business affairs appear to be well known to everybody upon Morven!”
The saint had turned to Melior, with a wise nod. “So, you perceive, madame, our precautions were justified. Now, my dear son, do not worry any more about your contract with the powers of evil, but off with your things, and have some supper with us. For I have excellent news for you. You wereto sacrifice to Janicot the first child that you and Madame Melior might have, and she was then to vanish. Your bargain is void, or, rather, the terms have not yet been fulfilled.”
Florian looked forlornly at his wife, then toward the cradle, and he said, “I fail to perceive the omission, Monsieur Hoprig.”
“Luckily for human society, my son, a great many persons are similarly obtuse.”
“Ah,” said Florian, “but let us have no daring coruscations of wit where plain talking is needed.”
“I must tell you, then,” the saint continued, “that, when my suspicions were aroused at Brunbelois, I communicated with higher powers, and the Recording Angel obliged me with a fair copy of your first interview with Janicot. He objected to giving it: but I stood up for my rights as a saint, and in the end, after some little unpleasantness, he did give it. One really has to be firm with these angels, I find, in order to get the least bit of service. After that, at all events, the way to foil your wicked scheme was clear enough: in fact, it was the one possible way to prevent, without open scandal, your begetting of a child upon your wife for deplorable purposes. I advised the Princess to follow this way, and to make sure before marrying you that you should win to her embraces a bit too late to be the father of her child.”
“That seems to be unprecedented advice,” said Florian, sternly, “to have come from a saint of the Calendar.”
He tried, at least, to speak sternly: but a dreadful thought had smitten him, and Florian knew that he, who had wondered what people meant when they talked about fear, had done with wondering.
“It was for your own good and eternal salvation,” observed Melior, “though, to be sure, all men are like that, and, as I often think, the more you do for them the less they seem to appreciate your trouble—”
Florian said only, “May I inquire, madame, without appearing unduly intrusive, who was your collaborator in arranging this infant’s début?”
“Why, but of course she received all the necessary assistance,” replied St. Hoprig, “from me. I never grudge the efforts necessary to a good action of this sort: and all night long, my son, I labored cheerfully for your salvation. For it was my plain duty as your celestial patron to save you, at any cost, from falling into grave sin: and, besides, it was a matter hardly to be entrusted to any other gentleman without considerable possibilities of scandal.”
Florian looked from one to the other. “So it was to prevent scandal that my wife and my patron saint have put together their heads: and beauty and holiness—they also!—must combine to avoid offendingagainst the notions of the neighbors. You will permit the remark that here is ambiguous logic.”
“Ah, but my dear,” replied Melior, “can you with logic deny that we did it for your own good? So often, when affairs look wrong, if you will just regard the spirit of the thing—”
“Madame,” said Florian, without unkindliness, “let us not argue about that. I am sure you were persuaded as to the spirit of the thing, when no doubt Monsieur Hoprig went into it at full length—”
Yet Florian spoke perturbedly, for in his heart remained despair and terror. To find that he had been hoodwinked was not a discovery to upset a person used to the ways of the world and of more wives than he had ever married: to be hoodwinked was the métier of husbands. Moreover, reflection had already suggested that the saint had followed the honorable old tradition of various nations who deputed exactly the task which Hoprig had spared Florian to their most holy persons.
Florian took snuff. With his chin well up, he inhaled luxuriously....
Yes, Florian reflected, there were priests everywhere,—the Brahmans of Malabar, the Piaches of the Arawaks, the Dedes of Lycia, the Chodsas of the Dersim uplands, and the Ankuts of the Esquimaux,—to all these priests was formally relegated the performing of this task when a woman wasabout to marry. Every part of the world wherein mankind remained unspoiled by civilization, reflected Florian, afforded an exact and honorable precedent: and he could advance no ground for complaint. For one was logical. Certain physical reservations were made much of, to be sure, in Holy Writ and in the sermons preached in convents to auditories of schoolgirls. And this theory perhaps did no great harm. But, after all, there was a grain of folly in this theory that to-day’s letters still in the post contained of necessity more virtuous matter than did yesterday’s letters, whose seals had been broken. No, let us be logical about this theory.
He closed his snuff-box. The lid bore the portrait of poor Philippe. He regretted Philippe, who had been destroyed with no real gain to anybody. Florian slipped the box into his waistcoat pocket....
Hoprig’s painstaking forethought, then, gave a philosopher no ground for wonder or dissatisfaction. But none the less, in the heart of Florian was despair and terror. The terms of his bargain had not been fulfilled, and the one course open to a gentleman who held by his word was to go on living with his disenchanted princess for, at the very least—he estimated, appalled,—another full year.
Florian extended his right hand, dusting the fingers one against the other. He liked those long white fingers. But this was simply dreadful: andhe would have to speak now, he would have to say something. They were both waiting. Negligently he straightened the Mechlin ruffles at his throat....
Then with a riotous surge of joy, he recollected that the current conventions of society afforded him a colorable pretext to provoke the saint into annihilating him. As against continuing to live within earshot of Melior’s insufferable jabbering,—as against a year of hourly frettings under a gross-minded idiot’s blasphemies against the bright and flawless shrine of beauty which she inhabited,—the everywhere betrayed romantic had still the refuge of bodily destruction in this world and damnation in the next. And all because of a graceful social convention! all because of one of those fine notions which, precisely as he had always contended, made human living among the amenities of civilization so much more comely and more satisfying than was the existence of such savages as lived ignobly with no guide except common-sense. The Piaches and the Brahmans and the Ankuts were all savages, and their obscene notions were wholly abominable.
“Madame,” said Florian, with his best dignity, “whatever the contrast between the purity of your intentions and of your conduct, I shall cling to the old simple faith of my ancestors. I am a Puysange. I do not care for airdrawn abstractions, I do not palter with such dangerous subtleties as you suggest.I act with the forthright simplicity which becomes a gentleman, and I avenge my wounded honor.”
Whereupon, with due respect for the possible incandescence of a halo, Florian struck Hoprig on the jaw.
“Now, holy Michael aid me!” cried the saint, and he closed upon Florian, straightforwardly, without any miracle-working.
And as Hoprig spoke, there was a great peal of thunder. The crash, with its long shuddering reverberations was utterly appalling, but Hoprig was not appalled. Instead, he had drawn away from Florian, and Hoprig was now smiling deprecatingly.
“Dear me!” the saint observed, “but I am always forgetting. And now, I suppose, they will be vexed again.”
Lizard crawling from pot