|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 17
"Yes," said Charmides, "it was wise; but it is difficult to feel it so
at the time. I wonder! I think perhaps I have made the mistake of being
too fastidious. But it seemed so fine a goal that one had in sight, to
chasten and temper all one's thoughts to what was beautiful--to judge
and distinguish, to choose the right tones and harmonies, to be always
rejecting and refining. It had its sorrows, of course. How often in the
old days one came in contact with some gracious and beautiful
personality, and flung oneself into close relations; and then one began
to see this and that flaw. There were lapses in tact, petulances,
littlenesses; one's friend did not rightly use his beautiful mind; he
was jealous, suspicious, trivial, petty; it ended in disillusionment.
Instead of taking him as a passenger on one's vessel, and determining to
live at peace, to overlook, to accommodate, one began to watch for an
opportunity of putting him down courteously at some stopping-place; and
instead of being grateful for his friendship, one was vexed with him for
disappointing one. We must speak more of these things. I seem to feel
the want of something commoner and broader in my thoughts; but in this
place it is hard to change."
"Will you forgive me then," I said, "if I ask you plainly what this
place is? It seems very strange to me, and yet I think I have been here
before."
Charmides looked at me with a smile. "It has been called," he said, "by
many ugly names, and men have been unreasonably afraid of it. It is the
place of satisfied desire, and, as you see, it is a comfortable place
enough. The theologians in their coarse way call it Hell, though that is
a word which is forbidden here; it is indeed a sort of treason to use
the word, because of its unfortunate association--and you can see with
your own eyes that I have done wrong even to speak of it."
I looked round, and saw indeed that a visible tremor had fallen on the
groups about us; it was as though a cold cloud, full of hail and
darkness, had floated over a sunny sky. People were hurrying out of the
garden, and some were regarding us askance and with frowns of
disapproval. In a moment or two we were left alone.
"I have been indiscreet," said Charmides, "but I feel somehow in a
rebellious mood; and indeed it has long seemed absurd to me that you
should be unaware of the fact, and so obviously guileless! But I will
speak no more of this to-day. People come and go here very strangely,
and I have sometimes wondered if it would not soon be time for me to go;
but it would be idle to pretend that I have not been happy here."
XI
What Charmides had told me filled me with great astonishment; it seemed
to me strange that I had not perceived the truth before. It made me feel
that I had somehow been wasting time. I was tempted to call Amroth to my
side, but I remembered what he had said, and I determined to resist the
impulse. I half expected to find that our strange talk, and the very
obvious disapproval of our words, had made some difference to me. But it
was not the case. I found myself treated with the same smiling welcome
as before, and indeed with an added kind of gentleness, such as older
people give to a child who has been confronted with some hard fact of
life, such as a sorrow or an illness. This in a way disconcerted me; for
in the moment when I had perceived the truth, there had come over me the
feeling that I ought in some way to bestir myself to preach, to warn,
to advise. But the idea of finding any sort of fault with these
contented, leisurely, interested people, seemed to me absurd, and so I
continued as before, half enjoying the life about me, and half bored by
it. It seemed so ludicrous in any way to pity the inhabitants of the
place, and yet I dimly saw that none of them could possibly continue
there. But I soon saw that there was no question of advice, because I
had nothing to advise. To ask them to be discontented, to suffer, to
inquire, seemed as absurd as to ask a man riding comfortably in a
carriage to get out and walk; and yet I felt that it was just that which
they needed. But one effect the incident had; it somehow seemed to draw
me more to Cynthia. There followed a time of very close companionship
with her. She sought me out, she began to confide in me, chattering
about her happiness and her delight in her surroundings, as a child
might chatter, and half chiding me, in a tender and pretty way, for not
being more at ease in the place. "You always seem to me," she said, "as
if you were only staying here, while I feel as if I could live here for
ever. Of course you are very kind and patient about it all, but you are
not at home--and I don't care a bit about your disapproval now." She
talked to me much about Lucius, who seemed to have a great attraction
for her. "He is all right," she said. "There is no nonsense about
him,--we understand each other; I don't get tired of him, and we like
the same things. I seem to know exactly what he feels about everything;
and that is one of the comforts of this place, that no one asks
questions or makes mischief; one can do just as one likes all the time.
I did not think, when I was alive, that there could be anything so
delightful as all this ahead of me."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|