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"I see, I see," he said nodding. "You feel it imperative to lead your
own life and try to live up to your own ideals. That is good--quite
good. And you are not in sympathy with your aunt's friends. Nothing
more natural. Of course it is important to be sure that your ideals
are the highest possible. Do you think they are?"

"They seem so. They are the highest possible for _me_," replied Austin
earnestly.

"That implies a limitation," observed St Aubyn, emitting a stream of
blue smoke from his lips. "Well, we all have our limitations. You
appear to have a very strong sense that every man should realise his
own individuality to the full; that that is his first duty to
himself. Tell me then--does it never occur to you that we may also
have duties to others?"

"Why, yes--certainly," said Austin. "I only mean that we have _no
right_ to sacrifice our own individualities to other people's ideas.
For instance, my aunt, who has always been the best of friends to me,
is for ever worrying me to associate with people who rasp every nerve
in my body, because she thinks that it would do me good. Then I rebel.
I simply will not do it."

"What friends have you?" asked St Aubyn quietly.

"I don't think I have any," said Austin, with great simplicity.
"Except Lubin. My best companionship I find in books."

"The best in the world--so long as the books are good," replied St
Aubyn. "But who is Lubin?"

"He's a gardener," said Austin. "About two years older than I am. But
he's a gentleman, you understand. And if you could only see the sort
of people my poor aunt tries to force upon me!"

"I think you may add me to Lubin--as your friend," observed St Aubyn;
at which Austin flushed with pleasure. "But now, one other word. You
say you want to realise your highest self. Well, the way to do it is
not to live for yourself alone; it is to live for others. To save
oneself one must first lose oneself--forget oneself, when occasion
arises--for the sake of other people. It is only by self-sacrifice for
the sake of others that the supreme heights are to be attained."

For the first time Austin's face fell. He tossed his long hair off his
forehead, and toyed silently with his cigarette.

"Is that a hard saying?" resumed St Aubyn, smiling. "It has high
authority, however. Think it over at your leisure. Have you finished?
Come, then, and let me show you the pictures. We have the whole
afternoon before us."

They explored the fine old house well-nigh from roof to basement,
while St Aubyn recounted all the associations connected with the
different rooms. Then they went into the picture-gallery. Austin,
breathless with interest, hung upon St Aubyn's lips as he pointed out
the peculiarities of each great master represented, and explained how,
for instance, by a fold of the drapery or the crook of a finger, the
characteristic mannerisms of the painter could be detected, and the
school to which a given work belonged could approximately be
determined; drew attention to the unifying and grouping of the
different features of a composition; spoke learnedly of textures,
qualities, and tactile values; and laid stress on the importance of
colour, light, atmosphere, and the sense of motion, as contrasted with
the undue preponderance too often attached by critics to mere outline.
All this was new to Austin, who had really never seen any good
pictures before, and his enthusiasm grew with what it fed on. St Aubyn
was an admirable cicerone; he loved his pictures, and he knew
them--knew everything that could be known about them--and, inspired by
the intelligent appreciation of his guest, spared no pains to do them
justice. A good half-hour was then spent over the engravings, which
were kept in a quaint old room by themselves; and afterwards they
adjourned to the garden. St Aubyn's conservatories were famous, and
his orchids of great variety and beauty. Austin seemed transported
into a world where everything was so arranged as to gratify his
craving for harmony and fitness, and he moved almost silently beside
his host in a dream of satisfaction and delight.

"By the way, there's still one room you haven't seen," remarked St
Aubyn, as they were strolling at their leisure through the grounds.
"We call it the Banqueting Hall--in that wing between the two old
towers. Queen Elizabeth was entertained there once, and it contains
some rather beautiful tapestries. I should like to have them moved
into the main building, only there's really no place where they'd fit,
and perhaps it's better they should remain where they were originally
intended for. Are you fond of tapestry?"

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Fri 19th Dec 2025, 16:36

Austin and His Friends by Frederic H. Balfour