He came
up to me, smiling, in a secluded corner. "Hullo," he said, "_mon
vieux!_ who would have thought of finding you here in the island of
Circe?"
"I might ask the same question," I said. "But perhaps I have the sacred
herb, _moly_, the 'small unsightly root' in my bosom, to guard me
against the spells."
"The leaf has prickles on it," he said, with a smile; "there is nothing
prickly about our friends here."
This was mere sword-play, of course, not real talk; and then we had
five minutes' talk which I will not put down, because I should betray
secrets, and secrets too in their rough, uncut form, the gems of art,
which must be cut before they are presented. But I got more out of
those five minutes than I did out of the rest of my visit.
Presently we went in to dinner, and the performance began. How
skilfully it was all guided and modulated by our host, who was in his
best form. What delicate flies he threw over his fish; how softly they
rose to them. The talk flashed to and fro; the groups formed, broke,
re-formed. But it was a shallow stream; there was no zeal or vehemence;
it was all polished, deft, superficial, conventional. It was like
playing an agile and elaborate game; and I felt that those who took
part in it were congratulating themselves on the brilliance of the
affair. Education, religion, art, poetry, music--we had something to
say about all; and yet I felt that no light had been thrown upon
anything.
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