the beast in the jungle-第9部分

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erything　to　him；　and　it　might　yet　present　him；　in　no　connexion　that　any　one　seemed　held　to　recognise。　　If　this　was　the　case　in　these　closing　weeks　it　was　the　case　more　sharply　on　the　occasion　of　the　last　offices　rendered；　in　the　great　grey　London　cemetery；　to　what　had　been　mortal；　to　what　had　been　precious；　in　his　friend。　　The　concourse　at　her　grave　was　not　numerous；　but　he　saw　himself　treated　as　scarce　more　nearly　concerned　with　it　than　if　there　had　been　a　thousand　others。　　He　was　in　short　from　this　moment　face　to　face　with　the　fact　that　he　was　to　profit　extraordinarily　little　by　the　interest　May　Bartram　had　taken　in　him。　　He　couldn't　quite　have　said　what　he　expected；　but　he　hadn't　surely　expected　this　approach　to　a　double　privation。　　Not　only　had　her　interest　failed　him；　but　he　seemed　to　feel　himself　unattendedand　for　a　reason　he　couldn't　seizeby　the　distinction；　the　dignity；　the　propriety；　if　nothing　else；　of　the　man　markedly　bereaved。　　It　was　as　if；　in　the　view　of　society　he　had　not　BEEN　markedly　bereaved；　as　if　there　still　failed　some　sign　or　proof　of　it；　and　as　if　none　the　less　his　character　could　never　be　affirmed　nor　the　deficiency　ever　made　up。　　There　were　moments　as　the　weeks　went　by　when　he　would　have　liked；　by　some　almost　aggressive　act；　to　take　his　stand　on　the　intimacy　of　his　loss；　in　order　that　it　MIGHT　be　questioned　and　his　retort；　to　the　relief　of　his　spirit；　so　recorded；　but　the　moments　of　an　irritation　more　helpless　followed　fast　on　these；　the　moments　during　which；　turning　things　over　with　a　good　conscience　but　with　a　bare　horizon；　he　found　himself　wondering　if　he　oughtn't　to　have　begun；　so　to　speak；　further　back。

He　found　himself　wondering　indeed　at　many　things；　and　this　last　speculation　had　others　to　keep　it　company。　　What　could　he　have　done；　after　all；　in　her　lifetime；　without　giving　them　both；　as　it　were；　away？　　He　couldn't　have　made　known　she　was　watching　him；　for　that　would　have　published　the　superstition　of　the　Beast。　　This　was　what　closed　his　mouth　nownow　that　the　Jungle　had　been　thrashed　to　vacancy　and　that　the　Beast　had　stolen　away。　　It　sounded　too　foolish　and　too　flat；　the　difference　for　him　in　this　particular；　the　extinction　in　his　life　of　the　element　of　suspense；　was　such　as　in　fact　to　surprise　him。　　He　could　scarce　have　said　what　the　effect　resembled；　the　abrupt　cessation；　the　positive　prohibition；　of　music　perhaps；　more　than　anything　else；　in　some　place　all　adjusted　and　all　accustomed　to　sonority　and　to　attention。　　If　he　could　at　any　rate　have　conceived　lifting　the　veil　from　his　image　at　some　moment　of　the　past　（what　had　he　done；　after　all；　if　not　lift　it　to　HER？）　so　to　do　this　to…day；　to　talk　to　people　at　large　of　the　Jungle　cleared　and　confide　to　them　that　he　now　felt　it　as　safe；　would　have　been　not　only　to　see　them　listen　as　to　a　goodwife's　tale；　but　really　to　hear　himself　tell　one。　　What　it　presently　came　to　in　truth　was　that　poor　Marcher　waded　through　his　beaten　grass；　where　no　life　stirred；　where　no　breath　sounded；　where　no　evil　eye　seemed　to　gleam　from　a　possible　lair；　very　much　as　if　vaguely　looking　for　the　Beast；　and　still　more　as　if　acutely　missing　it。　　He　walked　about　in　an　existence　that　had　grown　strangely　more　spacious；　and；　stopping　fitfully　in　places　where　the　undergrowth　of　life　struck　him　as　closer；　asked　himself　yearningly；　wondered　secretly　and　sorely；　if　it　would　have　lurked　here　or　there。　　It　would　have　at　all　events　sprung；　what　was　at　least　complete　was　his　belief　in　the　truth　itself　of　the　assurance　given　him。　　The　change　from　his　old　sense　to　his　new　was　absolute　and　final：　　what　was　to　happen　had　so　absolutely　and　finally　happened　that　he　was　as　little　able　to　know　a　fear　for　his　future　as　to　know　a　hope；　so　absent　in　short　was　any　question　of　anything　still　to　come。　　He　was　to　live　entirely　with　the　other　question；　that　of　his　unidentified　past；　that　of　his　having　to　see　his　fortune　impenetrably　muffled　and　masked。

The　torment　of　this　vision　became　then　his　occupation；　he　couldn't　perhaps　have　consented　to　live　but　for　the　possibility　of　guessing。　She　had　told　him；　his　friend；　not　to　guess；　she　had　forbidden　him；　so　far　as　he　might；　to　know；　and　she　had　even　in　a　sort　denied　the　power　in　him　to　learn：　　which　were　so　many　things；　precisely；　to　deprive　him　of　rest。　　It　wasn't　that　he　wanted；　he　argued　for　fairness；　that　anything　past　and　done　should　repeat　itself；　it　was　only　that　he　shouldn't；　as　an　anticlimax；　have　been　taken　sleeping　so　sound　as　not　to　be　able　to　win　back　by　an　effort　of　thought　the　lost　stuff　of　consciousness。　　He　declared　to　himself　at　moments　that　he　would　either　win　it　back　or　have　done　with　consciousness　for　ever；　he　made　this　idea　his　one　motive　in　fine；　made　it　so　much　his　passion　that　none　other；　to　compare　with　it；　seemed　ever　to　have　touched　him。　　The　lost　stuff　of　consciousness　became　thus　for　him　as　a　strayed　or　stolen　child　to　an　unappeasable　father；　he　hunted　it　up　and　down　very　much　as　if　he　were　knocking　at　doors　and　enquiring　of　the　police。　　This　was　the　spirit　in　which；　inevitably；　he　set　himself　to　travel；　he　started　on　a　journey　that　was　to　be　as　long　as　he　could　make　it；　it　danced　before　him　that；　as　the　other　side　of　the　globe　couldn't　possibly　have　less　to　say　to　him；　it　might；　by　a　possibility　of　suggestion；　have　more。　　Before　he　quitted　London；　however；　he　made　a　pilgrimage　to　May　Bartram's　grave；　took　his　way　to　it　through　the　endless　avenues　of　the　grim　suburban　necropolis；　sought　it　out　in　the　wilderness　of　tombs；　and；　though　he　had　come　but　for　the　renewal　of　the　act　of　farewell；　found　himself；　when　he　had　at　last　stood　by　it；　beguiled　into　long　intensities。　　He　stood　for　an　hour；　powerless　to　turn　away　and　yet　powerless　to　penetrate　the　darkness　of　death；　fixing　with　his　eyes　her　inscribed　name　and　date；　beating　his　forehead　against　the　fact　of　the　secret　they　kept；　drawing　his　breath；　while　he　waited；　as　if　some　sense　would　in　pity　of　him　rise　from　the　stones。　　He　kneeled　on　the　stones；　however；　in　vain；　they　kept　what　they　concealed；　and　if　the　face　of　the　tomb　did　become　a　face　for　him　it　was　because　her　two　names　became　a　pair　of　eyes　that　didn't　know　him。　　He　gave　them　a　last　long　look；　but　no　palest　light　broke。



CHAPTER　VI



He　stayed　away；　after　this；　for　a　year；　he　visited　the　depths　of　Asia；　spending　himself　on　scenes　of　romantic　interest；　of　superlative　sanctity；　but　what　was　present　to　him　everywhere　was　that　for　a　man　who　had　known　what　HE　had　known　the　world　was　vulgar　and　vain。　　The　state　of　mind　in　which　he　had　lived　for　so　many　years　shone　out　to　him；　in　reflexion；　as　a　light　that　coloured　and　refined；　a　light　beside　which　the　glow　of　the　East　was　garish　cheap　and　thin。　　The　terrible　truth　was　that　he　had　lostwith　everything　elsea　distinction　as　well　the　things　he　saw　couldn't　help　being　common　when　he　had　become　common　to　look　at　them。　　He　was　simply　now　one　of　them　himselfhe　was　in　the　dust；　without　a　peg　for　the　sense　of　difference；　and　there　were　hours　when；　before　the　temples　of　gods　and　the　sepulchres　of　kings；　his　spirit　turned　for　nobleness　of　association　to　the　barely　discriminated　slab　in　the　London　suburb。　　That　had　become　for　him；　and　more　intensely　with　time　and　distance；　his　one　witness　of　a　past　glory。　　It　was　all　that　was　left　to　him　for　proof　or　pride；　yet　the　past　glories　of　Pharaohs　were　nothing　to　him　as　he　thought　of　it。　　Small　wonder　then　that　he　came　back　to　it　on　the　morrow　of　his　return。　　He　was　drawn　there　this　time　as　irresistibly　as　the　other；　yet　with　a　confidence；　almost；　that　was　doubtless　the　effect　of　the　many　months　that　had　elapsed。　　He　had　lived；　in　spite　of　himself；　into　his　change　of　feeling；　and　in　wandering　over　the　earth　had　wandered；　as　might　be　said；　from　the　circumference　to　the　centre　of　his　desert。　　He　had　settled　to　his　safety　and　accepted　perforce　his　extinction；　figuring　to　himself；　with　some　colour；　in　the　likeness　of　certain　little　old　men　he　remembered　to　have　seen；　of　whom；　all　meagre　and　wizened　as　they　might　look；　it　was　related　that　they　had　in　their　time　fought　twenty　duels　or　been　loved　by　ten　princesses。　They　indeed　had　been　wondrous　for　others　while　he　was　but　wondrous　for　himself；　which；　however；　was　exactly　the　cause　of　his　haste　to　renew　the　wonder　by　getting　back；　as　he　might　put　it；　into　his　own　presence。　　That　had　quickened　his　steps　and　checked　his　delay。　　If　his　visit　was　prompt　it　was　because　he　had　been　separated　so　long　from　the　part　of　himself　that　alone　he　now　valued。

It's　accordingly　not　false　to　say　that　he　reached　his　goal　with　a　certain　elation　and　stood　there　again　with　a　certain　assurance。　The　creature　beneath　the　sod　knew　of　his　rare　experience；　so　that；　strangely　now；　the　place　had　lost　for　him　its　mere　blankness　of　expression。　　It　met　him　in　mildnessnot；　as　before；　in　mockery；　it　wore　for　him　the　air　of　conscious　greeting　that　we　find；　after　absence；　in　things　that　have　closely　belonged　to　us　and　which　seem　to　confess　of　themselves　to　the　connexion。　　The　plot　of　ground；　the　graven　tablet；　the　tended　flowers　affected　him　so　as　belonging　to　him　that　he　resembled　for　the　hour　a　contented　landlord　reviewing　a　piece　of　property。　　Whatever　had　happenedwell；　had　happened。　　He　had　not　come　back　this　time　with　the　vanity　of　that　question；　his　former　worrying　〃What；　WHAT？〃　now　practically　so　spent。　　Yet　he　would　none　the　less　never　again　so　cut　himself　off　from　the　spot；　he　would　come　back　to　it　every　month；　for　if　he　did　nothing　else　by　its　aid　he　at　least　held　up　his　head。　　It　thus　grew　for　him；　in　the

oddest　way；　a　positive　resource；　he　carried　out　his　idea　of　periodical　returns；　which　took　their　place　at　last　among　the　most　inveterate　of　his　habits。　　What　it　all　amounted　to；　oddly　enough；　was　that　in　his　finally　so　simplified　world　this　garden　of　death　gave　him　the　few　square　feet　of　earth　on　which　he　could　still　most　live。　　It　was　as　if；　being　nothing　anywhere　else　for　any　one；　nothing　even　for　himself；　he　were　just　everything　here；　and　if　not　for　a　crowd　of　witnesses　or　indeed　for　any　witness　but　John　Marcher；　then　by　clear　right　of　the　register　that　he　could　scan　like　an　open　page。　　The　open　page　was　the　tomb　of　his　friend；　and　there　were　the　facts　of　the　past；　there　the　truth　of　his　life；　there　the　backward　reaches　i