The flute of Pan

Front matter

CANNOT LEAVE THE LIBRARY.

Chap ...

Shelf _

Introduction

A friend of mine , who holds a distinguished position at one of the foreign courts , keeps , in his somber bureau at the War Office, a beautiful miniature statuette of the god Pan . The exquisite ornament seemed more than ordinarily striking in such grim surroundings, and I begged my friend to tell me its history . It was a gift, he informed me, from the hereditary princess of a country which I must call Siguria. Then, as he was well aware of my psychological interests, he proceeded to tell me a tale which pleased me so much that I made it into a romance, and also into a comedy. There are things in the romance which are omitted from the comedy, and there are things in the comedy which are omitted from the romance, and each must be regarded as a work quite independent of the other. An artist may paint any number of views of the same object, and a writer is allowed the same liberty. Thus, little essays are worked

INTRODUCTION out into long histories, an anecdote may grow into a drama, and one passage from a biography may easily become an epic in many volumes . The letters, and journals, and documents — placed by my friend at my disposal — the actual facts of the story, have been as little tampered with as possible, and although I hope that no one will attempt to penetrate the necessary disguise of the characters represented, I also hope that no one will question the intrinsic truthfulness of the narrative as set down .

The tale is mainly a love-tale, and it is notoriously difficult to ascertain what conversations really pass between lovers . Either they do not remember what they say, or they do not know what they say, or — which is likely enough — they do not choose to take the world into their confidence. In this instance, however, I submitted my dialogue to the principal speakers, and they agreed, separately, and, to the best of my knowledge, without any secret understanding, that although they possibly said more than I have attributed to them, they did not say less.

J. O. H.

viii

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. A Mother Removes an Eyelash from Her

II. In which a Recluse is Glad to See a Friend 9

Chapter I A Mother Removes An Eyelash From Her Eye

^ORIS, Viscount Berkele, fifteenth Earl of Feldershey, having refused to enjoy the advantages of his title and possessions, took some canvases and one hundred pounds to Venice, where he hired three rooms in an old palace, and established a small school of art. He accepted no money for his lectures, and, although a certain number of the curious went immediately to hear what he had to say, he was considered a person of talent but insufficient reasoning power. The inheritor, in a direct line, of one of the few old English peerages (created 1491), a soldier who had won great distinction during the South African war, the owner of large means inherited from an American grandmother, why should he suddenly adopt a line of conduct which the normal deplored as mad, and the hypocritical praised as rather fine, and the cynical dismissed as an intolerable pose?

“ He attitudinizes; he is a charlatan; he is playing to the gallery.” There was little left to add except the conclusion that he was actually dangerous. Those who despise artificial privileges do not attract those who make artificial privileges worth while : Berkele, by his scornful renunciation of rank and wealth, cast a slight but distinct slur upon the two finest securities in the market, and the sensible majority who have labored, and labor, under heavy difficulties, to keep such things immune from the profanity of the disillusioned, determined to treat Berkele as a fanatic, and, probably, an atheist. He had also molested a Prime Minister by asking him, at a dinner-party, whether he had ever read one of Tolstoy’s works. u I don’t think I intend to read Tolstoy,” was the politician’s temperate reply.

Women liked Berkele because he was known to have been susceptible to beauty once, and to have led an amorous life as a Guardsman before the war. Rumor had associated his name with that of the prettiest princess in Europe — an exceedingly attractive, dashing, imprudent, brilliant princess, who broke hearts

REMOVES AN EYELASH and disregarded etiquette merely because she wanted to enjoy herself. She lived for pleasure. Women, who heard the story, expected, with the sentimental optimism of their sex, that the love-lorn Feldershey would marry eventually some dear, darling girl, and modify his reactionary ideas. He had now reached the moment in a man’s career — between the ages of thirtyfive and forty — when he shows his mettle, and takes the step, in some secret or open way, which leads to his ultimate place among the weak or the strong — a truer division of humanity than the ordinary distinctions which classify them as the good and the bad, or the rich and the poor, or the happy and the unhappy. Many of the rich are good and happy, many of the poor are bad and strong; many of the rich are strong and wretched, many of the poor are weak and happy: the play on these conditions is as various as the combinations of notes in the musical scale, but strong or weak one must be. To this fact Berkele was awake, and when his mother, Lady Feldershey, arrived full of tears, protests, and gifts in his bare studio overlooking the lagoon a few days before his thirty-seventh birthday, he owned that he had reached a crisis, no doubt, although he felt as he had been feeling 3 for a considerable time, and he could not pretend to see two yards in front of his nose — so far as his future was concerned.

“You are quite good-looking enough for a man, and your smile was always charming,” said Lady Feldershey, answering a malicious jibe which she had received in London with regard to the reformation which is apt to accompany a ruined appearance or shattered health.

This was the jibe —

“ If St. Ignatius had not been wounded at Pampeluna, should we have heard so much about the Jesuits? If only the beautiful and contented and young were allowed to sit in judgment, what different verdicts we should get on social sinners ! ”

Lady Feldershey repeated this — not to annoy her son, but to warn him of the dreadfully intelligent among his critics.

“ You were not wounded, and you are not plain,” she continued; “ why, then, do you have these extraordinary notions, and live in this hole? People will soon say that there must be something wrong. They are bound to say it. When I think of the magnificent career you have abandoned, it is enough to kill me ! When the King asked me at Ascot where you were and 4

REMOVES AN EYELASH what you were doing, I nearly sank into the ground ! His look ! my confusion ! ”

She was interrupted by the arrival of his pupils — a mixed rabble, as she described them afterward, of American, German, English, and French persons of both sexes. Some stood; some sat on the floor; some listened eagerly; while the rest, because the lectures were free, paid no attention to the lecturer’s remarks, but stared at each other, at him, and at Lady Feldershey. Her ladyship could make nothing of Berkele’s address, which seemed to her quite preposterous and an enormous mistake.

“ What is it all about? ” thought his mother; “ I wish he wouldn’t.”

Suddenly her attention was arrested by a rosy German woman about forty-two, who had taken an armchair as though it belonged to her, and was stitching at some needlework as though it was her habit to sew in the studio. Once Lady Feldershey caught the stranger’s eyes — which were as blue as a Cloisonne vase and curiously mild.

At the end of an hour the audience dispersed. The German lady remained behind, and was presented by Berkele to Lady Feldershey as the Frau von Sender.

“ Your son,” said the Frau, “ will have me here as a chaperon. He is dreadfully nervous with innocent young ladies who love art.”

Lady Feldershey gave her a glance of unrestrained suspicion, but the eyes of Cloisonne blue remained constant.

“ Lord Feldershey is a great genius,” observed the Frau.

“ Well,” said Lady Feldershey, in a resigned tone, “ I suppoose one mustn’t quarrel with Providence.”

“ And so kind with it all — such a heart ! ”

“ You are the first lady who has accused him for many years of having a heart,” said Lady Feldershey — “ except for his mother,” she added.

The Frau von Sender smiled once more and took her departure, while Lady Feldershey, with a sigh of relief, sank into a chair and looked her son up and down as though he were a life-size object in a museum.

“ Now,” she said, “ I hope you see the folly of your extraordinary notions. They are very beautiful upon paper, but they won’t wash ! And they are inconsistent.”

The young man, who was wondering how he

REMOVES AN EYELASH could spend the rest of his day, replied with petulance :

“What is inconsistency to me? The world is ruled by moods — by moods, my dear mother. Don’t talk to me now.”

“ My dear boy, if I don’t talk now, I shall never get a moment with you. I’ve come all the way to Venice in order to talk to you. You have put me off the whole morning, but I will have my say. One reason why you left society was because you could no longer meet the Princess Margaret there. People go into society to meet the people whom they wish to meet; if they don’t meet them, they call it hollow! And I have remained a widow all these years entirely for your sake.”

Feldershey was touched.

“ Dear creature,” said he, “ why have you been so unselfish? ”

“ Because I am not full of rash and wild ideas. I have nothing except a sense of duty.”

“ Do you think me selfish? ” said Feldershey, walking about the room.

“ My poor child,” said his mother, “ you are an egoist of the first water! The moment the world got on your nerves you left it. You may call it Tolstoy; I call it temper. You have 7 always wanted to be out-of-the-way and original. You are like no one else in the family.”

“ I have always been conscious of that ! ” said he, turning pale with annoyance.

Lady Feldershey pretended to remove an eyelash from her eye, and that silence, which the serene attribute to the passing of some invisible angel, entered the studio.

Chapter II In Which A Recluse Is Glad To See A Friend

ELDERSHEY was over thirty when he first began to paint, and his vocation came as suddenly to him as it came to Corot, who at the same age left a draper’s shop in order to study nature. But whereas Corot was the son of a successful milliner and a prosperous tradesman, from whom he inherited patient diligence, Feldershey chafed under instruction, and had no industry. The hard-and-fastness of his will, however, made him seem persevering when he was merely obstinate; he toiled at the craft of his art because he would not be beaten by tasks, no matter how irksome, which younger men had conquered. At last, his pictures were exhibited in official exhibitions: at thirty-seven, he was made a Knight of the Legion of Honor. Corot, 9 it is true, produced masterpieces for nearly thirty years before he received the same tribute, but he had genius, and belonged to the burgess class, while Feldershey had talent only, and was a personage in fashionable society everywhere. It was considered that his inclusion among the Knights gave tone to the whole Legion of Honor; that he conferred more than he received, in accepting any formal acknowledgment of his artistic success. A distinction, therefore, which might have helped the greater man by smoothing his way with picture-dealers, meant nothing at all to Feldershey. This is one reason why it was given to him, and also one reason why he despised what are called the world’s prizes. He did not think himself mediocre, but he had sense enough to know that an honor which he could share with Corot was too loose to fit either of them properly.

He painted well, nevertheless; he had a charming imagination; a great deal of feeling, which led him into dangers; a kind heart, which delivered him from much evil; a bad temper, which made his relations with men and women frequently difficult. Animals he could beat and the inanimate he could smash, but human beings, because they required more subtle treatment, disturbed his nerves. Although his friends liked him, they were not wholly devoted to him. He was cold to his equals, and he acknowledged no man his superior — except in intellect — a thing he did not covet. He was always at his best with subordinates and servants, whom he could command or ignore or commend — without fear of committing himself to any fixed policy; for he had a jealous dread of compromising his right to change his mind and manner twenty times a day — if he so chose. Such a temperament does not make for happiness either in itself or in its surroundings. If Feldershey had found any pleasure in his egoism, it would have been unpardonable; but he took no pleasure in it, and therefore he was forgiven. It was clear to the thoughtful that he disliked most people because he really disliked himself. If a man cannot love himself, whom he can justify as a rule, how can he love the stranger, whom he does not understand in the least? The first notes in a man’s harmonious relations with the universe must be struck in unison with his own soul and his own conscience. Feldershey, with discord in his being, could hear nothing melodious in the world. There were days and nights when he asked himself: “What is the matter

II with me?” and there were moments when he caught a kind of answer: “Selfishness.” For a week, after hearing such an answer, he would perform acts of Quixotic self-sacrifice: cross his own will at every turn; thwart perversely every inclination; call on bores; smile upon the plain; show courtesies to his relations, the aged and infirm; in other words, put himself to every inconvenience as much as possible against the grain. For a week he could persevere in this course, but the relapse was as inevitable as the effort. He would say: “I’m afraid I’m not steadfast.” He would feel a degree of shame at his insincerity, but he accepted it. “After all,” he would think, “ nearly everybody is insincere; why make such a fuss because one is shallow?” Had he been wholly shallow, he would not, of course, have known it. This fact, too, helped the thoughtful to consider him with tolerance and hope.

On the day of his mother’s arrival in Venice, he was unusually dissatisfied with his new scheme of living. It had not quite answered. He could not rid himself of the feeling that it was as artificial as the frankly insincere existence which had bored him to such an excessive pitch in London.

“ Ce n^est pas ga, du tout” he kept murmuring to himself, “ ce West pas ga.”

He had no desire to rejoin the set he had renounced in scorn, but he could not tell himself that his present circumstances were right. Meditations were bad for him, because he had never been trained to think: he could feel and he could take action, but thought on a prolonged scale never failed to produce an unavailing melancholy in his mind. To-day his mood was interrupted by a confident ring at his studio bell. He had not been so delighted for weeks at the prospect of seeing a caller of any kind. He flung back the door, and, on observing there an extremely smart, well-groomed young Englishman of about seven-and-twenty in yachting clothes, he shouted at the top of his lungs :

“Hullo, Baverstock! What a surprise! What in the world brings you to Venice? ”

Mr. Baverstock, overwhelmed by the unexpected warmth of his reception, flushed boyishly with pleasure, and thought within himself:

“ People never do Feldershey justice. He is full of heart, really, if you once break the ice.”

“ I’m here with my yacht,” said he, “ all by myself. I’m getting to like solitude — that kind

*3 of thing. Never been here before; it’s not half bad.”

“What about your business?” said Feldershey, who at the sight of Baverstock suddenly remembered the usual English amusements of the rich.

“ The business,” said Baverstock, “ has been turned into a company. I’ve amalgamated my father’s jam business with my uncle’s pickles. There was always a rivalry. When I think how the governor worked all through his youth, and how my uncle toiled and moiled, I’m full of gratitude to ’em. I am, really.”

“ It’s enough to bring the tears to any one’s eyes,” said Feldershey ironically.

Harry Baverstock had his own ideas of courtesy, and he returned Feldershey’s compliments by asking him, with a genuine sort of interest, what he was painting. Feldershey glanced tenderly toward a picture which stood upon an easel in a corner of the vast, bleak studio.

“ I call it,” said he, “ ‘ The Flute of Pan.’ ”

Baverstock marched up to the work, and stood in front of it with his legs apart and his hands behind his back as though he were watching a cricket-match.

“ That’s rather decent,” said he, at last. 14

“ I’m not much of a judge of art myself, but I’ll buy that as soon as you want to get rid of it. What does it mean? ”

“ Pan was a heathen god,” said Feldershey, “ who could guide lost travelers and calm all storms by the magic of his flute. I am showing him leading some pilgrims who have lost their way. They hear him piping, and are encouraged. It is a parable of modern life. We torment ourselves with boredom and scruples, whereas all we need is more music, more joy I We must listen to the flute of Pan. It is always playing, but we drown it with our wretched babble of philosophies, the noise of machinery, the turmoil of money-making.”

Baverstock held his own forehead :

“ Where was it I heard that you had taken up with the Tolstoy ideas? But don’t explain them now, dear old chap. And you really live on ten shillings a week — including gas?” he added, as he observed Feldershey placing a kettle on a gas-stove. “ It is awfully interesting to meet a chap who has really done that, you know. I respect it myself — wouldn’t do it for anything, but I think it is fine — no flattery, either. I believe you’re genuine over it. I wonder how long you will keep it up.”

“ The gods may think I am enjoying my renunciation too much. Tell me what you have been doing all this time.”

Baverstock became self-conscious; pulled down his waistcoat; bent his head a little on one side to inhale the scent of the carnation in his buttonhole,,

“ I went for a big shoot in Siguria. It was very jolly — a lot of nice tame bears — that sort of thing — met some nice people — got in with the royalties. I’m not a snob, but you may say what you like, you get a run for your money if you are in that set.”

“ I used to know the Princess Margaret,” said Feldershey; “ I knew her when she was a child. She was an exile in England then, and lived with her mother — the late princess — at one of my father’s places — Berkele Abbey.”

“ I remember hearing about that. Your father lent them the place for the autumn, and they sat tight in it for nine years.”

Feldershey left his picture and sat down on the models’ pedestal, which he used as a platform during his lectures.

“ The little princess and I played croquet together,” he said; “ in fact, we played croquet till the dynasty was restored.”

“And didn’t you see the princess after that? ” asked Baverstock, who had heard from others a good deal of gossip on the subject of Feldershey’s unfortunate and unsuitable attachment.

“ She and I were very good friends,” said Feldershey.

“Then why didn’t you marry her? Earls and dukes used to marry royalties — they were in the running, anyhow. It was very good business. After all, ain’t you half royal? Didn’t that classy old grandmother of yours catch a royal grand duke? Ain’t you a prince yourself in Russia, sir? — Prince Bolkonsky! ”

“What does that matter to Margaret? I wish she had been the daughter of a washerwoman. If I could find the ideal daughter of the ideal washerwoman, I’d marry to-morrow. This, as man to man. And now tell me about Margaret’s old stepfather, Prince Adolf.”

“ Didn’t you know that he was in Venice? ”

“ I hear nothing in my workshop.”

“ The princess is here too.”

Feldershey gave a violent start.

“ She is here incognito, for the rest,” continued Baverstock. “ She has taken three floors at Danielli’s. No palaces for her — she wants a little comfort.”

“ So she is in Venice,” said Feldershey, and he thought he understood why he had been feeling strangely restless all that morning. He fell into a reverie from which he was roused by Baverstock’s voice declaring :

“ I have said it three times : I say, I’ve come to ask a favor.”

“ Of course,” said Feldershey, still lost.

“ Will you lend me your studio for half an hour this afternoon? Some one I want to see. I can’t call at her place, because she is hemmed in on every side. She can’t come to my hotel, and we really want some serious conversation.”

“Husband in Venice?” said Feldershey dryly, but interested in spite of himself.

His friend blushed and avoided his eye.

“ It is for a farewell interview, you see.”

“ Oh, a farewell — then you’ve seen some one you like better ! ”

“ You used to say much cleverer things than that!”

“ It takes a farewell interview to make a man really epigrammatic ! ”

“ Well,” said Baverstock, moving away, absorbed in his own thoughts, “ it isn’t so much

a farewell as a clear understanding ”

“About the future or the past? ”

“ No, don’t chaff. It’s a tragic thing, really, and I knew you were good-natured, and — as a matter of fact — I told her to come here.”

“ Oh, you told her to come — at what time? ”

“ Well, she is generally late ”

“ Generally ! ” said Feldershey, raising his eyebrows. “ Oh, these good-bys ! ”

Baverstock still showed a marked embarrassment. He made several false starts, till he blurted out:

“ There’s another favor I want to ask. Would you mind — letting her in?”

“ Not in the least.”

“ The fact is, it wouldn’t do if the servants recognized her. She — is rather well known. I can’t say more without seeming to give her away.”

Feldershey, who was still young enough to enjoy an adventure, exclaimed:

“ Consider it settled. I will let her in.”

“ I don’t like to suggest that you should put on your servant’s clothes, but do you think you could manage an Arab effect and pretend not to know any European language ? It would put her at her ease at once.”

Feldershey opened a casone which stood by 19 the window and drew out several pieces of drapery.

“ Here is a rig I bought in Palestine. I wore it at a ball in Cairo, and not a soul recognized me.”

“ The very thing,” said Baverstock.

But Feldershey’s enthusiasm, which always had a childish quality, began to wane. His thoughts drifted back to the Princess Margaret at the Hotel Danielli. Could he call? Should he call? Was it his duty to call? He would be an ass to call — an abject, poor creature to move his head in the direction of the Hotel Danielli !

“Although this is awfully amusing,” said he aloud, “ why don’t you let your lady in yourself? ”

“ In order to disarm suspicion,” said Baverstock, in his best manner, “ I am going to show myself going in a contrary direction after she has started. One has to display common prudence. See? If I say any more you’ll be guessing who it is.”

The bell tinkled. Feldershey did not move.

“ That’s the bell,” said Baverstock unnecessarily.

“ People who ring once are either bores or bills,” replied the artist. “ I have a little system. Agreeable acquaintances are told to ring twice : if I am not occupied, I see them; otherwise, I do not. But those few who may always enter ring three times. For the rest, you know the old saying: from six in the morning till eight at night, by the door; and from eight at night till six in the morning, by the window ! ”

The bell was pulled more violently, and his lordship peeped through the grille.

“Hullo!” he exclaimed, “here is a coincidence! It is old Prince Adolf! ” and he drew back the bolt without noticing his companion’s look of annoyance.

“ Your Royal Highness,” said Feldershey, bowing low to his new visitor, “ how delighted I am to see you ! I was thinking of you this very day. I hope you are well.”

“ You know I am always ailing,” said Prince Adolf. He added a hope that he was not driving Mr. Baverstock away, and he gazed severely at the young man.

“ Thanks, no, sir,” said Baverstock. “ I have an appointment ” ; and he disappeared with as much dignity as he could assume.

The prince had a military appearance, but he walked listlessly, felt his own pulse, showed 3 21 no interest in anything, held his heart from time to time, fell in a kind of collapse into the chair which Feldershey offered him, and drew out his handkerchief and bit it. He was perfectly dressed; his tie matched his socks, his clothes fitted to perfection, his beautiful gray hair was brushed with great care, his hands were very white, he was graceful and languid in all his movements. With a shrewd artistic eye he surveyed Lord Feldershey, the poverty of the apartment, and the picture on the easel.

“ What brings you to Venice at this time of year, sir? ” asked Lord Feldershey.

“ Well,” said Prince Adolf, “ every ten years or so Parliament considers the advisability of establishing a republic. The princess always seizes such an occasion for a well-deserved holiday. She goes to Venice or Paris, sees her friends, amuses herself generally. When her enjoyment is at its height, we are invariably entreated to return by our devoted and faithful subjects. We forgive them — they pay our traveling expenses — and we return amidst the acclamations of an enraptured populace. That’s the way to govern modern politicians. Let them try each other as rulers. They soon thirst for a constitutional monarchy! ”

Feldershey thought him mistaken, but said:

“ I hope you are right.”

“ Seriously,” said the prince, “ there is a great commotion in Siguria. The hillmen threaten an insurrection. It is bound to come. Margaret ought to marry. I wish you would tell her so.”

“/tell her so! ”

“ Of course. You are, in my opinion, the very man to tell her so. She knows you despise the world, and she knows you hate politics. You are all for ideals and art and so forth. So is Margaret up to a certain point. That is why she muddles everything. Margaret is a delightful woman, but a damned bad statesman ! ”

u There I agree. That is why I have given up reading newspapers. Sigurian affairs always crop up on the second page.”

“ Then urge her duty upon her. She wants to see your picture — ‘ The Flute of Pan ’ — of which she has heard so much. And it is understood that you will be asked to paint her portrait for the State Gallery.”

“ I could never be a court-painter,” said Feldershey proudly; “ for I know too much about courts in the first place, and, perhaps, a little too much about painting in the other.”

“ That is a touch of your usual ungraciousness, n said Prince Adolf. “ If you had gone to Eton, it would have been swished out of you. Forgive an old friend.”

“ And do you mean to say,” said Feldershey, ignoring the reprimand and gazing earnestly at the prince, “ that Margaret remembers me? ”

“ Remember you ! By Jove, my dear fellow, she has been talking about you ever since she got here. When she heard you were in Venice, she clapped her hands like this ” — and he attempted to imitate her action. “ She wishes to come here this afternoon at five o’clock.”

Feldershey conquered his emotion with a certain pleasure and a certain annoyance. He moved restlessly about the studio, seemed on the point of speaking, and checked himself several times.