The Blue Flower [58]
the inscrutable smile of Marcion, as he called
himself, that seemed to mock at reverence. He was in the
house as one watching a strange experiment--tranquil,
interested, ready to supply anything that might be needed for
its completion, but thoroughly indifferent to the feelings of
the subject; an anatomist of life, looking curiously to see
how long it would continue, and how it would act, after the
heart had been removed.
In his presence Hermas was conscious of a certain
irritation, a resentful anger against the calm, frigid
scrutiny of the eyes that followed him everywhere, like a pair
of spies, peering out over the smiling mouth and the long
white beard.
"Why do you look at me so curiously?" asked Hermas, one
morning, as they sat together in the library. "Do you see
anything strange in me?"
"No," answered Marcion; "something familiar."
"And what is that?"
"A singular likeness to a discontented young man that I
met some years ago in the Grove of Daphne."
"But why should that interest you? Surely it was to be
expected."
"A thing that we expect often surprises us when we see it.
Besides, my curiosity is piqued. I suspect you of keeping a
secret from me."
"You are jesting with me. There is nothing in my life
that you do not know. What is the secret?"
"Nothing more than the wish to have one. You are growing
tired of your bargain. The play wearies you. That is
foolish. Do you want to try a new part?"
The question was like a mirror upon which one comes
suddenly in a half-lighted room. A quick illumination falls on
it, and the passer-by is startled by the look of his own face.
"You are right," said Hermas. "I am tired. We have been
going on stupidly in this house, as if nothing were possible
but what my father had done before me. There is nothing
original in being rich, and well-fed, and well-dressed.
Thousands of men have tried it, and have not been satisfied. Let
us do something new. Let us make a mark in the world."
"It is well said," nodded the old man; "you are speaking
again like a man after my own heart. There is no folly but
the loss of an opportunity to enjoy a new sensation."
From that day Hermas seemed to be possessed with a
perpetual haste, an uneasiness that left him no repose. The
summit of life had been attained, the highest possible point
of felicity. Henceforward the course could only be at a
level--perhaps downward. It might be brief; at the best it
could not be very long. It was madness to lose a day, an
hour. That would be the only fatal mistake: to forfeit
anything of the bargain that he had made. He would have it, and
hold it, and enjoy it all to the full. The world might have
nothing better to give than it had already given; but surely it
had many things that were new, and Marcion should help him to
find them.
Under his learned counsel the House of the Golden Pillars
took on a new magnificence. Artists were brought from Corinth
and Rome and Alexandria to adorn it with splendour. Its fame
glittered around the world. Banquets of incredible luxury
drew the most celebrated guests into its triclinium, and
filled them with envious admiration. The bees swarmed and
buzzed about the golden hive. The human insects, gorgeous
moths of pleasure and greedy flies of appetite, parasites and
flatterers and crowds of inquisitive idlers, danced and
fluttered in the dazzling light that surrounded Hermas.
Everything that he touched prospered. He bought a tract
of land in the Caucasus, and emeralds were discovered among
the mountains. He sent a fleet of wheat-ships to Italy, and
the price of grain doubled while it was on the way. He sought
political favour with the emperor, and was rewarded with the
governorship of the city. His name was a word to conjure with.
The beauty of Athenais lost nothing with the passing
seasons, but grew more perfect, even under the inexplicable
shade of dissatisfaction that sometimes veiled it. "Fair as
the wife of Hermas" was a proverb in Antioch; and soon men
himself, that seemed to mock at reverence. He was in the
house as one watching a strange experiment--tranquil,
interested, ready to supply anything that might be needed for
its completion, but thoroughly indifferent to the feelings of
the subject; an anatomist of life, looking curiously to see
how long it would continue, and how it would act, after the
heart had been removed.
In his presence Hermas was conscious of a certain
irritation, a resentful anger against the calm, frigid
scrutiny of the eyes that followed him everywhere, like a pair
of spies, peering out over the smiling mouth and the long
white beard.
"Why do you look at me so curiously?" asked Hermas, one
morning, as they sat together in the library. "Do you see
anything strange in me?"
"No," answered Marcion; "something familiar."
"And what is that?"
"A singular likeness to a discontented young man that I
met some years ago in the Grove of Daphne."
"But why should that interest you? Surely it was to be
expected."
"A thing that we expect often surprises us when we see it.
Besides, my curiosity is piqued. I suspect you of keeping a
secret from me."
"You are jesting with me. There is nothing in my life
that you do not know. What is the secret?"
"Nothing more than the wish to have one. You are growing
tired of your bargain. The play wearies you. That is
foolish. Do you want to try a new part?"
The question was like a mirror upon which one comes
suddenly in a half-lighted room. A quick illumination falls on
it, and the passer-by is startled by the look of his own face.
"You are right," said Hermas. "I am tired. We have been
going on stupidly in this house, as if nothing were possible
but what my father had done before me. There is nothing
original in being rich, and well-fed, and well-dressed.
Thousands of men have tried it, and have not been satisfied. Let
us do something new. Let us make a mark in the world."
"It is well said," nodded the old man; "you are speaking
again like a man after my own heart. There is no folly but
the loss of an opportunity to enjoy a new sensation."
From that day Hermas seemed to be possessed with a
perpetual haste, an uneasiness that left him no repose. The
summit of life had been attained, the highest possible point
of felicity. Henceforward the course could only be at a
level--perhaps downward. It might be brief; at the best it
could not be very long. It was madness to lose a day, an
hour. That would be the only fatal mistake: to forfeit
anything of the bargain that he had made. He would have it, and
hold it, and enjoy it all to the full. The world might have
nothing better to give than it had already given; but surely it
had many things that were new, and Marcion should help him to
find them.
Under his learned counsel the House of the Golden Pillars
took on a new magnificence. Artists were brought from Corinth
and Rome and Alexandria to adorn it with splendour. Its fame
glittered around the world. Banquets of incredible luxury
drew the most celebrated guests into its triclinium, and
filled them with envious admiration. The bees swarmed and
buzzed about the golden hive. The human insects, gorgeous
moths of pleasure and greedy flies of appetite, parasites and
flatterers and crowds of inquisitive idlers, danced and
fluttered in the dazzling light that surrounded Hermas.
Everything that he touched prospered. He bought a tract
of land in the Caucasus, and emeralds were discovered among
the mountains. He sent a fleet of wheat-ships to Italy, and
the price of grain doubled while it was on the way. He sought
political favour with the emperor, and was rewarded with the
governorship of the city. His name was a word to conjure with.
The beauty of Athenais lost nothing with the passing
seasons, but grew more perfect, even under the inexplicable
shade of dissatisfaction that sometimes veiled it. "Fair as
the wife of Hermas" was a proverb in Antioch; and soon men