New Grub Street by George Gissing (best mobile ebook reader .txt) 📕

above it. No ambition would have unsettled her. We should have lived in a couple of poor rooms somewhere, and⁠—we should have loved each other.”

“What a shameless idealist you are!” said Biffen, shaking his head. “Let me sketch the true issue of such a marriage. To begin with, the girl would have married you in firm persuasion that you were a ‘gentleman’ in temporary difficulties, and that before long you would have plenty of money to dispose of. Disappointed in this hope, she would have grown sharp-tempered, querulous, selfish. All your endeavours to make her understand you would only have resulted in widening the impassable gulf. She would have misconstrued your every sentence, found food for suspicion in every harmless joke, tormented you with the vulgarest forms of jealousy. The effect upon your nature would have been degrading. In the end, you must have abandoned every effort to raise her to your own level, and either have sunk to hers or made a rupture. Who doesn’t know the story of such attempts? I myself ten years ago, was on the point of committing such a folly, but, Heaven be praised! an accident saved me.”

“You never told me that story.”

“And don’t care to now. I prefer to forget it.”

“Well, you can judge for yourself but not for me. Of course I might have chosen the wrong girl, but I am supposing that I had been fortunate. In any case there would have been a much better chance than in the marriage that I made.”

“Your marriage was sensible enough, and a few years hence you will be a happy man again.”

“You seriously think Amy will come back to me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Upon my word, I don’t know that I desire it.”

“Because you are in a strangely unhealthy state.”

“I rather think I regard the matter more sanely than ever yet. I am quite free from sexual bias. I can see that Amy was not my fit intellectual companion, and all emotion at the thought of her has gone from me. The word ‘love’ is a weariness to me. If only our idiotic laws permitted us to break the legal bond, how glad both of us would be!”

“You are depressed and anaemic. Get yourself in flesh, and view things like a man of this world.”

“But don’t you think it the best thing that can happen to a man if he outgrows passion?”

“In certain circumstances, no doubt.”

“In all and any. The best moments of life are those when we contemplate beauty in the purely artistic spirit⁠—objectively. I have had such moments in Greece and Italy; times when I was a free spirit, utterly remote from the temptations and harassings of sexual emotion. What we call love is mere turmoil. Who wouldn’t release himself from it forever, if the possibility offered?”

“Oh, there’s a good deal to be said for that, of course.”

Reardon’s face was illumined with the glow of an exquisite memory.

“Haven’t I told you,” he said, “of that marvellous sunset at Athens? I was on the Pnyx; had been rambling about there the whole afternoon. For I dare say a couple of hours I had noticed a growing rift of light in the clouds to the west; it looked as if the dull day might have a rich ending. That rift grew broader and brighter⁠—the only bit of light in the sky. On Parnes there were white strips of ragged mist, hanging very low; the same on Hymettus, and even the peak of Lycabettus was just hidden. Of a sudden, the sun’s rays broke out. They showed themselves first in a strangely beautiful way, striking from behind the seaward hills through the pass that leads to Eleusis, and so gleaming on the nearer slopes of Aigaleos, making the clefts black and the rounded parts of the mountain wonderfully brilliant with golden colour. All the rest of the landscape, remember, was untouched with a ray of light. This lasted only a minute or two, then the sun itself sank into the open patch of sky and shot glory in every direction; broadening beams smote upwards over the dark clouds, and made them a lurid yellow. To the left of the sun, the gulf of Aegina was all golden mist, the islands floating in it vaguely. To the right, over black Salamis, lay delicate strips of pale blue⁠—indescribably pale and delicate.”

“You remember it very clearly.”

“As if I saw it now! But wait. I turned eastward, and there to my astonishment was a magnificent rainbow, a perfect semicircle, stretching from the foot of Parnes to that of Hymettus, framing Athens and its hills, which grew brighter and brighter⁠—the brightness for which there is no name among colours. Hymettus was of a soft misty warmth, a something tending to purple, its ridges marked by exquisitely soft and indefinite shadows, the rainbow coming right down in front. The Acropolis simply glowed and blazed. As the sun descended all these colours grew richer and warmer; for a moment the landscape was nearly crimson. Then suddenly the sun passed into the lower stratum of cloud, and the splendour died almost at once, except that there remained the northern half of the rainbow, which had become double. In the west, the clouds were still glorious for a time; there were two shaped like great expanded wings, edged with refulgence.”

“Stop!” cried Biffen, “or I shall clutch you by the throat. I warned you before that I can’t stand those reminiscences.”

“Live in hope. Scrape together twenty pounds, and go there, if you die of hunger afterwards.”

“I shall never have twenty shillings,” was the despondent answer.

“I feel sure you will sell Mr. Bailey.”

“It’s kind of you to encourage me; but if Mr. Bailey is ever sold I don’t mind undertaking to eat my duplicate of the proofs.”

“But now, you remember what led me to that. What does a man care for any woman on earth when he is absorbed in contemplation of that kind?”

“But it is only one of life’s satisfactions.”

“I am only maintaining that it