The Little White Bird; Or, Adventures in Kensington Gardens

by J. M. Barrie

  IX. A Confirmed Spinster

  I am in danger, I see, of being included among the whimsical fellows,which I so little desire that I have got me into my writing-chair tocombat the charge, but, having sat for an unconscionable time with penpoised, I am come agitatedly to the fear that there may be something init.

  So long a time has elapsed, you must know, since I abated of the ardoursof self-inquiry that I revert in vain (through many rusty doors) for thebeginning of this change in me, if changed I am; I seem ever to see thissame man until I am back in those wonderful months which were half ofmy life, when, indeed, I know that I was otherwise than I am now; nowhimsical fellow then, for that was one of the possibilities I put tomyself while seeking for the explanation of things, and found to beinadmissible. Having failed in those days to discover why I was drivenfrom the garden, I suppose I ceased to be enamoured of myself, as ofsome dull puzzle, and then perhaps the whimsicalities began to collectunnoticed.

  It is a painful thought to me to-night, that he could wake up gloriousonce, this man in the elbow-chair by the fire, who is humorously knownat the club as a "confirmed spinster." I remember him well when hisyears told four and twenty; on my soul the proudest subaltern of myacquaintance, and with the most reason to be proud. There was nothing hemight not do in the future, having already done the biggest thing, thistoddler up club-steps to-day.

  Not, indeed, that I am a knave; I am tolerably kind, I believe, and mostinoffensive, a gentleman, I trust, even in the eyes of the ladies whosmile at me as we converse; they are an ever-increasing number, or so itseems to me to-night. Ah, ladies, I forget when I first began to noticethat smile and to be made uneasy by it. I think I understand it now, andin some vague way it hurts me. I find that I watch for it nowadays, butI hope I am still your loyal, obedient servant.

  You will scarcely credit it, but I have just remembered that I once hada fascinating smile of my own. What has become of my smile? I swear Ihave not noticed that it was gone till now; I am like one who revisitinghis school feels suddenly for his old knife. I first heard of my smilefrom another boy, whose sisters had considered all the smiles they knewand placed mine on top. My friend was scornful, and I bribed him tomention the plebiscite to no one, but secretly I was elated and amazed.I feel lost to-night without my smiles. I rose a moment ago to look forit in my mirror.

  I like to believe that she has it now. I think she may have some otherforgotten trifles of mine with it that make the difference between thatman and this. I remember her speaking of my smile, telling me it was myone adornment, and taking it from me, so to speak, for a moment to letme see how she looked in it; she delighted to make sport of me when shewas in a wayward mood, and to show me all my ungainly tricks of voiceand gesture, exaggerated and glorified in her entrancing self, like astar calling to the earth: "See, I will show you how you hobble round,"and always there was a challenge to me in her eyes to stop her if Idared, and upon them, when she was most audacious, lay a sweet mist.

  They all came to her court, as is the business of young fellows, totell her what love is, and she listened with a noble frankness, having,indeed, the friendliest face for all engaged in this pursuit that canever have sat on woman. I have heard ladies call her coquette, notunderstanding that she shone softly upon all who entered the listsbecause, with the rarest intuition, she foresaw that they must go awaybroken men and already sympathised with their dear wounds. All woundsincurred for love were dear to her; at every true utterance about loveshe exulted with grave approval, or it might be a with a little "ah!" or"oh!" like one drinking deliciously. Nothing could have been more fair,for she was for the first comer who could hit the target, which was herheart.

  She adored all beautiful things in their every curve and fragrance, sothat they became part of her. Day by day, she gathered beauty; had shehad no heart (she who was the bosom of womanhood) her thoughts wouldstill have been as lilies, because the good is the beautiful.

  And they all forgave her; I never knew of one who did not forgive her;I think had there been one it would have proved that there was a flaw inher. Perhaps, when good-bye came she was weeping because all the prettythings were said and done with, or she was making doleful confessionsabout herself, so impulsive and generous and confidential, and so devoidof humour, that they compelled even a tragic swain to laugh. She made alooking-glass of his face to seek wofully in it whether she was at allto blame, and when his arms went out for her, and she stepped back sothat they fell empty, she mourned, with dear sympathy, his lack ofskill to seize her. For what her soft eyes said was that she was alwayswaiting tremulously to be won. They all forgave her, because there wasnothing to forgive, or very little, just the little that makes a deargirl dearer, and often afterward, I believe, they have laughed fondlywhen thinking of her, like boys brought back. You ladies who areeverything to your husbands save a girl from the dream of youth, haveyou never known that double-chinned industrious man laugh suddenly ina reverie and start up, as if he fancied he were being hailed fromfar-away?

  I hear her hailing me now. She was so light-hearted that her laugh iswhat comes first across the years; so high-spirited that she would havewept like Mary of Scots because she could not lie on the bare plainslike the men. I hear her, but it is only as an echo; I see her, but itis as a light among distant trees, and the middle-aged man can draw nonearer; she was only for the boys. There was a month when I could haveshown her to you in all her bravery, but then the veil fell, and fromthat moment I understood her not. For long I watched her, but she wasnever clear to me again, and for long she hovered round me, like a dearheart willing to give me a thousand chances to regain her love. She wasso picturesque that she was the last word of art, but she was as youngas if she were the first woman. The world must have rung with gallantdeeds and grown lovely thoughts for numberless centuries before shecould be; she was the child of all the brave and wistful imaginings ofmen. She was as mysterious as night when it fell for the first time uponthe earth. She was the thing we call romance, which lives in the littlehut beyond the blue haze of the pine-woods.

  No one could have looked less elfish. She was all on a noble scale,her attributes were so generous, her manner unconquerably gracious, hermovements indolently active, her face so candid that you must swear herevery thought lived always in the open. Yet, with it all, she was a wildthing, alert, suspicious of the lasso, nosing it in every man's hand,more curious about it than about aught else in the world; her quiveringdelight was to see it cast for her, her game to elude it; so mettlesomewas she that she loved it to be cast fair that she might escape as itwas closing round her; she scorned, however her heart might be beating,to run from her pursuers; she took only the one step backward, whichstill left her near them but always out of reach; her head on high now,but her face as friendly, her manner as gracious as before, she is yoursfor the catching. That was ever the unspoken compact between her and thehuntsmen.

  It may be but an old trick come back to me with these memories, butagain I clasp my hands to my brows in amaze at the thought that all thiswas for me could I retain her love. For I won it, wonder of the gods,but I won it. I found myself with one foot across the magic circlewherein she moved, and which none but I had entered; and so, I think, Isaw her in revelation, not as the wild thing they had all conceivedher, but as she really was. I saw no tameless creature, nothing wildor strange. I saw my sweet love placid as a young cow browsing. As Ibrushed aside the haze and she was truly seen for the first time, sheraised her head, like one caught, and gazed at me with meek affrightedeyes. I told her what had been revealed to me as I looked upon her, andshe trembled, knowing she was at last found, and fain would she havefled away, but that her fear was less than her gladness. She came to meslowly; no incomprehensible thing to me now, but transparent as a pool,and so restful to look upon that she was a bath to the eyes, like banksof moss.

  Because I knew the maid, she was mine. Every maid, I say, is for himwho can know her. The others had but followed the glamour in which shewalked, but I had pie
rced it and found the woman. I could anticipate herevery thought and gesture, I could have flashed and rippled and mockedfor her, and melted for her and been dear disdain for her. She wouldforget this and be suddenly conscious of it as she began to speak, whenshe gave me a look with a shy smile in it which meant that she knew Iwas already waiting at the end of what she had to say. I call this theblush of the eye. She had a look and a voice that were for me alone; hervery finger-tips were charged with caresses for me. And I loved even hernaughtinesses, as when she stamped her foot at me, which she couldnot do without also gnashing her teeth, like a child trying to lookfearsome. How pretty was that gnashing of her teeth! All her tormentingsof me turned suddenly into sweetnesses, and who could torment like thisexquisite fury, wondering in sudden flame why she could give herself toanyone, while I wondered only why she could give herself to me. It maybe that I wondered over-much. Perhaps that was why I lost her.

  It was in the full of the moon that she was most restive, but I broughther back, and at first she could have bit my hand, but then she camewillingly. Never, I thought, shall she be wholly tamed, but he who knowsher will always be able to bring her back.

  I am not that man, for mystery of mysteries, I lost her. I know not howit was, though in the twilight of my life that then began I groped forreasons until I wearied of myself; all I know is that she had ceased tolove me; I had won her love, but I could not keep it. The discovery cameto me slowly, as if I were a most dull-witted man; at first I knew onlythat I no longer understood her as of old. I found myself wondering whatshe had meant by this and that; I did not see that when she began topuzzle me she was already lost to me. It was as if, unknowing, I hadstrayed outside the magic circle.

  When I did understand I tried to cheat myself into the belief that therewas no change, and the dear heart bleeding for me assisted in that poorpretence. She sought to glide to me with swimming eyes as before, but itshowed only that this caressing movement was still within her compass,but never again for me. With the hands she had pressed to her breast shetouched mine, but no longer could they convey the message. The currentwas broken, and soon we had to desist miserably from our pretences.She could tell no more than I why she had ceased to love me; she wasscarcely less anxious than I that I should make her love me again, and,as I have said, she waited with a wonderful tolerance while I strovefutilely to discover in what I was lacking and to remedy it. And when,at last, she had to leave me, it was with compassionate cries and littlebackward flights.

  The failure was mine alone, but I think I should not have been soaltered by it had I known what was the defect in me through which I lether love escape. This puzzle has done me more harm than the loss of her.Nevertheless, you must know (if I am to speak honestly to you) that I donot repent me those dallyings in enchanted fields. It may not have beenso always, for I remember a black night when a poor lieutenant lay downin an oarless boat and let it drift toward the weir. But his distantmoans do not greatly pain me now; rather am I elated to find (as thewaters bring him nearer) that this boy is I, for it is something toknow that, once upon a time, a woman could draw blood from me as fromanother.

  I saw her again, years afterward, when she was a married woman playingwith her children. She stamped her foot at a naughty one, and I saw thegleam of her teeth as she gnashed them in the dear pretty way I can'tforget; and then a boy and girl, fighting for her shoulders, broughtthe whole group joyously to the ground. She picked herself up in the oldleisurely manner, lazily active, and looked around her benignantly,like a cow: our dear wild one safely tethered at last with a rope ofchildren. I meant to make her my devoirs, but, as I stepped forward, theold wound broke out afresh, and I had to turn away. They were but afew poor drops, which fell because I found that she was even a littlesweeter than I had thought.