XI
What Charmides had told me filled me with great astonishment; it seemedto me strange that I had not perceived the truth before. It made me feelthat I had somehow been wasting time. I was tempted to call Amroth to myside, but I remembered what he had said, and I determined to resist theimpulse. I half expected to find that our strange talk, and the veryobvious disapproval of our words, had made some difference to me. But itwas not the case. I found myself treated with the same smiling welcomeas before, and indeed with an added kind of gentleness, such as olderpeople give to a child who has been confronted with some hard fact oflife, such as a sorrow or an illness. This in a way disconcerted me; forin the moment when I had perceived the truth, there had come over me thefeeling that I ought in some way to bestir myself to preach, to warn,to advise. But the idea of finding any sort of fault with thesecontented, leisurely, interested people, seemed to me absurd, and so Icontinued as before, half enjoying the life about me, and half bored byit. It seemed so ludicrous in any way to pity the inhabitants of theplace, and yet I dimly saw that none of them could possibly continuethere. But I soon saw that there was no question of advice, because Ihad nothing to advise. To ask them to be discontented, to suffer, toinquire, seemed as absurd as to ask a man riding comfortably in acarriage to get out and walk; and yet I felt that it was just that whichthey needed. But one effect the incident had; it somehow seemed to drawme more to Cynthia. There followed a time of very close companionshipwith her. She sought me out, she began to confide in me, chatteringabout her happiness and her delight in her surroundings, as a childmight chatter, and half chiding me, in a tender and pretty way, for notbeing more at ease in the place. "You always seem to me," she said, "asif you were only staying here, while I feel as if I could live here forever. Of course you are very kind and patient about it all, but you arenot at home--and I don't care a bit about your disapproval now." Shetalked to me much about Lucius, who seemed to have a great attractionfor her. "He is all right," she said. "There is no nonsense abouthim,--we understand each other; I don't get tired of him, and we likethe same things. I seem to know exactly what he feels about everything;and that is one of the comforts of this place, that no one asksquestions or makes mischief; one can do just as one likes all the time.I did not think, when I was alive, that there could be anything sodelightful as all this ahead of me."
"Do you never think--?" I began, but she put her hand to my lips, like achild, to stop me, and said, "No, I never think, and I never mean tothink, of all the old hateful things. I never wilfully did any harm; Ionly liked the people who liked me, and gave them all they asked--andnow I know that I did right, though in old days serious people used totry to frighten me. God is very good to me," she went on, smiling, "toallow me to be happy in my own way."
While we talked thus, sitting on a seat that overlooked the greatcity--I had never seen it look so stately and beautiful, so full of allthat the heart could desire--Lucius himself drew near to us, smiling,and seated himself the other side of Cynthia. "Now is not thisheavenly?" she said; "to be with the two people I like best--for you area faithful old thing, you know--and not to be afraid of anythingdisagreeable or tiresome happening--not to have to explain or makeexcuses, what could be better?"
"Yes," said Lucius, "it is happy enough," and he smiled at me in afriendly way. "The pleasantest point is that one can _wait_ in thischarming place. In the old days, one was afraid of a hundredthings--money, weather, illness, criticism. One had to make love in ahurry, because one missed the beautiful hour; and then there was thehorror of growing old. But now if Cynthia chooses to amuse herself withother people, what do I care? She comes back as delightful as ever, andit is only so much more to be amused about. One is not even afraid ofbeing lazy, and as for those ugly twinges of what one calledconscience--which were only a sort of rheumatism after all--that is allgone too; and the delight of finding that one was right after all, andthat there were really no such things as consequences!"
I became aware, as Lucius spoke thus, in all his careless beauty, of avague trouble of soul. I seemed to foresee a kind of conflict betweenmyself and him. He felt it too, I was aware; for he drew Cynthia to him,and said something to her; and presently they went off laughing, like apair of children, waving a farewell to me. I experienced a sense ofdesolation, knowing in my mind that all was not well, and yet feeling sopowerless to contend with happiness so strong and wide.
The Child of the Dawn Page 13
