by Iris Murdoch
‘Hello, Sylvia,’ said Mildred, ignoring Benet, to the pretty girl who had run out too.
Benet kissed Rosalind, Rosalind hugged Sylvia, talking they moved toward the house carrying the bags and boxes. At that moment, out of the trees, more than ever like the Green Man, silent Clun the gardener, Sylvia’s father, with a gesture, got into the car and drove it away.
Rosalind went upstairs with Sylvia, and into the rarely used ‘old part’ of the house. Mildred had ‘her own room’ there too, though often when visiting she preferred to stay in the inn. Now she followed Benet into the drawing room. They sat down on the sofa and looked at each other. Benet reached out and took her hand.
‘Now look here,’ said Mildred (a well-known formula), withdrawing her hand, ‘how are you going to manage? Will you be able to feed them all after the wedding? Half the village will want to join in, you know. I’ve hired this car, by the way, Rosalind still hasn’t got one.’
Benet, who had not thought too clearly about all this, said, ‘Oh, it will be all right. They’ll stay at the gate. Only the three or four old faithfuls may decide to come into the church. And afterwards it’s just our lot up at Penn.’
‘Hmmm. How many guests have you invited to the wedding, not just tonight of course - ? Is Anna coming tonight, by the way?’
‘No, she is coming tomorrow. Very few guests. They wanted a three-minute wedding with a Registrar!’
‘I suppose Ada ditched that. But why isn’t she coming?’
‘Marian says she has just found another man! I don’t know. My God, Mildred, I shall be so glad when this is over!’
‘Nonsense, you’ll enjoy it. Anyway I will. Any friends of Edward’s?’
‘No. He doesn’t want any. He says he hasn’t got any!’
‘Typical Edward. I’m so glad he is marrying at last, such hawkish looks, but he is pure in heart. So Marian is coming down very early tomorrow morning, upon the day itself! She always liked treats and surprises. That’s typical too. Oh look!’
Rosalind, now wearing her bridesmaid’s dress, had quietly entered the room carrying her bouquet.
When all were assembled and the parade to the dining room began, Benet was delayed by Rosalind. (Had Edward got a best man? No, Edward had not got a best man!) Thus Mildred, entering the room first, sat down in her frequent place on Benet’s right, and thereafter seeing Edward, standing helpless, signalled him to her other side. Owen, who was longing to talk to Edward, at once sat down beside him, at the same time capturing, by gripping his sleeve, the timid wandering Tuan who was shy and often silent. Rosalind, then entering alone, placed herself on Benet’s left, finding herself thus next to the harmless Tuan on the other side. Benet, who had just realised that he had forgotten his instructions, entered last, thus placed, silently cursing, between the two women. Before dinner Mildred and Rosalind had hoped for some music and singing, but Benet had quietly and hastily informed them that Edward would not like it.
The guests, now at table, knew each other in some cases very well, in other cases just fairly well. Mildred and Owen, both ‘oddities’, were close friends, by some deemed a ‘strange couple’. Benet had met them years ago through Uncle Tim, who had discovered Owen in an exhibition of Indian pictures. Tuan was a later acquisition, allegedly ‘picked up’ by Uncle Tim in a train from Edinburgh. He was extremely slim, even thin, with a long neck and a dark complexion, straight black hair, dark brown eyes, a thin mouth and a shy smile. Tim called him (without any visible evidence) ‘the Theology Student‘, and conjectured that he must have had some sort of awful shock in the past. In any case Tuan said little of his past and nothing of his family. He had been at Edinburgh University, even taught at a London university, and now worked in a bookshop. He had been devoted to Tim and shed many tears at his death. He was also now attached to Benet and to Owen Silbery. He was deemed not to be gay. Owen was a painter, in fact a distinguished and well-known painter. He announced himself sometimes as ‘in the style of Goya’, and moreover, it was said, painted horrific pornographic pictures which he sold secretly. He was in fact well known as a portrait painter, and one who could satisfy his clients. His pictures were bought at high prices. He was tall, becoming stout, but remained handsome, even ‘dashing’, a big head, a high and constantly lined brow, a large sturdy nose, watery pale blue eyes and thick lips, and long black straggling hair, said to be dyed. He could smile and laugh a lot and was much addicted to drink, only saved (it was said) by the attentions of the saintly Mildred.
‘Are you thinking of opening your house to the public now?’ Owen was saying to Edward. ‘You thought of doing that, didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t actually,’ said Edward. ‘My father mentioned it, but he never really wanted to. I certainly don’t.’
‘I don’t blame you,’ said Owen. ‘After all you don’t need the money, and showing the place would be a burden and a nuisance. Yes, I can see, absolutely a nightmare.’
‘Quite.’
‘Have you still got that Turner, the Pink One it was called?’
‘Yes. How did you know about the Turner?’
‘It was lent for the Turner exhibition. Your ancestors had very good taste. Of course I am not implying that you and your father lacked it.’
‘That is just as well.’
‘Of course you have the latest burglar alarms I assume. Are you writing a novel?’
‘No. Why should I be writing a novel?’
‘Everyone writes novels nowadays. Someone told me you were. I feel that you have much to write about.’
‘And you are a painter.’
‘Yes, I am a painter. One day soon I shall paint you.’
‘How is your swimming pool getting on?’ Mildred asked Benet.
‘Oh, it’s rather at a standstill, actually I’m still just planning it.’
‘All those marble columns? The girls are longing for it to be ready! Isn’t it good news about Anna, pity she isn’t here tonight.’
‘She’s coming tomorrow.’
‘It’s time they came back from France. It’s so sad that Lewen didn’t live to see—’
‘So you’re going into the Courtauld?’ Tuan was saying to Rosalind.
‘No, not yet anyway, I’m just taking a course—’
‘But you are a painter!’
‘I have tried painting, but I’ve given it up for the moment.’
‘You must feel so happy about Marian.’
‘Yes, but I’m rather worried about myself.’
‘What about?’
‘About tomorrow. I’ve never been a bridesmaid before and I’m afraid I shall fall or drop the bouquet or start to cry.’
Sylvia had gone home. The sequence of her beautiful dishes was nearing its end. She never forgot that Mildred was a vegetarian. The first dish was vegetarian anyway, consisting of salads of all kinds of fresh green leaves with a cheese soufflé. From here Mildred went on to spinach and leek pie, the others to a delicate leg of lamb. The pudding was of course summer pudding, but special. Bottles of Uncle Tim’s claret were consumed. Mildred was not against this, if not taken in excess. They had now been arguing for some time about politics, Owen dominating as usual.
‘What we need is a return to Marxism, early Marx of course, Marxism was created when Marx and Engels saw the starving poor of Manchester. We’ve got to get rid of our vile, stupid, rapacious bourgeois civilisation, capitalism must go, just look at it now, what a senseless government—’
‘I agree with you about the poor people,’ said Mildred, ‘and our unhappy leaders may be in difficulties, but we must hold on to our morals, we must civilise and spiritualise politics, and most of all we must develop a believable form of Christianity before it is too late.’
‘It is already too late. You are a disciple of Uncle Tim, you worship T.E. Lawrence, Simone Weil worshipped him too, at least the poor girl never knew he was a liar and a cheat—’
‘He wasn’t,’ said Mildred, ‘he was cheated, he didn’t know that he would not b
e able to help the Arabs—’
‘Can you believe a single word of what he said happened at Deraa?’
‘I believe it,’ said Benet. This was a touchstone often skirmished around.
‘It was a fantasy, he was after his own glory, then he spent the rest of his life punishing himself, and then he committed suicide—’
‘He didn’t commit suicide,’ said Benet, ‘it was an accident.’
Mildred said, ‘Of course there is such a thing as redemptive suffering, but—’
‘There is no redemptive suffering,’ said Owen, ‘only remorse - remorse is what is real — Uncle Tim knew it all right - and your philosopher friend Heidegger, Benet, except of course he’s Anti-Christ—’
‘He’s not my friend,’ said Benet. ‘I daresay he is Anti-Christ.’
‘You love him,’ said Owen. ‘You are sinking into his evil!’
Benet smiled.
Mildred said, ‘I think it is time for a rapprochement of philosophy and theology, and Christianity must learn from the religions of the east, and they must learn—’
‘In that case,’ said Owen, ‘there will be only two world religions, your oriental Christianity, and Islam. Don’t you agree, Tuan?’
‘And Judaism,’ said Tuan. I believe—’
‘Judaism of course,’ said Owen. ‘Our future will be total destruction, Heraclitus was right, war is the king of all things, war is necessity, it brings everything about. Kafka was right too, we are in the Penal Colony, behind our rotten bourgeois civilisation is a world of indescribable pain and horror and sin which alone is real.’
‘I’m glad you mention sin,’ murmured Mildred.
‘Is that what you really believe?’ said Edward to Owen.
‘He believes in romantic heroism and discuter les idées générales avec les femmes supérieures,’ said Benet.
‘It isn’t all play!’ said Mildred, defending Owen.
‘Well, I think we are now drunk enough,’ said Benet, ‘we must not go on to get cross! Let us now go out into the garden and breathe deeply and admire the marvels of nature. I suggest we rise and give our usual toast, and another very special toast as well.’
The diners were now rising and moving their chairs.
‘First to dear Uncle Tim, whom we love and whose spirit is still with us.’
‘Uncle Tim!’ Glasses were raised and everyone was solemn. After which all remained standing, expectant, during a brief silence. ‘And now let us all drink the health of our dear friend and neighbour, Edward Lannion, and his absent bride, Marian Berran, who this time tomorrow will be Mrs Lannion! May these two lovely young people have long and happy lives, may they have happy children and may all of us here be privileged to share in their joy and goodness. Marian and Edward!’
‘Marian and Edward!’ During the toast, Edward, pale, almost alarmed, looking suddenly very young, having hesitated about sitting down, stood, first lowering his head, then lifting it, and looked about upon the company with an air of frightened gratitude. Benet now moved quickly in case Edward should feel that he must now make a speech.
‘Come on now, all of you, out into the garden!’
They all crowded out into the garden, passing back from the dining room into the drawing room whose glass doors opened onto the paved terrace and the grass. There was a light on the terrace, revealing the brilliant colours of flowers in big mossy stone urns. Beyond was what at first seemed like darkness, but was in a few moments seen to be starlight. The moon was not present, being elsewhere. But a dense light came to them from the innumerable crowding stars of the Milky Way. Upon the grass, already damp with dew, they stopped at first, looking up with silent awe, then talking to each other in soft voices, gradually separating, never going too far away as if, though exalted, they were also afraid.
Owen, taking Tuan’s arm, led the youth away from the house, past the scattering of bushy shrubs and past the dainty birch copse, towards the Wellingtonias. The great silent trees, faintly visible, were outlined against the starry sky whose crowded curtain reached down to the darkened horizon of the garden. The air was thick with moisture and the smell of dewy earth and the faint perfumes of leaves and flowers and the fresh breathing of the huge tall trees.
Owen led Tuan into a sudden darkness, a great soundless presence. The starry dome was taken from them and they moved upon a different carpet. Owen stopped, releasing Tuan’s arm and taking hold of his hand. He turned the boy gently to face him and sighed, now touching his head, his hair, drawing his fingers gently down over Tuan’s brow, his nose and mouth. Things like this had happened before. Tuan, who did not share Owen’s inclinations, but loved him, stood quietly dreamily smiling, now leaning back against one of the trees. Owen kissed him.
Mildred and Rosalind had crossed the lawn in another direction towards the stone steps, now faintly visible, which led down to the rose garden. There was, now just visible, the lucid wet sound of a fountain, which they approached, and sat down upon the stone rim of the round pool into which the starlit water was murmurously falling. Velvety bats passed noiselessly by, a distant owl fluted.
They dabbled their hands gratefully in the cool water. They spoke softly.
Mildred said, ‘How moving - how happy Tim would be - Edward and Marian together - it’s perfect - ’
‘Yes, yes, indeed -,’ said Rosalind. ‘Do you know, I think I foresaw it in a dream - they were the King and the Queen - I’ve just remembered the dream.’
‘How beautiful! Marian kept looking about, then she found what she wanted suddenly so close. Or do you think she really fixed on Edward long ago?’
‘I think she did - or fate did. Of course when we were with Mama we didn’t see much of Edward—’
‘I think it’s better she comes later on, you know what a fuss she always makes! Are you still determined not to marry? Of course I know it’s a joke, and anyway you’ll change your mind!’
‘My mind is fixed on art history at present!’
Benet had firmly laid hold of Edward, seizing his sleeve, as they moved out onto the lawn, stopping just a little way away from the lights of the drawing room. Benet for a moment, and such strange moments sometimes came, felt the spirit of Uncle Tim descending upon him, clothing him as it were, and breathing his breath. Edward, pale and tall, loomed over him.
‘Edward, if only Tim were here we would really be in heaven. Well, of course now we are in heaven anyway! I’ve longed for you to marry that girl. I didn’t make any tiresome hints to either of you - I just prayed You’re a wonderful chap, she’s a wonderful girl - forgive me for being slightly drunk—’
‘I’m drunk too,’ said Edward. ‘I think the Grand Marnier was final.’
‘Dear me, it’s so late, I should have sent you all away long ago! I do hope you’ll spend lots of time down here together, you could be in peace writing your historical novel—’
‘I’m not writing a historical novel—’
‘You do love Hatting Hall, don’t you?’
‘Yes I do - I increasingly do - and Penndean—’
‘I hope you’ll have lots of children, I hope you don’t mind my saying so, a boy first of course—’
Edward sighed, then laughed as Benet seized hold of the collar of his coat.
Gradually the others came back to the terrace and stood looking up at the Milky Way where the stars were continually falling, tumbling and disappearing.
‘It’s like the end of the Paradiso,’ said Tuan.
‘You mean in Dante,’ said Mildred.
‘For us, it is not the end of the Paradiso,’ said Benet, ‘it is the beginning.’
They moved back into the house.
After that there was a lot of fussing about in the drawing room, making sure that everyone knew what they were to do tomorrow. They exclaimed about how few they were, and what a charming little wedding it was going to be. The Rector was coming over early in the morning, otherwise Benet would have had to invite him to dinner! All the flowers had already been done
by Sylvia, who had also arranged most of the eats and drinks. ‘How dull we shall be when they’ve gone,’ said Rosalind. ‘Edward would not tell where they were going, but I guess it must be in France!’ Benet was hustling them now through the drawing room and out into the hall. Rosalind and Mildred were to betake themselves to the old part of the house, where the ghosts were. Tuan was to sleep in a small guest room in the main house. Owen was to return to the Sea Kings where he had always stayed and had done so for far back in history. Edward at home was to sleep by himself for the last time! Jokes were being made. Rosalind was said to be falling asleep in the library. Mildred was trying to hustle them all like sheep out into the hall. There was hugging and kissing and holding of hands and picking up of coats and wraps.
‘Be careful, for heaven’s sake,’ Benet was saying to the drivers. ‘Some police may be hanging around, we don’t want you to spoil it all by being arrested!’
Rosalind had moved forward and opened the front door. The lights shone brightly upon the two faithful cars, patiently waiting, Edward’s red Jaguar and Owen’s blue Volvo. She stepped back again into the hall.
‘You’re stepping on something,’ said Mildred, ‘it looks like an envelope.’
Rosalind picked it up. ‘Someone must have delivered it when we were talking—’
‘We were always talking!’ said Mildred.
‘It must be for me,’ said Benet, ‘it’s probably a circular or an overdue bill!’
Rosalind gave it to him. He looked at the envelope, tore it open, then pulled out a piece of paper and looked at it.
