by Grant Allen
Hungry Hector shrugged his shoulders — or rather his shoulder-bones. ‘What would you have?’ he answered, with the philosophy of hunger. ‘Like this, like that! Here a crust, there a cabbage-stalk! As the unemployed live. ’Tis not a banquet, convenons.’
Hungry Jules seized him energetically by the ulna — only anatomical language can fairly describe the various salient portions of those two thinly-draped skeletons. ‘Look in there!’ he cried hoarsely, pointing through the window. ‘They feast, those bourgeois! They have eaten already soup, and fish, and calves’ feet in béchamel; and now the men in the white chokers are offering them roast lamb. C’est trop fort, n’est-ce pas, camarade?’
Hungry Hector leaned forward and inspected the diners with glistening eyes that half started from his head. Some of the pampered children of luxury actually turned up their noses at hot roast lamb! ‘Décidément, c’est trop fort,’ he answered, horrified. His righteous indignation was fast rising to boiling-point.
Inside, at the table, young Doctor Hughes, of London, that amiable consumptive, who had worn himself to death in the underpaid service of the poor of Whitechapel, was sitting with his wife, toying idly with the food on the plate before him. Minna’s eyes were fixed upon him. ‘Don’t you think, dear,’ she whispered, ‘you could eat just a mouthful or two of this nice roast lamb? Do try! It’s so good for you.’
Trevor Hughes turned it over with a listless fork, and inspected it. ‘I never can eat the Riviera lamb,’ he answered, stifling a sigh. ‘It’s killed too young; and it’s so lean and skinny.’
‘But you ate no soup, and you ate no fish,’ Minna murmured, with tears in her eyes. She saw only too plainly that his appetite was failing.
‘The soup was cold and greasy,’ Trevor explained, not peevishly, but in an apologetic voice; ‘and the fish was loup. I cannot eat loup. You know it disagrees with me.’
Minna knew it did — and trembled. For day by day more and more things disagreed with him. She began to wonder with a tremulous fear what she could give him to live upon.
‘If only we could get away to Algiers,’ she murmured low, ‘you might recover your appetite. But here, on the Riviera, none of the food seems to suit you.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Trevor answered. And he knew too well why. He had seen more than enough of such cases in Whitechapel.
Jules seized Hector’s arm again. ‘And see,’ he cried. ‘See! Those lackeys bring in something else to offer them! Sacred name of a dog, I swear to you, it is chicken!’
‘Do these people eat chicken every day?’ Hector asked, half beside himself with astonishment, his lantern jaws dropping rapidly as his hungry mouth watered.
‘Do they eat chicken every day? Ma foi, yes, they do: unless in its place they eat duck or partridge. Figure to yourself, partridge! I have watched them here for a week, and you will not believe such shameful luxury — the luxe effréné des bourgeois! Every evening that goes they sit down to the same feast — soup, fish, an entrée, a joint, a rôti — and sweets — and dessert. Mon dieu, c’est effrayant!’
Hector grasped his short knife. Poverty had not been able to deprive him of that. ‘C’est pas mal,’ he exclaimed again. ‘But they shall pay for it, those mouths there! Bloodsuckers that drink up the life-blood of the people. And me dine on cabbage-stalks! I swear to you, they shall pay for it!’
‘What do you mean?’ hungry Jules exclaimed, seizing his ulna once more with a certain greedy and convulsive eagerness.
Hector opened the knife stealthily, a strange gleam in his eye. ‘The first bourgeois who leaves the room!’ he whispered between his set teeth, holding it up, blade downward, and striking the air with a vicious thrust. ‘They are all of them equally culpable. Le premier venu, c’est compris?’
Minna looked at her husband tenderly. ‘A little bit of chicken, darling?’ she murmured low. ‘I’m sure you can eat just a mouthful off the wing. Such nice white meat! Do let me give you some.’
Trevor shook his head with a sad smile. ‘No, no, dear,’ he answered with a weary, dreary look. ‘I couldn’t touch a mouthful. You know I detest the table d’hôte poulet.’
‘You’re not going?’ she cried, seeing him rise with the weary, dreary look still deepening on his face.
‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘The room’s so hot. I shall stroll out into the garden. It’s nice and cool there, and the air seems to do me more good than anything.’
‘Then I shall go with you,’ Minna cried, and rose from the table to accompany her husband.
‘Tiens, Hector,’ Jules whispered, as husband and wife emerged from the hotel door. Vois-tu? un bourgeois!’
A sudden blind rush. A knife gleaming in the air. A scream of horror from Minna. A gurgle of blood; a red stream; a sigh. And the tragedy was complete. There was one bourgeois the less alive on earth; and one friend of humanity stood back, with gnashed teeth, awaiting arrest by the guests and the concierge.
‘A horrible crime!’ you say. Yes, no doubt, a horrible crime — from the ethical side, a crime of the first magnitude. But from the psychological side, which is how human actions rather strike me, a regrettable result of incompatibility in the matter of standpoint. Those two saw things differently — no more than that. If each could have seen with the other’s eyes — well, most crimes are so, and most blunders also.
The Short Stories
Allen taught at Brighton College from 1870 to 1871.
List of Short Stories in Chronological Order
THE REVEREND JOHN CREEDY.
DR. GREATREX’S ENGAGEMENT.
MR. CHUNG.
THE CURATE OF CHURNSIDE.
AN EPISODE IN HIGH LIFE.
MY NEW YEARS EVE AMONG THE MUMMIES.
THE FOUNDERING OF THE “FORTUNA.”
THE BACKSLIDER.
THE MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE IN PICCADILLY.
CARVALHO.
PAUSODYNE:
A GREAT CHEMICAL DISCOVERY.
THE EMPRESS OF ANDORRA.
THE SENIOR PROCTOR’S WOOING:
A TALE OF TWO CONTINENTS.
THE CHILD OF THE PHALANSTERY.
OUR SCIENTIFIC OBSERVATIONS ON A GHOST.
RAM DAS OF CAWNPORE.
THE BECKONING HAND.
LUCRETIA.
THE THIRD TIME.
THE GOLD WULFRIC.
MY UNCLE’S WILL.
THE TWO CARNEGIES.
OLGA DAVIDOFF’S HUSBAND.
JOHN CANN’S TREASURE.
ISALINE AND I.
PROFESSOR MILLITER’S DILEMMA.
IN STRICT CONFIDENCE.
THE SEARCH PARTY’S FIND.
HARRY’S INHERITANCE.
IVAN GREET’S MASTERPIECE.
KAREN.
PALLINGHURST BARROW.
THE ABBÉ’S REPENTANCE.
CLAUDE TYACK’S ORDEAL.
TOM’S WIFE.
THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT.
THE MISSING LINK.
THE GREAT RUBY ROBBERY.
THE CONSCIENTIOUS BURGLAR.
THE POT-BOILER.
MELISSA’S TOUR.
A SOCIAL DIFFICULTY.
THE CHINESE PLAY AT THE HAYMARKET.
MY CIRCULAR TOUR.
THE MINOR POET.
WEDNESDAY THE TENTH
THE EPISODE OF THE MEXICAN SEER
THE EPISODE OF THE DIAMOND LINKS
THE EPISODE OF THE OLD MASTER
THE EPISODE OF THE TYROLEAN CASTLE
THE EPISODE OF THE DRAWN GAME
THE EPISODE OF THE GERMAN PROFESSOR
THE EPISODE OF THE ARREST OF THE COLONEL
THE EPISODE OF THE SELDON GOLD-MINE
THE EPISODE OF THE JAPANNED DISPATCH-BOX
THE EPISODE OF THE GAME OF POKER
THE EPISODE OF THE BERTILLON METHOD
THE EPISODE OF THE OLD BAILEY
THE ADVENTURE OF THE CANTANKEROUS OLD LADY
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUPERCILIOUS ATTACHÉ
THE ADVENTURE OF THE INQUISITIVE AMERIC
AN
THE ADVENTURE OF THE AMATEUR COMMISSION AGENT
THE ADVENTURE OF THE IMPROMPTU MOUNTAINEER
THE ADVENTURE OF THE URBANE OLD GENTLEMAN
THE ADVENTURE OF THE UNOBTRUSIVE OASIS
THE ADVENTURE OF THE PEA-GREEN PATRICIAN
THE ADVENTURES OF THE MAGNIFICENT MAHARAJAH
THE ADVENTURE OF THE CROSS-EYED Q.C.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ORIENTAL ATTENDANT
THE ADVENTURE OF THE UNPROFESSIONAL DETECTIVE
HEADPIECE. A CONFIDENTIAL COMMUNICATION
THE REVEREND JOHN CREEDY
FRASINE’S FIRST COMMUNION
THE CHILD OF THE PHALANSTERY
THE ABBÉ’S REPENTANCE
WOLVERDEN TOWER
JANET’S NEMESIS
INTERMEZZO. LANGALULA
THE CURATE OF CHURNSIDE
CECCA’S LOVER
THE BACKSLIDER
JOHN CANN’S TREASURE
IVAN GREET’S MASTERPIECE
THE CHURCHWARDEN’S BROTHER
TAILPIECE. A MATTER OF STANDPOINT
List of Short Stories in Alphabetical Order
A GREAT CHEMICAL DISCOVERY.
A SOCIAL DIFFICULTY.
A TALE OF TWO CONTINENTS.
AN EPISODE IN HIGH LIFE.
CARVALHO.
CECCA’S LOVER
CLAUDE TYACK’S ORDEAL.
DR. GREATREX’S ENGAGEMENT.
FRASINE’S FIRST COMMUNION
HARRY’S INHERITANCE.
HEADPIECE. A CONFIDENTIAL COMMUNICATION
IN STRICT CONFIDENCE.
INTERMEZZO. LANGALULA
ISALINE AND I.
IVAN GREET’S MASTERPIECE
IVAN GREET’S MASTERPIECE.
JANET’S NEMESIS
JOHN CANN’S TREASURE
JOHN CANN’S TREASURE.
KAREN.
LUCRETIA.
MELISSA’S TOUR.
MR. CHUNG.
MY CIRCULAR TOUR.
MY NEW YEARS EVE AMONG THE MUMMIES.
MY UNCLE’S WILL.
OLGA DAVIDOFF’S HUSBAND.
OUR SCIENTIFIC OBSERVATIONS ON A GHOST.
PALLINGHURST BARROW.
PAUSODYNE:
PROFESSOR MILLITER’S DILEMMA.
RAM DAS OF CAWNPORE.
TAILPIECE. A MATTER OF STANDPOINT
THE ABBÉ’S REPENTANCE
THE ABBÉ’S REPENTANCE.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE AMATEUR COMMISSION AGENT
THE ADVENTURE OF THE CANTANKEROUS OLD LADY
THE ADVENTURE OF THE CROSS-EYED Q.C.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE IMPROMPTU MOUNTAINEER
THE ADVENTURE OF THE INQUISITIVE AMERICAN
THE ADVENTURE OF THE ORIENTAL ATTENDANT
THE ADVENTURE OF THE PEA-GREEN PATRICIAN
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUPERCILIOUS ATTACHÉ
THE ADVENTURE OF THE UNOBTRUSIVE OASIS
THE ADVENTURE OF THE UNPROFESSIONAL DETECTIVE
THE ADVENTURE OF THE URBANE OLD GENTLEMAN
THE ADVENTURES OF THE MAGNIFICENT MAHARAJAH
THE BACKSLIDER
THE BACKSLIDER.
THE BECKONING HAND.
THE CHILD OF THE PHALANSTERY
THE CHILD OF THE PHALANSTERY.
THE CHINESE PLAY AT THE HAYMARKET.
THE CHURCHWARDEN’S BROTHER
THE CONSCIENTIOUS BURGLAR.
THE CURATE OF CHURNSIDE
THE CURATE OF CHURNSIDE.
THE EMPRESS OF ANDORRA.
THE EPISODE OF THE ARREST OF THE COLONEL
THE EPISODE OF THE BERTILLON METHOD
THE EPISODE OF THE DIAMOND LINKS
THE EPISODE OF THE DRAWN GAME
THE EPISODE OF THE GAME OF POKER
THE EPISODE OF THE GERMAN PROFESSOR
THE EPISODE OF THE JAPANNED DISPATCH-BOX
THE EPISODE OF THE MEXICAN SEER
THE EPISODE OF THE OLD BAILEY
THE EPISODE OF THE OLD MASTER
THE EPISODE OF THE SELDON GOLD-MINE
THE EPISODE OF THE TYROLEAN CASTLE
THE FOUNDERING OF THE “FORTUNA.”
THE GOLD WULFRIC.
THE GREAT RUBY ROBBERY.
THE MINOR POET.
THE MISSING LINK.
THE MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE IN PICCADILLY.
THE POT-BOILER.
THE REVEREND JOHN CREEDY.
THE REVEREND JOHN CREEDY
THE SEARCH PARTY’S FIND.
THE SENIOR PROCTOR’S WOOING:
THE SIXTH COMMANDMENT.
THE THIRD TIME.
THE TWO CARNEGIES.
TOM’S WIFE.
WEDNESDAY THE TENTH
WOLVERDEN TOWER
The Poetry
Beaumont Street, Oxford — Allen’s home in the 1870’s
The Lower Slopes
REMINISCENCES OF EXCURSIONS ROUND THE BASE OF HELICON, UNDERTAKEN FOR THE MOST PART IN EARLY MANHOOD
CONTENTS
IN MAGDALEN TOWER
A BALLADE OF EVOLUTION
THE RETURN OF APHRODITE
SUNDAY AT BRAEMAR
THE FIRST IDEALIST
FOR AMY LEVV’S URN
A PRAYER
IN CORAL LAND
AN ANSWER
FOR A SPECIAL OCCASION
THE NEW POETRY
UT FLOS IN SEPTIS
ONLY AN INSECT
IN BUSHEY PARK
ANIMALCULAR THEOLOGY
TO HERBERT SPENCER
1789—1848—1870
PISGAH
PESSIMIST
À BAS LA BOURGEOISIE
GAMBETTA
A VINDICATION
IN THE NIGHT WATCHES
PASSIFLORA SANGUINEA
MYLITTA
FORGET-ME-NOT
SUNDAY NIGHT AT MABILLE
FORECAST AND FULFILMENT
MVSARVM AMICO
EDVARDO CLODD
HAS NVGAS
PARCVS DEARVM CVLTOR ET INFREQVENS
To one who loves such wreaths as poets twine,
Large-hearted Clodd, this dalliance with the Nine
A rare and fitful votary at their shrine.
IN MAGDALEN TOWER
MY brain is weary and my eyes are aching
With poring over long on Plato’s text;
I’ll make this silent hour my own, forsaking
The buried lore with which my soul is vexed.
The breeze without blows kindlier and moister;
I’ll fling the mullioned window open wide
That looks athwart the solemn court and cloister,
To view the world outside.
Each dome and spire from east to west arises
An island from the rolling sea of mist
That fills with shadowy waves the vale of Isis,
All save the imperial city’s queenly crest.
Above, the chilly moonbeams of October
Wrap round her sleeping form a gilded shroud:
Below, the fleecy sheets of vapour robe her
In folds of silver cloud.
The blood-red creeper on the pale grey turret
Shows purple in the dim recess of night,
Save when the short-lived autumn breezes stir it,
Flashing a gleam of crimson on my sight.
And drooping ivy sprays that twist and dangle
Around the gloomy gurgoyles’ mouldering mass
Shed ghostly shadows on the dark quadrangle,
Across the moonlit grass.
Hard by, the clear-cut pinnacles of Merton
Rise black against the wan abyss on high;
The far Cathedral steeple looms uncertain
Through intervening depths of hazy sky:
High in the tapering belfry of St. Mary’s
The solemn clock knells out the stroke o three,
And fills with floating sound and weird vagaries
The misty middle sea.
These dreamy reveries of Plato mingl
e
With shapeless cloud and voices of vague bells
To bid each vein through all my body tingle,
And stir my brain through all its throbbing cells
The city’s form melts like the fitful vapour,
Till these her solid walls of massive stone,
Unreal as the fleecy robes that drape her,
Fade, and I stand alone,
I know not if she be or if she be not;
I only know I am, and nought beside:
I gaze abroad with timid eyes and see not
Beyond the mist by which my sight is tied.
The things I see and hear and feel around me
Merge in the inner consciousness of thought:
Yet like an iron chain their limits bound me
With bands myself have wrought.
Is sentient life, — set passive in the middle
Of fleeting sights and sounds, of joy and pain,
Yearning yet impotent, an awful riddle
Whose hidden end we seek to solve in vain: —
Is life, so strangely placed, a wanton creature
Of calm design that heeds not human cares,
Or bastard offspring of unconscious nature
Begotten unawares?
When chaos slowly set to sun or planet
And molten masses hardened into earth,
When primal force wrought out on sea and granite
The wondrous miracle of living birth,
Did mightier Mind, in clouds of glory hidden,
Breathe power through its limbs to speak and know,
Or sentience spring spontaneous and unbidden,
With feeble steps and slow?
Are sense and thought but parasites of being?
Did nature mould our limbs to act and move,
But some strange chance endow our eyes with seeing,
Our nerves with feeling and our hearts with love?
Since all alone we stand, alone discerning
Sorrow from joy, self from the things without:
While blind fate tramples on our spirit’s yearning
And fills our souls with doubt.
This very tree, whose life is our life’s sister,
We know not if the ichor in her veins
Thrill with fierce joy when April dews have kissed her,
Or shrink in anguish from October rains.
