THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER(诽谤者自传)

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THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER

THE

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A

SLANDER

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER

MY FIRST STAGE

At last the tea came up, and so With that our tongues began to go. Now

in that house you're sure of knowing The smallest scrap of news that's

going. We find it there the wisest way To take some care of what we say.

RECREATION. JANE TAYLOR

I was born on the 2nd September, 1886, in a small, dull, country town.

When I say the town was dull, I mean, of course, that the inhabitants were

unenterprising, for in itself Muddleton was a picturesque place, and

though it laboured under the usual disadvantage of a dearth of bachelors

and a superfluity of spinsters, it might have been pleasant enough had it

not been a favourite resort for my kith and kin.

My father has long enjoyed a world-wide notoriety; he is not, however,

as a rule named in good society, though he habitually frequents it; and as I

am led to believe that my autobiography will possibly be circulated by Mr.

Mudie, and will lie about on drawing- room tables, I will merely mention

that a most representation of my progenitor, under his nom de theatre,

Mephistopheles, may be seen now in London, and I should recommend all

who wish to understand his character to go to the Lyceum, though,

between ourselves, he strongly disapproves of the whole performance.

I was introduced into the world by an old lady named Mrs. O'Reilly.

She was a very pleasant old lady, the wife of a General, and one of those

sociable, friendly, talkative people who do much to cheer their neighbours,

particularly in a deadly-lively provincial place like Muddleton, where the

standard of social intercourse is not very high. Mrs. O'Reilly had been in

her day a celebrated beauty; she was now grey-haired and stout, but still

there was something impressive about her, and few could resist the charm

of her manner and the pleasant easy flow of her small talk. Her love of

gossip amounted almost to a passion, and nothing came amiss to her; she

liked to know everything about everybody, and in the main I think her

interest was a kindly one, though she found that a little bit of scandal,

every now and then, added a piquant flavour to the homely fare provided

by the commonplace life of the Muddletonians.

I will now, without further preamble, begin the history of my life.

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER

"I assure you, my dear Lena, Mr. Zaluski is nothing less than a

Nihilist!"

The sound waves set in motion by Mrs. O'Reilly's words were

tumultuously heaving in the atmosphere when I sprang into being, a young

but perfectly formed and most promising slander. A delicious odour of

tea pervaded the drawing-room, it was orange-flower pekoe, and Mrs.

O'Reilly was just handing one of the delicate Crown Derby cups to her

visitor, Miss Lena Houghton.

"What a shocking thing! Do you really mean it?" exclaimed Miss

Houghton. "Thank you, cream but no sugar; don't you know, Mrs.

O'Reilly, that it is only Low-Church people who take sugar nowadays? But,

really, now, about Mr. Zaluski? How did you find it out?"

"My dear, I am an old woman, and I have learnt in the course of a

wandering life to put two and two together," said Mrs. O'Reilly. She had

somehow managed to ignore middle age, and had passed from her position

of renowned beauty to the position which she now firmly and constantly

claimed of many years and much experience. "Of course," she continued,

"like every one else, I was glad enough to be friendly and pleasant to

Sigismund Zaluski, and as to his being a Pole, why, I think it rather

pleased me than otherwise. You see, my dear, I have knocked about the

world and mixed with all kinds of people. Still, one must draw the line

somewhere, and I confess it gave me a very painful shock to find that he

had such violent antipathies to law and order. When he took Ivy Cottage

for the summer I made the General call at once, and before long we had

become very intimate with him; but, my dear, he's not what I thought him-

-not at all!"

"Well now, I am delighted to hear you say that," said Lena Houghton,

with some excitement in her manner, "for it exactly fits in with what I

always felt about him. From the first I disliked that man, and the way he

goes on with Gertrude Morley is simply dreadful. If they are not

engaged they ought to be--that's all I can say."

"Engaged, my dear! I trust not," said Mrs. O'Reilly. "I had always

hoped for something very different for dear Gertrude. Quite between

ourselves, you know, my nephew John Carew is over head and ears in love

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER

with her, and they would make a very good pair; don't you think so?"

"Well, you see, I like Gertrude to a certain extent," replied Lena

Houghton. "But I never raved about her as so many people do. Still, I

hope she will not be entrapped into marrying Mr. Zaluski; she deserves a

better fate than that."

"I quite agree with you," said Mrs. O'Reilly, with a troubled look.

"And the worst of it is, poor Gertrude is a girl who might very likely take

up foolish revolutionary notions; she needs a strong wise husband to keep

her in order and form her opinions. But is it really true that he flirts with

her? This is the first I have heard of it. I can't think how it has escaped

my notice."

"Nor I, for indeed he is up at the Morleys' pretty nearly every day.

What with tennis, and music, and riding, there is always some excuse for it.

I can't think what Gertrude sees in him, he is not even good-looking."

"There is a certain surface good-nature about him," said Mrs. O'Reilly.

"It deceived even me at first. But, my dear Lena, mark my words: that

man has a fearful temper; and I pray Heaven that poor Gertrude may have

her eyes opened in time. Besides, to think of that little gentle, delicate

thing marrying a Nihilist! It is too dreadful; really, quite too dreadful!

John would never get over it!"

"The thing I can't understand is why all the world has taken him up

so," said Lena Houghton. "One meets him everywhere, yet nobody

seems to know anything about him. Just because he has taken Ivy

Cottage for four months, and because he seems to be rich and good-

natured, every one is ready to run after him."

"Well, well," said Mrs. O'Reilly, "we all like to be neighbourly, my

dear, and a week ago I should have been ready to say nothing but good of

him. But now my eyes have been opened. I'll tell you just how it was.

We were sitting here, just as you and I are now, at afternoon tea; the talk

had flagged a little, and for the sake of something to say I made some

remark about Bulgaria--not that I really knew anything about it, you know,

for I'm no politician; still, I knew it was a subject that would make talk

just now. My dear, I assure you I was positively frightened. All in a

minute his face changed, his eyes flashed, he broke into such a torrent of

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER

abuse as I never heard in my life before."

"Do you mean that he abused you?"

"Dear me, no! but Russia and the Czar, and tyranny and despotism,

and many other things I had never heard of. I tried to calm him down

and reason with him, but I might as well have reasoned with the cockatoo

in the window. At last he caught himself up quickly in the middle of a

sentence, strode over to the piano, and began to play as he generally does,

you know, when he comes here. Well, would you believe it, my dear!

instead of improvising or playing operatic airs as usual, he began to play a

stupid little tune which every child was taught years ago, of course with

variations of his own. Then he turned round on the music-stool with the

oddest smile I ever saw, and said, "Do you know that air, Mrs. O'Reilly?"

"'Yes," I said; "but I forget now what it is.'"

"'It was composed by Pestal, one of the victims of Russian tyranny,"

said he. "The executioner did his work badly, and Pestal had to be strung

up twice. In the interval he was heard to mutter, 'Stupid country, where

they don't even know how to hang!'"

"Then he gave a little forced laugh, got up quickly, wished me good-

bye, and was gone before I could put in a word."

"What a horrible story to tell in a drawing-room!" said Lena Houghton.

"I envy Gertrude less than ever."

"Poor girl! What a sad prospect it is for her!" said Mrs. O'Reilly with

a sigh. "Of course, my dear, you'll not repeat what I have just told you."

"Not for the world!" said Lena Houghton emphatically. "It is

perfectly safe with me."

The conversation was here abruptly ended, for the page threw open the

drawing-room door and announced 'Mr. Zaluski.'

"Talk of the angel," murmured Mrs. O'Reilly with a significant smile

at her companion. Then skilfully altering the expression of her face, she

beamed graciously on the guest who was ushered into the room, and Lena

Houghton also prepared to greet him most pleasantly.

I looked with much interest at Sigismund Zaluski, and as I looked I

partly understood why Miss Houghton had been prejudiced against him at

first sight. He had lived five years in England, and nothing pleased him

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER

more than to be taken for an Englishman. He had had his silky black hair

closely cropped in the very hideous fashion of the present day; he wore the

ostentatiously high collar now in vogue; and he tried to be sedulously

English in every respect. But in spite of his wonderfully fluent speech

and almost perfect accent, there lingered about him something which

would not harmonise with that ideal of an English gentleman which is

latent in most minds. Something he lacked, something he possessed,

which interfered with the part he desired to play. The something lacking

showed itself in his ineradicable love of jewellery and in a transparent

habit of fibbing; the something possessed showed itself in his easy grace

of movement, his delightful readiness to amuse and to be amused, and in a

certain cleverness and rapidity of idea rarely, if ever, found in an

Englishman.

He was a little above the average height and very finely built; but there

was nothing striking in his aquiline features and dark grey eyes, and I

think Miss Houghton spoke truly when she said that he was 'Not even

good-looking.' Still, in spite of this, it was a face which grew upon most

people, and I felt the least little bit of regret as I looked at him, because I

knew that I should persistently haunt and harass him, and should do all

that could be done to spoil his life.

Apparently he had forgotten all about Russia and Bulgaria, for he

looked radiantly happy. Clearly his thoughts were engrossed with his

own affairs, which, in other words, meant with Gertrude Morley; and

though, as I have since observed, there are times when a man in love is an

altogether intolerable sort of being, there are other times when he is very

much improved by the passion, and regards the whole world with a genial

kindliness which contrasts strangely with his previous cool cynicism.

"How delightful and home-like your room always looks!" he exclaimed,

taking the cup of tea which Mrs. O'Reilly handed to him. "I am horribly

lonely at Ivy Cottage. This house is a sort of oasis in the desert."

"Why, you are hardly ever at home, I thought," said Mrs. O'Reilly,

smiling. "You are the lion of the neighbourhood just now; and I'm sure it

is very good of you to come in and cheer a lonely old woman. Are you

going to play me something rather more lively to-day?"

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER

He laughed.

"Ah! Poor Pestal! I had forgotten all about our last meeting."

"You were very much excited that day," said Mrs. O'Reilly. "I had no

idea that your political notions--"

He interrupted her

"Ah! no politics to-day, dear Mrs. O'Reilly. Let us have nothing but

enjoyment and harmony. See, now, I will play you something very much

more cheerful."

And sitting down to the piano, he played the bridal march from

'Lohengrin,' then wandered off into an improvised air, and finally treated

them to some recollections of the 'Mikado.'

Lena-Houghton watched him thoughtfully as she put on her gloves; he

was playing with great spirit, and the words of the opera rang in her ears:-

For he's going to marry Yum-yum, Yum-yum, And so you had better

be dumb, dumb, dumb!

I knew well enough that she would not follow this moral advice, and

I laughed to myself because the whole scene was such a hollow mockery.

The placid benevolent-looking old lady leaning back in her arm-chair; the

girl in her blue gingham and straw hat preparing to go to the afternoon

service; the happy lover entering heart and soul into Sullivan's charming

music; the pretty room with its Chippendale furniture, its aesthetic

hangings, its bowls of roses; and the sound of church bells wafted through

the open window on the soft summer breeze.

Yet all the time I lingered there unseen, carrying with me all sorts of

dread possibilities. I had been introduced into the world, and even if Mrs.

O'Reilly had been willing to admit to herself that she had broken the ninth

commandment, and had earnestly desired to recall me, all her sighs and

tears and regrets would have availed nothing; so true is the saying, "Of thy

word unspoken thou art master; thy spoken word is master of thee."

"Thank you." "Thank you." "How I envy your power of playing!"

The two ladies seemed to vie with each other in making pretty

speeches, and Zaluski, who loved music and loved giving pleasure, looked

really pleased. I am sure it did not enter his head that his two

companions were not sincere, or that they did not wish him well. He was

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER

thinking to himself how simple and kindly the Muddleton people were,

and how great a contrast this life was to his life in London; and he was

saying to himself that he had been a fool to live a lonely bachelor life till

he was nearly thirty, and yet congratulating himself that he had done so

since Gertrude was but nineteen. Undoubtedly, he was seeing blissful

visions of the future all the time that he replied to the pretty speeches, and

shook hands with Lena Houghton, and opened the drawing-room door for

her, and took out his watch to assure her that she had plenty of time and

need not hurry to church.

Poor Zaluski! He looked so kindly and pleasant. Though I was

only a slander, and might have been supposed to have no heart at all, I did

feel sorry for him when I thought of the future and of the grief and pain

which would persistently dog his steps.

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SLANDER

MY SECOND STAGE

Bear not false witness, slander not, nor lie; Truth is the speech of

inward purity. THE LIGHT OF ASIA.

In my first stage the reader will perceive that I was a comparatively

weak and harmless little slander, with merely that taint of original sin

which was to be expected in one of such parentage. But I developed with

great rapidity; and I believe men of science will tell you that this is always

the case with low organisms. That, for instance, while it takes years to

develop the man from the baby, and months to develop the dog from the

puppy, the baby monad will grow to maturity in an hour.

Personally I should have preferred to linger in Mrs. O'Reilly's pleasant

drawing-room, for, as I said before, my victim interested me, and I wanted

to observe him more closely and hear what he talked about. But I

received orders to attend evensong at the parish church, and to haunt the

mind of Lena Houghton.

As we passed down the High Street the bells rang out loud and clear,

and they made me feel the same slight sense of discomfort that I had felt

when I looked at Zaluski; however, I went on, and soon entered the church.

It was a fine old Gothic building, and the afternoon sunshine seemed to

flood the whole place; even the white stones in the aisle were glorified

here and there with gorgeous patches of colour from the stained glass

windows. But the strange stillness and quiet oppressed me, I did not feel

nearly so much at home as in Mrs. O'Reilly's drawing-room--to use a

terrestrial simile, I felt like a fish out of water.

For some time, too, I could find no entrance at all into the mind of

Lena Houghton. Try as I would, I could not distract her attention or gain

the slightest hold upon her, and I really believe I should have been

altogether baffled, had not the rector unconsciously come to my aid.

All through the prayers and psalms I had fought a desperate fight

without gaining a single inch. Then the rector walked over to the lectern,

and the moment he opened his mouth I knew that my time had come, and

that there was a very fair chance of victory before me. Whether this

clergyman had a toothache, or a headache, or a heavy load on his mind, I

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