England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Spiritualism -- Fiction
Never before had Archie been so permeated with the sense of the amazing
loveliness of the world, and of the ineffable joy of living and of being
part of it. He had wrestled with the swiftness of the stream as it
narrowed, had clung to rocks and tree-roots below the surface, letting
the current comb over and around and almost through him, then, letting
go of his anchorage, had been floated down into the lake again with arms
and legs outspread, and now, lying close-pressed to the turf with wet
chest and dripping shoulders, he seemed to be part of the triumph of the
summer, and of the immortal youth of the world. Surely there was no
further heaven than this possible, namely, to be young and to desire and
to have desire gratified, and whet the appetite for more. There was no
clearer duty in the day than to be bathed in the bliss of life, to suck
out the last drop of sweetness from the world which had been created for
the joy of men and the glory of God. There was no such thing as evil;
evil was but the label attached by the sour-minded to the impulses and
acts for which they had not sufficient vitality... And it was Martin who
had taught him all this.
Archie had come back home this morning after a day and a couple of
nights in town. He had bought Helena her wedding present, he had taken
his completed manuscript to his publishers, he had dined and danced and
supped, and filled the hours of day and night with the extravagant
excesses in which up till now he had never indulged. Some innate
fastidiousness or morality had led him to look on the looser pleasures
of youth with disdain or disgust; now he smiled indulgently at himself
for his narrow priggishness. How utterly wrong he had been to think that
such things stained or soiled a boy; they had but caused him to realize
himself and intensified existence for him. They were the exercise of the
faculties and possibilities with which God had endowed him, and which
were not meant to rust in disuse. It was right for him "richly to
enjoy," as Martin had said: it was a crime against love and life to
starve on a meatless diet... Above all, he had seen Helena again, had
confessed and recanted the bitterness he had felt towards her, and she
had forgiven him, and welcomed him back "with blessings on the falling
out, that all the more endears," as the prim little poem said.
Archie laughed quietly to himself and said aloud:
"When we fall out with those we love,
And kiss again with tears."
"But there weren't many tears," he added.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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