England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century
"I have felt it very strongly indeed. I live so very much alone, and
have always done so. Fortunately I am of a very cheerful disposition,
or I might have suffered much. The young fellows I see every day
haven't much intellect, it must be confessed. I used to try to get them
under the influence of my own enthusiasms, but they didn't seem to
understand me. They care only for things which either repel me, or are
utterly without interest."
"Ha! you understand what that means!" Waymark had risen from his low
chair, and stood with his back to the fire. His eyes had a new life,
and he spoke in a strong, emphatic way which suited well with his
countenance. "You know what it is to have to do exclusively with fools
and brutes, to rave under the vile restraints of Philistine
surroundings? Then you can form some notion of the state I was in when
I took the step of writing that advertisement; I was, I firmly believe,
on the verge of lunacy! For two or three days I had come back home from
the school only to pace up and down the room in an indescribable
condition. I get often like that, but this time things seemed reaching
a head. Why, I positively cried with misery, absurd as it may sound. My
blood seemed too hot, seemed to be swelling out the veins beyond
endurance. As a rule I get over these moods by furious walking about
the streets half through the night, but I couldn't even do that. I had
no money to go in for dissipation: that often helps me. Every book was
loathsome to me. My landlady must have overheard something, for she
came in and began a conversation about God knows what; I fear I
mortally offended her; I could have pitched the poor old woman out of
the window! Heavens, how did I get through those nights?"
"And the fit has passed?" inquired Julian when the other ceased.
"The Lord be praised; yes!" Waymark laughed half-scornfully. "There
came an editor's note, accepting a thing that had been going from
magazine to magazine for three months. This snatched me up into furious
spirits. I rushed out to a theatre, drank more than was good for me,
made a fool of myself in general,--and then received your letter. Good
luck never comes singly."
Julian had watched the strange workings of Waymark's face with close
interest. When the latter suddenly turned his eyes, as if to see the
effect of all his frankness, Casti coloured slightly and looked away,
but with a look of friendly sympathy.
"Do I shock you?" asked the other. "Do you think me rather too much of
an animal, for all my spiritual longings?"
"Certainly not, I can well understand you, I believe."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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