“Whither,” asked Florian then, “will the staff carry Melior?”
The Collyn answered, in a tiny voice: “To the hut which is between Amneran and Morven. For that hut is the outpost of romance, and is as near as the demon’s staff may dare approach to the hermitage of Holy Hoprig.”
“Where is that hermitage?”
“Upon Morven, upon the highest uplands of Morven, between a thorn-tree and an ash-tree, and beneath an oak-tree.”
“What is my patron saint doing in this place?”
“Master, I also keep away from these saints. But it is rumored that this Hoprig is now somewhat recklessly exercising the privileges of sainthood; that his doings are not very favorably looked down upon; and that the angels, in particular, are complaining because of his frequent demands on them.”
“That does not sound at all well,” said Florian, “and certainly there is no precedent for the wife of a Puysange consorting with people who annoy the angels.”
The Collyn yawned: and for a while she looked at Florian somewhat as ordinary cats regard a mouse-hole.
“Master, I would not bother about this last wife. Why should you count so scrupulously one woman more or less on the long list?”
“It is not the woman I wish to keep. Faith of a gentleman, no! But I must keep my plighted word.”
“Master,” said the cool and tiny voice, “you are thrusting yourself into a dangerous business. For this woman is now under Hoprig’s protection, and the powers of these saints are not to be despised.”
“That is true, but I must hold to my bargain with Monsieur Janicot. The pious old faith that made my living glad has been taken away from me, the dreams that I preserved from childhood have been embodied for my derision. I see my admirations and my desires for what they are, and this is a spectacle before which crumbles my self-conceit. The past, wherein because of these empoisoned dreams I stinted living, has become hatefuclass="underline" and of my hopes for the future, the less said the better. All crumbles, Collyn: but Puysange remains Puysange.”
“I wonder, now,” the cat asked, innocently, “if that means anything?”
“Yes, Collyn,” Florian answered: “it means that I shall keep my own probity unstained, keep honor at least, whatever else goes by the board. One must be logical. My quiet unassuming practise of religion and my constant love which once derided time and change—and in fact, the entire code of ideals by which I have lived so comfortably for all of thirty-six years,—appear to have been founded everywhere upon delusion and half-knowledge. Yet Helmas, I find, was truly wise. I also shall keep up my dignity by not letting even fate and chance upset me with their playfulness, and I shall continue to do what was expected of me yesterday. For the code by which I have lived contents me, or, rather, I am subdued to it. So I must go on living by it while living lasts.”
“Yet if this romantic code of yours be based upon nothing—”
“If I have wholly invented it, without the weaving into its fabric of one strand of fact,—why, then, all the more reason for me to be proud of and to cherish what is peculiarly mine. Do my dreams fail me? That is no reason why I should fail my dreams, which indeed, Collyn, have erred solely in contriving a more satisfactory world than Heaven seems able to construct.”
“And does all this, too, mean something?”
“A pest! it seems to mean at least my destruction, since it is an article of my code that a gentleman may not in any circumstances break his word. For the rest, I find that abstract questions of right and wrong are too deep for me, too wholly based upon delusion and half-knowledge, so I shall meddle with them no more. Good and evil must settle their own vaporous battles, with which I am no longer concerned.”
“To fling down your cards in a rage profits nobody.”
“But do I indeed rage? Do I speak bitterly? Well, for thirty-six years I have taken sides, and for thirty-six years I have been the most zealous of churchmen, only to find at the last that not one of my irregularities has been charged off. I can assure you, Collyn, that it is quite vexing to have the business credit of one’s religion thus shaken by the news that so much piety has ended with more debts than assets.”
The small predatory beast still waited warily: and never for an instant did her unwinking tilted yellow eyes leave looking at Florian.
“So many of you I have served! your father, and your grandfather, and all the others that for a brief while were here. And in the end you all come to nothing.”
“Ah, Collyn, if the life of a Puysange be of no account,—although that is an unprecedented contention, let me tell you,—then so much the more reason for me to shape what remains of that life to my own liking.”
Florian thought for a while. Florian shrugged. That was the deuce of listening to yourself when you were talking. Florian, who had come hither to purchase aid from the Collyn, had logically convinced himself, through this sad trick of heeding his own words, that Puysange must stand or fall unaided. Yes, vexing as it was, that which he had spoken with so much earnestness was really true.
“All these years,” said Florian, rather sadly, “you have lain here at my disposal, prepared to serve me in my need, with no small power. And I, unlike the others of my race, have bought of you nothing. What I have wanted I have taken, asking no odds of anyone, whether here or below. It is true I have made to Heaven some civil tenders, in the shape of good works and church-windows, just as I have been at pains to supply you with blessed wine and wafers. It seemed well in logic to preserve a friendly relation with both sides. For the rest, whatever I felt my life to lack I have myself fetched into it, even holiness and beauty, even”—Florian smiled,—“even Melior and Hoprig. It is perhaps for this self-sufficiency that I am punished in a world wherein people are expected to live and to act in herds because of their common distrust of the future and of one another. I do not complain; and I remain self-sufficient.”
“In fact, with me to aid you, master, you need lack for nothing.”
That was precisely what Florian had been thinking when he came hither. But Florian had since then been listening to that most insidious of counsellors, himself. He was utterly convinced; and one must be logical.
So Florian replied languidly:
“My dear creature! but I do not require your aid. Instead, I am come to declare you free from your long bondage to the house of my fathers. Yes, you are free, with no claim upon me, alone of all my race, since now that I renounce good I shall put away evil also. For I am Puysange: I dare to look into my own heart, and I can find there no least admiration for Heaven or for Heaven’s adversaries. It may be I am fey: I speak under correction, since that is not a condition with which I have had any experience. But it seems to me that gods and devils are poor creatures when compared to man. They live with knowledge. But man finds heart to live without any knowledge or surety anywhere, and yet not to go mad. And I wonder now could any god endure the testing which all men endure?”
At this sort of talking the Collyn purred.
“Master, you shall evade that testing, for you shall have unbounded knowledge. Ah, but what secrets and what powers I will give you, my proud little master, for a compact and a price.”
“No: I have no doubt the powers you offer are very pleasant, very amusing to exercise, and all that; but I have had quite enough of compacts.”
“I will give you the master-word of darkness, that single word which death speaks to life, and which none answers. I will give you the power of the crucified serpent, and the spell which draws the sun and the moon to bathe in a silver tub and do your will. There is wealth in that spell, the wealth which purchases kingdoms. And I will give you, who have smiled so long, the power to laugh. I will do more, my proud little master: for I will give you the bravery to weep—”