Jacob's Room eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 206 pages of information about Jacob's Room.

“...  Julian the Apostate....”  Which of them said that and the other words murmured round it?  But about midnight there sometimes rises, like a veiled figure suddenly woken, a heavy wind; and this now flapping through Trinity lifted unseen leaves and blurred everything.  “Julian the Apostate”—­and then the wind.  Up go the elm branches, out blow the sails, the old schooners rear and plunge, the grey waves in the hot Indian Ocean tumble sultrily, and then all falls flat again.

So, if the veiled lady stepped through the Courts of Trinity, she now drowsed once more, all her draperies about her, her head against a pillar.

“Somehow it seems to matter.”

The low voice was Simeon’s.

The voice was even lower that answered him.  The sharp tap of a pipe on the mantelpiece cancelled the words.  And perhaps Jacob only said “hum,” or said nothing at all.  True, the words were inaudible.  It was the intimacy, a sort of spiritual suppleness, when mind prints upon mind indelibly.

“Well, you seem to have studied the subject,” said Jacob, rising and standing over Simeon’s chair.  He balanced himself; he swayed a little.  He appeared extraordinarily happy, as if his pleasure would brim and spill down the sides if Simeon spoke.

Simeon said nothing.  Jacob remained standing.  But intimacy—­the room was full of it, still, deep, like a pool.  Without need of movement or speech it rose softly and washed over everything, mollifying, kindling, and coating the mind with the lustre of pearl, so that if you talk of a light, of Cambridge burning, it’s not languages only.  It’s Julian the Apostate.

But Jacob moved.  He murmured good-night.  He went out into the court.  He buttoned his jacket across his chest.  He went back to his rooms, and being the only man who walked at that moment back to his rooms, his footsteps rang out, his figure loomed large.  Back from the Chapel, back from the Hall, back from the Library, came the sound of his footsteps, as if the old stone echoed with magisterial authority:  “The young man—­ the young man—­the young man-back to his rooms.”


What’s the use of trying to read Shakespeare, especially in one of those little thin paper editions whose pages get ruffled, or stuck together with sea-water?  Although the plays of Shakespeare had frequently been praised, even quoted, and placed higher than the Greek, never since they started had Jacob managed to read one through.  Yet what an opportunity!

For the Scilly Isles had been sighted by Timmy Durrant lying like mountain-tops almost a-wash in precisely the right place.  His calculations had worked perfectly, and really the sight of him sitting there, with his hand on the tiller, rosy gilled, with a sprout of beard, looking sternly at the stars, then at a compass, spelling out quite correctly his page of the eternal lesson-book, would have moved a woman. 

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Jacob's Room from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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