And suddenly—as by the wave of an enchanter’s
wand—from every head and from every face,
slipped off the delicate covering of skin, and instantaneously
exposed the deadly whiteness of skulls, with here and
there the leaden shimmer of bare jaws and gums.
With horror I beheld the movements of those jaws and
gums; the turning, the glistening in the light of
the lamps and candles, of those lumpy bony balls,
and the rolling in them of other smaller balls, the
balls of the meaningless eyes.
I dared not touch my own face, dared not glance at
myself in the glass.
And the skulls turned from side to side as before....
And with their former noise, peeping like little red
rags out of the grinning teeth, rapid tongues lisped
how marvellously, how inimitably the immortal ... yes,
immortal ... singer had rendered that last trill!
April 1878.
A DIALOGUE
WORKMAN. Why do you come crawling up to us?
What do ye want? You’re none of us....
Get along!
MAN WITH WHITE HANDS. I am one of you, comrades!
THE WORKMAN. One of us, indeed! That’s
a notion! Look at my hands. D’ye see
how dirty they are? And they smell of muck, and
of pitch—but yours, see, are white.
And what do they smell of?
THE MAN WITH WHITE HANDS (offering his hands).
Smell them.
THE WORKMAN (sniffing his hands). That’s
a queer start. Seems like a smell of iron.
THE MAN WITH WHITE HANDS. Yes; iron it is.
For six long years I wore chains on them.
THE WORKMAN. And what was that for, pray?
THE MAN WITH WHITE HANDS. Why, because I worked
for your good; tried to set free the oppressed and
the ignorant; stirred folks up against your oppressors;
resisted the authorities.... So they locked me
up.
THE WORKMAN. Locked you up, did they? Serve
you right for resisting!
Two Years Later.
THE SAME WORKMAN TO ANOTHER. I say, Pete....
Do you remember, the year before last, a chap with
white hands talking to you?
THE OTHER WORKMAN. Yes;... what of it?
THE FIRST WORKMAN. They’re going to hang
him to-day, I heard say; that’s the order.
THE SECOND WORKMAN. Did he keep on resisting
the authorities?
THE FIRST WORKMAN. He kept on.
THE SECOND WORKMAN. Ah!... Now, I say, mate,
couldn’t we get hold of a bit of the rope they’re
going to hang him with? They do say, it brings
good luck to a house!
THE FIRST WORKMAN. You’re right there.
We’ll have a try for it, mate.
April 1878.
The last days of August.... Autumn was already
at hand.
The sun was setting. A sudden downpour of rain,
without thunder or lightning, had just passed rapidly
over our wide plain.
