Far different was Leonard's development.The months after Oniton,whatever minor troubles they might bring him,were all overshadowed by Remorse.When Helen looked back she could philosophize,or she could look into the future and plan for her child.But the father saw nothing beyond his own sin.Weeks afterwards,in the midst of other occupations,he would suddenly cry out,"Brute--you brute,I couldn't have--"and be rent into two people who held dialogues.Or brown rain would descend,blotting out faces and the sky.Even Jacky noticed the change in him.Most terrible were his sufferings when he awoke from sleep.
Sometimes he was happy at first,but grew conscious of a burden hanging to him and weighing down his thoughts when they would move.Or little irons scorched his body.Or a sword stabbed him.He would sit at the edge of his bed,holding his heart and moaning,"Oh what shall I do,whatever shall I do?"Nothing brought ease.He could put distance between him and the trespass,but it grew in his soul.
Remorse is not among the eternal verities.
The Greeks were right to dethrone her.Her action is too capricious,as though the Erinyes selected for punishment only certain men and certain sins.And of all means to regeneration Remorse is surely the most wasteful.It cuts away healthy tissues with the poisoned.It is a knife that probes far deeper than the evil.Leonard was driven straight through its torments and emerged pure,but enfeebled--a better man,who would never lose control of himself again,but also a smaller,who had less to control.Nor did purity mean peace.The use of the knife can become a habit as hard to shake off as passion itself,and Leonard continued to start with a cry out of dreams.
He built up a situation that was far enough from the truth.It never occurred to him that Helen was to blame.
He forgot the intensity of their talk,the charm that had been lent him by sincerity,the magic of Oniton under darkness and of the whispering river.Helen loved the absolute.Leonard had been ruined absolutely,and had appeared to her as a man apart,isolated from the world.
A real man,who cared for adventure and beauty,who desired to live decently and pay his way,who could have travelled more gloriously through life than the Juggernaut car that was crushing him.Memories of Evie's wedding had warped her,the starched servants,the yards of uneaten food,the rustle of overdressed women,motor-cars oozing grease on the gravel,rubbish on a pretentious band.She had tasted the lees of this on her arrival:in the darkness,after failure,they intoxicated her.
She and the victim seemed alone in a world of unreality,and she loved him absolutely,perhaps for half an hour.
In the morning she was gone.The note that she left,tender and hysterical in tone,and intended to be most kind,hurt her lover terribly.It was as if some work of art had been broken by him,some picture in the National Gallery slashed out of its frame.
When he recalled her talents and her social position,he felt that the first passerby had a right to shoot him down.He was afraid of the waitress and the porters at the railway-station.He was afraid at first of his wife,though later he was to regard her with a strange new tenderness,and to think,"There is nothing to choose between us,after all."The expedition to Shropshire crippled the Basts permanently.Helen in her flight forgot to settle the hotel bill,and took their return tickets away with her;they had to pawn Jacky's bangles to get home,and the smash came a few days afterwards.It is true that Helen offered him five thousands pounds,but such a sum meant nothing to him.He could not see that the girl was desperately righting herself,and trying to save something out of the disaster,if it was only five thousand pounds.But he had to live somehow.He turned to his family,and degraded himself to a professional beggar.There was nothing else for him to do.
"A letter from Leonard,"thought Blanche,his sister;"and after all this time."She hid it,so that her husband should not see,and when he had gone to his work read it with some emotion,and sent the prodigal a little money out of her dress allowance.
"A letter from Leonard!"said the other sister,Laura,a few days later.She showed it to her husband.He wrote a cruel insolent reply,but sent more money than Blanche,so Leonard soon wrote to him again.
And during the winter the system was developed.
Leonard realized that they need never starve,because it would be too painful for his relatives.Society is based on the family,and the clever wastrel can exploit this indefinitely.Without a generous thought on either side,pounds and pounds passed.The donors disliked Leonard,and he grew to hate them intensely.When Laura censured his immoral marriage,he thought bitterly,"She minds that!What would she say if she knew the truth?"When Blanche's husband offered him work,he found some pretext for avoiding it.He had wanted work keenly at Oniton,but too much anxiety had shattered him;he was joining the unemployable.
When his brother,the lay-reader,did not reply to a letter,he wrote again,saying that he and Jacky would come down to his village on foot.
He did not intend this as blackmail.Still,the brother sent a postal order,and it became part of the system.And so passed his winter and his spring.
In the horror there are two bright spots.
He never confused the past.He remained alive,and blessed are those who live,if it is only to a sense of sinfulness.The anodyne of muddledom,by which most men blur and blend their mistakes,never passed Leonard's lips--And if I drink oblivion of a day,So shorten I the stature of my soul.It is a hard saying,and a hard man wrote it,but it lies at the foot of all character.
