Delphi Collected Works of Hugh Walpole (Illustrated)

by Hugh Walpole

  The senior boys were going up for their prizes now and were cheered according to their popularity. The Cricket captain, an enormous fellow, had secured something for Mathematics, and the room burst into a tempest of applause as he moved heavily up to the platform. He seemed very pleased with it all, Mr. Perrin thought, and received his prize with a flushed face and a friendly smile, and yet he had always been one of the leading rebels in the school. How easily these people were subdued, with a book and a few pleasant words — fool! Mr. Perrin’s breath came quicker as he watched the boy stumble back to his seat.

  Then, the prizes delivered, Mr. Moy-Thompson rose to say a few words. It had been very gratifying, he said, to all of them to have so distinguished a visitor as Sir Arthur Spalding amongst them that afternoon. It must have been difficult for Sir Arthur to have found time amongst so many engagements to come and spend an afternoon with them. (Cheers — Sir Arthur conveys a sense of hurry and confusion and looks at his shirt cuffs as though his engagements were written down there.) They on their part were greatly the gainers because there was no one in the room, however young, however inexperienced, who would not remember, as long as he lived, those words of encouragement and cheer. Indeed, it was not only for the winners of prizes that life was intended (here Mr. Moy-Thompson repeated many of Sir Arthur Spalding’s remarks and the governors moved restlessly in their chairs), but (and here Mr. Moy-Thompson started on a new note) it might not be, perhaps, presumptuous of him to hope that it was not only for them that afternoon might have pleasant memories. For Sir Arthur Spalding also, he might hope, there would be times in the future when he would look back and remember that he had seen, for an instant at least, one of our British public schools in one of its happiest and most prosperous phases. He might flatter himself —

  “It’s all lies!”

  The voice cut into the quiet and solemnity of the occasion like a knife. To the small boys of the First and Second Forms, tired already of the over-long ceremony, their eyes wandering restlessly about the room, there may perhaps have been no surprise. They had watched that strange master of theirs— “that old ass Pompous” — seen his edging from the wall into the center of the room, seen his eyes burning, his hands clenching and unclenching, his lips moving. To them that sudden cry, that sudden lifting of a fist as though he would strike the patriarch to his feet, could have come with no uncalculated emotion. But to the rest, to the governors heavily somnolent, to Sir Arthur Spalding plaintively desiring his tea, to Mrs. Moy-Thompson, to Mrs. Comber, the matrons, the staff, the rest of the school, it came driving through the place like a wind, “What? Who?...” They rose in their places, they uttered little cries, they stood on the forms, but no one stopped that voice — they were held, paralyzed.

  And there were very few there who, in after days, forgot that strange figure, standing in the back of the room, the light of the high window upon him, his thin figure strung to its tensest, his hand raised, his gaunt cheeks white, his eyes on fire....

  “It’s lies, all lies!” The words came tumbling out one upon another. “I don’t care — I must speak. Ladies and gentlemen,” — he caught his throat for a moment with his hand— “I know that this is no occasion for saying those things, but no one else has the courage — the courage. It is not true what he has been saying” — he pointed a vehement, trembling finger at the white patriarch. “We are unhappy here, all of us. We are downtrodden by that man — we are not paid enough — we are not considered at all — never considered — everything is wrong — we all hate each other — we hate him — he hates us — we are unhappy — it is all hell.”

  He felt that his voice was quivering. He knew that he was shaking from head to foot. He cried once more querulously, “It is all hell here... hell!”

  And then, suddenly, with head hanging and his hands dropping hopelessly to his side, he turned and, amidst an intense silence, left the room by the wide doors behind him.

  There rose, like the murmur of the sea, from the body of the school:

  “It’s Perrin.”

  CHAPTER XIV — MR. PERRIN REACHES THE HEART OF HIS KINGDOM

  I.

  HE was entirely unconscious of the world about him as he hurried across the green quadrangles to his rooms. He saw no sky, nor flying clouds, nor grass, nor gray buildings. He thought not at all of any effect that his words may have on the people that had heard them; he had no interest in what had happened after he had left the building. The one fact was there before him, that he, Perrin, the despised, the mocked, the rejected, had flung into the midst of them all his bomb. They might hate him now; the governors and the rest might expel him furiously; they might deny indignantly his accusations, but they could not, any longer, ignore him. His little room was strangely cool and gray and quiet. Everything in it watched him with as sedate and respectable an air as though nothing tremendous had happened, the hooks, the old chairs, the little specks of dust floating in the sunlight, and then suddenly something gleaming from beneath the pile of examination papers on the table. He turned the papers over, and there, shining against the old, worn-out tablecloth, was the knife. He stared at it and then very slowly and thoughtfully put it away in a drawer. He did not want it now. He was surprised, amazed, at the indifference with which he looked at it. That morning it had meant so much, now ——

  It was not Traill that he was going to kill; it was something larger, greater, more sweeping — a system, and at the head of the system, a tyrant.

  He walked up and down his room with his hands tightly clenched behind his back. As the minutes passed he grew cooler and more collected. What would they do? They could not pass over so public a defiance; there must be an enquiry, there would have to be witnesses. The curious illusions that had been with him during these last weeks — the illusions about the other Mr. Perrin, for instance, and that strange fancy about Traill being always in the room — had vanished suddenly. Things were as they most certainly appeared to be; that table, those chairs were most solidly there, and Mr. Perrin touched them with his hands and smiled at their solidity. Then also it was odd that those incidents that had seemed only that morning of such paramount importance were now insignificant. That quarrel over the umbrella, for instance — really, how absurd! When one was a rebel, a Prometheus, one of the Titans, why then this ignominious quarreling was a small affair. He pushed all the question of Traill aside with almost a contemptuous smile. There were bigger things now in the world.

  What would they do? That was now the all-important question. What would the staff do? Perrin sat in his armchair by his smoldering fire and thought about them all. Birkland with his superior sarcasm, Comber with his bullying patronage, West the vulgarian, the puppy Traill; now they would see that there was someone who could do more talking; now they would find that they owed their deliverance to someone whom they had hitherto despised.

  He was elated; he was triumphant. He saw himself in the midst of that hall, standing before them all, denouncing that iniquity....

  The afternoon drew to evening. Many voices had sounded below his window, but the summer evening was now drawing, softly and quietly, about the world. Voices came like notes of music at long intervals across the darkening lawns. It was nearly seven o’clock and presently it would be time for chapel. The staff always gathered in the Senior common room before chapel and they would all be there now. As he paced his room Mr. Perrin saw them gathered there, talking.

  He felt an eager impatience to know what they were saying. Of course they would be talking about him, discussing it all. His impatience grew. He felt that he could not go into chapel until he had heard what they had to say. He saw them turn as he entered the room, their sudden silence, and then their eager coming forward. They would tell him their plans; perhaps they had already prepared a written protest supporting his own outburst.

  He must go. He hurriedly put on his gown and hastened with shining eyes and a beating heart to the Upper School.

  He heard, before he opened the door, the buzz of
voices, and he entered the room proudly. They were all gathered about the fire — all of them, he thought, except Traill. Birkland was in the middle of them and they seemed to be all talking at once, West’s voice above the others.

  “Oh, but of course he’s dotty. It’s been coming on for years.”

  And the other voices came together:

  “Well, they ought to have kept him out of the place. It’s a disgrace, a thing like that happening.”

  “Moy-Thompson’s face! I wouldn’t have missed it for all the holidays in the world!”

  “No, but really someone ought to have stopped him. He seemed to have got started before anyone saw him.”

  “Little Spalding thought bombs were being flung about by the look of him.”

  But Perrin was too greatly elated to pay very much attention to these speeches. He had heard nothing. He advanced up the long room with a smile and his head held high, his gown swinging behind him.

  They had heard the door open and now they stood almost in a line, by the fire, watching him come up the room. They were quite silent and made no movement. They watched him.

  He was stopped in his advance, suddenly, by their faces. They were watching him, he thought, curiously.

  His confidence began to leave him.

  “It’s nearly chapel time,” he said uneasily. “Hum! ha!”

  There was no answer.

  “Well, Birkland, I’ve put your words into deeds, haven’t I? Yes, indeed, hum, ha. I thought it an admirable opportunity.” He stopped again.

  Birkland murmured something. West and Comber had turned away and were looking at the papers.

  Perrin felt that he was growing angry. It was so like them to grudge him any little importance that he might have obtained. They were jealous, of course, and wished that they had had the courage to step forward. They; had missed their opportunity and were indignant with him now because he had seized his — well!

  “Yes,” he said, the color mounting to his cheeks; “I flatter myself that something will come of it. It will be difficult for them, I think, to disregard that altogether — hum — yes.”

  There was still silence and then, at last, Birkland said slowly:

  “Going to chapel to-night, Perrin?”

  “Chapel?” sharply. “Yes, of course.”

  Again silence. Then Comber said pompously:

  “Look here, Perrin. Take advice from me and have a good rest. I should go to bed now if I were you. It’s a good holiday that you’re wanting. Take my advice. Bed’s the place — shouldn’t go to chapel if I were you — hem.”

  “No, shouldn’t go to chapel,” repeated Dormer slowly.

  Perrin began to breathe qnickly. “What do you mean?” he cried. “Why shouldn’t I go to chapel? What do you mean about a holiday?”

  “You’re tired,” Birkland said qnickly. “That’s what it is. We’re all tired — overdone. We’ve all been feeling it for weeks. It’s a good thing term’s come to an end. I knew something would happen. You’re tired, Perrin.”

  “Tired!” He turned snarling upon them, his eyes flaming. “Tired! It’s jealousy, that’s what it is! You don’t like to see me taking the lead — you hate my coming to the front. You’ve always hated me, the lot of you. You’re jealous, that’s what it is. You’re cruel” — his voice suddenly broke— “I was helping you all. That’s why I spoke — and now—”

  And then with head hanging, he rushed blindly from the room.

  II.

  Back to his room again, muttering, “Jealous, that’s what they are — beasts! Jealous! My God, they’re beasts!”

  He lit his lamp with trembling fingers and then on the table he saw a note. It was from the school-sergeant and ran thus:

  ‘.ir:

  Mr. Moy-Thompson would be greatly obliged if you could find it possible to step round and see him for a few minutes directly after chapel....

  So it had come. He flung off his gown and stared at the dark frame of the window. The chapel bell was clanging its last notes — the boys from the Lower School passed under his window in a stream and their noisy chatter came up to him. It was a wonderful night — the dark-swelling trees rose in dim clouds against the silver field of stars. The bells stopped and very faintly he could hear the organ. He was conscious that his head was aching and he flung the window wide open and drank in the evening scents. He had passed with all the incoherent swiftness of his feverish brain from the insults that he had received in the Senior common room to his approaching interview with the headmaster. Let them rot! He might have known that that would be the way that they would take it — he was a fool to have expected anything else. His mind sped on to the future. He would force them all to see the kind of man that he was. He must brace himself up for this interview with Moy-Thompson, because this was to be the decisive crisis of the battle. When he had shown him how determined he was, when he had made it evident that he would withdraw no jot or tittle of his accusation, then indeed he would have the place at his feet. To-morrow, when they had all heard of this interview, they would sound a very different note.

  He leaned out of his window, drinking in the air. He wished that he were cooler and that he could think more connectedly. He did not know why it was, but as soon as he had caught a thought and fixed it there securely, and had hastened after another, the first one was gone again.

  His thoughts were like fish in a pool. And then suddenly he thought of Traill — Traill I Why was it that for weeks Traill had been his one thought and that now he did not count at all? There was a connection somewhere between all that personal quarrel and now this sudden public outburst. It had its link, but as he pressed his hand to his head he confessed that he was bewildered, that that scene in the common room had been a check and that he scarcely knew, in this bewilderment, what it was that he was going to do.

  He sat down in his armchair with the open window behind him, although it was midwinter. He could hear them singing the End of Term Hymn— “Lord, dismiss us with Thy Blessing” — and singing it too with vigor that, exultantly, proclaimed the first happy glimpse of approaching freedom. He shook his shoulders with irritation and got up and closed the window. Then he sat down again and considered the matter.

  Moy-Thompson’s reception of him offered two possible alternatives. He could be humble or he could he arrogant — he could plead for mercy or he might try to bully Perrin into submission. Those were the only two possibilities. In the first case one would of course be as lenient as possible. Perrin smiled a very bitter smile as he thought of this. There would be things of course on which he would insist, demands that he must make, but he would treat Moy-Thompson gently and if certain concessions were made he would promise to say no more to the governors.

  On the other hand, if Moy-Thompson attempted to bully.... Perrin gripped the sides of his chair — well, he would find that he had made a mistake. The pale face flushed, the tired eyes glowed, the thin body trembled — in half an hour there would be this battle!

  In half an hour! — in less than half an hour! Already the opening of the chapel doors flung the organ in a fresh burst of sound upon the evening breeze. The boys once more passed the windows, shouting and singing. On ordinary evenings they were disciplined and quiet and passed into preparation in a proper state of chastened docility; but to-night was the last night of the term — there was to be a concert — and by this time to-morrow —

  They shouted as they ran into the lighted buildings and then once more there was silence — the organ had ceased and the chapel doors were closed.

  Perrin put on his gown and went out. He was stepping at last into the very heart of the business. He seemed to see that in reality his enemy had been Moy-Thompson from the beginning. That old man, with the ingenuity of the devil, had put young Traill in front of him and Perrin had thought that it was Traill that he was fighting, but now he saw, with extraordinary clarity, that Moy-Thompson was behind everything. That spider with that dark study for his web was spinning, always spinning —
more effectively than any of them knew. In his own room with its dim light, surrounded by such silence, the shadows of that other room into which he was going frightened him against his will. He was determined that he would, in no way, surrender or give in, but at the back of his mind was an undefined suspicion that, in some fashion, Moy-Thompson would get the better of him.

  He wished, as he went across the quadrangle, that his heart was not beating quite so quickly and that his brain was clearer. Moy-Thompson’s study was dark save for the circle of light from the lamp on his table by the fire; the firelight leapt and danced, flinging the classical busts on the high shelves into a sudden derisive proximity to the white beard at the table, playing with the tables and chairs, dancing with flashes of golden light up and down the heavy, somber carpet.

  Moy-Thompson was writing gravely, intently, at the table, and did not raise his head until he heard the click of the door. Then he put his pen down slowly, looked up and smiled.

  “Ah, Mr. Perrin — do come in. I hope it wasn’t inconvenient for you coming at this time? Sit down, won’t you?”

  Perrin pulled himself up suddenly; his thin nervous figure showed haggard and worn in the firelight. What did this mean? He tried to collect his thoughts. No, thank you, he would rather stand.

  “But you must be tired — you must indeed. Really, I insist — this easy-chair by the fire.” Perrin, clutching his mortar-board between his hands, sat down.

  “I’m sure you’ll excuse me whilst I just address this letter — hum, yes — only a minute.” A silence, during which some heavy clock ticked solemnly in the distance: “Of course, he’ll wait — of course, he’ll wait — of course, he’ll wait.”

  At last, Moy-Thompson swung round, away from the table and faced Perrin. His heard seemed to bristle with friendliness. He was very large, his clothes were very black, his fingers were very long.

  “Now, Mr. Perrin, I’m not going to keep you long — really, only a few moments, hum, yes. I’m sure you’re tired after a long day. But come, Mr. Perrin (this, leaning forward genially), we’ve got to discuss this matter, you know. Let us be friendly about it. I can assure you that I have nothing but the most friendly feelings towards you in this matter.”