by T. H. White
“Why should she be fun?
“Why should she do anything?
“Why should she eat?
“Is she yours?”
Maria twiddled her fingers nervously, but he sat down on the soapbox and took her hand.
“My dear neighbor,” said he, “there is one thing which I promise, and that is that I will not say, How would you like to be wrapped up in a handkerchief? I am aware that it is not a question of you being wrapped up in one, but of this person. I will, however, make a suggestion. As we all know, I am a failure in the world. I do not rule people, nor deceive them for the sake of power, nor try to swindle their livelihood into my own possession. I say to them: Please go freely on your way, and I will do my best to follow mine. Well then, Maria, although this is not a fashionable way of going on, nor even a successful one, it is a thing which I believe in—that people must not tyrannize, nor try to be great because they are little. My dear, you are a great person yourself, in any case, and you do not need to lord it over others, in order to prove your greatness.”
“I would not do her any harm! I would not lord it!”
“But would she do the harm to you? Think what may happen, for a minute. Suppose you managed to tame her, suppose you even managed to tame all the other people from the Island of Repose. No doubt there are several more. You would be a Big Bug then, however kind you were, and they would be little bugs, without the capitals. They would come to depend on you; you would come to boss it over them. They would get servile, and you would get lordly. Do you think that this would be good for either of you? I think that it would only make them feeble, and make you a bully.”
“I wouldn’t bully them!”
“No?”
“I would try to help.”
“But God helps those who help themselves.”
She produced her battered handkerchief, and began to twist it into shreds.
“Then what am I to do?”
He stood up stiffly, went to the cobwebbed window, and stared out.
“It is not for me to say.”
“What would you do, Professor?”
“I would put her on the island, free, with love.”
“But not have People any more?”
“No more.”
“Professor,” she said, “I could help them, if I saw them sometimes. I could do things for them. I could dig.”
“No good. They must do their own digging.”
“I have nobody to love.”
He turned round and put on his spectacles.
“If they love you,” he said, “very well. You may love them. But do you think, Maria, that you can make them love you for yourself alone, by wrapping prisoners up in dirty handkerchiefs?”
CHAPTER V
SHE sculled the punt toward the island with a heavy heart. Once there, she tied it to the larch and produced her bundle, feeling as if she would like to drop, as she did so, an unpiratical tear. She put the captive on the tree.
The small lady of Lilliput stood for a moment, clutching the baby. She was creased and rumpled from her adventures. Her hair was in disorder and her mind confused. However, when she had at last got her bearings, she did do one thing which made up for much. She curtsied to Maria. Immediately afterward she spoiled the effect, by turning round and running for dear life.
Our heroine paddled round the island despondently, noticing that the path, which she had broken down, had been blocked up. The brambles had been pulled into place again, and woven together, to make a screen.
“After all,” she thought, “it is my own island. I did discover it, and I have as much right to look about it as anybody else. Even if I have to turn them loose, I don’t see why I should be warned off from my own island.”
So she tied to the larch again, and sat there meditating. She wanted to go ashore, to explore the temple, for she felt certain that there would be interesting things to find, even if the people stayed in hiding.
While she was meditating, she looked at the tree, and, while she looked, it struck her more and more that there was something queer about it. The roots were still on dry land, and the larch lay outward into the lake until its top was under the surface. The straight bole gradually rose from the water at a gentle angle; the branches which stuck up with their small cones had put on a summer green: and there was a greenness along one side of the bole also, a nisty curtain, like the bright strands of the larch itself, which hung into the water. It was like a camouflage net.
Maria scrambled to the other end of the punt, which brought her close enough to lift it. Underneath, in a dock between the net and the tree trunk, dozens of canoes were moored. They were the best kind of canoe: the kind in which, because they have a water-tight deck, the Eskimos can button themselves and turn somersaults in the water, without sinking. The only difference was that these Lilliputian boats, which were about eight inches long, had collapsible outriggers on both sides. She examined them closely—they were folded back, for convenience in mooring—and, by fiddling with the nearest one, which she took from the water, she discovered that the outriggers ran in a slot. By pushing them forward and down, they could be made to fold astern like the wings of a gull; by pulling them back and up, they were locked into position outboard, like the legs of a “water boatman.” She did not know this at the time, but these boats were used for fishing on the lake, and, by throwing the outriggers into position, it was possible to play fishes of a pound or more, without being upset.
She put the canoe at its mooring again and dropped the net.
For all I know, she thought, there are things like this all over the island. For instance, what about the sheep and cows? Evidently the People defend themselves by hiding. The barrier of brambles is to keep stray humans off. I bet the bowling green was full of cows when I arrived—that was why it was cropped short—and, while I was hacking my way through the blackberries, everything was driven away. So far as that goes, what about the square door in the bottom step, the one with a path leading to it? I shouldn’t wonder if the cattle were driven into that. Perhaps the step is hollowed out, for cowsheds. Yes, and I suppose the cradle got left behind in the hurry, and then naturally the mother came to defend it. If it hadn’t been left, I should never have noticed anything.
They must have sentries, continued Maria. If I wanted time to hide things on the island, I should post a sentry. Then, if I saw myself getting out a punt, I should be able to warn myself that I was coming, with plenty of time to spare. I bet they were hiding things from the minute they saw me climb into the boathouse.
The best place for a sentry, she thought, looking at it, would be the top of the cupola.
There was something on the top. Very small, not easy to see, perhaps lying flat on its face, there was something not much bigger than an acorn. It might have been the sentry’s head.
Maria shook her fist at it cheerfully, for she had suddenly seen her future plain before her. She paddled off, feeling happy once again, to consult the Professor for the second time that day, before Miss Brown’s headache got better.
He was translating some remarks by Solinus, and, when he saw her, he merely raised his eyebrows thus:
?
She nodded.
“Good.”
“I came about the language.”
He pointed to the table.
On it, laid open at the title page, was a beautiful octavo volume in brown calf, which was dated 1735. It said:
A GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF THE EMPIRE OF LILLIPUT,
from its first Erection, through a long Series of Princes, with a
PARTICULAR ACCOUNT
of their Wars and Politicks, Laws, Learning & Religion their Plants and Animals, their peculiar Manners and Customs, with other Matters very curious and useful, to which is added
A BRIEF VOCABULARY
of their Language, together with its English Correspondencies
By Lemuel Gulliver, first a Surgeon, and then a Captain of several Ships.
“It’s rare,�
�� said the Professor, modestly. “In fact, I don’t suppose there are any other copies in existence. You will find it mentioned in the Travels.”
She turned to the vocabulary:
QUINBA, s., f., a female
QUINBUS, s., m., a male.
RANFU-LO., s., m., no sing., the breeches.
RELDRESAN, s., n., a secretary ...
“It is not very easy to learn a language from a dictionary.”
“It is all we have. There are some idioms at the end.”
So she sat down beside him, and, while he muttered about Solinus, she muttered “the correct Modes of Address.” She was surprised to find that the idioms were not the usual ones about “Have you (got) some cheese?”, “Is my aunt in the shop of the barber?”, “Please give my pen to the greengrocer,” and so on; but were about such matters as “Pray order me a Dish of Coffee,” “Odd-so! I have broke the Hinge of my Snuffbox,” “Come, Gentlemen, are you for a Party at Quadrille?” and “Madam, the Chairs are waiting.”
CHAPTER VI
MISS BROWN’S headache had left her worse than ever. She questioned Maria venomously about the Algebra, cross-examined Cook, and even sent a sharp note to the Professor, on suspicion, requesting him not to interfere with the education of her Little Charge. It was because Maria had looked happy, which made the Governess think that she must have been doing wrong. She confided this fear to the Vicar, who agreed that hers was a truly Christian attitude, but luckily they did not discover anything which they could punish.
For the remainder of that week, it was nothing but exercise books and knuckle-rapping, with Miss Brown’s quick pounce of the ruler, like a toad’s tongue catching flies. Several new tortures were invented. One was that Maria had to lie down for two hours every afternoon, with the blinds half drawn and nothing to read, for the sake of her health. This was called “having a rest.” Another was that whenever Miss Brown pronounced the grass to be wet, which was always, she had to wear an enormous pair of football boots, which had been bought in a jumble sale by the Vicar. They were too large for her, and made her feel ridiculous, and on Sunday she had to walk up the aisle in them, wishing that the earth would swallow her. Miss Brown knew that children are conservative about their clothes, and dread to seem outlandish, so she had invented this ingenious torment in order to take advantage of Maria’s shyness. While she was clumping up the aisle she felt that all the choirboys would be thinking that she was too poor to have proper boots, and Miss Brown knew this also.
There were no more strawberries for tea.
All the same, Maria was far from miserable. She had a secret life of her own now, thinking about her plans for the conquest of Lilliput, and at night she stayed awake for hours, reading under the bedclothes with Cook’s electric torch. The Professor had kindly lent her a first edition of Gulliver’s Travels, as well as the phrase book, and she was learning the language. She had a faraway look of private content, which drove her governess half mad. On the Monday they had a scene about Ingratitude, in which Miss Brown stated that it was sharper than a serpent’s tooth to have a thankless child, and this brought on a new headache, sooner than was expected.
Maria hurried down to the lake next morning. She went by the Professor’s cottage on the way, to pick up some articles which he had bought for her, by secret arrangement through Cook.
The passage past the brambles had been plaited up, but she forced her way for the second time, and stood in the middle of the empty cupola with a beating heart.
“Glonog,” she said, furtively consulting a piece of paper, though she had been repeating the sentence since the night before, “lumos Kelmin pesso mes?”
She said this three times, in a loud, uncertain voice, hoping that the construction would be right. (It was meant to mean, “Please, will you swear a peace with me?”)
Almost immediately, a small man was pushed from one of the column doors. He was dressed in shabby clothes, and had an agitated, determined look, as if he were sure that he was due to die for his country.
“Glonog,” shouted the man, in a high, clear voice, as you would do if you had to hail somebody three or four times higher than your house, “advuntos!”
She hastily produced the Professor’s vocabulary, and was already looking up “glonog” when she realized that she had said it herself. Come, thought she, we are not getting on so badly if he begins with “please.” So she began looking up “advuntos” and was not long in finding it: “ADVUNTINTIMMY, V.I., intrans., To go away, Get out, Remove oneself.”
“You horrid little pig,” she cried. “Why should I get out, when it’s my own island?”
The little man grew pale, but stated firmly, in good English: “It has been our Island, Ma’am, Y’r Honor, Miss, during the Course of nearly thirty hundred Moons.”
“I don’t care how long it has been your island. It was my ancestor, the first duke, who built it. It said so in a book in the Library, before the books were sold.”
“Indeed,” said the little man, looking interested for half a second—he was middle-aged and fattish, as if he might have been a lawyer or a member of parliament, if he had owned some better clothes. “It has long been a Topick for Speculation among our Sages, to determine the Origin of so prodigious a Structure.”
“You talk English!”
“It has remain’d our second Language, Ma’am, since the Exile under Captain John Biddel.”
“Then the little woman must have understood....”
At this point their conversation was interrupted by an urchin, about three inches high, who was pushed from the pillar, and ran to the spokesman with a message. There was some brief whispering, and then the urchin went back with a dignified pace; which failed him, however, at the end, for he ran the last few inches in a panic.
“In short, Ma’am,” said the spokesman coldly—he had evidently been told not to gossip with giants—“I am instructed by my Countrymen to desire your Complaisance in leaving these poor Territories forthwith.”
“Well,” said Maria. “I see. Please don’t be frightened when I move. I am sitting down.”
She seated herself carefully on the bottom step and leaned her elbow on the top one, which brought her head fairly close to his, and saved him the trouble of shouting. The messenger drew back.
“Now,” she said, “I have been talking about this business to my Professor. You people are hiding on the island—why? Evidently because you are afraid of being captured by human beings, and the Professor says he doesn’t wonder. He says that you are only protected by secrecy, for you could never escape us if the secret were to leak out. But it has leaked. What is the good of ordering me off, when I know it already? The Professor says that Accident Has Delivered You Into My Hands, and it is no good Shutting The Stable Door When The Horse Has Bolted. He says you may just as well make friends with me now, so that I won’t tell anybody else. In fact, he says it is your Only Hope.”
“Ma’am ...”
“And honestly,” said Maria, “I won’t tell anybody. I won’t even tell Cook.”
“The Accident, Ma’am ...”
“Listen. Please go and explain what he says, inside the pillar. Tell them that I will Defend The Secret With My Life, whether your friends are kind to me or not. The Professor says I am not to Threaten With Discovery. He says that the secret must be kept in any case, and that any Decent Person must leave the rest to you.”
“The Professor, Ma’am....”
“Your little woman knows about him. I bet she didn’t miss a word. Now go and talk it over, please, and the Professor says that I must Walk About Politely while you do.”
The messenger looked as if he were going to say several things at once, but he pulled himself together, thought it over in a muddled way, remembered the Topick which he would have liked to discuss, opened his mouth, shut it, glanced at the pillar door, bowed, and withdrew. At the door, he turned, opened his mouth again, shut it, and disappeared.
Maria went round the green, with her eyes skin
ned, but without making any discoveries. She did find that there were four stone walls, about three inches high, which divided it into fields for the cattle. On her other visit she had taken them for drains. They looked as if they had been made of rubble from the inside of the temple, which, as she was beginning to suspect, was probably hollow. Ants, she knew, would sometimes eat away the furniture from inside, in tropical countries—or perhaps it was termites—and it looked as if the People had been doing the same thing. At any rate, there were no houses or other buildings of any sort, which might have given them away.
When she had finished with the green, she went and sat on the steps for nearly half an hour, but there was no sign of the conference in the cupola having come to an end. So she went round the green for the second time, visited the camouflaged dock for canoes, and took a look at the shrubbery. There was little to discover. It did seem that the lowest parts of the tangle, what we might call the undergrowth of the forest, had paths in it, leading in various directions toward the shore, but only a rabbit would have noticed these. One thing she found, and that was a robin caught by a noose of horsehair, on one of the higher branches. It was dead. Maria did not mind this, as she had no illusions about the habits of robins, and she saw that it had evidently been caught for somebody’s dinner.
After these trips she sat on the steps again, for still another half hour, and wished very much that the Parliament would rise.
When it did rise at last, the original messenger came out alone, looking pleased, important, and slightly out of breath. He bowed politely, mopped his brow with a small handkerchief, and announced that the Professor’s case was won! If she would kindly sit here, at a safe distance from the cowsheds, the People were prepared to show themselves.
She sat where she was told, holding her breath with excitement, and the messenger stood beside her, as if she were his private discovery. Wonderful things began to happen.