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〃Therr they found 'en； zo to spake； deadin th' sun； but Ha…apgood
can tell yu；〃 and Hopgood； ever rolling his pipe； muttered something；
and smiled his wooden smile。
He came to see me off from the straw…yard。 〃'Tis like death to the
varrm； zurr；〃 he said； putting all the play of his vast shoulders
into the buckling of my girths。 〃Mister Fordwell！ And not one of
th' old stock to take it when 'e's garn。。。。 Ah！ it werr cruel； my
old woman's never been hersel' since。 Tell 'ee what 'tisdon't du
t' think to much。〃
I went out of my way to pass the churchyard。 There were flowers；
quite fresh； chrysanthemums； and asters； above them the white stone；
already stained：
〃PASIANCE
WIFE OF ZACHARY PEARSE
'The Lord hatb given； and the Lord hatb taken away。〃'
The red cows were there too； the sky full of great white clouds； some
birds whistling a little mournfully； and in the air the scent of
fallen leaves。。。。
May； 1900。
A KNIGHT
TO
MY MOTHER
A KNIGHT
I
At Monte Carlo； in the spring of the year 189…； I used to notice an
old fellow in a grey suit and sunburnt straw hat with a black ribbon。
Every morning at eleven o'clock； he would come down to the Place；
followed by a brindled German boarhound； walk once or twice round it；
and seat himself on a bench facing the casino。 There he would remain
in the sun； with his straw hat tilted forward； his thin legs apart；
his brown hands crossed between them； and the dog's nose resting on
his knee。 After an hour or more he would get up； and； stooping a
little from the waist； walk slowly round the Place and return up
hill。 Just before three； he would come down again in the same
clothes and go into the casino； leaving the dog outside。
One afternoon； moved by curiosity； I followed him。 He passed through
the hall without looking at the gambling…rooms； and went into the
concert。 It became my habit after that to watch for him。 When he
sat in the Place I could see him from the window of my room。 The
chief puzzle to me was the matter of his nationality。
His lean； short face had a skin so burnt that it looked like leather；
his jaw was long and prominent； his chin pointed； and he had hollows
in his cheeks。 There were wrinkles across his forehead； his eyes
were brown； and little white moustaches were brushed up from the
corners of his lips。 The back of his head bulged out above the lines
of his lean neck and high； sharp shoulders； his grey hair was cropped
quite close。 In the Marseilles buffet； on the journey out； I had met
an Englishman； almost his counterpart in featuresbut somehow very
different！ This old fellow had nothing of the other's alert；
autocratic self…sufficiency。 He was quiet and undemonstrative；
without looking； as it were； insulated against shocks and foreign
substances。 He was certainly no Frenchman。 His eyes； indeed； were
brown； but hazel…brown； and gentlenot the red…brown sensual eye of
the Frenchman。 An American？ But was ever an American so passive？ A
German？ His moustache was certainly brushed up； but in a modest；
almost pathetic way； not in the least Teutonic。 Nothing seemed to
fit him。 I gave him up； and named him 〃the Cosmopolitan。〃
Leaving at the end of April； I forgot him altogether。 In the same
month； however； of the following year I was again at Monte Carlo； and
going one day to the concert found myself seated next this same old
fellow。 The orchestra was playing Meyerbeer's 〃Prophete；〃 and my
neighbour was asleep； snoring softly。 He was dressed in the same
grey suit； with the same straw hat （or one exactly like it） on his
knees； and his hands crossed above it。 Sleep had not disfigured
him …his little white moustache was still brushed up； his lips
closed； a very good and gentle expression hovered on his face。 A
curved mark showed on his right temple； the scar of a cut on the side
of his neck； and his left hand was covered by an old glove； the
little forger of which was empty。 He woke up when the march was over
and brisked up his moustache。
The next thing on the programme was a little thing by Poise from Le
joli Gilles； played by Mons。 Corsanego on the violin。 Happening to
glance at my old neighbour； I saw a tear caught in the hollow of his
cheek； and another just leaving the corner of his eye； there was a
faint smile on his lips。 Then came an interval； and while orchestra
and audience were resting； I asked him if he were fond of music。 He
looked up without distrust； bowed； and answered in a thin； gentle
voice： 〃Certainly。 I know nothing about it； play no instrument；
could never sing a note； but fond of it！ Who would not be？〃 His
English was correct enough； but with an emphasis not quite American
nor quite foreign。 I ventured to remark that he did not care for
Meyerbeer。 He smiled。
〃Ah！〃 he said； 〃I was asleep？ Too bad of me。 He is a little noisy
I know so little about music。 There is Bach； for instance。 Would
you believe it； he gives me no pleasure？ A great misfortune to be no
musician！〃 He shook his head。
I murmured； 〃Bach is too elevating for you perhaps。〃
〃To me；〃 he answered； 〃any music I like is elevating。 People say
some music has a bad effect on them。 I never found any music that
gave me a bad thoughtnonoquite the opposite； only sometimes； as
you see； I go to sleep。 But what a lovely instrument the violin！〃
A faint flush came on his parched cheeks。 〃The human soul that has
left the body。 A curious thing； distant bugles at night have given
me the same feeling。〃 The orchestra was now coming back； and；
folding his hands； my neighbour turned his eyes towards them。 When
the concert was over we came out together。 Waiting at the entrance
was his dog。
〃You have a beautiful dog！〃
〃Ah！ yes。 Freda。 mia cara； da su mano！〃 The dog squatted on her
haunches； and lifted her paw in the vague； bored way of big dogs when
requested to perform civilities。 She was a lovely creaturethe
purest brindle； without a speck of white； and free from the
unbalanced look of most dogs of her breed。
〃Basta！ basta！〃 He turned to me apologetically。 〃We have agreed to
speak Italian； in that way I keep up the language； astonishing the
number of things that dog will understand！〃 I was about to take my
leave； when he asked if I would walk a little way with him〃If you
are free； that is。〃 We went up the street with Freda on the far side
of her master。
〃Do you never 'play' here？〃 I asked him。
〃Play？ No。 It must be very interesting； most exciting； but as a
matter of fact； I can't afford it。 If one has very little； one is
too nervous。〃
He had stopped in front of a small hairdresser's shop。 〃I live
here；〃 he said； raising his hat again。 〃Au revoir！unless I can
offer you a glass of tea。 It's all ready。 Come！ I've brought you
out of your way； give me the pleasure！〃
I have never met a man so free from all self…consciousness； and yet
so delicate and diffident the combination is a rare one。 We went up
a steep staircase to a room on the second floor。 My companion threw
the shutters open； setting all the flies buzzing。 The top of a
plane…tree was on a level with the window； and all its little brown
balls were dancing； quite close； in the wind。 As he had promised； an
urn was hissing on a table； there was also a small brown teapot； some
sugar； slices of lemon； and glasses。 A bed； washstand； cupboard； tin
trunk； two chairs； and a small rug were all the furniture。 Above the
bed a sword in a leather sheath was suspended from two nails。 The
photograph of a girl stood on the closed stove。 My host went to the
cupboard and produced a bottle； a glass； and a second spoon。 When
the cork was drawn； the scent of rum escaped into the air。 He
sniffed at it and dropped a teaspoonful into both glasses。
〃This is a trick I learned from the Russians after Plevna； they had
my little finger； so I deserved something in exchange。〃 He looked
round； his eyes； his whole face； seemed to twinkle。 〃I assure you it
was worth itmakes all the difference。 Try！〃 He poured off the
tea。
〃Had you a sympathy with the Turks？〃
〃The weaker side〃 He paused abruptly； then added： 〃But it was not
that。〃 Over his face innumerable crow's…feet had suddenly appeared；
his eyes twitched； he went on hurriedly； 〃I had to find something to
do just thenit was necessary。〃 He stared into his glass； and it
was some time before I ventured to ask if he had seen much fighting。
〃Yes；〃 he replied gravely； 〃nearly twenty years altogether； I was one
of Garibaldi's Mille in '60。〃
〃Surely you are not Italian？〃
He leaned forward with his hands on his knees。 〃I was in Genoa at
that time learning banking； Garibaldi was a wonderful man！ One could
not help it。〃 He spoke quite simply。 〃You might sa