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a literary composition unconsciously。 Besides； I was afraid I might have
written nonsense。〃
〃And had you written nonsense？〃 Denis asked。
〃Certainly not；〃 Mr。 Barbecue…Smith replied； with a trace of
annoyance。 〃Certainly not。 It was admirable。 Just a few spelling
mistakes and slips； such as there generally are in automatic writing。 But
the style； the thoughtall the essentials were admirable。 After that；
Inspiration came to me regularly。 I wrote the whole of 'Humble
Heroisms' like that。 It was a great success； and so has everything been
that I have written since。〃 He leaned forward and jabbed at Denis with
his finger。 〃That's my secret；〃 he said； 〃and that's how you could write
too； if you triedwithout effort； fluently； well。〃
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〃But how？〃 asked Denis； trying not to show how deeply he had been
insulted by that final 〃well。〃
〃By cultivating your Inspiration； by getting into touch with your
Subconscious。 Have you ever read my little book； 'Pipe…Lines to the
Infinite'？〃
Denis had to confess that that was； precisely； one of the few； perhaps
the only one； of Mr。 Barbecue…Smith's works he had not read。
〃Never mind； never mind；〃 said Mr。 Barbecue…Smith。 〃It's just a little
book about the connection of the Subconscious with the Infinite。 Get
into touch with the Subconscious and you are in touch with the Universe。
Inspiration； in fact。 You follow me？〃
〃Perfectly； perfectly；〃 said Denis。 〃But don't you find that the
Universe sometimes sends you very irrelevant messages？〃
〃I don't allow it to；〃 Mr。 Barbecue…Smith replied。 〃I canalise it。 I
bring it down through pipes to work the turbines of my conscious mind。〃
〃Like Niagara；〃 Denis suggested。 Some of Mr。 Barbecue…Smith's
remarks sounded strangely like quotationsquotations from his own works；
no doubt。
〃Precisely。 Like Niagara。 And this is how I do it。〃 He leaned
forward； and with a raised forefinger marked his points as he made them；
beating time； as it were； to his discourse。 〃Before I go off into my trance；
I concentrate on the subject I wish to be inspired about。 Let us say I am
writing about the humble heroisms； for ten minutes before I go into the
trance I think of nothing but orphans supporting their little brothers and
sisters； of dull work well and patiently done； and I focus my mind on such
great philosophical truths as the purification and uplifting of the soul by
suffering； and the alchemical transformation of leaden evil into golden
good。〃 （Denis again hung up his little festoon of quotation marks。）
〃Then I pop off。 Two or three hours later I wake up again； and find that
inspiration has done its work。 Thousands of words； comforting； uplifting
words； lie before me。 I type them out neatly on my machine and they are
ready for the printer。〃
〃It all sounds wonderfully simple；〃 said Denis。
〃It is。 All the great and splendid and divine things of life are
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wonderfully simple。〃 （Quotation marks again。） 〃When I have to do my
aphorisms；〃 Mr。 Barbecue…Smith continued； 〃I prelude my trance by
turning over the pages of any Dictionary of Quotations or Shakespeare
Calendar that comes to hand。 That sets the key； so to speak； that ensures
that the Universe shall come flowing in； not in a continuous rush； but in
aphorismic drops。 You see the idea？〃
Denis nodded。 Mr。 Barbecue…Smith put his hand in his pocket and
pulled out a notebook。 〃I did a few in the train to…day；〃 he said； turning
over the pages。 〃Just dropped off into a trance in the corner of my
carriage。 I find the train very conducive to good work。 Here they are。〃
He cleared his throat and read：
〃The Mountain Road may be steep； but the air is pure up there； and it
is from the Summit that one gets the view。〃
〃The Things that Really Matter happen in the Heart。〃
It was curious； Denis reflected； the way the Infinite sometimes
repeated itself。
〃Seeing is Believing。 Yes； but Believing is also Seeing。 If I believe
in God； I see God； even in the things that seem to be evil。〃
Mr。 Barbecue…Smith looked up from his notebook。 〃That last one；〃
he said； 〃is particularly subtle and beautiful； don't you think？ Without
Inspiration I could never have hit on that。〃 He re…read the apophthegm
with a slower and more solemn utterance。 〃Straight from the Infinite；〃 he
commented reflectively； then addressed himself to the next aphorism。
〃The flame of a candle gives Light； but it also Burns。〃
Puzzled wrinkles appeared on Mr。 Barbecue…Smith's forehead。 〃I
don't exactly know what that means；〃 he said。 〃It's very gnomic。 One
could apply it； of course to the Higher Education illuminating； but
provoking the Lower Classes to discontent and revolution。 Yes； I
suppose that's what it is。 But it's gnomic； it's gnomic。〃 He rubbed his
chin thoughtfully。 The gong sounded again； clamorously； it seemed
imploringly： dinner was growing cold。 It roused Mr。 Barbecue…Smith
from meditation。 He turned to Denis。
〃You understand me now when I advise you to cultivate your
Inspiration。 Let your Subconscious work for you； turn on the Niagara of
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the Infinite。〃
There was the sound of feet on the stairs。 Mr。 Barbecue…Smith got up；
laid his hand for an instant on Denis's shoulder； and said：
〃No more now。 Another time。 And remember； I rely absolutely on
your discretion in this matter。 There are intimate； sacred things that one
doesn't wish to be generally known。〃
〃Of course；〃 said Denis。 〃I quite understand。〃
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CHAPTER VII。
At Crome all the beds were ancient hereditary pieces of furniture。
Huge beds； like four…masted ships； with furled sails of shining coloured
stuff。 Beds carved and inlaid； beds painted and gilded。 Beds of walnut
and oak； of rare exotic woods。 Beds of every date and fashion from the
time of Sir Ferdinando； who built the house； to the time of his namesake in
the late eighteenth century； the last of the family； but all of them grandiose；
magnificent。
The finest of all was now Anne's bed。 Sir Julius； son to Sir
Ferdinando； had had it made in Venice against his wife's first lying…in。
Early seicento Venice had expended all its extravagant art in the making of
it。 The body of the bed was like a great square sarcophagus。 Clustering
roses were carved in high relief on its wooden panels； and luscious putti
wallowed among the roses。 On the black ground…work of the panels the
carved reliefs were gilded and burnished。 The golden roses twined in
spirals up the four pillar…like posts； and cherubs； seated at the top of each
column； supported a wooden canopy fretted with the same carved flowers。
Anne was reading in bed。 Two candles stood on the little table beside
her； in their rich light her face； her bare arm and shoulder took on warm
hues and a sort of peach…like quality of surface。 Here and there in the
canopy above her carved golden petals shone brightly among profound
shadows； and the soft light； falling on the sculptured panel of the bed；
broke restlessly among the intricate roses； lingered in a broad caress on the
blown cheeks； the dimpled bellies； the tight； absurd little posteriors of the
sprawling putti。
There