Well, he would see them all in a few days. And
how would England compare with the tingling realism of Nepenthe? Rather
parochial, rather dun; grey-in-grey; subdued light above--crepuscular
emotions on earth. Everything fireproof, seaworthy. Kindly thoughts
expressed in safe unvarying formulas. A guileless people! Ships tossing
at sea; minds firmly anchored to the commonplace. Abundance for the
body; diet for the spirit. The monotony of a nation intent upon
respecting laws and customs. Horror of the tangent, the extreme, the
unconventional. God save the King.
So much the better. This soulful cult of tradition, this clinging to
the obvious and genteel as it were an anchor of safety--it nipped in the
bud the monster-making faculty of low horizons and bleak, wintry
stretches of earth. Bazhakuloff! Those Russians, it struck him, had
been providentially sent to Nepenthe for his delectation and
instruction. He was glad to have beheld a type of this nature,
inconceivable in England. That grotesque, with three million followers!
It had been a liberal education to look into his vacuous face, into
those filmy eyes dripping with saintliness and alcohol.
Pages:
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726