Massy

“ One of them arose courteously as the youth came forward, and placing a chair for him, and filling out a glass of wine, invited him to join them.
“Give him one of your cigars, Baynton,” said the other; “they are better than mine.” And Massy accepted, and began smoking without a word.
“That fellow at the police-office gave you no further trouble, I hope,” said my lord, in a half-languid tone, and with that amount of difficulty that showed he was no master of Italian.
“No,” replied Massy; “for the present, he has done nothing more. ”

“ Massy smiled half sadly, and shook his head. “Go and see him, at all events,” said Billy; “and be sure to put on your coat and a hat; for one would n't know what ye were at all, in that cap and dirty blouse.”
“I'll go as I am, or not at all,” said the other, rising. “I am Sebastian Greppi, a young sculptor. At least,” added he, bitterly, “I have about the same right to that name that I have to any other.” ”

“ Grave and smiling he watched Massy come down step by step; when the chief engineer had reached the deck he swung about, and they found themselves face to face. Matched as to height and utterly dissimilar, they confronted each other as if there had been something between them--something else than the bright strip of sunlight that, falling through the wide lacing of two awnings, cut crosswise the narrow planking of the deck and separated their feet as it were a stream; something profound and subtle and incalculable, like an unexpressed understanding, a secret mistrust, or some sort of fear. ”

“ At this amazing intrusion Massy, who was doing absolutely nothing, jumped up speechless.
"Don't call names," murmured Sterne hurriedly. "I won't be called names. I think of nothing but your good, Mr. Massy."
A pause as of extreme astonishment followed. They both seemed to have lost their tongues. Then the mate went on with a discreet glibness.
"You simply couldn't conceive what's going on on board your ship. It wouldn't enter your head for a moment. You are too good--too--too upright, Mr. Massy, to suspect anybody of such a . . . It's enough to make your hair stand on end." ”

“ It was Mr. Massy who kept her there in discipline. His non-human will dominated them all.
Then they heard a sound below, a man’s footsteps, and a man’s voice called subduedly:
“Are you upstairs, mother?”
Mrs. Durant started and moved to the door. But already a quick, firm step was running up the stairs.
“I’m a bit early, mother,” a troubled voice said, and on the landing they saw the form of the sailor. His mother came and clung to him. She was suddenly aware that she needed something to hold on to. He put his arms round her, and bent over her, kissing her. ”

“ In a tone suddenly changed to confidential audacity Sterne hastened on.
"Remember that there's only six weeks left to run . . ." The other was looking at him stonily . . . "so anyhow you shall require a captain for the ship before long."
Then only, as if that suggestion had scarified his flesh in the manner of red-hot iron, Massy gave a start and seemed ready to shriek. He contained himself by a great effort.
"Require a captain," he repeated with scathing slowness. "Who requires a captain? You dare to tell me that I need any of you humbugging sailors to run my ship. ”

“ The narrow, long hull, carrying its way without a ripple, seemed to approach the shoal water of the bar by stealth. The plunge of the lead with the mournful, mechanical cry of the lascar came at longer and longer intervals; and the men on her bridge seemed to hold their breath. The Malay at the helm looked fixedly at the compass card, the Captain and the Serang stared at the coast.
Massy had left the skylight, and, walking flat-footed, had returned softly to the very spot on the bridge he had occupied before. ”

“ When he set out for Sorrento it was with the intention of going direct to Massa; not that this state lay within the limits his functions ascribed to him,—that being probably the very fact which imparted a zest to the journey. Any other man would have addressed himself to his colleague in Tuscany, or wherever he might be; while he, being Sir Horace Upton, took the whole business upon himself in his own way. Young Massy's case opened to his eyes a great question, viz., what was the position the Austrians assumed to take in Italy? ”

“ Are you Reds?”
“We have the work to do: it is the people in cities who have these quarrels.”
“But in this quarrel,” he said, “surely everyone must join.”
“The work has to be done. If these city people worked, they would not have the time to quarrel.”
“Oh, wouldn’t they,” he said, “that’s all you know of men. But, look here, how can I get to Anselmo?”
“You are not going to fight?”
“I’ve been trusted with a message to Don Manuel. If he is to be at Anselmo, I must try to get there to meet him. You’re sure it is Anselmo?” ”

“ Father Massias, who was five years older than Pierre, whose fellow-student however he had been at the seminary, had a tall, spare figure with an ascetic countenance, framed round with a light-coloured beard and vividly lighted up by burning eyes, He was neither the priest harassed by doubt, nor the priest with childlike faith, but an apostle carried away by his passion, ever ready to fight and vanquish for the pure glory of the Blessed Virgin. ”

“ But Massey, encouraged by perceiving that his chief was in good humour, began again softly to sing:
“Oh, say, wilt thou weep when they darken the fame
Of a life that for thee was resigned?”
“Not at all, my boy,” broke in the Colonel, in his file-like voice; “she will say: ‘What a fool that boy was, and how tiresome he got at the last!’ Nothing, believe me, wearies a woman so much as a grande passion. Trust me; I once watched a friend through all the phases of one.” ”

“ When he turned into the street in front of the city hall, he saw some of the lancers, followed by a mob, riding uphill towards him. He turned uphill away from them, till he was out of the town, in a rocky path near a pine wood. The lancers paused at the city hall, as though to bivouac. Hi felt a deadly weariness overcoming the need of reaching Anselmo.
“I am done,” he thought. “I have done nothing, but I have been through a good deal to-day. I must rest for a bit before I go on.” He was cold as well as weary, for the cold sea breeze was blowing. “It must be midnight,” he thought. ”

“ Another priest had followed Father Massias in the pulpit, a little thin, dark Abbe, whom Pierre heard hurling appeals to the Virgin and Jesus in a lashing voice which resounded like a whip. Father Massias and Father Fourcade had remained at the foot of the pulpit, and were now directing the cries of the crowd, whose lamentations rose in louder and louder tones beneath the limpid sunlight. The general exaltation had yet increased; it was the hour when the violence done to Heaven at last produced the miracles. ”

“ Anselmo . . . sabe? Anselmo, est il bien loin? La ville d’Anselmo, est il far?”
The man nodded his head and grinned, as though to reassure him. Something in the man’s face, the pouchy look under the eyes, reminded Hi of one of the portraits of Henry VIII: it looked evil from evil done and evil planning. The man turned to his path and seemed about to lead the horse off the trail. “I daresay,” Hi thought, “the woman is the shot: she has the revolver. He’ll lead me round to her and she’ll pot me from behind a bush. Yet he’s as strong as an ox. ”

“ Right Royal kindled and cried aloud.
There was the course, stand, rail and pen,
Peopled with seventy thousand men;
Seventy thousand faces staring,
Carriages parked, a brass band blaring:
Over the stand the flags in billows
Bent their poles like the wands of willows.
All men there seemed trying to bawl,
Yet a few great voices topped them all:
"I back the field! I back the field!"
Right Royal trembled with pride and squealed.
Charles Cothill smiled with relief to find
This roaring crowd to his horse's mind. ”

“ In his lectures on ‘Self-help’ in 1859 Smiles set Massey high among his working-class heroes. After 1860 Massey gradually abandoned poetry for other interests which he came to deem more important, and his vogue as a poet decayed. In 1899 Massey's eldest daughter, Christabel, collected for her father his chief poems in two volumes under the title of ‘My Lyrical Life.’ This anthology goes far to justify the admiration of an earlier generation. ”

“ But mother hasn’t been well for some time. She thinks that something terrible is happening; or soon going to happen. Any allusion to the Reds just now upsets her.”
“Right,” Hi said, “I’ll be silent. But I say, Rosa; I wish you’d tell me why you didn’t bow or smile or anything when those market people cheered you.”
“Did it seem very bad manners?”
“It struck me as a little odd.”
“We’re Whites,” she answered. “We’re watched pretty closely. What is to stop the Reds from sending agents to cheer the Whites in our presence, and watching whether we applaud? ”

“ In private life indolent, greedy, rapacious, ill-educated and morose, in war Masséna was, like Napoleon, the incarnation of battle. Only his indolence and his consequent lack of far-ranging imagination prevented him being as great in strategy as in tactics. His genius needed the presence of the enemy to stimulate it, but once it sprang to life Masséna became an ideal leader, absolutely brave, resourceful, unrelenting and indefatigable. ”

“ The sole force at Massey's command consisted of two regiments of foot and two hundred horse, and a few trained bands and reformadoes—in all some fifteen hundred men. As the king's intention of besieging Gloucester became apparent, Massey opened negotiations with the royalists, either to gain time or possibly with the real intention of handing the city over to the king (see Warburton, Prince Rupert, ii. 278, 280; Clarendon, Hist. of Rebellion, bk. vii. § 158 ; Gardiner, Hist. of the Great Civil War, i. 233) . ”

“ If that fellow told the truth, if this is the Melchior forest, I must be near the San Jacinto, or its eastern tributaries. I must speak to that fellow and beg him to help me. After all, he is an Englishman, though he is as ross as a mule.”
As it was dark and cold, he turned back to his hammock to try for warmth and sleep. He slept a little, by starts, always broken by nightmares. The cold struck him from underneath: it got into all his bones. “Aha, you English boy,” voices said to him in his dreams. “Now you’ve come into our power you shall be searched. ”

“ He has usually been contrasted with his predecessor Bourdaloue, the latter having the credit of vigorous denunciation, Massillon that of gentle persuasiveness. Besides the Petit Carême, a sermon which he delivered before the young king Louis XV. in 1718, his sermons on the Prodigal Son, on the small number of the elect, on death, for Christmas Day, and for the Fourth Sunday in Advent, may be perhaps cited as his masterpieces. His funeral oration on Louis XIV. is only noted now for the opening sentence: “Dieu seul est grand.” But in truth Massillon is singularly free from inequality. ”

“ Behind them, from the direction of the church which they had left, there came a sudden volley of three rifles. After a minute there came another volley, presently a third, then many more.
“These darned Reds,” the American said, “it’s their night to howl. Those were the poor devils we were with a few minutes since; give them a prayer, sons.”
They gave them their prayers, as they marched on in the moonlight along the deserted water-front. All the houses there were dead, with blank eyes. The rhythm of their steps echoed from the walls, the sea washed on the shingle beside them. ”

“ We’ll save her.”
“This devil, Lopez, is going to wipe out the Whites,” she said.
“Not he,” Hi said. “Don’t you think it, Rosa.”
“What is to stop him? We’re all in his power.”
“Not you,” Hi said. “He’s done something wicked and stupid, which won’t prosper; you’ll see it won’t. Now about getting to Manuel. I don’t know a word of Spanish, except Dios and si and the oaths those sailors told me. Where can I get a horse, to begin with? I suppose all the livery stables will be closed?”
“You’ll get no horse here.” ”

“ The man turned and called out to him to stop. Glancing back, as the horse got into his stride, Hi saw the man running back to where the horses were tethered.
“The brute’s going to chase me,” he thought. “And he’ll track me, even if I dodge him. The worst of it is, that I don’t know whether I am headed for Anselmo or the new Jerusalem; but I must come out somewhere if I keep on. This forest can’t go on for ever.”
This was true; but he had a memory of his father saying, “The forest goes all the way to Cualimaçu on the Matulingas, 1,500 miles if its an inch.” ”

“ Whether Massinger ever acted or not, is as doubtful as every other incident of his early life. It was not until 1614 that a glimmering of his actual condition in life is seen through the darkness, and the disclosure is melancholy and discouraging. There is something touching, as well as dreary, in the gloom that one can only diversify with scenes of penury and imprisonment for debt. ”

“ Six steps from the door a thought came to him which made his heart leap for joy. “Of course, this is Anselmo,” he said. “I’ve come to Anselmo. This is the Elena’s ranch, and the Elenas and all their men have either gone to Don Manuel or joined the other Whites. That is it of course. Well, here I am. And they’ve moved all their horses with them; those were the horses which I heard. I’m late enough, but word has reached them. ’Zeke must have got through.”
Thinking thus he crossed the two broad stone steps of the perron to the estancia door. ”

“ He looked at her with a rush of understanding that she was standing alone, through her love of Don Manuel.
“Oh, but they must be,” he said.
“Sorry?” she said. “Alas, they are thanking God that my lover is out of the way at this time. You do not know the Whites: how broken we are into cliques. My brother, a great man in so many ways, dreads and hates my lover: he thinks him too dangerous: he wants Bazan to lead the party. ”