Paternoster Row

“ Mary Flower passed the first ten years of her life in the basement of a publisher's office in Paternoster Row, where every floor as high as the roof was loaded with the stock of years, so that the earliest defined fear of her childhood was lest the old house should collapse one night and bury herself and her uncle and aunt beneath a mountain of books. ”

“ Mr Fairlie was a publisher, chiefly of religious works, and had an establishment in Paternoster Row; he had risen in life, and his wife had risen with him. No very close relations had been maintained between the sisters for some years, and I forget exactly how it came about that Mr and Mrs Fairlie were guests in the quiet but exceedingly comfortable house of their sister and brother-in-law; but for some reason or other the visit was paid, and little George soon succeeded in making his way into his uncle and aunt’s good graces. ”

“ The prisoners in Newgate are at liberty to communicate with one another; they are not compelled to work.
We pass through Newgate-street and turn to the right into Paternoster-row, a narrow street, from times immemorial the manufactory of learning, where the publishing trade is carried on in dingy houses, and where it runs its anarchical career without the benefit of a censor. ”

“ I have to make a good two hundred a year apart from my own living and casual expenses. If I live I think I shall do it—but there's no occasion for merriment." Yet if it was no occasion for mere merriment it was an occasion for joy. He knew it well, and so did those know who understand the description that Maitland gave in "Paternoster Row," of the sunset at Athens. It is very wonderfully painted, and as he describes it he makes Gifford say: "Stop, or I shall clutch you by the throat. ”

“ It is a wonder that he did any work at all. If he had had fifty pounds a year of his own he would have retreated into a cottage and asphyxiated himself with books.
I have often thought that the most painful thing in all his work was what he insisted on so often in "Paternoster Row" with regard to the poor novelist there depicted. The man was always destroying commenced work. Once he speaks about "writing a page or two of manuscript daily, with several holocausts to retard him." Within my certain knowledge this happened scores of times to Maitland. ”

“ I believe the editor himself suggested that the stories were perhaps not quite what he wanted. The one that I saw I only remember vaguely. It was, however, a sort of psychological love-story placed in London, written without much distinction.
The account Broughton gives in "Paternoster Row" of his visit to Troy is fairly representative of Maitland's experiences. It was there that he lived for two or three days on peanuts, buying five cents' worth in the street now and then at some Italian peanut stand. In "Paternoster Row" he calls them loathsome, and no doubt they soon do become loathsome. ”

“ In this book I went on to make a little fun of his great joy in Greek metres. I remember that once he turned to me with an assumed air of strange amazement and exclaimed: "Why, my dear fellow, do you know there are actually miserable men who do not know—who have never even heard of—the minuter differences between Dochmiacs and Antispasts!" That, again, reminds me of a passage in "Paternoster Row," which always gives me acute pleasure because it recalls Maitland so wonderfully. ”

“ At the same time the stalls round the brokers' cross, at the north door of St. Paul's (erected by the Earl of Gloucester in Henry III.'s reign) were let at 10s. and 6s. 8d. each. The stationers, or vendors in small wares, on the taking down of the Cross in 1390, probably retired to Paternoster Row.
The punishment of the pillory (either in Cheap [Pg 632] side or Cornhill, the "Letter Book" does not say which) was freely used in the Middle Ages for scandal-mongers, dishonest traders, and forgers; and very deterring the shameful exposure must have been to even the most brazen offender. ”

“ My own friends were new men, and although they gave him a hundred pounds on account of increasing royalties, it was conceivably possible that they might be a failure and presently go out of business. His notion was that the firm he had left would then refuse to have anything more to do with him, that he would get no other firm to publish his work, and that he would be thrown back into the ditch from which he had crawled with so much difficulty. It is an odd comment on himself where he makes one man say to another in "Paternoster Row": "You are the kind of man who is roused by necessity. ”

“ The Religious Tract Society has one entrance in the churchyard. On the east side we find all the houses modern, in the modern style, with stone facings; they are chiefly occupied by manufacturers.
We turn next to Paternoster Row.
In every large town on the Continent, wherever a cathedral has been erected, there are streets occupied by shops where all kinds of ecclesiastical things are made and sold, such as beads, crucifixes, wax tapers, service books, meditations, and such like. Paternoster Row served this purpose for St. ”

“ It was the evening of the second day after Hora's exhibition of emotion upon hearing the name of Marven. He had not referred again to the object of his hatred, and neither Myra nor Guy, who sat with him at the table, had prompted his memory.
Guy looked round the room before he answered. He had been well trained in the observance of caution. But the servants had retired, the door was closed. The three were alone.
"All London offers replenishment of our empty coffers," he answered light-heartedly. "Who is to have the honour?" He turned to Myra. "Shall I peel a peach for you?" he asked. ”

“ She was looking at Hora, with an appeal in her glance.
Hora answered her glance. "Myra is tired of London," he remarked. "What do you say, Guy? Shall we finish the campaign now, strike our tents and retire like contented bourgeoisie to our vineyard to watch the grapes ripen?"
Guy's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Retire empty-handed?" [Pg 53] he asked incredulously. "Why, what has come upon you, Commandatore?" ”

“ It was warmer work getting in the mainsail and darkness was gathering rapidly. But the canvas was stowed away at last, the halliards made fast, every rope coiled away in its place.
"The tide is on the turn," said Meriel. "If we can edge in a little nearer the south shore the Witch will lie as safely as she would on her moorings."
Guy hauled up the chain and cast the anchor loose. "When you are ready, dear," he said.
"You may let go," she cried a minute later. The anchor dropped with a heavy splash and the rattle of the chain as Guy paid it out seemed almost a desecration of the silence. ”

“ The hour has passed. Oh! Guy, Guy!"
Lynton Hora turned upon her fiercely. "Is this a specimen of your self-control?" he said. "Haven't you learned that in the profession Guy has adopted a thousand trivial events may supply reason for delay? Mind, if I have any snivelling I withdraw my promise."
Myra was constrained into silence. She went to the window. Already the black night had given place to the grey mists of coming dawn. She looked out over the park. Uprising from the sea of shadows objects began to emerge. From the near distance the music of violins and harps throbbed to a waltz measure. ”

“ Hora looked up at the clock. "That train starts from St. Pancras at 9.50. It proceeds as far as Lynn, where the messenger carrying the despatch will probably be met by a motor-car. It is just nine o'clock now, Guy, so there is plenty of time for you to decide whether it is worth while making an effort to obtain the information which will be in his despatch box."
Guy's eyes sparkled. "It's worth while trying any way, Commandatore." He turned to the young woman. "Wish me luck, Myra," he said. ”

“ Don't you think that it is about time you took some chambers for yourself?"
Guy was more than startled by the suggestion thus sprung upon him. He had always been left such perfect freedom that there had never been the slightest temptation in the thought of possessing a domicile of his own.
"Why, Commandatore?" he asked. "I am perfectly comfortable at home here."
"You will always be at home here, I hope," replied [Pg 91] Hora, "but at the same time there is much to be said in favour of the course I am proposing. Now listen, Guy. I will say nothing of the extra freedom which will be yours." ”

“ Hora interpolated.
"No," she cried. "He would never know that I feared for his safety. Let me try, Commandatore. Give a fair chance—only that!"
He meditated a while, then he tapped Myra's arm with his finger.
"You shall have your chance," he said. "But remember it is your business to keep him to his profession. He has no time for lovemaking. You shall have your chance, but be sure you use it wisely. If you do, the day may come when I shall say to Guy, there is your wife—and the wife will be the child I have picked from the gutter and educated and treated as my own." ”

“ Guy laughed gaily. He was used to Hora's moods.
"Sentiment does sound a little incongruous from the lips of a successful burglar, doesn't it?" he said, and he laughed again at the whimsicality of the idea. "Yet you know that at heart, Commandatore, you are just as much of a sentimentalist as either Myra or myself. What else can be the motive of your perpetual enmity with the world?"
"What else; ay, what else," murmured Hora musingly, a bitter smile about his lips. "But, all the same, there's no need to debauch our minds with contemplation of sentiment. It's dangerous." ”

“ Guy looked, smilingly, at her. She flushed slightly. "Not a bit of it," he answered. "I am quite sure she does not desire to exchange the delights of a London season, even for the dolce far niente of an Italian summer."
"I should not mind," she answered. "London is a beastly place. The Commandatore is right. I am sick of the sight and sound of people, and of the perpetual menace of our life—I——"
Hora checked her speech with a gesture. ”

“ She recalled to his mind a dropsical old woman, clad in rags, with a palsied hand grasping at a bottle of gin in a dilapidated outhouse in Fancy Lane.
"When is he coming back?" he snarled again.
"Never." [Pg 271]
Did her lips fashion the word? She had no warrant for making so definite a reply, but she knew that it was true.
Hora's anger nearly loosened a torrent of invective. But he refrained. What was the use? Myra had failed. Guy was lost to him. She was of no use to him now.
"If Guy has gone, you had better take yourself off, too," he said deliberately. ”

“ Hora rose, and, passing behind the girl, bent over her chair.
"It may not be too late yet," he said. "You remember when I said to you that the day might come when I should bid you take Guy's heart from him, toss it away, trample on it, break it, or store it away with your trinkets—do with it as you please? That day has come, Myra." His voice whispered, almost hissed, the latter words in her ear.
"It is too late," she cried in reply.
"It is not too late," insisted Hora passionately. "Too late is the excuse of cowardice. Guy will come back. ”

“ Hora's eyes twinkled.
"I'm afraid you are not speaking the truth, my boy," he remarked blandly. "Still"—he opened his bag carefully and extracted therefrom a packet of sticky sweets and a bundle of tracts. "I don't expect you get many sweeties. Hold out your hand."
The youngster did as he was bidden. Hora counted four sugary lumps into the eager palm. "Never tell a lie, my boy," he said solemnly.
The child seemed unimpressed. "I say, is that all, guvnor?" he asked as Hora replaced the paper of sweets in his bag. ”

“ Myra, who had been listening to the conversation in silence, half uttered an exclamation. But she checked it so that only Hora's keen ears heard. He smiled, but said nothing. Guy continued lazily: "You see that I did not misjudge the conditions. I am here." Then he repeated the words he had used a few hours previously. "You must set me a more difficult task next time, Commandatore."
"What an enthusiast you are," remarked Hora. "If you go on at this rate, there will be nothing left for you to do."
"I hate being idle," remarked the young man. ”

“ Myra was forced to protest. "To thrust myself on Guy. To be repulsed—the shame of it, Commandatore," she answered weakly.
"Bah!" replied Hora. "A man will fight for a woman, and take no shame in his repulse. Why not a woman for a man? Are you of such ordinary stuff, such common fustian, that you will tamely stand by while some milk-and-water chit takes your natural mate from you? You had better go back to the gutter, if so."
There was scorn in his words, scorn in the tone of his voice, and if Hora intended to rouse the woman's spirit the words did not fail of their purpose. ”

“ Myra rose from her chair, pale now with anger, "And now you insult me," she cried.
He would have interrupted her, but she overpowered his words with a torrent of her own. "Oh, you have the right to insult me as you please; I don't question it. Did you not buy me, as you have told me often enough, body and soul for a piece of gold and a bottle of gin. The master cannot insult the slave, you will say. I suppose I ought to smile at your reproaches, but when you accuse me of having driven Guy away—it is too much, Commandatore. ”

“ For a gem that can not be applied to its ordained function can scarcely be said to have an existence. Yet the Paternoster ruby had been potent to project its maleficent influence from the depths of its watery grave, and shape the destinies of the living. Verily, Fate never played a grimmer joke.
My thoughts drifted back to the night of the murder. Why had Felix Page paused beside the table while going between the hidden safe and Maillot, who was waiting in the library? ”