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“Peace I give unto you, My peace I give unto you. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you——”
Christ said that. But peace came from God—the peace of God that passeth all understanding. How could Christ give that? He put Himself between God and man. Why could not people get at God direct? He was somewhere.
The steam was disappearing out of the window; the row of objects ranged along the far side of the bath grew clear. Miriam looked at them, seeking escape from the problem—the upright hand-glass, the brush bag propped against it, the small bottle of Jockey Club, the little pink box of French face powder ... perhaps one day she would learn to use powder without looking like a pierrot ... how nice to have a thick white skin that never changed and took powder like a soft bloom....
But as long as the powder box were there it would be impossible to reach that state of peace and freedom that Thomas à Kempis meant. “To Miriam, from her friend, Harriett A. Perne.” Had Miss Haddie found anything of it? No—she was horribly afraid of God and turned to Christ as a sort of protecting lover to be flattered and to lean upon....
There were so many exquisite and wise things in the book; the language was so beautiful. But somehow there was a whining going all through it ... fretfulness. Anger too—“I had rather feel compunction than know the definition thereof.” Why not both? He was talking at someone in that sentence.
The Kingdom of Heaven is within you. But even Christ went about sad, trying to get people to do some sort of trick that He said was necessary before they could find God—something to do with Himself. There was something wrong about that.
If one were perfectly still, the sense of God was there.
Supposing everyone could be got to stay perfectly still, until they died ... like that woman in the book who was dying so happily of starvation ... and then the friend came fussing in with soup....
Things were astounding enough; enough to make you die of astonishment, if you did nothing at all. Being alive. If one could realise that clearly enough, one would die.
Everything everyone did was just a distraction from astonishment.
It could only be done in a convent.... It cost money to get into a convent, except as a servant. If you were a servant you could not stay day and night in your cell—watching the light and darkness until you died.... Perhaps in women’s convents they would not let you anyhow.
Why did men always have more freedom?... His head had a listening look. His eyes were waiting desperately, seeing nothing of the things in the world ... he wanted to stay still until the voice of things grew so clear and near that one could give a great cry and fall dead ... a long long cry.... Your hot heart, all of you, pouring out, getting free. Perhaps that happened to people when they were happy. They cried out to each other and were free—lost in another person. Whoso would save his soul ... but then they grew strange and apart.... Marriage was a sort of inferior condition ... an imitation of something else.... Ho-o-zan-na-in-the-Hi...i...est ... the top note rang up and stayed right up, in the rafters of the church.
“Did you ever notice how white the insides of your wrists are?”
Why did Bob seem so serious?... What a bother, what a bother.
It is a good thing to be plain ... “the tragedy of beauty; woman’s greatest curse.” ... Andromeda on a rock with her hair blowing over her face....
She was afraid to look at the monster coming out of the sea. If she had looked at it, it would not have dared to come near her. Because Perseus looked and rescued her, she would have to be grateful to him all her life and smile and be Mrs. Perseus. One day they would quarrel and he would never think her beautiful again....
Adam had not faced the devil. He was stupid first, and afterwards a coward and a cad ... “the divine curiosity of Eve....” Some person had said that.... Perhaps men would turn round one day and see, what they were like. Eve had not been unkind to the devil; only Adam and God. All the men in the world, and their God, ought to apologise to women....
To hold back and keep free ... and real. Impossible to be real unless you were quite free.... Two married in one family was enough. Eve would marry, too.
But money.
The chair-bed creaked as she knelt up and turned out the gas. “I love you” ... just a quiet manly voice ... perhaps one would forget everything, all the horrors and mysteries ... because there would be somewhere then always to be, to rest, and feel sure. If only ... just to sit hand in hand ... watching snowflakes ... to sit in the lamplight, quite quiet.
Pictures came in the darkness ... lamplit rooms, gardens, a presence, understanding.