“Mr Graham used to talk to me about everything.”
“Well, but he was only a country schoolmaster.”
“A good deal more than that, sir,” said Malcolm, solemnly. “He is a disciple of him that knows everything. And now I think of it, I do believe that what I’ve been saying about your picture, I must have got from hearing him talk about the revelation, in which is included Isis herself, with her brother and all their train.”
Lenorme held his peace. Malcolm had taken his place again unconsciously, and the painter was working hard, and looking very thoughtful. Malcolm went again to the picture.
“Hillo!” cried Lenorme, looking up and finding no object in the focus of his eyes.
Malcolm returned directly.
“There was just one thing I wanted to see,” he said, “—whether the youth worshipping his goddess, had come into her presence clean.”
“And what is your impression of him?” half murmured Lenorme, without lifting his head.
“The one that’s painted there,” answered Malcolm, “does look as if he might know that the least a goddess may claim of a worshipper is, that he should come into her presence pure enough to understand her purity. I came upon a fine phrase the other evening in your English prayer-book. I never looked into it before, but I found one lying on a book-stall, and it happened to open at the marriage service. There, amongst other good things, the bridegroom says: ‘With my body I thee worship.’—‘That’s grand,’ I said to myself. ‘That’s as it should be. The man whose body does not worship the woman he weds, should marry a harlot.’ God bless Mr William Shakspere!—he knew that. I remember Mr Graham telling me once, before I had read the play, that the critics condemn Measure for Measure as failing in poetic justice. I know little about the critics, and care less, for a man who has to earn his bread and feed his soul as well, has enough to do with the books themselves without what people say about them; and Mr Graham would not tell me whether he thought the critics right or wrong; he wanted me to judge for myself. But when I came to read the play, I found, to my mind, a most absolute and splendid justice in it. They think, I suppose, that my lord Angelo should have been put to death. It just reveals the low breed of them; they think death the worst thing, therefore the greatest punishment. But Angelo prays for death, that it may hide him from his shame: it is too good for him, and he shall not have it. He must live to remove the shame from Mariana. And then see how Lucio is served!”
While Malcolm talked, Lenorme went on painting diligently, listening and saying nothing. When he had thus ended, a pause of some duration followed.