Political Future Fiction - Sample of 'the Inheritors' + Notes

7/29/2019 Political Future Fiction - Sample of 'the Inheritors' + Notes

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THE INHERITORS

CHAPER ONEIDEAS, she said. Oh, as or ideas

Well? I hazarded, as or ideas ?We went through the old gateway and I cast a glance over my shoulder. Te

noon sun was shining over the masonry, over the little saints e gies, over thelittle retted canopies, the grime and the white streaks o bird-dropping.

Tere, I said, pointing toward it, doesnt that suggest something to you?She made a motion with her head hal negative, hal contemptuous.But, I stuttered, the associations the ideas the historical ideas She said nothing.You Americans, I began, but her smile stopped me. It was as i she were

amused at the utterances o an old lady shocked by the habits o the daughters othe day. It was the smile o a person who is condent o superseding one atally.

In conversations o any length one o the parties assumes the superiority superiority o rank, intellectual or social. In this conversation she, i she did notattain to tacitly acknowledged temperamental superiority, seemed at least toclaim it, to have no doubt as to its ultimate according. I was unused to this. I wasa talker, proud o my conversational powers.

I had looked at her beore; now I cast a sideways, critical glance at her. I cameout o my moodiness to wonder what type this was. She had good hair, goodeyes, and some charm. Yes. And something besides a something a somethingthat was not an attribute o her beauty. Te modeling o her ace was so perect

and so delicate as to produce an efect o transparency, yet there was no sugges-tion o railness; her glance had an extraordinary strength o lie. Her hair wasair and gleaming, her cheeks coloured as i a warm light had allen on themrom somewhere. She was amiliar till it occurred to you that she was strange.

Which way are you going? she asked.I am going to walk to Dover, I answered.And I may come with you?


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4 Political Future Fiction, Volume 3

I looked at her intent on divining her in that one glance. It was o courseimpossible. Tere will be time or analysis, I thought.

Te roads are ree to all, I said. You are not an American?She shook her head. No. She was not an Australian either, she came rom

none o the British colonies.You are not English, I a rmed. You speak too well. I was piqued. She did

not answer. She smiled again and I grew angry. In the cathedral she had smiledat the vergers commendation o particularly abominable restorations,3 and thatsmile had drawn me toward her, had emboldened me to ofer deerential andcondemnatory remarks as to the plaster-o-Paris mouldings. You know how one

addresses a young lady who is obviously capable o taking care o hersel. Tatwas how I had come across her. She had smiled at the gabble o the cathedralguide as he showed the obsessed troop, o which we had ormed units, the placeo martyrdom o Blessed Tomas,4 and her smile had had just that quality osuperseders contempt. It had pleased me then; but, now that she smiled thus

past me it was not quite at me in the crooked highways o the town, I wasirritated. Aer all, I was somebody; I was not a cathedral verger. I had a ancy ormysel in those days a ancy that solitude and brooding had crystallised into ahabit o mind. I was a writer with high with the highest ideals. I had with-drawn mysel rom the world, lived isolated, hidden in the country-side, lived ashermits do, on the hope o one day doing something o putting greatness on

paper. She suddenly athomed my thoughts: You write, she a rmed. I asked

how she knew, wondered what she had read o mine there was so little.Are you a popular author? she asked.Alas, no! I answered. You must know that.You would like to be?We should all o us like, I answered; though it is true some o us protest

that we aim or higher things.I see, she said, musingly. As ar as I could tell she was coming to some deci-

sion. With an instinctive dislike to any such proceeding as regarded mysel, Itried to cut across her unknown thoughts.

But, really I said, I am quite a commonplace topic. Let us talk aboutyoursel. Where do you come rom?

It occurred to me again that I was intensely unacquainted with her type.

Here was the same smile as ar as I could see, exactly the same smile. Tere arene shades in smiles as in laughs, as in tones o voice. I seemed unable to holdmy tongue.

Where do you come rom? I asked. You must belong to one o the newnations. You are a oreigner, Ill swear, because you have such a ne contempt orus. You irritate me so that you might almost be a Prussian.5 But it is obvious that

you are o a new nation that is beginning to nd itsel.


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Conrad and Huefer, Te Inheritors 5

Oh, we are to inherit the earth,6 i that is what you mean, she said.Te phrase is comprehensive, I said. I was determined not to give mysel

away. Where in the world do you come rom? I repeated. Te question, I wasquite conscious, would have su ced, but in the hope, I suppose, o establishingmy intellectual superiority, I continued:

You know, air plays a jewel.7 Now Im quite willing to give you inormationas to mysel. I have already told you the essentials you ought to tell me some-thing. It would only be air play.

Why should there be any air play? she asked.What have you to say against that? I said. Do you not number it among

your national characteristics?You really wish to know where I come rom?I expressed light-hearted acquiescence.Listen, she said, and uttered some sounds. I elt a kind o unholy emotion.

It had come like a sudden, suddenly hushed, intense gust o wind through abreathless day. What what! I cried.

I said I inhabit the Fourth Dimension.8

I recovered my equanimity with the thought that I had been visited by somestroke o an obscure and unimportant physical kind.

I think we must have been climbing the hill too ast or me, I said, I havenot been very well. I missed what you said. I was certainly out o breath.

I said I inhabit the Fourth Dimension, she repeated with admirable gravity.

Oh, come, I expostulated, this is playing it rather low down. You walk aconvalescent out o breath and then propound riddles to him.

I was recovering my breath, and, with it, my inclination to expand. Instead,I looked at her. I was beginning to understand. It was obvious enough that she

was a oreigner in a strange land,9 in a land that brought out her national char-acteristics. She must be o some race, perhaps Semitic, perhaps Sclav o someincomprehensible race.10 I had never seen a Circassian, and there used to be atradition that Circassian women were beautiul, were air-skinned, and so on.11

What was repelling in her was accounted or by this diference in national pointo view. One is, aer all, not so very remote rom the horse. What one does notunderstand one shies at nds sinister, in act. And she struck me as sinister.

You wont tell me who you are? I said.

I have done so, she answered.I you expect me to believe that you inhabit a mathematical monstrosity,

you are mistaken. You are, really.She turned round and pointed at the city.Look! she said.

We had climbed the western hill. Below our eet, beneath a sky that the windhad swept clean o clouds, was the valley; a broad bowl, shallow, lled with the


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purple o smoke-wreaths. And above the mass o red roos there soared the goldenstonework o the cathedral tower. It was a vision, the last word o a great art. 12 Ilooked at her. I was moved, and I knew that the glory o it must have moved her.

She was smiling. Look! she repeated. I looked.Tere was the purple and the red, and the golden tower, the vision, the last

word. She said something uttered some sound.What had happened? I dont know. It all looked contemptible. One seemed

to see something beyond, something vaster vaster than cathedrals, vaster thanthe conception o the gods to whom cathedrals were raised. Te tower reeledout o the perpendicular. One saw beyond it, not roos, or smoke, or hills, but an

unrealised, an unrealisable innity o space.It was merely momentary. Te tower lled its place again and I looked at her.What the devil, I said, hysterically what the devil do you play these tricks

upon me or?You see, she answered, the rudiments o the sense are there.You must excuse me i I ail to understand, I said, grasping aer ragments

o dropped dignity. I am subject to ts o giddiness. I elt a need or cover-ing a species o nakedness. Pardon my swearing, I added; a proo o recoveredequanimity.

We resumed the road in silence. I was physically and mentally shaken; and Itried to deceive mysel as to the cause. Aer some time I said:

You insist then in preserving your your incognito.

Oh, I make no mystery o mysel, she answered.You have told me that you come rom the Fourth Dimension, I remarked,

ironically.I come rom the Fourth Dimension, she said, patiently. She had the air o

one in a position o di culty; o one aware o it and ready to brave it. She hadthe listlessness o an enlightened person who has to explain, over and over again,to stupid children some rudimentary point o the multiplication table.

She seemed to divine my thoughts, to be aware o their very wording. Sheeven said yes at the opening o her next speech.

Yes, she said. It is as i I were to try to explain the new ideas o any age to aperson o the age that has gone beore. She paused, seeking a concrete illustra-tion that would touch me. As i I were explaining to Dr. Johnson the methods

and the ultimate vogue o the Cockney school o poetry.13I understand, I said, that you wish me to consider mysel as relatively a

Choctaw.14 But what I do not understand is; what bearing that has upon uponthe Fourth Dimension, I think you said?

I will explain, she replied.But you must explain as i you were explaining to a Choctaw, I said, pleas-

antly, you must be concise and convincing.


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She answered: I will.She made a long speech o it; I condense. I cant remember her exact words

there were so many; but she spoke like a book. Tere was something exqui-sitely piquant in her choice o words, in her expressionless voice. I seemed to belistening to a phonograph reciting a technical work. Tere was a touch o theincongruous, o the mad, that appealed to me the commonplace rolling-downlandscape, the straight, white, undulating road that, rom the tops o rises, onesaw running or miles and miles, straight, straight, and so white. Filtering downthrough the great blue o the sky came the thrilling o innumerable skylarks. AndI was listening to a parody o a scientic work recited by a phonograph.

I heard the nature o the Fourth Dimension heard that it was an inhabitedplane invisible to our eyes, but omnipresent; heard that I had seen it whenBell Harry15 had reeled beore my eyes. I heard the Dimensionists described:a race clear-sighted, eminently practical, incredible; with no ideals, prejudices,or remorse; with no eeling or art and no reverence or lie; ree rom any ethi-cal tradition; callous to pain, weakness, sufering and death, as i they had beeninvulnerable and immortal. She did not say that they were immortal, however.You would you will hate us, she concluded. And I seemed only then tocome to mysel. Te power o her imagination was so great that I ancied myselace to ace with the truth. I supposed she had been amusing hersel; that sheshould have tried to righten me was inadmissible. I dont pretend that I wascompletely at my ease, but I said, amiably: You certainly have succeeded in

making these beings hateul.I have made nothing, she said with a aint smile, and went on amusing her-

sel. She would explain origins, now.Your she used the word as signiying, I suppose, the inhabitants o the

country, or the populations o the earth your ancestors were mine, but longago you were crowded out o the Dimension as we are to-day, you overran theearth as we shall do to-morrow. But you contracted diseases, as we shall contractthem belies, traditions; ears; ideas o pity o love. You grew luxurious in the

worship o your ideals, and sorrowul; you solaced yourselves with creeds, witharts you have orgotten!

She spoke with calm conviction; with an overwhelming and dispassionateassurance. She was stating acts; not proessing a aith. We approached a little

roadside inn. On a bench beore the door a dun-clad16 country ellow was asleep,his head on the table.

Put your ngers in your ears, my companion commanded.I humoured her.I saw her lips move. Te countryman started, shuddered, and by a clumsy,

convulsive motion o his arms, upset his quart. He rubbed his eyes. Beore hehad voiced his emotions we had passed on.


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I have seen a horse-coper17 do as much or a stallion, I commented. I knowthere are words that have certain efects. But you shouldnt play pranks like thelow-comedy devil in Faustus.18

It isnt good orm, I suppose? she sneered.Its a matter o eeling, I said, hotly, the poor ellow has lost his beer.Whats that to me? she commented, with the air o one afording a con-

crete illustration.Its a good deal to him, I answered.But what to me?I said nothing. She ceased her exposition immediately aerward, growing

silent as suddenly as she had become discoursive. It was rather as i she had learnta speech by heart and had come to the end o it. I was quite at a loss as to whatshe was driving at. Tere was a newness, a strangeness about her; sometimes shestruck me as mad, sometimes as rightully sane. We had a meal somewhere ameal that broke the current o her speech and then, in the late aernoon, tooka by-road and wandered in secluded valleys. I had been ill; trouble o the nerves,brooding, the monotony o lie in the shadow o unsuccess. I had an errand inthis part o the world and had been approaching it deviously, seeking the normalin its quiet hollows, trying to get back to my old sel. I did not wish to think ohow I should get through the year o the thousand little things that matter. SoI talked and she she listened very well.

But topics exhaust themselves and, at the last, I mysel brought the talk round

to the Fourth Dimension. We were sauntering along the orgotten valley that liesbetween Hardres and Stelling Minnis;19 we had been silent or several minutes.For me, at least, the silence was pregnant with the undenable emotions that, attimes, run in currents between man and woman. Te sun was getting low andit was shadowy in those shrouded hollows. I laughed at some thought, I orget

what, and then began to badger her with questions. I tried to exhaust the possi-bilities o the Dimensionist idea, made grotesque suggestions. I said : And whena great many o you have been crowded out o the Dimension and invaded theearth you will do so and so something preposterous and ironical. She coldlydissented, and at once the irony appeared as gross as the jocularity o a commer-cial traveller. Sometimes she signied: Yes, that is what we shall do; signiedit without speaking by some gesture perhaps, I hardly know what. Tere was

something impressive something almost regal in this manner o hers; it wasrather rightening in those lonely places, which were so orgotten, so gray, soclosed in. Tere was something o the past world about the hanging woods, thelittle veils o unmoving mist as i time did not exist in those urrows o thegreat world; and one was so absolutely alone; anything might have happened. Igrew weary o the sound o my tongue. But when I wanted to cease, I ound shehad on me the efect o some incredible stimulant.


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We came to the end o the valley where the road begins to climb the southernhill, out into the open air. I managed to maintain an uneasy silence. From hergrimly dispassionate reiterations I had attained to a clear idea, even to a visu-alisation, o her antastic conception allegory, madness, or whatever it was.She certainly orced it home. Te Dimensionists were to come in swarms, tomaterialise, to devour like locusts, to be all the more irresistible because indistin-guishable. Tey were to come like snow in the night: in the morning one wouldlook out and nd the world white; they were to come as the gray hairs come, tosap the strength o us as the years sap the strength o the muscles. As to methods,

we should be treated as we ourselves treat the inerior races. Tere would be no

ghting, no killing ; we our whole social system would break as a beam snaps,because we were worm-eaten with altruism and ethics. We, at our worst, hada certain limit, a certain stage where we exclaimed: No, this is playing it toolow down, because we had scruples that acted like handicapping weights.20 Sheuttered, I think, only two sentences o connected words: We shall race with

you and we shall not be weighted, and, We shall merely sink you lower by ourweight. All the rest went like this:

But then, I would say we shall not be able to trust anyone. Anyone maybe one o you She would answer: Anyone. She prophesied a reign o terroror us. As one passed ones neighbour in the street one would cast sudden, pierc-ing glances at him.

I was silent. Te birds were singing the sun down. It was very dark among the

branches, and rom minute to minute the colours o the world deepened andgrew sombre.

But I said. A eeling o unrest was creeping over me. But why do you tellme all this? I asked. Do you think I will enlist with you?

You will have to in the end, she said, and I do not wish to waste my strength.I you had to work unwittingly you would resist and resist and resist. I shouldhave to waste my power on you. As it is, you will resist only at rst, then you willbegin to understand. You will see how we will bring a man down a man, youunderstand, with a great name, standing or probity and honour. You will see thenets drawing closer and closer, and you will begin to understand. Ten you willcease resisting, that is all.

I was silent. A June nightingale began to sing, a trie hoarsely. We seemed

to be waiting or some signal. Te things o the night came and went, rustledthrough the grass, rustled through the leaage. At last I could not even see the

white gleam o her ace I stretched out my hand and it touched hers. I seized it without an instant

o hesitation. How could I resist you? I said, and heard my own whisper witha kind o amazement at its emotion. I raised her hand. It was very cold and sheseemed to have no thought o resistance; but beore it touched my lips something


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like a panic o prudence had overcome me. I did not know what it would lead to and I remembered that I did not even know who she was. From the beginning shehad struck me as sinister and now, in the obscurity, her silence and her coldnessseemed to be a passive threatening o unknown entanglement. I let her hand all.

We must be getting on, I said.Te road was shrouded and overhung by branches. Tere was a kind o trans-

lucent light, enough to see her ace, but I kept my eyes on the ground. I wasvexed. Now that it was past the episode appeared to be a lost opportunity. Wewere to part in a moment, and her rare mental gis and her unamiliar, but veryvivid, beauty made the idea o parting intensely disagreeable. She had lled me

with a curiosity that she had done nothing whatever to satisy, and with a asci-nation that was very nearly a ear. We mounted the hill and came out on a stretcho so common sward. Ten the sound o our ootsteps ceased and the worldgrew more silent than ever. Tere were little enclosed elds all round us. Temoon threw a wan light, and gleaming mist hung in the ragged hedges. Broad,so roads ran away into space on every side.

And now I asked, at last, shall we ever meet again? My voice came husk-ily, as i I had not spoken or years and years.

Oh, very oen, she answered.Very oen? I repeated. I hardly knew whether I was pleased or dismayed.

Trough the gate-gap in a hedge, I caught a glimmer o a white house ront. Itseemed to belong to another world; to another order o things.

Ah here is Callans, 21 I said. Tis is where I was going I know, she answered; we part here.o meet again? I asked.Oh to meet again; why, yes, to meet again.

CHAPER WO

HER gure aded into the darkness, as pale things waver down into deep water,and as soon as she disappeared my sense o humour returned. Te episodeappeared more clearly, as a irtation with an enigmatic, but decidedly charming,chance travelling companion. Te girl was a riddle, and a riddle once guessed is a

very trivial thing. She, too, would be a very trivial thing when I had ound a solu-tion. It occurred to me that she wished me to regard her as a symbol, perhaps, othe uture as a type o those who are to inherit the earth, in act. She had been

playing the ool with me, in her insolent modernity. She had wished me to under-stand that I was old-ashioned; that the rame o mind o which I and my ellows

were the inheritors was over and done with. We were to be compulsorily retired;to stand aside superannuated. It was obvious that she was better equipped or the


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swiness o lie. She had a something not only quickness o wit, not only ruth-less determination, but a something quite diferent and quite indenably moreimpressive. Perhaps it was only the condence o the superseder, the essentialquality that makes or the empire o the Occidental. But I was not a negro noteven relatively a Hindoo.22 I was somebody, conound it, I was somebody.

As an author, I had been so uniormly unsuccessul, so absolutely unrecog-nised, that I had got into the way o regarding mysel as ahead o my time, as a

worker or posterity. It was a habit o mind the only revenge that I could takeupon despiteul Fate. Tis girl came to conound me with the common herd she declared hersel to be that very posterity or which I worked.

She was probably a member o some clique that called themselves FourthDimensionists just as there had been pre-Raphaelites.23 It was a matter o cantallegory.24 I began to wonder how it was that I had never heard o them. Andhow on earth had they come to hear o me!

She must have read something o mine, I ound mysel musing: the Jen-kins25 story perhaps. It must have been the Jenkins story; they gave it a good

place in their rotten magazine. She must have seen that it was the real thing, and When one is an author one looks at things in that way, you know.

By that time I was ready to knock at the door o the great Callan. I seemedto be jerked into the commonplace medium o a great, great oh, an innitelygreat novelists home lie. I was led into a well-lit drawing-room, welcomedby the great mans wie, gently propelled into a bedroom, made mysel tidy,

descended and was introduced into the sanctum, beore my eyes had grownaccustomed to the lamp-light. Callan was seated upon his soa surrounded by anadmiring crowd o very local personages. I orget what they looked like. I thinkthere was a man whose reddish beard did not become him and another whoseace might have been improved by the addition o a reddish beard; there wasalso an extremely moody dark man and I vaguely recollect a person who lisped.

Tey did not talk much; indeed there was very little conversation. What therewas Callan supplied. He spoke very slowly and very authoritatively,like a great actor whose aim is to hold the stage as long as possible. Te raising ohis heavy eyelids at the opening door conveyed the impression o a dark, mental

weariness; and seemed somehow to give additional length to his white nose. Hisshort, brown beard was getting very grey, I thought. With his loy orehead and

with his superior, yet propitiatory smile, I was o course amiliar. Indeed one sawthem on posters in the street. Te notables did not want to talk. Tey wantedto be spell-bound and they were. Callan sat there in an appropriate attitude the one in which he was always photographed. One hand supported his head,the other toyed with his watch-chain. His ace was uniormly solemn, but hiseyes were disconcertingly urtive. He cross-questioned me as to my walk romCanterbury; remarked that the cathedral was a magnicent Gothic Monu-


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ment and set me right as to the lie o the roads. He seemed pleased to nd thatI remembered very little o what I ought to have noticed on the way. It gave himan opportunity or the display o his local erudition.

A remarkable woman used to live in the cottage next the mill at Stelling, he said; she was the original o Kate Wingeld.

In your Boldero? the chorus chorussed.Remembrance o the common at Stelling o the glimmering white aces

o the shadowy cottages was like a cold wa o mist to me. I orgot to sayIndeed!

She was a very remarkable woman She

I ound mysel wondering which was real; the common with its misty hedgesand the blurred moon; or this room with its ranks o uniormly bound booksand its bust o the great man that threw a portentous shadow upward rom its

pedestal behind the lamp.Beore I had entirely recovered mysel, the notables were departing to catch

the last train. I was le alone with Callan.He did not trouble to resume his attitude or me, and when he did speak,

spoke aster.Interesting man, Mr. Jinks? he said; you recognised him?No, I said; I dont think I ever met him.Callan looked annoyed.I thought Id got him pretty well. Hes Hector Steele. In my Blaneld, he

added.Indeed! I said. I had never been able to read Blaneld. Indeed, ah, yes

o course.Tere was an awkward pause.Te whiskey will be here in a minute, he said, suddenly. I dont have it

in when Whatnots here. Hes the Rector, you know; a great temperance man.When weve had a a modest quencher well get to business.

Oh, I said, your letters really meant O course, he answered. Oh, heres the whiskey. Well now, Fox26 was down

here the other night. You know Fox, o course?Didnt he start the rag called ?

Yes, yes, Callan answered, hastily, hes been very successul in launchingpapers. Now hes trying his hand with a new one. Hes any amount o backers big names, you know. Hes to run my next as aeuilleton. Tis this venture is tobe rather more serious in tone than any that hes done hitherto. You understand?

Why, yes, I said; but I dont see where I come in.Callan took a meditative sip o whiskey, added a little more water, a little

more whiskey, and then ound the mixture to his liking.


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You see, he said, Fox got a letter here to say that Wilkinson had died sud-denly some afection o the heart. Wilkinson was to have written a series o

personal articles on prominent people. Well, Fox was nonplussed and I put in aword or you.

Im sure Im much I began.Not at all, not at all, Callan interrupted, blandly. Ive known you and

youve known me or a number o years.A sudden picture danced beore my eyes the portrait o the Callan o the

old days the awning, shady individual, with the seedy clothes, the urtive eyesand the obliging manners.

Why, yes, I said; but I dont see that that gives me any claim.Callan cleared his throat.Te lapse o time, he said in his grand manner, rivets what we may call the

bands o association.He paused to inscribe this sentence on the tablets o his memory. It would be

dragged in to orm a purple patch in his new serial.You see, he went on, Ive written a good deal o autobiographical matter

and it would verge upon sel-advertisement to do more. You know how much Idislike that. So I showed Fox your sketch in theKensington.

Te Jenkins story? I said. How did you come to see it?Tey send me theKensington, he answered. Tere was a touch o sourness

in his tone, and I remembered that theKensington I had seen had been ballastedwith seven goodly pages by Callan himsel seven unreadable packed pages oa serial.

As I was saying, Callan began again, you ought to know me very well, andI suppose you are acquainted with my books. As or the rest, I will give you whatmaterial you want.

But, my dear Callan, I said, Ive never tried my hand at that sort o thing.Callan silenced me with a wave o his hand.It struck both Fox and mysel that your your Jenkins was just what was

wanted, he said; o course, that was a study o a kind o broken-down painter.But it was well done.

I bowed my head. Praise rom Callan was best acknowledged in silence.

You see, what we want, or rather what Fox wants, he explained, is a kindo series o studies o celebrities chez eux.27 O course, they are not broken down.But i you can treat them as you treated Jenkins get them in their studies, sur-rounded by what in their case stands or the broken lay gures and the adedserge curtains28 it will be exactly the thing. It will be a new line, or rather whatis a great deal better, mind you an old line treated in a slightly, very slightly di-erent way. Tats what the public wants.


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Ah, yes, I said, thats what the public wants. But all the same, its been donetime out o mind beore. Why, Ive seen photographs o you and your armchairand your pen-wiper and so on, hal a score o times in the sixpenny magazines.

Callan again indicated bland superiority with a wave o his hand.You undervalue yoursel, he said.I murmured Tanks.Tis is to be not a mere pandering to curiosity but an attempt to get at

the inside o things to get the atmosphere, so to speak; not merely to catalogueurniture.

He was quoting rom the prospectus o the new paper, and then cleared his

throat or the utterance o a tremendous truth.Photography is not Art, he remarked.Te antastic side o our colloquy began to strike me.Aer all, I thought to mysel, why shouldnt that girl have played at being

a denizen o another sphere? She did it ever so much better than Callan. She didit too well, I suppose.

Te price is very decent, Callan chimed in. I dont know how much perthousand but

I ound mysel reckoning, against my will as it were.Youll do it, I suppose? he said.I thought o my debts Why, yes, I suppose so, I answered. But who are

the others that I am to provide with atmospheres?Callan shrugged his shoulders.Oh, all sorts o prominent people soldiers, statesmen, Mr. Churchill,29 the

Foreign Minister, artists, preachers all sorts o people.All sorts o glory, occurred to me.30

Te paper will stand expenses up to a reasonable gure, Callan reassured me.Itll be a good joke or a time, I said. Im innitely obliged to you.He warded of my thanks with both hands.Ill just send a wire to Fox to say that you accept, he said, rising. He seated

himsel at his desk in the appropriate attitude. He had an appropriate attitude orevery vicissitude o his lie. Tese he had struck beore so many people that even inthe small hours o the morning he was ready or the kodak31 wielder. Beside him

he had every orm o labour-saver; every kind o literary knick-knack. Tere werebook-holders that swung into positions suitable to appropriate attitudes; there

were piles o little green boxes with red capital letters o the alphabet upon them,and big red boxes with black small letters. Tere was a writing-lamp that cast ansthetic glow upon another appropriate attitude and there was one typewriter

with note-paper upon it, and another with MS. paper already in position.My God! I thought to these heights the Muse soars.


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As I looked at the gleaming pillars o the typewriters, the image o my owndesk appeared to me; chipped, ink-stained, gloriously dusty. I thought that

when again I lit my battered old tin lamp I should see ashes and match-ends; atobacco-jar, an old gnawed penny penholder, bits o pink blotting-paper, match-boxes, old letters, and dust everywhere. And I knew that my attitude when Isat at it would be inappropriate.

Callan was ticking of the telegram upon his machine. It will go in themorning at eight, he said.

CHAPER HREEO encourage me, I suppose, Callan gave me the proo-sheets o his next to readin bed. Te thing was so bad that it nearly sickened me o him and his jobs. Itried to read the stuf; to read it conscientiously, to read mysel to sleep with it.I was under obligations to old Cal and I wanted to do him justice, but the thing

was impossible. I athomed a sort o a plot. It dealt in ratricide with a touch oadultery; a Great Moral Purpose loomed in the background. It would have beena dully readable novel but or that; as it was, it was intolerable. It was amazingthat Cal himsel could put out such stuf; that he should have the impudence.He was not a ool, not by any means a ool. It revolted me more than a little.

I came to it out o a diferent plane o thought. I may not have been able to

write then or I may; but I did know enough to recognise the agrantly, the inde-cently bad, and, upon my soul, the idea that I, too, must cynically ofer this sort ostuf i I was ever to sell my tens o thousands very nearly sent me back to my soli-tude. Callan had begun very much as I was beginning now; he had even, I believe,had ideals in his youth and had starved a little. It was rather trying to think that

perhaps I was really no more than another Callan, that, when at last I came toreview my lie, I should have much such a record to look back upon. It disgustedme a little, and when I put out the light the horrors settled down upon me.

I woke in a shivering rame o mind, ashamed to meet Callans eye. It wasas i he must be aware o my over-night thoughts, as i he must think me a ool

who quarrelled with my victuals. He gave no signs o any such knowledge wasdignied, cordial; discussed his breakast with gusto, opened his letters, and so

on. An anmic amanuensis was taking notes or appropriate replies. How couldI tell him that I would not do the work, that I was too proud and all the rest o it?He would have thought me a ool, would have stifened into hostility, I shouldhave lost my last chance. And, in the broad light o day, I was loath to do that.

He began to talk about indiferent things; we glided out on to a current omediocre conversation. Te psychical moment,32 i there were any such, disap-

peared.


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Someone bearing my name had written to express an intention o oferingpersonal worship that aernoon. Te prospect seemed to please the great Cal. Hewas used to such things; he ound them pay, I suppose. We began desultorily todiscuss the possibility o the writers being a relation o mine; I doubted. I had norelations that I knew o; there was a phenomenal old aunt who had inherited theacres and respectability o the Etchingham Grangers, but she was not the kind o

person to worship a novelist. I, the poor last o the amily, was without the pale,simply because I, too, was a novelist. I explained these things to Callan and hecommented on them, ound it strange how small or how large, I orget which, the

world was. Since his own apotheosis shoals o Callans had claimed relationship.

I ate my breakast. Aerward, we set about the hatching o that article thethought o it sickens me even now. You will nd it in the volume along with theothers; you may see how I lugged in Callans surroundings, his writing-room, hisdining-room, the romantic arbour in which he ound it easy to write love-scenes,the clipped trees like peacocks and the trees clipped like bears, and all the resto the background or appropriate attitudes. He was satised with any arrange-ments o words that suggested a gentle awe on the part o the writer.

Yes, yes, he said once or twice, thats just the touch, just the touch verynice. But dont you think We lunched aer some time.

I was so happy. Quite pathetically happy. It had come so easy to me. I haddoubted my ability to do the sort o thing; but it had written itsel, as moneyspends itsel, and I was going to earn money like that. Te whole o my past

seemed a mistake a childishness. I had kept out o this sort o thing because I hadthought it below me; I had kept out o it and had starved my body and warpedmy mind. Perhaps I had even damaged my work by this isolation. o understandlie one must live and I had only brooded. But, by Jove, I would try to live now.

Callan had retired or his accustomed siesta and I was smoking pipe aerpipe over a conoundedly bad French novel that I had ound in the book-shelves.I must have been dozing. A voice rom behind my back announced:

Miss Etchingham Granger! and added Mr. Callan will be down directly.I laid down my pipe, wondered whether I ought to have been smoking when Calexpected visitors, and rose to my eet.

You! I said, sharply. She answered, You see. She was smiling. She hadbeen so much in my thoughts that I was hardly surprised the thing had even an

air o pleasant inevitability about it.You must be a cousin o mine, I said, the name Oh, call it sister, she answered.I was eeling inclined or arce, i blessed chance would throw it in my way.

You see, I was going to live at last, and lie or me meant irresponsibility.Ah! I said, ironically, you are going to be a sister to me, as they say. She

might have come the bogy over33 me last night in the moonlight, but now


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Tere was a spice o danger about it, too, just a touch lurking somewhere. Besides,she was good-looking and well set up,34 and I couldnt see what could touch me.Even i it did, even i I got into a mess, I had no relatives, not even a riend, to be

worried about me. I stood quite alone, and I hal relished the idea o getting intoa mess it would be part o lie, too. I was going to have a little money, and sheexcited my curiosity. I was tingling to know what she was really at.

And one might ask, I said, what you are doing in this in this I was ata loss or a word to describe the room the smugness parading as proessionalBohemianism.35

Oh, I am about my own business, she said, I told you last night have you

orgotten?Last night you were to inherit the earth, I reminded her, and one doesnt

start in a place like this. Now I should have gone well I should have gone tosome politicians house a cabinet ministers say to Gurnards. 36 Hes the com-ing man, isnt he?

Why, yes, she answered, hes the coming man.You will remember that, in those days, Gurnard was only the dark horse o

the ministry. I knew little enough o these things, despised politics generally;they simply didnt interest me. Gurnard I disliked platonically; perhaps becausehis ace was a little enigmatic a little repulsive. Te country, then, was in the

position o having no Opposition and a Cabinet with two distinct strains in it the Churchill and the Gurnard and Gurnard was the dark horse.

Oh, you should join your ats,37 I said, pleasantly. I hes the coming man,where do you come in? Unless he, too, is a Dimensionist.

Oh, both both, she answered. I admired the tranquillity with which sheconverted my points into her own. And I was very happy it struck me as a

pleasant sort o ooling I suppose you will let me know some day who you are? I said.I have told you several times, she answered.Oh, you wont righten me to-day, I asserted, not here, you know, and any-

how, why should you want to?I have told you, she said again.Youve told me you were my sister, I said; but my sister died years and years

ago. Still, i it suits you, i you want to be somebodys sister It suits me, she answered I want to be placed, you see.I knew that my name was good enough to place anyone. We had been the

Grangers o Etchingham since oh, since the ood. And i the girl wanted to bemy sister and a Granger, why the devil shouldnt she, so long as she would let mecontinue on this ooting? I hadnt talked to a woman not to a well set-up one or ages and ages. It was as i I had come back rom one o the places to which


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younger sons exile themselves,38 and or all I knew it might be the correct thingor girls to elect brothers nowadays in one set or another.

Oh, tell me some more, I said, one likes to know about ones sister. Youand the Right Honourable Charles Gurnard are Dimensionists, and who are theothers o your set?

Tere is only one, she answered. And would you believe it! it seems hewas Fox, the editor o my new paper.

You select your characters with charming indiscriminateness, I said. Fox isonly a sort o toad, you know he wont get ar.

Oh, hell go ar, she answered, but he wont get there. Fox is ghting

against us.Oh, so you dont dwell in amity ? I said. You ght or your own hands.39

We ght or our own hands, she answered, I shall throw Gurnard overwhen hes pulled the chestnuts out o the re.

I was beginning to get a little tired o this. You see, or me, the scene wasa veiled irtation and I wanted to get on. But I had to listen to her antasticscheme o things. It was really a duel between Fox, the Journal-ounder, andGurnard, the Chancellor o the Exchequer. Fox, with Churchill, the ForeignMinister, and his supporters, or pieces, played what he called the Old Moralitybusiness against Gurnard, who passed or a cynically immoral politician.

I grew more impatient. I wanted to get out o this stage into something morepersonal. I thought she invented this sort o stuf to keep me rom getting at

her errand at Callans. But I didnt want to know her errand; I wanted to makelove to her. As or Fox and Gurnard and Churchill, the Foreign Minister, whoreally was a sympathetic character and did stand or political probity, she mightbe uttering allegorical truths, but I was not interested in them. I wanted to startsome topic that would lead away rom this Dimensionist arce.

My dear sister, I began Callan always moved about like a conoundedeavesdropper, wore carpet slippers, and stepped round the corners o screens. Iexpect he got copy like that.

So, shes your sister? he said suddenly, rom behind me. Strange that youshouldnt recognise the handwriting

Oh, we dont correspond, I said light-heartedly, we are so diferent. Iwanted to take a rise out o the creeping animal that he was. He conronted her

blandly.You must be the little girl that I remember, he said. He had known my parents

ages ago. Tat, indeed, was how I came to know him; I wouldnt have chosen himor a riend. I thought Granger said you were dead but one gets conused

Oh, we see very little o each other, she answered. Arthur might have saidI was dead hes capable o anything, you know. She spoke with an assumptiono sisterly indiference that was absolutely striking. I began to think she must


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be an actress o genius, she did it so well. She was the sister who had remainedwithin the pale; I, the rapscallion o a brother whose vagaries were trying to hisrelations. Tat was the note she struck, and she maintained it. I didnt know

what the deuce she was driving at, and I didnt care. Tese scenes with a touch omadness appealed to me. I was going to live, and here, apparently, was a womanready to my hand. Besides, she was making a ool o Callan, and that pleased me.His patronising manners had irritated me.

I assisted rather silently. Tey began to talk o mutual acquaintances as onetalks. Tey both seemed to know everyone in this world. She gave hersel theairs o being quite in the inner ring; alleged amiliarity with quite impossible

persons, with my portentous aunt, with Cabinet Ministers that sort o people.Tey talked about them she, as i she lived among them; he, as i he tried veryhard to live up to them.

She afected reverence or his person, plied him with compliments that heswallowed raw horribly raw. It made me shudder a little; it was tragic to see thelittle great man conronted with that woman. It shocked me to think that, really,I must appear much like him must have looked like that yesterday. He was alittle uneasy, I thought, made little condences as i in spite o himsel; littlecondences about theHour, the new paper or which I was engaged. It seemedto be run by a small gang with quite a number o assorted axes to grind. Tere

was some oreign nancier a person o position whom she knew (a noble manin the bestsense, Callan said); there was some politician (she knew him too, andhe was equally excellent, so Callan said), Mr. Churchill himsel, an artist or so,an actor or so and Callan. Tey all wanted a little backing, so it seemed. Cal-lan, o course, put it in another way. Te Great Moral Purpose turned up,I dont know why. He could not think he was taking me in and she obviouslyknew more about the people concerned than he did. But there it was, loominglarge, and quite as arcical as all the rest o it. Te oreign nancier they calledhim the Duc de Mersch40 was by way o being a philanthropist on megaloma-niac lines. For some international reason he had been allowed to possess himselo the pleasant land o Greenland.41 Tere was gold in it and train-oil42 in itand other things that paid but the Duc de Mersch was not thinking o that.He was rst and oremost a State Founder, or at least he was that aer being

titular ruler o some little spot o a eutonic43 grand-duchy. No one o the greatpowers would let any other o the great powers possess the country, so it hadbeen handed over to the Duc de Mersch, who had at heart, said Cal, the glorious

vision o ounding a model state the model state, in which washed and broad-clothed Esquimaux44 would live, side by side, regenerated lives, enranchisedequals o choicely selected younger sons o whatever occidental race. It was thatsort o thing. I was even a little overpowered, in spite o the act that Callan was


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its trumpeter; there was something ne about the conception and Churchillsacquiescence seemed to guarantee an honesty in its execution.

Te Duc de Mersch wanted money, and he wanted to run a railway acrossGreenland.45 His idea was that the British public should supply the money andthe British Government back the railway, as they did in the case o a less phil-anthropic Suez Canal.46 In return he ofered an eligible harbour and a strip ocoast at one end o the line; the British public was to be repaid in casks o train-oil and gold and with the consciousness o having aided in letting the light inupon a dark spot o the earth. So the Duc de Mersch started theHour. TeHour

was to extol the Duc de Merschs moral purpose; to pat the Governments back;inuence public opinion; and generally advance the cause o the System or theRegeneration o the Arctic Regions.47

I tell the story rather ippantly, because I heard it rom Callan, and becauseit was impossible to take him seriously. Besides, I was not very much interestedin the thing itsel. But it did interest me to see how dely she pumped him squeezed him dry.

I was even a little alarmed or poor old Cal. Aer all, the man had done mea service; had got me a job. As or her, she struck me as a potentially dangerous

person. One couldnt tell, she might be some adventuress, or i not that, a specula-tor who would damage Cals little schemes. I put it to her plainly aerward; andquarrelled with her as well as I could. I drove her down to the station. Callan musthave been distinctly impressed or he would never have had out his trap 48 or her.

You know, I said to her, I wont have you play tricks with Callan notwhile youre using my name. Its very much at your service as ar as Im concerned but, conound it, i youre going to injure him I shall have to show you up totell him.

You couldnt, you know, she said, perectly calmly, youve let yoursel in orit. He wouldnt eel pleased with you or letting it go as ar as it has. Youd lose

your job, and youre going to live, you know youre going to live I was taken aback by this veiled threat in the midst o the pleasantry. It wasnt

air play not at all air play. I recovered some o my old alarm, remembered thatshe really was a dangerous person; that

But I shant hurt Callan, she said, suddenly, you may make your mind easy.You really wont? I asked.

Really not, she answered. It relieved me to believe her. I did not want toquarrel with her. You see, she ascinated me, she seemed to act as a stimulant, toset me tingling somehow and to ba e me And there was truth in what shesaid. I had let mysel in or it, and I didnt want to lose Callans job by telling himI had made a ool o him.

I dont care about anything else, I said. She smiled.


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305

EDITORIAL NOTES

Conr n Huefer, Te Inheritrs

1. Srnplus to-morrow we ie: In his Gegraphy, Greek historin Stro (64/3bcc. ad 24) reors the ollowing insription on the tom o Srnplus, King oAssyri: Srnplus the son o Ankynrxes uilt Anhile n rsus in one y.Et, rink, e merry euse ll things else re not worth llip. Te epigrph is quotein Byrons plySardanapalus (1821).

2. o BORYS & CHRISINA: Borys Conr (18981978) n Christin Huefer(18971984), the uthors olest hilren.

3. In the cathedral restratins: Cnterury Ctherl, where this sene tkes ple, wsrestore in 1877 y rhitet George Gilert Sott (181178).

4. martyrdm Blessed Tmas: Toms Beket (c. 111870), murere in CnteruryCtherl y ollowers o Henry II.

5. Prussian: For mny in Britin the powerul Germn stte o Prussi ws ywor orrrogne.

6. we are t inherit the earth: Mtthew 5:5: Blesse re the meek: or they shll inherit theerth.

7. air plays a jewel: proveril.8. Furth Dimensin: see Introution, p. xii.9. reigner in a strange land: . Exous 2:22: I hve een strnger in strnge ln.10. incmprehensible race: At this time the term re ws use loosely to enote ntionlity

n ethni group s well s the humn speies itsel.11. Circassian wmen and s n: Fme or their ple skin n rk hir, women rom the

Cirssin region in Russi, just north o present-y Georgi, were requent sujeto Orientlist pinting.

12. glden stnewrk great art: A mgnient exmple o lte Gothi style, CnteruryCtherls Bell Hrry ower ws omplete in 1510.

13. Dr. Jhnsn Cckney schl petry: Smuel Johnson (170984), lexiogrpher n

mn o letters. Te erogtory lel Cokney Shool ws pplie in the 1820s to poetsJmes Henry Leigh Hunt (17841859), John Kets (17951821) n Willim Hzlitt(17781830).

14. Chctaw: In the 1830s the government o the Unite Sttes orily relote the Cho-tw people ross the Mississippi River to wht is now Oklhom.

15. Bell Harry: see ove, p. 305 n. 12.16. dun-clad: resse in rown.17. hrse-cper: horse eler.


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306 Ntes t pages 817

18. lw-cmedy devil in Faustus: In Christopher Mrlowes Te ragical Histry DctrFaustus (1604), Fustus sells his soul in exhnge or the servies o the iolil impMephistopheles.

19. Hardres and Stelling Minnis: villges ve miles south o Cnterury.20. handicapping weights: use in horse ring.21. Callans: Clln ws proly moelle on Hll Cine (18531931), populr Mnx

uthor whose Te Christian (1897) ws the rst novel in Britin to sell million opies.O Cine, Conr remrke to orresponent in 1898: He is the gret mster o thert o sel-vertising. He is lwys eing interviewe y reporters n is simply m

with vnity. He is meglomni, who thinks himsel the gretest mn o the entury,quite proigy. He mintins tht the lower prt o his e is like Shkespere n theupper like Jesus Christ. (Tis gives you n ie out the mn.) (F. R. Krl n L. Dvies

(es), Cllected Letters Jseph Cnrad: Vlume 2 (Cmrige: Cmrige UniversityPress, 1986), pp. 1378). Conrs im view o Cine ws eviently shre y For, whonme his og er the uthor.

22. nt a negr a Hind: Suh ril hierrhies eture prominently in the psueo-sienti theories o inuentil nineteenth-entury philosophers suh s Joseph, Comtee Goineu (181682).

23. pre-Raphaelites: Te Pre-Rphelite Brotherhoo ws n rtisti n literry groupoune in 1848 y Willim Holmn Hunt (18271910), John Millis (182996)n Dnte Griel Rossetti (182882); its memers hmpione n erly Renissnestyle whih they sw s ulminting in the work o Rphel (14831520). For, whosegrnther For Mox Brown (182193) h een losely involve with its memers,

pulishe severl essys on the Pre-Rphelite Brotherhoo.24. cant allegry: tht is, gurtive jrgon.

25. Jenkins: Jenkins is moelle on the Pre-Rphelite rtist Willim Holmn Hunt (seeove, p. 306 n. 23), t this time eoming lin s result o gluom.26. Fx: Fox is thinly veile portrit o Alre Hrmsworth (18651922), meruril press

mgnte whose stle o titles inlue Britins rst hlpenny newspper, the DailyMail, lunhe in 1897 n here tionlize s Te Hur. Rise to the peerge s LorNorthlife, he lter eme Conrs rien n ptron.

27. hez eux: Frenh, t home.28. brken lay fgures curtains: Artists oen use jointe wooen gures to moel rpe

loth.29. Mr. Churchill: Conr n For se the hrter o Churhill on Arthur Jmes Bl-

our (18481930), leing Conservtive who serve s rst lor o the resury nleer o the House o Commons or muh o the ee preeeing his ppointment sPrime Minister in 1902.

30. All srts glry: Te reerene is untre.

31. kdak: inexpensive mer lunhe y the Estmn Film Compny in 1888 with theslogn You press the utton we o the rest.

32. Te psychical mment: moment o mutul unerstning; . For Mox For, FrdMadx Brwn: A Recrd his Lie and Wrk (Lonon, 1896), p. 422: It ws MoxBrowns misortune, s it hs een the misortune o too mny goo worker, to ntii-

pte the psyhil moment with everything tht he i.33. bgy ver: sre.34. well set up: with goo gure.


21/21

Ntes t pages 1723 307

35. Bhemianism: Derive rom the Centrl Europen provine o Bohemi, the termenotes unonventionlity in style or morls.

36. Gurnards: Gurnr is moelle on Joseph Chmerlin (18361914), Birminghminustrilist n hrismti leer o the Lierl Unionists, rekwy group o Li-erl MPs who joine Conservtive government in 1895. As Seretry o Stte or theColonies etween 1895 n 1903, he pursue n expnsionist poliy in Ari ; his titenourgement o n ttempte oup ginst the government o the rsvl in 1895likely hstene the outrek o the Seon Anglo-Boer Wr (18991902).

37. jin yur ats: get your stories stright. In thetril slng, ts re stge senery.38. yunger sns exile themselves: Limite prospets o inheriting welth le mny risto-

rti younger sons to seek their ortunes overses.39. Yu fght r yur wn hands: Te reerene is untre.

40. Duc de Mersch: Te Du e Mersh is thinly isguise portrit o Lopol II, King othe Belgins (18351909), whose ynil promotion o series o ogus humnitrinorgniztions uring the Berlin Conerene o 1885, t whih Ari ws prtitionemong the Europen olonil powers, seure his personl ontrol o vst new ter-ritory, the Congo Free Stte. A mster o interntionl nne, he hee sprwlingorporte olonil entity whose unheke use o ntive Congolese ws t this timereeiving inresing overge in the press.

41. Greenland: Greenln h in t een olony o Denmrk sine 1814.42. train-il: oil extrte rom whle luer; the Congo Free Stte ws rih in plm oil.43. eutnic: Roughly synonymous with Germn, this term h quire negtive on-

nottion y 1900.44. bradclthed Esquimaux: Broloth is qulity woven ri use or mens grments;

Esquimux (Eskimo) enotes the inigenous peoples o the Arti region, inluing theKlllit o Greenln.

45. railway acrss Greenland: A rilwy line running rom Mti to Kinshs in the CongoFree Stte (see ove, p. 307 n. 40) ws omplete in 1898 with gret loss o lie.

46. British Gvernment Suez Canal: Frne, not Britin, ws the moving ore ehinthe onstrution o the Suez Cnl, whih opene in 1869; For n Conr my ethinking o British involvement in the evelopment o n Egyptin rilwy network inthe previous ee.

47. System Arctic Regins: A moking llusion to theAssciatin Internatinale Aicaine, ogus humnitrin orgniztion promote y Lopol II (see ove, p. 307 n. 40).

48. trap: light two-wheele rrige.49. twn: tht is, Lonon.50. cmmissinaire: porter.51. sympatheticism: suseptiility to sympthy; term o isprgement.52. gild n the vilet : Shkespere,King Jhn, IV.ii.1112.53. hansm: two-wheele rrige.

54. Mr. Evans: Conr n For likely h in min here Kenney Jones (18651921), thenotoriously rsive usiness mnger o theDaily Mail(see ove, p. 306 n. 26).

55. Watteau: Jen-Antoine Wtteu (16841721), Frenh Broque pinter speilizing inrurl senes.

56. rll desk Luis Quinze: Te ring o exquisite urniture, suh s this writing esk,ourishe uring the reign o Louis XV o Frne (171074).

57. Central News: Estlishe in 1863, this Lonon-se geny elt in senstionl nosionlly emellishe news items.

Political Future Fiction - Sample of 'the Inheritors' + Notes

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