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AUCTOR. By all means, and let us consider more enduring things. After a few miles the road going upwards, I passed through another gap in the hills and LECTOR. Pardon me, but I am still ruminating upon that little tragedy of yours. Why was the guardian a duchess? AUCTOR. Well, it was a short play and modern, was it not? LECTOR. Yes. And therefore, of course, you must have a title in it.
Grosseteste's successor as lector was himself a Minorite, Adam Marsh, whose reputation was so great that Grosseteste was afraid to leave him when sick in a French town, lest the Paris masters should persuade him to teach in their schools. Adam's loyalty to his native university withstood any such temptation, and from that time Oxford began to hold up its head against Paris.
But I write prose, with which, however, I do not honor myself or others. What the lector has to read are codicilli of that poor Fabricius Veiento." "Why 'poor'?" "Because it has been communicated to him that he must dwell in Odyssa and not return to his domestic hearth till he receives a new command. That Odyssey will be easier for him than for Ulysses, since his wife is no Penelope.
One must sleep at night. LECTOR. My brother often complains of insomnia. He is a policeman. AUCTOR. Indeed? It is a sad affliction. LECTOR. Yes, indeed. AUCTOR. Indeed, yes. LECTOR. I cannot go on like this. AUCTOR. There. That is just what I was saying.
But I am astonished at a thousand accidents, and always find things twenty-fold as great as I supposed they would be, and far more curious; the whole covered by a strange light of adventure. And that is the peculiar value of this book. Now, if you can explain these priests LECTOR. I can. It was the season of the year, and they were swarming. AUCTOR. So be it.
Arguments on the subject are naught. It is waste of time to read them; unsupported by fact, they are one and all cowardly dreams, a horrible hypocritical clutching at that which their writers have not the courage to forgo. LECTOR. Yet may not a dream be of service to reality, my friend?
Something of the abnormal condition of the clientèle extends to the adviser. A physician who has a healthy and natural view of women has the making of a great man in him. I was not a great man. I was only a successful lector; more conscious in those days of the latter fact, and less of the former, be it admitted, than I am now. A man's avocation may be at once his ruin and his exculpation.
And since you are such a good judge of literary poignancy, do you begin. LECTOR. I will, and I draw my inspiration from your style. Once upon a time there was a man who was born in Croydon, and whose name was Charles Amieson Blake. He went to Rugby at twelve and left it at seventeen. He fell in love twice and then went to Cambridge till he was twenty-three.
In all of them you find music. They are those Germans whose countries I had seen a long way off, from the Ballon d'Alsace, and whose language and traditions I now first touched in the town that stood before me. LECTOR. But in Porrentruy they talk French! AUCTOR. They are welcome; it is an excellent tongue. Nevertheless, they are Germans. Who but Germans would so preserve would so rebuild the past?
In spite of you, it saddens all your words. Tell me, have you ever known what it is actually to lose any one who is dear to you? Have you looked on death face to face? SCRIPTOR. Yes, Lector, I have but once. It is now about five years ago, but the impression of it haunts me to this hour. Perhaps the memory is all the keener because it was my one experience.
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