the garden of allah-第42部分

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conversation。　Androvsky　could　not　ignore　it。　He　looked　up　reluctantly
from　his　plate。　His　eyes　met　Domini's；　but　immediately　travelled　away
from　them。

〃I　doubt〃　he　said。

He　paused；　laid　his　hands　on　the　table；　clasping　its　edge；　and
continued　firmly；　even　with　a　sort　of　hard　violence：

〃I　doubt　if　most　good　men；　or　men　who　want　to　be　good；　think　enough
about　the　body；　consider　it　enough。　I　have　thought　that。　I　think　it
still。〃

As　he　finished　he　stared　at　the　priest；　almost　menacingly。　Then；　as　if
moved　by　an　after…thought；　he　added：

〃As　to　Mahomet；　I　know　very　little　about　him。　But　perhaps　he　obtained
his　great　influence　by　recognising　that　the　bodies　of　men　are　of　great
importance；　of　tremendoustremendous　importance。〃

Domini　saw　that　the　interest　of　Count　Anteoni　in　his　guest　was
suddenly　and　vitally　aroused　by　what　he　had　just　said；　perhaps　even
more　by　his　peculiar　way　of　saying　it；　as　if　it　were　forced　from　him
by　some　secret；　irresistible　compulsion。　And　the　Count's　interest
seemed　to　take　hands　with　her　interest；　which　had　had　a　much　longer
existence。　Father　Roubier；　however；　broke　in　with　a　slightly　cold：

〃It　is　a　very　dangerous　thing；　I　think；　to　dwell　upon　the　importance
of　the　perishable。　One　runs　the　risk　of　detracting　from　the　much
greater　importance　of　the　imperishable。〃

〃Yet　it's　the　starved　wolves　that　devour　the　villages；〃　said
Androvsky。

For　the　first　time　Domini　felt　his　Russian　origin。　There　was　a
silence。　Father　Roubier　looked　straight　before　him；　but　Count
Anteoni's　eyes　were　fixed　piercingly　upon　Androvsky。　At　last　he　said：

〃May　I　ask；　Monsieur；　if　you　are　a　Russian？〃

〃My　father　was。　But　I　have　never　set　foot　in　Russia。〃

〃The　soul　that　I　find　in　the　art；　music；　literature　of　your　country
is；　to　me；　the　most　interesting　soul　in　Europe；〃　the　Count　said　with　a
ring　of　deep　earnestness　in　his　grating　voice。

Spoken　as　he　spoke　it；　no　compliment　could　have　been　more　gracious；
even　moving。　But　Androvsky　only　replied　abruptly：

〃I'm　afraid　I　know　nothing　of　all　that。〃

Domini　felt　hot　with　a　sort　of　shame；　as　at　a　close　friend's　public
display　of　ignorance。　She　began　to　speak　to　the　Count　of　Russian
music；　books；　with　an　enthusiasm　that　was　sincere。　For　she；　too；　had
found　in　the　soul　from　the　Steppes　a　meaning　and　a　magic　that　had
taken　her　soul　prisoner。　And　suddenly；　while　she　talked；　she　thought
of　the　Desert　as　the　burning　brother　of　the　frigid　Steppes。　Was　it　the
wonder　of　the　eternal　flats　that　had　spoken　to　her　inmost　heart
sometimes　in　London　concert…rooms；　in　her　room　at　night　when　she　read；
forgetting　time；　which　spoke　to　her　now　more　fiercely　under　the　palms
of　Africa？　At　the　thought　something　mystic　seemed　to　stand　in　her
enthusiasm。　The　mystery　of　space　floated　about　her。　But　she　did　not
express　her　thought。　Count　Anteoni　expressed　it　for　her。

〃The　Steppes　and　the　Desert　are　akin；　you　know；〃　he　said。　〃Despite　the
opposition　of　frost　and　fire。〃

〃Just　what　I　was　thinking！〃　she　exclaimed。　〃That　must　be　why〃

She　stopped　short。

〃Yes？〃　said　the　Count。

Both　Father　Roubier　and　Androvsky　looked　at　her　with　expectancy。　But
she　did　not　continue　her　sentence；　and　her　failure　to　do　so　was
covered；　or　at　the　least　excused；　by　a　diversion　that　secretly　she
blessed。　At　this　moment；　from　the　ante…room；　there　came　a　sound　of
African　music；　both　soft　and　barbarous。　First　there　was　only　one
reiterated　liquid　note；　clear　and　glassy；　a　note　that　suggested　night
in　a　remote　place。　Then；　beneath　it；　as　foundation　to　it；　rose　a
rustling　sound　as　of　a　forest　of　reeds　through　which　a　breeze　went
rhythmically。　Into　this　stole　the　broken　song　of　a　thin　instrument
with　a　timbre　rustic　and　antique　as　the　timbre　of　the　oboe；　but
fainter；　frailer。　A　twang　of　softly…plucked　strings　supported　its　wild
and　pathetic　utterance；　and　presently　the　almost　stifled　throb　of　a
little　tomtom　that　must　have　been　placed　at　a　distance。　It　was　like　a
beating　heart。

The　Count　and　his　guests　sat　listening　in　silence。　Domini　began　to
feel　curiously　expectant；　yet　she　did　not　recognise　the　odd　melody。
Her　sensation　was　that　some　other　music　must　be　coming　which　she　had
heard　before；　which　had　moved　her　deeply　at　some　time　in　her　life。　She
glanced　at　the　Count　and　found　him　looking　at　her　with　a　whimsical
expression；　as　if　he　were　a　kind　conspirator　whose　plot　would　soon　be
known。

〃What　is　it？〃　she　asked　in　a　low　voice。

He　bent　towards　her。

〃Wait！〃　he　whispered。　〃Listen！〃

She　saw　Androvsky　frown。　His　face　was　distorted　by　an　expression　of
pain；　and　she　wondered　if　he；　like　some　Europeans；　found　the　barbarity
of　the　desert　music　ugly　and　even　distressing　to　the　nerves。　While　she
wondered　a　voice　began　to　sing；　always　accompanied　by　the　four
instruments。　It　was　a　contralto　voice；　but　sounded　like　a　youth's。

〃What　is　that　song？〃　she　asked　under　her　breath。　〃Surely　I　must　have
heard　it！〃

〃You　don't　know？〃

〃Wait！〃

She　searched　her　heart。　It　seemed　to　her　that　she　knew　the　song。　At
some　period　of　her　life　she　had　certainly　been　deeply　moved　by　itbut
when？　where？　The　voice　died　away；　and　was　succeeded　by　a　soft　chorus
singing　monotonously：

　〃Wurra…Wurra。〃

Then　it　rose　once　more　in　a　dreamy　and　reticent　refrain；　like　the
voice　of　a　soul　communing　with　itself　in　the　desert；　above　the
instruments　and　the　murmuring　chorus。

〃You　remember？〃　whispered　the　Count。

She　moved　her　head　in　assent　but　did　not　speak。　She　could　not　speak。
It　was　the　song　the　Arab　had　sung　as　he　turned　into　the　shadow　of　the
palm　trees；　the　song　of　the　freed　negroes　of　Touggourt：

　〃No　one　but　God　and　I
　　Knows　what　is　in　my　heart。〃

The　priest　leaned　back　in　his　chair。　His　dark　eyes　were　cast　down；　and
his　thin；　sun…browned　hands　were　folded　together　in　a　way　that
suggested　prayer。　Did　this　desert　song　of　the　black　men；　children　of
God　like　him　as　their　song　affirmed；　stir　his　soul　to　some　grave
petition　that　embraced　the　wants　of　all　humanity？

Androvsky　was　sitting　quite　still。　He　was　also　looking　down　and　the
lids　covered　his　eyes。　An　expression　of　pain　still　lingered　on　his
face；　but　it　was　less　cruel；　no　longer　tortured；　but　melancholy。　And
Domini；　as　she　listened；　recalled　the　strange　cry　that　had　risen
within　her　as　the　Arab　disappeared　in　the　sunshine；　the　cry　of　the
soul　in　life　surrounded　by　mysteries；　by　the　hands；　the　footfalls；　the
voices　of　hidden　things〃What　is　going　to　happen　to　me　here？〃　But
that　cry　had　risen　in　her；　found　words　in　her；　only　when　confronted　by
the　desert。　Before　it　had　been　perhaps　hidden　in　the　womb。　Only　then
was　it　born。　And　now　the　days　had　passed　and　the　nights；　and　the　song
brought　with　it　the　cry　once　more；　the　cry　and　suddenly　something
else；　another　voice　that；　very　far　away；　seemed　to　be　making　answer　to
it。　That　answer　she　could　not　hear。　The　words　of　it　were　hidden　in　the
womb　as；　once；　the　words　of　her　intense　question。　Only　she　felt　that
an　answer　had　been　made。　The　future　knew；　and　had　begun　to　try　to　tell
her。　She　was　on　the　very　edge　of　knowledge　while　she　listened；　but　she
could　not　step　into　the　marvellous　land。

Presently　Count　Anteoni　spoke　to　the　priest。

〃You　have　heard　this　song；　no　doubt；　Father？〃

Father　Roubier　shook　his　head。

〃I　don't　think　so；　but　I　can　never　remember　the　Arab　music〃

〃Perhaps　you　dislike　it？〃

〃No；　no。　It　is　ugly　in　a　way；　but　there　seems　a　great　deal　of　meaning
in　it。　In　this　song　especially　there　isone　might　almost　call　it
beauty。〃

〃Wonderful　beauty；〃　Domini　said　in　a　low　voice；　still　listening　to　the
song。

〃The　words　are　beautiful；〃　said　the　Count；　this　time　addressing
himself　to　Androvsky。　〃I　don't　know　them　all；　but　they　begin　like
this：

〃'The　gazelle　dies　in　the　water；
　　The　fish　dies　in　the　air；
　　And　I　die　in　the　dunes　of　the　desert　sand
　　For　my　love　that　is　deep　and　sad。'

And　when　the　chorus　sounds；　as　now〃and　he　made　a　gesture　toward　the
inner　room；　in　which　the　low　murmur　of　〃　Wurra…Wurra〃　rose　again；　〃the
singer　reiterates　always　the　same　refrain：

〃'No　one　but　God　and　I
　　Knows　what　is　in　my　heart。'〃

Almost　as　he　spoke　the　contralto　voice　began　to　sing　the　refrain。
Androvsky　turned　pale。　There　were　drops　of　sweat　on　his　forehead。　He
lifted　his　glass　of　wine　to　his　lips　and　his　hand　trembled　so　that
some　of　the　wine　was　spilt　upon　the　tablecloth。　And；　as　once　before；
Domini　felt　that　what　moved　her　deeply　moved　him　even　more　deeply；
whether　in　the　same　way　or　differently　she　could　not　tell。　The　image
of　the　taper　and　the　torch　recurred　to　her　mind。　She　saw　Androvsky
with　fire　round　about　him。　The　violence　of　this　man　surely　resembled
the　violence　of　Africa。　There　was　something　terrible　about　it；　yet
also　something　noble；　for　it　suggested　a　male　power；　which　might　make
for　either　good　or　evil；　but　which　had　nothing　to　do　with　littleness。
For　a　moment　Count　Anteoni　and　the　priest　were　dwarfed；　as　if　they　had
come　into　the　presence　of　a　giant。

The　Arabs　handed　round　fruit。　And　now　the　song　died　softly　away。　Only
the　instruments　went　on　playing。　The　distant　tomtom　was　surely　the
beating　of　that　heart　into　whose　mysteries　no　other　human　heart　could
look。　Its　reiterated　and　dim　throbbing　affected　Domini　almost
terribly。　She　was　relieved；　yet　regretful；　when　at　length　it　ceased。

〃Shall　we　go　into　the　ante…room？〃　the　Count　said。　〃Coffee　will　be
brought　there。〃

〃Oh；　butdon't　let　us　see　them！〃　Domini　exclaimed。

〃The　musicians？〃

She　nodded。

〃You　would　rather　not　hear　any　more　music？〃

〃If　you　don't　mind！〃

He　gave　an　order　in　Arabic。　One　of　the　servants　slipped　away　and
returned　almost　immediately。

〃Now　we　can　go；〃　the　Count　said。　〃They　have　vanished。〃

The　priest　sighed。　It　was　evident　that　the　music　had　moved　him　too。　As
they　got　up　he　said：

〃Yes；　there　was　beauty　in　that　song　and　something　more。　Some　of　these
desert　poets　can　teach　us　to　think。〃

〃A　dangerous　lesson；　perhaps；〃　said　the　Count。　〃What　do　you　say；
Monsieur　Androvsky？〃

Androvsky　was　on　his　feet。　His　eyes　were　turned　toward　the　door
through　which　the　sound　of　the　music　had　come。

〃I！〃　he　answered。　〃IMonsieur；　I　am　afraid　that　to　me　this　music
means　very　little。　I　cannot　judge　of