Love and Learning.

Western Star, Issue 983, 19 September 1885, Page 2 (Supplement)

Love and Learning.

Episode I. f HE LOTES HER. The town of Noesis was not built , on a hill ; neither was its light hidden under a bushel. It stood in a calm and peaceful vale into which the sorrows of a great and wicked world seldom penetrated. There was a river in the centre of this vale and mountains on either side. One might have expected to find much beauty in the town and surroundings, but one would have been sadly, mistaken. Beauty was not permitted to exist there. The town was built not only on a rock, but also on strictly utilitarian principles. The river ran between artificial banks, constructed wholly with a view to so controlling its waters as to make them useful in running the sawmills and woollen factories, There were trees in Noesis, but they were there simply for the purpose of providing the town with lungs. They stood in straight rows up and down the streets, each tree whitewashed to the height of six feet from the ground, and each precisely the same shape and size as its fellows. There were thice kinds of bouses in Noesis —the large house, the small house, and the medium house. All were precisely similar in style, and were proportioned with geometrical exactness. In fact, the influence of geometry was abroad in the town. Trigonometry found a warm ■spotin the soul of every Noesian, and quaternions and determinants were to them things of beauty and joys for ever. . For Noesis was the domain of reason, the domain of pure science, .the kingdom of utilitarianism. Nothing ornamental was permitted to exist in the town, only the useful found an abiding place there. The sinuous, willowy winding of the river had been a delusion and a snare. The ■dreams of architects who saw in their minds’ eyes great mullioned windows and eloudeapped towers had been rudely dispelled. There was no place in the' town of Noesis for them. Science and mathematics reigned supreme, and whatever was, was rightangled. The day had gone by, said the Noesians, when the minds of men could be fed on such dainty unsubstantial food as Pope, Addison, Milton, Shakespeare, Byron or Tennyson, Not even Homer, in the original tongue, or Virgil in his own stately hexameters, was considered good for human brains. The Noesians revelled in the ezcercise cf inductive processes, leading, as their chief Professor expressed it, to those “general conceptions of the universe which have been forced upon us all by physical science.” The only musical instruments used in the town were the monoehord and the steam whistle. The flowers of the field were interesting according as they were monocotyledonous or polycotyledonous. In this town dwelt Hypatia Green. A lovelier creature the air never breathed upon. Her hair was of that marvellous hue that turns to gold under the magic touch of the sun. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown, so rich and expressive that only the inhabitants of Noesis could look into them unmoved. Her smooth, round cheeks were tinted to a delicate pink with the warm, rich blood that flowed beneath them, and her two full lips looked always ready to pout, had they not been restrained by her strong will. Hypatia Green was a daughter of culture. She was Professor of *' Rational Torrefaction” in the Noesis High School. In plainer speech, she taught scientific cooking. She bad brought cooking to a point of mathematical exactness. Every piece of beef that she roasted was done just as well as every other piece, and not a whit more or less, Her omelets were always precisely the same size, colour and consistency. Her coffee was never clouded with grounds, and was never tod weak nor too strong. Her bread was never heavy, her cake never damp. Nothitg which Hypatia cooked ever failed to come out precisely as her recipe said it would. Is it to be wondered at that Hypatia was much sought after by the eligible young men of Noesis ? In such a town cooking must, of course, rank high as a science. The working capacity of a man, indeed bis entire usefulness, depends on the condition of his stomach, and for perfection in this he must look to his cook. That Hypatia wag as beautiful as a college boy’s first dream of love never occurred to any one. Beauty had no part nor place in the town of Noeais. But men loved Hypatia for her cooking, a gift that could not wither and grow stale with the flight of years. Hypatia, however, remained fancy free. She was wrapped up in her omelets, and she cared not half so much about the heart of a man as she cared about the heart of an onion. Of course Noesis was on the line of a great railway. So rational a town comd not have existed elsewhere. A dozen trains thundered by its rectangular station every day. Eight of them were express trains that did not stop, and ordinary Noesians, who sometimes sauntered around wrapped in meditation like other people, would pause aud gaze with scientific delight upon the swift movements of the locomotives. Those who are familiar with the science of subtraction will infer that the other four trains did stop at Noesis. The last one arrived, there itt the evening, and on one particular

evening in the month of May it brought Alfred Swinburne Cottle. As one might imagine from his name, this young man was a poet. He looked like one. He was more than handsome, for there was in his face something of that ideal beauty which Hellenic sculptors wrought into the faces of their gods. Cottle lived in Utopia, a town that was surrounded by an atmosphere of dreams and supernatural loveliness. There he had spent his youth in fashioning melodious verses and steeping his soul in the literatures of Greece, Eome and England ; he knew nothing of science and cared nothing for it. It may therefore be inferred that he was unacquainted with the true chara"ter of Noesis. If he had known the town he would undoubtedly, to put it mildly, have eschewed it. Ho went thither because he did not know the place, and he loved to go to places where he had never been before. As ho descended from the train at the Noesis station he gazed about him with something of mild surprise. “ Well,” he thought, “this may be a jolly good place for a vacation, but it looks to me more like a good spot to be buried in. However, I’m here, and I’m to find out what is in the town,”

“ W ant to go to the Huxley House, sir ?” s aid a stage driver, stepping up to him.

“ Well, I want to go to a hotel. Is that the best

“ There is’nt any other, sir.” “ Then you may take me to the Huxley House.”

Cottle followed the driver to his vehicle, and soon was gliding over a perfect y smooth pavement. “ I s ay, driver,”|said he, “ how’s the cooking at this hotel ?” “ First class, sir. We have cooking down to a science here. Cook at Huxley House is a pupil of Miss Hypatia.” “ Who the deuce is Miss Hypatia ?” The driver turned aud stared at Cottle as if he had come from some unknown world.

“ Miss Hypatia Green is Professor of Rational Torrefaction at the High School, sir.”

Cottle looked blankly at the man for a moment, and then as the meaning of the sentence penetrated his brain, he burst into a roar of laughter, which provoked the driver into silence for the rest of the journey, Cottle wandered round the streets of Noesis the next day in a slate of mild, deprecatory wonder. The prevalence of straight lines provoked him, and the white-washed, stiff-backed trees aroused his ire. The very names of the streets filled him with discomfort ; for were there not Humboldt, Thales, Galileo, Esculapius, Gmot, Herschel, and Keplar avenues, Copernicus square, aud smaller streets rejuicing m such names as lodide of fotaseium lane, and Ter Chloride of Nitrogen alley P “ I think,” meditated Cottle, “that one day in this town will satisfy me. This is not the kind of place for a vacation. I shall leave this chemical laboratory to-morrow, I prefer to worship nature as a whole, not in a dissected shape.” But fate had other things in store for this sweet singer. As he was retracing his steps toward the hotel a young woman in the bloom of her beauty passed him, Cottle had seen many lovely creatures, but never one like this. Her face was to him a per} feet poem, a shrine of loveliness at which be immediately fell down and worshipped. Cottle’s dress and manner were different from those of the scientific inhabitants of Noesis, and he attracted the young lady’s attention. She looked at him as she went by, and for a moment he bathed in the light of the two most glorious eyes he had ever seen. It was enough, from that moment the poet’s soul was in chains. He stood transfixed to the spot, gazing at her as she slowly walked down the street. A small boy passed at that moment. Cottle seized the youth by the shoulder with a convulsive grasp. “Who is she?” he demanded in a whisper. “ Who’s who ?” inquired the youth. “ Yonder maiden with the fathom" less eyes.” The boy’s glance followed the direction of Cottle’s finger. “ That’s Miss Hypatia Green, Professor of—”

“ Say no more 1” exclaimed Cottle, interrupting him, “she is an angel.” “ Ah, go ’way ?” exclaimed the boy, as he started down the street; are you a lunatic r”

Cottle meditated a moment. Was he a lunatic ? No, no, it was impossible. He must be sane. Such.a face could only be the outward evidence of a truly lovely soul. She must have a warm, true, womanly heart, “ Noesis !” exclaimed Cottle, “ you are the town for me. You may be full of physics and mathematics and chemistry and astronomy, but where that face is there is poetry enough for one man’s life aud here I stay.”

Episode IT, SHE DOES NOT LOVE HIM.

“ Audio you never feel a longing for something deeper, sweeter, stronger than all this array of cold, scientific facts?”

“ I do not see how anything could be deeper or stronger, and by if your peculiar use of the comparative term ‘ sweeter’ you mean to indicate dearer 1 must reply to every well-regulated

mind science is the dearest thing on earth.” “ I am afraid I do not understand you” “ And I am quite sure I do not understand you.” That way Hypatia Green and Alfred Swinburne Cottle talked after i’a month’s acquaintance. The young poet’s vacation had stretched out from two weeks to seven. He had met Hypatia, had gazed into her wonderful eyes, and had been less able than ever to fathom their secrets. He loved her deeply, distractedly ; he would not have been a poet if he had not done that. But when he talked like a poet to her she did not appear to comprehend him at all. She took all his metaphors seriously, and was utterly unable to grasp an analogy. If he used an argument, however, she could spring to its logical results long before he could. She was a puzzle to him and he was to her. Hypatia had never met a man like this before ; she did not understand all his talk about beauty and value of art. Once jhe praised ;her face, and that really astonished her.

“ Why Mr Cottle, what do you mean ?”

“ I mean that your face is beautiful ; don’t you know what beauty is?”

“No ; what is it ?” “ Perfection of appearance.” “ But appearances are of so little consequence.” 1 “ Can you not®understand the deight one feels in gazing upon a field of waving grain ?” “ Yes, of course, one naturally feels delighted to see the rich results of rational labour,”

Cottle groaned. It was enough to make any man groan. Here was a woman with the face and form of a Greek goddess who could not be made to understand that she was beautiful. From that time forth Cottle never talked of beauty. He talked of love. He tried to find the silent chord within her 'heart that passion might awaken; but all his efforts seemed useless, The conversation with which this chapter opens occurred as they were on their way to a wedding. He thought that the beautiful ceremony might touch her heart; he was again doomed to disappointment and dismay. The town of Noesis had a wedding service of its own, and this was what Cottle heard :

“ Will you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold aud to protect in sickness or in health, until death you shall part ? Will you provide her with a properly constructed home wherein the laws of rational sanitation are strictly complied with, and will you see that she is provided with food and clothing scientifically prepared ? And will you provide her with such books and periodicals as may be necessary for the pursuit of her studies ? And will you agree to provide for such children as you may have nurses who will take care of them while this woman is engaged in scientific experiments ?” “ I will.”

“ Will you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold and to obey, save when his commands are contrary to the laws of science ? and will you promise to aid and assist him in all scientific works, even until the end of your life ?” “ I will.”

The word“ love,” was not mentioned in the ceremony. Cottle began to fear that it was not known in Noesis.

“ Tell me,” said he to Hypatia as they left the church, Si do you know what love is P”

“ Of course I do.” Cottle’s heart gave a great leap. Hypatia continued t “ Love is the affection one has for one’s parents and and sisters.”

Cottle’s heart fell again with great force.

“ But did you never hear,” said 0 , “of love for one who was not a relative ?”

“ Oh yes,” she answered; “ for we are told in that part of the Bible which science permits us to believe that we must love nur neighbours as ourselves, and I suppose we all do to a certain extent. That is I don’t think much about it myself; but I have no objection to any one who does not interfere with my work.”

“ Do I interfere with your work V lS Not in the least.” “Thm you have no objection to me ?”

No, T can’t say I have any objection to you ” “Do you think you ever will have V’

“ No, I think not.” “ Do you think that you could always be happy in my presence ?” “ Why, how strangely you talk !” “ Hypatia, it is. usedess for me to conceal it love you. Will you be my wife ?” “ What for?”

“ Because I love you madly, desperately. I cannot live without you ” “ Is that what you call poetry ?” “ No, no ; it is the solemn truth ” “ Ob, no, it is not. You can live very well without me. Of coure lam a good cook, but you can find others.”

“ Oh, why will you not understand me?”

“ I cannot, Mr Cottle 1 can coni" prehend why you should wish to many me but you don’t seem to compre^

bend it yourself. lam the best cook in Noesis and all the young men are striving to get me for life ; but you do not seem to care anything about that, and insist on talking nonsense about my face. 1 cannot discover any reason why I should want you. If you were a great scientist, you might have some claim; hut all you can do is to write that jingling nonsense which you call noetry. We don’t marry men in Noesis for such causes as that.” “ Then you refuse “Of course.” Cottle walked in silence by her side until they reached her dwelling. He could not comprehend her utter want of sentiment, nor could she fiud any solution for his poetry. At the door he turned to her face once more and said : “ Miss Green, is there no hope for me!” “ lam afraid not,” she answered, “ as long as you cling to poetry.” “ Then farewell.” He turned upon his heel and left her. The light had gone out of his life, and he bitterly lamented the day he had first soon the town of Noesis Stunned by the blow which had just fallen upon him, he; wandered, not knowing whither he went, far beyond the limits of the town. 1 Out into the soft green fields he went, like one bereft of sense. The sweet scent of the clover blossoms ■ and the ; twittering of the birds and the soft murmur of the wind among the tree's smote upon his senses, not with the joyous melody of old, but with .a new ring of pain. The voices of nature failed to speak to him as they had'done in days gone by. Yet the soothing influences of solitude and beauty could not altogether be lost upon him. “ What,” he meditated, “ would the world be without sentiment and poetry ? Could man live without them 1” Then he smiled as he thought of the vanity of his inquiry. Men lived without them in Noesis, and women too. And they appeared to be healthy and happy. Could he bring himself to such a state of mind ? Could he dissect the tender, fancies ; of poetry with the cruel scalpel of fact? Could he analyze an idea as Hypatia had done when he quoted to her, “ Roll on, thou , deep and dark blue ocean, roll!” . “ What is the use,” she asked, “ of telling the ocean to roll on ? Of course it will roll on. It always has rolled on and will continue to do so until its waters are evaporated by the heat of the sun. “ Ten-thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain.” .What nonsense ! Of course they sweep over it in vain.” They couldn’t possibly do, the .oqean any harm, coukLthey % Now if your poet had stated the fact that each ship immersed in the * dark blue’ becan — which every scientist knows is green —lost a portion of its weight equal to the weight; of liquid displaced, he would have said something sensible,” As these thoughts were coursiug through Cottle’s heated and bewildered brain, in the midst of the beautiful fields, be came upon the. only thing needed to drive him to utter , distraction—a class of girls from the Noesis High school engaged in the practical study of botany. “ Monoctyledou ! mouoctyiedom oua!”

That was what the girls were chanting in a nasal chorus. “ Enough I enough 1” shrieked Cottle as he rushed away. His brain was in a mad whirl and the blood was rushing through his veins like a torrent of fire. Across the country he rushed like a maniac, not’pausing till he reached the door of his lodging house. He sprang up the stairs three steps et time and into his room. In the solitary moment of consciousness that reminded there floated through bis mind the dim remembrance of a stanza written by a poet whom he loved and imitated : We had grown as gods, as the gods above, Filled from the heart to the lips with love. Held (fast in his hands, clothed warm his wings. 0 love, my love, had you loved but me i ' - And then the four walls of bis room faded away, and in another moment Alfred Swinburne Cottle had fallen prone upon the floor. Hisjgood landlady, running up at the sound of the full, found him there, laughing wihlly. Physicians were summoned in hot baste, and shook their heads ominously as they muttered “ Brain fever.” (To be continued.)