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pg 133Critical ApparatusAn Imaginary Portrait: The ChildCritical Apparatusin the House

  • Critical Apparatus3As Florian Deleal walked, one hot afternoon, he overtook by the wayside
  • 4a poor aged man, and, as he seemed weary with the road, helped him on
  • 5with the burden which he carried, a certain distance. And as the man told
  • 6his story, it chanced that he named the place, a little place in the neigh-
  • Critical Apparatus7bourhood of a great city, where Florian had passed his earliest years, but
  • 8which he had never since seen, and, the story told, went forward on his
  • 9journey comforted. And that night, like a reward for his pity, a dream of
  • Critical Apparatus10that place came to Florian, a dream which did for him the office of the
  • Critical Apparatus11finer sort of memory, bringing its object to mind with great clearness, yet,
  • 12as sometimes happens in dreams, raised a little above itself, and above
  • Editor’s Note Link 13ordinary retrospect. The true aspect of the place, especially of the house
  • 14there in which he had lived as a child, the fashion of its doors, its hearths,
  • 15its windows, the very scent upon the air of it, was with him in sleep for a
  • Critical Apparatus16season; only with tints more musically blent on wall and floor, and some
  • 17finer light and shadow running in and out along its curves and angles, and
  • 18with all its little carvings daintier. He awoke with a sigh at the thought of
  • 19almost thirty years which lay between him and that place, yet with a flutter
  • 20of pleasure still within him at the fair light, as if it were a smile, upon it.
  • 21And it happened that this accident of his dream was just the thing needed
  • 22for the beginning of a certain design he then had in view, the noting,
  • 23namely, of some things in the story of his spirit—in that process of brain-
  • Editor’s Note24building by which we are, each one of us, what we are. With the image of
  • 25the place so clear and favourable upon him, he fell to thinking of himself
  • Critical Apparatus26therein, and how his thoughts had grown up to him. In that half-spiritualised
  • 27house he could watch the better, over again, the gradual expansion of the
  • Critical Apparatus28soul which had come to be, there—of which indeed, through the law
  • 29which makes the material objects about them so large an element in chil-
  • 30dren's lives, it had actually become a part; inward and outward being
  • 31woven through and through each other into one inextricable texture—
  • 32half, tint and trace and accident of homely colour and form, from the wood
  • pg 134Editor’s NoteCritical Apparatus Link 1and the bricks; half, mere soul-stuff, floated thither from who knows how
  • 2far. In the house and garden of his dream he saw a child moving, and could
  • 3divide the main streams, at least, of the winds that had played on him, and
  • 4study so the first stage in that mental journey.
  • 5The old house, as when Florian talked of it afterwards he always called it,
  • 6(as all children do, who can recollect a change of home, soon enough but
  • 7not too soon to mark a period in their lives) really was an old house; and an
  • Critical Apparatus8element of French descent in its inmates—descent from Watteau the old
  • Editor’s Note9court-painter, one of whose gallant pieces still hung in one of the rooms—
  • 10might explain, together with some other things, a noticeable trimness and
  • 11comely whiteness about everything there—the curtains, the couches, the
  • 12paint on the walls with which the light and shadow played so delicately,
  • 13might explain also the tolerance of the great poplar in the garden, a tree
  • 14most often despised by English people, but which French people love,
  • 15having observed a certain fresh way its leaves have of dealing with the
  • Critical Apparatus16wind, making it sound in never so slight a stirring of the air, like running
  • 17water.
  • 18The old-fashioned, low wainscoting went round the rooms, and up the
  • 19staircase with carved balusters and shadowy angles, landing half-way up at
  • 20a broad window, with a swallow's nest below the sill, and the blossom of an
  • 21old pear-tree showing across it in late April, against the blue, below which
  • Critical Apparatus22the perfumed juice of fallen fruit in autumn was so fresh. At the next
  • 23turning came the closet which held on its deep shelves the best china.
  • Critical Apparatus24Little angel faces and reedy flutings stood out round the fireplace of the
  • 25children's room. And on the top of the house, above the large attic, where
  • 26the white mice ran in the twilight—an infinite, unexplored wonderland of
  • Editor’s Note Link 27childish treasures, glass beads, empty scent-bottles still sweet, thrum of
  • Critical Apparatus28coloured silks, among its lumber—a flat space of roof, railed round, gave
  • 29a view of the neighbouring steeples; for the house, as I said, stood near a
  • 30great city, which sent up heavenwards, over the twisting weather-vanes,
  • 31not seldom, its beds of rolling cloud and smoke, touched with storm or
  • 32sunshine. But the child of whom I am writing did not hate the fog because
  • Critical Apparatus33of the crimson lights which fell from it sometimes upon the chimneys,
  • 34and the whites which gleamed through its openings, on summer mornings,
  • 35on turret or pavement. For it is false to suppose that a child's sense of
  • 36beauty is dependent on any choiceness, or special fineness, in the objects
  • 37which present themselves to it, though this indeed comes to be the rule
  • 38with most of us in later life; earlier, in some degree, we see inwardly; and
  • 39the child finds for itself, and with unstinted delight, a difference for the
  • 40sense, in those whites and reds through the smoke on very homely build-
  • 41ings, and in the gold of the dandelions at the road-side, just beyond the
  • pg 1351houses, where not a handful of earth is virgin and untouched, in the lack
  • 2of better ministries to its desire of beauty.
  • 3This house, then, stood not far beyond the gloom and rumours of the
  • Editor’s Note4town, among high garden-walls, bright all summer-time with Golden-rod,
  • Editor’s Note5and brown-and-golden Wall-flower,—Flos-parietis, as the children's
  • 6Latin-reading father taught them to call it, while he was with them.
  • 7Tracing back the threads of his complex spiritual habit, as he was used in
  • Critical Apparatus8after years to do, Florian found that he owed to the place many tones of
  • 9sentiment afterwards customary with him, certain inward lights under
  • 10which things most naturally presented themselves to him. The coming
  • 11and going of travellers to the town along the way, the shadow of the streets,
  • Critical Apparatus12the sudden breath of the neighbouring gardens, the singular brightness
  • 13of bright weather there, its singular darknesses which linked themselves in
  • 14his mind to certain engraved illustrations in the old big Bible at home, the
  • 15coolness of the dark, cavernous shops round the great church, with its
  • 16giddy winding stair up to the pigeons and the bells—a citadel of peace in
  • 17the heart of the trouble—all this acted on his childish fancy, so that ever
  • 18afterwards the like aspects and incidents never failed to throw him into a
  • 19well-recognised imaginative mood, seeming actually to have become a part
  • Critical Apparatus20of the texture of his mind. Also, Florian could trace home to this point a
  • Critical Apparatus21pervading preference in himself for a kind of comeliness and dignity, an
  • 22urbanity literally, in modes of life, which he connected with the pale people
  • 23of towns, and which made him susceptible to a kind of exquisite satisfac-
  • 24tion in the trimness and well-considered grace of certain things and per-
  • 25sons he afterwards met with, here and there, in his way through the world.
  • 26So the child of whom I am writing lived on there quietly; things without
  • 27thus ministering to him, as he sat daily at the window with the birdcage
  • 28hanging below it, and his mother taught him to read, wondering at the ease
  • 29with which he learned, and at the quickness of his memory. The perfume
  • 30of the little flowers of the lime-tree fell through the air upon them, like
  • 31rain; while time seemed to move ever more slowly to the murmur of the
  • 32bees in it, till it almost stood still on June afternoons. How insignificant, at
  • 33the moment, seem the influences of the sensible things which are tossed
  • 34and fall and lie about us, so, or so, in the environment of early childhood.
  • 35How indelibly, as we afterwards discover, they affect us; with what capri-
  • 36cious attractions and associations they figure themselves on the white
  • Editor’s Note Link 37paper, the smooth wax of our ingenuous souls, as 'with lead in the rock for
  • Editor’s Note Link 38ever,' giving form and feature, and as it were assigned house-room in our
  • 39memory, to early experiences of feeling and thought, which abide with us
  • 40ever afterwards, thus, and not otherwise. The realities and passions, the
  • 41rumours of the greater world without, steal in upon us, each by its own
  • pg 1361special little passage-way, through the wall of custom about us; and never
  • Link 2afterwards quite detach themselves from this or that accident, or trick, in
  • 3the mode of their first entrance to us. Our susceptibilities, the discovery of
  • 4our powers, manifold experiences—our various experiences of the coming
  • 5and going of bodily pain, for instance—belong to this or the other well-
  • 6remembered place in the material habitation—that little white room with
  • 7the window across which the heavy blossoms could beat so peevishly in the
  • 8wind, with just that particular catch or throb, such a sense of teasing in it,
  • 9on gusty mornings: and the early habitation thus gradually becomes a sort
  • 10of material shrine or sanctuary of sentiment; a system of visible symbolism
  • 11interweaves itself through all our thoughts and passions; and, irresistibly,
  • 12little shapes, voices, accidents—the angle at which the sun in the morning
  • 13fell on the pillow—become parts of the great chain wherewith we are bound.
  • Critical Apparatus14Thus far, for Florian, what all this had determined was a peculiarly
  • 15strong sense of home—so forcible a motive with all of us—prompting to
  • 16us our customary love of the earth, and the larger part of our fear of death,
  • 17that revulsion we have from it, as from something strange, untried,
  • 18unfriendly; though life-long imprisonment, they tell you, and final banis-
  • 19ment from home is a thing bitterer still; the looking forward to but a short
  • Editor’s NoteCritical Apparatus20space, a mere childish 'goûter' and dessert of it, before the end, being so
  • 21great a resource of effort to pilgrims and wayfarers, and the soldier in dis-
  • 22tant quarters, and lending, in lack of that, some power of solace to the
  • Critical Apparatus23thought of sleep in the home churchyard, at least—dead cheek by dead
  • 24cheek, and with the rain soaking in upon one from above.
  • 25So powerful is this instinct, and yet accidents like those I have been
  • Critical Apparatus26speaking of so mechanically determine it; its essence being indeed the
  • 27early familiar, as constituting our ideal, or typical conception, of rest and
  • 28security. Out of so many possible conditions, just this for you, and that for
  • Editor’s Note Link 29me, brings ever the unmistakable realisation of the delightful chez soi; this
  • 30for the Englishman, for me and you, with the closely-drawn white curtain
  • 31and the shaded lamp; that, quite other, for the wandering Arab, who folds
  • 32his tent every morning, and makes his sleeping place among haunted
  • 33ruins, or in old tombs.
  • Critical Apparatus34With Florian, then, the sense of home became singularly intense, his
  • 35good fortune being that the special character of his home was in itself so
  • 36essentially home-like. As, after many wanderings, I have come to fancy
  • 37that some parts of Surrey and Kent are, for Englishmen, the true land-
  • 38scape, true home-counties, by right, partly, of a certain earthy warmth in
  • 39the yellow of the sand below their gorse-bushes, and of a certain grey-blue
  • 40mist after rain, in the hollows of the hills there, welcome to fatigued eyes,
  • Critical Apparatus41and never seen farther south; so, I think that the sort of house I have
  • pg 1371described, with precisely those proportions of red-brick and green, and
  • 2with a just perceptible monotony in the subdued order of it, for its distin-
  • 3guishing note, is, for Englishmen at least, typically home-like. And so for
  • Critical Apparatus4Florian that general human instinct was reinforced by this special home-
  • Critical Apparatus5likeness in the place his wandering soul had happened to light on, as, in
  • Editor’s Note Link 6the second degree, its body and earthly tabernacle; the sense of harmony
  • Critical Apparatus7between his soul and its physical environment became, for a time at least,
  • 8like perfectly played music, and the life led there singularly tranquil and
  • 9filled with a curious sense of self-possession. The love of security, of an
  • 10habitually undisputed standing-ground or sleeping-place, came to count
  • 11for much in the generation and correcting of his thoughts, and afterwards
  • 12as a salutary principle of restraint in all his wanderings of spirit. The wist-
  • 13ful yearning towards home, in absence from it, as the shadows of evening
  • 14deepened, and he followed in thought what was doing there from hour to
  • 15hour, interpreted to him much of a yearning and regret he experienced
  • 16afterwards, towards he knew not what, out of strange ways of feeling and
  • 17thought in which, from time to time, his spirit found itself alone; and in
  • 18the tears shed in such absences there seemed always to be some soul-
  • 19subduing foretaste of what his last tears might be.
  • Critical Apparatus20And the sense of security could hardly have been deeper, the quiet of
  • 21the child's soul being one with the quiet of its home, a place 'inclosed' and
  • Critical Apparatus22'sealed.' But upon this assured place, upon the child's assured soul, which
  • 23resembled it, there came floating in from the larger world without, as at
  • 24windows left ajar unknowingly, or over the high garden walls, two streams
  • 25of impressions, the sentiments of beauty and pain—recognitions of the
  • 26visible, tangible, audible loveliness of things, as a very real and somewhat
  • 27tyrannous element in them—and of the sorrow of the world, of grown
  • Critical Apparatus28people and children and animals, as a thing not to be put by in them.
  • 29From this point he could trace two predominant processes of mental
  • 30change in him—the growth of an almost diseased sensibility to the spec-
  • Critical Apparatus31tacle of suffering, and, parallel with this, the rapid growth of a certain
  • 32capacity of fascination by bright colour and choice form—the sweet curv-
  • 33ings, for instance, of the lips of those who seemed to him comely persons,
  • Critical Apparatus34modulated in such delicate unison to the things they said or sang,—
  • Critical Apparatus35marking early the activity in him of a more than customary sensuousness;
  • Editor’s NoteCritical Apparatus Link 36'the lust of the eye,' as the Preacher says, which might lead him, one day,
  • 37how far! Could he have foreseen the weariness of the way! In music some-
  • 38times the two sorts of impressions came together, and he would weep, to
  • 39the surprise of older people. Tears of joy, too, the child knew, also to older
  • 40people's surprise; real tears, once, of relief from long-strung, childish
  • 41expectation, when he found returned at evening, with new roses in her
  • pg 1381cheeks, the little sister who had been to a place where there was a wood,
  • 2and brought back for him a treasure of fallen acorns, and black crow's
  • Critical Apparatus3feathers, and his peace at finding her again near him mingled all night
  • Critical Apparatus4with some intimate sense of the distant forest, the rumour of its breezes,
  • 5with the glossy blackbirds aslant and the branches lifted in them, and of
  • 6the perfect nicety of the little cups that fell. So those two elementary
  • 7apprehensions of the tenderness and of the colour in things grew apace in
  • 8him, and were seen by him afterwards to send their roots back into the
  • 9beginnings of life.
  • 10Let me note first some of the occasions of his recognition of the element
  • 11of pain in things—incidents, now and again, which seemed suddenly to
  • 12awake in him the whole force of that sentiment which Goethe has called the
  • Editor’s Note13Weltschmerz, and in which the concentrated sorrow of the world seemed
  • 14suddenly to lie heavy upon him. A book lay in an old book-case, of which
  • Critical Apparatus15he cared to remember one picture—a woman sitting, with hands bound
  • 16behind her, the dress, the cap, the hair, folded with a simplicity which
  • 17touched him strangely, as if not by her own hands, but with some ambigu-
  • Critical Apparatus18ous care at the hands of others—Queen Marie Antoinette, on her way to
  • Editor’s NoteCritical Apparatus Link 19execution—we all remember David's drawing, meant merely to make
  • 20her ridiculous. The face that had been so high had learned to be mute and
  • 21resistless; but out of its very resistlessness, seemed now to call on men to
  • 22have pity, and forbear; and he took note of that, as he closed the book, as a
  • 23thing to look at again, if he should at any time find himself tempted to be
  • 24cruel. Again, he would never quite forget the appeal in the small sister's
  • 25face, in the garden under the lilacs, terrified at a spider lighted on her
  • 26sleeve. He could trace back to the look then noted a certain mercy he con-
  • 27ceived always for people in fear, even of little things, which seemed to
  • 28make him, though but for a moment, capable of almost any sacrifice of
  • 29himself. Impressible, susceptible persons, indeed, who had had their sor-
  • 30rows, lived about him; and this sensibility was due in part to the tacit influ-
  • 31ence of their presence, enforcing upon him habitually the fact that there
  • 32are those who pass their days, as a matter of course, in a sort of 'going
  • 33quietly.' Most poignantly of all he could recall, in unfading minutest cir-
  • 34cumstance, the cry on the stair, sounding bitterly through the house, and
  • 35struck into his soul for ever, of an aged woman, his father's sister, come
  • 36now to announce his death in distant India; how it seemed to make the
  • 37aged woman like a child again; and, he knew not why, but this fancy was
  • 38full of pity to him. There were the little sorrows of the dumb animals
  • 39too—of the white angora, with a dark tail like an ermine's, and a face like a
  • 40flower, who fell into a lingering sickness, and became quite delicately
  • Editor’s Note Link 41human in its valetudinarianism, and came to have a hundred different
  • pg 1391expressions of voice—how it grew worse and worse, till it began to feel the
  • Link 2light too much for it, and at last, after one wild morning of pain, the little
  • 3soul flickered away from the body, quite worn to death already, and now
  • 4but feebly retaining it.
  • 5So he wanted another pet; and as there were starlings about the place,
  • 6which could be taught to speak, one of them was caught, and he meant to
  • 7treat it kindly; but in the night its young ones could be heard crying after
  • 8it, and the responsive cry of the mother-bird towards them; and at last, with
  • 9the first light, though not till after some debate with himself, he went down
  • 10and opened the cage, and saw a sharp bound of the prisoner up to her
  • Critical Apparatus11nestlings; and therewith came the sense of remorse,—that he too was
  • 12become an accomplice in moving, to the limit of his small power, the springs
  • 13and handles of that great machine in things, constructed so ingeniously to
  • 14play pain-fugues on the delicate nerve-work of living creatures.
  • 15I have remarked how, in the process of our brain-building, as the house
  • Critical Apparatus16of thought in which we live gets itself together like some airy bird's-nest
  • 17of floating thistle-down and chance straws, compact at last, little accidents
  • 18have their consequence; and thus it happened that, as he walked one even-
  • 19ing, a garden gate, usually closed, stood open; and lo! within, a great red
  • Editor’s Note20hawthorn, in full flower, embossing heavily the bleached and twisted trunk
  • 21and branches, so aged that there were but few green leaves thereon—a
  • 22plumage of tender, crimson fire out of the heart of the dry wood. The per-
  • 23fume of the tree had now and again reached him, in the currents of the
  • 24wind, over the wall, and he had wondered what might be behind it, and was
  • 25now allowed to fill his arms with the flowers—flowers enough for all the old
  • Critical Apparatus26blue-china pots along the chimney-piece, making fête in the children's
  • 27room. Was it some periodic moment in the expansion of soul within him, or
  • 28mere trick of heat in the heavily-laden summer air? But the beauty of the
  • 29thing struck home to him feverishly, and in dreams, all night, he loitered
  • 30along a magic roadway of crimson flowers, which seemed to open ruddily in
  • 31thick, fresh masses about his feet, and fill softly all the little hollows in the
  • 32banks on either side. Always afterwards, summer by summer, as the flowers
  • 33came on, the blossom of the red hawthorn still seemed to him absolutely the
  • 34reddest of all things; and the goodly crimson, still alive in the works of old
  • 35Venetian masters, or old Flemish tapestries, called out always from afar,
  • 36the recollection of the flame in those perishing little petals, as it pulsed
  • 37gradually out of them, kept long in the drawers of an old cabinet. Also,
  • 38then, for the first time, he seemed to experience a passionateness in his
  • 39relation to fair outward objects, an inexplicable excitement in their pres-
  • 40ence, which disturbed him, and from which he half longed to be free. A
  • 41touch of regret or desire mingled all night with the remembered presence
  • pg 1401of the red flowers, and their perfume in the darkness about him; and the
  • 2longing for some undivined, entire possession of them was the beginning of
  • 3a revelation to him, growing ever clearer, with the coming of the gracious
  • Link 4summer guise of fields, and trees, and persons in each succeeding year, of a
  • Critical Apparatus5certain, at times seemingly exclusive, predominance in his interests, of
  • 6beautiful physical things, a kind of tyranny of the senses over him.
  • 7In later years he came upon philosophies which occupied him much in
  • 8the estimate of the proportion of the sensuous and the ideal elements in
  • 9human knowledge, the relative parts they bear in it; and, in his intellectual
  • 10scheme, was led to assign very little to the abstract thought, and much to
  • 11its sensible vehicle or occasion. Such metaphysical speculation did but
  • 12reinforce what was instinctive in his way of receiving the world, and for
  • 13him, everywhere, that sensible vehicle or occasion became, perhaps only too
  • 14surely, the necessary concomitant of any perception of things, real enough
  • 15to be of any weight or reckoning, in his house of thought. There were times
  • 16when he could think of the necessity he was under of associating all thoughts
  • 17to touch and sight, as a sympathetic link between himself and actual, feel-
  • 18ing, living objects; a protest in favour of real men and women against mere
  • 19grey, unreal abstractions; and he remembered gratefully how the Christian
  • 20religion, hardly less than the religion of the ancient Greeks, translating so
  • 21much of its spiritual verity into things that may be seen, condescends in
  • 22part to sanction this infirmity, if so it be, of our human existence, wherein
  • Editor’s Note Link 23the world of sense is so much with us, and welcomed this thought as a kind
  • 24of keeper and sentinel over his soul therein. But, certainly he came, more
  • 25and more, to be unable to care for, or think of soul but as in an actual body,
  • 26or of any world but that wherein are water and trees, and where men and
  • 27women look, so or so, and press actual hands. It was the trick even his pity
  • 28learned, fastening those who suffered in any-wise to his affections by a kind
  • Critical Apparatus29of sensible attachments. He would think of Julian, fallen into incurable
  • 30sickness, as spoiled in the sweet blossom of his skin like pale amber, and his
  • Critical Apparatus31honey-like hair; of Cecil, early dead, as cut off from the lilies, from golden
  • 32summer days, from women's voices; and then what comforted him a little
  • Editor’s Note Link 33was the thought of the turning of the child's flesh to violets in the turf above
  • 34him. And thinking of the very poor, it was not the things which most men
  • 35care most for that he yearned to give them; but fairer roses, perhaps, and
  • 36power to taste quite as they will, at their ease and not task-burdened, a cer-
  • 37tain desirable, clear light in the new morning, through which sometimes he
  • 38had noticed them, quite unconscious of it, on their way to their early toil.
  • 39So he yielded himself to these things, to be played upon by them like a
  • Editor’s Note40musical instrument, and began to note with deepening watchfulness, but
  • 41always with some puzzled, unutterable longing in his enjoyment, the
  • pg 1411phases of the seasons and of the growing or waning day, down even to the
  • 2shadowy changes wrought on bare wall or ceiling—the light cast up from
  • 3the snow, bringing out their darkest angles; the brown light in the cloud,
  • 4which meant rain; that almost too austere clearness, in the protracted light
  • 5of the lengthening day, before warm weather began, as if it lingered but to
  • 6make a severer workday, with the school-books opened earlier and later;
  • 7that beam of June sunshine, at last, as he lay awake before the time, a way
  • 8of gold-dust across the darkness; all the humming, the freshness, the per-
  • 9fume of the garden seemed to lie upon it—and coming in one afternoon in
  • 10September, along the red gravel walk, to look for a basket of yellow crab-
  • 11apples left in the cool, old parlour, he remembered it the more, and how
  • 12the colours struck upon him, because a wasp on one bitten apple stung
  • 13him, and he felt the passion of sudden, severe pain. For this too brought
  • 14its curious reflexions; and, in relief from it, he would wonder over it—how
  • 15it had then been with him—puzzled at the depth of the charm or spell over
  • 16him, which lay, for a little while at least, in the mere absence of pain; once,
  • 17especially, when an older boy taught him to make flowers of sealing-wax,
  • 18and he had burnt his hand badly at the lighted taper, and been unable to
  • 19sleep. He remembered that also afterwards, as a sort of typical thing—
  • 20a white vision of heat about him, clinging closely, through the languid
  • 21scent of the ointments put upon the place to make it well.
  • 22Also, as he felt this pressure upon him of the sensible world, then, as often
  • 23afterwards, there would come another sort of curious questioning how the
  • 24last impressions of eye and ear might happen to him, how they would find
  • 25him—the scent of the last flower, the soft yellowness of the last morning, the
  • 26last recognition of some object of affection, hand or voice; it could not be but
  • 27that the latest look of the eyes, before their final closing, would be strangely
  • 28vivid; one would go with the hot tears, the cry, the touch of the wistful
  • 29bystander, impressed how deeply on one! or would it be, perhaps, a mere
  • 30frail retiring of all things, great or little, away from one, into a level distance?
  • 31For with this desire of physical beauty mingled itself early the fear of
  • 32death—the fear of death intensified by the desire of beauty. Hitherto he
  • Editor’s Note33had never gazed upon dead faces, as sometimes, afterwards, at the Morgue
  • Editor’s Note34in Paris, or in that fair cemetery at Munich, where all the dead must go and
  • 35lie in state before burial, behind glass windows, among the flowers and
  • 36incense and holy candles—the aged clergy with their sacred ornaments,
  • 37the young men in their dancing-shoes and spotless white linen—after
  • 38which visits, those waxen, resistless faces would always live with him for
  • 39many days, making the broadest sunshine sickly. The child had heard
  • 40indeed of the death of his father, and how, in the Indian station, a fever had
  • 41taken him, so that though not in action he had yet died as a soldier; and
  • pg 142Editor’s Note Link 1hearing of the 'resurrection of the just,' he could think of him as still
  • 2abroad in the world, somehow, for his protection—a grand, though per-
  • 3haps rather terrible figure, in beautiful soldier's things, like the figure in
  • Editor’s NoteCritical Apparatus Link 4the picture of Joshua's Vision in the Bible—and of that, round which the
  • 5mourners moved so softly, and afterwards with such solemn singing, as but
  • 6a worn-out garment left at a deserted lodging. So it was, until on a summer
  • 7day he walked with his mother through a fair churchyard. In a bright dress
  • 8he rambled among the graves, in the gay weather, and so came, in one
  • 9corner, upon an open grave for a child—a dark space on the brilliant
  • 10grass—the black mould lying heaped up round it, weighing down the little
  • 11jewelled branches of the dwarf rose-bushes in flower. And therewith came,
  • 12full-grown, never wholly to leave him, with the certainty that even chil-
  • 13dren do sometimes die, the physical horror of death, with its wholly selfish
  • 14recoil from the association of lower forms of life, and the suffocating weight
  • 15above. No benign, grave figure in beautiful soldier's things any longer abroad
  • 16in the world for his protection! only a few poor, piteous bones; and above
  • 17them, possibly, a certain sort of figure he hoped not to see. For sitting one day
  • 18in the garden below an open window, he heard people talking, and could not
  • 19but listen, how, in a sleepless hour, a sick woman had seen one of the dead
  • 20sitting beside her, come to call her hence; and from the broken talk, evolved
  • 21with much clearness the notion that not all those dead people had really
  • 22departed to the churchyard, nor were quite so motionless as they looked, but
  • 23led a secret, half-fugitive life in their old homes, quite free by night, though
  • 24sometimes visible in the day, dodging from room to room, with no great
  • 25goodwill towards those who shared the place with them. All night the figure
  • 26sat beside him in the reveries of his broken sleep, and was not quite gone in
  • 27the morning—an odd, irreconcileable new member of the household, mak-
  • 28ing the sweet familiar chambers unfriendly and suspect by its uncertain pres-
  • Editor’s Note Link 29ence. He could have hated the dead he had pitied so, for being thus. Afterwards
  • 30he came to think of those poor, home-returning ghosts, which all men have
  • Editor’s Note Link 31fancied to themselves—the revenants—pathetically, as crying, or beating with
  • 32vain hands at the doors, as the wind came, their cries distinguishable in it as a
  • Editor’s Note Link 33wilder inner note. But, always making death more unfamiliar still, that old
  • 34experience would ever, from time to time, return to him; even in the living he
  • 35sometimes caught its likeness; at any time or place, in a moment, the faint
  • 36atmosphere of the chamber of death would be breathed around him, and the
  • 37image with the bound chin, the quaint smile, the straight, stiff feet, shed itself
  • 38across the air upon the bright carpet, amid the gayest company, or happiest
  • 39communing with himself.
  • 40To most children the sombre questionings to which impressions like
  • 41these attach themselves, if they come at all, are actually suggested by religious
  • pg 143 Link 1books, which therefore they often regard with much secret distaste, and
  • Link 2dismiss, as far as possible, from their habitual thoughts as a too depress-
  • Critical Apparatus3ing element in life. To Florian such impressions, these misgivings as to
  • 4the ultimate tendency of the years, of the relationship between life and
  • 5death, had been suggested spontaneously in the natural course of his
  • 6mental growth by a strong innate sense for the soberer tones in things,
  • 7further strengthened by actual circumstances; and religious sentiment,
  • 8that system of biblical ideas in which he had been brought up, presented
  • 9itself to him as a thing that might soften and dignify, and light up as with
  • Editor’s Note10a 'lively hope,' a melancholy already deeply settled in him. So he yielded
  • 11himself easily to religious impressions, and with a kind of mystical appe-
  • 12tite for sacred things; the more as they came to him through a saintly
  • 13person who loved him tenderly, and believed that this early pre-occupa-
  • 14tion with them already marked the child out for a saint. He began to love,
  • 15for their own sakes, church lights, holy days, all that belonged to the
  • 16comely order of the sanctuary, the secrets of its white linen, and holy ves-
  • 17sels, and fonts of pure water; and its hieratic purity and simplicity became
  • 18the type of something he desired always to have about him in actual life.
  • 19He pored over the pictures in religious books, and knew by heart the exact
  • Editor’s NoteCritical Apparatus20mode in which the wrestling angel grasped Jacob, how Jacob looked in
  • Editor’s Note Link 21his mysterious sleep, how the bells and pomegranates were attached to the
  • Editor’s NoteCritical Apparatus Link 22hem of Aaron's vestment, sounding sweetly as he glided over the turf of
  • 23the holy place. His way of conceiving religion came then to be in effect
  • 24what it ever afterwards remained—a sacred history, indeed, but still more
  • 25a sacred ideal, a transcendent version or representation, under intenser
  • 26and more expressive light and shade, of human life and its familiar or
  • 27exceptional incidents, birth, death, marriage, youth, age, tears, joy, rest,
  • 28sleep, waking—a mirror, towards which men might turn away their eyes
  • 29from vanity and dullness, and see themselves therein as angels, with their
  • 30daily meat and drink, even, become a kind of sacred transaction—a com-
  • 31plementary strain or burden, applied to our every-day existence, whereby
  • 32the stray snatches of music in it re-set themselves, and fall into the
  • 33scheme of some higher and more consistent harmony. A place adum-
  • 34brated itself in his thoughts, wherein those sacred personalities, which are
  • 35at once the reflex and the pattern of our nobler phases of life, housed
  • 36themselves; and this region in his intellectual scheme all subsequent
  • 37experience did but tend still further to realise and define. Some ideal,
  • 38hieratic persons he would always need to occupy it and keep a warmth
  • 39there. And he could hardly understand those who felt no such need at all,
  • 40finding themselves quite happy without such heavenly companionship,
  • 41and sacred double of their life, beside them.
  • pg 1441Thus a constant substitution of the typical for the actual took place in his
  • 2thoughts. Angels might be met by the way, under English elm or beech-tree;
  • 3mere messengers seemed like angels, bound on celestial errands; a deep
  • 4mysticity brooded over real meetings and partings; marriages were made in
  • 5heaven; and deaths also, with hands of angels thereupon, to bear soul and
  • 6body quietly asunder, each to its appointed rest. All the acts and accidents of
  • 7daily life borrowed a sacred colour and significance; the very colours of
  • 8things became themselves weighty with meanings like the sacred stuffs of
  • Editor’s NoteCritical Apparatus Link 9Moses' tabernacle, full of penitence or peace. Sentiment, congruous in the
  • 10first instance only with those divine transactions, the deep, effusive unction
  • Editor’s NoteCritical Apparatus Link 11of the house of Bethany, was assumed as the due attitude for the reception
  • 12of our every-day existence; and for a time he walked through the world in a
  • 13sustained, not unpleasurable awe, generated by the habitual recognition,
  • 14beside every circumstance and event of life, of its celestial correspondent.
  • 15Sensibility—the desire of physical beauty—a strange biblical awe, which
  • 16made any reference to the unseen act on him like solemn music—these qual-
  • 17ities the child took away with him, when, at about the age of twelve years, he
  • 18left the old house, and was taken to live in another place. He had never left
  • 19home before, and, anticipating much from this change, had long dreamed
  • 20over it, jealously counting the days till the time fixed for departure should
  • 21come: had been a little careless about others, even, in his strong desire for
  • Critical Apparatus22it—when Lewis fell sick, for instance, and they must wait still two days
  • 23longer. At last the morning came, very fine; and all things—the very pave-
  • 24ment with its dust, at the roadside—seemed to have a white, pearl-like lustre
  • 25in them. They were to travel by a favourite road on which he had often
  • 26walked a certain distance, and on one of those two prisoner days, when
  • Critical Apparatus27Lewis was sick, had walked farther than ever before, in his great desire to
  • 28reach the new place. They had started and gone a little way when a pet bird
  • 29was found to have been left behind, and must even now—so it presented
  • 30itself to him—have already all the appealing fierceness and wild self-pity at
  • 31heart of one left by others to perish of hunger in a closed house; and he
  • 32returned to fetch it, himself in hardly less stormy distress. But as he passed
  • 33in search of it from room to room, lying so pale, with a look of meekness in
  • 34their denudation, and at last through that little, stripped white room, the
  • 35aspect of the place touched him like the face of one dead; and a clinging back
  • 36towards it came over him, so intense that he knew it would last long, and
  • 37spoiling all his pleasure in the realisation of a thing so eagerly anticipated.
  • 38And so, with the bird found, but himself in an agony of home-sickness, thus
  • 39capriciously sprung up within him, he was driven quickly away, far into the
  • 40rural distance, so fondly speculated on, of that favourite country-road.
  • Critical Apparatus411878.

Notes Settings

Notes

Critical Apparatus
133       In the critical apparatus, 78 indicates the periodical version of the text in Macmillan's Magazine in August 1878; and 94 indicates the first volume edition of An Imaginary Portrait: The Child in the House (Oxford: Daniel Press, 1894). The single editorial emendation to this copy-text is noted here as a textual variant.
Critical Apparatus
133:2       An Imaginary Portrait: The Child in the House] IMAGINARY PORTRAITS. | I. THE CHILD IN THE HOUSE. 78; [Half-title page:] An | Imaginary Portrait | By Walter Pater [Page 1:] AN IMAGINARY PORTRAIT | BY WALTER PATER [Page 3:] THE CHILD IN THE HOUSE 94
Critical Apparatus
133:3       Florian Deleal] Florian Deleal 78
Critical Apparatus
133:7       Florian] Florian 78
Critical Apparatus
133:10       Florian,] Florian, 78
Critical Apparatus
133:11       with] with a 78
Editor’s Note
133:13 See the opening of John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress from this World to that which is to Come: Delivered under the Similitude of a Dream (1678), ed. Roger Pooley (London: Penguin, 2008), 11: 'As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a Den: and I laid me down in that place to sleep: and as I slept I dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and behold, I saw a man clothed with rags, standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back. I looked, and saw him open the book, and read therein, and as he read he wept and trembled, and not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying, What shall I do?'
Critical Apparatus
133:16       only] only, 78
Editor’s Note
133:24 The compound word is not in the OED, where many of the compounds involving 'brain' are nineteenth-century coinages. Joseph Ralph's monograph Brain Building: Outline of the Psychology and Physiology of Mental Culture through Psychic Stimuli was published in 1905.
Critical Apparatus
133:26       up to] upon 78
Critical Apparatus
133:28       be,] be 78
Critical Apparatus
134:1       bricks;] bricks of it; 78
Editor’s Note
134:1 The OED traces the compound word to seventeenth-century religious tracts and defines it as a synonym of 'soul substance': the substance of which the soul is made, which may even be immaterial and independent of the material body.
Critical Apparatus
134:8       Watteau] Watteau, 78
Editor’s Note
134:9 Jean-Antoine Watteau (1684–1721), French painter who invented the Fêtes Galantes genre, heralded the new rococo style of painting with a white palette, and a subtle merging of landscape and city, commedia dell'arte, and mythology. Pater liked to believe that he was a descendant of Watteau's only pupil, Jean-Baptiste Pater (1695–1736), and would explore the relation between master and pupil in 'A Prince of Court Painters' (1885).
Critical Apparatus
134:16       slight] light 78
Critical Apparatus
134:22       juice of] juice of the kind of 78
Critical Apparatus
134:24       faces] faces, 78
Editor’s Note
134:27 Thrum: a technical term derived from weaving: 'odds and ends of thread; also, a short or loose end of thread projecting from the surface of a woven fabric; a tuft, tassel, or fringe of threads at the edge of a piece of cloth, etc' (OED, citing Pater).
Critical Apparatus
134:28       round,] about 78
Critical Apparatus
134:33       because of] for 78
Editor’s Note
135:4 There are some 100 species of goldenrod (solidago), perennials with bright, golden-yellow flower-heads, blooming in late summer. Parts of the plants are edible and can be used for tea; they produce dark honey, and were considered signs of good luck.
Editor’s Note
135:5 Literally, wallflower (Latin botanical name: Erysimum).
Critical Apparatus
135:8       Florian] Florian 78
Critical Apparatus
135:12       breath] breadth 78
Critical Apparatus
135:20       Florian] Florian 78
Critical Apparatus
135:21       a pervading] an all-pervading 78
Editor’s Note
135:37 Pater is alluding to the concept of the tabula rasa—that a person's mind at birth is a blank, or more accurately, an erased slate, waiting for inscription through experience and sensory impressions. See Aristotle, De Anima 412b4: 'Hence too we should not ask whether the soul and body are one, any more than whether the wax and the impression are one, or in general whether the matter of each thing and that of which it is the matter are one.' Aristotle, De Anima Books 2 and 3 (with Passages from Book 1), trans. and ed. D. W. Hamlyn (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002), 9. In the Middle Ages Islamic thinkers and Thomas Aquinas returned to Aristotle's idea. Pater may also have in mind John Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1690): 'let us suppose the mind to be, as we say, white paper, void of all characters, without any ideas' (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975), 105. He would return to the image in Marius the Epicurean (1885; CW ii) and in 'Sebastian van Storck' (1886).
Editor’s Note
135:38 Cf. Job 19:23–24: 'Oh that my words were now written! oh that they were printed in a book! That they were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock for ever!'
Critical Apparatus
136:14       Florian,] Florian, 78
Critical Apparatus
136:20       'goûter'] goûter 78
Editor’s Note
136:20 A snack or tea-like meal taken in the afternoon to fill in the gap between lunch and supper.
Critical Apparatus
136:23       churchyard, at least—–] churchyard at least, 78
Critical Apparatus
136:26       accidents like those I have been speaking of] such accidents as these 78
Editor’s Note
136:29 Sense of home.
Critical Apparatus
136:34       Florian,] Florian, 78
Critical Apparatus
136:41       so,] so 78
Critical Apparatus
137:4       Florian] Florian 78
Critical Apparatus
137:5       his wandering soul] the wandering soul of him 78
Editor’s Note
137:6 Cf. 2 Cor. 5:1: 'For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens'.
Critical Apparatus
137:7       his] such 78
Critical Apparatus
137:20       And] So 78
Critical Apparatus
137:22       'inclosed ' and 'sealed.'] "inclosed" and "sealed." 78
Critical Apparatus
137:28       children] children, 78
Critical Apparatus
137:31       rapid] surprisingly rapid 78
Critical Apparatus
137:34       sang,—] sang—78
Critical Apparatus
137:35       sensuousness;] sensuousness, 78
Critical Apparatus
137:36       'the lust of the eye,'] the "lust of the eye,"78
Editor’s Note
137:36 Cf. 1 John 2:15–16: 'Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.'
Critical Apparatus
138:3       his] the 78
Critical Apparatus
138:4       sense] sense in him 78
Editor’s Note
138:13 J. W. von Goethe's novel, The Sorrows of the Young Werther (1774), is one of the earliest examples of the Romantic Weltschmerz, the melancholy weariness and agonized awareness of the world and its sorrows, which would characterize much nineteenth-century literature. Cf. Pater's essay 'The Character of the Humourist: Charles Lamb' (1878): 'What sudden, unexpected touches of pathos in him!—bearing witness how the sorrow of humanity, the Welt-Schmerz, the constant aching of its wounds, is ever present with him: but what a gift also for the enjoyment of life in its subtleties, of enjoyment actually refined by the need of some thoughtful economies and making the most of things! Little arts of happiness he is ready to teach to others' ('Charles Lamb' in CW vi).
Critical Apparatus
138:15       sitting,] sitting 78
Critical Apparatus
138:18       Marie Antoinette,] Marie Antoinette, 78
Critical Apparatus
138:19       we] We 78
Critical Apparatus
138:19       David's] David's 78
Editor’s Note
138:19 Jacques-Louis David (1748–1825), the French revolutionary sympathizer and neo-classical painter, made a quick pen-and-ink drawing of Marie Antoinette (1755–93) on her way to the guillotine on 16 Oct. 1793. As an eminent Jacobin and ally of Robespierre, David voted for her death. On the same day, David attended the unveiling of his icon of Revolutionary martyrdom, Marat Assassinated, indirectly alluded to in Pater's reference to Charlotte Corday in 'Diaphaneitè' (see CW v). David's drawing of Marie Antoinette debases the former queen and forms a sharp contrast to all the rococo prettiness with which she had been depicted in much royal portraiture.
Editor’s Note
138:41 'Tendency to be in weak health or to be much concerned about one's own health' (OED).
Critical Apparatus
139:11       remorse,—] remorse, 78
Critical Apparatus
139:16       together] together, 78
Editor’s Note
139:20 The hawthorn is conventionally the May flower, inaugurating the coming of spring. As a medicinal plant it is associated with healing, and heart ailments; also, a mild sedative. As an emblem of hope it suggests pain and death: the plant from which Christ's crown of thorns was made and the plant marking the entry into the Otherworld in Gaelic folklore. Pater draws on a number of these folkloristic traditions in his evocation of the red hawthorn, which opens the life of the senses to Florian and gives him aesthetic awareness. Pater is also alluding to the story of Moses and the burning bush, Exod. 3:1–22, in which God appears inside a bush on fire, yet not consumed by the flames, exhorting Moses to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. This is the first of a series of references to Exodus, all relating to the founding of the 'house' of God.
Critical Apparatus
139:26       fête] fête 78
Critical Apparatus
140:5       interests,] interests 78
Editor’s Note
140:23 Pater echoes the opening line of Wordsworth's 1806 sonnet 'The world is too much with us'.
Critical Apparatus
140:29       Julian,] Julian, 78
Critical Apparatus
140:31       Cecil,] Cecil, 78
Editor’s Note
140:33 Cf. Hamlet, V.i.231–3: Laertes says of his sister Ophelia, 'Lay her in the earth / And from her fair and unpolluted flesh / May violets spring.'
Editor’s Note
140:40 Cf. Hamlet, III.ii.355–8: 'Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me, you would seem to know my stops, you would pluck out the heart of my mystery, you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass.'
Editor’s Note
141:33 The Paris morgue was located on the Quai de l'Archevêché near Notre Dame cathedral from 1864 until 1921, very close to the Seine. Thousands of local Parisians and tourists flocked daily to the bizarre spectacle displayed on black marble slabs behind a large glass-window framed by green curtains: the bodies of the anonymous dead, murdered or drowned, laid out for the public to view and potentially identify. Émile Zola's novel Therèse Raquin (1867) contains a long and evocative description of a visit to the morgue.
Editor’s Note
141:34 In Munich, the Old South Cemetery (Alter Südfriedhof) was founded in 1563 for the many dead after an outbreak of the plague. From 1788 until 1868 it was the only cemetery in Munich; it houses the tombs of many eighteenth- and nineteenth-century celebrities. The mortuary was inaugurated in 1819; whether Pater visited or simply read detailed accounts of Bavarians' funerary habits remains unknown. The cemetery closed for new burials in 1944 and now serves as a park and an open-air museum.
Editor’s Note
142:1 Cf. Luke 14:14: 'And thou shalt be blessed; for they cannot recompense thee: for thou shalt be recompensed at the resurrection of the just.'
Critical Apparatus
142:4       Joshua's] Joshua's 78
Editor’s Note
142:4 Cf. Josh. 5:13–15: 'And it came to pass, when Joshua was by Jericho, that he lifted up his eyes and looked, and behold, there stood a man over against him with his sword drawn in his hand: and Joshua went unto him, and said unto him, Art thou for us, or for our adversaries? and he said, Nay; but as captain of the host of the Lord am I now come. And Joshua fell on his face to the earth, and did worship, and said unto him, What saith my lord unto his servant? and the captain of the Lord's host said unto Joshua, Loose thy shoe from off thy foot; for the place whereon thou standest is holy. And Joshua did so.'
Editor’s Note
142:29 The strong visual quality of this passage suggests that Pater may have had the new fashion of spirit photography in mind. 'Invented' by an accidental double exposure in the early 1860s, spirit photography became a late nineteenth-century craze, alongside spiritualism. Boston photographer William Mumler was one of the first to experiment with the effects of double exposure, bringing the images of a living person together with a slightly hazier one of a recently dead relative, thus creating haunting effects. Mumler's fraud was eventually exposed, but in England photographers like Georgiana Houghton and Fred Hudson had great success with their spirit photographs in the 1860s and 1870s.
Editor’s Note
142:31 A revenant, from the French revenir, to return, is a ghost or animated corpse, returning from the grave to the world of the living. Revenants have been associated with vampires and the spreading of disease through the sucking of blood; their return is supposedly highly purposeful, centred on revenge and the need to redress some former wrongdoing. In 'The Poetry of Michelangelo' (1872) Pater applied the term to Michelangelo, as a sculptor belonging in the fifteenth century who had come into the world too late (see CW i).
Editor’s Note
142:33 The passage evokes the haunting Catherine Earnshaw in Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights (1848), a novel praised by Pater in 'Romanticism' (1876; see CW v).
Critical Apparatus
143:3       Florian] Florian 78
Editor’s Note
143:10 Cf. 1 Pet. 1:3: 'Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.'
Critical Apparatus
143:20       Jacob, how Jacob] Jacob, how Jacob 78
Editor’s Note
143:20 Jacob wrestling with the angel was a popular image, often an occasion for juxtaposing two handsome male bodies. Cf. Gen. 32:22–30: 'And Jacob was left alone; and there wrestled a man with him until the breaking of the day. And when he saw that he prevailed not against him, he touched the hollow of his thigh; and the hollow of Jacob's thigh was out of joint, as he wrestled with him. And he said, Let me go, for the day breaketh. And he said, I will not let thee go, except thou bless me. And he said unto him, What is thy name? And he said, Jacob. And he said, Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel: for as a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed. And Jacob asked him, and said, Tell me, I pray thee, thy name. And he said, Wherefore is it that thou dost ask after my name? And he blessed him there. And Jacob called the name of the place Peniel: for I have seen God face to face, and my life is preserved.'
Editor’s Note
143:21 Jacob's dream of the ladder of angels was a popular pictorial motif. The dreaming Jacob recalls the dreaming Florian at the beginning of the text. Both men are concerned with their father's house, with the spiritual, physical, and tactile significance of architecture. See also Gen. 28:10–22.
Critical Apparatus
143:22       Aaron's] Aaron's 78
Editor’s Note
143:22 Exod. 28:1–43 has a detailed description of the sacred vestments worn by Aaron, brother of Moses and high priest of the Israelites, for his consecration into the priesthood. The hem of Aaron's blue robe features 'pomegranates of blue, and of purple, and of scarlet, round about the hem thereof; and bells of gold between them round about: A golden bell and a pomegranate, a golden bell and a pomegranate, upon the hem of the robe round about. And it shall be upon Aaron to minister: and his sound shall be heard when he goeth in unto the holy place before the LORD, and when he cometh out, that he die not' (28:31–5).
Critical Apparatus
144:9       Moses'] Moses' 78
Editor’s Note
144:9 Exod. 25–31 and 35–40 describe in detail the tabernacle erected by Moses for God in the wilderness exactly one year after the Passover (when the Israelites were freed from Egyptian slavery). Tabernacle means 'dwelling' or 'sanctuary', a sacred place where God could meet his people. It was a mobile tent with portable furniture set up by the Israelites wherever they pitched camp. The tabernacle would be in the centre of the camp, and the twelve tribes of Israel would erect their tents around it according to tribe. The components of the tabernacle were part of an intricate visual aid to illustrate the Israelites' relationship with their God, which included complete obedience. Inside the tabernacle would be a number of items—the Brazen Altar, the Laver, the Table of Showbread, and the Ark of the Covenant, or 'sacred stuffs'.
Critical Apparatus
144:11       house] House 78
Editor’s Note
144:11 In Bethany were the houses of the siblings Mary, Martha, and Lazarus and of Simon the Leper where Christ lodged on his return into Jerusalem. Pater is referring to Mary's anointment of Christ, recounted in Matt. 26:6–13: 'Now when Jesus was in Bethany, in the house of Simon the leper, There came unto him a woman having an alabaster box of very precious ointment, and poured it on his head, as he sat at meat. But when his disciples saw it, they had indignation, saying, To what purpose is this waste? For this ointment might have been sold for much, and given to the poor. When Jesus understood it, he said unto them, Why trouble ye the woman? for she hath wrought a good work upon me. For ye have the poor always with you; but me ye have not always. For in that she hath poured this ointment on my body, she did it for my burial. Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told for a memorial of her.'
Critical Apparatus
144:22       Lewis] Lewis 78
Critical Apparatus
144:27       Lewis] Lewis 78
Critical Apparatus
144:41       1878.] WALTER H. PATER 78
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