A Traveller in Little Things | Page 8

1531, and was the head of a family
long settled in those parts, lord of the manor and many other things. On
more than one occasion he raised a troop from his own people and
commanded it himself, fighting for his king and country both in and out
of England. He was, moreover, a friend of the king and his counsellor,
and universally esteemed for his virtues and valour; greatly loved by all
his people, especially by the poor and suffering, on account of his
generosity and kindness of heart.
A very glorious record, and by-and-by I believed every word of it. For
after reading the inscription I began to examine the effigy in marble of
the man himself which surmounted the tomb. He was lying extended
full length, six feet and five inches, his head on a low pillow, his right
hand grasping the handle of his drawn sword. The more I looked at it,
both during and after the service, the more convinced I became that this
was no mere conventional figure made by some lapidary long after the
subject's death, but was the work of an inspired artist, an exact portrait
of the man, even to his stature, and that he had succeeded in giving to
the countenance the very expression of the living Sir Ranulph. And
what it expressed was power and authority and, with it, spirituality. A
noble countenance with a fine forehead and nose, the lower part of the
face covered with the beard, and long hair that fell to the shoulders.
It produced a feeling such as I have whenever I stand before a certain
sixteenth-century portrait in the National Gallery: a sense or an illusion
of being in the presence of a living person with whom I am engaged in
a wordless conversation, and who is revealing his inmost soul to me.

And it is only the work of a genius that can affect you in that way.
Quitting the church I remembered with satisfaction that my hostess at
the quiet home-like family hotel where I had put up, was an educated
intelligent woman (good-looking, too), and that she would no doubt be
able to tell me something of the old history of the town and particularly
of Sir Ranulph. For this marble man, this knight of ancient days, had
taken possession of me and I could think of nothing else.
At luncheon we met as in a private house at our table with our nice
hostess at the head, and beside her three or four guests staying in the
house; a few day visitors to the town came in and joined us. Next to me
I had a young New Zealand officer whose story I had heard with
painful interest the previous evening. Like so many of the New
Zealanders I had met before, he was a splendid young fellow; but he
had been terribly gassed at the front and had been told by the doctors
that he would not be fit to go back even if the war lasted another year,
and we were then well through the third. The way the poison in his
lungs affected him was curious. He had his bad periods when for a
fortnight or so he would lie in his hospital suffering much and terribly
depressed, and at such time black spots would appear all over his chest
and neck and arms so that he would be spotted like a pard. Then the
spots would fade and he would rise apparently well, and being of an
energetic disposition, was allowed to do local war work.
On the other side of the table facing us sat a lady and gentleman who
had come in together for luncheon. A slim lady of about thirty, with a
well-shaped but colourless face and very bright intelligent eyes. She
was a lively talker, but her companion, a short fat man with a round
apple face and cheeks of an intensely red colour and a black moustache,
was reticent, and when addressed directly replied in monosyllables. He
gave his undivided attention to the thing on his plate.
The young officer talked to me of his country, describing with
enthusiasm his own district which he averred contained the finest
mountain and forest scenery in New Zealand. The lady sitting opposite
began to listen and soon cut in to say she knew it all well, and agreed in
all he said in praise of the scenery. She had spent weeks of delight

among those great forests and mountains. Was she then his country-
woman? he asked. Oh, no, she was English but had travelled
extensively and knew a great deal of New Zealand. And after
exhausting this subject the conversation, which had become general,
drifted into others, and presently we were all comparing notes