The Figure in the Carpet | Page 5

in a sense
to my obtuseness; at that moment, however, Vereker's happy accent
made me appear to myself, and probably to him, a rare dunce. I was on
the point of exclaiming "Ah yes, don't tell me: for my honour, for that
of the craft, don't!" when he went on in a manner that showed he had
read my thought and had his own idea of the probability of our some
day redeeming ourselves. "By my little point I mean--what shall I call
it?--the particular thing I've written my books most FOR. Isn't there for
every writer a particular thing of that sort, the thing that most makes
him apply himself, the thing without the effort to achieve which he
wouldn't write at all, the very passion of his passion, the part of the
business in which, for him, the flame of art burns most intensely? Well,
it's THAT!"
I considered a moment--that is I followed at a respectful distance,
rather gasping. I was fascinated--easily, you'll say; but I wasn't going
after all to be put off my guard. "Your description's certainly beautiful,
but it doesn't make what you describe very distinct."
"I promise you it would be distinct if it should dawn on you at all." I
saw that the charm of our topic overflowed for my companion into an
emotion as lively as my own. "At any rate," he went on, "I can speak
for myself: there's an idea in my work without which I wouldn't have
given a straw for the whole job. It's the finest fullest intention of the lot,
and the application of it has been, I think, a triumph of patience, of
ingenuity. I ought to leave that to somebody else to say; but that
nobody does say it is precisely what we're talking about. It stretches,
this little trick of mine, from book to book, and everything else,
comparatively, plays over the surface of it. The order, the form, the
texture of my books will perhaps some day constitute for the initiated a
complete representation of it. So it's naturally the thing for the critic to
look for. It strikes me," my visitor added, smiling, "even as the thing
for the critic to find."
This seemed a responsibility indeed. "You call it a little trick?"
"That's only my little modesty. It's really an exquisite scheme."
"And you hold that you've carried the scheme out?"
"The way I've carried it out is the thing in life I think a bit well of
myself for."

I had a pause. "Don't you think you ought--just a trifle--to assist the
critic?"
"Assist him? What else have I done with every stroke of my pen? I've
shouted my intention in his great blank face!" At this, laughing out
again, Vereker laid his hand on my shoulder to show the allusion wasn't
to my personal appearance.
"But you talk about the initiated. There must therefore, you see, BE
initiation."
"What else in heaven's name is criticism supposed to be?" I'm afraid I
coloured at this too; but I took refuge in repeating that his account of
his silver lining was poor in something or other that a plain man knows
things by. "That's only because you've never had a glimpse of it," he
returned. "If you had had one the element in question would soon have
become practically all you'd see. To me it's exactly as palpable as the
marble of this chimney. Besides, the critic just ISN'T a plain man: if he
were, pray, what would he be doing in his neighbour's garden? You're
anything but a plain man yourself, and the very raison d'etre of you all
is that you're little demons of subtlety. If my great affair's a secret,
that's only because it's a secret in spite of itself--the amazing event has
made it one. I not only never took the smallest precaution to keep it so,
but never dreamed of any such accident. If I had I shouldn't in advance
have had the heart to go on. As it was, I only became aware little by
little, and meanwhile I had done my work."
"And now you quite like it?" I risked.
"My work?"
"Your secret. It's the same thing."
"Your guessing that," Vereker replied, "is a proof that you're as clever
as I say!" I was encouraged by this to remark that he would clearly be
pained to part with it, and he confessed that it was indeed with him now
the great amusement of life. "I live almost to see if it will ever be
detected." He looked at me for a jesting challenge; something far within
his eyes seemed to peep out. "But I needn't worry--it won't!"
"You fire me as I've never been fired," I declared; "you make me
determined to do