Yet Again | Page 6

of the
cottage. Presently, as the air grew chilly, he built a new nest for himself,
under the mantelpiece in my friend's study. And every morning, so
soon as the fire burned brightly, he would flutter down to perch on the
fender and bask in the light and warmth of the coals. But after a few
weeks he began to ail; possibly because the study was a small one, and
he could not get in it the exercise that he needed; more probably

because of the draughts. My friend's wife, who was very clever with
her needle, made for the swallow a little jacket of red flannel, and
sought to divert his mind by teaching him to perform a few simple
tricks. For a while he seemed to regain his spirits. But presently he
moped more than ever, crouching nearer than ever to the fire, and,
sidelong, blinking dim weak reproaches at his disappointed master and
mistress. One swallow, as the adage truly says, does not make a
summer. So this one's mistress hurriedly made for him a little overcoat
of sealskin, wearing which, in a muffled cage, he was personally
conducted by his master straight through to Sicily. There he was nursed
back to health, and liberated on a sunny plain. He never returned to his
English home; but the nest he built under the mantelpiece is still
preserved in case he should come at last.
When the sun's rays slant down upon your grate, then the fire blanches
and blenches, cowers, crumbles, and collapses. It cannot compete with
its archetype. It cannot suffice a sun-steeped swallow, or ripen a plum,
or parch the carpet. Yet, in its modest way, it is to your room what the
sun is to the world; and where, during the greater part of the year,
would you be without it? I do not wonder that the poor, when they have
to choose between fuel and food, choose fuel. Food nourishes the body;
but fuel, warming the body, warms the soul too. I do not wonder that
the hearth has been regarded from time immemorial as the centre, and
used as the symbol, of the home. I like the social tradition that we must
not poke a fire in a friend's drawing-room unless our friendship dates
back full seven years. It rests evidently, this tradition, on the sentiment
that a fire is a thing sacred to the members of the household in which it
burns. I dare say the fender has a meaning, as well as a use, and is as
the rail round an altar. In `The New Utopia' these hearths will all have
been rased, of course, as demoralising relics of an age when people
went in for privacy and were not always thinking exclusively about the
State. Such heat as may be needed to prevent us from catching colds
(whereby our vitality would be lowered, and our usefulness to the State
impaired) will be supplied through hot-water pipes (white-enamelled),
the supply being strictly regulated from the municipal water-works. Or
has Mr. Wells arranged that the sun shall always be shining on us? I
have mislaid my copy of the book. Anyhow, fires and hearths will have
to go. Let us make the most of them while we may.

Personally, though I appreciate the radiance of a family fire, I give
preference to a fire that burns for myself alone. And dearest of all to me
is a fire that burns thus in the house of another. I find an inalienable
magic in my bedroom fire when I am staying with friends; and it is at
bedtime that the spell is strongest. `Good night,' says my host, shaking
my hand warmly on the threshold; you've everything you want?'
`Everything,' I assure him; `good night.' `Good night.' `Good night,' and
I close my door, close my eyes, heave a long sigh, open my eyes, set
down the candle, draw the armchair close to the fire (my fire), sink
down, and am at peace, with nothing to mar my happiness except the
feeling that it is too good to be true.
At such moments I never see in my fire any likeness to a wild beast. It
roars me as gently as a sucking dove, and is as kind and cordial as my
host and hostess and the other people in the house. And yet I do not
have to say anything to it, I do not have to make myself agreeable to it.
It lavishes its warmth on me, asking nothing in return. For fifteen
mortal hours or so, with few and brief intervals, I have been making
myself agreeable, saying the right thing, asking the apt question,
exhibiting the proper shade of mild or acute surprise, smiling the
appropriate smile or laughing just so