Kind friends have probably told you that I have been married before. [They hadn’t, and this had surprised her.] It is true that when I was a young man I married and if you have ever been curious enough to look me up in Who’s Who the “mar. dis.” there will tell you what happened. She was a singer, like you — though in the cold light of recollection I can say that she was never as good a singer as you — and it didn’t work. Nobody’s fault entirely. Now I know that marriage between artists of any kind needs a little more understanding than matches where there is no relentless, fascinating rival perpetually working to seduce both parties. I wanted you to know this.
I want to go on, but I have said everything that is to the point, and I know that pleading and begging and entreaties, though they might work on your gentle heart, aren’t fair in a case like this. I would cut a ridiculous figure as a whimpering suitor. So I shall say only that I love you, and if you are ready, even in the most tentative fashion, to consider marrying me, will you let me have some word?
BENEDICT DOMDANIEL
One must be logical. If Giles had never been, or if she had never known him, what would she say to this? But what was the good of thinking like that? Giles couldn’t be wished away. And she would never be free of him. By his suicide he had put his mark on her forever. Moving the green Orpheus slowly back and forth on her finger, Monica gave herself to tender thoughts of Giles.
The Dean, having dealt with the Magi to his satisfaction, had moved on. —
A third figure, who perceived Our Lord in his own fashion, is particularly sympathetic, and presents in one of the most touching stories of the childhood of Christ another sort of apprehension, and that the rarest. He is the aged Simeon, who knew Our Lord intuitively (as we should say now) when He was brought to the Temple on the eighth day for His Circumcision. Not the forcible instruction of a band of angels, nor the hard-won knowledge of the scholars, but the readiness of one who was open to the promptings of the Holy Ghost was the grace which made Simeon peculiarly blessed. We see him still as one of those rare beings, not so much acting as acted upon, not so much living life as being lived by it, outwardly passive but inwardly illumined by active grace, through whom much that is noblest and of most worth has been vouchsafed to the world. . . Oh, trusting, patient Simeon, the first to know, of his own knowledge, the Holy Face of God!
It’s a muddle, thought Monica. A muddle and I can’t get it straight. I wish I knew what I should do. I wish I even knew what I want to do. I want to wipe out the terrible thing I did to Giles. I want to go on in the life that has somehow or other found me and claimed me. And I want so terribly to be happy. Oh God, don’t let me slip under the surface of all the heavy-hearted dullness that seems to claim so marry people, even when they struggle and strive to keep their heads above the waves! Help me! Help me!
“Psst! He’s winding up. You next.” It was Cobbler’s voice.
Monica sang, giving her full attention to what she was doing; sang well and happily, all her perplexities banished as she balanced the delicate vocal meditation above the great chorale in Three Kings from Persian Lands. And when she was finished, she found that her mind was cleared, and she knew what she should do.
Benediction, and a rustle as the congregation rose from its knees. “Wait for me in the vestry,” said Cobbler, “and we’ll get back to Bridgetower’s for the party. But meantime, I simply can’t resist this. Keep your eye peeled to see if any of the Bridgetower Trust get the Joe Miller of it.” And triumphally he burst into For unto us a child is born, Unto us a son is given on the great organ.
But Monica did not wait. Before the party she must go to the cable office to send Benedict his answer.
Robertson Davies, novelist, playwright, literary critic and essayist, was born in 1913 in Thamesville, Ontario. He was educated at Queen’s University and. Balliol College, Oxford. While at Oxford he became interested in the theatre and from 1938 until 1940 he was a teacher and actor at the Old Vic in London; he has subsequently written a number of plays. He returned to Canada in 1940 where he was literary editor of Saturday Review, an arts, politics and current affairs journal, until 1942 when he became editor and later publisher of the Peterborough Examiner. Several of his books including The Diary of Samuel Marchbanks and The Table Talk of Samuel Marchbanks had their origins in an editorial column. In 1962 he was appointed Professor of English at the University of Toronto, and in 1963 was appointed the first Master of the University’s Massey College. He retired in 1981 but remains Master Emeritus and Professor Emeritus. He holds honorary doctorates from many Canadian universities and has received numerous awards for his work, including the Governor-General’s Award for The Manticore in 1973. But it is as a writer of fiction that Robertson Davies has achieved international recognition with The Deptford Trilogy (Penguin), composed of Fifth Business, The Manticore and World of Wonders. His other books include One Half of Robertson Davies, The Enthusiasms of Robertson Davies, Robertson Davies — The Well-Tempered Critic, High Spirits and The Rebel Angels (Penguin).