June 9, 2025 • 28 mins
Step into the thrilling narrative of Hugh Walpoles Prelude to Adventure. The story unfolds around Olva Dune, a Cambridge undergraduate who commits a murder and in that moment, senses the divine presence. The novel masterfully encapsulates the essence of Francis Thompsons poem, The Hound of Heaven - a tale of a soul in dread, relentlessly pursued by Gods love. Its highly recommended to enrich your experience by familiarizing yourself with the poem prior to diving into the novel. The story intrigued Carl Jung so much that he praised it as a psychological masterpiece in a letter to Walpole. Hergesheimer likened the suspense and plot to that of a Poe masterpiece, yet grounded in the relatable human experience. The narrative is a riveting blend of suspense, love, fear, triumph, all set against the backdrop of the captivating Cornish sea.
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter eleven of the Prelude to Adventure by Hugh Walpole.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, Chapter eleven,
fifth of November one. That attempt to make Craven speak
his mind was OVA's last plunge into the open. He
saw now with a clarity that was like the sudden
(00:21):
lifting of some blind before a lighted window, that he
had been beguiled, betrayed. He had thought that his confession
to Bunning would stay the pursuit. He saw now that
it was the pursuer himself who had instigated it. With
that confession, the gray shadow had drawn nearer, had made
one degree more certain the ultimate capitulation, for Bunning was
(00:45):
surely the last person to be told. With every hour
that became clearer, there were now about four weeks before
the end of term. The Dublin match was to be
on the first Tuesday of December, two days before everyone
went down, And between the two dates, this fifth of
November and that second of December, the position must be held.
(01:07):
The terror of the irresistible impulse now never left Olvah.
He had told Bunning, in a moment of uncontrol, what
might he not now do at any time? At one
instant to be absolutely silent seemed the only resource at
the next to rush out and take part in all
the life about him. Were he silent, he was tortured
(01:29):
by the silence. If he flung himself amongst his fellow
men every hour, threatened self betrayal. What moreover, was happening
in the house in Rocket Road. Craven was only waiting
for certainty, and at any moment some chance might give
him what he needed. What did missus Craven know? Margaret, Margaret,
(01:51):
Margaret Olva took the thought of her in his hand
and held it like a sword against the forces that
were crowding in upon him him. The afternoon of November
five was thick with fog, so that the shops were
lighted early, and every room was dim and unreal, and
a sulfurous smell waited the air. After hall Ova came
(02:13):
back to his room and found Bunning, his white face
peering out of the foggy mist, like a dull moon
from clouds, waiting for him. All day there had hung
about Ova heavy depression. It had seemed so ugly and
sinister a world. The fog had been crowded with faces
and terror, and the dreadful, overpowering impression of unreality that
(02:37):
had been increasing with every day, now took from his
companions all life and made of them grinning masks. He
remembered Margaret's cry, it is like walking in a dream,
and echoed it. Surely it was a dream. He would
wake one happy morning and find that he had invited
Craven and Carfax to breakfast, and he would hear them
(03:00):
whilst he dressed, talking together in the outer room, and
later he would pass Bunning in the court without knowing him.
He would be introduced one day to Margaret Craven and
find the house in which she lived, a charming and
comfortable place, full of light and air, with a croquet
lawn at the back of it, and Missus Craven, a nice,
ordinary middle aged woman, stout possibly and fond of gossip.
(03:25):
And instead of being the president of the Wolves and
a person of importance in the college, he would be
once again his old self, knowing nobody, scornful of the
whole world, and of the next world as well. And
this brought him up with a terrible awakening. No, that
old reality could never be real again, for that old
(03:46):
reality meant a world without God, God had come and
had turned the world into a nightmare. Or was it
only his rebellion against God that had so made it?
But the nightmare was there, the off uncertainty of every word,
of every step, because with the slightest movement he might
provoke the shadow to new action, if anything so grave,
(04:10):
so stern, so silent as that pursuit could be termed action.
And it was odd, how certainly he knew it so
kind Bunning's face brought him to the sudden necessity of
treating the nightmare as reality. For the moment at any rate,
the staring spectacles piteously appealed to him. I can't stand it.
(04:32):
I can't stand it. Hushova held his hand, and out
of the fog below in the cord, a voice was calling, Craven, Craven,
buck up, you old ass. They're going to light bonfires
and things. Bunning quavered, and then, with a hand that
had always before seemed soft and flabby, but that now
was hard and burning, he caught Ulva's wrist. I had
(04:54):
to see you. I've been three days now, waiting all
the time for them to come and arrest. Oh. I've
imagined everything, everything, and the fog makes it worse. Oh
my god, I can't stand it. The man was on
the edge of hysteria. His senseless giggle threatened that in
another instant it would be beyond all control. There was
(05:15):
no time to be lost. Ovah took him by the shoulders,
held him firmly, and looked straight into the weak, quivering
eyes that were behind the glasses like fish in a tank.
Look here, Bunning, pull yourself together. You must you must
do you understand if you've never done it before, you
must do it now. Remember that you wanted to help me, Well,
(05:37):
now you can do it. But remember that if you
give way so that people notice you, then the show's up.
They'll be asking questions, they'll watch you, and you'll have
done for me. Otherwise, there's no risk whatever, no risk whatever.
Just remember that it's as though I'd never done anything.
(05:57):
Everything's going on in its usual life will always be
just the same if you'll keep hold of yourself. Do
you understand, Do you hear me? Bunning's quavering voice answered him, ahhh,
try well, look here, think of it quite calmly, naturally.
You're taking it like a story that you've read in
(06:18):
a magazine or a play you've seen at a theater,
melodrama with all the lights on and everyone screaming. Well,
it can be like that if you want it. Everyone
thinks of murder that way, and you can go shrieking
to the dean and have the rope round my neck
in a minute. But I want you to think of
it as the most ordinary thing in the world. Remember,
(06:39):
no one knows but yourself, and they won't know either
if you behave in a natural sort of way. Then
suddenly his voice sank to a growl, and he caught
the man's hands in his and held the whole quivering
body in his control. Quiet, he muttered. Quiet. Bunning had
begun to laugh, quite helplessly, almost noiselessly. Only his fat
(07:02):
cheeks were quivering, and his mouth foolishly, weakly smiling. His
eyes seemed to be disconnected from his body, and to
be protesting against it. They looked out like a prisoner
from behind barred windows. The body began to shake from
head to foot. Ripples of noiseless laughter shook his fat limbs.
(07:23):
Then suddenly he began peal upon peal. The tears came
rolling down. The mouth was loosely trembling, and still, only
the eyes in a kind of sad, stupid wonder, protested
Ova seized his throat. Stop at you, damn fool. He
looked straight into the eyes. Bunnings ceased as suddenly as
(07:45):
he had begun. The horrible, helpless noise fell with a
giggle into silence. He collapsed into a chair and hid
his face in his hands. There was a long pause.
Ova gazed at the bending figure, summoning all his will
power to hold the shaking thing in control. He waited,
Then softly he began again, Bunning, I did you a
(08:08):
great wrong when I told you you're not up to it.
From behind the hands there came a muffled voice. I
am up to it. This sort of thing makes it impossible.
It shall never happen again. Bunning lifted his tear stained face.
It's been coming for days. I've been so dreadfully frightened.
But now that I've been with you, it's better, much better.
(08:32):
If only and his voice caught, if only no one suspects,
Ova gravely answered, no one suspects. If I thought that anyone,
that there was any chance that anyone had an idea,
Graven's voice was echoing in Ovah's ears, He answered again,
(08:53):
No one has the slightest suspicion. Bunning got up heavily
from the chair. I shall be better now. It's been
so awful having a secret. I never could keep one.
I always used to do wrong things at home and
then tell them and then get punished. But I will try.
But if I thought that, they guessed. There was a
(09:15):
rap on the door, and Bunning gasped, stepped back against
the wall, his face white, his knees trembling. Don't be
such a fool, Ova said fiercely. If you're like that
every time anyone knocks, you may as well chuck it
at once. Look sensible, man, Pull yourself together. Lawrence entered,
(09:35):
bringing Log with him from the stairs. His big, thick
set body was so reassuring, so healthy in its sturdiness,
so strange a contrast to the trembling figure against the
wall that Ova felt an immense relief. You know, Bunning, Lawrence,
how do? Lawrence gripped Bunning's fingers, nodded to Bunning's stumbling words,
(09:57):
and smiled genially. Bunning got to door, blinked upon them
both from behind his glasses, and was gone, muttering something
about work of letters. To write rumfeller, said Lawrence, and
dismissed him with a chuckle. Shouldn't ever have thought him
your style doom. But you're a clever feller, And clever
(10:18):
fellers always see more in stupid fellers than ordinary fellows do.
Come out and see the rag, rag? What rag? It's
November fifth, So it was in the air already. Perhaps
there were those mysterious signs and portents that heralded riot.
Nothing as yet for the casual observer to notice, nothing
(10:40):
but a few undergraduates, arm in arm, pacing the sleepy streets,
a policeman here, a policeman there. Every now and again,
clocks strike the quarters, and in many common rooms heads
are nodding over ancient port and argument of the gentlest
kind is being tossed to and fro. But never the less,
(11:00):
we remember other fifths of November. There was that occasion
in ninety eight, that other more distant time in ninety three,
there was that furious battle in the market place when
the town hall was nearly set on fire, and a
policeman had his arm broken. These are historic occasions. On
the other hand, the fateful day was passed often enough
(11:24):
without the merest flinging of a squib or friendly appropriation
of the genial policeman's helman. No one can say, and
no one knows, whether there will be riot tonight or no.
Most of the young gentlemen now parading the KP and
Petty Curry would undoubtedly prefer that there should be a riot.
(11:45):
For one thing. There has been no riot during the
last five or six years. No one up just now
has had any experience of such a thing, and it
would be beyond question delightful to taste the excitement of it.
But on the other hand, there is all the difficulty
of getting under way. One cannot possibly enjoy the occasion
(12:06):
until one has reached that delightful point where one has
lost all sense of risk. When recklessly we pile the bonfire,
snap our fingers in the nose of poor mister Gregg,
who is terrific enough when he marches solemnly into chapel,
but is nothing at all when he is screaming with
shrill anger amongst the lights and fury of the blazing
(12:28):
common will this wonderful moment when discipline, respect for authority,
thoughts of home, terrors of being sent down, All these
bogies are flung derisively to the winds arrive tonight it
has struck nine, and to Ova and Lawrence walking solemnly
through the marketplace, it all seems quiet enough. But behold
(12:52):
how the gods work their will. It so happens that
Giles of Saint Martin's as occasion on this very day,
to celebrate his twenty first birthday. It has been done
as the twenty first birthday should be done. And by
nine o'clock the company twenty in number have decided that
it was the ruddiest of ready old worlds, that let's
(13:14):
have some more to drink, old man, it was fifth
and November, and that a ready old bonfire would be
a ruddy old joke. Now at half past nine, the
company of twenty march singing down the kp and gather
unto themselves others. A murmur is spreading through the byways.
Bonfire on the common, Bonfire on the common. The streets
(13:38):
began to be black with undergraduates. Two. Ova was conscious,
as he passed with Lawrence through the now crowded streets
that Bunnings hysteria had had an effect upon his nerves.
He could not define it more directly than by saying
that the shadow that had, during these many weeks appeared
to be pursuing him at a distance, now seemed to
(14:01):
be actually with him. It was as though three of them,
and not two, were walking there side by side. It
was as though he were himself whispering in his own
ear some advice of urgent pleading that he was himself rejecting.
He was even weighted with a sense of some enlarged growth,
of having, in fact to carry more physically as well
(14:24):
as spiritually, than he had ever carried before. Now it
quite definitely and audibly pleaded, Submit, Submit, Submit, See the
tangle that you are getting yourself into, See the trouble
that you are getting others into, See the tangle and
muddle that you are making of it all. Submit, give in.
(14:45):
You are beaten. But he was not beaten. Neither the
love of Margaret, nor the suspicion of Rupert, nor the
hysteria of Bunning had as yet defeated him. And even
as he resisted, it was as though he were fighting himself.
Sidney Street was now quite black, with thronging undergraduates moving
(15:06):
towards the common. There was very little noise in it all.
Every now and again some voice would call aloud to
some other voice, and would be answered back a murmur
like the swelling of some stream. Unlike in its uniformity
and curious evenness of note, any human conversation seemed to
(15:26):
cling to the old gray walls, all of it at present,
orderly enough but with sinister omen In its very quiet.
Olva felt an increasing excitement as he moved. It was
an excitement that had some basis in the stir that
was about him, in the murmur like bees of the crowd,
in the soft stirring of gray branches above the walls
(15:49):
of the street against the night sky, in the golden
lights that set in dim towers, shone high up above
their heads. In all these things there was a mysterious
trim that beat with the rhythm of a pulse from
the town's very heart. But there was more than that.
In his excitement. There was working in him a conviction
(16:10):
that he was now, even now, reaching the very climax
of his adventure. Very certainly, very surely, the moment was
drawing near. And even in the instant when he had
that very evening left his rooms he had stepped, he
instinctively knew out of one stage into another. Where are
(16:31):
we going, he asked Lawrence Common. There's going to be
an o fire. Hope there's a row. Don't mind who
I hit. The side streets that led to the Common
made progress more difficult, and with the increased difficulty came
also a more riotous spirit. Someone started that too, Obadiah's,
and it was lustily sung, with a good deal of repetition.
(16:54):
Several people had wooden rattles, intended to encourage college boats
during the races, but very useful. Just now, there were,
at the point where the street plunges into the Common,
some wooden turnstiles, and these, of course were immensely in
the way, and men were flung about, and there was
a good deal of coarse pleasantry, and one mild freshman,
(17:18):
who had been caught into the crowd by accident, was
thrown onto the ground and very nearly trodden to death.
The sight of the vast and mysterious Common put everyone
into the best of spirits. There was room here to
do anything, and it was also dark enough and wide
enough to escape if escape were advisable. Moreover, the space
(17:40):
of it seemed so limitless that it negatives anyone's responsibility
a sudden, delightful activity swept over the world, and it
was immediately everyone's business to get wood from anywhere at
all and drag it into the middle of the common.
As they moved through the turnstiles, Ova fancied that he
caught sight of grit on the common's edge, with bright
(18:02):
little lights in their windows were perched a number of
tiny houses with strips of garden in front of them.
These little eyes watched apprehensively, no doubt, the shadowy masts
that hovered under the night sky. They did not like
this kind of thing. These little houses. They remembered five
or six years ago, when their cabbages had been trampled upon,
(18:25):
their palings torn down, even had to hand contest in
the passages, and one roof on fire. Where were the police?
The little eyes watched anxiously. There was no sign of
the police. Ova a smile at himself for the excitement
that he was feeling. He was standing at present with
Lawrence on the edge of the common, watching, but he
(18:48):
was feeling irresistibly drawn towards the dark pile of wood
that was rising slowly towards the sky, as though one
were ten years old. And yet there was Lawrence murmuring,
I'd awfully like to hit somebody, and that, after all,
was what it all came to. Perhaps Ova, if there
were really to be some scraps, would be able to
(19:10):
work off some of his apprehension of his breathlessness. Oh
for one wild ten minutes, when scruples were flung to
the winds, when there was at last in front of
one an enemy whom one could touch, whom one could
fling physically brutally down before one the worst of it is.
(19:30):
Lawrence was saying that there are these town cads. They'll
be in the back somewhere shoutin' it m varsity or somethin',
and that runnin for their lives if they see a
Robert coming. It's rotten being mixed up with such muck. Anyhow,
I'm going to have a dash at it. And then
suddenly plunged forward into space. Ova was alone. A breeze
(19:53):
blew across the common. The stars twinkled and jumped, as
though they were suffering from a nervous attack. With every
moment restraint was flung a farther distance. More voices called
aloud and shouted, More men poured out of the little
side streets. It had the elements of a great mystery.
It was as though Mother Earth had, with a heave
(20:15):
of her breast, tossed the shadowy forms into the air,
and was herself stirring with the emotion of their movement.
There was an instant's breathless silence to the roar of
a shouting multitude. A bright, hard flame shot like steel
into the air. The bonfire was alight. Now with every
(20:36):
moment it mounted higher. Black pigmy figures were now dancing
round it and across the common. Other figures were always passing,
dragging wood with them. The row of palings towards the
river had gone, and soon those little cottages that lined
the grass must suffer. Surely. Now the whole of the
university was gathered there. The crowd was close. Now, dance
(21:00):
men shoved against one another, crying out excited cries, waving
their arms with strange, meaningless gestures. They were arriving rapidly
at that condition, when they had neither names nor addresses,
but merely impulses. Most dangerous element of all threatened that
ring of loafers on the outskirts loafers from the town.
(21:23):
Here in this mob of excited boys. Was opportunity for
them of getting something back on that authority that had
so often treated them with ignominy. Their duty to shout approval,
to insult at a distance, to run for their lives.
Were their dirty bodies in any danger, but always to
fan the flame. Good old varsity. Let em have it,
(21:45):
the dirty pull their stirts off, screams, laughter, shouting, wild dancing.
Let the dawns come now and see what they can
make of it. Bulldogs, shouted a voice in Ovah's ear,
and turning round he beheld a breathless, disheveled Bunning. I've
been pulling wood off the palings. Ah Hak, he's such
(22:07):
noises to cover his breath, such a rag And then
more apprehensively bulldogs than they are with Melcher. They stood
two big men in top hats, plainly to be seen,
behind a dawn in cap and gown, upon a little
hill to the right of the bonfire. The flames lit
their figures Metcher. The dawn was reading something from a paper,
(22:30):
and round the hill, derisively dancing were many undergraduates. Apparently
the proctor found the situation too difficult for him, and
presently he disappeared. Bunning watched him apprehension and a sense
of order, struggling with a desire for adventure. They've gone
to fetch the police. There'll be an awful row. There
(22:51):
probably would be, because that moment had at last been reached,
when authority was flung absolutely to the winds of heaven.
The world seemed in a moment to have gone mad.
Take Bunning, his cheeks flushed, his body, shaking, his eyes,
flaming for an example, Ova, dark motionless in his shadow,
(23:11):
watched it all and waited for his moment. He knew
that it was coming. Grimly, he addressed the shadow, now
close to his very heart. I know you. You are
urging me on this night is your business. But I
am fighting you still. I am fighting you still. The
moment came. Bunning, clutching on to Olva's sleeve, whispered the police.
(23:36):
Even at that crisis of intensest excitement, he could be
seen nervously pushing his spectacles up his nose. A surging
crowd of men, and Ova again fancied that he caught
sight of Craven swept towards the row of timid, twinkling
lights with their neat little gardens like trembling protests laid
out before them. More Wood more would to appease that
(23:59):
great flaming monster that shot tongues of fire. Now to
the very heavens, more Wood, more Wood, look out the police.
They came with their truncheons in a line down the common.
Olva was flung into the heart of a heaving mass
of legs and arms. He caught a glimpse of bunning behind,
and he thought that he saw Craven a little to
(24:22):
his right. He did not know, He did not care.
His blood was up. At last, he was shouting. He
knew not what he was hitting out with his fists.
Men's voices about him, Lego, you beast, Mike, got up,
finish you. There goes a bobby stamp on him. A
disgraceful scene. The policemen were hopelessly outnumbered. The crowd broke
(24:45):
on to the line of orderly little gardens. Water was
poured from windows, the palings were flung to the ground,
glass broken. Screams of women somewhere in the distance. But
even now Ova knew that his moment had not come.
Then someone shouted in his ear. Town cads there murdering
a bobby. He was caught with several other men of
(25:07):
their number, was bunning off the common up a side street.
A blazing lamp showed him an angry, shouting, jeering crowd
figures closed round something on the ground. Four men had
joined arms with him, and now the five of them,
shouting varsity, hitting right and left, rushed into the circle.
(25:28):
The circle broke and oversaw, lying his length on the ground,
half stunned, clothed only in a torn shirt of bright blue.
A stout, heavy figure, once obviously from the clothes, flung
to one side, A policeman, now with his large red
face in a muddy puddle, his fat naked legs bent
beneath him, his fingers clutching dirt. Nothing very human at all,
(25:53):
town cads of the worst. Some brute now was raising
his foot and kicking the bare flesh. Instantly the world
was on flame for Ova now again, as once in
Sannet Wood, he must hit, and hit with all his soul.
He broke like a madman into the heart of the crowd,
sending it flying. There were cries and screams. He was
(26:17):
conscious of three faces. There was Bunning, there, white staring.
There was Craven with his back to a house door.
Staring also, and directly before him was a purple face
with muddy hair fringing it and little beady eyes, the
face of the brute who had been kicking. He must hit.
(26:37):
He struck, and his fist broke the flesh. He was
exultant at last he had, after these weeks of intangibility,
found something solid. The face broke away from him, the
circle scattered back, and the fat naked body was lying
in the mud alone. There was a sudden silence. Ova,
(26:58):
conscious of a great power so urging through his body,
raised his hand again. A voice, shrill terror in it, screamed,
look out, man, he'll kill you. He turned and saw
under the lamp light Craven, his eyes blazing, his fingers pointed.
He was suddenly cold from head to foot. The voice came,
(27:19):
It had seemed from heaven. Craven's eyes were alive now
with certainty. Then there was another cry from somewhere of
the police, and the crowd had melted in the little street.
Now there were only the body of the policemen and
a handful of undergraduates. They raised the man, poured water
over him, found some of his clothes, and two men
(27:42):
led him, his head lolling down the street. There was
a noisy world somewhere in the distance, but here there
was silence. Ova crept slowly out of his exultation and
found himself in the cold, windy street with Bunning for
his only companion. Bunning, now a torn, dirty, bleeding Bunning
(28:03):
gripped his arm. Did you hear? Hear? What, Craven? When
you were fighting there, Craven was watching. I saw it all.
Craven suspects. Oliva met the frightened eyes. He does not suspect.
Didn't you hear? He called out to the cat you
were going for. Then, in a kind of whimper, dismal
(28:24):
enough in the dreary little street. He'll find out, Craven,
I know he will. Oh my god, what shall I do?
Someone had broken the glass of the street lamp, and
the gas flared above them noisily. End of Chapter eleven.
Chapter eleven of the Prelude to Adventure by Hugh Walpole.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, Chapter eleven,
fifth of November one. That attempt to make Craven speak
his mind was OVA's last plunge into the open. He
saw now with a clarity that was like the sudden
(00:21):
lifting of some blind before a lighted window, that he
had been beguiled, betrayed. He had thought that his confession
to Bunning would stay the pursuit. He saw now that
it was the pursuer himself who had instigated it. With
that confession, the gray shadow had drawn nearer, had made
one degree more certain the ultimate capitulation, for Bunning was
(00:45):
surely the last person to be told. With every hour
that became clearer, there were now about four weeks before
the end of term. The Dublin match was to be
on the first Tuesday of December, two days before everyone
went down, And between the two dates, this fifth of
November and that second of December, the position must be held.
(01:07):
The terror of the irresistible impulse now never left Olvah.
He had told Bunning, in a moment of uncontrol, what
might he not now do at any time? At one
instant to be absolutely silent seemed the only resource at
the next to rush out and take part in all
the life about him. Were he silent, he was tortured
(01:29):
by the silence. If he flung himself amongst his fellow
men every hour, threatened self betrayal. What moreover, was happening
in the house in Rocket Road. Craven was only waiting
for certainty, and at any moment some chance might give
him what he needed. What did missus Craven know? Margaret, Margaret,
(01:51):
Margaret Olva took the thought of her in his hand
and held it like a sword against the forces that
were crowding in upon him him. The afternoon of November
five was thick with fog, so that the shops were
lighted early, and every room was dim and unreal, and
a sulfurous smell waited the air. After hall Ova came
(02:13):
back to his room and found Bunning, his white face
peering out of the foggy mist, like a dull moon
from clouds, waiting for him. All day there had hung
about Ova heavy depression. It had seemed so ugly and
sinister a world. The fog had been crowded with faces
and terror, and the dreadful, overpowering impression of unreality that
(02:37):
had been increasing with every day, now took from his
companions all life and made of them grinning masks. He
remembered Margaret's cry, it is like walking in a dream,
and echoed it. Surely it was a dream. He would
wake one happy morning and find that he had invited
Craven and Carfax to breakfast, and he would hear them
(03:00):
whilst he dressed, talking together in the outer room, and
later he would pass Bunning in the court without knowing him.
He would be introduced one day to Margaret Craven and
find the house in which she lived, a charming and
comfortable place, full of light and air, with a croquet
lawn at the back of it, and Missus Craven, a nice,
ordinary middle aged woman, stout possibly and fond of gossip.
(03:25):
And instead of being the president of the Wolves and
a person of importance in the college, he would be
once again his old self, knowing nobody, scornful of the
whole world, and of the next world as well. And
this brought him up with a terrible awakening. No, that
old reality could never be real again, for that old
(03:46):
reality meant a world without God, God had come and
had turned the world into a nightmare. Or was it
only his rebellion against God that had so made it?
But the nightmare was there, the off uncertainty of every word,
of every step, because with the slightest movement he might
provoke the shadow to new action, if anything so grave,
(04:10):
so stern, so silent as that pursuit could be termed action.
And it was odd, how certainly he knew it so
kind Bunning's face brought him to the sudden necessity of
treating the nightmare as reality. For the moment at any rate,
the staring spectacles piteously appealed to him. I can't stand it.
(04:32):
I can't stand it. Hushova held his hand, and out
of the fog below in the cord, a voice was calling, Craven, Craven,
buck up, you old ass. They're going to light bonfires
and things. Bunning quavered, and then, with a hand that
had always before seemed soft and flabby, but that now
was hard and burning, he caught Ulva's wrist. I had
(04:54):
to see you. I've been three days now, waiting all
the time for them to come and arrest. Oh. I've
imagined everything, everything, and the fog makes it worse. Oh
my god, I can't stand it. The man was on
the edge of hysteria. His senseless giggle threatened that in
another instant it would be beyond all control. There was
(05:15):
no time to be lost. Ovah took him by the shoulders,
held him firmly, and looked straight into the weak, quivering
eyes that were behind the glasses like fish in a tank.
Look here, Bunning, pull yourself together. You must you must
do you understand if you've never done it before, you
must do it now. Remember that you wanted to help me, Well,
(05:37):
now you can do it. But remember that if you
give way so that people notice you, then the show's up.
They'll be asking questions, they'll watch you, and you'll have
done for me. Otherwise, there's no risk whatever, no risk whatever.
Just remember that it's as though I'd never done anything.
(05:57):
Everything's going on in its usual life will always be
just the same if you'll keep hold of yourself. Do
you understand, Do you hear me? Bunning's quavering voice answered him, ahhh,
try well, look here, think of it quite calmly, naturally.
You're taking it like a story that you've read in
(06:18):
a magazine or a play you've seen at a theater,
melodrama with all the lights on and everyone screaming. Well,
it can be like that if you want it. Everyone
thinks of murder that way, and you can go shrieking
to the dean and have the rope round my neck
in a minute. But I want you to think of
it as the most ordinary thing in the world. Remember,
(06:39):
no one knows but yourself, and they won't know either
if you behave in a natural sort of way. Then
suddenly his voice sank to a growl, and he caught
the man's hands in his and held the whole quivering
body in his control. Quiet, he muttered. Quiet. Bunning had
begun to laugh, quite helplessly, almost noiselessly. Only his fat
(07:02):
cheeks were quivering, and his mouth foolishly, weakly smiling. His
eyes seemed to be disconnected from his body, and to
be protesting against it. They looked out like a prisoner
from behind barred windows. The body began to shake from
head to foot. Ripples of noiseless laughter shook his fat limbs.
(07:23):
Then suddenly he began peal upon peal. The tears came
rolling down. The mouth was loosely trembling, and still, only
the eyes in a kind of sad, stupid wonder, protested
Ova seized his throat. Stop at you, damn fool. He
looked straight into the eyes. Bunnings ceased as suddenly as
(07:45):
he had begun. The horrible, helpless noise fell with a
giggle into silence. He collapsed into a chair and hid
his face in his hands. There was a long pause.
Ova gazed at the bending figure, summoning all his will
power to hold the shaking thing in control. He waited,
Then softly he began again, Bunning, I did you a
(08:08):
great wrong when I told you you're not up to it.
From behind the hands there came a muffled voice. I
am up to it. This sort of thing makes it impossible.
It shall never happen again. Bunning lifted his tear stained face.
It's been coming for days. I've been so dreadfully frightened.
But now that I've been with you, it's better, much better.
(08:32):
If only and his voice caught, if only no one suspects,
Ova gravely answered, no one suspects. If I thought that anyone,
that there was any chance that anyone had an idea,
Graven's voice was echoing in Ovah's ears, He answered again,
(08:53):
No one has the slightest suspicion. Bunning got up heavily
from the chair. I shall be better now. It's been
so awful having a secret. I never could keep one.
I always used to do wrong things at home and
then tell them and then get punished. But I will try.
But if I thought that, they guessed. There was a
(09:15):
rap on the door, and Bunning gasped, stepped back against
the wall, his face white, his knees trembling. Don't be
such a fool, Ova said fiercely. If you're like that
every time anyone knocks, you may as well chuck it
at once. Look sensible, man, Pull yourself together. Lawrence entered,
(09:35):
bringing Log with him from the stairs. His big, thick
set body was so reassuring, so healthy in its sturdiness,
so strange a contrast to the trembling figure against the
wall that Ova felt an immense relief. You know, Bunning, Lawrence,
how do? Lawrence gripped Bunning's fingers, nodded to Bunning's stumbling words,
(09:57):
and smiled genially. Bunning got to door, blinked upon them
both from behind his glasses, and was gone, muttering something
about work of letters. To write rumfeller, said Lawrence, and
dismissed him with a chuckle. Shouldn't ever have thought him
your style doom. But you're a clever feller, And clever
(10:18):
fellers always see more in stupid fellers than ordinary fellows do.
Come out and see the rag, rag? What rag? It's
November fifth, So it was in the air already. Perhaps
there were those mysterious signs and portents that heralded riot.
Nothing as yet for the casual observer to notice, nothing
(10:40):
but a few undergraduates, arm in arm, pacing the sleepy streets,
a policeman here, a policeman there. Every now and again,
clocks strike the quarters, and in many common rooms heads
are nodding over ancient port and argument of the gentlest
kind is being tossed to and fro. But never the less,
(11:00):
we remember other fifths of November. There was that occasion
in ninety eight, that other more distant time in ninety three,
there was that furious battle in the market place when
the town hall was nearly set on fire, and a
policeman had his arm broken. These are historic occasions. On
the other hand, the fateful day was passed often enough
(11:24):
without the merest flinging of a squib or friendly appropriation
of the genial policeman's helman. No one can say, and
no one knows, whether there will be riot tonight or no.
Most of the young gentlemen now parading the KP and
Petty Curry would undoubtedly prefer that there should be a riot.
(11:45):
For one thing. There has been no riot during the
last five or six years. No one up just now
has had any experience of such a thing, and it
would be beyond question delightful to taste the excitement of it.
But on the other hand, there is all the difficulty
of getting under way. One cannot possibly enjoy the occasion
(12:06):
until one has reached that delightful point where one has
lost all sense of risk. When recklessly we pile the bonfire,
snap our fingers in the nose of poor mister Gregg,
who is terrific enough when he marches solemnly into chapel,
but is nothing at all when he is screaming with
shrill anger amongst the lights and fury of the blazing
(12:28):
common will this wonderful moment when discipline, respect for authority,
thoughts of home, terrors of being sent down, All these
bogies are flung derisively to the winds arrive tonight it
has struck nine, and to Ova and Lawrence walking solemnly
through the marketplace, it all seems quiet enough. But behold
(12:52):
how the gods work their will. It so happens that
Giles of Saint Martin's as occasion on this very day,
to celebrate his twenty first birthday. It has been done
as the twenty first birthday should be done. And by
nine o'clock the company twenty in number have decided that
it was the ruddiest of ready old worlds, that let's
(13:14):
have some more to drink, old man, it was fifth
and November, and that a ready old bonfire would be
a ruddy old joke. Now at half past nine, the
company of twenty march singing down the kp and gather
unto themselves others. A murmur is spreading through the byways.
Bonfire on the common, Bonfire on the common. The streets
(13:38):
began to be black with undergraduates. Two. Ova was conscious,
as he passed with Lawrence through the now crowded streets
that Bunnings hysteria had had an effect upon his nerves.
He could not define it more directly than by saying
that the shadow that had, during these many weeks appeared
to be pursuing him at a distance, now seemed to
(14:01):
be actually with him. It was as though three of them,
and not two, were walking there side by side. It
was as though he were himself whispering in his own
ear some advice of urgent pleading that he was himself rejecting.
He was even weighted with a sense of some enlarged growth,
of having, in fact to carry more physically as well
(14:24):
as spiritually, than he had ever carried before. Now it
quite definitely and audibly pleaded, Submit, Submit, Submit, See the
tangle that you are getting yourself into, See the trouble
that you are getting others into, See the tangle and
muddle that you are making of it all. Submit, give in.
(14:45):
You are beaten. But he was not beaten. Neither the
love of Margaret, nor the suspicion of Rupert, nor the
hysteria of Bunning had as yet defeated him. And even
as he resisted, it was as though he were fighting himself.
Sidney Street was now quite black, with thronging undergraduates moving
(15:06):
towards the common. There was very little noise in it all.
Every now and again some voice would call aloud to
some other voice, and would be answered back a murmur
like the swelling of some stream. Unlike in its uniformity
and curious evenness of note, any human conversation seemed to
(15:26):
cling to the old gray walls, all of it at present,
orderly enough but with sinister omen In its very quiet.
Olva felt an increasing excitement as he moved. It was
an excitement that had some basis in the stir that
was about him, in the murmur like bees of the crowd,
in the soft stirring of gray branches above the walls
(15:49):
of the street against the night sky, in the golden
lights that set in dim towers, shone high up above
their heads. In all these things there was a mysterious
trim that beat with the rhythm of a pulse from
the town's very heart. But there was more than that.
In his excitement. There was working in him a conviction
(16:10):
that he was now, even now, reaching the very climax
of his adventure. Very certainly, very surely, the moment was
drawing near. And even in the instant when he had
that very evening left his rooms he had stepped, he
instinctively knew out of one stage into another. Where are
(16:31):
we going, he asked Lawrence Common. There's going to be
an o fire. Hope there's a row. Don't mind who
I hit. The side streets that led to the Common
made progress more difficult, and with the increased difficulty came
also a more riotous spirit. Someone started that too, Obadiah's,
and it was lustily sung, with a good deal of repetition.
(16:54):
Several people had wooden rattles, intended to encourage college boats
during the races, but very useful. Just now, there were,
at the point where the street plunges into the Common,
some wooden turnstiles, and these, of course were immensely in
the way, and men were flung about, and there was
a good deal of coarse pleasantry, and one mild freshman,
(17:18):
who had been caught into the crowd by accident, was
thrown onto the ground and very nearly trodden to death.
The sight of the vast and mysterious Common put everyone
into the best of spirits. There was room here to
do anything, and it was also dark enough and wide
enough to escape if escape were advisable. Moreover, the space
(17:40):
of it seemed so limitless that it negatives anyone's responsibility
a sudden, delightful activity swept over the world, and it
was immediately everyone's business to get wood from anywhere at
all and drag it into the middle of the common.
As they moved through the turnstiles, Ova fancied that he
caught sight of grit on the common's edge, with bright
(18:02):
little lights in their windows were perched a number of
tiny houses with strips of garden in front of them.
These little eyes watched apprehensively, no doubt, the shadowy masts
that hovered under the night sky. They did not like
this kind of thing. These little houses. They remembered five
or six years ago, when their cabbages had been trampled upon,
(18:25):
their palings torn down, even had to hand contest in
the passages, and one roof on fire. Where were the police?
The little eyes watched anxiously. There was no sign of
the police. Ova a smile at himself for the excitement
that he was feeling. He was standing at present with
Lawrence on the edge of the common, watching, but he
(18:48):
was feeling irresistibly drawn towards the dark pile of wood
that was rising slowly towards the sky, as though one
were ten years old. And yet there was Lawrence murmuring,
I'd awfully like to hit somebody, and that, after all,
was what it all came to. Perhaps Ova, if there
were really to be some scraps, would be able to
(19:10):
work off some of his apprehension of his breathlessness. Oh
for one wild ten minutes, when scruples were flung to
the winds, when there was at last in front of
one an enemy whom one could touch, whom one could
fling physically brutally down before one the worst of it is.
(19:30):
Lawrence was saying that there are these town cads. They'll
be in the back somewhere shoutin' it m varsity or somethin',
and that runnin for their lives if they see a
Robert coming. It's rotten being mixed up with such muck. Anyhow,
I'm going to have a dash at it. And then
suddenly plunged forward into space. Ova was alone. A breeze
(19:53):
blew across the common. The stars twinkled and jumped, as
though they were suffering from a nervous attack. With every
moment restraint was flung a farther distance. More voices called
aloud and shouted, More men poured out of the little
side streets. It had the elements of a great mystery.
It was as though Mother Earth had, with a heave
(20:15):
of her breast, tossed the shadowy forms into the air,
and was herself stirring with the emotion of their movement.
There was an instant's breathless silence to the roar of
a shouting multitude. A bright, hard flame shot like steel
into the air. The bonfire was alight. Now with every
(20:36):
moment it mounted higher. Black pigmy figures were now dancing
round it and across the common. Other figures were always passing,
dragging wood with them. The row of palings towards the
river had gone, and soon those little cottages that lined
the grass must suffer. Surely. Now the whole of the
university was gathered there. The crowd was close. Now, dance
(21:00):
men shoved against one another, crying out excited cries, waving
their arms with strange, meaningless gestures. They were arriving rapidly
at that condition, when they had neither names nor addresses,
but merely impulses. Most dangerous element of all threatened that
ring of loafers on the outskirts loafers from the town.
(21:23):
Here in this mob of excited boys. Was opportunity for
them of getting something back on that authority that had
so often treated them with ignominy. Their duty to shout approval,
to insult at a distance, to run for their lives.
Were their dirty bodies in any danger, but always to
fan the flame. Good old varsity. Let em have it,
(21:45):
the dirty pull their stirts off, screams, laughter, shouting, wild dancing.
Let the dawns come now and see what they can
make of it. Bulldogs, shouted a voice in Ovah's ear,
and turning round he beheld a breathless, disheveled Bunning. I've
been pulling wood off the palings. Ah Hak, he's such
(22:07):
noises to cover his breath, such a rag And then
more apprehensively bulldogs than they are with Melcher. They stood
two big men in top hats, plainly to be seen,
behind a dawn in cap and gown, upon a little
hill to the right of the bonfire. The flames lit
their figures Metcher. The dawn was reading something from a paper,
(22:30):
and round the hill, derisively dancing were many undergraduates. Apparently
the proctor found the situation too difficult for him, and
presently he disappeared. Bunning watched him apprehension and a sense
of order, struggling with a desire for adventure. They've gone
to fetch the police. There'll be an awful row. There
(22:51):
probably would be, because that moment had at last been reached,
when authority was flung absolutely to the winds of heaven.
The world seemed in a moment to have gone mad.
Take Bunning, his cheeks flushed, his body, shaking, his eyes,
flaming for an example, Ova, dark motionless in his shadow,
(23:11):
watched it all and waited for his moment. He knew
that it was coming. Grimly, he addressed the shadow, now
close to his very heart. I know you. You are
urging me on this night is your business. But I
am fighting you still. I am fighting you still. The
moment came. Bunning, clutching on to Olva's sleeve, whispered the police.
(23:36):
Even at that crisis of intensest excitement, he could be
seen nervously pushing his spectacles up his nose. A surging
crowd of men, and Ova again fancied that he caught
sight of Craven swept towards the row of timid, twinkling
lights with their neat little gardens like trembling protests laid
out before them. More Wood more would to appease that
(23:59):
great flaming monster that shot tongues of fire. Now to
the very heavens, more Wood, more Wood, look out the police.
They came with their truncheons in a line down the common.
Olva was flung into the heart of a heaving mass
of legs and arms. He caught a glimpse of bunning behind,
and he thought that he saw Craven a little to
(24:22):
his right. He did not know, He did not care.
His blood was up. At last, he was shouting. He
knew not what he was hitting out with his fists.
Men's voices about him, Lego, you beast, Mike, got up,
finish you. There goes a bobby stamp on him. A
disgraceful scene. The policemen were hopelessly outnumbered. The crowd broke
(24:45):
on to the line of orderly little gardens. Water was
poured from windows, the palings were flung to the ground,
glass broken. Screams of women somewhere in the distance. But
even now Ova knew that his moment had not come.
Then someone shouted in his ear. Town cads there murdering
a bobby. He was caught with several other men of
(25:07):
their number, was bunning off the common up a side street.
A blazing lamp showed him an angry, shouting, jeering crowd
figures closed round something on the ground. Four men had
joined arms with him, and now the five of them,
shouting varsity, hitting right and left, rushed into the circle.
(25:28):
The circle broke and oversaw, lying his length on the ground,
half stunned, clothed only in a torn shirt of bright blue.
A stout, heavy figure, once obviously from the clothes, flung
to one side, A policeman, now with his large red
face in a muddy puddle, his fat naked legs bent
beneath him, his fingers clutching dirt. Nothing very human at all,
(25:53):
town cads of the worst. Some brute now was raising
his foot and kicking the bare flesh. Instantly the world
was on flame for Ova now again, as once in
Sannet Wood, he must hit, and hit with all his soul.
He broke like a madman into the heart of the crowd,
sending it flying. There were cries and screams. He was
(26:17):
conscious of three faces. There was Bunning, there, white staring.
There was Craven with his back to a house door.
Staring also, and directly before him was a purple face
with muddy hair fringing it and little beady eyes, the
face of the brute who had been kicking. He must hit.
(26:37):
He struck, and his fist broke the flesh. He was
exultant at last he had, after these weeks of intangibility,
found something solid. The face broke away from him, the
circle scattered back, and the fat naked body was lying
in the mud alone. There was a sudden silence. Ova,
(26:58):
conscious of a great power so urging through his body,
raised his hand again. A voice, shrill terror in it, screamed,
look out, man, he'll kill you. He turned and saw
under the lamp light Craven, his eyes blazing, his fingers pointed.
He was suddenly cold from head to foot. The voice came,
(27:19):
It had seemed from heaven. Craven's eyes were alive now
with certainty. Then there was another cry from somewhere of
the police, and the crowd had melted in the little street.
Now there were only the body of the policemen and
a handful of undergraduates. They raised the man, poured water
over him, found some of his clothes, and two men
(27:42):
led him, his head lolling down the street. There was
a noisy world somewhere in the distance, but here there
was silence. Ova crept slowly out of his exultation and
found himself in the cold, windy street with Bunning for
his only companion. Bunning, now a torn, dirty, bleeding Bunning
(28:03):
gripped his arm. Did you hear? Hear? What, Craven? When
you were fighting there, Craven was watching. I saw it all.
Craven suspects. Oliva met the frightened eyes. He does not suspect.
Didn't you hear? He called out to the cat you
were going for. Then, in a kind of whimper, dismal
(28:24):
enough in the dreary little street. He'll find out, Craven,
I know he will. Oh my god, what shall I do?
Someone had broken the glass of the street lamp, and
the gas flared above them noisily. End of Chapter eleven.
Popular Podcasts
New Heights with Jason & Travis Kelce
Football’s funniest family duo — Jason Kelce of the Philadelphia Eagles and Travis Kelce of the Kansas City Chiefs — team up to provide next-level access to life in the league as it unfolds. The two brothers and Super Bowl champions drop weekly insights about the weekly slate of games and share their INSIDE perspectives on trending NFL news and sports headlines. They also endlessly rag on each other as brothers do, chat the latest in pop culture and welcome some very popular and well-known friends to chat with them. Check out new episodes every Wednesday. Follow New Heights on the Wondery App, YouTube or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to new episodes early and ad-free, and get exclusive content on Wondery+. Join Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. And join our new membership for a unique fan experience by going to the New Heights YouTube channel now!
Dateline NBC
Current and classic episodes, featuring compelling true-crime mysteries, powerful documentaries and in-depth investigations. Follow now to get the latest episodes of Dateline NBC completely free, or subscribe to Dateline Premium for ad-free listening and exclusive bonus content: DatelinePremium.com
24/7 News: The Latest
The latest news in 4 minutes updated every hour, every day.