DOI article:
Dowie, Ménie Muriel: Wladlislaw's Advent
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.21805#0114
I IO
Wladislaw’s Advent
must have worn ; he could imagine the old story more nearly
than ever he had done before.
He could see Him, His rohes of red or purple laid aside, clothed
only in the white under-garment; the beautiful purity, the
unimpeachable holiness of Him only the greater to see 5 young,
perfect, without sin or soil ; the veritable “Jesus led up of the
Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the Devil.”
And he himself, Wladislaw, was the true image of that grand
ßgure as He has come down through all the histories to the eyes
of an indifferent world.
When he lifted his hand to his head, bewildered and held by it,
the old blue trousers feil to the ground, and he stood there naked
in the cold, taking his mind back along the familiär lines of the
wonderful story, entering into the feelings of that Jew-Man who
was persecuted ; who, whether man or God, lived the noblest life,
left the finest example—who walks to-day, as He did then, beside
the few who may be called His disciples.
A blast that caught the little lamp full in its foul, yellow
flame-tongue, left Wladislaw in the dark. He feit about for
matches ; perhaps no act could have so certainly restored him to
this world, from which his thoughts had wandered. He found
none anywhere. His straying hand came upon the garment ; he
caught it up and slipped it over his head, half horrified to feel that
it came below his collar-bone in the neck, and left his arms with
only half-a-dozen inches of sleeve.
Matches were lurking in his trousers pocket, and he had the
sulphury splutter going in a moment and the lamp re-lit.
Turning to place it in a quieter corner, he faced a dusty square
of looking-glass, unframed, such as painters usually have, its edges
sunk into the dusty wall 5 he had quite a surprise to see himself.
More than half fascinated, he made a swift arrangement of his
hair,
Wladislaw’s Advent
must have worn ; he could imagine the old story more nearly
than ever he had done before.
He could see Him, His rohes of red or purple laid aside, clothed
only in the white under-garment; the beautiful purity, the
unimpeachable holiness of Him only the greater to see 5 young,
perfect, without sin or soil ; the veritable “Jesus led up of the
Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the Devil.”
And he himself, Wladislaw, was the true image of that grand
ßgure as He has come down through all the histories to the eyes
of an indifferent world.
When he lifted his hand to his head, bewildered and held by it,
the old blue trousers feil to the ground, and he stood there naked
in the cold, taking his mind back along the familiär lines of the
wonderful story, entering into the feelings of that Jew-Man who
was persecuted ; who, whether man or God, lived the noblest life,
left the finest example—who walks to-day, as He did then, beside
the few who may be called His disciples.
A blast that caught the little lamp full in its foul, yellow
flame-tongue, left Wladislaw in the dark. He feit about for
matches ; perhaps no act could have so certainly restored him to
this world, from which his thoughts had wandered. He found
none anywhere. His straying hand came upon the garment ; he
caught it up and slipped it over his head, half horrified to feel that
it came below his collar-bone in the neck, and left his arms with
only half-a-dozen inches of sleeve.
Matches were lurking in his trousers pocket, and he had the
sulphury splutter going in a moment and the lamp re-lit.
Turning to place it in a quieter corner, he faced a dusty square
of looking-glass, unframed, such as painters usually have, its edges
sunk into the dusty wall 5 he had quite a surprise to see himself.
More than half fascinated, he made a swift arrangement of his
hair,