DOI article:
Le Gallienne, Richard: A seventh-story heaven
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27806#0024
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A Seventh-story Heaven
gases, is like trying to smoke a cigar without first cutting off the
end—and O, to hear again their merry song as they writhed in
torment in the hissing pan, like Christian martyrs raising hymns
of praise from the very core of Smithfield fires.
Meanwhile, the poet would be surpassing himself in the setting-
out of the little table, cutting up the bread reverently as though
it were for an altar—as indeed it was—studying the effect of the
dish of tomatoes now at this corner, now at that, arranging the
flowers with even more care than he arranged the adjectives in his
sonnets, and making ever so sumptuous an effect with that half-a-
pound of grapes.
And then at last the little feast would begin, with a long grace
of eyes meeting and hands clasping ; true eyes that said “how
good it is to behold you, to be awake together in this dream of
life ” ; true hands that said “ I will hold you fast for ever—not
death even shall pluck you from my hand, shall loose this bond
of you and me” ; true eyes, true hands, that had immortal mean-
ings far beyond the speech of mortal words.
And it had all come out of that dull history of socialism, and
had cost little more than a crown ! What lovely things can be
made out of money ! Strange to think that a little silver coin of
no possible use or beauty in itself can be exchanged for so much
tangible beautiful pleasure. A piece of money is like a piece of
opium, for in it lie locked up the most wonderful dreams—if you
have only the brains and hearts to dream them.
When at last the little feast grew near its end, Love and Beauty
would smoke their cigarettes together ; and it was a favourite
trick of theirs to lower the lamp a moment, so that they might
see the stars rush down upon them through the skylight which
hung above their table. It gave them a sense of great sentinels,
far away out in the lonely universe, standing guard over them,
that
A Seventh-story Heaven
gases, is like trying to smoke a cigar without first cutting off the
end—and O, to hear again their merry song as they writhed in
torment in the hissing pan, like Christian martyrs raising hymns
of praise from the very core of Smithfield fires.
Meanwhile, the poet would be surpassing himself in the setting-
out of the little table, cutting up the bread reverently as though
it were for an altar—as indeed it was—studying the effect of the
dish of tomatoes now at this corner, now at that, arranging the
flowers with even more care than he arranged the adjectives in his
sonnets, and making ever so sumptuous an effect with that half-a-
pound of grapes.
And then at last the little feast would begin, with a long grace
of eyes meeting and hands clasping ; true eyes that said “how
good it is to behold you, to be awake together in this dream of
life ” ; true hands that said “ I will hold you fast for ever—not
death even shall pluck you from my hand, shall loose this bond
of you and me” ; true eyes, true hands, that had immortal mean-
ings far beyond the speech of mortal words.
And it had all come out of that dull history of socialism, and
had cost little more than a crown ! What lovely things can be
made out of money ! Strange to think that a little silver coin of
no possible use or beauty in itself can be exchanged for so much
tangible beautiful pleasure. A piece of money is like a piece of
opium, for in it lie locked up the most wonderful dreams—if you
have only the brains and hearts to dream them.
When at last the little feast grew near its end, Love and Beauty
would smoke their cigarettes together ; and it was a favourite
trick of theirs to lower the lamp a moment, so that they might
see the stars rush down upon them through the skylight which
hung above their table. It gave them a sense of great sentinels,
far away out in the lonely universe, standing guard over them,
that