Margaret Bruce Clarke - "Hunter's Marjory"

J. B. Salmond - "My Man Sandy"

Lorin Low Dame - "Handbook of the Trees of New England"

Horace Annesley Vachell - "The Hill"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

Man and Maid

E >> Elinor Glyn >> Man and Maid




"Thou hast upset everything, Nicholas. Duquesnois is desolated--Coralie
changed directly she saw you here--he says--and then to divert herself
and forget you, took Lord Brockelbank from Odette!"

"_Vieux coquin! Va!_" and Maurice patted me on the back--.

They were enchanted with my presents to them lately, he added, and were
all longing to return to Paris soon and thank me.

The war was simply growing into a nuisance and the quicker it was over
the better for everyone.(!)

Then he beat about the bush for a little longer and at last began to
grow nearer the vital subject!--

He had seen some of my Mont Aubin relations--fortunately for me, they
have been far from Paris in this last year--and they had anxiously asked
him if I thought of, marrying?--What in fact _was_ I doing with myself
now that my wounds were healing?

I laughed--.

"I am so glad my mother was an only child and they are none of them near
enough to have the right to bore me--they had better continue their good
works at Biarritz--I am told my cousin Marguerite's convalescent home is
a marvel! I have sent her frequent donations."

Then Maurice plunged in--.

"You are not--becoming entangled in any way with your secretary, are you
_Mon ami_?" he asked.

I had decided beforehand that I would not get angry at anything he
said--so I was ready for this.

"No, Maurice--" and I poured out a second glass of port for him--Burton
had left us alone by now--. "Miss Sharp does not know that I exist--she
is simply here to do her work, and is the best secretary any man could
want--I knew Coralie would infect you with some silly idea."

Maurice sipped his port.--"Coralie said that in spite of the girl's
glasses there was some air of distinction about her--as she walked
on--and that she _knew_ and _felt_ you were interested."

I remained undisturbed.

"I am, immensely interested--I want to know who she really is. She is a
lady--even a lady of our world.--I mean she knows about things in
England--where she has never been--that she could not possibly know
unless her family had spoken of them always. She has that unconscious
air of familiarity and ease with subjects which would surprise you.
Can't you find anything out for me, old boy, as to who she is?"

"I will certainly try--Sharp?--it is not a name of the great
world--no--?"

"Of course that is not her real name--"

"Why not ask her yourself, _Mon brave_!"

"I'd like to find a man with pluck enough to ask her anything she did
not wish him to!"

"That little girl!--but she appeared meek and plain, and respectable,
Nicholas--You intrigue me!"

"Well, put your wits to work Maurice, and promise me you will not talk
to the others about anything. I shall be very angry if you do."

He gave me every assurance he would be silent as the grave--and then he
changed the topic to that of Suzette--He was sorry I had given her her
conge, because I would find it hard to replace her--Those so honest and
really not too rapacious, were very difficult to find--Since he had
heard that Suzette was no longer my little friend, he had been looking
out for me, but as yet had seen nothing suitable!!

"You need not trouble, Maurice," I told him, "I am absolutely finished
with that part of my life--I loathe the whole idea of it now--."

Maurice inspected me with grave concern--.

"My dear chap--this appears serious--You are not _in love_ with your
secretary are you?--or is it possible that you are bluffing, and that
she has replaced Suzette, and you wish tranquility about the subject?"

I felt a hot flush mounting to my forehead--The very thought of my
adored little girl in the category of Suzette!--I could have struck my
old friend--but I had just sense enough to reason things. Maurice was
only speaking as any of the Paris world would speak. A secretary, whom a
man was obviously interested in, was certainly not out of the running
for the post of "_Maitresse-en-titre!_"

He meant no personal disrespect to Alathea. For him women were either of
the world or they were not!--True, there was an intermediate class "_Les
braves gens_"--_Bourgeoises_--servants, typists, etc., etc.--But one
could only be interested in one of these for one reason. That is how
things appeared to Maurice. I knew his views; perhaps I had shared them
in some measure in my unregenerate days.

"Look here Maurice--I want you to understand--that Miss Sharp is a lady
in every way--I have already told you this but you don't seem to have
grasped it--and that she has my greatest respect--and it makes me sick
to think of anyone talking of her as you have just done. Although I know
you did not mean anything low, you old owl!--She treats me as though I
were a tiresome, elderly employer--whom she must give obedience to, but
is not obliged to converse with. She would not permit the slightest
friendship or familiarity from any man she worked for."

"Your interest is then serious, Nicholas?"

Maurice was absolutely aghast!

"My _respect_ is serious--my curiosity is hot--and I want
information."----

Maurice tried to feel relieved--.

"Supposing financial disaster fell upon your family, old boy--would you
consider your sister less of a lady because she had to earn bread for
you all by being a typist!"

"Of course not--but it would be very dreadful!--Marie!--Oh! I could not
think of it!"

"Then try to get the idea into your thick head that Miss Sharp is
Marie--and behave accordingly--That is how I look at her."

Maurice promised that he would, and our talk turned to the Duchesse--he
had seen her at a cross country station as he came up, and she would be
back in Paris the following week--This thought gave me comfort. Everyone
would be back by the fifteenth of October he assured me, and then we
could all amuse ourselves again--.

"You will be quite well enough to dine out, Nicholas--Or if not you must
move to the Ritz with me, so that you at least have entertainment on the
spot, _Mon cher_!"

We spoke then of the book--Furniture was a really refined and
interesting subject for me to be delving into. Maurice longed to read
the proofs, he averred.

When he had left me, I lay back in my chair and asked myself what had
happened to me?--that Maurice and all that lot seemed such miles and
miles away from me--as miles and miles as they would have seemed in
their triviality, when we used to discuss important questions in "Pop"
at Eton.

How I must have sunk in the years which followed those dear old days,
ever even to have found divertisement among the people like Maurice and
the fluffies. Surely even a one-eyed and one-legged man ought to be able
to do something for his country politically, it suddenly seemed to
me--and what a glorious picture to gaze at!--If I could some day go into
Parliament, and have Alathea beside me, to give me inspiration and help
me to the best in myself. How her poise would tell in English political
society! How her brain and her power of exercising her critical
faculties! Apart from the fact that I love every inch of her wisp of a
body--What an asset that mind would be to any man!--And I dreamed and
dreamed in the firelight--things all filled with sentiment and
exaltation, which of course no fellow could ever say aloud, or let
anyone know of--A journal is certainly an immense comfort, and I do not
believe I could have gone through this hideous year of my life without
it.

How I would love to have Alathea for my wife--and have children--It
can't be possible that I have written that! I loathe children in the
abstract--they bore me to death--Even Solonge de Clerte's two
entertaining angels--but to have a son--with Alathea's eyes----God! how
the thought makes me feel!--How I would like to sit and talk with her of
how we should bring him up--I reached out my hand and picked up a volume
of Charles Lamb and read "Dream Children"--and as I finished I felt that
idiotic choky sensation which I have only begun to know since something
in me has been awakened by Alathea--or since my nerves have been on the
rack--I don't remember ever feeling much touched, or weak, or silly,
before the war--.

And now what have I to face--?

A will, stronger, or as strong as my own--A prejudice of the deepest
which I cannot explain away--A knowledge that I have no power to retain
the thing I love--No guerdon to hold out to her mentally or
physically--Nothing but the material thing of money--which because of
her great unselfishness and desire to benefit her loved ones, she might
be forced to consider. My only possibility of obtaining her at all is to
buy her with money. And when once bought,--when I had her here in my
house,--would I have the strength to resist the temptation to take
advantage of the situation?--Could I go on day after day never touching
her,--never having any joys?--until the greatness of my love somehow
melted her dislike and contempt of me--?

I wish to God I knew.

She will never marry me unless I give my word of honour that the thing
will only be an empty ceremony--of that I feel sure even if
circumstances aid me to force her into doing this much. And then one has
to keep one's word of honour. And might not that be a greater hell than
I am now in of suffering?

Perhaps I had better go to the sea--like Suzette--and try to break the
whole chain and forget her--.

I rang the bell for Burton then, and told him of my new plan, as he put
me to bed. We would go off to St. Malo,--for a week, and I gave orders
that he should make the necessary arrangements to get permits. To travel
anywhere now is no end of a difficulty.

I wrote to Alathea without weakening--I asked her to collect the Mss.
and make notes of what she thought still should be altered--during my
absence--I wrote as stiffly, and in as business like a manner as
possible--and finally I went to sleep, and slept better than I have done
for some time.

* * * * *

_St. Malo:_

How quaint these places are! I am at this deserted corner by the
sea--where the hotel is comfortable, and hardly touched by the war--I am
not happy--the air is doing me good, that is all--I have brought
books--I am not trying to write--I just read and endeavor to sleep--and
the hours pass. I tell myself continually that I am no more interested
in Alathea--that I am going to get well, and go back to England--that I
have emerged, and am a man with a free will once more--and I am a great
deal better--.

After all, how absurd to be thinking of a woman, from morning to night!

When I get my new leg, and everything is all healed, up in a year or
two, shall I be able to ride again?--Of course I shall, no doubt, and
even play a little tennis?--I can shoot anyway--if we will be allowed to
preserve partridges and pheasants when the war is over in England.

Yes, of course life is a gorgeous thing--I like the fierce wind to blow
in my face--and yesterday, much to Burton's displeasure, I went out
sailing--.

How could I be such a fool, he inferred--as to chance a wrench putting
me back some months again--But one has to chance things occasionally. I
never enjoyed a sail more because of this very knowledge.

* * * * *

A week has passed since we came to this end of the earth--and again I
have grown restless--perhaps it is because Burton came in just now with
a letter in his hand--. I recognized immediately Alathea's writing.

"I made so bold as to leave the young lady our address before we left,
Sir Nicholas, in case she wanted to communicate with us, and she writes
now to say, would I be good enough to ask you if you took with you
Chapter Seven, because she cannot find it anywhere."

Then he went on with evident constraint to tell me that the rest of the
letter said that while she was working on Friday a "Mademoiselle la
Blonde" called, and insisted upon passing Pierre who answered the
door--and coming in to her--("It was Mam'zelle of course, Sir Nicholas!"
Burton snapped!) And that she had demanded my address--but Miss Sharp
had not felt she was justified in giving it to her--but had said letters
would be forwarded--.

"I hope to goodness that the baggage made no scene with the young lady,
Sir Nicholas," Burton growled--"Of course she don't say in the
letter--but it's more than likely--I would not have her insulted for the
world."

"Nor I either," I retorted angrily--"Suzette ought to know better now
that I have given her everything she wanted--Will you let her understand
please that this must not occur again--."

"I'll see that the lawyer does it, Sir--that is the only way to deal
with them persons--though Mam'zelle was the best of her sort. Seems to
me Sir Nicholas, they are more bother than they are worth. I said it
always, even when I was younger--They leave their trail of trouble where
ever they go."

How I agreed with him!

So here was a fresh barrier arisen between Alathea and myself!--a fresh
barrier which I cannot explain away. The only comfort I get out of the
whole thing is that imperative necessity must have been driving my
little darling--or she would not put up with any of these things for a
moment, and would have given her _demission_ at the same time as she
wrote.

If money is so necessary to her--perhaps after all I could get her
consent to marry me--The very thought made my pulses bound again--and
all my calm flew to the winds! All the sage reasoning which was
beginning to have an effect upon me evaporated!--I knew that once more I
was as utterly under the spell of her attraction, as the moment when my
passionate lips touched her soft reluctant ones--Ah! that thought! that
memory--One I have never let myself indulge in--but now, all resistance
broken on every side,--I spent the rest of the day dreaming about the
joy of that kiss--until by night time I was as mad as a hatter, and more
full of cruel unrest than ever--.

I hate this place--I hate the sea--It is all of no use--I shall go back
to Paris.




XVI


The first thing I learned when I reached the _appartement_ was that the
Duchesse had returned, and wished to see me. This was good news--and
without even telephoning to Maurice, I got into my one horse Victoria
and repaired to the Hotel de Courville--.

The Duchesse was sitting in her boudoir upstairs when I got in.--She had
a quaint expression upon her face. I was not certain that her greeting
was as cordial as usual--Has gossip reached her ears also?

I sat down near her and she took my crutch from me tenderly, her
instinct for "_blesses_" never failing her.

I thought I would begin at once before she could say anything which
might make questioning her impossible.

"I have been longing to see you, Duchesse, to ask you if you could help
me to find out who my secretary, Miss Sharp, is?--because I saw her here
in the passage one day, and I thought you might possibly be able to
identify her--."

"_Tiens?_"

"Her christian name is 'Alathea'--I heard her little sister call her
that once when I saw them and they did not see me, in the _Bois_--She is
a lady--and I feel Sharp is not her name at all."

The Duchesse put on her eyeglasses--.

"She has not shown a sign that she wishes you to know her history?"

"No--"

"Then, my son, do you think it is very good taste to endeavor to
discover it?"

"Perhaps not--" I was nettled--I hated that the Duchesse should be
displeased with me, then I went on--"I fear that she is very poor and I
know that her little brother died just lately, and I would give anything
in the world to help them in some way."

"Sometimes one helps more by showing discretion."

"You won't assist me then, Duchesse? I _feel_ that you know Miss Sharp."

She frowned--.

"Nicholas--if I did not love you really, I should be angry.--Am I the
character to betray friends--presuming that I have friends--for a young
man's curiosity?"

"Indeed it is not curiosity--it is because I want to help--."

"Camouflage!"

I felt angry now.

"You assume that your secretary is a _demoiselle du monde_"--she went
on--"if you have reached that far--you should know that there is some
honor, some _tenue_ left in old families,--and so you should treat her
with consideration, and respect her incognito.--All this is not like
you, my son!"

The Duchesse had dropped the "thee and thou"--it hurt me.

"I want to treat her with every respect--" I reiterated.

"Then believe me it is unnecessary for you to know her name--I am not
altogether pleased with you, Nicholas."

"Dear Duchesse! that grieves me--I wish I could explain--I have only
wanted to be kind--and I don't even know her address and could not send
flowers when her brother died."

"They did not want flowers, perhaps--Take my advice--of the best I can
give--Pay your secretary her wages--as high ones as she will accept--and
then treat her as if she were fifty years old--and wore glasses!"

"She does wear glasses--abominable yellow horn rimmed spectacles!" I
announced excitedly.--"Have you never seen them?"

The Duchesse's eyes flashed--.

"I have not said I ever met Miss Sharp, Nicholas--"

I knew the affair was now hopeless--and that I would only risk the real
displeasure of my dear old friend if I continued in this way. So I
subsided.--I had some instinct too that I would not receive sympathy
even if I owned that my intentions were strictly honourable.

"I will say no more--except that should you know these people _chere
Duchesse_--and you ever discover that I could help them in any way--that
you will call upon me to any extent."

[Illustration: The fiery vixen Suzette (Renee Adoree) is enraged to
learn of Sir Nicholas' (Lew Cody) attentions to other women, and leaves
in a flurry. (A scene from Elinor Glyn's production "Man and Maid" for
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer)]

She looked at me very searchingly and said laconically.

"_Bien._"

Then we talked of other things, and I tried to reingratiate myself--The
war was going better--Foch would wish to push his advantage. Things must
have some end--in the near future.--When was I going to England?--All
these subjects we discussed.

"When I am out of the hands of these doctors and have my new leg and
eye--I will return, and then, I want to go into Parliament."

The Duchesse warmed up at once.--That was just the thing for me to
do--that and to marry some nice girl of my own world, of which there
must be an embarrassment of choice--with all the men killed in my
country!

"I would want such an exceptional woman, Duchesse!"

"Do not look for the moon, my son--Be thankful if she has been
sufficiently well brought up to have a decent conduct--the manners of
the young girls now revolt me.--I try to go with the times----but these
new fashions are disgusting."

"Do you think a woman ought to be perfectly innocent and ignorant of
life to make the marriage happy--" I asked.

"The insides of the minds of young girls one is never sure of, but the
_tenue_ should be correct at all costs, so that they may have something
to uphold them as well as religion--which is no longer so surrounding
as it used to be."

"Duchesse, I want someone who would love me passionately, and whom I
could passionately love."

"For that, my poor boy--" and she sighed--"it is not found among young
girls--these things come after one knows, and can discriminate--put them
aside from your thoughts--they are temptations which one resists if one
can, and at all events makes no scandals about.--Love! _Mon Dieu_, it is
the song of the poets, it cannot happen in the world--with
satisfaction--It must be a pain always--Do your duty to your race, and
your class--and try not to mix up sentiment with it!"

"There is no hope of my finding someone I could really love, then?"

"I do not know--in your own country it may be--here it is the wife of
someone else who holds the charm--and if it were not for _tenue_ society
could not exist.

"All that one must ask of the young is that they act with discretion, so
that they can reach the autumn of life without scandals against their
names--If the _Bon Dieu_ adds love--then they have been indeed
fortunate."

"But Duchesse--with your great heart--have you never loved--?"

Her eyes seemed to grow beautiful and young again--they diffused a
fire--.

"Loved--Nicholas--! All women love once in their lives--happy for them
if it has not burnt their souls in its passage--Happy if the _Bon Dieu_
has let it merge into love for humanity--" And soft tears dimmed the
dark blue brilliancy.

I leaned forward and kissed her hand with deep devotion--then the
ancient servitor came in and she was called to a ward--but I left
feeling that if there is really some barrier of family between Alathea
and me--there would be no use in my appealing to the Duchesse--Sorrows
she understands--and war and suffering--and self-sacrifice--Love she
understands and passion--and all that appertains thereto--but all these
things go to the wall before the conception of the meaning of _noblesse
oblige_ which ruled when Adelaide de Mont Orgeuil--wedded the Duc de
Courville-Hautevine, in the eighties! The only thing left now was to
telephone to Maurice--.

He came in for a few minutes just before dinner--.

He has questioned Alwood Chester of the American Red Cross, who had told
him that Miss Sharp had been Miss Sharp always while she worked for
them, and that no one knew anything further about her.

Well!--if her father is a convict, and her mother--in a mad house, and
her sister consumptive--I still want her for herself--.

Is that true--Could I face disease and insanity coming into my family--?

I don't know--All I know is that I do not believe whatever curse hangs
over the rest it has touched her--She is the picture of health and
balance and truth--Her every action is noble--and I love her--I love
her--there!

Next day she came in at ten as usual--She brought all the chapters
annotated--. As her attitude towards me had been as cold as it was
possible for an attitude to be, I cannot say that there was any added
shade of contempt since her interview with Suzette--What had passed
between them perhaps Burton will be able gradually to discover--.

I controlled myself, and behaved with a businesslike reserve--She had
nothing to snub me for, or to disturb her--She took the papers at twelve
o'clock--and I sighed as she left the room--I had watched her furtively
for nearly two hours--Her face was a mask--And she might indeed really
have been concentrating upon the work in hand. Her hands are whitening
considerably--. I believe their redness had something to do with her
little brother, perhaps she put very hot things on his chest.--I have
never seen such a white skin--it shows like mother of pearl against the
cheap black frock--The line of the throat is like my fascinating Nymph
with the shell--indeed the mouth is not unlike her's also. I wonder if
she has dimp--but I had better not think of those things--!

I am now determined to ask her to marry me on the first occasion I can
screw up my courage sufficiently. I have decided what I am going to say.
I am going to be quite matter of fact--I shan't tell her that I love her
even--I feel if I can secure her first I shall have a better chance
afterwards. If she thought I loved her, her nature is of that honest
kind that she might think it was dishonorable to make so uneven a
bargain with me--but if she just thinks I want her for my secretary and
to play to me--and even perhaps that there is some brute part which she
despises mixed up in my feeling for her--and which I would promise to
keep in check--she may feel that it is fair for her to take my name, and
my money, and give me nothing in return.

After lunch, which we did not have together, George Harcourt came in,
and diverted me until four o'clock.

After we had discussed the war news for a long time he began as usual
about Violetta--.

She was perfection!--She had fulfilled all he had ever asked of a
woman--but--or rather in consequence of this--she had begun to bore him,
while a new vixen with no heart and the brain of a rabbit--now drew him
strangely!

"And what are you going to do about it, my dear George?"

"Deceive her of course, Nicholas. It is a painful necessity that my kind
heart forces me to perpetrate."

He was smoking contemplatively.

I laughed--.

"You see, dear boy--one can't be brutal with the little darlings, so
that is the only course open to one, for their limited reasoning power
does not enable them to grasp that it is not one's fault at all when one
ceases to care--the trouble lies with their own weakening
attraction.--So one has to go on bluffing until they themselves weary,
or find out inadvertently that one's affection has been transferred!"

"Don't you think there are some to whom you could tell the truth?"

"I have not met any--if they do exist."

"If I were a woman it would insult me far more for a man to think I was
so stupid that he could deceive me, than if he said frankly he no longer
cared."

"Probably--but then women don't reason in that way--you might prove by
every law of logic that it was because they themselves had disillusioned
you, and that you had no control over the coming or going of your
emotion--but at the end of your peroration they would still reproach you
for being a fickle brute, and believe themselves blameless, and sinned
against!"

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