Chapter XLI: The Interdict

by Mark Twain

　　However, my attention was suddenly snatchedfrom such matters; our child began to loseground again, and we had to go to sitting up with her,her case became so serious. We couldn't bear toallow anybody to help in this service, so we two stoodwatch-and-watch, day in and day out. Ah, Sandy,what a right heart she had, how simple, and genuine,and good she was! She was a flawless wife andmother; and yet I had married her for no other particular reasons, except that by the customs of chivalryshe was my property until some knight should win herfrom me in the field. She had hunted Britain over forme; had found me at the hanging-bout outside ofLondon, and had straightway resumed her old place atmy side in the placidest way and as of right. I was aNew Englander, and in my opinion this sort of partnership would compromise her, sooner or later. Shecouldn't see how, but I cut argument short and wehad a wedding.Now I didn't know I was drawing a prize, yet thatwas what I did draw. Within the twelvemonth I became her worshiper; and ours was the dearest andperfectest comradeship that ever was. People talkabout beautiful friendships between two persons of thesame sex. What is the best of that sort, as comparedwith the friendship of man and wife, where the bestimpulses and highest ideals of both are the same?There is no place for comparison between the twofriendships; the one is earthly, the other divine.In my dreams, along at first, I still wandered thirteencenturies away, and my unsatisfied spirit went callingand harking all up and down the unreplying vacanciesof a vanished world. Many a time Sandy heard thatimploring cry come from my lips in my sleep. Witha grand magnanimity she saddled that cry of mineupon our child, conceiving it to be the name of somelost darling of mine. It touched me to tears, and italso nearly knocked me off my feet, too, when shesmiled up in my face for an earned reward, and playedher quaint and pretty surprise upon me:"The name of one who was dear to thee is herepreserved, here made holy, and the music of it willabide alway in our ears. Now thou'lt kiss me, asknowing the name I have given the child."But I didn't know it, all the same. I hadn't anidea in the world; but it would have been cruel toconfess it and spoil her pretty game; so I never let on,but said:"Yes, I know, sweetheart -- how dear and good itis of you, too! But I want to hear these lips of yours,which are also mine, utter it first -- then its music willbe perfect."Pleased to the marrow, she murmured:"Hello-Central!"I didn't laugh -- I am always thankful for that -- butthe strain ruptured every cartilage in me, and for weeksafterward I could hear my bones clack when I walked.She never found out her mistake. The first time sheheard that form of salute used at the telephone she wassurprised, and not pleased; but I told her I had givenorder for it: that henceforth and forever the telephone must always be invoked with that reverent formality, in perpetual honor and remembrance of mylost friend and her small namesake. This was nottrue. But it answered.Well, during two weeks and a half we watched bythe crib, and in our deep solicitude we were unconscious of any world outside of that sick-room. Thenour reward came: the center of the universe turned thecorner and began to mend. Grateful? It isn't theterm. There isn't any term for it. You know thatyourself, if you've watched your child through theValley of the Shadow and seen it come back to lifeand sweep night out of the earth with one all-illuminating smile that you could cover with your hand.Why, we were back in this world in one instant!Then we looked the same startled thought into eachother's eyes at the same moment; more than twoweeks gone, and that ship not back yet!In another minute I appeared in the presence of mytrain. They had been steeped in troubled bodings allthis time -- their faces showed it. I called an escortand we galloped five miles to a hilltop overlooking thesea. Where was my great commerce that so latelyhad made these glistening expanses populous andbeautiful with its white-winged flocks? Vanished,every one! Not a sail, from verge to verge, not asmoke-bank -- just a dead and empty solitude, in placeof all that brisk and breezy life.I went swiftly back, saying not a word to anybody.I told Sandy this ghastly news. We could imagine noexplanation that would begin to explain. Had therebeen an invasion? an earthquake? a pestilence? Hadthe nation been swept out of existence? But guessingwas profitless. I must go -- at once. I borrowed theking's navy -- a "ship" no bigger than a steamlaunch -- and was soon ready.The parting -- ah, yes, that was hard. As I wasdevouring the child with last kisses, it brisked up andjabbered out its vocabulary! -- the first time in morethan two weeks, and it made fools of us for joy. Thedarling mispronunciations of childhood! -- dear me,there's no music that can touch it; and how onegrieves when it wastes away and dissolves into correctness, knowing it will never visit his bereaved ear again.Well, how good it was to be able to carry that graciousmemory away with me!I approached England the next morning, with thewide highway of salt water all to myself. There wereships in the harbor, at Dover, but they were naked asto sails, and there was no sign of life about them. Itwas Sunday; yet at Canterbury the streets wereempty; strangest of all, there was not even a priestin sight, and no stroke of a bell fell upon my ear.The mournfulness of death was everywhere. I couldn'tunderstand it. At last, in the further edge of thattown I saw a small funeral procession -- just a familyand a few friends following a coffin -- no priest; afuneral without bell, book, or candle; there was achurch there close at hand, but they passed it byweeping, and did not enter it; I glanced up at thebelfry, and there hung the bell, shrouded in black,and its tongue tied back. Now I knew! Now Iunderstood the stupendous calamity that had overtakenEngland. Invasion? Invasion is a triviality to it. Itwas the interdict!I asked no questions; I didn't need to ask any.The Church had struck; the thing for me to do wasto get into a disguise, and go warily. One of myservants gave me a suit of clothes, and when we weresafe beyond the town I put them on, and from thattime I traveled alone; I could not risk the embarrassment of company.A miserable journey. A desolate silence everywhere.Even in London itself. Traffic had ceased; men didnot talk or laugh, or go in groups, or even in couples;they moved aimlessly about, each man by himself,with his head down, and woe and terror at his heart.The Tower showed recent war-scars. Verily, muchhad been happening.Of course, I meant to take the train for Camelot.Train! Why, the station was as vacant as a cavern.I moved on. The journey to Camelot was a repetitionof what I had already seen. The Monday and theTuesday differed in no way from the Sunday. Iarrived far in the night. From being the best electriclighted town in the kingdom and the most like arecumbent sun of anything you ever saw, it was become simply a blot -- a blot upon darkness -- that isto say, it was darker and solider than the rest of thedarkness, and so you could see it a little better; itmade me feel as if maybe it was symbolical -- a sort ofsign that the Church was going to keep the upper handnow, and snuff out all my beautiful civilization just likethat. I found no life stirring in the somber streets. Igroped my way with a heavy heart. The vast castleloomed black upon the hilltop, not a spark visibleabout it. The drawbridge was down, the great gatestood wide, I entered without challenge, my own heelsmaking the only sound I heard -- and it was sepulchralenough, in those huge vacant courts.