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The Country of the Blind and Other Stories - The Beautiful Suit · The H. G. Wells Library

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  Speaker 1: Section thirty three of the Country of the Blind and
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  Speaker 1: Other Stories by H. G. Wells. This LibriVox recording is
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  Speaker 1: in the public domain. Read by Peter Yearsley. The Beautiful Suit.
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  Speaker 1: There was once a little man whose mother made him
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  Speaker 1: a beautiful suit of clothes. It was green and gold,
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  Speaker 1: and woven so that I cannot describe how delicate and
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  Speaker 1: fine it was. And there was a tie of orange
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  Speaker 1: fluffiness that tied up under his chin, and the buttons,
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  Speaker 1: in their newness, shone like stars. He was proud and
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  Speaker 1: pleased by his suit beyond measure, and stood before the
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  Speaker 1: long looking glass when first he put it on, so
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  Speaker 1: astonished and delighted with it that he could hardly turn
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  Speaker 1: himself away. He wanted to wear it everywhere and show
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  Speaker 1: it to all sorts of people. He thought over all
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  Speaker 1: the places he had ever visited, and all the scenes
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  Speaker 1: he had ever heard described, and tried to imagine what
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  Speaker 1: the feel of it would be if he were to
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  Speaker 1: go now to those scenes and places wearing his shining suit.
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  Speaker 1: And he wanted to go out forthwith into the long
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  Speaker 1: grass and the hot sunshine of the meadow wearing it,
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  Speaker 1: just to wear it. But his mother told him no,
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  Speaker 1: She told him he must take great care of his suit,
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  Speaker 1: for never would he have another nearly so fine. He
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  Speaker 1: must save it, and save it, and only wear it
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  Speaker 1: on rare and great occasions. It was his wedding suit,
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  Speaker 1: she said. And she took the buttons and twisted them
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  Speaker 1: up with tissue paper, for fear their bright newness should
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  Speaker 1: be tarnished. And she tacked little guards over the cuffs
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  Speaker 1: and elbows and wherever the suit was most likely to
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  Speaker 1: come to harm. He hated and resisted these things, but
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  Speaker 1: what could he do? And at last her warnings and
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  Speaker 1: persuasions had effect, and he consented to take off his
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  Speaker 1: beautiful suit and fold it into its proper creases and
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  Speaker 1: put it away. It was almost as though he gave
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  Speaker 1: it up again, but he was always thinking of wearing it,
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  Speaker 1: and of the supreme occasions when some day it might
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  Speaker 1: be worn without the guards, without the tissue paper on
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  Speaker 1: the buttons, utterly and delightfully, never caring beautiful beyond measure.
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  Speaker 1: One night, when he was dreaming of it, after his habit,
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  Speaker 1: he dreamt he took the tissue paper from one of
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  Speaker 1: the buttons and found its brightness a little faded, and
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  Speaker 1: that distressed him mightily in his dream he polished the
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  Speaker 1: poor faded button, and polished it, and if anything, it
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  Speaker 1: grew duller. He woke up and lay awake, thinking of
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  Speaker 1: the brightness, a little dulled, and wondering how he would
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  Speaker 1: feel if, perhaps, when the great occasion, whatever it might be,
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  Speaker 1: should arrive, one button should chance to be ever so
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  Speaker 1: little short of its first glittering freshness. And for days
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  Speaker 1: and days that thought remained with him distressingly. And when
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  Speaker 1: next his mother let him wear his suit, he was tempted,
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  Speaker 1: and nearly gave way to the temptation, just to fumble
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  Speaker 1: off one little bit of tissue paper and see if
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  Speaker 1: indeed the buttons were keeping as bright as ever. He
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  Speaker 1: went trimly along on his way to church, full of
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  Speaker 1: this wild desire. For you must know, his mother did,
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  Speaker 1: with repeated and careful warnings, let him wear his suit
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  Speaker 1: at times on Sundays, for example, to and fro from church,
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  Speaker 1: when there was no threatening of rain, no dust blowing,
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  Speaker 1: nor anything to injure it with its buttons covered and
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  Speaker 1: its protections tacked upon it, and a sunshade in his head,
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  Speaker 1: and to shadow it if there seemed too strong a
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  Speaker 1: sunlight for its colors, And always, after such occasions he
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  Speaker 1: brushed it over and folded it exquisitely as she had
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  Speaker 1: taught him, and put it away again. Now, all these
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  Speaker 1: restrictions his mother set to the wearing of his suit,
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  Speaker 1: he obeyed. Always, he obeyed them until one strange night
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  Speaker 1: he woke up and saw the moonlight shining outside his window.
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  Speaker 1: It seemed to him the moonlight was not common moonlight,
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  Speaker 1: nor the night a common night. And for a while
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  Speaker 1: he lay quite drowsily with this odd persuasion in his mind.
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  Speaker 1: Thought joined on to thought like things that whisper warmly
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  Speaker 1: in the shadows. Then he sat up in his little bed,
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  Speaker 1: suddenly very alert, with his heart beating very fast, and
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  Speaker 1: a quiver in his body from top to toe. He
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  Speaker 1: had made up his mind, and he knew that now
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  Speaker 1: he was going to wear his suit as it should
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  Speaker 1: be worn. He had no doubt in the matter. He
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  Speaker 1: was afraid, terribly afraid, but glad, glad. He got out
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  Speaker 1: of his bed and stood for a moment by the window,
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  Speaker 1: looking at the moonshine flooded garden, and trembling at the
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  Speaker 1: thing he meant to do. The air was full of
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  Speaker 1: a minute clamor of crickets and murmurings of the infinitesimal
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  Speaker 1: shoutings of little living things. He went very gently across
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  Speaker 1: the creaking boards, for fear that he might wake the
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  Speaker 1: sleeping house, to the big dark clothes press, wherein his
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  Speaker 1: beautiful suit lay folded, and he took it out, garment
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  Speaker 1: by garment, and softly and very eagerly tore off its
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  Speaker 1: tissue paper covering, and its tact protections, until there it
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  Speaker 1: was perfect and delightful as he had seen it when
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  Speaker 1: first his mother had given it to him a long time.
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  Speaker 1: It seemed ago. Not a busin had tarnished, not a
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  Speaker 1: thread had faded on this dear suit of his. He
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  Speaker 1: was glad enough for weeping, as in a noiseless hurry
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  Speaker 1: he put it on, and then back he went, soft
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  Speaker 1: and quick to the window that looked out upon the garden,
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  Speaker 1: and stood there for a minute, shining in the moonlight,
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  Speaker 1: with his buttons twinkling like stars, before he got out
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  Speaker 1: on the sill, and, making as little of a rustling
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  Speaker 1: as he could, clambered down to the garden path below.
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  Speaker 1: He stood before his mother's house, and it was white
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  Speaker 1: and nearly as plain as by day, with every window blind,
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  Speaker 1: but his own shut like an eye that sleeps. The
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  Speaker 1: trees cast still shadows like intricate black lace upon the wall.
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  Speaker 1: The garden in the moonlight was very different from the
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  Speaker 1: garden by day. Moonshine was tangled in the hedges and
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  Speaker 1: stretched in phantom cobwebs. From spray to spray. Every flower
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  Speaker 1: was gleaming white or crimson black, and the air was
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  Speaker 1: a quiver, with the thridding of small crickets and nightingales
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  Speaker 1: singing unseen in the depths of the trees. There was
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  Speaker 1: no darkness in the world, but only warm, mysterious shadows,
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  Speaker 1: and all the leaves and spikes were edged and lined
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  Speaker 1: with iridescent jewels of dew. The night was warmer than
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  Speaker 1: any night had ever been. The heavens, by some miracle
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  Speaker 1: at once vaster and nearer, and spite of the great,
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  Speaker 1: ivory tinted moon that ruled the world, the sky was
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  Speaker 1: full of stars. The little man did not shout nor sing.
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  Speaker 1: For all his infinite gladness. He stood for a time
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  Speaker 1: like one are stricken, and then with a queer small cry,
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  Speaker 1: and holding out his arms, he ran out, as if
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  Speaker 1: he would embrace at once the whole round immensity of
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  Speaker 1: the world. He did not follow the neat set paths
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  Speaker 1: that cut the garden squarely, but thrust across the beds
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  Speaker 1: and through the wet, tall scented herbs, through the night
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  Speaker 1: stock and the nicotine, and the clusters of phantom white
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  Speaker 1: mallow flowers, and through the thickets of southernwood and lavender,
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  Speaker 1: and knee deep across a wide space of mignonette, he
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  Speaker 1: came to the great hedge, and he thrust his way
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  Speaker 1: through it. And though the thorns of the brambles scored
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  Speaker 1: him deeply and tore threads from his wonderful suit, and
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  Speaker 1: though burrs and goose grass and havers caught and clung
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  Speaker 1: to him, he did not care. He did not care,
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  Speaker 1: for he knew it was all part of the wearing
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  Speaker 1: for which he had longed. I am glad I put
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  Speaker 1: on my suit, he said, I'm glad I wore my suit.
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  Speaker 1: Beyond the hedge, he came to the duck pond, or
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  Speaker 1: at least to what was the duck pond by day,
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  Speaker 1: but by night it was a great bowl of silver moonshine,
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  Speaker 1: all noisy, with singing frogs of wonderful silver moonshine, twisted
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  Speaker 1: and clotted with strange patternings, and the little man ran
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  Speaker 1: down into its waters, between the thin black rushes, knee
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  Speaker 1: deep and waist deep, and to his shoulders, smiting the
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  Speaker 1: water to black and shining wavelets with either hand, swaying
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  Speaker 1: and shivering wavelets, amidst which the stars were netted in
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  Speaker 1: the tangled reflections of the brooding trees upon the bank.
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  Speaker 1: He waded until he swam, and so he crossed the
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  Speaker 1: pond and came out upon the other side, trailing, as
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  Speaker 1: it seemed to him, not duck weed, but very silver
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  Speaker 1: in long, clinging, dripping masses. And up he went, through
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  Speaker 1: the transfigured tangles of the willow herb and the uncut
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  Speaker 1: seeding grasses of the farther bank. He came glad and
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  Speaker 1: breathless into the high road. I am glad, he said,
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  Speaker 1: beyond measure, that I had clothes that fitted this occasion.
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  Speaker 1: The high road ran straight as an arrow flies, straight
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  Speaker 1: into the deep blue pit of sky beneath the moon,
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  Speaker 1: a white and shining road between the singing nightingales. And
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  Speaker 1: along it he went, running, now and leaping, and now,
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  Speaker 1: walking and rejoicing in the clothes his mother had made
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  Speaker 1: for him, with tireless, loving hands. The road was deep
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  Speaker 1: in dust, but that for him was only soft whiteness.
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  Speaker 1: And as he went a great dim moth came flt
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  Speaker 1: uttering round his wet and shimmering and hastening figure. At
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  Speaker 1: first he did not heed the moth, and then he
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  Speaker 1: waved his hands at it and made a sort of
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  Speaker 1: dance with it as it circled round his head, soft moth,
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  Speaker 1: he cried, dear moth, and wonderful night, wonderful knight of
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  Speaker 1: the world. Do you think my clothes a beautiful, dear moth,
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  Speaker 1: as beautiful as your scales, and all this silver vesture
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  Speaker 1: of the earth and sky. And the moth circled closer
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  Speaker 1: and closer, until at last its velvet wings just brushed
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  Speaker 1: his lips. And next morning they found him dead, with
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  Speaker 1: his neck broken, in the bottom of the stone pit,
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  Speaker 1: with his beautiful clothes a little bloody and fowl and
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  Speaker 1: stained with the duckweed from the pond. But his face
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  Speaker 1: was a face of such happiness that had you seen it,
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  Speaker 1: you would have understood, indeed, how that he had died happy,
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  Speaker 1: never knowing that cool and streaming silver for the duckweed
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  Speaker 1: in a pond. End of section thirty three, End of
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  Speaker 1: the Country of the Blind and other stories by H. G.
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  Speaker 1: Wells