<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h1> THE CROWN OF LIFE </h1>
<h3> by </h3>
<h2> George Gissing </h2>
<br/><br/><br/>
<SPAN name="chap01"></SPAN>
<h3> CHAPTER I </h3>
<p>Amid the throng of suburban arrivals volleyed forth from Waterloo
Station on a May morning in the year '86, moved a slim, dark,
absent-looking young man of one-and-twenty, whose name was Piers Otway.
In regard to costume—blameless silk hat, and dark morning coat with
lighter trousers—the City would not have disowned him, but he had not
the City countenance. The rush for omnibus seats left him unconcerned;
clear of the railway station, he walked at a moderate pace, his eyes
mostly on the ground; he crossed the foot-bridge to Charing Cross, and
steadily made his way into the Haymarket, where his progress was
arrested by a picture shop.</p>
<p>A window hung with engravings, mostly after pictures of the day; some
of them very large, and attractive to a passing glance. One or two
admirable landscapes offered solace to the street-wearied imagination,
but upon these Piers Otway did not fix his eye; it was drawn
irresistibly to the faces and forms of beautiful women set forth with
varied allurement. Some great lady of the passing time lounged in
exquisite array amid luxurious furniture lightly suggested; the faint
smile of her flattered loveliness hovered about the gazer; the subtle
perfume of her presence touched his nerves; the greys of her complexion
transmuted themselves through the current of his blood into life's
carnation; whilst he dreamed upon her lips, his breath was caught, as
though of a sudden she had smiled for him, and for him alone. Near to
her was a maiden of Hellas, resting upon a marble seat, her eyes bent
towards some AEgean isle; the translucent robe clung about her perfect
body; her breast was warm against the white stone; the mazes of her
woven hair shone with unguent. The gazer lost himself in memories of
epic and idyll, warming through worship to desire. Then his look
strayed to the next engraving; a peasant girl, consummate in grace and
strength, supreme in chaste pride, cheek and neck soft-glowing from the
sunny field, eyes revealing the heart at one with nature. Others there
were, women of many worlds, only less beautiful; but by these three the
young man was held bound. He could not satisfy himself with looking and
musing; he could not pluck himself away. An old experience; he always
lingered by the print shops of the Haymarket, and always went on with
troubled blood, with mind rapt above familiar circumstance, dreaming
passionately, making wild forecast of his fate.</p>
<p>At this hour of the morning not many passers had leisure to stand and
gaze; one, however, came to a pause beside Piers Otway, and viewed the
engravings. He was a man considerably older; not so well dressed, but
still, on the strength of externals, entitled to the style of
gentleman; his brown, hard felt hat was entirely respectable, as were
his tan gloves and his boots, but the cut-away coat began to hint at
release from service, and the trousers owed a superficial smartness
merely to being tightly strapped. This man had a not quite agreeable
face; inasmuch as it was smoothly shaven, and exhibited a peculiar
mobility, it might have denoted him an actor; but the actor is wont to
twinkle a good-natured mood which did not appear upon this visage. The
contour was good, and spoke intelligence; the eyes must once have been
charming. It was a face which had lost by the advance of years; which
had hardened where it was soft, and seemed likely to grow harder yet;
for about the lips, as he stood examining these pictures, came a
suggestion of the vice in blood which tends to cruelty. The nostrils
began to expand and to tremble a little; the eyes seemed to project
themselves; the long throat grew longer. Presently, he turned a glance
upon the young man standing near to him, and in that moment his
expression entirely altered.</p>
<p>"Why," he exclaimed, "Piers!"</p>
<p>The other gave a start of astonishment, and at once smiled recognition.</p>
<p>"Daniel! I hadn't looked—I had no idea——" They shook hands, with
graceful cordiality on the elder man's part, with a slightly
embarrassed goodwill on that of the younger. Daniel Otway, whose age
was about eight-and-thirty, stood in the relation of half-brotherhood
to Piers, a relation suggested by no single trait of their visages.
Piers had a dark complexion, a face of the square, emphatic type, and
an eye of shy vivacity; Daniel, with the long, smooth curves of his
countenance and his chestnut hair was, in the common sense, better
looking, and managed his expression with a skill which concealed the
characteristics visible a few moments ago; he bore himself like a suave
man of the world, whereas his brother still betrayed something of the
boy in tone and gesture, something, too, of the student accustomed to
seclusion. Daniel's accent had nothing at all in keeping with a shabby
coat; that of the younger man was less markedly refined, with much more
of individuality.</p>
<p>"You live in London?" inquired Daniel, reading the other's look as if
affectionately.</p>
<p>"No. Out at Ewell—in Surrey."</p>
<p>"Oh yes, I know Ewell. Reading?"</p>
<p>"Yes for the Civil Service. I've come up to lunch with a man who knows
father—Mr. Jacks."</p>
<p>"John Jacks, the M.P.?"</p>
<p>Piers nodded nervously, and the other regarded him with a smile of new
interest.</p>
<p>"But you're very early. Any other engagements?"</p>
<p>"None," said Piers. It being so fine a morning, he had proposed a long
ramble about London streets before making for his destination in the
West End.</p>
<p>"Then you must come to my club," returned Daniel. "I shall be glad of a
talk with you, very glad, my dear boy. Why, it must be four years since
we saw each other. And, by the bye, you are just of age, I think?"</p>
<p>"Three days ago."</p>
<p>"To be sure. Heard anything from father?—No?—You're looking very
well, Piers—take my arm. I understood you were going into business.
Altered your mind? And how is the dear old man?"</p>
<p>They walked for a quarter of an hour, turning at last into a quiet,
genteel byway westward of Regent Street, and so into a club house of
respectable appearance. Daniel wrote his brother's name, and led up to
the smoking-room, which they found unoccupied.</p>
<p>"You smoke?—I am very glad to hear it. I began far too young, and have
suffered. It's too early to drink—and perhaps you don't do that
either?—Really? Vegetarian also, perhaps?—Why, you are the model son
of your father. And the regime seems to suit you. <i>Per Bacco</i>! couldn't
follow it myself: but I, like our fat friend, am little better than one
of the wicked. So you are one-and-twenty. You have entered upon your
inheritance, I presume?"</p>
<p>Piers answered with a look of puzzled inquiry.</p>
<p>"Haven't you heard about it? The little capital due to you."</p>
<p>"Not a word!"</p>
<p>"That's odd. <i>Was soil es bedeuten</i>?—By the bye, I suppose you speak
German well?"</p>
<p>"Tolerably."</p>
<p>"And French?"</p>
<p>"Moderately."</p>
<p>"<i>Benissimo</i>!" Daniel had just lit a cigar; he lounged gracefully,
observing his brother with an eye of veiled keenness. "Well, I think
there is no harm in telling you that you are entitled to
something—your mother's money, you know."</p>
<p>"I had no idea of it," replied Piers, whom the news had in some degree
excited.</p>
<p>"Apropos, why don't you live with father? Couldn't you read as well
down there?"</p>
<p>"Not quite, I think, and—the truth is, the stepmother doesn't much
like me. She's rather difficult to get on with you know."</p>
<p>"I imagined it. So you're just in lodgings?"</p>
<p>"I am with some people called Hannaford. I got to know them at
Geneva—they're not very well off; I have a room and they board me."</p>
<p>"I must look you up there—Piers, my dear boy, I suppose you know your
mother's history?"</p>
<p>It was asked with an affected carelessness, with a look suggestive of
delicacy in approaching the subject. More and more perturbed, Piers
abruptly declared his ignorance; he sat in an awkward attitude, bending
forward; his brows were knit, his dark eyes had a solemn intensity, and
his square jaw asserted itself more than usual.</p>
<p>"Well, between brothers, I don't see why you shouldn't. In fact, I am a
good deal surprised that the worthy old man has held his peace about
that legacy, and I don't think I shall scruple to tell you all I know.
You are aware, at all events, that our interesting parent has been a
little unfortunate in his matrimonial adventures. His first wife—not
to pick one's phrase—quarrelled furiously with him. His second, you
inform me, is somewhat difficult to live with."</p>
<p>"His <i>third</i>," interrupted Piers.</p>
<p>"No, my dear boy," said the other gravely, sympathetically. "That
intermediate connection was not legal."</p>
<p>"Not——? My mother was not——?"</p>
<p>"Don't worry about it," proceeded Daniel in a kind tone. "These are the
merest prejudices, you know. She could not become Mrs. Otway, being
already Mrs. Somebody-else. Her death, I fear, was a great misfortune
to our parent. I have gathered that they suited each other—fate, you
know, plays these little tricks. Your mother, I am sure, was a most
charming and admirable woman—I remember her portrait. <i>A l'heure qu'il
est</i>, no doubt, it has to be kept out of sight. She had, I am given to
understand, a trifling capital of her own, and this was to become
yours."</p>
<p>Piers stared at vacancy. When he recovered himself he said with
decision:</p>
<p>"Of course I shall hear about it. There's no hurry. Father knows I
don't want it just now. Why, of course he will tell me. The exam. comes
off in autumn, and no doubt he keeps the news back as a sort of reward
when I get my place. I think that would be just like him, you know."</p>
<p>"Or as a solatium, if you fail," remarked the other genially.</p>
<p>"Fail? Oh, I'm not going to fail," cried Piers in a voice of
half-resentful confidence.</p>
<p>"Bravo!" laughed the other; "I like that spirit. So you're going to
lunch with John Jacks. I don't exactly know him, but I know friends of
his very well. Known him long?"</p>
<p>Piers explained that as yet he had no personal acquaintance with Mr.
Jacks; that he had, to his surprise, received a written invitation a
few days ago.</p>
<p>"It may be useful," Daniel remarked reflectively. "But if you'll permit
the liberty, Piers, I am sorry you didn't pay a little more attention
to costume. It should have been a frock coat—really it should."</p>
<p>"I haven't such a thing," exclaimed the younger brother, with some
annoyance and confusion. "And what can it matter? You know very well
how father would go."</p>
<p>"Yes, yes; but Jerome Otway the democratic prophet and young Mr. Piers
Otway his promising son, are very different persons. Never mind, but
take care to get a frock coat; you'll find it indispensable if you are
going into that world. Where does Jacks live?"</p>
<p>"Queen's Gate."</p>
<p>Daniel Otway meditated, half closing his eyes as he seemed to watch the
smoke from his cigar. Dropping them upon his brother, he found that the
young man wore a look of troubled thoughtfulness.</p>
<p>"Daniel," began Piers suddenly, "are you quite sure about all you have
told me?"</p>
<p>"Quite. I am astonished it's news to you."</p>
<p>Piers was no longer able to converse, and very soon he found it
difficult to sit still. Observant of his face and movements, the elder
brother proposed that they should resume their walk together, and forth
they went. But both were now taciturn, and they did not walk far in
company.</p>
<p>"I shall look you up at Ewell," said Daniel, taking leave. "Address me
at that club; I have no permanent quarters just now. We must see more
of each other."</p>
<p>And Piers went his way with shadowed countenance.</p>
<br/><br/><br/>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />