On the Strength
of A Likeness by Rudyard Kipling
If your mirror be broken, look into still water; but have a care
that you do not fall in.
Next to a requited attachment, one of the most convenient things
that a young man can carry about with him at the beginning of his
career, is an unrequited attachment. It makes him feel important and
business-like, and blase, and cynical; and whenever he has a touch of
liver, or suffers from want of exercise, he can mourn over his lost
love, and be very happy in a tender, twilight fashion.
Hannasyde's affair of the heart had been a Godsend to him. It was
four years old, and the girl had long since given up thinking of it.
She had married and had many cares of her own. In the beginning, she
had told Hannasyde that, "while she could never be anything more than
a sister to him, she would always take the deepest interest in his
welfare." This startlingly new and original remark gave Hannasyde
something to think over for two years; and his own vanity filled in
the other twenty-four months. Hannasyde was quite different from Phil
Garron, but, none the less, had several points in common with that far
too lucky man.
He kept his unrequited attachment by him as men keep a well-smoked
pipe--for comfort's sake, and because it had grown dear in the using.
It brought him happily through the Simla season. Hannasyde was not
lovely. There was a crudity in his manners, and a roughness in the
way in which he helped a lady on to her horse, that did not attract
the other sex to him. Even if he had cast about for their favor,
which he did not. He kept his wounded heart all to himself for a
Then trouble came to him. All who go to Simla, know the slope from
the Telegraph to the Public Works Office. Hannasyde was loafing up
the hill, one September morning between calling hours, when a
'rickshaw came down in a hurry, and in the 'rickshaw sat the living,
breathing image of the girl who had made him so happily unhappy.
Hannasyde leaned against the railing and gasped. He wanted to run
downhill after the 'rickshaw, but that was impossible; so he went
forward with most of his blood in his temples. It was impossible,
for many reasons, that the woman in the 'rickshaw could be the girl
he had known. She was, he discovered later, the wife of a man from
Dindigul, or Coimbatore, or some out-of-the-way place, and she had
come up to Simla early in the season for the good of her health. She
was going back to Dindigul, or wherever it was, at the end of the
season; and in all likelihood would never return to Simla again, her
proper Hill-station being Ootacamund. That night, Hannasyde, raw and
savage from the raking up of all old feelings, took counsel with
himself for one measured hour. What he decided upon was this; and you
must decide for yourself how much genuine affection for the old love,
and how much a very natural inclination to go abroad and enjoy
himself, affected the decision. Mrs. Landys-Haggert would never in
all human likelihood cross his path again. So whatever he did didn't
much matter. She was marvellously like the girl who "took a deep
interest" and the rest of the formula. All things considered, it
would be pleasant to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Landys-Haggert, and
for a little time--only a very little time--to make believe that he
was with Alice Chisane again. Every one is more or less mad on one
point. Hannasyde's particular monomania was his old love, Alice
He made it his business to get introduced to Mrs. Haggert, and the
introduction prospered. He also made it his business to see as much
as he could of that lady. When a man is in earnest as to interviews,
the facilities which Simla offers are startling. There are
garden-parties, and tennis-parties, and picnics, and luncheons at
Annandale, and rifle-matches, and dinners and balls; besides rides and
walks, which are matters of private arrangement. Hannasyde had started
with the intention of seeing a likeness, and he ended by doing much
more. He wanted to be deceived, he meant to be deceived, and he
deceived himself very thoroughly. Not only were the face and figure,
the face and figure of Alice Chisane, but the voice and lower tones
were exactly the same, and so were the turns of speech; and the little
mannerisms, that every woman has, of gait and gesticulation, were
absolutely and identically the same. The turn of the head was the
same; the tired look in the eyes at the end of a long walk was the
same; the sloop and wrench over the saddle to hold in a pulling horse
was the same; and once, most marvellous of all, Mrs. Landys-Haggert
singing to herself in the next room, while Hannasyde was waiting to
take her for a ride, hummed, note for note, with a throaty quiver of
the voice in the second line:--"Poor Wandering One!" exactly as Alice
Chisane had hummed it for Hannasyde in the dusk of an English
drawing-room. In the actual woman herself--in the soul of her--there
was not the least likeness; she and Alice Chisane being cast in
different moulds. But all that Hannasyde wanted to know and see and
think about, was this maddening and perplexing likeness of face and
voice and manner. He was bent on making a fool of himself that way;
and he was in no sort disappointed.
Open and obvious devotion from any sort of man is always pleasant
to any sort of woman; but Mrs. Landys-Haggert, being a woman of the
world, could make nothing of Hannasyde's admiration.
He would take any amount of trouble--he was a selfish man
habitually--to meet and forestall, if possible, her wishes. Anything
she told him to do was law; and he was, there could be no doubting it,
fond of her company so long as she talked to him, and kept on talking
about trivialities. But when she launched into expression of her
personal views and her wrongs, those small social differences that
make the spice of Simla life, Hannasyde was neither pleased nor
interested. He didn't want to know anything about Mrs.
Landys-Haggert, or her experiences in the past--she had travelled
nearly all over the world, and could talk cleverly--he wanted the
likeness of Alice Chisane before his eyes and her voice in his ears.
Anything outside that, reminding him of another personality jarred,
and he showed that it did.
Under the new Post Office, one evening, Mrs. Landys-Haggert turned
on him, and spoke her mind shortly and without warning. "Mr.
Hannasyde," said she, "will you be good enough to explain why you
have appointed yourself my special cavalier servente? I don't
understand it. But I am perfectly certain, somehow or other, that
you don't care the least little bit in the world for ME." This seems
to support, by the way, the theory that no man can act or tell lies to
a woman without being found out. Hannasyde was taken off his guard.
His defence never was a strong one, because he was always thinking of
himself, and he blurted out, before he knew what he was saying, this
inexpedient answer:--"No more I do."
The queerness of the situation and the reply, made Mrs. Landys-
Haggert laugh. Then it all came out; and at the end of Hannasyde's
lucid explanation, Mrs. Haggert said, with the least little touch of
scorn in her voice:--"So I'm to act as the lay-figure for you to hang
the rags of your tattered affections on, am I?"
Hannasyde didn't see what answer was required, and he devoted
himself generally and vaguely to the praise of Alice Chisane, which
was unsatisfactory. Now it is to be thoroughly made clear that Mrs.
Haggert had not the shadow of a ghost of an interest in Hannasyde.
Only . . . . only no woman likes being made love through instead of
to--specially on behalf of a musty divinity of four years' standing.
Hannasyde did not see that he had made any very particular
exhibition of himself. He was glad to find a sympathetic soul in the
arid wastes of Simla.
When the season ended, Hannasyde went down to his own place and
Mrs. Haggert to hers. "It was like making love to a ghost," said
Hannasyde to himself, "and it doesn't matter; and now I'll get to my
work." But he found himself thinking steadily of the Haggert-
Chisane ghost; and he could not be certain whether it was Haggert or
Chisane that made up the greater part of the pretty phantom.
. . . . . . . . .
He got understanding a month later.
A peculiar point of this peculiar country is the way in which a
heartless Government transfers men from one end of the Empire to the
other. You can never be sure of getting rid of a friend or an enemy
till he or she dies. There was a case once--but that's another
Haggert's Department ordered him up from Dindigul to the Frontier
at two days' notice, and he went through, losing money at every step,
from Dindigul to his station. He dropped Mrs. Haggert at Lucknow, to
stay with some friends there, to take part in a big ball at the
Chutter Munzil, and to come on when he had made the new home a little
comfortable. Lucknow was Hannasyde's station, and Mrs. Haggert stayed
a week there. Hannasyde went to meet her. And the train came in, he
discovered which he had been thinking of for the past month. The
unwisdom of his conduct also struck him. The Lucknow week, with two
dances, and an unlimited quantity of rides together, clinched matters;
and Hannasyde found himself pacing this circle of thought:--He adored
Alice Chisane--at least he HAD adored her. AND he admired Mrs.
Landys-Haggert because she was like Alice Chisane. BUT Mrs.
Landys-Haggert was not in the least like Alice Chisane, being a
thousand times more adorable. NOW Alice Chisane was "the bride of
another," and so was Mrs. Landys-Haggert, and a good and honest wife
too. THEREFORE, he, Hannasyde, was . . . . here he called himself
several hard names, and wished that he had been wise in the beginning.
Whether Mrs. Landys-Haggert saw what was going on in his mind, she
alone knows. He seemed to take an unqualified interest in everything
connected with herself, as distinguished from the Alice- Chisane
likeness, and he said one or two things which, if Alice Chisane had
been still betrothed to him, could scarcely have been excused, even on
the grounds of the likeness. But Mrs. Haggert turned the remarks
aside, and spent a long time in making Hannasyde see what a comfort
and a pleasure she had been to him because of her strange resemblance
to his old love. Hannasyde groaned in his saddle and said, "Yes,
indeed," and busied himself with preparations for her departure to the
Frontier, feeling very small and miserable.
The last day of her stay at Lucknow came, and Hannasyde saw her off
at the Railway Station. She was very grateful for his kindness and
the trouble he had taken, and smiled pleasantly and sympathetically
as one who knew the Alice-Chisane reason of that kindness. And
Hannasyde abused the coolies with the luggage, and hustled the people
on the platform, and prayed that the roof might fall in and slay him.
As the train went out slowly, Mrs. Landys-Haggert leaned out of the
window to say goodbye:--"On second thoughts au revoir, Mr. Hannasyde.
I go Home in the Spring, and perhaps I may meet you in Town."
Hannasyde shook hands, and said very earnestly and adoringly:--"I
hope to Heaven I shall never see your face again!"
And Mrs. Haggert understood.