The air grew thick and heavy with its sick-room
odour. Doctor, I could have vomited.
DOCTOR. Yes, yes; a touch of biliousness, I don't doubt.
STATESMAN. With a sudden flash of insight--"This," I said to myself, "is
my Day of Judgment. Here I stand, judged by my fellow-countrymen, for the
failures and shortcomings of my political career. The good intentions with
which my path was strewn are now turned to my reproach. But why do they
take this particular form? Why--why primroses?"
DOCTOR. "The primrose way" possibly?
STATESMAN. Ah! That occurred to me. But has it, indeed, been a primrose
way that I have trodden so long and so painfully? I think not. I cannot so
accuse myself. But suppose the Day of Judgment which Fate reserves for us
were fundamentally this: the appraisement of one's life and character--not
by the all-seeing Eye of Heaven (before which I would bow), but by the
vindictively unjust verdict of the people one has tried to serve--the
judgment not of God, but of public opinion. That is a judgment of which
all who strive for power must admit the relevancy!
DOCTOR. You distress yourself unnecessarily, dear lord. Your reputation is
safe from detraction now.
STATESMAN. With urgency I set my mind to meet the charge. If I could
understand the meaning of that yellow visitation, then I should no longer
have to fear that I was going mad!
(_At this point the door is discreetly opened, and the Housekeeper,
mild, benign, but inflexible,_ ENTERS, _carrying a cup and toast-rack
upon a tray_.
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