ck by the
water's edge, old fighting men of the Norse breed had planted a double
castle; the two stood wall to wall like semi-detached villas; and yet
feud had run so high between their owners, that one, from out of a
window, shot the other as he stood in his own doorway. There is
something in the juxtaposition of these two enemies full of tragic
irony. It is grim to think of bearded men and bitter women taking
hateful counsel together about the two hall-fires at night,[18] when
the sea boomed against the foundations and the wild winter wind was
loose over the battlements. And in the study we may reconstruct for
ourselves some pale figure of what life then was. Not so when we are
there; when we are there such thoughts come to us only to intensify a
contrary impression, and association is turned against itself.[19] I
remember walking thither three afternoons in succession, my eyes weary
with being set against the wind, and how, dropping suddenly over the
edge of the down, I found myself in a new world of warmth and shelter.
The wind, from which I had escaped, "as from an enemy,"[20] was
seemingly quite local. It carried no clouds with it, and came from
such a quarter that it did not trouble the sea within view. The two
castles, black and ruinous as the rocks about them, were still
distinguishable from these by something more insecure and fantastic in
the outline, something that the last storm had left imminent and the
next would demolish entirely. It would be difficult to render in words
the sense of peace that took possession of me on these three
afternoons. It was helped out, as I have said, by the contrast. The
shore was battered and bemauled by previous tempests; I had the memory
at heart of the insane strife of the pigmies who had erected these two
castles and lived in them in mutual distrust and enmity, and knew I
had only to put my head out of this little cup of shelter to find the
hard wind blowing in my eyes; and yet there were the two great tracts
of motionless blue air and peaceful sea looking on, unconcerned and
apart, at the turmoil of the present moment and the memorials of the
precarious past. There is ever something transitory and fretful in the
impression of a high wind under a cloudless sky; it seems to have no
root in the constitution of things; it must speedily begin to faint
and wither away like a cut flower. And on those days the thought of
the wind and the thought of human life came very near togeth