The Claverings

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXXIV.

  MR. SAUL'S ABODE.

  [Illustration.]

  When Harry Clavering left London he was not well, though he did notcare to tell himself that he was ill. But he had been so harassed byhis position, was so ashamed of himself, and as yet so unable to seeany escape from his misery, that he was sore with fatigue and almostworn out with trouble. On his arrival at the parsonage, his mother atonce asked him if he was ill, and received his petulant denial withan ill-satisfied countenance. That there was something wrong betweenhim and Florence she suspected, but at the present moment she wasnot disposed to inquire into that matter. Harry's love-affairs hadfor her a great interest, but Fanny's love-affairs at the presentmoment were paramount in her bosom. Fanny, indeed, had become verytroublesome since Mr. Saul's visit to her father. On the eveningof her conversation with her mother, and on the following morning,Fanny had carried herself with bravery, and Mrs. Clavering had beendisposed to think that her daughter's heart was not wounded deeply.She had admitted the impossibility of her marriage with Mr. Saul, andhad never insisted on the strength of her attachment. But no soonerwas she told that Mr. Saul had been banished from the house, than shetook upon herself to mope in the most love-lorn fashion, and behavedherself as though she were the victim of an all-absorbing passion.Between her and her father no word on the subject had been spoken,and even to her mother she was silent, respectful, and subdued, asit becomes daughters to be who are hardly used when they are in love.Now, Mrs. Clavering felt that in this her daughter was not treatingher well.

  "But you don't mean to say that she cares for him?" Harry said to hismother, when they were alone on the evening of his arrival.

  "Yes, she cares for him, certainly. As far as I can tell, she caresfor him very much."

  "It is the oddest thing I ever knew in my life. I should have said hewas the last man in the world for success of that kind."

  "One never can tell, Harry. You see he is a very good young man."

  "But girls don't fall in love with men because they're good, mother."

  "I hope they do,--for that and other things together."

  "But he has got none of the other things. What a pity it was that hewas let to stay here after he first made a fool of himself."

  "It's too late to think of that now, Harry. Of course she can't marryhim. They would have nothing to live on. I should say that he has noprospect of a living."

  "I can't conceive how a man can do such a wicked thing," said Harry,moralizing, and forgetting for a moment his own sins. "Coming intoa house like this, and in such a position, and then undermining agirl's affections, when he must know that it is quite out of thequestion that he should marry her! I call it downright wicked. It istreachery of the worst sort, and coming from a clergyman is of coursethe more to be condemned. I shan't be slow to tell him my mind."

  "You will gain nothing by quarrelling with him."

  "But how can I help it, if I am to see him at all?"

  "I mean that I would not be rough with him. The great thing isto make him feel that he should go away as soon as possible, andrenounce all idea of seeing Fanny again. You see, your father willhave no conversation with him at all, and it is so disagreeable aboutthe services. They'll have to meet in the vestry-room on Sunday, andthey won't speak. Will not that be terrible? Anything will be betterthan that he should remain here."

  "And what will my father do for a curate?"

  "He can't do anything till he knows when Mr. Saul will go. He talksof taking all the services himself."

  "He couldn't do it, mother. He must not think of it. However, I'llsee Saul the first thing to-morrow."

  The next day was Tuesday, and Harry proposed to leave the rectory atten o'clock for Mr. Saul's lodgings. Before he did so, he had a fewwords with his father, who professed even deeper animosity againstMr. Saul than his son. "After that," he said, "I'll believe that agirl may fall in love with any man! People say all manner of thingsabout the folly of girls; but nothing but this,--nothing short ofthis,--would have convinced me that it was possible that Fannyshould have been such a fool. An ape of a fellow,--not made like aman,--with a thin hatchet face, and unwholesome stubbly chin. Goodheavens!"

  "He has talked her into it."

  "But he is such an ass. As far as I know him, he can't say Bo! to agoose."

  "There I think you are perhaps wrong."

  "Upon my word, I've never been able to get a word from him exceptabout the parish. He is the most uncompanionable fellow. There'sEdward Fielding is as active a clergyman as Saul; but Edward Fieldinghas something to say for himself."

  "Saul is a cleverer man than Edward is; but his cleverness is of adifferent sort."

  "It is of a sort that is very invisible to me. But what does all thatmatter? He hasn't got a shilling. When I was a curate, we didn'tthink of doing such things as that." Mr. Clavering had only been acurate for twelve months, and during that time had become engagedto his present wife with the consent of every one concerned. "Butclergymen were gentlemen then. I don't know what the Church will cometo; I don't indeed."

  After this Harry went away upon his mission. What a farce it was thathe should be engaged to make straight the affairs of other people,when his own affairs were so very crooked! As he walked up to theold farmhouse in which Mr. Saul was living, he thought of this, andacknowledged to himself that he could hardly make himself in earnestabout his sister's affairs, because of his own troubles. He triedto fill himself with a proper feeling of dignified wrath and highpaternal indignation against the poor curate; but under it all, andat the back of it all, and in front of it all, there was ever presentto him his own position. Did he wish to escape from Lady Ongar; andif so, how was he to do it? And if he did not escape from Lady Ongar,how was he ever to hold up his head again?

  He had sent a note to Mr. Saul on the previous evening giving noticeof his intended visit, and had received an answer, in which thecurate had promised that he would be at home. He had never beforebeen in Mr. Saul's room, and as he entered it, felt more stronglythan ever how incongruous was the idea of Mr. Saul as a suitor to hissister. The Claverings had always had things comfortable around them.They were a people who had ever lived on Brussels carpets, and hadseated themselves in capacious chairs. Ormolu, damask hangings, andSevres china were not familiar to them; but they had never lackedanything that is needed for the comfort of the first-class clericalworld. Mr. Saul in his abode boasted but few comforts. He inhabiteda big bed-room, in which there was a vast fireplace and a very smallgrate,--the grate being very much more modern than the fireplace.There was a small rag of a carpet near the hearth, and on this stooda large deal table,--a table made of unalloyed deal, without anymendacious paint, putting forward a pretence in the direction ofmahogany. One wooden Windsor arm-chair--very comfortable in itsway--was appropriated to the use of Mr. Saul himself, and two othersmall wooden chairs flanked the other side of the fireplace. In onedistant corner stood Mr. Saul's small bed, and in another distantcorner stood his small dressing-table. Against the wall stood arickety deal press in which he kept his clothes. Other furniturethere was none. One of the large windows facing towards the farmyardhad been permanently closed, and in the wide embrasure was placeda portion of Mr. Saul's library,--books which he had brought withhim from college; and on the ground under this closed window werearranged the others, making a long row, which stretched from thebed to the dressing-table, very pervious, I fear, to the attacks ofmice. The big table near the fireplace was covered with books andpapers,--and, alas, with dust; for he had fallen into that terriblehabit which prevails among bachelors, of allowing his work to remainever open, never finished, always confused,--with papers above books,and books above papers,--looking as though no useful product couldever be made to come forth from such chaotic elements. But there Mr.Saul composed his sermons, and studied his Bible, and followed up,no doubt, some special darling pursuit which his ambition dictated.But there he did not eat his meals; that had been made impossible bythe pile of papers and
dust; and his chop, therefore, or his broiledrasher, or bit of pig's fry was deposited for him on the littledressing-table, and there consumed.

  Such was the solitary apartment of the gentleman who now aspired tothe hand of Miss Clavering; and for this accommodation, includingattendance, he paid the reasonable sum of L10 per annum. He thenhad L60 left, with which to feed himself, clothe himself like agentleman,--a duty somewhat neglected,--and perform his charities!

  Harry Clavering, as he looked around him, felt almost ashamed of hissister. The walls were whitewashed, and stained in many places; andthe floor in the middle of the room seemed to be very rotten. Whatyoung man who has himself dwelt ever in comfort would like such ahouse for his sister? Mr. Saul, however, came forward with no marksof visible shame on his face, and greeted his visitor frankly with anopen hand. "You came down from London yesterday, I suppose?" said Mr.Saul.

  "Just so," said Harry.

  "Take a seat;" and Mr. Saul suggested the arm-chair, but Harrycontented himself with one of the others. "I hope Mrs. Clavering iswell?" "Quite well," said Harry, cheerfully. "And your father,--andsister?" "Quite well, thank you," said Harry, very stiffly. "I wouldhave come down to you at the rectory," said Mr. Saul, "instead ofbringing you up here; only, as you have heard, no doubt, I and yourfather have unfortunately had a difference." This Mr. Saul saidwithout any apparent effort, and then left Harry to commence thefurther conversation.

  "Of course, you know what I'm come here about?" said Harry.

  "Not exactly; at any rate not so clearly but what I would wish you totell me."

  "You have gone to my father as a suitor for my sister's hand."

  "Yes, I have."

  "Now you must know that that is altogether impossible,--a thing notto be even talked of."

  "So your father says. I need not tell you that I was very sorry tohear him speak in that way."

  "But, my dear fellow, you can't really be in earnest? You can'tsuppose it possible that he would allow such an engagement?"

  "As to the latter question, I have no answer to give; but I certainlywas,--and certainly am in earnest."

  "Then I must say that I think you have a very erroneous idea of whatthe conduct of a gentleman should be."

  "Stop a moment, Clavering," said Mr. Saul, rising, and standing withhis back to the big fireplace. "Don't allow yourself to say in ahurry words which you will afterwards regret. I do not think you canhave intended to come here and tell me that I am not a gentleman."

  "I don't want to have an argument with you; but you must give it up;that's all."

  "Give what up? If you mean give up your sister, I certainly shallnever do that. She may give me up, and if you have anything to say onthat head, you had better say it to her."

  "What right can you have,--without a shilling in the world--?"

  "I should have no right to marry her in such a condition,--with yourfather's consent or without it. It is a thing which I have neverproposed to myself for a moment,--or to her."

  "And what have you proposed to yourself?"

  Mr. Saul paused a moment before he spoke, looking down at the dustyheaps upon his table, as though hoping that inspiration might cometo him from them. "I will tell you what I have proposed," said he atlast, "as nearly as I can put it into words. I propose to myself tohave the image in my heart of one human being whom I can love aboveall the world beside; I propose to hope that I, as others, may someday marry, and that she whom I so love may become my wife; I proposeto bear with such courage as I can much certain delay, and probableabsolute failure in all this; and I propose also to expect,--no,hardly to expect,--that that which I will do for her, she will do forme. Now you know all my mind, and you may be sure of this, that Iwill instigate your sister to no disobedience."

  "Of course she will not see you again."

  "I shall think that hard after what has passed between us; but Icertainly shall not endeavour to see her clandestinely."

  "And under these circumstances, Mr. Saul, of course you must leaveus."

  "So your father says."

  "But leave us at once, I mean. It cannot be comfortable that you andmy father should go on in the parish together in this way."

  "What does your father mean by 'at once'?"

  "The sooner the better; say in two months' time at furthest."

  "Very well. I will go in two months' time. I have no other home to goto, and no other means of livelihood; but as your father wishes it,I will go at the end of two months. As I comply with this, I hope myrequest to see your sister once before I go will not be refused."

  "It could do no good, Mr. Saul."

  "To me it would do great good,--and, as I think, no harm to her."

  "My father, I am sure, will not allow it. Indeed, why should he? Nor,as I understand, would my sister wish it."

  "Has she said so?"

  "Not to me; but she has acknowledged that any idea of a marriagebetween herself and you is quite impossible, and after that I'm sureshe'll have too much sense to wish for an interview. If there isanything further that I can do for you, I shall be most happy." Mr.Saul did not see that Harry Clavering could do anything for him,and then Harry took his leave. The rector, when he heard of thearrangement, expressed himself as in some sort satisfied. One monthwould have been better than two, but then it could hardly be expectedthat Mr. Saul could take himself away instantly, without looking fora hole in which to lay his head. "Of course it is understood thathe is not to see her?" the rector said. In answer to this, Harryexplained what had taken place, expressing his opinion that Mr. Saulwould, at any rate, keep his word. "Interview, indeed!" said therector. "It is the man's audacity that most astonishes me. It passesme to think how such a fellow can dare to propose such a thing. Whatis it that he expects as the end of it?" Then Harry endeavoured torepeat what Mr. Saul had said as to his own expectations, but hewas quite aware that he failed to make his father understand thoseexpectations as he had understood them when the words came from Mr.Saul's own mouth. Harry Clavering had acknowledged to himself that itwas impossible not to respect the poor curate.

  To Mrs. Clavering, of course, fell the task of explaining to Fannywhat had been done, and what was going to be done. "He is to go away,my dear, at the end of two months."

  "Very well, mamma."

  "And, of course, you and he are not to meet before that."

  "Of course not, if you and papa say so."

  "I have told your papa that it will only be necessary to tell youthis, and that then you can go to your school just as usual, if youplease. Neither papa nor I would doubt your word for a moment."

  "But what can I do if he comes to me?" asked Fanny, almostwhimpering.

  "He has said that he will not, and we do not doubt his word either."

  "That I am sure you need not. Whatever anybody may say, Mr. Saul isas much a gentleman as though he had the best living in the diocese.No one ever knew him break his word,--not a hair's breadth,--ordo--anything else--that he ought--not to do." And Fanny, as shepronounced this rather strong eulogium, began to sob. Mrs. Claveringfelt that Fanny was headstrong, and almost ill-natured, in speakingin this tone of her lover, after the manner in which she had beentreated; but there could be no use in discussing Mr. Saul's virtues,and therefore she let the matter drop. "If you will take my advice,"she said, "you will go about your occupations just as usual. You'llsoon recover your spirits in that way."

  "I don't want to recover my spirits," said Fanny; "but if you wish itI'll go on with the schools."

  It was quite manifest now that Fanny intended to play the role of abroken-hearted young lady, and to regard the absent Mr. Saul withpassionate devotion. That this should be so Mrs. Clavering felt to bethe more cruel, because no such tendencies had been shown before thepaternal sentence against Mr. Saul had been passed. Fanny in tellingher own tale had begun by declaring that any such an engagement wasan impossibility. She had not asked permission to have Mr. Saul for alover. She had given no hint that she even hoped for such permission.But now when
that was done which she herself had almost dictated, shetook upon herself to live as though she were ill-used as badly as aheroine in a castle among the Apennines! And in this way she wouldreally become deeply in love with Mr. Saul;--thinking of all whichMrs. Clavering almost regretted that the edict of banishment had goneforth. It would, perhaps, have been better to have left Mr. Saul togo about the parish, and to have laughed Fanny out of her fancy. Butit was too late now for that, and Mrs. Clavering said nothing furtheron the subject to any one.

  On the day following his visit to the farm house, Harry Claveringwas unwell,--too unwell to go back to London; and on the next day hewas ill in bed. Then it was that he got his mother to write to Mrs.Burton;--and then also he told his mother a part of his troubles.When the letter was written he was very anxious to see it, and wasdesirous that it should be specially worded, and so written as tomake Mrs. Burton certain that he was in truth too ill to come toLondon, though not ill enough to create alarm. "Why not simply let mesay that you are kept here for a day or two?" asked Mrs. Clavering.

  "Because I promised that I would be in Onslow Terrace to-morrow, andshe must not think that I would stay away if I could avoid it."

  Then Mrs. Clavering closed the letter and directed it. When she haddone that, and put on it the postage-stamp, she asked in a voice thatwas intended to be indifferent whether Florence was in London; and,hearing that she was so, expressed her surprise that the lettershould not be written to Florence.

  "My engagement was with Mrs. Burton," said Harry.

  "I hope there is nothing wrong between you and Florence?" said hismother. To this question Harry made no immediate answer, and Mrs.Clavering was afraid to press it. But after a while he recurred tothe subject himself. "Mother," he said, "things are wrong betweenFlorence and me."

  "Oh, Harry;--what has she done?"

  "It is rather what have I done! As for her, she has simply trustedherself to a man who has been false to her."

  "Dear Harry, do not say that. What is it that you mean? It is nottrue about Lady Ongar?"

  "Then you have heard, mother. Of course I do not know what you haveheard, but it can hardly be worse than the truth. But you must notblame her. Whatever fault there may be, is all mine." Then he toldher much of what had occurred in Bolton Street. We may suppose thathe said nothing of that mad caress,--nothing, perhaps, of the finalpromise which he made to Julia as he last passed out of her presence;but he did give her to understand that he had in some way returned tohis old passion for the woman whom he had first loved.

  I should describe Mrs. Clavering in language too highly eulogisticwere I to lead the reader to believe that she was altogether averseto such advantages as would accrue to her son from a marriage sobrilliant as that which he might now make with the grandly doweredwidow of the late earl. Mrs. Clavering by no means despised worldlygoods; and she had, moreover, an idea that her highly gifted sonwas better adapted to the spending than to the making of money. Ithad come to be believed at the rectory that though Harry had workedvery hard at college,--as is the case with many highly born younggentlemen,--and though he would, undoubtedly, continue to work hardif he were thrown among congenial occupations,--such as politics andthe like,--nevertheless, he would never excel greatly in any drudgerythat would be necessary for the making of money. There had beensomething to be proud of in this, but there had, of course, been moreto regret. But now if Harry were to marry Lady Ongar, all troubleon that score would be over. But poor Florence! When Mrs. Claveringallowed herself to think of the matter she knew that Florence'sclaims should be held as paramount. And when she thought further andthought seriously, she knew also that Harry's honour and Harry'shappiness demanded that he should be true to the girl to whom hishand had been promised. And, then, was not Lady Ongar's name tainted?It might be that she had suffered cruel ill-usage in this. It mightbe that no such taint had been deserved. Mrs. Clavering could pleadthe injured woman's cause when speaking of it without any closereference to her own belongings; but it would have been very grievousto her, even had there been no Florence Burton in the case, that herson should make his fortune by marrying a woman as to whose characterthe world was in doubt.

  She came to him late in the evening when his sister and father hadjust left him, and sitting with her hand upon his, spoke one word,which perhaps had more weight with Harry than any word that had yetbeen spoken. "Have you slept, dear?" she said.

  "A little before my father came in."

  "My darling," she said,--"you will be true to Florence; will younot?" Then there was a pause. "My own Harry, tell me that you will betrue where your truth is due."

  "I will, mother," he said.

  "My own boy; my darling boy; my own true gentleman!" Harry felt thathe did not deserve the praise; but praise undeserved, though it maybe satire in disguise, is often very useful.