CHAPTER THE SIXTH
A Cage of Finches
LARGE families are--as my experience goes--of two sorts. We have thefamilies whose members all admire each other. And we have the familieswhose members all detest each other. For myself, I prefer the secondsort. Their quarrels are their own affair; and they have a merit whichthe first sort are never known to possess--the merit of being sometimesable to see the good qualities of persons who do not possess theadvantage of being related to them by blood. The families whose membersall admire each other, are families saturated with insufferable conceit.You happen to speak of Shakespeare, among these people, as a type ofsupreme intellectual capacity. A female member of the family will notfail to convey to you that you would have illustrated your meaning farmore completely if you had referred her to "dear Papa." You are outwalking with a male member of the household; and you say of a woman whopasses, "What a charming creature!" Your companion smiles at yoursimplicity, and wonders whether you have ever seen his sister when she isdressed for a ball. These are the families who cannot be separatedwithout corresponding with each other every day. They read you extractsfrom their letters, and say, "Where is the writer by profession who canequal this?" They talk of their private affairs, in your presence--andappear to think that you ought to be interested too. They enjoy their ownjokes across you at table--and wonder how it is that you are not amused.In domestic circles of this sort the sisters sit habitually on thebrothers' knees; and the husbands inquire into the wives' ailments, inpublic, as unconcernedly as if they were closeted in their own room. Whenwe arrive at a more advanced stage of civilization, the State will supplycages for these intolerable people; and notices will be posted at thecorners of streets, "Beware of Number Twelve: a family in a state ofmutual admiration is hung up there!"
I gathered from Lucilla that the Finches were of the second order oflarge families, as mentioned above. Hardly one of the members of thisdomestic group was on speaking terms with the other. And some of them hadbeen separated for years, without once troubling Her Majesty's PostOffice to convey even the slightest expression of sentiment from one tothe other.
The first wife of Reverend Finch was a Miss Batchford. The members of herfamily (limited at the time of the marriage to her brother and hersister) strongly disapproved of her choice of a husband. The rank of aFinch (I laugh at these contemptible distinctions!) was decided, in thiscase, to be not equal to the rank of a Batchford. Nevertheless, Missmarried. Her brother and sister declined to be present at the ceremony.First quarrel.
Lucilla was born. Reverend Finch's elder brother (on speaking terms withno other member of the family) interfered with a Christianproposal--namely--to shake hands across the baby's cradle. Adopted by themagnanimous Batchfords. First reconciliation.
Time passed. Reverend Finch--then officiating in a poor curacy near agreat manufacturing town--felt a want (the want of money); and took aliberty (the liberty of attempting to borrow of his brother-in-law). Mr.Batchford, being a rich man, regarded this overture, it is needless tosay, in the light of an insult. Miss Batchford sided with her brother.Second quarrel.
Time passed, as before. Mrs. Finch the first died. Reverend Finch's elderbrother (still at daggers drawn with the other members of the family)made a second Christian proposal--namely--to shake hands across thewife's grave. Adopted once more by the bereaved Batchfords. Secondreconciliation.
Another lapse of time. Reverend Finch, left a widower with one daughter,became personally acquainted with an inhabitant of the great city nearwhich he ministered, who was also a widower with one daughter. The statusof the parent, in this case--social-political-religious--wasShoemaker-Radical-Baptist. Reverend Finch, still wanting money, swallowedit all; and married the daughter, with a dowry of three thousand pounds.This proceeding alienated from him for ever, not the Batchfords only, butthe peacemaking elder brother as well. That excellent Christian ceased tobe on speaking terms now with his brother the clergyman, as well as withall the rest of the family. The complete isolation of Reverend Finchfollowed. Regularly every year did the second Mrs. Finch affordopportunities of shaking hands, not only over one cradle, but sometimesover two. Vain and meritorious fertility! Nothing came of it, but a kindof compromise. Lucilla, quite overlooked among the rector'srapidly-increasing second family, was allowed to visit her maternal uncleand aunt at stated periods in every year. Born, to all appearance withthe full possession of her sight, the poor child had become incurablyblind before she was a year old. In all other respects, she presented astriking resemblance to her mother. Bachelor uncle Batchford, and his oldmaiden sister, both conceived the strongest affection for the child. "Ourniece Lucilla," they said, "has justified our fondest hopes--she is aBatchford, not a Finch!" Lucilla's father (promoted, by this time, to therectory of Dimchurch) let them talk. "Wait a bit, and money will come ofit," was all he said. Truly money was wanted!--with fruitful Mrs. Finchmultiplying cradles, year after year, till the doctor himself (employedon contract) got tired of it, and said one day, "It is not true thatthere is an end to everything: there is no end to the multiplyingcapacity of Mrs. Finch."
Lucilla grew up from childhood to womanhood. She was twenty years old,before her father's expectations were realized, and the money came of itat last.
Uncle Batchford died a single man. He divided his fortune between hismaiden sister, and his niece. When she came of age, Lucilla was to havean income of fifteen hundred pounds a year--on certain conditions, whichthe will set forth at great length. The effect of these conditions was(first) to render it absolutely impossible for Reverend Finch, under anycircumstances whatever, to legally inherit a single farthing of themoney--and (secondly), to detach Lucilla from her father's household, andto place her under the care of her maiden aunt, so long as she remainedunmarried, for a period of three months in every year.
The will avowed the object of this last condition in the plainest words."I die as I have lived" (wrote uncle Batchford), "a High Churchman and aTory. My legacy to my niece shall only take effect on theseterms--namely--that she shall be removed at certain stated periods fromthe Dissenting and Radical influences to which she is subjected under herfather's roof, and shall be placed under the care of an Englishgentlewoman who unites to the advantages of birth and breeding thepossession of high and honorable principles"--etcetera, etcetera. Can youconceive Reverend Finch's feelings, sitting, with his daughter by hisside, among the company, while the will was read, and hearing this? Hegot up, like a true Englishman, and made them a speech. "Ladies andgentlemen," he said, "I admit that I am a Liberal in politics, and thatmy wife's family are Dissenters. As an example of the principles thusengendered in my household, I beg to inform you that my daughter acceptsthis legacy with my full permission, and that I forgive Mr. Batchford."With that, he walked out, with his daughter on his arm. He had heardenough, please to observe, to satisfy him that Lucilla (while she livedunmarried) could do what she liked with her income. Before they had gotback to Dimchurch, Reverend Finch had completed a domestic arrangementwhich permitted his daughter to occupy a perfectly independent positionin the rectory, and which placed in her father's pockets--as Miss Finch'scontribution to the housekeeping--five hundred a year.
(Do you know what I felt when I heard this? I felt the deepest regretthat Finch of the liberal principles had not made a third with my poorPratolungo and me in Central America. With him to advise us, we shouldhave saved the sacred cause of Freedom without spending a single farthingon it!)
The old side of the rectory, hitherto uninhabited, was put in order andfurnished--of course at Lucilla's expense. On her twenty-first birthday,the repairs were completed; the first installment of the housekeepingmoney was paid; and the daughter was established, as an independentlodger, in her own father's house!
In order to thoroughly appreciate Finch's ingenuity, it is necessary toadd here that Lucilla had shown, as she grew up, an increasing dislike ofliving at home. In her blind state, the endless turmoil of the childrendistracted her. She and her step-mother d
id not possess a single sympathyin common. Her relations with her father were in much the same condition.She could compassionate his poverty, and she could treat him with theforbearance and respect due to him from his child. As to reallyvenerating and loving him--the less said about that the better. Herhappiest days had been the days she spent with her uncle and aunt; hervisits to the Batchfords had grown to be longer and longer visits withevery succeeding year. If the father, in appealing to the daughter'ssympathies, had not dexterously contrived to unite the preservation ofher independence with the continuance of her residence under his roof,she would, on coming of age, either have lived altogether with her aunt,or have set up an establishment of her own. As it was, the rector hadsecured his five hundred a year, on terms acceptable to both sides--and,more than that, he had got her safe under his own eye. For, remark, therewas one terrible possibility threatening him in the future--thepossibility of Lucilla's marriage!
Such was the strange domestic position of this interesting creature, atthe time when I entered the house.
You will now understand how completely puzzled I was when I recalled whathad happened on the evening of my arrival, and when I asked myself--inthe matter of the mysterious stranger--what course I was to take next. Ihad found Lucilla a solitary being--helplessly dependent in her blindnesson others--and, in that sad condition, without a mother, without asister, without a friend even in whose sympathies she could take refuge,in whose advice she could trust. I had produced a first favorableimpression on her; I had won her liking at once, as she had won mine. Ihad accompanied her on an evening walk, innocent of all suspicion of whatwas going on in her mind. I had by pure accident enabled a stranger tointensify the imaginary interest which she felt in him, by provoking himto speak in her hearing for the first time. In a moment of hystericalagitation--and in sheer despair of knowing who else to confide in--thepoor, foolish, blind, lonely girl had opened her heart to me. What was Ito do?
If the case had been an ordinary one, the whole affair would have beensimply ridiculous.
But the case of Lucilla was not the case of girls in general.
The minds of the blind are, by cruel necessity, forced inward onthemselves. They live apart from us--ah, how hopelessly far apart!--intheir own dark sphere, of which we know nothing. What relief could cometo Lucilla from the world outside? None! It was part of her desolateliberty to be free to dwell unremittingly on the ideal creature of herown dream. Within the narrow limit of the one impression that it had beenpossible for her to derive of this man--the impression of the beauty ofhis voice--her fancy was left to work unrestrained in the changelessdarkness of her life. What a picture! I shudder as I draw it. Oh, yes, itis easy, I know, to look at it the other way--to laugh at the folly of agirl, who first excites her imagination about a total stranger; and then,when she hears him speak, falls in love with his voice! But add that thegirl is blind; that the girl lives habitually in the world of her ownimagination; that the girl has nobody at home who can exercise awholesome influence over her. Is there nothing pitiable in such a stateof things as this? For myself, though I come of a light-hearted nationthat laughs at everything--I saw my own face looking horribly grave andold, as I sat before the glass that night, brushing my hair.
I looked at my bed. Bah! what was the use of going to bed? She was herown mistress. She was perfectly free to take her next walk to Browndownalone! and to place herself, for all I knew to the contrary, at the mercyof a dishonorable and designing man. What was I? Only her companion. Ihad no right to interfere--and yet, if anything happened, I should beblamed. It is so easy to say, "You ought to have done something." Whomcould I consult? The worthy old nurse only held the position of servant.Could I address myself to the lymphatic lady with the baby in one hand,and the novel in the other? Absurd! her stepmother was not to be thoughtof. Her father? Judging by hearsay, I had not derived a favorableimpression of the capacity of Reverend Finch for interfering successfullyin a matter of this sort. However, he was her father; and I could feel myway cautiously with him at first. Hearing Zillah moving about thecorridor, I went out to her. In the course of a little gossip, Iintroduced the name of the master of the house. How was it I had not seenhim yet? For an excellent reason. He had gone to visit a friend atBrighton. It was then Tuesday. He was expected back on "sermon-day"--thatis to say on Saturday in the same week.
I returned to my room, a little out of temper. In this state my mindworks with wonderful freedom. I had another of my inspirations. Mr.Dubourg had taken the liberty of speaking to me that evening. Good. Idetermined to go alone to Browndown the next morning, and take theliberty of speaking to Mr. Dubourg.
Was this resolution solely inspired by my interest in Lucilla? Or had myown curiosity been all the time working under the surface, andinfluencing the course of my reflections unknown to myself? I went to bedwithout inquiring. I recommend you to go to bed without inquiring too.
Poor Miss Finch Page 8
