Poor Miss Finch

by Wilkie Collins

  Astonishment at the extraordinary resemblance between them, was the oneimpression felt by all three of us, as the brothers entered the room.

  Exactly alike in their height, in their walk, in their features, and intheir voices. Both with the same colored hair and the same beardlessfaces. Oscar's smile exactly reflected on Nugent's lips. Oscar's oddlittle semi-foreign tricks of gesticulation with his hands, exactlyreproduced in the hands of Nugent. And, to crown it all, there was thecomplexion which Oscar had lost for ever (just a shade darker perhaps)found again on Nugent's cheeks! The one difference which made it possibleto distinguish between them, at the moment when they first appearedtogether in the room, was also the one difference which Lucilla wasphysically incapable of detecting--the terrible contrast of color betweenthe brother who bore the blue disfigurement of the drug, and the brotherwho was left as Nature had made him.

  "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Finch--I have long wished forthis pleasure. Thank you, Mr. Finch, for all your kindness to my brother.Madame Pratolungo, I presume? Permit me to shake hands. It is needless tosay, I have heard of your illustrious husband. Aha! here's a baby. Yours,Mrs. Finch? Girl or boy, ma'am? A fine child--if a bachelor may beallowed to pronounce an opinion. _Tweet--tweet--tweet!_"

  He chirruped to the baby, as if he had been a family man, and snapped hisfingers gaily. Poor Oscar's blue face turned in silent triumph towardsme. "What did I tell you?" his look asked. "Did I not say Nugentfascinated everybody at first sight?" Most true. An irresistible man. Soutterly different in his manner from Oscar--except when he was inrepose--and yet so like Oscar in other respects, I can only describe himas his brother completed. He had the pleasant lively flow of spirits, theeasy winning gentleman-like confidence in himself, which Oscar wanted.And, then, what excellent taste he possessed. He liked children! herespected the memory of my glorious Pratolungo!--In half a minute fromthe time when he entered the room, Nugent Dubourg had won Mrs. Finch'sheart and mine.

  He turned from the baby to Mr. Finch, and pointed to the open Shakespeareon the table.

  "You were reading to the ladies?" he said. "I am afraid we haveinterrupted you."

  "Don't mention it," said the rector, with his lofty politeness. "Anothertime will do. It is a habit of mine, Mr. Nugent, to read aloud in myfamily circle. As a clergyman and a lover of poetry (in both capacities)I have long cultivated the art of elocution----"

  "My dear sir, excuse me, you have cultivated it all wrong!"

  Mr. Finch paused, thunderstruck. A man in his presence presuming to havean opinion of his own! a man in the rectory parlor capable ofinterrupting the rector in the middle of a sentence! guilty of the insaneaudacity of telling him, as a reader--with Shakespeare open beforethem--that he read wrong!

  "Oh, we heard you as we came in!" proceeded Nugent, with the mostundiminished confidence, expressed in the most gentlemanlike manner. "Youread it like this." He took up _Hamlet_ and read the opening line of theFourth Scene, ("The air bites shrewdly. It is very cold") with anirresistibly-accurate imitation of Mr. Finch. "That's nor the way Hamletwould speak. No man in his position would remark that it was very cold inthat bow-wow manner. What is Shakespeare before all things? True tonature; always true to nature. What condition is Hamlet in when he isexpecting to see the Ghost? He is nervous, and he feels the cold. Let himshow it naturally; let him speak as any other man would speak, under thecircumstances. Look here! Quick and quiet--like this. 'The air bitesshrewdly'--there Hamlet stops and shivers--pur-rer-rer! 'it is verycold.' That's the way to read Shakespeare!"

  Mr. Finch lifted his head into the air as high as it could possibly go,and brought the flat of his hand down with a solemn and sounding smack onthe open book.

  "Allow me to say, sir----!" he began.

  Nugent stopped him again, more good-humouredly than ever.

  "You don't agree with me? All right! Quite useless to dispute about it. Idon't know what you may be--I am the most opinionated man in existence.Sheer waste of time, my dear sir, to attempt convincing Me. Now, justlook at that child!" Here Mr. Nugent Dubourg's attention was suddenlyattracted by the baby. He twisted round on his heel, and addressed Mrs.Finch. "I take the liberty of saying, ma'am, that a more senseless dressdoesn't exist, than the dress that is put, in this country, on infants oftender years. What are the three main functions which that child--thatcharming child of yours-performs? He sucks; he sleeps; and he grows. Atthe present moment, he isn't sucking, he isn't sleeping--he is growingwith all his might. Under those interesting circumstances, what does hewant to do? To move his limbs freely in every direction. You let himswing his arms to his heart's content--and you deny him freedom to kickhis legs. You clothe him in a dress three times as long as himself. Hetries to throw his legs up in the air as he throws his arms, and he can'tdo it. There is his senseless long dress entangling itself in his toes,and making an effort of what Nature intended to be a luxury. Can anythingbe more absurd? What are mothers about? Why don't they think forthemselves? Take my advice--short petticoats, Mrs. Finch. Liberty,glorious liberty, for my young friend's legs! Room, heaps of room, forthat infant martyr's toes!"

  Mrs. Finch listened helplessly--lifted the baby's long petticoats, andlooked at them--stared piteously at Nugent Dubourg--opened her lips tospeak--and, thinking better of it, turned her watery eyes on her husband,appealing to _him_ to take the matter up. Mr. Finch made another attemptto assert his dignity--a ponderously satirical attempt, this time.

  "In offering your advice to my wife, Mr. Nugent," said the rector, "youmust permit me to remark that it would have had more practical force ifit had been the advice of a married man. I beg to remind you----"

  "You beg to remind me that it is the advice of a bachelor? Oh, come! thatreally won't do at this time of day. Doctor Johnson settled that argumentat once and for ever, a century since. 'Sir!' (he said to somebody ofyour way of thinking) 'you may scold your carpenter, when he has made abad table, though you can't make a table yourself.' I say to you--'Mr.Finch, you may point out a defect in a baby's petticoats, though youhaven't got a baby yourself!' Doesn't that satisfy you? All right! Takeanother illustration. Look at your room here. I can see in the twinklingof an eye, that it's badly lit. You have only got one window--you oughtto have two. Is it necessary to be a practical builder to discover that?Absurd! Are you satisfied now? No! Take another illustration. What's thisprinted paper, here, on the chimney-piece? Assessed Taxes. Ha! AssessedTaxes will do. You're not in the House of Commons; you're not Chancellorof the Exchequer--but haven't you an opinion of your own about taxation,in spite of that? Must you and I be in Parliament before we can presumeto see that the feeble old British Constitution is at its last gasp----?"

  "And the vigorous young Republic drawing its first breath of life!" Iburst in; introducing the Pratolungo programme (as my way is) at everyavailable opportunity.

  Nugent Dubourg instantly wheeled round in my direction; and set me righton my subject, just as he had set the rector right on reading _Hamlet,_and Mrs. Finch right on clothing babies.

  "Not a bit of it!" he pronounced positively. "The 'young Republic' is thericketty child of the political family. Give him up, ma'am. You willnever make a man of him."

  I tried to assert myself as the rector had tried before me--withprecisely the same result. I appealed indignantly to the authority of myillustrious husband.

  "Doctor Pratolungo--" I began.

  "Was an honest man," interposed Nugent Dubourg. "I am an advanced Liberalmyself--I respect him. But he was quite wrong. All sincere republicansmake the same mistake. They believe in the existence of public spirit inEurope. Amiable delusion! Public spirit is dead in Europe. Public spiritis the generous emotion of young nations, of new peoples. In selfish oldEurope, private interest has taken its place. When your husband preachedthe republic, on what ground did he put it? On the ground that therepublic was going to elevate the nation. Pooh! Ask me to accept therepublic, on the ground that I elevate Myself--and, supposing you canprove it, I will listen to y
ou. If you are ever to set republicaninstitutions going, in the Old World--_there_ is the only motive powerthat will do it!"

  I was indignant at such sentiments. "My glorious husband--" I beganagain.

  "Would have died rather than appeal to the meanest instincts of hisfellow-creatures. Just so! There was his mistake. That's why he nevercould make anything of the republic. That's why the republic is thericketty child of the political family. _Quod erat demonstrandum,_" saidNugent Dubourg, finishing me off with a pleasant smile, and an easyindicative gesture of the hand which said, "Now I have settled thesethree people in succession, I am equally well satisfied with myself andwith them!"

  His smile was irresistible. Bent as I was on disputing the degradingconclusions at which he had arrived, I really had not fire enough in me,at the moment, to feed my own indignation. As to Reverend Finch, he satsilently swelling in a corner; digesting, as he best might, the discoverythat there was another man in the world, besides the Rector of Dimchurch,with an excellent opinion of himself, and with perfectly unassailableconfidence and fluency in expressing it. In the momentary silence thatnow followed, Oscar got his first opportunity of speaking. He had, thusfar, been quite content to admire his clever brother. He now advanced tome, and asked what had become of Lucilla.

  "The servant told me she was here," he said. "I am so anxious tointroduce her to Nugent."

  Nugent put his arm affectionately round his brother's neck, and gave hima hug. "Dear old boy! I am just as anxious as you are."

  "Lucilla went out a little while since," I said, "to take a turn in thegarden."

  "I'll go and find her," said Oscar. "Wait here, Nugent. I'll bring herin."

  He left the room. Before he could close the door one of the servantsappeared, to claim Mrs. Finch's private ear, on some mysterious domesticemergency. Nugent facetiously entreated her, as she passed him, to clearher mind of prejudice, and consider the question of infant petticoats onits own merits. Mr. Finch took offense at this second reference to thesubject. He rose to follow his wife.

  "When you are a married man, Mr. Dubourg," said the rector severely, "youwill learn to leave the management of an infant in its mother's hands."

  "There's another mistake!" remarked Nugent, following him with unabatedgood humour, to the door. "A married man's idea of another man as ahusband, always begins and ends with his idea of himself." He turned tome, as the door closed on Mr. Finch. "Now we are alone, MadamePratolungo," he said, "I want to speak to you about Miss Finch. There isan opportunity, before she comes in. Oscar's letter only told me that shewas blind. I am naturally interested in everything that relates to mybrother's future wife. I am particularly interested about this afflictionof hers. May I ask how long she has been blind?"

  "Since she was a year old," I replied.

  "Through an accident?"

  "No."

  "After a fever? or a disease of any other sort?"

  I began to feel a little surprised at his entering into these medicaldetails.

  "I never heard that it was through a fever, or other illness," I said."So far as I know, the blindness came on unexpectedly, from some causethat did not express itself to the people about her, at the time."

  He drew his chair confidentially nearer to mine. "How old is she?" heasked.

  I began to feel more than a little surprised; and I showed it, I suppose,on telling him Lucilla's age.

  "As things are now," he explained, "there are reasons which make mehesitate to enter on the question of Miss Finch's blindness either withmy brother, or with any members of the family. I must wait to speak aboutit to _them,_ until I can speak to good practical purpose. There is noharm in my starting the subject with _you._ When she first lost hersight, no means of restoring it were left untried, of course?"

  "I should suppose not," I replied. "It's so long since, I have neverasked."

  "So long since," he repeated--and then considered for a moment.

  His reflections ended in a last question.

  "She is resigned, I suppose--and everybody about her is resigned--to theidea of her being hopelessly blind for life."

  Instead of answering him, I put a question on my side. My heart wasbeginning to beat rapidly--without my knowing why.

  "Mr. Nugent Dubourg," I said, "what have you got in your mind aboutLucilla?"

  "Madame Pratolungo," he replied, "I have got something in my mind whichwas put into it by a friend of mine whom I met in America."

  "The friend you mentioned in your letter to your brother?"

  "The same."

  "The German gentleman whom you propose to introduce to Oscar andLucilla?"

  "Yes."

  "May I ask who he is?"

  Nugent Dubourg looked at me attentively; considered with himself for thesecond time; and answered in these words:

  "He is the greatest living authority, and the greatest living operator,in diseases of the eye."

  The idea in his mind burst its way into my mind in a moment.

  "Gracious God!" I exclaimed, "are you mad enough to suppose thatLucilla's sight can be restored, after a blindness of one-and-twentyyears?"

  He suddenly held up his hand, in sign to me to be silent.

  At the same moment the door opened; and Lucilla (followed by Oscar)entered the room.