Chapter 29
The thoughts of worldly men are for ever regulated by a moral law ofgravitation, which, like the physical one, holds them down to earth. Thebright glory of day, and the silent wonders of a starlit night, appealto their minds in vain. There are no signs in the sun, or in the moon,or in the stars, for their reading. They are like some wise men, who,learning to know each planet by its Latin name, have quite forgottensuch small heavenly constellations as Charity, Forbearance, UniversalLove, and Mercy, although they shine by night and day so brightly thatthe blind may see them; and who, looking upward at the spangled sky,see nothing there but the reflection of their own great wisdom andbook-learning.
It is curious to imagine these people of the world, busy in thought,turning their eyes towards the countless spheres that shine above us,and making them reflect the only images their minds contain. The man wholives but in the breath of princes, has nothing in his sight but stars forcourtiers' breasts. The envious man beholds his neighbours' honourseven in the sky; to the money-hoarder, and the mass of worldly folk, thewhole great universe above glitters with sterling coin--fresh from themint--stamped with the sovereign's head--coming always between them andheaven, turn where they may. So do the shadows of our own desires standbetween us and our better angels, and thus their brightness is eclipsed.
Everything was fresh and gay, as though the world were but that morningmade, when Mr Chester rode at a tranquil pace along the Forest road.Though early in the season, it was warm and genial weather; the treeswere budding into leaf, the hedges and the grass were green, the air wasmusical with songs of birds, and high above them all the lark pouredout her richest melody. In shady spots, the morning dew sparkled oneach young leaf and blade of grass; and where the sun was shining, somediamond drops yet glistened brightly, as in unwillingness to leave sofair a world, and have such brief existence. Even the light wind, whoserustling was as gentle to the ear as softly-falling water, had its hopeand promise; and, leaving a pleasant fragrance in its track as it wentfluttering by, whispered of its intercourse with Summer, and of hishappy coming.
The solitary rider went glancing on among the trees, from sunlightinto shade and back again, at the same even pace--looking about him,certainly, from time to time, but with no greater thought of the dayor the scene through which he moved, than that he was fortunate (beingchoicely dressed) to have such favourable weather. He smiled verycomplacently at such times, but rather as if he were satisfied withhimself than with anything else: and so went riding on, upon hischestnut cob, as pleasant to look upon as his own horse, and probablyfar less sensitive to the many cheerful influences by which he wassurrounded.
In the course of time, the Maypole's massive chimneys rose upon hisview: but he quickened not his pace one jot, and with the same coolgravity rode up to the tavern porch. John Willet, who was toastinghis red face before a great fire in the bar, and who, with surpassingforesight and quickness of apprehension, had been thinking, as he lookedat the blue sky, that if that state of things lasted much longer, itmight ultimately become necessary to leave off fires and throw thewindows open, issued forth to hold his stirrup; calling lustily forHugh.
'Oh, you're here, are you, sir?' said John, rather surprised by thequickness with which he appeared. 'Take this here valuable animal intothe stable, and have more than particular care of him if you want tokeep your place. A mortal lazy fellow, sir; he needs a deal of lookingafter.'
'But you have a son,' returned Mr Chester, giving his bridle to Hugh ashe dismounted, and acknowledging his salute by a careless motion of hishand towards his hat. 'Why don't you make HIM useful?'
'Why, the truth is, sir,' replied John with great importance, 'that myson--what, you're a-listening are you, villain?'
'Who's listening?' returned Hugh angrily. 'A treat, indeed, to hear YOUspeak! Would you have me take him in till he's cool?'
'Walk him up and down further off then, sir,' cried old John, 'and whenyou see me and a noble gentleman entertaining ourselves with talk, keepyour distance. If you don't know your distance, sir,' added Mr Willet,after an enormously long pause, during which he fixed his great dulleyes on Hugh, and waited with exemplary patience for any little propertyin the way of ideas that might come to him, 'we'll find a way to teachyou, pretty soon.'
Hugh shrugged his shoulders scornfully, and in his reckless swaggeringway, crossed to the other side of the little green, and there, withthe bridle slung loosely over his shoulder, led the horse to and fro,glancing at his master every now and then from under his bushy eyebrows,with as sinister an aspect as one would desire to see.
Mr Chester, who, without appearing to do so, had eyed him attentivelyduring this brief dispute, stepped into the porch, and turning abruptlyto Mr Willet, said,
'You keep strange servants, John.'
'Strange enough to look at, sir, certainly,' answered the host; 'but outof doors; for horses, dogs, and the likes of that; there an't a betterman in England than is that Maypole Hugh yonder. He an't fit forindoors,' added Mr Willet, with the confidential air of a man who felthis own superior nature. 'I do that; but if that chap had only a littleimagination, sir--'
'He's an active fellow now, I dare swear,' said Mr Chester, in a musingtone, which seemed to suggest that he would have said the same had therebeen nobody to hear him.
'Active, sir!' retorted John, with quite an expression in his face;'that chap! Hallo there! You, sir! Bring that horse here, and go andhang my wig on the weathercock, to show this gentleman whether you'reone of the lively sort or not.'
Hugh made no answer, but throwing the bridle to his master, andsnatching his wig from his head, in a manner so unceremonious and hastythat the action discomposed Mr Willet not a little, though performed athis own special desire, climbed nimbly to the very summit of the maypolebefore the house, and hanging the wig upon the weathercock, sent ittwirling round like a roasting jack. Having achieved this performance,he cast it on the ground, and sliding down the pole with inconceivablerapidity, alighted on his feet almost as soon as it had touched theearth.
'There, sir,' said John, relapsing into his usual stolid state, 'youwon't see that at many houses, besides the Maypole, where there's goodaccommodation for man and beast--nor that neither, though that with himis nothing.'
This last remark bore reference to his vaulting on horseback, as upon MrChester's first visit, and quickly disappearing by the stable gate.
'That with him is nothing,' repeated Mr Willet, brushing his wig withhis wrist, and inwardly resolving to distribute a small charge for dustand damage to that article of dress, through the various items of hisguest's bill; 'he'll get out of a'most any winder in the house. Therenever was such a chap for flinging himself about and never hurting hisbones. It's my opinion, sir, that it's pretty nearly allowing to hisnot having any imagination; and that if imagination could be (which itcan't) knocked into him, he'd never be able to do it any more. But wewas a-talking, sir, about my son.'
'True, Willet, true,' said his visitor, turning again towards thelandlord with his accustomed serenity of face. 'My good friend, whatabout him?'
It has been reported that Mr Willet, previously to making answer,winked. But as he was never known to be guilty of such lightness ofconduct either before or afterwards, this may be looked upon asa malicious invention of his enemies--founded, perhaps, upon theundisputed circumstance of his taking his guest by the third breastbutton of his coat, counting downwards from the chin, and pouring hisreply into his ear:
'Sir,' whispered John, with dignity, 'I know my duty. We want nolove-making here, sir, unbeknown to parents. I respect a certain younggentleman, taking him in the light of a young gentleman; I respect acertain young lady, taking her in the light of a young lady; but of thetwo as a couple, I have no knowledge, sir, none whatever. My son, sir,is upon his patrole.'
'I thought I saw him looking through the corner window but this moment,'said Mr Chester, who naturally thought that being on patrole, impliedwalking about somewhere.
'No do
ubt you did, sir,' returned John. 'He is upon his patrole ofhonour, sir, not to leave the premises. Me and some friends of mine thatuse the Maypole of an evening, sir, considered what was best to be donewith him, to prevent his doing anything unpleasant in opposing yourdesires; and we've put him on his patrole. And what's more, sir, hewon't be off his patrole for a pretty long time to come, I can tell youthat.'
When he had communicated this bright idea, which had its origin in theperusal by the village cronies of a newspaper, containing, among othermatters, an account of how some officer pending the sentence of somecourt-martial had been enlarged on parole, Mr Willet drew back from hisguest's ear, and without any visible alteration of feature, chuckledthrice audibly. This nearest approach to a laugh in which he everindulged (and that but seldom and only on extreme occasions), never evencurled his lip or effected the smallest change in--no, not so much as aslight wagging of--his great, fat, double chin, which at these times, asat all others, remained a perfect desert in the broad map of his face;one changeless, dull, tremendous blank.
Lest it should be matter of surprise to any, that Mr Willet adopted thisbold course in opposition to one whom he had often entertained, and whohad always paid his way at the Maypole gallantly, it may be remarkedthat it was his very penetration and sagacity in this respect, whichoccasioned him to indulge in those unusual demonstrations of jocularity,just now recorded. For Mr Willet, after carefully balancing father andson in his mental scales, had arrived at the distinct conclusion thatthe old gentleman was a better sort of a customer than the young one.Throwing his landlord into the same scale, which was already turned bythis consideration, and heaping upon him, again, his strong desiresto run counter to the unfortunate Joe, and his opposition as a generalprinciple to all matters of love and matrimony, it went down to the veryground straightway, and sent the light cause of the younger gentlemanflying upwards to the ceiling. Mr Chester was not the kind of man to beby any means dim-sighted to Mr Willet's motives, but he thanked him asgraciously as if he had been one of the most disinterested martyrs thatever shone on earth; and leaving him, with many complimentary relianceson his great taste and judgment, to prepare whatever dinner he mightdeem most fitting the occasion, bent his steps towards the Warren.
Dressed with more than his usual elegance; assuming a gracefulness ofmanner, which, though it was the result of long study, sat easily uponhim and became him well; composing his features into their most sereneand prepossessing expression; and setting in short that guard uponhimself, at every point, which denoted that he attached no slightimportance to the impression he was about to make; he entered the boundsof Miss Haredale's usual walk. He had not gone far, or looked about himlong, when he descried coming towards him, a female figure. A glimpseof the form and dress as she crossed a little wooden bridge which laybetween them, satisfied him that he had found her whom he desired tosee. He threw himself in her way, and a very few paces brought themclose together.
He raised his hat from his head, and yielding the path, suffered her topass him. Then, as if the idea had but that moment occurred to him, heturned hastily back and said in an agitated voice:
'I beg pardon--do I address Miss Haredale?'
She stopped in some confusion at being so unexpectedly accosted by astranger; and answered 'Yes.'
'Something told me,' he said, LOOKING a compliment to her beauty, 'thatit could be no other. Miss Haredale, I bear a name which is not unknownto you--which it is a pride, and yet a pain to me to know, soundspleasantly in your ears. I am a man advanced in life, as you see. I amthe father of him whom you honour and distinguish above all othermen. May I for weighty reasons which fill me with distress, beg but aminute's conversation with you here?'
Who that was inexperienced in deceit, and had a frank and youthfulheart, could doubt the speaker's truth--could doubt it too, when thevoice that spoke, was like the faint echo of one she knew so well, andso much loved to hear? She inclined her head, and stopping, cast hereyes upon the ground.
'A little more apart--among these trees. It is an old man's hand, MissHaredale; an honest one, believe me.'
She put hers in it as he said these words, and suffered him to lead herto a neighbouring seat.
'You alarm me, sir,' she said in a low voice. 'You are not the bearer ofany ill news, I hope?'
'Of none that you anticipate,' he answered, sitting down beside her.'Edward is well--quite well. It is of him I wish to speak, certainly;but I have no misfortune to communicate.'
She bowed her head again, and made as though she would have begged himto proceed; but said nothing.
'I am sensible that I speak to you at a disadvantage, dear MissHaredale. Believe me that I am not so forgetful of the feelings of myyounger days as not to know that you are little disposed to view mewith favour. You have heard me described as cold-hearted, calculating,selfish--'
'I have never, sir,'--she interposed with an altered manner and a firmervoice; 'I have never heard you spoken of in harsh or disrespectfulterms. You do a great wrong to Edward's nature if you believe himcapable of any mean or base proceeding.'
'Pardon me, my sweet young lady, but your uncle--'
'Nor is it my uncle's nature either,' she replied, with a heightenedcolour in her cheek. 'It is not his nature to stab in the dark, nor isit mine to love such deeds.'
She rose as she spoke, and would have left him; but he detained her witha gentle hand, and besought her in such persuasive accents to hear himbut another minute, that she was easily prevailed upon to comply, and sosat down again.
'And it is,' said Mr Chester, looking upward, and apostrophising theair; 'it is this frank, ingenuous, noble nature, Ned, that you can woundso lightly. Shame--shame upon you, boy!'
She turned towards him quickly, and with a scornful look and flashingeyes. There were tears in Mr Chester's eyes, but he dashed themhurriedly away, as though unwilling that his weakness should be known,and regarded her with mingled admiration and compassion.
'I never until now,' he said, 'believed, that the frivolous actions of ayoung man could move me like these of my own son. I never knew till now,the worth of a woman's heart, which boys so lightly win, and lightlyfling away. Trust me, dear young lady, that I never until now didknow your worth; and though an abhorrence of deceit and falsehood hasimpelled me to seek you out, and would have done so had you been thepoorest and least gifted of your sex, I should have lacked the fortitudeto sustain this interview could I have pictured you to my imagination asyou really are.'
Oh! If Mrs Varden could have seen the virtuous gentleman as he saidthese words, with indignation sparkling from his eyes--if she could haveheard his broken, quavering voice--if she could have beheld him as hestood bareheaded in the sunlight, and with unwonted energy poured forthhis eloquence!
With a haughty face, but pale and trembling too, Emma regarded him insilence. She neither spoke nor moved, but gazed upon him as though shewould look into his heart.
'I throw off,' said Mr Chester, 'the restraint which natural affectionwould impose on some men, and reject all bonds but those of truth andduty. Miss Haredale, you are deceived; you are deceived by your unworthylover, and my unworthy son.'
Still she looked at him steadily, and still said not one word.
'I have ever opposed his professions of love for you; you will do methe justice, dear Miss Haredale, to remember that. Your uncle and myselfwere enemies in early life, and if I had sought retaliation, I mighthave found it here. But as we grow older, we grow wiser--bitter, I wouldfain hope--and from the first, I have opposed him in this attempt. Iforesaw the end, and would have spared you, if I could.'
'Speak plainly, sir,' she faltered. 'You deceive me, or are deceivedyourself. I do not believe you--I cannot--I should not.'
'First,' said Mr Chester, soothingly, 'for there may be in your mindsome latent angry feeling to which I would not appeal, pray take thisletter. It reached my hands by chance, and by mistake, and should haveaccounted to you (as I am told) for my son's not answering some othernote of y
ours. God forbid, Miss Haredale,' said the good gentleman, withgreat emotion, 'that there should be in your gentle breast one causelessground of quarrel with him. You should know, and you will see, that hewas in no fault here.'
There appeared something so very candid, so scrupulously honourable,so very truthful and just in this course something which rendered theupright person who resorted to it, so worthy of belief--that Emma'sheart, for the first time, sunk within her. She turned away and burstinto tears.
'I would,' said Mr Chester, leaning over her, and speaking in mild andquite venerable accents; 'I would, dear girl, it were my task to banish,not increase, those tokens of your grief. My son, my erring son,--I willnot call him deliberately criminal in this, for men so young, who havebeen inconstant twice or thrice before, act without reflection, almostwithout a knowledge of the wrong they do,--will break his plighted faithto you; has broken it even now. Shall I stop here, and having given youthis warning, leave it to be fulfilled; or shall I go on?'
'You will go on, sir,' she answered, 'and speak more plainly yet, injustice both to him and me.'
'My dear girl,' said Mr Chester, bending over her more affectionatelystill; 'whom I would call my daughter, but the Fates forbid, Edwardseeks to break with you upon a false and most unwarrantable pretence. Ihave it on his own showing; in his own hand. Forgive me, if I have hada watch upon his conduct; I am his father; I had a regard for your peaceand his honour, and no better resource was left me. There lies on hisdesk at this present moment, ready for transmission to you, a letter,in which he tells you that our poverty--our poverty; his and mine, MissHaredale--forbids him to pursue his claim upon your hand; in which heoffers, voluntarily proposes, to free you from your pledge; and talksmagnanimously (men do so, very commonly, in such cases) of being intime more worthy of your regard--and so forth. A letter, to be plain, inwhich he not only jilts you--pardon the word; I would summon to youraid your pride and dignity--not only jilts you, I fear, in favour of theobject whose slighting treatment first inspired his brief passion foryourself and gave it birth in wounded vanity, but affects to make amerit and a virtue of the act.'
She glanced proudly at him once more, as by an involuntary impulse, andwith a swelling breast rejoined, 'If what you say be true, he takes muchneedless trouble, sir, to compass his design. He's very tender of mypeace of mind. I quite thank him.'
'The truth of what I tell you, dear young lady,' he replied, 'you willtest by the receipt or non-receipt of the letter of which I speak.Haredale, my dear fellow, I am delighted to see you, although we meetunder singular circumstances, and upon a melancholy occasion. I hope youare very well.'
At these words the young lady raised her eyes, which were filled withtears; and seeing that her uncle indeed stood before them, and beingquite unequal to the trial of hearing or of speaking one word more,hurriedly withdrew, and left them. They stood looking at each other, andat her retreating figure, and for a long time neither of them spoke.
'What does this mean? Explain it,' said Mr Haredale at length. 'Why areyou here, and why with her?'
'My dear friend,' rejoined the other, resuming his accustomed mannerwith infinite readiness, and throwing himself upon the bench with aweary air, 'you told me not very long ago, at that delightful oldtavern of which you are the esteemed proprietor (and a most charmingestablishment it is for persons of rural pursuits and in robust health,who are not liable to take cold), that I had the head and heart of anevil spirit in all matters of deception. I thought at the time; Ireally did think; you flattered me. But now I begin to wonder at yourdiscernment, and vanity apart, do honestly believe you spoke the truth.Did you ever counterfeit extreme ingenuousness and honest indignation?My dear fellow, you have no conception, if you never did, how faint theeffort makes one.'
Mr Haredale surveyed him with a look of cold contempt. 'You may evade anexplanation, I know,' he said, folding his arms. 'But I must have it. Ican wait.'
'Not at all. Not at all, my good fellow. You shall not wait a moment,'returned his friend, as he lazily crossed his legs. 'The simplest thingin the world. It lies in a nutshell. Ned has written her a letter--aboyish, honest, sentimental composition, which remains as yet inhis desk, because he hasn't had the heart to send it. I have taken aliberty, for which my parental affection and anxiety are a sufficientexcuse, and possessed myself of the contents. I have described themto your niece (a most enchanting person, Haredale; quite an angeliccreature), with a little colouring and description adapted to ourpurpose. It's done. You may be quite easy. It's all over. Deprived oftheir adherents and mediators; her pride and jealousy roused to theutmost; with nobody to undeceive her, and you to confirm me; you willfind that their intercourse will close with her answer. If she receivesNed's letter by to-morrow noon, you may date their parting fromto-morrow night. No thanks, I beg; you owe me none. I have acted formyself; and if I have forwarded our compact with all the ardour even youcould have desired, I have done so selfishly, indeed.'
'I curse the compact, as you call it, with my whole heart and soul,'returned the other. 'It was made in an evil hour. I have bound myselfto a lie; I have leagued myself with you; and though I did so with arighteous motive, and though it cost me such an effort as haply few menknow, I hate and despise myself for the deed.'
'You are very warm,' said Mr Chester with a languid smile.
'I AM warm. I am maddened by your coldness. 'Death, Chester, if yourblood ran warmer in your veins, and there were no restraints upon me,such as those that hold and drag me back--well; it is done; you tell meso, and on such a point I may believe you. When I am most remorsefulfor this treachery, I will think of you and your marriage, and try tojustify myself in such remembrances, for having torn asunder Emma andyour son, at any cost. Our bond is cancelled now, and we may part.'
Mr Chester kissed his hand gracefully; and with the same tranquil facehe had preserved throughout--even when he had seen his companionso tortured and transported by his passion that his whole frame wasshaken--lay in his lounging posture on the seat and watched him as hewalked away.
'My scapegoat and my drudge at school,' he said, raising his headto look after him; 'my friend of later days, who could not keep hismistress when he had won her, and threw me in her way to carry off theprize; I triumph in the present and the past. Bark on, ill-favoured,ill-conditioned cur; fortune has ever been with me--I like to hear you.'
The spot where they had met, was in an avenue of trees. Mr Haredale notpassing out on either hand, had walked straight on. He chanced to turnhis head when at some considerable distance, and seeing that his latecompanion had by that time risen and was looking after him, stood stillas though he half expected him to follow and waited for his coming up.
'It MAY come to that one day, but not yet,' said Mr Chester, waving hishand, as though they were the best of friends, and turning away. 'Notyet, Haredale. Life is pleasant enough to me; dull and full of heavinessto you. No. To cross swords with such a man--to indulge his humourunless upon extremity--would be weak indeed.'
For all that, he drew his sword as he walked along, and in anabsent humour ran his eye from hilt to point full twenty times. Butthoughtfulness begets wrinkles; remembering this, he soon put it up,smoothed his contracted brow, hummed a gay tune with greater gaiety ofmanner, and was his unruffled self again.
Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty Page 30
