Springhaven: A Tale of the Great War

by R. D. Blackmore

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  FAIR CRITICISM

  Few things can be worse for a very young woman than to want to be ledby somebody, and yet find nobody fit to do it. Or at any rate, throughsuperior quickness and the knowledge of it, to regard old friends andrelatives of experience as very slow coaches, and prigs or prudes, whocannot enter into quick young feelings, but deal in old saws which grateupon them.

  Not to moralise about it--for if young ladies hate anything, it is suchmoralising--Miss Dolly Darling was now in that uncomfortable frame ofmind when advice is most needed, yet most certain to be spurned. Shelooked upon her loving and sensible sister as one who was fated to bean old maid, and was meant perhaps by nature for that condition, whichappeared to herself the most abject in the world. And even without thatconclusion about Faith she would have been loth to seek counsel fromher, having always resented most unduly what she called her "superiorair of wisdom." Dolly knew that she was quicker of wit than hersister--as shallow waters run more rapidly--and she fancied that shepossessed a world of lively feelings into which the slower intellectcould not enter. For instance, their elder brother Frank had justpublished a volume of poems, very noble in their way, and glowing withardour for freedom, democracy, and the like, as well as exhibiting fineperception of sound, and great boldness in matters beyond sounding, yetlargely ungifted with knowledge of nature, whether human or superior.

  "Better stick to his law-books," the Admiral had said, after singing outsome of the rhyme of it to the tune of "Billy Benbow"; "never sit on thewool-sack by spewing oakum this way."

  Faith had tried, as a matter of duty, to peruse this book to its cover;but she found it beyond even her good-will, and mild sympathy witheverything, to do so. There was not the touch of nature in it whichmakes humble people feel, and tickles even the very highest with desireto enter into it. So Faith declared that it must be very clever, and nodoubt very beautiful, but she herself was so stupid that she could notmake out very clearly what it was all about.

  "Well, I understand every word of it," Miss Dolly cried, with a literarylook. "I don't see how you can help doing that, when you know all aboutFrank, who wrote it. Whenever it is not quite clear, it is because hewants us to think that he knows too much, or else because he is notquite certain what he wants to mean himself. And as for his talk aboutfreedom, and all that, I don't see why you should object to it. It isquite the fashion with all clever people now, and it stops them fromdoing any mischief. And nobody pays much attention to them, after thecruel things done in France when I was seven or eight years old. If Isee Frank, I shall tell him that I like it."

  "And I shall tell him that I don't," said Faith. "It cannot do anybodyany good. And what they call 'freedom' seems to mean making free withother people's property."

  These poems were issued in one volume, and under one title--TheHarmodiad--although there must have been some half-hundred of them,and not more than nine odes to freedom in the lot. Some were almosttolerable, and others lofty rubbish, and the critics (not knowing theauthor) spoke their bright opinions freely. The poet, though shy as amouse in his preface, expected a mountain of inquiry as to the identityof this new bard, and modestly signed himself "Asteroid," which madehis own father stare and swear. Growing sore prematurely from muchkeelhauling--for the reviewers of the period were patriotic, and theEnglish public anti-Gallic--Frank quitted his chambers at Lincoln's Inn,and came home to be comforted for Christmas. This was the wisest thingthat he could do, though he felt that it was not Harmodian. In spite ofall crotchets, he was not a bad fellow, and not likely to make a goodlawyer.

  As the fates would have it (being naturally hostile to poets who defythem), by the same coach to Stonnington came Master Johnny, in highfeather for his Christmas holidays. Now these two brothers were asdifferent of nature as their sisters were, or more so; and unlike thegentler pair, each of these cherished lofty disdain for the other. Franklooked down upon the school-boy as an unlicked cub without twoideas; the bodily defect he endeavoured to cure by frequent outwardapplications, but the mental shortcoming was beneath his efforts. Johnnymeanwhile, who was as hard as nails, no sooner recovered from a thumpingthan he renewed and redoubled his loud contempt for a great lout oversix feet high, who had never drawn a sword or pulled a trigger. And nowfor the winter this book would be a perpetual snowball for him to pelthis big brother with, and yet (like a critic) be scarcely fair objectfor a hiding. In season out of season, upstairs down-stairs, even inthe breakfast and the dinner chambers, this young imp poked clumsysplinters--worse than thorns, because so dull--into the tender poeticside; and people, who laugh at the less wit the better, laughed verykindly, to please the boy, without asking whether they vexed the man.And the worst of it was that the author too must laugh.

  All this might be looked down at by a soul well hoisted upon theguy-ropes of contempt; and now and then a very solid drubbing givenhandsomely (upon other grounds) to the chief tormentor solaced the mindof unacknowledged merit. But as the most vindictive measure to the manwho has written an abusive letter is to vouchsafe him no reply, so tothe poet who rebukes the age the bitterest answer it can give is none.Frank Darling could retaliate upon his brother Johnny, and did sowhenever he could lay hold of him alone; but the stedfast silence of hissister Faith (to whom one of his loftiest odes was addressed), and ofhis lively father, irked him far more than a thousand low parodies.Dolly alone was some comfort to him, some little vindication of trueinsight; and he was surprised to find how quickly her intelligence(which until now he had despised) had strengthened, deepened, andenlarged itself. Still he wanted some one older, bigger, more capable ofshutting up the mouth, and nodding (instead of showing such a lot of redtongue and white teeth), before he could be half as snug as a truepoet should be, upon the hobs of his own fire. And happily he found hisAnti-Zoilus ere long.

  One day he was walking in a melancholy mood along the beach towardsPebbleridge, doubting deeply in his honest mind whether he ever shoulddo any good, in versification, or anything else. He said to himself thathe had been too sanguine, eager, self-confident, ardent, impetuous, and,if the nasty word must be faced, even too self-conceited. Only yesterdayhe had tried, by delicate setting of little word-traps, to leadMr. Twemlow towards the subject, and obtain that kind-hearted man'scomforting opinion. But no; the gentle Rector would not be brought tobook, or at any rate not to that book; and the author had sense enoughto know without a wink that his volume had won volumes of dislike.

  Parnassus could never have lived till now without two heads--one tocarry on with, while the other is being thumped to pieces. While thecritics demolish one peak, the poet withdraws to the other, and assureshimself that the general public, the larger voice of the nation, willsalute him there. But alas, Frank Darling had just discovered that eventhat eminence was not his, except as a desert out of human sight. Forhe had in his pocket a letter from his publishers, received that drearymorning, announcing a great many copies gone gratis, six sold to thetrade at a frightful discount, and six to the enterprising public. Allthese facts combined to make him feel uncommonly sad and sore to-day.

  A man of experience could have told him that this disappointment was forhis good; but he failed to see it in that light, and did not bless theblessing. Slowly and heavily he went on, without much heed of anything,swinging his clouded cane now and then, as some slashing reviewsoccurred to him, yet becoming more peaceful and impartial of mind underthe long monotonous cadence and quiet repetitions of the soothing sea.For now he was beyond the Haven head--the bulwark that makes the bay apond in all common westerly weather--and waves that were worthy of thename flowed towards him, with a gentle breeze stepping over them.

  The brisk air was like a fresh beverage to him, and the fall of thewaves sweet music. He took off his hat, and stopped, and listened, andhis eyes grew brighter. Although the waves had nothing very distinct tosay in dying, yet no two (if you hearkened well), or at any rate no twoin succession, died with exactly the same expression, or vanished withprecisely the s
ame farewell. Continual shifts went on among them, andmomentary changes; each in proper sequence marching, and allowed itsproper time, yet at any angle traversed, even in its crowning curl,not only by the wind its father, but by the penitent return and whitecontrition of its shattered elder brother. And if this were not enoughto make a samely man take interest in perpetually flowing changes, thesun and clouds, at every look and breath, varied variety.

  Frank Darling thought how small his griefs were, and how vain hisvanity. Of all the bubbly clots of froth, or frayed and shattered dabsof drift, flying beside him or falling at his feet, every one wasas good as his ideas, and as valuable as his labours. And of all theunreckoned waves advancing, lifting their fugitive crests, and roaring,there certainly was not one that fell with weight so futile as hisown. Who cared even to hear his sound? What ear was soothed by his longrhythm, or what mind solaced by the magnitude of his rolling?

  Suddenly he found that some mind was so. For when he had been standinga long while thus, chewing the salt cud of marine reflections, he seemedto hear something more intelligible than the sea. With more surprisethan interest he walked towards the sound, and stood behind the cornerof a jutting rock to listen. In another second his interest overpoweredhis surprise, for he knew every word of the lines brought to his ears,for the very simple reason that they were his own. Round the corner ofthat rock, so absorbed in admiration that he could hear no footstep, avery fine young man of the highest order was reading aloud in a powerfulvoice, and with extremely ardent gesticulation, a fine passage from thatgreatly undervalued poem, the Harmodiad, of and concerning the beautiesof Freedom--

  "No crown upon her comely head she bore, No wreath her affluent tresses to restrain; A smile the only ornament she wore, Her only gem a tear for others' pain. Herself did not her own mishaps deplore, Because she lives immortal as the dew, Which falling from the stars soon mounts again; And in this wise all space she travels through, Beneficent as heaven, and to the earth more true.

  "Her blessings all may win who seek the prize, If only they be faithful, meek, and strong, And crave not that which others' right denies, But march against the citadel of wrong. A glorious army this, that finds allies Wherever God hath built the heart of man With attributes that to Himself belong; By Him ordained to crown what He began, And shatter despotism, which is the foul fiend's ban."

  Frank thought that he had never heard nobler reading, sonorous, clear,well timed, well poised, and of harmonious cadence. The curved rock gavea melodious ring, and the husky waves a fine contrast to it, whilethe reader was so engrossed with grandeur--the grandeur of Frank's ownmind!--that his hat could evidently not contain his head, but was flungat the mercy of his feet. What a fine, expressive, and commanding face!

  If Frank Darling had been a Frenchman--which he sometimes longed to be,for the sake of that fair Liberty--the scene, instead of being awkward,would have been elegant, rapturous, ennobling. But being of the clumsyEnglish race, he was quite at a loss what to do with himself. On paperhe could be effusive, ardent, eloquent, sentimental; but not a bit ofthat to meet the world in his own waistcoat. He gave a swing to hisstick, and walked across the opening as if he were looking at sea-gulls.And on he would have walked without further notice, except a big gulp inhis throat, if it had not been for a trifling accident.

  Somehow or other the recitative gentleman's hat turned over to the wind,and that active body (which never neglects any sportive opportunity) gotinto the crown, with the speed of an upstart, and made off with it alongthe stones. A costly hat it was, and comely with rich braid and satinloops, becoming also to a well-shaped head, unlike the chimney-pot ofthe present day, which any man must thank God for losing. However, theowner was so wrapped up in poetry that his breeches might have gonewithout his being any wiser.

  "Sir," said Frank Darling, after chasing the hat (which could nottrundle as our pots do, combining every possible absurdity), "excuse mefor interrupting you, but this appears to be your hat, and it was on itsway to a pool of salt-water."

  "Hat!--my hat?" replied the other gentleman. "Oh, to be sure! I hadquite forgotten. Sir, I am very much obliged to you. My hat might havegone to the devil, I believe, I was so delightfully occupied. Such athing never happened to me before, for I am very hard indeed to please;but I was reading, sir; I was reading. Accept my thanks, sir; and Isuppose I must leave off."

  "I thought that I heard a voice," said Frank, growing bold with fearthat he should know no more, for the other was closing his book withgreat care, and committing it to a pouch buckled over his shoulder; "andI fear that I broke in upon a pleasant moment. Perhaps I should havepleased you better if I had left this hat to drown."

  "I seem ungrateful," the stranger answered, with a sweet but melancholysmile, as he donned his hat and then lifted it gracefully to salute itsrescuer; "but it is only because I have been carried far away from allthoughts of self, by the power of a much larger mind. Such a thing mayhave occurred to you, sir, though it happens very seldom in one life. Ifso, you will know how to forgive me."

  "I scarcely dare ask--or rather I would say"--stammered the anxiouspoet--"that I cannot expect you to tell me the name of the fortunatewriter who has moved you so."

  "Would to Heaven that I could!" exclaimed the other. "But this greatpoet has withheld his name--all great poets are always modest--but itcannot long remain unknown. Such grandeur of conception and force oflanguage, combined with such gifts of melody, must produce universaldemand to know the name of this benefactor. I cannot express myself as Iwould desire, because I have been brought up in France, where literatureis so different, and people judge a work more liberally, withoutrecourse to politics. This is a new work, only out last week; and afriend of mine, a very fine judge of literature, was so enchantedwith it that he bought a score of copies at once, and as my good starsprevailed, he sent me one. You are welcome to see it, sir. It is unknownin these parts; but will soon be known all over Europe, unless thesecruel wars retard it."

  With a face of deep gravity, Caryl Carne put into Frank Darling's handa copy of his own book, quite young, but already scored with many lovingmarks of admiration and keen sympathy. Frank took it, and reddened withwarm delight.

  "You may not understand it at first," said the other; "though I beg yourpardon for saying that. What I mean is, that I can well suppose thatan Englishman, though a good judge in general, would probably have hisjudgment darkened by insular prejudices, and the petty feeling whichcalls itself patriotism, and condemns whatever is nobler and larger thanitself. My friend tells me that the critics have begun to vent theirlittle spite already. The author would treat them with calm disdain!"

  "Horribly nasty fellows!" cried Frank. "They ought to be kicked; butthey are below contempt. But if I could only catch them here--"

  "I am delighted to find," replied Carne, looking at him with kindsurprise, "that you agree with me about that, sir. Read a few lines, andyour indignation against that low lot will grow hotter."

  "It cannot grow hotter," cried the author; "I know every word that thevillains have said. Why, in that first line that I heard you reading,the wretches actually asked me whether I expected my beautiful goddessto wear her crown upon her comely tail!"

  "I am quite at a loss to understand you, sir. Why, you speak as if thisgreat work were your own!"

  "So it is, every word of it," cried Frank, hurried out of all reserveby excitement. "At least, I don't mean that it is a great work--thoughothers, besides your good self, have said--Are you sure that your friendbought twenty copies? My publishers will have to clear up that. Why,they say, under date of yesterday, that they have only sold six copiesaltogether. And it was out on Guy Fawkes' Day, two months ago!"

  Caryl Carne's face was full of wonder. And the greatest wonder of allwas its gravity. He drew back a little, in this vast surprise, andshaded his forehead with one hand, that he might think.

  "I can hardly help laughing at myself,
" he said, "for being so stupidand so slow of mind. But a coincidence like this is enough to excuseanything. If I could be sure that you are not jesting with me, seeinghow my whole mind is taken up with this book--"

  "Sir, I can feel for your surprise," answered Frank, handing back thebook, for which the other had made a sign, "because my own is evengreater; for I never have been read aloud before--by anybody elseI mean, of course; and the sound is very strange, and highlygratifying--at least, when done as you do it. But to prove my claim tothe authorship of the little work which you so kindly esteem, I willshow you the letter I spoke of."

  The single-minded poet produced from near his heart a very large letterwith much sealing-wax endorsed, and the fervent admirer of his geniusread:

  "DEAR SIR,--In answer to your favour to hand, we beg to state that yourpoetical work the Harmodiad, published by our firm, begins to move.Following the instructions in your last, we have already disposed ofmore than fifty copies. Forty-two of these have been distributed tothose who will forward the interests of the book, by commending it tothe Public; six have been sold to the trade at a discount of 75 percent.; and six have been taken by private purchasers, at the fullprice of ten shillings. We have reason to anticipate a more rapid salehereafter. But the political views expressed in the poems--as we franklystated to you at first--are not likely to be popular just now, when theCountry is in peril, and the Book trade incommoded, by the immediateprospect of a French invasion. We are, dear sir, your obedient servants,TICKLEBOIS, LATHERUP, BLINKERS, & Co.--To Mr. FRANK DARLING, SpringhavenHall."

  "You cannot call that much encouragement," said Frank; "and it is a mosttrusty and honourable house. I cannot do what a friend of mine hasdone, who went to inferior publishers--denounce them as rogues, andcall myself a martyr. If the book had been good, it would have sold;especially as all the poets now are writing vague national songs, fullof slaughter and brag, like that 'Billy Blue' thing all our fishermenare humming."

  "You have nothing to do but to bide your time. In the long-run, finework is sure to make its way. Meanwhile I must apologise for praisingyou to your face, in utter ignorance, of course. But it must have madeyou feel uncomfortable."

  "Not at all; far otherwise," said the truthful Frank. "It has been thevery greatest comfort to me. And strange to say, it came just when Iwanted it most sadly. I shall never forget your most kind approval."

  "In that case I may take the liberty of introducing myself, I trust.You have told me who you are, in the most delightful way. I have no suchclaim upon your attention, or upon that of the world at large. I amonly the last of an ill-fated race, famous for nothing except ruiningthemselves. I am Caryl Carne, of yonder ruin, which you, must have knownfrom childhood."

  Frank Darling lifted his hat in reply to the other's more gracefulsalutation, and then shook hands with him heartily. "I ought tohave known who you are," he said; "for I have heard of you often atSpringhaven. But you have not been there since I came down, and wethought that you had left the neighbourhood. Our little village islike the ear of the tyrant, except that it carries more false than truesound. I hope you are come to remain among us, and I hope that we shallsee you at my father's house. Years ago I have heard that there used tobe no especial good-will between your family and mine--petty disputesabout boundaries, no doubt. How narrow and ridiculous such things are!We live in a better age than that, at any rate, although we are smallenough still in many ways."

  "You are not; and you will enlarge many others," Carne answered, asif the matter were beyond debate. "As for boundaries now, I have none,because the estates are gone, and I am all the richer. That is thesurest way to liberate the mind."

  "Will you oblige me," said Frank, to change the subject, for his minddid not seek to be liberated so, and yet wished its new admirer toremain in admiration, "by looking along the shore towards Springhaven asfar as you can see, and telling me whether any one is coming? My sisterswere to follow me, if the weather kept fine, as soon as they had paida little visit at the rectory. And my sight is not good for longdistances."

  "I think I can see two ladies coming, or at any rate two figures moving,about a mile or more away, where the sands are shining in a gleam ofsunlight. Yes, they are ladies. I know by their walk. Good-bye. I have away up the cliff from here. You must not be surprised if you do not seeme again. I may have to be off for France. I have business there, ofwhich I should like to talk to you. You are so far above mean prejudice.If I go, I shall carry this precious volume with me. Farewell, myfriend, if I may call you so."

  "Do wait a minute," cried the much admiring Frank; "or walk a few yardswith me towards Springhaven. It would give me such pleasure to introduceyou to my sisters. And I am sure they will be so glad to know you, whenI tell them what I think. I very seldom get such a chance as this."

  "There is no resisting that!" replied the graceful Carne; "I have notthe honour of knowing a lady in England, except my aunt Mrs. Twemlow,and my cousin Eliza--both very good, but to the last degree insular."

  "It is very hard to help being that, when people have never been out ofan island. But I fear that I am taking you out of your way."

  In a few minutes these two young men drew near to the two young women,whose manners were hard put to hide surprise. When their brotherintroduced Mr. Carne to them, Faith bowed rather stiffly, for she hadformed without reason a dark and obstinate dislike to him. But theimpetuous Dolly ran up and offered him both her hands, and said, "Why,Mr. Carne saved both our lives only a few days ago."