CHAPTER THIRTY.
MR. TURNBULL FINDS OUT THAT MONEY, THOUGH A NECESSARY EVIL, IS NOT ASOURCE OF HAPPINESS--THE DOMINIE FINDS OUT THAT A LITTLE CALUMNY IS MOREEFFECTUAL THAN OVID'S REMEDY FOR LOVE; AND I FIND OUT THAT WALKING GIVESONE A GOOD APPETITE FOR FILLET OF VEAL AND BACON--I SET AN EXAMPLE TOTHE CLERGY IN REFUSING TO TAKE MONEY FOR A SEAT IN CHURCH.
"And now you see, Jacob, what a revolution has taken place; not verypleasant, I grant, but still it was very necessary. I have since beenpaying all my bills, for the report of my being in difficulty hasbrought them in fast enough; and I find that in these last five monthsmy wife has spent a whole year's income; so it was quite time to stop."
"I agree with you, sir; but what does Mrs Turnbull say now--has shecome to her senses?"
"Pretty well, I expect, although she does not quite choose toacknowledge it. I have told her that she must dispense with a carriagein future; and so she shall, till I think she deserves it. She knowsthat she must either have _my company_ in the house, or none at all.She knows that the Peters of Petercumb Hall have cut her, for they didnot answer a note of hers, sent by the gardener; and Mr Smith haswritten a very violent answer to another of her notes, wondering at herattempting to push herself into the company of the aristocracy. Butwhat has brought her to her senses more than all is the affair ofMonsieur Tagliabue. The magistrate, at my request, gave me the note ofLord Scrope, and I have taken good care that she could read the policereport as well; but the fact is, she is so much mortified that I saynothing to her. She has been following the advice of these Frenchswindlers, who have led her wrong, to be able to cheat her of her money.I expect she will ask me to sell this place, and go elsewhere; but atpresent we hardly exchange a word during the whole day."
"I feel very sorry for her, sir; for I really believe her to be a verygood kind-hearted person."
"That's like you, Jacob--and so she is. At present she is in a state tobe pitied. She would throw a share of the blame upon other people, andcannot--she feels it is all herself. All her bubbles of grandeur haveburst, and she finds herself not half so respectable as she was beforeher vanity induced her to cut her former acquaintance, and try to getinto the society of those who laughed at her, and at the same time werenot half so creditable. But it's that cursed money which has proved herunhappiness--and, I may add, mine."
"Well, sir, I see no chance of its ever adding to my misfortunes, at allevents."
"Perhaps not, Jacob, even if you ever should get any; but, at allevents, you may take a little to-morrow, if you please. I cannot askyou to dine here; it would not be pleasant to you, and show a want offeeling to my wife; but I should like you to come up with the wherryto-morrow, and we'll take a cruise."
"Very well, I shall be at your orders--at what time?"
"Say ten o'clock if the weather is fine; if not the next day."
"Then, sir, I'll now wish you good-bye, as I must go and see theDominie."
Mr Turnbull took my hand, and we parted. I was soon at Brentford, andwas continuing my course through the long, main street, when I met Mrand Mrs Tomkins, the former head clerk who had charge of the BrentfordWharf. "I was intending to call upon you, sir, after I had paid a visitto my old master."
"Very well, Jacob; and recollect we dine at half-past three--fillet ofveal and bacon--don't be late for dinner."
I promised that I would not, and in a few minutes more arrived at theGrammar School. I looked at its peaked, antiquated front, and called tomind my feelings when, years back, I had first entered its porch. Whata difference between the little uncouth, ignorant, savage, tricked outlike a harlequin, and now the tall, athletic, well-dressed youth, happyin his independence, and conscious, although not vain, of hisacquirements! and I mentally blessed the founders. But I had to talk tothe Dominie, and to keep my appointment with the veal and bacon athalf-past three, so I could not spare any time for meditation. I,therefore, unfolded my arms, and making use of my legs, entered thewicket, and proceeded to the Dominie's room. The door was ajar, and Ientered without being perceived. I have often been reminded, by Flemishpaintings which I have seen since, of the picture which then presenteditself. The room was not large, but lofty. It had but one window,fitted with small diamond-shaped panes in heavy wood-work, through whichpoured a broad, but subdued, stream of light. On one side of the windowwas an ancient armoire, containing the Dominie's library, not gilt andlettered but well thumbed and worn. On the other his huge chest ofdrawers, on which lay, alas! for the benefit of the rising generations,a new birch rod, of large dimensions. The table was in the centre ofthe room, and the Dominie sat at it, with his back to the window, in adressing-gown, once black, having been a cassock, but now brown withage. He was on his high and narrow-backed chair, leaning forwards, withboth elbows on the table, his spectacles on his luxuriant nose, and hishands nearly meeting on the top of his bald crown, earnestly poring overthe contents of a book. A large Bible, which he constantly made use of,was also on the table, and had apparently been shoved from him to giveplace to the present object of his meditations. His pipe lay on thefloor in two pieces, having been thrown off without his perceiving it.On one side of him was a sheet of paper, on which he evidently had beenwriting extracts. I passed by him without his perceiving me, andgaining the back of his chair, looked over his shoulder. The work hewas so intent upon was "Ovid's Remedy of Love."
It appeared that he had nearly finished reading through the whole, forin less than a minute he closed the book, and laying his spectaclesdown, threw himself back in his chair. "Strange," soliloquised theDominie; "Yet, verily, is some of his advice important, and I shouldimagine commendable, yet I do not find my remedy therein. `_Avoididleness_'--yes, that is sage counsel--and employment to one that hathnot employed himself may drive away thought; but I have never been idle,and mine hath not been love in idleness; `_Avoid her presence_'--that Imust do; yet doth she still present herself to mine imagination, and Idoubt whether the tangible reality could be more clearly perceptible.Even now doth she stand before me in all her beauty. `_Read notPropertius and Tibullus_'--that is easily refrained from; but read whatI will, in a minute the type passeth from my eyes, and I see but herface beaming from the page. Nay, cast my eyes in what direction I maywist, it is the same. If I looked at the stained wall, the indistinctlines gradually form themselves into her profile; if I look at theclouds, they will assume some of the redundant outlines of her form; ifI cast mine eyes upon the fire in the kitchen-grate, the coals will glowand cool until I see her face; nay, but yesterday, the shoulder ofmutton upon the spit gyrated until it at last assumed the decapitatedhead of Mary. `_Think of her faults and magnify them_'--nay, that wereunjust and unchristian. Let me rather correct mine own. I fear me thatwhen Ovid wrote his picture he intended it for the use of young men, andnot for an old fool like me. Behold! I have again broken my pipe--thefourth pipe that I have destroyed this week. What will the dame say?already hath she declared me demented, and God knows she is not very farfrom the truth;" and the Dominie covered up his face in his hands. Itook this opportunity to step to the door, and appear to enter it,dropping the latch, and rousing the Dominie by the noise, who extendedto me his hand. "Welcome, my son--welcome to thine old preceptor; andto the walls which first received thee, when thou wert cast on shore asa tangle weed from the river. Sit, Jacob; I was thinking of thee andthine."
"What, sir? of old Stapleton and his daughter, I suppose."
"Even so; ye were all in my thoughts at the moment that thou madest thyappearance. They are well?"
"Yes, sir," replied I. "I see but little of them; the old man is alwayssmoking, and as for the girl--why, the less one sees of her the better,I should say."
"Nay, Jacob, this is new to me; yet is she most pleasant."
I knew the Dominie's character, and that if anything could cure hisunfortunate passion, it would be a supposition on his part that the girlwas not correct. I determined at all events to depreciate her, as Iknew that what I said would
never be mentioned by him, and wouldtherefore do her no harm. Still, I felt that I had to play a difficultgame, as I was determined not to state what was not the fact."Pleasant, sir; yes, pleasant to everybody; the fact is; I don't likesuch girls as she is."
"Indeed, Jacob; what, is she light?" I smiled and made no answer. "YetI perceived it not," replied the Dominie.
"She is just like her mother," observed I.
"And what was her mother?"
I gave a brief account of her mother, and how she met her death intrying to escape from her husband. The Dominie mused. "Little skilledam I in women, Jacob, yet what thou sayest not only surpriseth butgrieveth me. She is fair to look upon."
"Handsome is that handsome does, sir. She'll make many a man's heartache yet, I expect."
"Indeed, Jacob. I am full of marvel at what thou hast already told me."
"I have seen more of her, sir."
"I pray thee tell me more."
"No, sir, I had rather not. You may imagine all you please."
"Still she is young, Jacob; when she becometh a wife she might alter."
"Sir, it is my firm opinion (and so it was), that if you were to marryher to-morrow, she would run away from you in a week."
"Is that thy candid opinion, Jacob?"
"I will stake my life upon her so doing, although not as to the exacttime."
"Jacob, I thank thee--thank thee much; thou hast opened mine eyes--thouhast done me more good than Ovid. Yes, boy; even the ancients, whom Ihave venerated, have not done me so kind an act as thou, a stripling,whom I have fostered. Thou hast repaid me, Jacob--thou hast rewardedme, Jacob--thou hast protected me, Jacob--thou hast saved me, Jacob--hast saved me both from myself and from her; for know, Jacob--know--thatmine heart did yearn towards that maiden; and I thought her even to beperfection. Jacob, I thank thee! Now leave me, Jacob, that I maycommune with myself, and search out my own heart, for I am awakened--awakened as from a dream, and I would fain be quite alone."
I was not sorry to leave the Dominie, for I also felt that I would fainbe in company with the fillet of veal and bacon, so I shook hands, andthus ended my second morning call. I was in good time at Mr Tomkins',who received me with great kindness. He was well pleased with his newsituation, which was one of respectability and consequence,independently of profit; and I met at his table one or two people who,to my knowledge, would have considered it degrading to have visited himwhen only head clerk to Mr Drummond. We talked over old affairs, notforgetting the ball, and the illuminations, and Mr Turnbull's _bon mot_about Paradise; and after a very pleasant evening; I took my leave withthe intention of walking back to Fulham, but I found old Tom waitingoutside, on the look-out for me.
"Jacob, my boy, I want you to come down to my old shop one of thesedays. What day will you be able to come? The lighter will be here fora fortnight at least, I find from Mr Tomkins, as she waits for a cargocoming by canal, and there is no other craft expected above bridge, sotell me what day will you come and see the old woman, and spend thewhole day with us. I wants to talk a bit with you, and ax your opinionabout a good many little things."
"Indeed!" replied I, smiling. "What, are you going to build a newhouse?"
"No, no--not that; but you see, Jacob, as I told you last winter, it wastime for me to give up night work up and down the river. I'm not soyoung as I was about fifty years ago, and there's a time for all things.I do mean to give up the craft in the autumn, and go on shore for a_full due_; but, at the same time, I must see how I can make mattersout, so tell me what day you will come."
"Well, then, shall we say Wednesday?"
"Wednesday's as good a day as any other day; come to breakfast, and youshall go away after supper, if you like; if not, the old woman shallsling a hammock for you."
"Agreed, then; but where's Tom?"
"Tom, I don't know; but I think he's gone after that daughter ofStapleton's. He begins to think of the girls now, Jacob; but, as theold buffer, her father, says, `it's all human natur'.' Howsomever, Inever interferes in these matters: they seem to be pretty well matched,I think."
"How do you mean?"
"Why, as for good looks, they be well enough matched, that's sure; but Idon't mean that, I mean, he is quite as knowing as she is, and willshift his helm as she shifts hers. 'Twill be a long running fight, andwhen one strikes, t'other won't have much to boast of. Perhaps they maysheer off after all--perhaps they may sail as consorts; God only knows;but this I knows, that Tom's sweetheart may be as tricky as she pleases,but Tom's wife won't be--'cause why? He'll keep her in order. Well,good-night; I have a long walk."
When I returned home I found Mary alone. "Has Tom been here?" inquiredI.
"What makes you ask that question?" replied Mary.
"To have it answered--if you have no objection."
"Oh, no! Well, then, Mr Jacob, Tom has been here, and very amusing hehas been."
"So he always is," replied I.
"And where may you have been?" I told her. "So you saw old Dominie.Now, tell me, what did he say about me?"
"That I shall not tell," replied I; "but I will tell you this, that hewill not think about you any more; and you must not expect ever to seehim again."
"But recollect that he promised."
"He kept his promise, Mary."
"Oh, he told you so, did he? Did he tell you all that passed?"
"No, Mary, he never told me that he had been here, neither did he tellme what had passed; but I happen to know all."
"I cannot understand that."
"Still, it is true; and I think, on the whole, you behaved pretty well,although I cannot understand why you gave him a kiss at parting."
"Good heaven! where were you? You must have been in the room. And youheard every word that passed?"
"Every word," replied I.
"Well," said Mary, "I could not have believed that you could have doneso mean a thing."
"Mary, rather accuse your own imprudence; what I heard was to be heardby everyone in the street as well as by me. If you choose to have lovescenes in a room not eight feet from the ground, with the window wideopen, you must not be surprised at every passer-by hearing what yousay."
"Well, that's true. I never thought of the window being open; not thatI would have cared if all the world had heard me, if _you_ had not."
It never occurred to me till then why Mary was annoyed at my havingoverheard her, but at once I recollected what she had said about me. Imade no answer. Mary sat down, leaned her forehead against her hands,and was also silent. I, therefore, took my candle and retired. Itappeared that Mary's pride was much mortified at my having heard herconfession of being partial to me--a confession which certainly madevery little impression on me, as I considered that she might, a monthafterwards, confess the same relative to Tom, or any other individualwho took her fancy; but in this I did not do her justice. Her mannerswere afterwards much changed towards me; she always appeared to avoid,rather than to seek, further intimacy. As for myself, I continued, asbefore, very good friends, kind towards her, but nothing more. The nextmorning I was up at Mr Turnbull's by the time agreed upon, but before Iset off rather a singular occurrence took place. I had just finishedcleaning my boat, and had resumed my jacket, when a dark man, from someforeign country, came to the hard with a bundle under his arm.
"How much for to go to the other side of the river--how much pence?"
"Twopence," replied I; but not caring to take him, I continued, "but youonly pay one penny to cross the bridge."
"I know very well, but suppose you take me?"
He was a well-looking, not very dark man; his turban was of colouredcloth--his trousers not very wide; and I could not comprehend whether hewas a Turk or not; I afterwards found out he was a Parsee, from the EastIndies. He spoke very plain English. As he decided upon crossing, Ireceived him, and shoved off; when we were in the middle of the stream,he requested me to pull a little way up. "That will do," said he,opening his bundle, and spr
eading a carpet on the stern flooring of thewherry. He then rose, looking at the sun, which was then rising in allits majesty, bowed to it, with his hands raised, three times, then knelton the carpet, and touched it several times with his forehead, againrose to his feet, took some common field flowers from his vest, and castthem into the stream, bowed again, folded up his carpet, and begged meto pull on shore.
"I say my prayers," said the man, looking at me with his dark, piercingeye.
"Very proper; whom did you say them to?"
"To my God."
"But why don't you say them on shore?"
"Can't see sun in the house; suppose I go out little boys laugh andthrow mud. Where no am seen, river very proper place."
We landed, and he took out threepence, and offered it to me. "No, no,"said I; "I don't want you to pay for saying your prayers."
"No take money?"
"Yes, take money to cross the river, but not take money for sayingprayers. If you want to say them any other morning, come down, and if Iam here, I'll always pull you into the stream."
"You very good man; I thank you."
The Parsee made me a low salaam, and walked away. I may here observethat the man generally came down at sunrise two or three days in theweek, and I invariably gave him a pull off into the stream, that hemight pursue his religious ceremony. We often conversed and at lastbecame intimate.
Mr Turnbull was at the bottom of the lawn, which extended from hishouse to the banks of the river, looking out for me, when I pulled up.The basket with our dinner, etcetera, was lying by him on the gravelwalk.
"This is a lovely morning, Jacob; but it will be rather a warm day, Iexpect," said he; "come, let us be off at once; lay in your sculls, andlet us get the oars to pass."
"How is Mrs Turnbull, sir?"
"Pretty well, Jacob; more like the Molly Brown that I married than shehas been for some years. Perhaps, after all, this affair may turn outone of the best things that ever happened. It may bring her to hersenses--bring happiness back to our hearth; if so, Jacob, the money iswell spent."
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