CHAPTER IV.
Enough of boyhood and its faults and follies. I sought but to show thereader, as in a glass, the back of a pageant that has past. Oh, how Isometimes laugh at the fools--the critics--God save the mark! who seeno more in the slight sketch I choose to give, than a mere daub ofpaint across the canvas, when that one touch gives effect to the wholepicture. Let them stand back, and view it as a whole; and if they canfind aught in it to make them say "Well done," let them look at theframe. That is enough for them; their wits are only fitted to dealwith "leather, and prunella."
I have given you, reader--kind and judicious reader--a sketch of theboy, that you may be enabled to judge rightly of the man. Now, takethe lad as I have moulded him--bake him well in the fiery furnace ofstrong passion, remembering still that the form is of hardiron--quench and harden him in the cold waters of opposition, anddisappointment, and anxiety--and bring him forth tempered, but toohighly tempered for the world he has to live in--not pliable--notelastic; no watch-spring, but like a graver's tool, which must cutinto everything opposed to it, or break under the pressure.
Let us start upon our new course some fifteen years after the periodat which our tale began, and view Philip Hastings as that which he hadnow become.
Dr. Paulding had passed from this working day world to another and abetter--where we hope the virtues of the heart may be weighed againstvices of the head--a mode of dealing rare here below. Sir JohnHastings and his wife had gone whither their eldest son had gonebefore them; and Philip Hastings was no longer the boy. Manhood hadset its seal upon his brow only too early; but what a change had comewith manhood!--a change not in the substance, but in its mode.
Oh, Time! thy province is not only to destroy! Thou worker-out ofhuman destinies--thou new-fashioner of all things earthly--thoublender of races--thou changer of institutions--thou discoverer--thouconcealer--thou builder up--thou dark destroyer; thy waters as theyflow have sometimes a petrifying, sometimes a solvent power, hardeningthe soft, melting the strong, accumulating the sand, undermining therock! What had been thine effect upon Philip Hastings?
All the thoughts had grown manly as well as the body. The slightyouth had been developed into the hardy and powerful man; somewhatinactive--at least so it seemed to common eyes--more thoughtful thanbrilliant, steady in resolution, though calm in expression, giving wayno more to bursts of boyish feeling, somewhat stern, men said somewhathard, but yet extremely just, and resolute for justice. The poetry oflife--I should have said the poetry of young life--the brilliancy offancy and hope, seemed somewhat dimmed in him--mark, I say seemed, forthat which seems too often is not; and he might, perhaps, have learntto rule and conceal feelings which he could not altogether conquer orresist.
Still there were many traces of his old self visible: the same love ofstudy, the same choice of books and subjects of thought, the samesubdued yet strong enthusiasms. The very fact of mingling with theworld, which had taught him to repress those enthusiasms, seemed tohave concentrated and rendered them more intense.
The course of his studies; the habits of his mind; his fondness forthe school of the stoics, it might have been supposed, would ratherhave disgusted him with the society in which he now habituallymingled, and made him look upon mankind--for it was a very corruptage--with contempt, if not with horror.
Such, however, was not the case. He had less of the cynic in him thanhis father--indeed he had nothing of the cynic in him at all. He lovedmankind in his own peculiar way. He was a philanthropist of a certainsort; and would willingly have put a considerable portion of hisfellow-creatures to death, in order to serve, and elevate, and improvethe rest.
His was a remarkable character--not altogether fitted for the times inwhich he lived; but one which in its wild and rugged strength,commanded much respect and admiration even then. Weak things clung toit, as ivy to an oak or a strong wall: and its power over them wasincreased by a certain sort of tenderness--a protecting pity, whichmingled strangely with his harder and ruder qualities. He seemed to besorry for everything that was weak, and to seek to console and comfortit, under the curse of feebleness. It seldom offended him--he ratherloved it, it rarely came in his way; and his feeling toward it mightapproach contempt but never rose to anger.
He was capable too of intense and strong affections, though he couldnot extend them to many objects. All that was vigorous and powerful inhim concentrated itself in separate points here and there; and generalthings were viewed with much indifference.
See him as he walks up and down there before the old house, which Ihave elsewhere described. He has grown tall and powerful in frame: andyet his gait is somewhat slovenly and negligent, although his step isfirm and strong. He is not much more than thirty-one years of age; buthe looks forty at the least; and his hair is even thickly sprinkledwith gray. His face is pale, with some strong marked lines andindentations in it; yet, on the whole, it is handsome, and the slighthabitual frown, thoughtful rather than stern, together with themassive jaw, and the slight drawing down of the corners of the mouth,give it an expression of resolute firmness, that is only contradictedby the frequent variation of the eye, which is sometimes full of deepthought, sometimes of tenderness; and sometimes is flashing with awild and almost unearthly fire.
But there is a lady hanging on his arm which supports her somewhatfeeble steps. She seems recovering from illness; the rose in her cheekis faint and delicate; and an air of languor is in her whole face andform. Yet she is very beautiful, and seems fully ten years youngerthan her husband, although, in truth, she is of the same age--orperhaps a little older. It is Rachael Marshal, now become LadyHastings.
Their union did not take place without opposition; all Sir JohnHastings' prejudices against the Marshal family revived as soon as hisson's attachment to the daughter of the house became apparent. Likemost fathers, he saw too late; and then sought to prevent that whichhad become inevitable. He sent his son to travel in foreign lands; heeven laid out a scheme for marrying him to another, younger, and as hethought fairer. He contrived that the young man should fall into thesociety of the lady he had selected, and he fancied that would bequite sufficient; for he saw in her character, young as she was,traits, much more harmonious, as he fancied, with those of his son,than could be found in the softer, gentler, weaker Rachael Marshal.There was energy, perseverance, resolution, keen and quickperceptions--perhaps a little too much keenness. More, he did not stayto inquire; but, as is usual in matters of the heart, Philip Hastingsloved best the converse of himself. The progress of the scheme wasinterrupted by the illness of Sir John Hastings, which recalled hisson from Rome. Philip returned, found his father dead, and marriedRachael Marshal.
They had had several children; but only one remained; that gay, light,gossamer girl, like a gleam darting along the path from sunny rayspiercing through wind-borne clouds. On she ran with a step of lightand careless air, yet every now and then she paused suddenly, gazedearnestly at a flower, plucked it, pored into its very heart with herdeep eyes, and, after seeming to labor under thought for a moment,sprang forward again as light as ever.
The eyes of the father followed her with a look of grave, thoughtful,intense affection. The mother's eyes looked up to him, and thenglanced onward to the child.
She was between nine and ten years old--not very handsome, for it isnot a handsome age. Yet there were indications of future beauty--fineand sparkling eyes, rich, waving, silky hair, long eyelashes, a finecomplexion, a light and graceful figure, though deformed by the stifffashions of the day.
There was a sparkle too in her look--that bright outpouring of theheart upon the face which is one of the most powerful charms of youthand innocence. Ah! how soon gone by! How soon checked by the thousandloads which this heavy laboring world casts upon the buoyancy ofyouthful spirits--the chilling conventionality--the knowledge, and thefear of wrong--the first taste of sorrow--the anxieties, cares,fears--even the hopes of mature life, are all weights to bear down thepinions of young, lark-like joy. After twenty, does the hear
t everrise up from her green sod and fling at Heaven's gate as in childhood?Never--eh, never! The dust of earth is upon the wing of the skysongster, and will never let her mount to her ancient pitch.
That child was a strange combination of her father and her mother. Shewas destined to be their only one; and it seemed as if nature hadtaken a pleasure in blending the characters of both in one. Not thatthey were intimately mingled, but that they seemed like the twins ofLaconia, to rise and set by turns.
In her morning walk: in her hours of sportive play; when no subject ofdeep thought, no matter that affected the heart or the imagination waspresented to her, she was light and gay as a butterfly; the child--thehappy child was in every look, and word, and movement. But call herfor a moment from this bright land of pleasantness--present somethingto her mind or to her fancy which rouses sympathies, or sets theenergetic thoughts at work, and she was grave, meditative, studious,deep beyond her years.
She was a subject of much contemplation, some anxiety, some wonder toher father. The brightness of her perceptions, her eagerness in thepursuit of knowledge, her vigorous resolution even as a child, whenconvinced that she was right, showed him his own mind reflected inhers. Even her tenderness, her strong affections, he could comprehend;for the same were in his own heart, and though he believed them to beweaknesses, he could well understand their existence in a child and ina woman.
But that which he did not understand--that which made him marvel--washer lightness, her gayety, her wild vivacity--I might almost say, hertrifling, when not moved by deep feeling or chained down by thought.
This was beyond him. Yet strange! the same characteristics did notsurprise nor shook him in her mother--never had surprised or shockedhim; indeed he had rather loved her for those qualities, so unlike hisown. Perhaps it was that he thought it strange, his child should, inany mood, be so unlike himself; or perhaps it was the contrast betweenthe two sides of the same character that moved his wonder when he sawit in his child, he might forget that her mother was her parent aswell as himself; and that she had an inheritance from each.
In his thoughtful, considering, theoretical way, he determinedstudiously to seek a remedy for what he considered the defect in hischild--to cultivate with all the zeal and perseverance of paternalaffection, supported by his own force of character, those qualitieswhich were most like his own--those, in short, which were the leastwomanly. But nature would not be baffled. You may divert her to acertain degree; but you cannot turn her aside from her coursealtogether.
He found that he could not--by any means which his heart would let himemploy--conquer what he called, the frivolity of the child. Frivolity!Heaven save us! There were times when she showed no frivolity, but onthe contrary, a depth and intensity far, far beyond her years. Indeed,the ordinary current of her mind was calm and thoughtful. It was butwhen a breeze rippled it that it sparkled on the surface. Her father,too, saw that this was so; that the wild gayety was but occasional.But still it surprised and pained him--perhaps the more because it wasoccasional. It seemed to hie eyes an anomaly in her nature. He wouldhave had her altogether like himself. He could not conceive any onepossessing so much of his own character, having room in heart andbrain for aught else. It was a subject of constant wonder to him; ofspeculation, of anxious thought.
He often asked himself if this was the only anomaly in his child--ifthere were not other traits, yet undiscovered, as discrepant as thislight volatility with her general character: and he puzzled himselfsorely.
Still he pursued her education upon his own principles; taught hermany things which women rarely learned in those days; imbued her mindwith thoughts and feelings of his own; and often thought, when aseason of peculiar gravity fell upon her, that he made progress inrendering her character all that he could wish it. This impressionnever lasted long, however; for sooner or later the bird-like spiritwithin her found the cage door open, and fluttered forth upon some gayexcursion, leaving all his dreams vanished and his wishesdisappointed.
Nevertheless he loved her with all the strong affection of which hisnature was capable; and still he persevered in the course which hethought for her benefit. At times, indeed, he would make efforts tounravel the mystery of her double nature, not perceiving that the onlycause of mystery was in himself: that what seemed strange in hisdaughter depended more upon his own want of power to comprehend hervariety than upon anything extraordinary in her. He would endeavor togo along with her in her sportive moods--to let his mind run freebeside hers in its gay ramble to find some motive for them which hecould understand; to reduce them to a system; to discover the rule bywhich the problem was to be solved. But he made nothing of it, andwearied conjecture in vain.
Lady Hastings sometimes interposed a little; for in unimportant thingsshe had great influence with her husband. He let her have her own waywherever he thought it not worth while to oppose her; and that wasvery often. She perfectly comprehended the side of her daughter'scharacter which was all darkness to the father; and strange to say,with greater penetration than his own, she comprehended the other sidelikewise. She recognized easily the traits in her child which she knewand admired in her husband, but wished them heartily away in herdaughter's case, thinking such strength of mind, joined with whatevergrace and sweetness, somewhat unfeminine.
Though she was full of prejudices, and where her quickness ofperception failed her, altogether unteachable by reason, yet she wasnaturally too virtuous and good to attempt even to thwart the objectsof the father's efforts in the education of his child. I have saidthat she interfered at times, but it was only to remonstrate againsttoo close study, to obtain frequent and healthful relaxation, and toadd all those womanly accomplishments on which she set great value. Inthis she was not opposed. Music, singing, dancing, and a knowledge ofmodern languages, were added to other branches of education, and LadyHastings was so far satisfied.
The Man in Black: An Historical Novel of the Days of Queen Anne Page 4