She and I, Volume 1

by John C. Hutcheson

  CHAPTER TEN.

  "A FOOL'S PARADISE."

  Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And the same flower that blooms to-day, To-morrow may be dying!

  Rost nubila Phoebus; "after clouds, comes sunshine."

  I did not allow the coldness of Min's mother to dwell long in my mind.

  What, if Mrs Clyde did not appear to like me? Could I alter theobliquity of her mental vision by brooding over it, and worrying myselfinto a fit of misanthropy? Would it not be better for me to allowmatters to run their appointed course, in accordance with the inexorablelaw of events, and not to anticipate those evils with which the futuremight be pregnant? The followers of Mahomet are wise men in theirgeneration. They take everything that happens to them with thephilosophy of their faith. Kismet! It is their fate, may Allah bepraised! they say.

  I was perfectly satisfied to accommodate myself to circumstances; andgathered flowers, according to wise old Herrick's advice, to my heart'scontent. I did not seek to inquire about the future:--why should I?

  Time flew by on golden pinions, and I was as happy as the day was long.Winter made way for spring, spring gave place to summer. The halcyonhours sped brighter and brighter for me, from the time of violets--whennature's sweetest nurslings modestly blossomed beneath the hedge-rows.

  Then came "the month of roses," as the Persians appropriately style thatduodecimal portion of the year. It was a happier time still; for, Iloved Min, and I thought that Min loved me.

  The very seasons seemed to draw me nearer to her.

  In the spring the violets' scented breath recalled her whenever Iinhaled their fragrance; while, the nightingale's amorous trills--we hadnightingales to visit us in our suburb, closely situated as it was toLondon--appeared to me to embody the impassioned words that Tennysonputs in the mouth of his love-wooing sea maiden--

  "We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words; O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten, With pleasure and love and jubilee!"

  And, in the early summer, when smiling June came in with her flowerytrain, making a garden of the whole earth, the twining roses, of crimsonand white and red, were all emblematic of my darling. They were love-gages of her own sweet self; for, was she not my rose, my violet, thatbudded and blossomed in purple and pink alone for me--the idol of myheart, my fancy's queen?

  With all these fond imaginings, however, I did not see much of her.

  I had very few opportunities for unfettered intercourse. I believe Icould number on the fingers of one hand all the special little tete-a-tete conversations that Min and I ever had together. This was not owingto any fault of mine, you may be sure; but was, entirely, the result of"circumstances," over which neither of us had "any control."

  "Society" was the cause of it all. Had her mother been never sowilling, and the fates never so kindly lent their most propitious aid tomy suit, it is quite probable that we might not have had the chance ofassociating much more together than we did; nor would our interviewshave happened oftener, I think.

  You see people of the upper and middle-classes have far less facilityafforded them, than is common in lower social grades, for intimateacquaintance; and really know very little, in the long run, of those ofwhom they may become enamoured and subsequently marry, prior to thetying of the nuptial noose.

  Laura and Augustus, may, it is true, meet each other out frequently, inthe houses of their mutual friends at parties, and at various gatheringsof one sort and another; but what means have they of learning anythingtrustworthy respecting the inner self of their respective enchanter orenchantress?

  Do you think they can manage thus to summarise their several points andmerits, during the pauses of the Trois Temps, or while nailing "a rover"at croquet, or, mayhap, when promenading at the Botanical?

  I doubt it much.

  Professor Owen, it is said, will, if you submit to his notice a coupleof inches of the bone of any bird, beast, fish, or reptile, at oncedescribe to you the characteristics of the animal to which it belonged;its habits, and everything connected with it; besides telling you whenand where it lived and died, and whether it existed at the pre-Adamiteperiod or not--and that, too, without your giving him the least previousinformation touching the osseous substance about which you asked hisopinion.

  But, granting that the most gigantic theory might be built up on someslighter practical evidence, I would defy anyone--even thatphilosophising German who evolved a camel from the depths of his innermoral consciousness--to determine the capabilities of any young lady forthe future onerous duties of wife and mother, and mistress of ahousehold, merely from hearing her say what coloured ice she would haveafter the heated dance; or, from her statements that the evening was"flat" or "nice," the season "dull" or "busy," and the heroine of thelast new novel "delightful," while the villain was correspondingly"odious."

  He couldn't do it.

  The commonplace conversation of every-day society is no criterion forcharacter.

  With Jemima, the maid-of-all-work, and Bob, the baker's assistant, her"young man," it is quite a different thing. They have no trammelsplaced in the way of their free association; and, I would venture toassert, know more of one another in one month of company-keeping thanAugustus and Laura will achieve in the course of any number of seasonsof fashionable intercourse. A "Sunday out" beats a croquet partyhollow, in its opportunities for intimacy--as may readily be believed.

  It is, really, curious this ignorance common in middle-class husbandsand wives, sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, respecting their severalattributes and characteristics before they became connected by marriage,and time makes them better acquainted--very curious, indeed!

  An American essayist, writing on this point, says--"When your mothercame and told her mother that she was _engaged_, and your grandmothertold your grandfather, how much did they know of the intimate nature ofthe young gentleman to whom she had pledged her existence? I will notbe so hard as to ask how much your respected mamma knew at that time ofthe intimate nature of your respected papa, though, if we should comparea young girl's _man-as-she-thinks-him_ with a forty-summered matron's_man-as-she-finds-him_, I have my doubts as to whether the second wouldbe a fac-simile of the first." And yet, young men and women ofrespectable standing "over the way," are allowed far greater latitudefor intercommunication than our own; so much so, that I must say, Iwould not like our budding misses to go the lengths of the Americangirl, who receives her own company when she pleases, without anyprevious permission, and can go abroad to places of public amusement,or, indeed, anywhere she likes, without a chaperon.

  Still, there is a medium in all things; and, without verging to theextreme of our Transatlantic cousins, our conventionalities might be sotempered by the introduction of a little genuine human nature, as toadmit of a trifling freer intercourse between our youth and youngmaidenhood of the upper classes.

  Goethe, you may remember, makes Werther, whose "sorrows" fascinated ageneration in the days of our great grandmothers, fall in love withCharlotte, entirely through seeing her cutting bread and butter--nothingmore or less!

  A very unromantic situation for fostering the growth of the tenderpassion, you say?

  Ah! but the literary lion of Weimar meant a good deal more in hisdescription than lies on the outer surface. He wished to teach afrivolous school that true affection will ripen better under the genialinfluences of domestic duties and home surroundings, than the maskedworld believes.

  A girl's chances of marriage, the usual end and aim of feminineexistence, are not increased in a direct ratio with the number of herball dresses!

  Let your eligible suitors but see those young ladies who may wish tochange their maiden state of single blessedness, _at home_, where theyare engaged living their simple lives out in the ordinary avocations ofthe family circle; and not only abroad, in the whirligig of society,where they have no opportunities for displaying their _real_ natures.

  Enterprising mammas might then find that their daught
ers would get morereadily "off their hands," at a less expense than they now incur bypursuing Coelebs through all the turnings and windings of Vanity Fair.

  Besides, they would have the additional assurance, that they would bebetter mated to those who prefer studying them under the domesticregime, than if they were hawked about to parties and concerts withoutend, to be angled for by the butterflies of fashion, who can only existin the atmosphere of a ballroom and would die of nil admirari-ism if outof sight of Coote's baton!

  Your man really worth marrying, in the true sense of the word and notspeaking of the value of his rent-roll, likes to know something more ofhis future wife-that-is-to-be, beyond what he is able to pick up frommeeting her in society. Think, how many of her most engaging charms hemust remain ignorant of; and then, what on earth can he know of herdisposition?

  The most hot-tempered young lady in the world will manage to control heranger, and tutor herself to smile sweetly, when her awkward, albeitrich, partner tears off her train during his elephantine gambols in thegallop. She may even say, with the most unaffected affectation ofperfect candour that "really it doesn't matter at all," laughing at themishap; but I should just like you to hear what she exclaims when herobnoxious little brother, Master Tommy, playfully dabbles his raspberry-jam'd fingers over her violet silk dress, or converts her new DollyVarden hat into a temporary entomological museum!

  Observation in the family would enable Coelebs to mark these littleepisodes more closely, judging for himself the temper and tact of theidol of his fancy; while, at the same time, he might discover manyadmirable little traits of kindness and charity and grace, which canonly be seen to advantage when displayed naturally in the home circle.

  The moral is obvious.

  Depend upon it, if there were a little more of this freedom ofintercourse between our girls and young men, we would have aconsiderably less number of sour, disappointed virgins in our annualcensus; and, less vice and dissipation on the part of hot-brainedyouths, who, frequently, only give way to "fast life," through feeling avoid in their daily routine of existence that stereotyped fashion isunable to fill. Besides, it would be a perfect godsend to thousands ofunhappy bachelors, who sigh for the realities of domesticity amidst theartificiality and rottenness of London society.

  Some good-natured Mayfair dame, I believe, introduced the "Kettledrum"for the especial saving of poor young men who did not know what to dowith their afternoons in our arid Belgravian desert. But, a little moreis wanted besides five-o'clock tea; and, until it is granted, we willcontinue to have matrimonial infelicity, marriages "of convenience,"and, no marriages at all!

  Now, I think, I have dilated enough upon the great question matrimonial.I will not apologise for my digression, because I've only said what Ihave long wished and intended to say about it on the first convenientopportunity. However, as I have at last succeeded in making a cleanbreast of the matter, I will revert to my original case.

  Owing to the fact of our suburb being unfashionable, and our societyhumdrum, as already explained, I had the pleasure of associating morefully with Min, and seeing more of her domestic character than I mighthave done if we had been both of "the world," worldly; although, as Ihave also mentioned, I was not able to adore her at home very often, inconsequence of my noticing that her mother did not like me--seeingwhich, of course I did not push my welcome at her house to too fine apoint.

  Don't think that Mrs Clyde was inhospitable. Nothing of the sort. Shegave me a general invitation, on the contrary, to come in whenever Ipleased of an evening "to have a little music;" giving expression at thesame time to the sentiment, that she would be "very happy" to see me.But, after that affair connected with Dicky Chips, I learnt caution. Ithought it better for me to make my approaches warily. Even to have thegratification of gazing on one's heart's darling, it is not comfortable,for a sensitive person, to accept too often the courtesies of a hostess,by whom you are inwardly conscious that you are not welcomed.

  Still, I did see her at home sometimes.

  I used to go there, at first only occasionally; and then, when I foundMrs Clyde did not quite eat me up, in spite of her cold manner, I wentregularly once a fortnight--always making my visit on the same day andat the same hour of the evening; so, that Min learnt to expect me whenthe evening came round, and told me that she would have recognised mymodest knock at the door, out of a hundred others.

  Sometimes she and her mother and myself were all alone; but, morefrequently, other casual visitors would drop in, too, like me.

  I liked the former evenings the best, however, as I had her all tomyself, comparatively speaking.

  I could then watch her varying moods more attentively--the tendersolicitude and earnest affection she evinced for her mother:--thepiquant coquetry with which she treated me.

  She had such dear little, characteristic ways about her--ways that werequite peculiar to herself.

  I got to know them all.

  When she was specially interested in anything that one was saying, shewould lean forwards, with a deep, reflective look in her clear greyeyes, in rapt attention, resting her little dimpled chin on her benthand:--when she disagreed with something you said, she would make such apretty quaint moue, tossing her head defiantly, and raise her curvingeyebrows in astonishment that you should dare to differ from her.

  She seldom laughed--I hate to hear girls continually giggling andguffawing at the merest nothings so long as they proceed from male lips!

  When Min laughed, her laughter was just like the rippling of silverymusic and of the most catching, contagious nature. She generally onlysmiled, at even the most humorous incidents; and her smile was thesweetest I ever saw in anyone. It lit up her whole face with merriment,giving the grey eyes the most bewitching expression, and bringing intoprominent notice a tiny, dear little dimple in her chin, which you mightnot have previously observed.

  Her smile it was that completed my captivation, that first time that Isaw her in church and lost my heart in a moment:--her smile was ever andalways her greatest charm.

  Of course I remember all her little darling ways and coquetries.

  Love is a great master of the art of mnemonics, and might be quoted byMr Stokes as one of the greatest "aids to memory" that is known.

  Trifling trivialities, by others passed by unobserved, are graphicallyjotted down with indelible ink in his cordal note-book--

  "For indeed I know Of no more subtle master under heaven, Than is the maiden passion for a maid."

  When no other people came in, Min would always, on the evening of myvisit, make a rule of turning out her workbox, and arranging itscontents over again--"in order," as she told me, although I had thoughtit the picture of neatness and tidiness in its original state.

  She was in the habit on these occasions of restoring to her mothersundry little articles which she confessed to having purloined duringthe week. I recollect how there used to be a regular little joke at herexpense on the subject of kleptomania.

  How well I remember that little workbox, and its arrangements! I couldtell you, now, every item of its varied contents,--the perfumed sachet,the ugly little pincushion which she had had since dollhood, the littlescraps from her favourite poets, which she had copied out and kept inthis sacred repository, never revealing them save to sympathising eyes.How angry she was with me once, for not thinking, with her, thatLongfellow's "Psalm of Life" was the "nicest" thing ever written:--whata long time it was afterwards before she would again allow me to inspecther secret treasures and pet things, as she had previously permitted meto do!

  This all used to go on while her mother was playing; and then, when theworkbox was arranged in apple-pie order, Min herself would go to thepiano and sing my favourite ballads, I listening to her from theopposite corner of the room, for she hated having her music turned overby any one.

  In addition to these rare opportunities of studying my darling andfeeding my love for her, I used to see her at church every Sunday.

  From her windo
w, also, when dog Catch and I took our walks abroad, Ioften had a bright smile from "somebody," who happened always to betending her cherished plants just at the moment when I passed by.

  Sometimes, too, I met her at Miss Pimpernell's, or out walking:--thus,in a short time, I learnt to know all her little plans and wishes, andher sentiments about everything.

  Her likes and dislikes were my own. It was a strange coincidence, thatif Min should express some opinion one day, I found, when we next met,that I seemed to have involuntarily come round to her view; while, if Ilet fall any casual remark, Min was certain, on some future occasion, torepeat it as if it were her own.

  I suppose the coincidence was owing to our mental "rapport," as theFrench express it.

  The only drawback to my happiness, was Mr Mawley, whom I disliked nowmore than ever.

  Although he had all the rest of the week in which to pay his devoirs,having carte blanche from Mrs Clyde to run in and out of her housewhenever he so pleased--he took it into his head to drop in regularly onthe very evening that I had selected and thought especially mine. Ibelieve he only did it to spite me, being of a most aggravatingtemperament!

  When he was there, too, he was constantly endeavouring to make me appearridiculous.

  As certainly as I said anything, or advanced an opinion, he, ascertainly, contradicted me, taking the opposite side of the question.This, of course, made me angry and unamiable. He was so obstinatelyobtuse, too, that he would not take a hint. He must have seen that hiscompany was not wanted, by me at least, and that I did not desire anyconversation with him. I've no doubt of his doing it on purpose!

  He prided himself on his eminently practical mind, being incapable ofseeing romance even in the works of nature and nature's God; and he wascontinually cutting jokes at my "sentimentality," as he was pleased tostyle my more poetical views of life and its surroundings.

  Whenever I gave him the chance, he was safe to slide in some of hisvulgar bathos after any heroic sentiment or personal opinion I may haveuttered. This, naturally, would rouse my temper, never very pacific;and made me so cross, that I was often on the verge of quarrelling withMin on his account!

  The worst of it was, also, that he was always so confoundedly cool andcollected, that he generally came out of these encounters in thecharacter of an injured martyr or inoffensive person, who had to bearthe unprovoked assaults of my bearish brusquerie--making me, as a matterof course, appear in a very unfavourable light.

  I remember, one day in particular, when he was so exceedingly irritatingto me, that he goaded me on into addressing him quite rudely.

  Min was very much distressed at my behaviour, remonstrating with me forit; and this did not of course make me feel more kindly-disposed towardsthe curate, who had now become my perfect antipathy.

  We had been down to the church--Miss Pimpernell, the Dasher girls, Min,and myself,--to hear the organist make trial of a new stop which hadbeen lately added to his instrument. Listening to the small sacredconcert that thereupon ensued, we had remained until quite late in theevening; and, on our way home through the churchyard, as we loiteredalong, looking at the graves, and trying to decipher by the slowlywaning light the half illegible inscriptions on the headstones, we cameacross Mr Mawley.

  Min and I were walking in front, talking seriously and reflectively, asbefitted the time and place.

  We were moralising how--

  "Side by side The poor man and the son of pride Lie calm and still."

  "I wonder," said Min, "whether it is true that the dust of the departeddead blossoms out again in flowers and trees, replenishing the earth?Just fancy, how many illustrious persons even have died since thebeginning of the world! Why, in England alone we could number ourheroes by thousands; and it is nice to think that they may stillflourish perhaps in these old oak trees above us!"

  "Ah," said I, "don't you recollect those lines about England;--

  "`Beneath each swinging forest bough, Some arm as stout in death reposes-- From wave-washed foot to heaven-kissed brow, Her valour's life-blood runs in roses; Nay, let our brothers of the West Write, smiling, in their florid pages, One half her soil has walked the rest, In poets, heroes, martyrs, sages!'"

  "What!" exclaimed Mr Mawley, who had come up close behind us before weperceived him, and at once pushed into the conversation. "`One half oursoil has walked the rest,' Lorton? That's a palpable absurdity! We'lltake England to be three hundred miles long and two hundred broad, on anaverage; and, allowing a uniform depth of twelve feet throughout forcultivable soil, that calculation will give us some--let me see, threehundred by two hundred, multiplied by seventeen hundred and sixty tobring it into yards, and then by three to reduce it to feet, when wemultiply it again by twelve to get the solidity--that gives us nearlyfour billions cubic feet of soil, one-half of which would be twobillions. Fancy, Lorton, two thousand millions cubic feet of heroes,eh! But, you havn't told us what amount of dust and ashes you wouldapportion to each separate hero--" he thus proceeded, with his causticwit, seeing that Bessie Dasher and her sister were both laughing; andeven Min was smiling, at his absurdities. "Strange, perhaps OliverCromwell is now a mangel wurzel, and poor King Charles the First anapple tree! Depend upon it, Lorton, that is the origin of what iscalled the King Pippin!"

  He made me "as mad as a hatter," with his "chaff" at my favouritequotation.

  I was almost boiling over with rage.

  I restrained myself, however, at the moment, and answered him in, forme, comparatively mild terms.

  "Mr Mawley," said I, "you have no more imagination than a turnip-top!You must possess the taste of a Goth or Vandal, to turn such noble linesinto your low ridicule!"

  He did not mind my retort a bit, however. He seemed to think it beneathhis notice; for, he only said "Thank you, Lorton!" and dropped backbehind us again with Bessie Dasher, while Seraphine joined company withlittle Miss Pimpernell--Min and I being still together in front.

  By-and-by our talk was resumed in the same strain from which thecurate's interpellation had diverted it. I had just spoken of Gay thefabulist. I told her of his sad history:--how it was shown in thebitter epitaph which he had composed for his own tomb--

  "Life's a jest, and all things show it; I _thought_ so once, and now I _know_ it!"

  From this we drifted on to Gray's Elegy, through the near similarity ofthe two poets' names.

  "I think," said Min, "that that unadded verse of his which is alwaysleft out of the published poem, is nicer than any of the regular ones;for it touches on two of my favourites, the violet and the dear littlerobin redbreast!"

  "You mean, I suppose," said I, "the one commencing--

  "`There, scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year--'"

  "Yes," said Min, continuing it in her low, sweet voice--

  "`By hands unseen, are showers of violets found; The redbreast loves to build and warble there, And little footsteps lightly print the ground.'"

  "You like violets, then?" I asked. "I think you told me you did,though, before."

  "Yes," she said impulsively, "I love them, I love them, I love them!"

  "Ah!" thought I to myself, determining that she should never fromhenceforth be without an ample supply of violets, if I could help it,"Ah, I wish you would love _me_!" But, I did not give utterance to thethought, contenting myself with keeping up the conversation respectingthe Elegy. "It is generally considered," said I aloud, "that the bestverse of Gray's is that in which he says--

  "`Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood!'"

  "Hullo, Lorton!" shouted out Mr Mawley again close at my back, when Ihad believed him to be some distance off. "Hullo, Lorton! Don't youget into heroics, my boy. Does not the `noble bard' make the Prince ofDenmark say, that the dust of Alexander the Great might have served tofill the bung of a cask and that--

  "`Imperial Caesa
r, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away!'"

  This was too much of a good thing.

  I made up my mind to stand his nonsense no longer.

  "I wish you would mind your own business," said I, as rudely aspossible, "and keep your ridiculous conversation to yourself; I wantnone of it; I hate to hear fools prating about things they cannotunderstand."

  He got quite red in the face; but he kept his temper admirably.

  "When you are cool again, Lorton," he said to me, with an expression ofamiability and mingled pity on his face, that made him look to me likeMephistopheles, "you will, I know, be sorry for what you've said; andwhen you learn good manners I will be glad to speak to you again!" and,he walked back to the church, with the air of a person who had beendeeply injured, but who had yet the magnanimity to forgive if he couldnot forget--wishing adieu to our little party, of whom none but Min hadoverheard what I had said, with his usual cordiality, as if nothing hadhappened to disturb him.

  "Oh, Frank!" exclaimed Min, when he had got out of sight and we wereonce more alone, "how could you be so rude and un-courteous--to aclergyman, too! I'm ashamed of you! I am hurt at any friend of mineacting like that!"

  "But he was so provoking," I stammered, trying to excuse myself. Thetone of Min's voice pained me. It was full of grief and reproach: Iknew its every intonation. "He's always worrying me and rubbing againstme the wrong way!"

  "That does not matter, Frank," she replied in the same grave accents, ascoldly as if she was speaking to a stranger--"a gentleman should be agentleman always. I tell you what,"--she continued, turning away as shespoke--"I will never speak to you again, Frank, until you apologise toMr Mawley for the language you have used!"

  She then left my side, taking Miss Pimpernell's arm and saying somethingabout having a long chat with her.

  The end of it was that she had her way.

  I had to go back to search for the curate and ask his pardon, like a dogwith its tail between its legs.

  I was certain he would exult over it, and he did.

  He had not the generosity to meet me half-way and accept my apologyfrankly at once.

  He made me humble myself to the full, seizing the opportunity to read mea long homily on Christian forbearance, in which, I fervently believedat the time, he was almost as deficient as myself.

  However, I had the consolation of knowing that my apology was not madeon his account, but entirely for the sake of my darling Min; although, Iconfess, I did not like to see her taking such an interest in him as toask it of me.