Adam Bede

by George Eliot

  Chapter XXII

  Going to the Birthday Feast

  THE thirtieth of July was come, and it was one of those half-dozen warmdays which sometimes occur in the middle of a rainy English summer. Norain had fallen for the last three or four days, and the weather wasperfect for that time of the year: there was less dust than usual onthe dark-green hedge-rows and on the wild camomile that starred theroadside, yet the grass was dry enough for the little children to rollon it, and there was no cloud but a long dash of light, downy ripple,high, high up in the far-off blue sky. Perfect weather for an outdoorJuly merry-making, yet surely not the best time of year to be born in.Nature seems to make a hot pause just then: all the loveliest flowersare gone; the sweet time of early growth and vague hopes is past; andyet the time of harvest and ingathering is not come, and we tremble atthe possible storms that may ruin the precious fruit in the momentof its ripeness. The woods are all one dark monotonous green; thewaggon-loads of hay no longer creep along the lanes, scattering theirsweet-smelling fragments on the blackberry branches; the pastures areoften a little tanned, yet the corn has not got its last splendourof red and gold; the lambs and calves have lost all traces of theirinnocent frisky prettiness, and have become stupid young sheep and cows.But it is a time of leisure on the farm--that pause between hay-andcorn-harvest, and so the farmers and labourers in Hayslope and Broxtonthought the captain did well to come of age just then, when they couldgive their undivided minds to the flavour of the great cask of ale whichhad been brewed the autumn after "the heir" was born, and was to betapped on his twenty-first birthday. The air had been merry with theringing of church-bells very early this morning, and every one had madehaste to get through the needful work before twelve, when it would betime to think of getting ready to go to the Chase.

  The midday sun was streaming into Hetty's bedchamber, and there was noblind to temper the heat with which it fell on her head as she looked atherself in the old specked glass. Still, that was the only glass she hadin which she could see her neck and arms, for the small hangingglass she had fetched out of the next room--the room that had beenDinah's--would show her nothing below her little chin; and thatbeautiful bit of neck where the roundness of her cheek melted intoanother roundness shadowed by dark delicate curls. And to-day shethought more than usual about her neck and arms; for at the dance thisevening she was not to wear any neckerchief, and she had been busyyesterday with her spotted pink-and-white frock, that she might make thesleeves either long or short at will. She was dressed now just as shewas to be in the evening, with a tucker made of "real" lace, which heraunt had lent her for this unparalleled occasion, but with no ornamentsbesides; she had even taken out her small round ear-rings which she woreevery day. But there was something more to be done, apparently, beforeshe put on her neckerchief and long sleeves, which she was to wear inthe day-time, for now she unlocked the drawer that held her privatetreasures. It is more than a month since we saw her unlock that drawerbefore, and now it holds new treasures, so much more precious than theold ones that these are thrust into the corner. Hetty would not care toput the large coloured glass ear-rings into her ears now; for see! shehas got a beautiful pair of gold and pearls and garnet, lying snugly ina pretty little box lined with white satin. Oh, the delight of takingout that little box and looking at the ear-rings! Do not reason aboutit, my philosphical reader, and say that Hetty, being very pretty, musthave known that it did not signify whether she had on any ornamentsor not; and that, moreover, to look at ear-rings which she could notpossibly wear out of her bedroom could hardly be a satisfaction, theessence of vanity being a reference to the impressions producedon others; you will never understand women's natures if you are soexcessively rational. Try rather to divest yourself of all your rationalprejudices, as much as if you were studying the psychology of a canarybird, and only watch the movements of this pretty round creature as sheturns her head on one side with an unconscious smile at the ear-ringsnestled in the little box. Ah, you think, it is for the sake of theperson who has given them to her, and her thoughts are gone back now tothe moment when they were put into her hands. No; else why should shehave cared to have ear-rings rather than anything else? And I know thatshe had longed for ear-rings from among all the ornaments she couldimagine.

  "Little, little ears!" Arthur had said, pretending to pinch them oneevening, as Hetty sat beside him on the grass without her hat. "I wish Ihad some pretty ear-rings!" she said in a moment, almost before she knewwhat she was saying--the wish lay so close to her lips, it WOULD flutterpast them at the slightest breath. And the next day--it was only lastweek--Arthur had ridden over to Rosseter on purpose to buy them. Thatlittle wish so naively uttered seemed to him the prettiest bit ofchildishness; he had never heard anything like it before; and he hadwrapped the box up in a great many covers, that he might see Hettyunwrapping it with growing curiosity, till at last her eyes flashed backtheir new delight into his.

  No, she was not thinking most of the giver when she smiled at theear-rings, for now she is taking them out of the box, not to press themto her lips, but to fasten them in her ears--only for one moment, tosee how pretty they look, as she peeps at them in the glass againstthe wall, with first one position of the head and then another, like alistening bird. It is impossible to be wise on the subject of ear-ringsas one looks at her; what should those delicate pearls and crystals bemade for, if not for such ears? One cannot even find fault with thetiny round hole which they leave when they are taken out; perhapswater-nixies, and such lovely things without souls, have these littleround holes in their ears by nature, ready to hang jewels in. And Hettymust be one of them: it is too painful to think that she is a woman,with a woman's destiny before her--a woman spinning in young ignorance alight web of folly and vain hopes which may one day close round her andpress upon her, a rancorous poisoned garment, changing all at onceher fluttering, trivial butterfly sensations into a life of deep humananguish.

  But she cannot keep in the ear-rings long, else she may make her uncleand aunt wait. She puts them quickly into the box again and shuts themup. Some day she will be able to wear any ear-rings she likes,and already she lives in an invisible world of brilliant costumes,shimmering gauze, soft satin, and velvet, such as the lady's maid at theChase has shown her in Miss Lydia's wardrobe. She feels the bracelets onher arms, and treads on a soft carpet in front of a tall mirror. Butshe has one thing in the drawer which she can venture to wear to-day,because she can hang it on the chain of dark-brown berries which she hasbeen used to wear on grand days, with a tiny flat scent-bottle atthe end of it tucked inside her frock; and she must put on her brownberries--her neck would look so unfinished without it. Hetty wasnot quite as fond of the locket as of the ear-rings, though it wasa handsome large locket, with enamelled flowers at the back and abeautiful gold border round the glass, which showed a light-brownslightly waving lock, forming a background for two little dark rings.She must keep it under her clothes, and no one would see it. But Hettyhad another passion, only a little less strong than her love of finery,and that other passion made her like to wear the locket even hidden inher bosom. She would always have worn it, if she had dared to encounterher aunt's questions about a ribbon round her neck. So now she slippedit on along her chain of dark-brown berries, and snapped the chain roundher neck. It was not a very long chain, only allowing the locket to hanga little way below the edge of her frock. And now she had nothing to dobut to put on her long sleeves, her new white gauze neckerchief, andher straw hat trimmed with white to-day instead of the pink, whichhad become rather faded under the July sun. That hat made the drop ofbitterness in Hetty's cup to-day, for it was not quite new--everybodywould see that it was a little tanned against the white ribbon--and MaryBurge, she felt sure, would have a new hat or bonnet on. She looked forconsolation at her fine white cotton stockings: they really were verynice indeed, and she had given almost all her spare money for them.Hetty's dream of the future could not make her insensible to triumph inthe present. To be sure, Captain Donnithorne loved
her so that he wouldnever care about looking at other people, but then those other peopledidn't know how he loved her, and she was not satisfied to appear shabbyand insignificant in their eyes even for a short space.

  The whole party was assembled in the house-place when Hetty went down,all of course in their Sunday clothes; and the bells had been ringing sothis morning in honour of the captain's twenty-first birthday, and thework had all been got done so early, that Marty and Tommy were not quiteeasy in their minds until their mother had assured them that goingto church was not part of the day's festivities. Mr. Poyser had oncesuggested that the house should be shut up and left to take careof itself; "for," said he, "there's no danger of anybody's breakingin--everybody'll be at the Chase, thieves an' all. If we lock th' houseup, all the men can go: it's a day they wonna see twice i' their lives."But Mrs. Poyser answered with great decision: "I never left the house totake care of itself since I was a missis, and I never will. There's beenill-looking tramps enoo' about the place this last week, to carry offevery ham an' every spoon we'n got; and they all collogue together,them tramps, as it's a mercy they hanna come and poisoned the dogs andmurdered us all in our beds afore we knowed, some Friday night whenwe'n got the money in th' house to pay the men. And it's like enough thetramps know where we're going as well as we do oursens; for if Old Harrywants any work done, you may be sure he'll find the means."

  "Nonsense about murdering us in our beds," said Mr. Poyser; "I've got agun i' our room, hanna I? and thee'st got ears as 'ud find it out if amouse was gnawing the bacon. Howiver, if thee wouldstna be easy, Alickcan stay at home i' the forepart o' the day, and Tim can come backtow'rds five o'clock, and let Alick have his turn. They may let Growlerloose if anybody offers to do mischief, and there's Alick's dog too,ready enough to set his tooth in a tramp if Alick gives him a wink."

  Mrs. Poyser accepted this compromise, but thought it advisable to barand bolt to the utmost; and now, at the last moment before starting,Nancy, the dairy-maid, was closing the shutters of the house-place,although the window, lying under the immediate observation of Alick andthe dogs, might have been supposed the least likely to be selected for aburglarious attempt.

  The covered cart, without springs, was standing ready to carry the wholefamily except the men-servants. Mr. Poyser and the grandfather saton the seat in front, and within there was room for all the women andchildren; the fuller the cart the better, because then the joltingwould not hurt so much, and Nancy's broad person and thick arms were anexcellent cushion to be pitched on. But Mr. Poyser drove at no morethan a walking pace, that there might be as little risk of jolting aspossible on this warm day, and there was time to exchange greetings andremarks with the foot-passengers who were going the same way, speckingthe paths between the green meadows and the golden cornfields with bitsof movable bright colour--a scarlet waistcoat to match the poppies thatnodded a little too thickly among the corn, or a dark-blue neckerchiefwith ends flaunting across a brand-new white smock-frock. All Broxtonand all Hayslope were to be at the Chase, and make merry there in honourof "th' heir"; and the old men and women, who had never been so far downthis side of the hill for the last twenty years, were being brought fromBroxton and Hayslope in one of the farmer's waggons, at Mr. Irwine'ssuggestion. The church-bells had struck up again now--a last tune,before the ringers came down the hill to have their share in thefestival; and before the bells had finished, other music was heardapproaching, so that even Old Brown, the sober horse that was drawingMr. Poyser's cart, began to prick up his ears. It was the band of theBenefit Club, which had mustered in all its glory--that is to say, inbright-blue scarfs and blue favours, and carrying its banner withthe motto, "Let brotherly love continue," encircling a picture of astone-pit.

  The carts, of course, were not to enter the Chase. Every one must getdown at the lodges, and the vehicles must be sent back.

  "Why, the Chase is like a fair a'ready," said Mrs. Poyser, as she gotdown from the cart, and saw the groups scattered under the great oaks,and the boys running about in the hot sunshine to survey the tall polessurmounted by the fluttering garments that were to be the prize of thesuccessful climbers. "I should ha' thought there wasna so many peoplei' the two parishes. Mercy on us! How hot it is out o' the shade! Comehere, Totty, else your little face 'ull be burnt to a scratchin'! Theymight ha' cooked the dinners i' that open space an' saved the fires. Ishall go to Mrs. Best's room an' sit down."

  "Stop a bit, stop a bit," said Mr. Poyser. "There's th' waggin comingwi' th' old folks in't; it'll be such a sight as wonna come o'er again,to see 'em get down an' walk along all together. You remember some on'em i' their prime, eh, Father?"

  "Aye, aye," said old Martin, walking slowly under the shade of the lodgeporch, from which he could see the aged party descend. "I remember JacobTaft walking fifty mile after the Scotch raybels, when they turned backfrom Stoniton."

  He felt himself quite a youngster, with a long life before him, as hesaw the Hayslope patriarch, old Feyther Taft, descend from the waggonand walk towards him, in his brown nightcap, and leaning on his twosticks.

  "Well, Mester Taft," shouted old Martin, at the utmost stretch of hisvoice--for though he knew the old man was stone deaf, he could not omitthe propriety of a greeting--"you're hearty yet. You can enjoy yoursento-day, for-all you're ninety an' better."

  "Your sarvant, mesters, your sarvant," said Feyther Taft in a trebletone, perceiving that he was in company.

  The aged group, under care of sons or daughters, themselves worn andgrey, passed on along the least-winding carriage-road towards the house,where a special table was prepared for them; while the Poyser partywisely struck across the grass under the shade of the great trees,but not out of view of the house-front, with its sloping lawn andflower-beds, or of the pretty striped marquee at the edge of the lawn,standing at right angles with two larger marquees on each side of theopen green space where the games were to be played. The house would havebeen nothing but a plain square mansion of Queen Anne's time, but forthe remnant of an old abbey to which it was united at one end, in muchthe same way as one may sometimes see a new farmhouse rising high andprim at the end of older and lower farm-offices. The fine old remnantstood a little backward and under the shadow of tall beeches, but thesun was now on the taller and more advanced front, the blinds were alldown, and the house seemed asleep in the hot midday. It made Hetty quitesad to look at it: Arthur must be somewhere in the back rooms, with thegrand company, where he could not possibly know that she was come, andshe should not see him for a long, long while--not till after dinner,when they said he was to come up and make a speech.

  But Hetty was wrong in part of her conjecture. No grand company wascome except the Irwines, for whom the carriage had been sent early,and Arthur was at that moment not in a back room, but walking with therector into the broad stone cloisters of the old abbey, where the longtables were laid for all the cottage tenants and the farm-servants.A very handsome young Briton he looked to-day, in high spirits and abright-blue frock-coat, the highest mode--his arm no longer in a sling.So open-looking and candid, too; but candid people have their secrets,and secrets leave no lines in young faces.

  "Upon my word," he said, as they entered the cool cloisters, "I thinkthe cottagers have the best of it: these cloisters make a delightfuldining-room on a hot day. That was capital advice of yours, Irwine,about the dinners--to let them be as orderly and comfortable aspossible, and only for the tenants: especially as I had only a limitedsum after all; for though my grandfather talked of a carte blanche, hecouldn't make up his mind to trust me, when it came to the point."

  "Never mind, you'll give more pleasure in this quiet way," said Mr.Irwine. "In this sort of thing people are constantly confoundingliberality with riot and disorder. It sounds very grand to say that somany sheep and oxen were roasted whole, and everybody ate who likedto come; but in the end it generally happens that no one has had anenjoyable meal. If the people get a good dinner and a moderate quantityof ale in the middle of the day, they'll be able to
enjoy the gamesas the day cools. You can't hinder some of them from getting too muchtowards evening, but drunkenness and darkness go better together thandrunkenness and daylight."

  "Well, I hope there won't be much of it. I've kept the Treddlestonpeople away by having a feast for them in the town; and I've got Cassonand Adam Bede and some other good fellows to look to the giving out ofale in the booths, and to take care things don't go too far. Come, letus go up above now and see the dinner-tables for the large tenants."

  They went up the stone staircase leading simply to the long galleryabove the cloisters, a gallery where all the dusty worthless oldpictures had been banished for the last three generations--mouldyportraits of Queen Elizabeth and her ladies, General Monk with his eyeknocked out, Daniel very much in the dark among the lions, and JuliusCaesar on horseback, with a high nose and laurel crown, holding hisCommentaries in his hand.

  "What a capital thing it is that they saved this piece of the oldabbey!" said Arthur. "If I'm ever master here, I shall do up the galleryin first-rate style. We've got no room in the house a third as largeas this. That second table is for the farmers' wives and children: Mrs.Best said it would be more comfortable for the mothers and childrento be by themselves. I was determined to have the children, and make aregular family thing of it. I shall be 'the old squire' to those littlelads and lasses some day, and they'll tell their children what a muchfiner young fellow I was than my own son. There's a table for the womenand children below as well. But you will see them all--you will come upwith me after dinner, I hope?"

  "Yes, to be sure," said Mr. Irwine. "I wouldn't miss your maiden speechto the tenantry."

  "And there will be something else you'll like to hear," said Arthur."Let us go into the library and I'll tell you all about it while mygrandfather is in the drawing-room with the ladies. Something that willsurprise you," he continued, as they sat down. "My grandfather has comeround after all."

  "What, about Adam?"

  "Yes; I should have ridden over to tell you about it, only I was sobusy. You know I told you I had quite given up arguing the matter withhim--I thought it was hopeless--but yesterday morning he asked me tocome in here to him before I went out, and astonished me by saying thathe had decided on all the new arrangements he should make in consequenceof old Satchell being obliged to lay by work, and that he intended toemploy Adam in superintending the woods at a salary of a guinea a-week,and the use of a pony to be kept here. I believe the secret of it is,he saw from the first it would be a profitable plan, but he had someparticular dislike of Adam to get over--and besides, the fact that Ipropose a thing is generally a reason with him for rejecting it. There'sthe most curious contradiction in my grandfather: I know he means toleave me all the money he has saved, and he is likely enough to have cutoff poor Aunt Lydia, who has been a slave to him all her life, with onlyfive hundred a-year, for the sake of giving me all the more; and yet Isometimes think he positively hates me because I'm his heir. I believeif I were to break my neck, he would feel it the greatest misfortunethat could befall him, and yet it seems a pleasure to him to make mylife a series of petty annoyances."

  "Ah, my boy, it is not only woman's love that is [two greek wordsomitted] as old AEschylus calls it. There's plenty of 'unloving love' inthe world of a masculine kind. But tell me about Adam. Has he acceptedthe post? I don't see that it can be much more profitable than hispresent work, though, to be sure, it will leave him a good deal of timeon his own hands.

  "Well, I felt some doubt about it when I spoke to him and he seemed tohesitate at first. His objection was that he thought he should not beable to satisfy my grandfather. But I begged him as a personal favourto me not to let any reason prevent him from accepting the place, if hereally liked the employment and would not be giving up anything thatwas more profitable to him. And he assured me he should like it of allthings--it would be a great step forward for him in business, and itwould enable him to do what he had long wished to do, to give up workingfor Burge. He says he shall have plenty of time to superintend a littlebusiness of his own, which he and Seth will carry on, and will perhapsbe able to enlarge by degrees. So he has agreed at last, and I havearranged that he shall dine with the large tenants to-day; and I mean toannounce the appointment to them, and ask them to drink Adam's health.It's a little drama I've got up in honour of my friend Adam. He's a finefellow, and I like the opportunity of letting people know that I thinkso."

  "A drama in which friend Arthur piques himself on having a pretty partto play," said Mr. Irwine, smiling. But when he saw Arthur colour, hewent on relentingly, "My part, you know, is always that of the old fogywho sees nothing to admire in the young folks. I don't like to admitthat I'm proud of my pupil when he does graceful things. But I must playthe amiable old gentleman for once, and second your toast in honour ofAdam. Has your grandfather yielded on the other point too, and agreed tohave a respectable man as steward?"

  "Oh no," said Arthur, rising from his chair with an air of impatienceand walking along the room with his hands in his pockets. "He's gotsome project or other about letting the Chase Farm and bargaining fora supply of milk and butter for the house. But I ask no questions aboutit--it makes me too angry. I believe he means to do all the businesshimself, and have nothing in the shape of a steward. It's amazing whatenergy he has, though."

  "Well, we'll go to the ladies now," said Mr. Irwine, rising too. "I wantto tell my mother what a splendid throne you've prepared for her underthe marquee."

  "Yes, and we must be going to luncheon too," said Arthur. "It must betwo o'clock, for there is the gong beginning to sound for the tenants'dinners."