CHAPTER III
"_Every one has his day, from which he dates._"
OLD PROVERB
You see, Surrey, the school is something extra, and the performances,and it will please Clara no end; so I thought I'd run over, andinveigled you into going along for fear it should be stupid, and I wouldneed some recreation."
"Which I am to afford?"
"Verily."
"As clown or grindstone?--to make laugh, or sharpen your wits upon?"
"Far be it from me to dictate. Whichever suits our character best. Onthe whole, I think the last would be the most appropriate; the first Ican swear wouldn't!"
"_Pourquoi_?"
"O, a woman's reason,--because!"
"Because why? Am I cross?"
"Not exactly."
"Rough?"
"As usual,--like a May breeze."
"Cynical?"
"As Epicurus."
"Irritable?"
"'A countenance [and manner] more in sorrow than in anger.' Something'swrong with you; who is she?"
"She!"
"Ay,--she. That was a wise Eastern king who put at the bottom of everytrouble and mischief a woman."
"Fine estimate."
"Correct one. Evidently he had studied the genus thoroughly, and had apoor opinion of it."
"No wonder."
"Amazing! _you_ say 'no wonder'! Astounding words! speak them again."
"No wonder,--seeing that he had a mother, and that she had such a son.He must needs have been a bad fellow or a fool to have originated sobase a philosophy, and how then could he respect the source of such astream as himself?"
"Sir Launcelot,--squire of dames!"
"Not Sir Launcelot, but squire of dames, I hope."
"There you go again! Now I shall query once more, who is she?"
"No woman."
"No?"
"No, though by your smiling you would seem to say so!"
"Nay, I believe you, and am vastly relieved in the believing. Takeadvice from ten years of superior age, and fifty of experience, and havenaught to do with them. Dost hear?"
"I do."
"And will heed?"
"Which?--the words or the acts of my counsellor? who, of a surety,preaches wisely and does foolishly, or who does wisely and preachesfoolishly; for preaching and practice do not agree."
"Nay, man, thou art unreasonable; to perform either well is beyond thecapacity of most humans, and I desire not to be blessed above mybetters. Then let my rash deeds and my prudent words both be teachersunto thee. But if it be true that no woman is responsible for your gravecountenance this morning, then am I wasting words, and will return toour muttons. What ails you?"
"I am belligerent."
"I see,--that means quarrelsome."
"And hopeless."
"Bad,--very! belligerent and hopeless! When you go into a fight alwaysexpect to win; the thought is half the victory."
"Suppose you are an atom against the universe?" "Don't fight, succumb.There's a proverb,--a wise one,--Napoleon's, 'God is on the side of thestrongest battalions.'"
"A lie,--exploded at Waterloo. There's another proverb, 'One on the sideof God is a majority.' How about that?"
"Transcendental humbug."
"A truth demonstrated at Wittenberg."
"Are you aching for the martyr's palm?"
"I am afraid not. On the whole, I think I'd rather enjoy life thanquarrel with it. But"--with a sudden blaze--"I feel to-day like fightingthe world."
"Hey, presto! what now, young'un?"
"I don't wonder you stare"--a little laugh. "I'm talking like a fool,and, for aught I know, feeling like one, aching to fight, and knowingthat I might as well quarrel with the winds, or stab that water as itflows by."
"As with what?"
"The fellow I've just been getting a good look at."
"What manner of fellow?"
"Ignorant, selfish, brutal, devilish."
"Tremendous! why don't you bind him over to keep the peace?"
"Because he is like the judge of old time, neither fears God norrespects his image,--when his image is carved in ebony, and not ivory."
"What do you call this fellow?"
"Public Opinion."
"This big fellow is abusing and devouring a poor little chap, eh? andthe chap's black?"
"True."
"And sometimes the giant is a gentleman in purple and fine linen,otherwise broadcloth; and sometimes in hodden gray, otherwise homespunor slop-shop; and sometimes he cuts the poor little chap with a silverknife, which is rhetoric, and sometimes with a wooden spoon, which israw-hide. Am I stating it all correctly?"
"All correctly."
"And you've been watching this operation when you had better have beenminding your own business, and getting excited when you had better havekept cool, and now want to rush into the fight, drums beating and colorsflying, to the rescue of the small one. Don't deny it,--it's all writtenout in your eyes."
"I sha'n't deny it, except about the business and the keeping cool. It'sany gentleman's business to interfere between a bully and a weaklingthat he's abusing; and his blood must be water that does not boil whilehe 'watches the operation' as you say, and goes in."
"To get well pommelled for his pains, and do no good to any one, himselfincluded. Let the weakling alone. A fellow that can't save himself isnot worth saving. If he can't swim nor walk, let him drop under or go tothe wall; that's my theory."
"Anglo-Saxon theory--and practice."
"Good theory, excellent practice,--in the main. What special phase of ithas been disturbing your equanimity?"
"You know the Franklins?"
"Of course: Aunt Mina's son--what's his name?--is a sort of _protege_of yours, I believe: what of him?"
"He is cleanly?"
"A nice question. Doubtless."
"Respectable?"
"What are you driving at?"
"Intelligent?"
"Most true."
"Ambitious?"
"Or his looks belie him."
"Faithful, trusty, active, helpful, in every way devoted to my father'sservice and his work."
"With Sancho, I believe it all because your worship says so."
"Well, this man has just been discharged from my father's employ becauseseven hundred and forty-two other men gave notice to quit if heremained."
"The reason?"
"His skin."
"The reason is not 'so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door, butit is enough.' Of course they wouldn't work with him, and my uncleSurrey, begging your pardon, should not have attempted anything soQuixotic."
"His skin covering so many excellent qualities, and these qualitiesgaining recognition,--that was the cause. They worked with him so longas he was a servant of servants: so soon as he demonstrated that hecould strike out strongly and swim, they knocked him under; and, provingthat he could walk alone, they ran hastily to shove him to the wall."
"What! quoting my own words against me?"
"Anglo-Saxon says we are the masters: we monopolize the strength andcourage, the beauty, intelligence, power. These creatures,--what arethey? poor, worthless, lazy, ignorant, good for nothing but to be usedas machines, to obey. When lo! one of these dumb machines suddenlystarts forth with a man's face; this creature no longer obeys, butevinces a right to command; and Anglo-Saxon speedily breaks him inpieces."
"Come, Willie, I hope you're not going to assert these people ourequals,--that would be too much."
"They have no intelligence, Anglo-Saxon declares,--then refuses themschools, while he takes of their money to help educate his own sons.They have no ambition,--then closes upon them every door of honorableadvancement, and cries through the key-hole, Serve, or starve. Theycannot stand alone, they have no faculty for rising,--then, if one ofthem finds foothold, the ground is undermined beneath him. If a head isseen above the crowd, the ladder is jerked away, and he is trampled intothe dust where he is fallen. If he stays in the position to whichAnglo-Saxon
assigns him, he is a worthless nigger; if he protestsagainst it, he is an insolent nigger; if he rises above it, he is anigger not to be tolerated at all,--to be crushed and buried speedily."
"Now, Willie, 'no more of this, an thou lovest me.' I came not outto-day to listen to an abolition harangue, nor a moral homily, but tohave a good time, to be civil and merry withal, if you will allow it. Ofcourse you don't like Franklin's discharge, and of course you have donesomething to compensate him. I know--you have found him another place.No,--you couldn't do that?
"No, I couldn't."
"Well, you've settled him somewhere,--confess."
"He has some work for the present; some copying for me, and translating,for this unfortunate is a scholar, you know."
"Very good; then let it rest. Granted the poor devils have a bad time ofit, you're not bound to sacrifice yourself for them. If you go on atthis pace, you'll bring up with the long-haired, bloomer reformers, andthen--God help you. No, you needn't say another word,--I sha'n'tlisten,--not one; so. Here we are! school yonder,--well situated?"
"Capitally."
"Fine day."
"Very."
"Clara will be charmed to see you."
"You flatter me. I hope so."
"There, now you talk rationally. Don't relapse. We will go up and hearthe pretty creatures read their little pieces, and sing their littlesongs, and see them take their nice blue-ribboned diplomas, and fall inlove with their dear little faces, and flirt a bit this evening, andto-morrow I shall take Ma'm'selle Clara home to Mamma Russell, and youmay go your ways."
"The programme is satisfactory."
"Good. Come on then."
All Commencement days, at college or young ladies' school, if not twinbrothers and sisters, are at least first cousins, with a strong familylikeness. Who that has passed through one, or witnessed one, needs anydescription thereof to furbish up its memories. This of Professor Hale'sbelonged to the great tribe, and its form and features were of the oldestablished type. The young ladies were charming; plenty of white gowns,plenty of flowers, plenty of smiles, blushes, tremors, hopes, and fears;little songs, little pieces, little addresses, to be sung, to be played,to be read, just as Tom Russell had foreshadowed, and proving to be--
"Just the least of a bore!" as he added after listening awhile; "don'tyou think so, Surrey?"
"Hush! don't talk."
Tom stared; then followed his cousin's eye, fixed immovably upon onelittle spot on the platform. "By Jove!" he cried, "what a beauty! AsFather Dryden would say, 'this is the porcelain clay of humankind.' Nowonder you look. Who is she,--do you know?"
"No."
"No! short, clear, and decisive. Don't devour her, Will. Remember thesermon I preached you an hour ago. Come, look at this,"--thrusting aprogramme into his face,--"and stop staring. Why, boy, she hasbewitched you,--or inspired you,"--surveying him sharply.
And indeed it would seem so. Eyes, mouth, face, instinct with somesubtle and thrilling emotion. As gay Tom Russell looked, heinvoluntarily stretched out his hand, as one would put it betweenanother and some danger of which that other is unaware, and rememberedwhat he had once said in talking of him,--"If Will Surrey's time doescome, I hope the girl will be all right in every way, for he'll plungeheadlong, and love like distraction itself,--no half-way; it will be alife-and-death affair for him." "Come, I must break in on this."
"Surrey!"
"Yes."
"There's a pretty girl."
No answer.
"There! over yonder. Third seat, second row. See her? Pretty?"
"Very pretty."
"Miss--Miss--what's her name? O, Miss Perry played that last thing verywell for a school-girl, eh?"
"Very well."
"Admirable room this, for hearing; rare quality with chapels and halls;architects in planning generally tax ingenuity how to confuse sound. Nowthese girls don't make a great noise, yet you can distinguish everyword,--can't you?"
No response.
"I say, can't you?"
"Every word."
Tom drew a long breath.
"Professor Hale's a sensible old fellow; I like the way he conducts thisschool." (Mem. Tom didn't know a thing about it.) "Carries it onexcellently." A pause.
Silence.
"Fine-looking, too. A man's physique has a deal to do with his successin the world. If he carries a letter of recommendation in his face,people take him on trust to begin with; and if he's a big fellow, likethe Professor yonder, he imposes on folks awfully; they pop down ontheir knees to him, and clear the track for him, as if he had a right toit all. Bless me! I never thought of that before,--it's the reason youand I have got on so swimmingly,--is it not, now? Certainly. You thinkso? Of course."
"Of course,"--sedately and gravely spoken.
Tom groaned, for, with a face kind and bright, he was yet no beauty;while if Surrey had one crowning gift in this day of fast youths andself-satisfied Young America, it was that of modesty with regard tohimself and any gifts and graces nature had blessed him withal.
"Clara has a nice voice."
"Very nice."
"She is to sing, do you know?"
"I know."
"Do you know when?"
No reply.
"She sings the next piece. Are you ready to listen?"
"Ready."
"Good Lord!" cried Tom, in despair, "the fellow has lost his wits. Hehas turned parrot; he has done nothing but repeat my words for me sincehe sat here. He's an echo."
"Echo of nothingness?" queried the parrot, smilingly.
"Ah, you've come to yourself, have you? Capital! now stay awake. There'sClara to sing directly, and you are to cheer her, and look as if youenjoyed it, and throw her that bouquet when I tell you, and let herthink it's a fine thing she has been doing; for this is a tremendousaffair to her, poor child, of course."
"How bright and happy she is! You will laugh at me, Tom, and indeed Idon't know what has come over me, but somehow I feel quite sad, lookingat those girls, and wondering what fate and time have in store forthem."
"Sunshine and bright hours."
"The day cometh, and also the night,"--broke in the clear voice that wasreading a selection from the Scriptures.
Tom started, and Willie took from his button-hole just such a littlenosegay as that he had bought on Broadway a fortnight before,--ageranium leaf, a bit of mignonette, and a delicate tea-rosebud, and,seeing it was drooping, laid it carefully upon the programme on hisknee. "I don't want that to fade," he thought as he put it down, whilehe looked across the platform at the same face which he had so eagerlypursued through a labyrinth of carriages, stages, and people, and lostat last.
"There! Clara is talking to your beauty. I wonder if she is to sing, ordo anything. If she does, it will be something dainty and fine, I'llwager. Helloa! there's Clara up,--now for it."
Clara's bright little voice suited her bright little face,--like herbrother's, only a great deal prettier,--and the young men enjoyed both,aside from brotherly and cousinly feeling, cheered her "to the echo" asWillie said, threw their bouquets,--great, gorgeous things they hadbrought from the city to please her,--and wished there was more of itall when it was through.
"What next?" said Willie.
"Heaven preserve us! your favorite subject. Who would expect to tumbleon such a theme here?--'Slavery; by Francesca Ercildoune.' Oddname,--and, by Jove! it's the beauty herself."
They both leaned forward eagerly as she came from her seat; slender,shapely, every fibre fine and exquisite, no coarse graining from thedainty head to the dainty foot; the face, clear olive, delicate andbeautiful,--
"The mouth with steady sweetness set, And eyes conveying unaware The distant hint of some regret That harbored there,"--
eyes deep, tender, and pathetic.
"What's this?" said Tom. "Queer. It gives me a heartache to look ather."
"A woman for whom to fight the world, or lose the world, and becompensated a million-fold if you died at her feet," thought S
urrey, andsaid nothing.
"What a strange subject for her to select!" broke in Tom.
It was a strange one for the time and place, and she had been besoughtto drop it, and take another; but it should be that or nothing, sheasserted,--so she was left to her own device.
Oddly treated, too. Tom thought it would be a pretty lady-like essay,and said so; then sat astounded at what he saw and heard. Her face--thisschoolgirl's face--grew pallid, her eyes mournful, her voice and mannersublime, as she summoned this Monster to the bar of God's justice andthe humanity of the world; as she arraigned it; as she brought witnessafter witness to testify against it; as she proved its horribleatrocities and monstrous barbarities; as she went on to the close, and,lifting hand and face and voice together, thrilled out, "I look backwardinto the dim, distant past, but it is one night of oppression anddespair; I turn to the present, but I hear naught save the mother'sbroken-hearted shriek, the infant's wail, the groan wrung from thestrong man in agony; I look forward into the future, but the night growsdarker, the shadows deeper and longer, the tempest wilder, andinvoluntarily I cry out, 'How long, O God, how long?'"
"Heavens! what an actress she would make!" said somebody before them.
"That's genius," said somebody behind them; "but what a subject towaste it upon!"
"Very bad taste, I must say, to talk about such a thing here," saidsomebody beside them. "However, one can excuse a great deal to beautylike that."
Surrey sat still, and felt as though he were on fire, filled with aninsane desire to seize her in one arm like a knight of old, and hew hisway through these beings, and out of this place, into some solitary spotwhere he could seat her and kneel at her feet, and die there if sherefused to take him up; filled with all the sweet, extravagant,delicious pain that thrills the heart, full of passion and purity, of ayoung man who begins to love the first, overwhelming, only love of alifetime.
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