The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II)

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER VII. A COLLEGE COMPETITOR

  Young Nelligan had distanced all his competitors in his college career;some who were his equals in ability, were inferior to him in habits ofhard and patient labor; and others, again, were faint-hearted to opposeone in whose success they affected to believe luck had no smallshare. One alone had the honest candor to avow that he deserved hispre-eminence, on the true ground of his being their superior. This was acertain Jack Massingbred, a young fellow of good family and fortune,and who, having been rusticated at Oxford, and involved in some outrageagainst authority in Cambridge, had come over to finish his collegecareer in the "Silent Sister."

  Although Irish by birth, and connected with Ireland by ties of familyand fortune, he had passed all his life in England, his father havingrepaired to that country after the Union, exchanging the barren honor ofa seat for an Irish borough for a snug Treasury appointment. His sonhad very early given proof of superior capacity. At Rugby he wasdistinguished as a scholar; and in his opening life at Oxford histalents won high praise for him. Soon after his entrance, however,he had fallen into a fast set,--of hunting, tandem-driving, andoccasionally hard-drinking men,--in whose society he learned toforget all his aim for college success, and to be far more anxiousfor distinction as a whip or a stroke-oar than for all the honors ofscholarship. At first he experienced a sense of pride in the thoughtthat he could hold his own with either set, and take the lead in theexamination-hall as easily as he assumed the first place in the socialmeeting. A few reverses, however, taught him that his theory wasa mistake, that no amount of ability will compensate for habits ofidleness and dissipation, and that the discursive efforts of even highgenius will be ever beaten by the steady results of patient industry.Partly indifferent to what had once been his great ambition, partlyoffended by his failures, Massingbred threw himself entirely into thecircle of his dissipated companions, and became the very head and frontof all their wildest excesses. An absurd exploit, far more ludicrousthan really culpable, procured his rustication; a not less ridiculousadventure drove him from Cambridge; and he had at last arrived inDublin, somewhat tamed down by his experiences, and half inclined toresume his long-abandoned desire for college distinction.

  The habits of the Irish College were strikingly unlike those of eitherOxford or Cambridge. Instead of a large class consisting of men of greatfortune and high expectations, he found a very slight sprinkling ofsuch, and even they made up nothing that resembled a party. Separatedby age, political distinctions, and county associations, all stronger inthe poorer country than in the richer one, they held little intercoursetogether, and were scarcely acquainted.

  If there was less actual wealth, there was also less credit to beobtained by an Irish student. The Dublin shopkeeper acknowledged noprestige in the "gownsman;" he admitted him to no special privilege ofbook-debts; and as the great majority of the students resided withtheir families in the capital, there was no room for that recklessextravagance so often prosecuted by those who are temporarily removedfrom domestic supervision.

  Massingbred was at first grievously disappointed. There were neithergreat names nor great fortunes amongst his new associates. Their modeof life, too, struck him as mean and contemptible. There were clever menreading for honors, and stupid men steering their slow way to a degree;but where were the fast ones? where the fellows who could tool a team orsteer a six-oar, who could dash up to town for a week's reckless life atCrocky's and Tattersall's, make their book on the Oaks, or perhaps ridethe winner at a steeplechase?

  It was all grievously slow. Dublin itself was a poor affair. He had fewacquaintances, the theatres were bad, and public amusements there werenone. His fellow-students, too, stood aloof from him. It was not thathe was richer, better dressed, rode blood horses, dined at Morris-son's,wore kid gloves, and carried scented pocket-handkerchiefs. It was notthat he had a certain air of puppyism as he wended his way across thecourts, or sauntered elegantly into chapel. They could have forgiven anyor all of these better than one of his offendings, which was his accent.Strange as it may seem, his English voice and English pronunciationwere the most unpopular things about him, and many a real defect in hischaracter might have met a more merciful construction had he given noinitial "H" to "humble," and evinced a more generous confusion about his"wills" and "snails."

  Somewhat bored by a life so unlike anything he had ever triedbefore,--partly, perhaps, stimulated to show that he could do somethingbeside canter his thorough-bred along Sackville Street, or lounge inthe stage-box in solitary splendor,--he went in for honors, and, tothe surprise of all, succeeded. In fact, he beat two or three of thedistinguished men of his time, till, thrown by the chance of events intoNelligan's division, he found at once his superior, and saw that he wasin presence of an intelligence considerably above his own. When he hadadventured on the struggle and found himself worsted, he acknowledgeddefeat with all the generosity of an honorable nature; and forcing hisway through the crowd as it issued from the examination-hall, was thevery first to grasp Nelligan's hand and congratulate him on his success.

  "That was all got up; he was bursting with jealousy. The fellow couldhave strangled Nelligan," muttered one.

  "He certainly put a good face on the disaster," said another, moremercifully given; "though I suppose he feels the thing sorely enough atheart!"

  That was exactly what he did not, however. Young Massingbred regarded acollege distinction as no evidence whatever of a man's attainments. Hehad seen stupid fellows win the prize for which clever ones strove invain; but, at all events, he regarded such successes as contributing innothing to the great race of life, and had even a theory that such earlyefforts were often the very means of exhausting the energies that shouldbe exerted for the high rewards of the world. Besides this, he felt apleasure in manfully showing that he was above a petty jealousy, andfairly owning himself beaten in a fair struggle.

  "You are the better man, Nelligan," said he, gayly; "I 'll not tryanother fall with you, be assured."

  Strange was it that in this very avowal he had asserted what the otherfelt in his inmost heart to be an immeasurable superiority over him;and that in the very moment of striking his flag he had proclaimed hisvictory. To be able to run him so hard for the race and yet not feel thestruggle, to strive for the prize and care nothing for defeat, seemed toNelligan the evidence of an ambition that soared above college triumph,and he could not but envy that buoyant high-hearted temperament thatseemed to make light of difficulties and not even feel depressed by adefeat.

  Up to this time these two young men had scarcely known each other, butnow they became intimate. The very difference in character servedto draw them more closely together; and if Nelligan felt a degree ofadmiration for qualities whose brilliant display opened a new sense ofenjoyment to him, the other was delighted with the gentle and almostchildlike innocence of the student whose far-soaring intellect wasmastering the highest questions of science.

  Massingbred was one of those natures in whom frankness is an instinct.It seems to such a relief to open the secrets of the heart and avowtheir weaknesses and their shortcomings, as though--by some MoralPopery--they would obtain the benefit of a free confession and go forththe better for their candor.

  Not only did he tell Nelligan of his own career and its accidents, thecauses for which he was not on good terms with his family, and so on;but he even ventured to discuss the public life of his father, and, ina spirit of banter, swore that to his political subserviency did he owehis whole fortune in life.

  "My father was one of the crew when the vessel was wrecked, Nelligan,"said he; "there was plenty of talk of standing by the ship to the last,and perishing with her. Some did so, and they are forgotten already. Myfather, however, jumped into the long-boat with a few more, and thoughtthat probably they might find another craft more seaworthy; fortunatelyhe was right; at least, assuredly, I 'm not the man to say he was not."

  "But was there no desertion of principle, Massingbred?" said Nelligan.

  "No more
than there is a desertion of your old coat when you discover itto be too threadbare to wear any longer. Irish Politics, as the men ofthat day understood them, had become impracticable,--impossible, Imight say; the only sensible thing to do was to acknowledge the fact. Myfather was keen-sighted enough to see it in that light, and here 's hishealth for it."

  Nelligan was silent.

  "Come, Joe, out with it. Your family were honest Unionists. Tell me sofrankly, man. Own to me that you and yours look upon us all as a set ofknaves and scoundrels, that sold their country, and so forth. I want tosee you in a mood of good passionate indignation for once. Out with it,boy; curse us to your heart's content, and I 'll hear it like an angel,for the simple reason that I know it to be just. You won't, won't you?Is your anger too deep for words? or are there any special and peculiarwrongs that make your dark consuming wrath too hot for utterance?"

  Nelligan was still silent; but the blush which now covered his face hadbecome almost purple. The allusion to his family as persons of politicalimportance struck him, and for the first time, with a sense of shame.What would Massingbred think of them if he knew their real station? whatwould he think of _him_ for having concealed it? Had he concealed it?Had he ever divulged the truth? He knew not; in the whirlwind of hisconfusion he knew nothing. He tried to say some words to break theoppressive silence that seemed to weigh him down like an accusation, buthe could not.

  "I see it all, Nelligan. My foolish affectation of laughing at allprinciple has disgusted you; but the truth is, I don't feel it: I donot. I own frankly that the bought patriot is a ruined man, and thereis a moral Nemesis over every fellow that sells himself; I don't mean tosay but that many who did so did n't make the best bargain theirbrains were worth, and my father for one; he was a man of fair averageabilities,--able to say his commonplaces like his neighbors,--andnaturally felt that they would sound as well in England as in Ireland; Idon't think he had a single conviction on any subject, so that he reallysold a very unsalable article when he vended himself. But there wereothers,--your Governor, for instance; come, now, tell me about him; youare so devilish close, and I want to hear all about your family. Youwon't; well, I'll give you one chance more, and then--"

  "What then?" asked Nelligan, breathlessly.

  "I 'll just go and learn for myself."

  "How? what do you mean?" "The easiest way in the world. The vacationbegins next Tuesday, and I 'll just invite myself to spend the firstweek of it under your paternal roof. You look terribly shocked,absolutely horrified; well, so you ought. It is about the greatest pieceof impertinence I 've heard of. I assure you I have a full consciousnessof that myself; but no matter, I 'll do it."

  Nelligan's shame was now an agony. It had never occurred to him inhis life to feel ashamed of his station or that of his family, for thesimple reason that he had never made pretension to anything higher ormore exalted. The distinctions at which he aimed were those attainableby ability; social successes were triumphs he never dreamed of. But nowcame the thought of how he should stand in his friend's esteem, when thefact was revealed that he was the son of very humble parents, all whoseways, thoughts, and habits would be apt themes for ridicule and sarcasm.Over and over again had Massingbred annoyed him by the disparaging tonein which he canvassed "small people," the sneering depreciation inwhich he held all their doings, and the wholesale injustice by which heclassed their sentiments with their good manners. It was the one featureof his friend's character that gave a check to his unbounded esteem forhim. Had he not possessed this blemish, Nelligan would have deemed himnearly faultless.

  Intensely feeling this, Nelligan would have given much for courage tosay, "I am one of that very set you sneer at. All my associations andties are with them. My home is amongst them, and every link of kindredbinds me to them."

  Yet, somehow, he could not bring himself to the effort. It was not thathe dreaded the loss of friendship that might ensue,--indeed, he ratherbelieved that such would not occur; but he thought that a time mightcome when that avowal might be made with pride, and not in humiliation,when he should say: "My father, the little shopkeeper of Oughterard,gave me the advantages by which I became what I am. The class you sneerat had yet ambitions high and daring as your own; and talents to attainthem, too! The age of noble and serf has passed away, and we live in afreer and more generous era, when men are tested by their own worth;and if birth and blood would retain their respect amongst us, it isby contesting with us more humbly born the prizes of life." To haveasserted these things now, however, when he was nothing, when his namehad no echo beyond the walls of a college, would have seemed to him anintolerable piece of presumption, and he was silent.

  Massingbred read his reserve as proceeding from displeasure, andjestingly said,--

  "You mustn't be angry with me, Joe. The boldness of men like me is lessimpudence than you take it for, since--should I fulfil my threat, andpay your father a visit--I 'd neither show surprise nor shame if herefused to receive me. I throw over all the claims of ceremony; but atthe same time I don't want to impose the trammels on my friends. Theyare free to deal with me as frankly, ay, and as curtly as I have treatedthem; but enough of all this. Let us talk of something else."

  And so they did, too,--of their college life and its changeful fortunes;of their companions and their several characters, and of the futureitself, of which Massingbred pretended to read the fate, saying: "You'llbe something wonderful one of these days, Joe. I have it as thoughrevealed to me,--_you_ astonishing the world by your abilities, andwinning your way to rank and eminence; while _I_ like a sign-post thatpoints to the direction, shall stand stock-still, and never budge aninch, knowing the road, but not travelling it."

  "And why should it be so, Mass, when you have such a perfectconsciousness of your powers for success?"

  "For the simple reason, my boy, that I know and feel how the clevernesswhich imposes upon others has never imposed upon myself. The popularerror of a man's being able to do fifty things which he has not donefrom idleness, apathy, carelessness, and so on, never yet deceived me,because I know well that when a fellow has great stuff in him it willcome out, whether he likes or not. You might as well say that the grapesin a wine-vat could arrest their own process of fermentation, as thata man of real genius--and mind, I am now speaking of no other--couldsuppress the working of his intelligence, and throw his faculties intotorpor. The men who do nothing are exactly the men who can do no better.Volition, energy, the strong impulse for action, are part and parcel ofevery really great intellect; and your 'mute, inglorious Milton' onlyreminds me of the artist who painted his canvas all red to represent thepassage of the Egyptians through the Red Sea. Believe me, you must takeall untried genius in the same scale of credit as that by which youhave fancied the chariots and horsemen submerged in the flood. They arethere, if you like; and if you don't--"

  "Your theory requires that all men's advantages should be equal, theirstation alike, and their obstacles the same. Now, they are not so.See, for instance, in our University here. _I_ am debarred from thefellowship-bench--or, at least, from attempting to reach it--because Iam a Papist."

  "Then turn Protestant; or if that doesn't suit you, address yourselfto kick down the barrier that stands in your way. By the bye, I did n'tknow you were a Roman; how comes that? Is it a family creed, or was it acaprice of your own?"

  "It is the religion my family have always professed," said Nelligan,gravely.

  "I have no right to speak of these subjects, because I have never feltstrongly enough on them to establish strong convictions; but itappears to me that if I were you--that is, if I had _your_ head on myshoulders--I should think twice ere I 'd sacrifice my whole future outof respect for certain dogmas that no more interfere with one's dailylife and opinions than some obsolete usage of ancient Greece has abearing upon a modern suit in Chancery. There, don't look fretful andimpatient; I don't want to provoke you, nor is it worth your whileto bring your siege artillery against my card-house. I appreciateeverything you could possibly adduc
e by anticipation, and I yield myselfas vanquished."

  Thus, half in earnest, half jestingly, Massingbred talked away, littlethinking how deeply many a random speech entered into his friend'sheart, taking firm root there to grow and vegetate hereafter. As forhimself, it would have been somewhat difficult to say how far hisconvictions ever went with his words. Any attempt to guide and directhim was, at any time, enough to excite a wilful endeavor to oppose it,and whatever savored of opposition immediately evoked his resistance.The spirit of rebellion was the keynote of his character; he could bemade anything, everything, or nothing, as authority--or as he would havestyled it, tyranny--decided.

  It was just at this very moment that an incident occurred to displaythis habit of his mind in its full force. His father, by employing muchprivate influence and the aid of powerful friends, had succeeded inobtaining for him the promise of a most lucrative civil appointmentin India. It was one of those situations which in a few years ofvery moderate labor secure an ample fortune for the possessor. Mr.Massingbred had forgotten but one thing in all the arrangement of thisaffair, which was to apprise his son of it beforehand, and make him, asit were, a part of the plot. That one omission, however, was enough tosecure its failure.

  Jack received the first tidings of the scheme when it was a fact, not aspeculation. It was a thing done, not to do, and consequently a "grosspiece of domestic cruelty to dispose of him and his future by anarbitrary banishment to a distant land, linking him with distastefulduties, uncongenial associates," and the rest of it. In a word, it was acase for resistance, and he did resist, and in no very measured fashion,either. He wrote back a pettish and ill-tempered refusal of the place,sneered at the class by whom such appointments were regarded as prizes,and coolly said that "it was quite time enough to attach himself to theserious business of life when he had tasted something of the pleasuresthat suited his time of life; besides," added he, "I must see which waymy ambitions point; perhaps to a seat on the Treasury benches, perhapsto a bullock-team, a wood-axe, and a rifle in a new settlement. Of myresolves on either head, or on anything between them, you shall havethe earliest possible intimation from your devoted, but perhaps not veryobedient, to command,

  "J. M."

  His father rejoined angrily and peremptorily. The place had cost himeverything he could employ or enlist of friendly patronage; he made therequest assume all the weight of a deep personal obligation, and nowthe solicitation and the success were all to go for nothing. What if heshould leave so very gifted a young gentleman to the unfettered use ofhis great abilities? What if he abstained from any interference withone so competent to guide himself? He threw out these suggestions toopalpably to occasion any misconception, and Jack read them aright. "I'mquite ready for sea whenever you are pleased to cut the painter," saidhe; and the correspondence concluded with a dry intimation that twohundred a year, less than one half of his former allowance, should bepaid into Coutts's for his benefit, but that no expenditure above thatsum would be repaid by his father.

  "I 'll emigrate; I 'll agitate; I 'll turn author, and write for thereviews; I 'll correspond with the newspapers; I 'll travel in Afrifca;I 'll go to sea,--be a pirate;" in fact, there was nothing for which hethought his capacity unequal, nor anything against which his principleswould revolt. In speculation, only, however; for in sober reality hesettled down into a mere idler, discontented, dreamy, and unhappy.

  Little momentary bursts of energy would drive him now and then to hisbooks, and for a week or two he would work really hard; when a change assudden would come over him, and he would relapse into his former apathy.Thus was it that he had lived for some time after the term had come toan end, and scarcely a single student lingered within the silent courts.Perhaps the very solitude was the great charm of the place; there wasthat in his lonely, unfriended, uncompanionable existence that seemed tofeed the brooding melancholy in which he indulged with all the ardorof a vice. He liked to think himself an outcast and forgotten. It was aspecies of flattery that he addressed to his own heart when he affectedto need neither sympathy nor affection. Still his was not the stuff ofwhich misanthropy is fashioned, and he felt acutely the silence of hisfriend Nelligan, who had never once written to him since they parted.

  "I 'd scarcely have left _him_ here," said he to himself one day; "had_he_ been in my position, I 'd hardly have quitted _him_ under suchcircumstances. He knew all about my quarrel with my father. He had readour letters on each side. To be sure he had condemned _me_, and takenthe side against me; still, when there was a breach, and that breachoffered no prospect of reconciliation, it was but scant friendship tosay good-bye, and desert me. He might, at least, have asked me down tohis house. I 'd not have gone; that 's certain. I feel myself verypoor company for myself, and I 'd not inflict my stupidity upon others.Still, _he_ might have thought it kind or generous. In fact, in such acase I would have taken no refusal; I'd have insisted."

  What a dangerous hypothesis it is when we assume to act for another;how magnanimously do we rise above all meaner motives, and only thinkof what is generous and noble; how completely we discard every possiblecontingency that could sway us from the road of duty, and neither lookright nor left on our way to some high object! Jack Massingbred, arguingthus, ended by thinking himself a very fine fellow and his friend a veryshabby one,--two conclusions that, strangely enough, did not put himinto half as much good-humor with the world as he expected. At allevents, he felt very sore with Nelligan, and had he known where toaddress him, would have written a very angry epistle of mock gratitudefor all his solicitude in his behalf; very unfortunately, however, hedid not know in what part of Ireland the other resided, nor did hisacquaintance with provincial dialect enable him to connect his friendwith a western county. He had so confidently expected to hear from him,that he had never asked a question as to his whereabouts. Thus was itwith Massingbred, as he sauntered along the silent alleys of the CollegePark, in which, at rare intervals, some solitary sizar might be metwith,--spare, sad-looking figures,--in whose features might be readthe painful conflict of narrow fortune and high ambition. Book inhand generally, they rarely exchanged a look as he passed them; andMassingbred scanned at his ease these wasted and careworn sons of labor,wondering within himself was "theirs the right road to fortune."

  Partly to shake off the depression that was over him by change of place,and in part to see something of the country itself, Massingbred resolvedto make a walking-tour through the south and west of Ireland, and with aknapsack on his back, he started one fine autumn morning for Wicklow.