CHAPTER XXV.
While musing upon these facts, I could not but reflect with astonishmenton the narrow escapes which Mervyn's virtue had experienced. I was by nomeans certain that his fame or his life was exempt from all danger, orthat the suspicions which had already been formed respecting him couldpossibly be wiped away. Nothing but his own narrative, repeated withthat simple but nervous eloquence which we had witnessed, could rescuehim from the most heinous charges. Was there any tribunal that would notacquit him on merely hearing his defence?
Surely the youth was honest. His tale could not be the fruit ofinvention; and yet, what are the bounds of fraud? Nature has set nolimits to the combinations of fancy. A smooth exterior, a show ofvirtue, and a specious tale, are, a thousand times, exhibited in humanintercourse by craft and subtlety. Motives are endlessly varied, whileactions continue the same; and an acute penetration may not find it hardto select and arrange motives, suited to exempt from censure any actionthat a human being can commit.
Had I heard Mervyn's story from another, or read it in a book, I might,perhaps, have found it possible to suspect the truth; but, as long asthe impression made by his tones, gestures, and looks, remained in mymemory, this suspicion was impossible. Wickedness may sometimes beambiguous, its mask may puzzle the observer; our judgment may be made tofalter and fluctuate, but the face of Mervyn is the index of an honestmind. Calm or vehement, doubting or confident, it is full of benevolenceand candour. He that listens to his words may question their truth, buthe that looks upon his countenance when speaking cannot withhold hisfaith.
It was possible, however, to find evidence supporting or confuting hisstory. I chanced to be acquainted with a family, by name Althorpe, whowere natives of that part of the country where his father resided. Ipaid them a visit, and, after a few preliminaries, mentioned, as if byaccident, the name of Mervyn. They immediately recognised this name asbelonging to one of their ancient neighbours. The death of the wife andsons, and the seduction of the only daughter by Colvill, with manypathetic incidents connected with the fate of this daughter, werementioned.
This intelligence induced me to inquire of Mrs. Althorpe, a sensible andcandid woman, if she were acquainted with the recent or presentsituation of this family.
"I cannot say much," she answered, "of my own knowledge. Since mymarriage, I am used to spend a few weeks of summer at my father's, butam less inquisitive than I once was into the concerns of my oldneighbours. I recollect, however, when there, last year, during _thefever_, to have heard that Sawny Mervyn had taken a second wife; thathis only son, a youth of eighteen, had thought proper to be highlyoffended with his father's conduct, and treated the new mistress of thehouse with insult and contempt. I should not much wonder at this, seeingchildren are so apt to deem themselves unjustly treated by a secondmarriage of their parent; but it was hinted that the boy's jealousy anddiscontent were excited by no common cause. The new mother was not mucholder than himself, had been a servant of the family, and a criminalintimacy had subsisted between her, while in that condition, and theson. Her marriage with his father was justly accounted by theirneighbours a most profligate and odious transaction. The son, perhaps,had, in such a case, a right to scold, but he ought not to have carriedhis anger to such extremes as have been imputed to him. He is said tohave grinned upon her with contempt, and even to have called her_strumpet_ in the presence of his father and of strangers.
"It was impossible for such a family to keep together. Arthur took leaveone night to possess himself of all his father's cash, mount the besthorse in his meadow, and elope. For a time, no one knew whither he hadgone. At last, one was said to have met with him in the streets of thiscity, metamorphosed from a rustic lad into a fine gentleman. Nothingcould be quicker than this change, for he left the country on a Saturdaymorning, and was seen in a French frock and silk stockings, going intoChrist's Church the next day. I suppose he kept it up with a high hand,as long as his money lasted.
"My lather paid us a visit last week, and, among other country-news,told us that Sawny Mervyn had sold his place. His wife had persuaded himto try his fortune in the Western country. The price of his hundredacres here would purchase a thousand there, and the man, being verygross and ignorant, and, withal, quite a simpleton, found no difficultyin perceiving that a thousand are ten times more than a hundred. He wasnot aware that a rood of ground upon Schuylkill is tenfold better thanan acre on the Tennessee.
"The woman turned out to be an artful profligate. Having sold his groundand gotten his money, he placed it in her keeping, and she, to enjoy itwith the more security, ran away to the city; leaving him to prosecutehis journey to Kentucky moneyless and alone. Some time after, Mr.Althorpe and I were at the play, when he pointed out to me a group offemales in an upper box, one of whom was no other than Betty Lawrence.It was not easy to recognise, in her present gaudy trim, all flauntingwith ribbons and shining with trinkets, the same Betty who used to dealout pecks of potatoes and superintend her basket of cantaloupes in theJersey market, in pasteboard bonnet and linsey petticoat. Her companionswere of the infamous class. If Arthur were still in the city, there isno doubt that the mother and son might renew the ancient terms of theiracquaintance.
"The old man, thus robbed and betrayed, sought consolation in thebottle, of which he had been at all times over-fond. He wandered fromone tavern to another till his credit was exhausted, and then was sentto jail, where, I believe, he is likely to continue till his death.Such, my friend, is the history of the Mervyns."
"What proof," said I, "have you of the immoral conduct of the son? Ofhis mistreatment of his mother, and his elopement with his father'shorse and money?"
"I have no proof but the unanimous report of Mervyn's neighbours.Respectable and honest men have affirmed, in my hearing, that they hadbeen present when the boy treated his mother in the way that I havedescribed. I was, besides, once in company with the old man, and heardhim bitterly inveigh against his son, and charge him with the fact ofstealing his horse and money. I well remember that tears rolled from hiseyes while talking on the subject. As to his being seen in the city thenext day after his elopement, dressed in a most costly and fashionablemanner, I can doubt that as little as the rest, for he that saw him wasmy father, and you, who know my father, know what credit is due to hiseyes and his word. He had seen Arthur often enough not to be mistaken,and described his appearance with great exactness. The boy is extremelyhandsome, give him his due; has dark hazel eyes, auburn hair, and veryelegant proportions. His air and gait have nothing of the clown in them.Take away his jacket and trousers, and you have as spruce a fellow asever came from dancing-school or college. He is the exact picture of hismother, and the most perfect contrast to the sturdy legs, squat figure,and broad, unthinking, sheepish face of the father that can be imagined.You must confess that his appearance here is a pretty strong proof ofthe father's assertions. The money given for these clothes could notpossibly have been honestly acquired. It is to be presumed that theywere bought or stolen, for how else should they have been gotten?"
"What was this lad's personal deportment during the life of his mother,and before his father's second marriage?"
"Very little to the credit of his heart or his intellects. Being theyoungest son, the only one who at length survived, and having apowerful resemblance to herself, he became the mother's favourite. Hisconstitution was feeble, and he loved to stroll in the woods more thanto plough or sow. This idleness was much against his father'sinclination and judgment; and, indeed, it was the foundation of all hisvices. When he could be prevailed upon to do any thing it was in abungling manner, and so as to prove that his thoughts were fixed on anything except his business. When his assistance was wanted he was neverto be found at hand. They were compelled to search for him among therocks and bushes, and he was generally discovered sauntering along thebank of a river, or lolling in the shade of a tree. This disposition toinactivity and laziness, in so young a man, was very strange. Persons ofhis age are rarely fond of work, but then t
hey are addicted to company,and sports, and exercises. They ride, or shoot, or frolic; but thisbeing moped away his time in solitude, never associated with other youngpeople, never mounted a horse but when he could not help it, and neverfired a gun or angled for a fish in his life. Some people supposed himto be half an idiot, or, at least, not to be right in his mind; and,indeed, his conduct was so very perverse and singular, that I do notwonder at those who accounted for it in this way."
"But surely," said I, "he had some object of pursuit. Perhaps he wasaddicted to books."
"Far from it. On the contrary, his aversion to school was as great ashis hatred of the plough. He never could get his lessons or bear theleast constraint. He was so much indulged by his mother at home, thattasks and discipline of any kind were intolerable. He was a perpetualtruant; till, the master one day attempting to strike him, he ran out ofthe room and never entered it more. The mother excused and countenancedhis frowardness, and the foolish father was obliged to give way. I donot believe he had two months' schooling in his life."
"Perhaps," said I, "he preferred studying by himself, and at liberty. Ihave known boys endowed with great curiosity and aptitude to learning,who never could endure set tasks, and spurned at the pedagogue and hisrod."
"I have known such likewise, but this was not one of them. I know notwhence he could derive his love of knowledge or the means of acquiringit. The family were totally illiterate. The father was a Scotch peasant,whose ignorance was so great that he could not sign his name. His wife,I believe, could read, and might sometimes decipher the figures in analmanac; but that was all. I am apt to think that the son's ability wasnot much greater. You might as well look for silver platters or marbletables in his house, as for a book or a pen.
"I remember calling at their house one evening in the winter beforelast. It was intensely cold; and my father, who rode with me, havingbusiness with Sawny Mervyn, we stopped a minute at his gate; and, whilethe two old men were engaged in conversation, I begged leave to warmmyself by the kitchen fire. Here, in the chimney-corner, seated on ablock, I found Arthur busily engaged in _knitting stockings_! I thoughtthis a whimsical employment for a young active man. I told him so, for Iwanted to put him to the blush; but he smiled in my face, and answered,without the least discomposure, 'Just as whimsical a business for ayoung active woman. Pray, did you never knit a stocking?'
"'Yes; but that was from necessity. Were I of a different sex, or did Ipossess the strength of a man, I should rather work in my field or studymy book.'
"'Rejoice that you are a woman, then, and are at liberty to pursue thatwhich costs least labour and demands most skill. You see, though a man,I use your privilege, and prefer knitting yarn to threshing my brainwith a book or the barn-floor with a flail.'
"'I wonder,' said I, contemptuously, 'you do not put on the petticoat aswell as handle the needle.'
"'Do not wonder,' he replied; 'it is because I hate a petticoatencumbrance as much as I love warm feet. Look there,' (offering thestocking to my inspection:) 'is it not well done?'
"I did not touch it, but sneeringly said, 'Excellent! I wonder you donot apprentice yourself to a tailor.'
"He looked at me with an air of ridiculous simplicity, and said, 'Howprone the woman is to _wonder_! You call the work excellent, and yet_wonder_ that I do not make myself a slave to improve my skill! Did youlearn needlework from seven years' squatting on a tailor's board? Hadyou come to me, I would have taught you in a day.'
"'I was taught at school.'
"'And paid your instructor?'
"'To-be-sure.'
"''Twas liberty and money thrown away. Send your sister, if you haveone, to me, and I will teach her without either rod or wages. Will you?'
"'You have an old and a violent antipathy, I believe, to any thing likea school.'
"'True. It was early and violent. Had not you?'
"'No. I went to school with pleasure; for I thought to read and writewere accomplishments of some value.'
"'Indeed? Then I misunderstood you just now. I thought you said that,had you the strength of a man, you should prefer the plough and the bookto the needle. Whence, supposing you a female, I inferred that you had awoman's love for the needle and a fool's hatred of books.'
"My father calling me from without, I now made a motion to go. 'Stay,'continued he, with great earnestness, throwing aside hisknitting-apparatus, and beginning in great haste to pull off hisstockings. 'Draw these stockings over your shoes. They will save yourfeet from the snow while walking to your horse.'
"Half angry, and half laughing, I declined the offer. He had drawn themoff, however, and, holding them in his hand, 'Be persuaded,' said he;'only lift your feet, and I will slip them on in a trice.'
"Finding me positive in my refusal, he dropped the stockings; and,without more ado, caught me up in his arms, rushed out of the room, and,running barefoot through the snow, set me fairly on my horse. All wasdone in a moment, and before I had time to reflect on his intentions. Hethen seized my hand, and, kissing it with great fervour, exclaimed, 'Athousand thanks to you for not accepting my stockings. You have therebysaved yourself and me the time and toil of drawing on and drawing off.Since you have taught me to wonder, let me practise the lesson inwondering at your folly, in wearing worsted shoes and silk stockings ata season like this. Take my counsel, and turn your silk to worsted andyour worsted to leather. Then may you hope for warm feet and dry. What!Leave the gate without a blessing on your counsellor?'
"I spurred my horse into a gallop, glad to escape from so strange abeing. I could give you many instances of behaviour equally singular,and which betrayed a mixture of shrewdness and folly, of kindness andimpudence, which justified, perhaps, the common notion that hisintellects were unsound. Nothing was more remarkable than hisimpenetrability to ridicule and censure. You might revile him for hours,and he would listen to you with invincible composure. To awaken anger orshame in him was impossible. He would answer, but in such a way as toshow him totally unaware of your true meaning. He would afterwards talkto you with all the smiling affability and freedom of an old friend.Every one despised him for his idleness and folly, no less conspicuousin his words than his actions; but no one feared him, and few were angrywith him, till after the detection of his commerce with _Betty_, and hisinhuman treatment of his father."
"Have you good reasons for supposing him to have been illicitlyconnected with that girl?"
"Yes. Such as cannot be discredited. It would not be proper for me tostate these proofs. Nay, he never denied it. When reminded, on oneoccasion, of the inference which every impartial person would draw fromappearances, he acknowledged, with his usual placid effrontery, that theinference was unavoidable. He even mentioned other concurring andcontemporary incidents, which had eluded the observation of hiscensurer, and which added still more force to the conclusion. He wasstudious to palliate the vices of this woman, as long as he was her onlyparamour; but, after her marriage with his father, the tone was changed.He confessed that she was tidy, notable, industrious; but, then, shewas a prostitute. When charged with being instrumental in making hersuch, and when his companions dwelt upon the depravity of reviling herfor vices which she owed to him, 'True,' he would say, 'there isdepravity and folly in the conduct you describe. Make me out, if youplease, to be a villain. What then? I was talking, not of myself, but ofBetty. Still this woman is a prostitute. If it were I that made hersuch, with more confidence may I make the charge. But think not that Iblame Betty. Place me in her situation, and I should have acted just so.I should have formed just such notions of my interest, and pursued it bythe same means. Still, say I, I would fain have a different woman for myfather's wife, and the mistress of his family.'"
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