An Old Man's Love

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XVI.

  MRS BAGGETT'S PHILOSOPHY.

  The next day was Saturday, and Mr Whittlestaff came out of his roomearly, intending to speak to Mrs Baggett. He had declared to himselfthat it was his purpose to give her some sound advice respecting herown affairs,--as far as her affairs and his were connected together.But low down in his mind, below the stratum in which his declaredresolution was apparent to himself, there was a hope that he mightget from her some comfort and strength as to his present purpose. Notbut that he would ultimately do as he himself had determined; but, totell the truth, he had not quite determined, and thought that a wordfrom Mrs Baggett might assist him.

  As he came out from his room, he encountered Mary, intent upon herhousehold duties. It was something before her usual time, and he wassurprised. She had looked ill overnight and worn, and he had expectedthat she would keep her bed. "What makes you so early, Mary?" Hespoke to her with his softest and most affectionate tone.

  "I couldn't sleep, and I thought I might as well be up." She hadfollowed him into the library, and when there he put his arm roundher waist and kissed her forehead. It was a strange thing for himto do. She felt that it was so--very, very strange; but it neveroccurred to her that it behoved her to be angry at his caress. He hadkissed her once before, and only once, and it had seemed to her thathe had intended that their love-making should go on without kisses.But was she not his property, to do as he pleased with her? And therecould be no ground for displeasure on her part.

  "Dear Mary," he said, "if you could only know how constant mythoughts are to you." She did not doubt that it was so; but just soconstant were her thoughts to John Gordon. But from her to him therecould be no show of affection--nothing but the absolute coldnessof perfect silence. She had passed the whole evening with him lastnight, and had not been allowed to speak a single word to him beyondthe ordinary greetings of society. She had felt that she had notbeen allowed to speak a single word to any one, because he had beenpresent. Mr Whittlestaff had thrown over her the deadly mantle ofhis ownership, and she had consequently felt herself to be debarredfrom all right over her own words and actions. She had become hisslave; she felt herself in very truth to be a poor creature whoseonly duty it was in the world to obey his volition. She had toldherself during the night that, with all her motives for loving him,she was learning to regard him with absolute hatred. And she hatedherself because it was so. Oh, what a tedious affair was this ofliving! How tedious, how sad and miserable, must her future days be,as long as days should be left to her! Could it be made possible toher that she should ever be able to do her duty by this husband ofhers,--for her, in whose heart of hearts would be seated continuallythe image of this other man?

  "By-the-by," said he, "I want to see Mrs Baggett. I suppose she isabout somewhere."

  "Oh dear, yes. Since the trouble of her husband has become nearer,she is earlier and earlier every day. Shall I send her?" Then shedeparted, and in a few minutes Mrs Baggett entered the room.

  "Come in, Mrs Baggett."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I have just a few words which I want to say to you. Your husband hasgone back to Portsmouth?"

  "Yes sir; he have." This she said in a very decided tone, as thoughher master need trouble himself no further about her husband.

  "I am very glad that it should be so. It's the best place forhim,--unless he could be sent to Australia."

  "He ain't a-done nothing to fit himself for Botany Bay, MrWhittlestaff," said the old woman, bobbing her head at him.

  "I don't care what place he has fitted himself for, so long as hedoesn't come here. He is a disreputable old man."

  "You needn't be so hard upon him, Mr Whittlestaff. He ain't a-donenothing much to you, barring sleeping in the stable one night whenhe had had a drop o' drink too much." And the old woman pulled out agreat handkerchief, and began to wipe her eyes piteously.

  "What a fool you are, Mrs Baggett."

  "Yes; I am a fool. I knows that."

  "Here's this disreputable old man eating and drinking yourhard-earned wages."

  "But they are my wages. And who's a right to them, only he?"

  "I don't say anything about that, only he comes here and disturbsyou."

  "Well, yes; he is disturbing; if it's only because of his wooden legand red nose. I don't mean to say as he's the sort of a man as does acredit to a gentleman's house to see about the place. But he was mylot in matrimony, and I've got to put up with him. I ain't a-going torefuse to bear the burden which came to be my lot. I don't supposehe's earned a single shilling since he left the regiment, and that ishard upon a poor woman who's got nothing but her wages."

  "Now, look here, Mrs Baggett."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Send him your wages."

  "And have to go in rags myself,--in your service."

  "You won't go in rags. Don't be a fool."

  "I am a fool, Mr Whittlestaff; you can't tell me that too often."

  "You won't go in rags. You ought to know us well enough--"

  "Who is us, Mr Whittlestaff? They ain't no us;--just yet."

  "Well;--me."

  "Yes, I know you, Mr Whittlestaff."

  "Send him your wages. You may be quite sure that you'll find yourselfprovided with shoes and stockings, and the rest of it."

  "And be a woluntary burden beyond what I earns! Never;--not as longas Miss Mary is coming to live here as missus of your house. I shoulddo summat as I should have to repent of. But, Mr Whittlestaff, I'vegot to look the world in the face, and bear my own crosses. I nevercan do it no younger."

  "You're an old woman now, and you talk of throwing yourself upon theworld without the means of earning a shilling."

  "I think I'd earn some, at something, old as I am, till I fell downflat dead," she said. "I have that sperit in me, that I'd still bedoing something. But it don't signify; I'm not going to remain herewhen Miss Mary is to be put over me. That's the long and the short ofit all."

  Now had come the moment in which, if ever, Mr Whittlestaff mustget the strength which he required. He was quite sure of the oldwoman,--that her opinion would not be in the least influenced by anydesire on her own part to retain her position as his housekeeper. "Idon't know about putting Miss Mary over you," he said.

  "Don't know about it!" she shouted.

  "My mind is not absolutely fixed."

  "'As she said anything?"

  "Not a word."

  "Or he? Has he been and dared to speak up about Miss Mary. Andhe,--who, as far as I can understand, has never done a ha'porth forher since the beginning. What's Mr Gordon? I should like to know.Diamonds! What's diamonds in the way of a steady income? They're alla flash in the pan, and moonshine and dirtiness. I hates to hear ofdiamonds. There's all the ill in the world comes from them; and you'dgive her up to be taken off by such a one as he among the diamonds!I make bold to tell you, Mr Whittlestaff, that you ought to have morestrength of mind than what that comes to. You're telling me every dayas I'm an old fool."

  "So you are."

  "I didn't never contradict you; nor I don't mean, if you tells me soas often again. And I don't mean to be that impident as to tell mymaster as I ain't the only fool about the place. It wouldn't be nowise becoming."

  "But you think it would be true."

  "I says nothing about that. That's not the sort of language anybodyhas heard to come out of my mouth, either before your face or behindyour back. But I do say as a man ought to behave like a man. What!Give up to a chap as spends his time in digging for diamonds! Never!"

  "What does it matter what he digs for; you know nothing about hisbusiness."

  "But I know something about yours, Mr Whittlestaff. I know where youhave set your wishes. And I know that when a man has made up his mindin such an affair as this, he shouldn't give way to any young diamonddealer of them all."

  "Not to him."

  "And what's she? Are you to give up everything because she'slove-sick for a day or two? Is everything to be knocked to pieceshere a
t Croker's Hall, because he has come and made eyes at her? Shewas glad enough to take what you offered before he had come thisway."

  "She was not glad enough. That is it. She was not glad enough."

  "She took you, at any rate, and I'd never make myself mean enough tomake way for such a fellow as that."

  "It isn't for him, Mrs Baggett."

  "It is for him. Who else? To walk away and just leave the game openbecause he has come down to Hampshire! There ain't no spirit ofstanding up and fighting about it."

  "With whom am I to fight?"

  "With both of 'em;--till you have your own way. A foolish, stupid,weak girl like that!"

  "I won't have her abused."

  "She's very well. I ain't a-saying nothing against her. If she'll dowhat you bid her, she'll turn out right enough. You asked her, andshe said she'd do it. Is not that so? There's nothing I hate so muchas them romantic ways. And everything is to be made to give waybecause a young chap is six foot high! I hates romance and manlybeauty, as they call it, and all the rest of it. Where is she to gether bread and meat? That's what I want to know."

  "There'll be bread and meat for her."

  "I dare say. But you'll have to pay for it, while she's philanderingabout with him! And that's what you call fine feelings. I call itall rubbish. If you've a mind to make her Mrs Whittlestaff, make herMrs Whittlestaff. Drat them fine feelings. I never knew no good comeof what people call fine feelings. If a young woman does her workas it should be, she's got no time to think of 'em. And if a man ismaster, he should be master. How's a man to give way to a girl likethat, and then stand up and face the world around him? A man has tobe master; and when he's come to be a little old-like, he has to seethat he will be master. I never knew no good come of one of themsoft-going fellows who is minded to give up whenever a woman wantsanything. What's a woman? It ain't natural that she should have herway; and she don't like a man a bit better in the long-run becausehe lets her. There's Miss Mary; if you're stiff with her now, she'llcome out right enough in a month or two. She's lived without MrGordon well enough since she's been here. Now he's come, and we heara deal about these fine feelings. You take my word, and say nothingto nobody about the young man. He's gone by this time, or he'sa-going. Let him go, say I; and if Miss Mary takes on to whimper abit, don't you see it."

  Mrs Baggett took her departure, and Mr Whittlestaff felt that hehad received the comfort, or at any rate the strength, of which hehad been in quest. In all that the woman had said to him, there hadbeen a re-echo of his own thoughts,--of one side, at any rate, ofhis own thoughts. He knew that true affection, and the substantialcomforts of the world, would hold their own against all romance.And he did not believe,--in his theory of ethics he did notbelieve,--that by yielding to what Mrs Baggett called fine feelings,he would in the long-run do good to those with whom he was concernedin the world. Were he to marry Mary Lawrie now, Mary Whittlestaffwould, he thought, in ten years' time, be a happier woman than werehe to leave her. That was the solid conviction of his mind, and inthat he had been strengthened by Mrs Baggett's arguments. He haddesired to be so strengthened, and therefore his interview had beensuccessful.

  But as the minutes passed by, as every quarter of an hour addeditself to the quarters that were gone, and as the hours grew on, andthe weakness of evening fell upon him, all his softness came backagain. They had dined at six o'clock, and at seven he declared hispurpose of strolling out by himself. On these summer evenings hewould often take Mary with him; but he now told her, with a sort ofapology, that he would rather go alone. "Do," she said, smiling upinto his face; "don't let me ever be in your way. Of course, a mandoes not always want to have to find conversation for a young lady."

  "If you are the young lady, I should always want it--only that I havethings to think of."

  "Go and think of your things. I will sit in the garden and do mystitching."

  About a mile distant, where the downs began to rise, there was a walksupposed to be common to all who chose to frequent it, but which wasentered through a gate which gave the place within the appearance ofprivacy. There was a little lake inside crowded with water-lilies,when the time for the water-lilies had come; and above the lake apath ran up through the woods, very steep, and as it rose higher andhigher, altogether sheltered. It was about a mile in length tillanother gate was reached; but during the mile the wanderer couldgo off on either side, and lose himself on the grass among thebeech-trees. It was a favourite haunt with Mr Whittlestaff. Here hewas wont to sit and read his Horace, and think of the affairs of theworld as Horace depicted them. Many a morsel of wisdom he had heremade his own, and had then endeavoured to think whether the wisdomhad in truth been taken home by the poet to his own bosom, or hadonly been a glitter of the intellect, never appropriated for anyuseful purpose. "'Gemmas, marmor, ebur,'" he had said. "'Sunt qui nonhabeant; est qui non curat habere.' I suppose he did care for jewels,marble, and ivory, as much as any one. 'Me lentus Glycerae torretamor meae.' I don't suppose he ever loved her really, or any othergirl." Thus he would think over his Horace, always having the volumein his pocket.

  Now he went there. But when he had sat himself down in a spot towhich he was accustomed, he had no need to take out his Horace. Hisown thoughts came to him free enough without any need of his lookingfor them to poetry. After all, was not Mrs Baggett's teaching adamnable philosophy? Let the man be the master, and let him geteverything he can for himself, and enjoy to the best of his abilityall that he can get. That was the lesson as taught by her. But as hesat alone there beneath the trees, he told himself that no teachingwas more damnable. Of course it was the teaching by which the worldwas kept going in its present course; but when divested of itsplumage was it not absolutely the philosophy of selfishness? Becausehe was a man, and as a man had power and money and capacity to do thethings after which his heart lusted, he was to do them for his owngratification, let the consequences be what they might to one whomhe told himself that he loved! Did the lessons of Mrs Baggett runsmoothly with those of Jesus Christ?

  Then within his own mind he again took Mrs Baggett's side of thequestion. How mean a creature must he not become, if he were now tosurrender this girl whom he was anxious to make his wife! He knew ofhimself that in such a matter he was more sensitive than others. Hecould not let her go, and then walk forth as though little or nothingwere the matter with him. Now for the second time in his life he hadessayed to marry. And now for the second time all the world wouldknow that he had been accepted and then rejected. It was, he thought,more than he could endure,--and live.

  Then after he had sat there for an hour he got up and walkedhome; and as he went he tried to resolve that he would reject thephilosophy of Mrs Baggett and accept the other. "If I only knew!"he said as he entered his own gate. "If one could only see clearly!"Then he found Mary still seated in the garden. "Nothing is to begot," he said, "by asking you for an answer."

  "In what have I failed?"

  "Never mind. Let us go in and have a cup of tea." But she knew wellin what he accused her of failing, and her heart turned towards himagain.