Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales And Novels, Volume 1

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Forester, who had been much pleased by her good-nature about the stains
on the flower-pot, now, contrary to his habits, sympathized with her
concern for the loss of her brother's moss-rose. He even exerted himself
so far as to search under the benches and under the supper-table. He was
fortunate enough to find it; and eager to restore the prize, he with more
than his usual gallantry, but not with less than his customary
awkwardness, crept from under the table, and, stretching half his body
over a bench, pushed his arm between two young ladies into the midst of
the group which surrounded Flora. As his arm extended his wrist appeared,
and at the sight of that wrist all the young ladies shrank back, with
unequivocal tokens of disgust. They whispered--they tittered; and many
expressive looks were lost upon our hero, who still resolutely held out
the hand upon which every eye was fixed. "Here's your rose! Is not this
the rose?" said he, still advancing the dreaded hand to Flora, whose
hesitation and blushes surprised him. Mackenzie burst into a loud laugh;
and in a whisper, which all the ladies could hear, told Forester, that
"Miss Campbell was afraid to take the rose out of his hands, lest she
should catch from him what he had caught from the carter who had brought
him to Edinburgh, or from some of his companions at the cobbler's."

Forester flung the rose he knew not where, sprung over the bench, rushed
between Flora and another lady, made towards the door in a straight line,
pushing every thing before him, till a passage was made for him by the
astonished crowd, who stood out of his way as if he had been a mad dog.

"Forester!" cried Henry and Dr. Campbell, who were standing upon the
steps before the door, speaking about the carriages, "what's the matter?
where are you going? The carriage is coming to the door."

"I had rather walk--don't speak to me," said Forester; "I've been
insulted: I am in a passion, but I can command myself. I did not knock
him down. Pray let me pass!"

Our hero broke from Dr. Campbell and Henry with the strength of an
enraged animal from his keepers; and he must have found his way home by
instinct, for he ran on without considering how he went. He snatched the
light from the servant who opened the door at Dr. Campbell's--hurried to
his own apartment--locked, double-locked, and bolted the door--flung
himself into a chair, and, taking breath, exclaimed, "Thank God! I've
done no mischief. Thank God! I didn't knock him down. Thank God! he is
out of my sight, and I am cool now--quite cool: let me recollect it all."

Upon the coolest recollection, Forester could not reconcile his pride to
his present circumstances. "Archibald spoke the truth--why am I angry?
why _was_ I angry, I mean!" He reasoned much with himself upon the nature
of true and false shame: he represented to himself that the disorder
which disfigured his hands was thought shameful only because it was
_vulgar_; that what was vulgar was not therefore immoral; that the young
tittering ladies who shrunk back from him were not supreme judges of
right and wrong; that he ought to despise their opinions, and he despised
them with all his might for two or three hours, as he walked up and down
his room with unremitting energy. At length our peripatetic philosopher
threw himself upon his bed, determined that his repose should not be
disturbed by such trifles: he had by this time worked himself up to such
a pitch of magnanimity, that he thought he could with composure meet the
disapproving eyes of millions of his fellow-creatures; but he was alone
when he formed this erroneous estimate of the strength of the human mind.
Wearied with passion and reason, he fell asleep, dreamed that he was
continually presenting flowers, which nobody would accept; awakened at
the imaginary repetition of Archibald's laugh, composed himself again to
sleep, and dreamed that he was in a glover's shop, trying on gloves, and
that, amongst a hundred pair which he pulled on, he could not find one
that would fit him. Just as he tore the last pair in his hurry, he
awakened, shook off his foolish dream, saw the sun rising between two
chimneys many feet below his windows, recollected that in a short time he
should be summoned to breakfast, that all the lady-patronesses were to be
at this breakfast, that he could not breakfast in gloves, that Archibald
would perhaps again laugh, and Flora perhaps again shrink back. He
reproached himself for his weakness in foreseeing and dreading this
scene: his aversion to lady-patronesses and to balls was never at a more
formidable height; he sighed for liberty and independence, which he
persuaded himself were not to be had in his present situation. In one of
his long walks he remembered to have seen, at some miles' distance from
the town of Edinburgh, a gardener and his boy, who were singing at their
work. These men appeared to Forester to be yet happier than the cobbler,
who formerly was the object of his admiration; and he was persuaded that
he should be much happier at the gardener's cottage than he could ever be
at Dr. Campbell's house.

"I am not fit," said he to himself, "to live amongst _idle gentlemen_ and
_ladies_; I should be happy if I were a useful member of society; a
gardener is a useful member of society, and I will be a gardener, and
live with gardeners."

Forester threw off the clothes which he had worn the preceding night at
the fatal ball, dressed himself in his old coat, tied up a small bundle
of linen, and took the road to the gardener's.

BREAKFAST.

When Henry found that Forester was not in his room in the morning, he
concluded that he had rambled out towards Salisbury Craigs, whither he
talked the preceding day of going to botanize.

"I am surprised," said Dr. Campbell, "that the young gentleman is out so
early, for I have a notion that he has not had much sleep since we
parted, unless he walks in his sleep, for he has been walking over my
poor head half the night."

Breakfast went on--no Forester appeared. Lady Catherine began to fear
that he had broken his neck upon Salisbury Craigs, and related all the
falls she had ever had, or had ever been near having, in carriages, on
horseback, or otherwise. She then entered into the geography of Salisbury
Craigs, and began to dispute upon the probability of his having fallen to
the east or to the west.

"My dear Lady Catherine," said Dr. Campbell, "we are not sure that he has
been upon Salisbury Craigs; whether he has fallen to the east or to the
west, we cannot, therefore, conveniently settle."

But Lady Catherine, whose prudential imagination travelled fast, went on
to inquire of Dr. Campbell, to whom the great Forester estate would go in
case of any accident having happened or happening to the young gentleman
before he should come of age.

Dr. Campbell was preparing to give her ladyship satisfaction upon this
point, when a servant put a letter into his hands. Henry looked in great
anxiety. Dr. Campbell glanced his eye over the letter, put it into his
pocket, and desired the servant to show the person who brought the letter
into his study.

"It's only a little boy," said Archibald; "I saw him as I passed through
the hall."

"Cannot a little boy go into my study?" said Dr. Campbell, coolly.

Archibald's curiosity was strongly excited, and he slipped out of the
room a few minutes afterward, resolved to speak to the boy, and to
discover the purpose of his embassy. But Dr. Campbell was behind him
before he was aware of his approach, and just as Archibald began to
cross-examine the boy in these words, "So you came from a young man who
is about my size?" Dr. Campbell put both his hands upon his shoulders,
saying, "He came from a young man who does not in the least resemble you,
believe me, Mr. Archibald Mackenzie."

Archibald started, turned round, and was so abashed by the civilly
contemptuous look with which Dr. Campbell pronounced these words, that he
retired from the study without even attempting any of his usual
equivocating apologies for his intrusion. Dr. Campbell now read
Forester's letter. It was as follows:--

"Dear Sir,

"Though I have quitted your house thus abruptly, I am not insensible of
your kindness. For the step I have taken, I can offer no apology merely
to my guardian; but you have treated me, Dr, Campbell, as your friend,
and I shall lay my whole soul open to you.

"Notwithstanding your kindness,--notwithstanding the friendship of your
son Henry, whose excellent qualities I know how to value,--I most
ingenuously own to you that I have been far from happy in your house. I
feel that I cannot be at ease in the vortex of dissipation; and the more
I see of the higher ranks of society, the more I regret that I was _born
a gentleman_. Neither my birth nor my fortune shall, however, restrain me
from pursuing that line of life which, I am persuaded, leads to virtue
and tranquillity. Let those who have no virtuous indignation obey the
voice of fashion, and at her commands let her slaves eat the bread of
idleness till it palls upon the sense! I reproach myself with having
yielded, as I have done of late, my opinions to the persuasions of
friendship; my mind has become enervated, and I must fly from the fatal
contagion. Thank Heaven, I have yet the power to fly: I have yet
sufficient force to break my chains. I am not yet reduced to the mental
degeneracy of the base monarch, who hugged his fetters because they were
of gold.

"I am conscious of powers that fit me for something better than to
waste my existence in a ball-room; and I will not sacrifice my liberty to
the absurd ceremonies of daily dissipation. I, that have been the
laughing-stock of the mean and frivolous, have yet sufficient manly
pride, unextinguished in my breast, to assert my claim to your esteem: to
assert, that I never have committed, or shall designedly commit, any
action unworthy of the friend of your son.

"I do not write to Henry, lest I should any way involve him in my
misfortunes: he is formed to shine in the _polite_ world, and his
connexion with me might tarnish the lustre of his character in the eyes
of the '_nice-judging fair_.' I hope, however, that he will not utterly
discard me from his heart, though I cannot dance a reel. I beg that he
will break open the lock of the trunk that is in my room, and take out of
it my Goldsmith's Animated Nature, which he seemed to like.

"In my table-drawer there are my Martyn's Letters on Botany, in which you
will find a number of plants that I have dried for Flora--_Miss_ Flora
Campbell, I should say. After what passed last night, I can scarcely
_hope_ they will be accepted. I would rather have them burned than
refused; therefore please to burn them, and say nothing more upon the
subject. Dear sir, do not judge harshly of me; I have had a severe
conflict with myself before I could resolve to leave you. But I would
rather that you should judge of me with severity than that you should
extend to me the same species of indulgence with which you last night
viewed the half-intoxicated baronet.

"I can bear any thing but contempt.

"Yours, &c.

"P.S. I trust that you will not question the bearer; he knows where I am;
I therefore put you on your guard. I mean to earn my own bread as a
gardener; I have always preferred the agricultural to the commercial
system."

To this letter, in which the mixture of sense and extravagance did not
much surprise Dr. Campbell, he returned the following answer:--

"My dear cobbler, gardener, orator, or by whatever other name you choose
to be addressed, I am too old to be surprised at any thing, otherwise I
might have been rather surprised at some things in your eloquent letter.
You tell me that you have the power to fly, and that you do not hug your
chains, though they are of gold! Are you an alderman, or Daedalus? or are
these only figures of speech? You inform me, that you cannot live in the
vortex of dissipation, or eat the bread of idleness, and that you are
determined to be a gardener. These things seem to have no necessary
connexion with each other. Why you should reproach yourself so bitterly
for having spent one evening of your life in a ball-room, which I suppose
is what you allude to when you speak of a vortex of dissipation, I am at
a loss to discover. And why you cannot, with so much honest pride yet
unextinguished in your breast, find any occupation more worthy of your
talents, and as useful to society, as that of a gardener, I own, puzzles
me a little. Consider these things coolly; return to dinner, and we will
compare at our leisure the advantages of the mercantile and the
agricultural system. I forbear to question your messenger, as you desire;
and I shall not show your letter to Henry till after we have dined. I
hope by that time you will insist upon my burning it; which, at your
request, I shall do with pleasure, although it contains several good
sentences. As I am not yet sure you have _departed this life_, I shall
not enter upon my office of executor; I shall not break open the lock of
your trunk (of which I hope you will some time, when your mind is less
exalted, find the key), nor shall I stir in the difficult case of Flora's
legacy. When next you write your will, let me, for the sake of your
executor, advise you to be more precise in your directions; for what can
be done if you order him to give and burn the same thing in the same
sentence? As you have, amongst your other misfortunes, the misfortune to
be born heir to five or six thousand a year, you should learn a little
how to manage your own affairs, lest you should, amongst your _poor_ or
_rich_ companions, meet with some who are not quite so honest as
yourself.

"If, instead of returning to dine with us, you should persist in your
gardening scheme, I shall have less esteem for your good sense, but I
shall forbear to reproach you. I shall leave you to learn by your own
experience, if it be not in my power to give you the advantages of mine
gratis. But, at the same time, I shall discover where you are, and shall
inform myself exactly of all your proceedings. This, as your guardian, is
my duty. I should further warn you, that I shall not, whilst you choose
to live in a rank below your own, supply you with your customary yearly
allowance. Two hundred guineas a year would be an extravagant allowance
in your present circumstances. I do not mention money with any idea of
influencing your generous mind by mercenary motives; but it is necessary
that you should not deceive yourself by inadequate experiments: you
cannot be rich and poor at the same time. I gave you the day before
yesterday five ten-pound notes for your last quarterly allowance; I
suppose you have taken these with you, therefore you cannot be in any
immediate distress for money. I am sorry, I own, that you are so well
provided, because a man who has fifty guineas in his pocket-book cannot
distinctly feel what it is to be compelled to earn his own bread.

"Do not, my dear ward, think me harsh; my friendship for you gives me
courage to inflict present pain, with a view to your future advantage.
You must not expect to see any thing of your friend Henry until you
return to us. I shall, as his father and your guardian, request that he
will trust implicitly to my prudence upon this occasion; that he will
make no inquiries concerning you; and that he will abstain from all
connexion with you whilst you absent yourself from your friends. You
cannot live amongst the vulgar (by the vulgar I mean the ill-educated,
the ignorant, those who have neither noble sentiments nor agreeable
manners), and at the same time enjoy the pleasures of cultivated society.
I shall wait, not without anxiety, till your choice be decided.

"Believe me to be

"Your sincere friend and guardian,

"H. CAMPBELL."

As soon as Dr. Campbell had despatched this letter, he returned to the
company. The ladies, after breakfast, proceeded to the charity-school;
but Henry was so anxious to learn what was become of his friend Forester,
that he could scarcely enjoy the effects of his own benevolent exertions.
It was with difficulty, such as he had never before experienced, that Dr.
Campbell obtained from him the promise to suspend all intercourse with
Forester. Henry's first impulse, when he read the letter, which his
father now found it prudent to show him, was to search for his friend
instantly. "I am sure," said he, "I shall be able to find him out; and if
I can but see him, and speak to him, I know I could prevail upon him to
return to us."

"Yes," said Dr. Campbell, "perhaps you might persuade him to return; but
that is not the object: unless his understanding be convinced, what
should we gain?"

"It should be convinced. I _could_ convince him," cried Henry.

"I have, my dear son," said Dr. Campbell, smiling, "the highest opinion
of your logic and eloquence; but are your reasoning powers stronger
to-day than they were yesterday? Have you any new arguments to produce? I
thought you had exhausted your whole store without effect."

Henry paused.

"Believe me," continued his father, lowering his voice, "I am not
insensible to your friend's good, and, I will say, _great_ qualities; I
do not leave him to suffer evils, without feeling as much perhaps as you
can do; but I am convinced, that the solidity of his character, and the
happiness of his whole life, will depend upon the impression that is now
made upon his mind by _realities_. He will see society as it is. He has
abilities and generosity of mind which will make him a first-rate
character, if his friends do not spoil him out of false kindness."

Henry, at these words, held out his hand to his father, and gave him the
promise which he desired.

"But," added he, "I still have hopes from your letter--I should not be
surprised to see Forester at dinner to-day,"

"I should," said Dr. Campbell.

Dr. Campbell, alas! was right. Henry looked eagerly towards the door
every time it opened, when they were at dinner: but he was continually
disappointed. Flora, whose gaiety usually enlivened the evenings, and
agreeably relieved her father and brother after their morning studies,
was now silent.

Whilst Lady Catherine's volubility overpowered even the philosophy of Dr.
Campbell, she wondered--she never ceased wondering--that Mr. Forester did
not appear, and that the doctor and Mrs. Campbell, and Henry and Flora,
were not more alarmed. She proposed sending twenty different messengers
after him. She was now convinced, that he had not fallen from Salisbury
Craigs, because Dr. Campbell assured her ladyship, that he had a letter
from him in his pocket, and that he was safe; but she thought that there
was imminent danger of his enlisting in a frolic, or, perhaps, marrying
some cobbler's daughter in a pet. She turned to Archibald Mackenzie, and
exclaimed, "He was at a cobbler's; it could not be merely to mend his
shoes. What sort of a lassy is the cobbler's daughter? or has the cobbler
a daughter?"

"She is hump-backed, luckily," said Dr. Campbell, coolly.

"That does not signify," said Lady Catherine; "I'm convinced she is at
the bottom of the whole mystery; for I once heard Mr. Forester say--and
I'm sure you must recollect it, Flora, my dear, for he looked at you at
the time--I once heard him say, that personal beauty was no merit, and
that ugly people ought to be liked--or some such thing--out of humanity.
Now, out of humanity, with his odd notions, it's ten to one, Dr.
Campbell, he marries this cobbler's hump-backed daughter. I'm sure, if I
were his guardian, I could not rest an instant with such a thought in my
head."

"Nor I," said Dr. Campbell, quietly; and in spite of her ladyship's
astonishment, remonstrances, and conjectures, he maintained his resolute
composure.

THE GARDENER.

The gardener who had struck Forester's fancy, was a square, thick,
obstinate-eyed, hard-working, ignorant, elderly man, whose soul was
intent upon his petty daily gains, and whose honesty was of that
"coarse-spun, vulgar sort[6]," which alone can be expected from men of
uncultivated minds. Mr. M'Evoy, for that was the gardener's name, was
both good-natured and selfish; his views and ideas all centered in his
own family; and his affection was accumulated and reserved for two
individuals, his son and his daughter. The son was not so industrious as
the father; he was ambitious of seeing something of the world, and he
consorted with all the young 'prentices in Edinburgh, who would
condescend to forget that he was a country boy, and to remember that he
expected, when his father should die, _to be rich_. Mr. M'Evoy's daughter
was an ugly, cross-looking girl, who spent all the money that she could
either earn or save upon ribands and fine gowns, with which she fancied
she could supply all the defects of her person.

[Footnote 6: Mrs. Barbauld'a Essay on the Inconsistency of Human
Expectations.]

This powerful motive for her economy operated incessantly upon her mind,
and she squeezed all that could possibly be squeezed for her private use
from the frugal household. The boy, whose place Forester thought himself
so fortunate to supply, had left the gardener, because he could not bear
to work and be scolded without eating or drinking.

The gardener willingly complied with our hero's first request; he gave
him a spade, and he set him to work. Forester dug with all the energy of
an enthusiast, and dined like a philosopher upon long kail; but long kail
did not charm him so much the second day as it had done the first; and
the third day it was yet less to his taste; besides, he began to notice
the difference between oaten and wheaten bread. He, however, recollected
that Cyrus lived, when he was a lad, upon water-cresses--the black broth
of the Spartans he likewise remembered, and he would not complain. He
thought, that he should soon accustom himself to his scanty, homely fare.
A number of the disagreeable circumstances of poverty he had not
estimated when he entered upon his new way of life; and though at Dr.
Campbell's table he had often said to himself, "I could do very well
without all these things," yet, till he had actually tried the
experiment, he had not _clear_ ideas upon the subject. He missed a
number of little pleasures and conveniences, which he had scarcely
noticed, whilst they had every day presented themselves as matters of
course. The occupation of digging was laborious, but it afforded no
exercise to his mind, and he felt most severely the want of Henry's
agreeable conversation; he had no one to whom he could now talk of the
water-cresses of Cyrus, or the black broth of the Spartans; he had no one
with whom he could dispute concerning the Stoic or the Epicurean
doctrines, the mercantile or the agricultural system. Many objections to
the agricultural system, which had escaped him, occurred now to his mind;
and his compassion for the worms, whom he was obliged to cut in pieces
continually with his spade, acted every hour more forcibly upon his
benevolent heart. He once attempted to explain his feelings for the worms
to the gardener, who stared at him with all the insolence of ignorance,
and bade him mind his work, with a tone of authority which ill suited
Forester's feelings and love of independence.

"Is ignorance thus to command knowledge? Is reason thus to be silenced by
boorish stupidity?" said Forester to himself, as he recollected the
patience and candour with which Dr. Campbell and Henry used to converse
with him. He began to think, that in cultivated society he had enjoyed
more liberty of mind, more freedom of opinion, than he could taste in the
company of an illiterate gardener. The gardener's son, though his name
was Colin, had no Arcadian simplicity, nothing which could please the
classic taste of Forester, or which could recall to his mind the Eclogues
of Virgil, or the golden age; the Gentle Shepherd, or the Ayrshire
Ploughman. Colin's favourite holiday's diversion was playing at _goff_;
this game, which is played with a bat loaded with lead, and with a ball,
which is harder than a cricket-ball, requires much strength and
dexterity. Forester used, sometimes, to accompany the gardener's son to
the _Links_,[7] where numbers of people, of different descriptions are
frequently seen practising this diversion. Our hero was ambitious of
excelling at the game of _goff_; and, as he was not particularly adroit,
he exposed himself, in his first attempts, to the derision of the
spectators, and he likewise received several severe blows. Colin laughed
at him without mercy; and Forester could not help comparing the rude
expressions of his new companion's untutored vanity with the unassuming
manners and unaffected modesty of Henry Campbell. Forester soon took an
aversion to the game of _goff_, and recollected Scotch reels with less
contempt.

[Footnote 7: A lea or common near Edinburgh.]

One evening, after having finished his task of digging (for digging was
now become a task), he was going to take a walk to Duddingstone lake,
when Colin, who was at the same instant setting out for the Links,
roughly insisted upon Forester's accompanying him. Our hero, who was
never much disposed to yield to the taste of others, positively refused
the gardener's son, with some imprudent expressions of contempt. From
this moment Colin became his enemy, and, by a thousand malicious devices,
contrived to show his vulgar hatred.

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