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Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth

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




Forester now, to his great surprise, discovered that hatred could exist
in a cottage. Female vanity, he likewise presently perceived, was not
confined to the precincts of a ball-room; he found that Miss M'Evoy spent
every leisure moment in the contemplation of her own coarse image in a
fractured looking-glass. He once ventured to express his dislike of a
many-coloured plaid in which Miss M'Evoy had arrayed herself _for a
dance_; and the fury of her looks, and the loud-toned vulgarity of her
conceit, were strongly contrasted with the recollection of Flora
Campbell's gentle manners and sweetness of temper. The painted flower-pot
was present to his imagination, and he turned from the lady who stood
before him with an air of disgust, which he had neither the wish nor the
power to conceal. The consequences of offending this high-spirited damsel
our hero had not sufficiently considered: the brother and sister, who
seldom agreed in any thing else, now agreed, though from different
motives, in an eager desire to torment Forester. Whenever he entered the
cottage, either to rest himself, or to partake of those "savoury messes,
which the _neat-handed_ Phillis dresses," he was received with sullen
silence, or with taunting reproach. The old gardener, stupid as he was,
Forester thought an agreeable companion, compared with his insolent son
and his vixen daughter. The happiest hours of the day, to our hero, were
those which he spent at his work; his affections, repressed and
disappointed, became a source of misery to him.

"Is there nothing in this world to which I can attach myself?" said
Forester, as he one day leaned upon his spade in a melancholy mood. "Must
I spend my life in the midst of absurd altercations? Is it for this that
I have a heart and an understanding? No one here comprehends one word I
say--I am an object of contempt and hatred, whilst my soul is formed for
the most benevolent feelings, and capable of the most extensive views.
And of what service am I to my fellow-creatures? Even this stupid
gardener, even a common labourer, is as useful to society as I am.
Compared with Henry Campbell, what am I? Oh, Henry!--Flora!--could you
see me at this instant, you would pity me."

But the fear of being an object of pity wakened Forester's pride; and
though he felt that he was unhappy, he could not bear to acknowledge that
he had mistaken the road to happiness. His imaginary picture of rural
felicity was not, to be sure, realized; but he resolved to bear his
disappointment with fortitude, to fulfil his engagements with his master,
the gardener, and then to seek some other more eligible situation. In the
meantime, his benevolence tried to expand itself upon the only individual
in this family who treated him tolerably well: he grew fond of the old
gardener, because there was nothing else near him to which he could
attach himself, not even a dog or a cat. The old man, whose temper was
not quite so enthusiastical as Forester's, looked upon him as an
industrious simple young man, above the usual class of servants, and
rather wished to keep him in his service, because he gave him less than
the current wages. Forester, after his late reflections upon digging,
began to think, that, by applying his understanding to the business of
gardening, he might perhaps make some discoveries, which should excite
his master's everlasting gratitude, and immortalize his own name. He
pledged a shirt and a pair of stockings at a poor bookseller's stall, for
some volumes upon gardening; and these, in spite of the ridicule of Colin
and Miss M'Evoy, he studied usually at his meals. He at length met with
an account of some experiments upon fruit-trees, which he thought would
infallibly make the gardener's fortune.

"Did you not tell me," said Forester to the gardener, "that cherries were
sometimes sold very high in Edinburgh?"

"Five a penny," said the gardener; and he wished, from the bottom of his
heart, that he had a thousand cherry-trees, but he possessed only one.

He was considerably alarmed, when Forester proposed to him, as the
certain means of making his fortune, to strip the bark off this
cherry-tree, assuring him, that a similar experiment had been tried and
had succeeded; that his cherry-tree would bear twice as many cherries, if
he would only strip the bark from it. "Let me try one branch for an
experiment--I _will try_ one branch!"

But the gardener peremptorily forbade all experiments, and, shutting
Forester's book, bade him leave such nonsense, and mind his business.

Provoked by this instance of tyrannical ignorance, Forester forgot his
character of a _servant boy_, and at length called his master an
obstinate fool.

No sooner were these words uttered, than the gardener emptied the remains
of his watering-pot coolly in Forester's face, and, first paying him his
wages, dismissed him from his service.

Miss M'Evoy, who was at work, seated at the door, made room most joyfully
for Forester to pass, and observed, that she had long since prophesied he
would not _do_ for them.

Forester was now convinced, that it was impossible to reform a positive
old gardener, to make him try new experiments upon cherry-trees, or to
interest him for the progress of science. He deplored the perversity of
human nature, and he began, when he reflected upon the characters of Miss
M'Evoy and her brother, to believe, that they were beings distinct from
the rest of their species; he was, at all events, glad to have parted
with such odious companions. On his road to Edinburgh he had time for
various reflections.

"Thirty shillings, then, with hard bodily labour, I have earned for one
month's service!" said Forester to himself. "Well, I will keep to my
resolution. I will live upon the money I earn, and upon that alone; I
will not have recourse to my bank notes till the last extremity." He took
out his pocket-book, however, and looked at them, to see that they were
safe. "How wretched," thought he, "must be that being, who is obliged to
purchase, in his utmost need, the assistance of his fellow-creatures with
such vile trash as this! I have been unfortunate in my first experiment;
but all men are not like this selfish gardener and his brutal son,
incapable of disinterested friendship."

Here Forester was interrupted in his meditations by a young man, who
accosted him with--"Sir, if I don't mistake, I believe I have a key of
yours."

Forester looked up at the young man's face, and recollected him to be the
person who had nearly lost his life in descending for his key into the
brewing-vat.

"I knew you again, sir," continued the brewer's clerk, "by your twirling
those scissors upon your finger, just as you were doing that day at the
brewery."

Forester was not conscious, till this moment, that he had a pair of
scissors in his hand: whilst the gardener was paying him his wages, to
relieve his _mauvaise honte_, our hero took up Miss M'Evoy's scissors,
which lay upon the table, and twirled them upon his fingers, as he used
to do with a key. He was rather ashamed to perceive, that he had not yet
cured himself of such a silly habit. "I thought the lesson I got at the
brewery," said he, "would have cured me for ever of this foolish trick;
but the diminutive chains of habit[8], as somebody says, are scarcely
ever heavy enough to be felt, till they are too strong to be broken."

[Footnote 8: Dr. Johnson's Vision of Theodore.]

"_Sir!_" said the astonished clerk.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said our hero, who now perceived by his
countenance that his observation on the peculiar nature of the chains of
habit was utterly unintelligible to him; "pray, sir, can you tell me what
o'clock it is?"

"Half after four--I am--sir," said the clerk, producing his watch, with
the air of a man who thought a watch a matter of some importance. "Hum!
He can't be a gentleman; he has no watch!" argued he with himself; and he
looked at Forester's rough apparel with astonishment. Forester had turned
back, that he might return Miss M'Evoy her scissors. The brewer's clerk
was going in the same direction to collect some money for his master. As
they walked on, the young man talked to our hero with good-nature, but
with a species of familiarity, which was strikingly different from the
respectful manner in which he formerly addressed Forester, when he had
seen him in a better coat, and in the company of a young gentleman.

"You have left Dr. Campbell's, then?" said he, looking with curiosity.
Forester replied, that he had left Dr. Campbell's, because he preferred
earning his own bread to living an idle life among gentlemen and ladies.

The clerk, at this speech, looked earnestly in Forester's face, and began
to suspect that he was deranged in his mind.

As the gravity of our hero's looks, and the sobriety of his demeanour,
did not give any strong indications of insanity, the clerk, after a few
minutes' consideration, inclined to believe, that Forester concealed the
truth from him; that probably he was some dependant of Dr. Campbell's
family; that he had displeased his friends, and had been discarded in
disgrace. He was confirmed in these suppositions by Forester's telling
him, that he had just left the service of a gardener; that he did not
know where to find a lodging for the night; and that he was in want of
some employment, by which he might support himself independently.

The clerk, who remembered with gratitude the intrepidity with which
Forester had hazarded his life to save him the morning that he was at the
brewery, and who had also some compassion for a young gentleman reduced
to poverty, told him that if he could write a good hand, knew any thing
of accounts, and could get a character for _punctuality_ (meaning to
include honesty in this word) from any creditable people, he did not
doubt that his master, who had large concerns, might find employment for
him as an under-clerk. Forester's pride was not agreeably soothed by the
manner of this proposal, but he was glad to hear of a _situation_, to use
the clerk's genteel expression; and he moreover thought, that he should
now have an opportunity of comparing the commercial and agricultural
systems.

The clerk hinted, that he supposed Forester would choose to "make himself
smart," before he called to offer himself at the brewery, and advised him
to call about six, as by that time in the evening his master was
generally at leisure.

A dinner at a public-house (for our hero did not know where else to
dine), and the further expense of a new pair of shoes, and some other
articles of dress, almost exhausted his month's wages: he was very
unwilling to make any of these purchases, but the clerk assured him, that
they were indispensable; and, indeed, at last, his appearance was
scarcely upon a par with that of his friendly adviser.



THE BET.


Before we follow Forester to the brewery, we must request the attention
of our readers to the history of a bet of Mr. Archibald Mackenzie's.

We have already noticed the rise and progress of this young gentleman's
acquaintance with Sir Philip Gosling. Archibald,

"Whose ev'ry frolic had some end in view,
Ne'er played the fool, but played the rascal too,"--Anonymous

cultivated assiduously the friendship of this weak, dissipated, vain
young baronet, in hopes that he might, in process of time, make some
advantage of his folly. Sir Philip had an unfortunately high opinion of
his own judgment; an opinion which he sometimes found it difficult to
inculcate upon the minds of others, till he hit upon the compendious
method of laying high wagers in support of all his assertions. Few people
chose to venture a hundred guineas upon the turn of a straw. Sir Philip,
in all such contests, came off victorious; and he plumed himself much
upon the success of his purse. Archibald affected the greatest deference
for Sir Philip's judgment; and, as he observed that the baronet piqued
himself upon his skill as a jockey, he flattered him indefatigably upon
this subject. He accompanied Sir Philip continually in his long visits to
the livery-stables; and he made himself familiarly acquainted with the
keeper of the livery-stables, and even with the hostlers. So low can
interested pride descend! All this pains Archibald took, and more, for a
very small object. He had set his fancy upon Sawney, one of his friend's
horses; and he had no doubt, but that he should either induce Sir Philip
to make him a present of this horse, or that he should jockey him out of
it, by some well-timed bet.

In counting upon the baronet's generosity, Archibald was mistaken. Sir
Philip had that species of _good-nature_ which can lend, but not that
which can give. He offered to lend the horse to Archibald most willingly;
but the idea of giving it was far distant from his imagination.
Archibald, who at length despaired of his friend's generosity, had
recourse to his other scheme of the wager. After having judiciously lost
a few guineas to Sir Philip in wagers, to confirm him in his extravagant
opinion of his own judgment, Archibald, one evening, when the fumes of
wine and vanity, operating together, had somewhat exalted the man of
judgment's imagination, urged him, by artful, hesitating contradiction,
to assert the most incredible things of one of his horses, to whom
he had given the name of Favourite. Archibald knew, from the _best
authority_--from the master of the livery-stables, who was an experienced
jockey--that Favourite was by no means a match for Sawney; he therefore
waited quietly till Sir Philip Gosling laid a very considerable wager
upon the head of his "Favourite." Archibald immediately declared, he
could not, in conscience--that he could not, for the honour of Scotland,
give up his friend Sawney.

"Sawney!" cried Sir Philip; "I'll bet fifty guineas, that Favourite beats
him hollow at a walk, trot, or gallop, whichever you please."

Archibald artfully affected to be startled at this defiance, and,
seemingly desirous to draw back, pleaded his inability to measure purses
with such a rich man as Sir Philip.

"Nay, my boy," replied Sir Philip, "that excuse shan't stand you in
stead. You have a pretty little pony there, that Lady Catherine has just
given you; if you won't lay me fifty guineas, will you risk your pony
against my judgment?"

Archibald had now brought his friend exactly to the point at which he had
been long aiming. Sir Philip staked his handsome horse Sawney against
Archibald's sorry pony, upon this wager, that Favourite should, at the
first trials, beat Sawney at a walk, a trot, and a gallop.

Warmed with wine, and confident in his own judgment, the weak baronet
insisted upon having the bet immediately decided. The gentlemen ordered
out their horses, and the wager was to be determined upon the sands of
Leith.

Sir Philip Gosling, to his utter astonishment, found himself for once
mistaken in his judgment. The treacherous Archibald coolly suffered him
to exhale his passion in unavailing oaths, and at length rejoiced to
hear him consoling himself with the boast, that this was the first wager
upon horse-flesh that he had ever lost in his life. The master of the
livery-stables stared with well-affected incredulity, when Sir Philip,
upon his return from the sands of Leith, informed him, that Favourite had
been beat hollow by Sawney; and Archibald, by his additional testimony,
could scarcely convince him of the fact, till he put two guineas into his
hand, when he recommended _his_ new horse Sawney to his particular care.
Sir Philip, who was not gifted with quick observation, did not take
notice of this last convincing argument. Whilst this passed, he was
talking eagerly to the hostler, who confirmed him in his opinion, which
he still repeated as loud as ever, "that Favourite ought to have won."
This point Archibald prudently avoided to contest; and he thus succeeded
in duping and flattering his friend at once.

"Sawney for ever!" cried Archibald, as soon as Sir Philip had left the
stables. "Sawney for ever!" repeated the hostler, and reminded Mackenzie,
that he had promised him half a guinea. Archibald had no money in his
pocket; but he assured the hostler, that he would remember him the next
day. The next day, however, Archibald, who was expert in parsimonious
expedients, considered that he had better delay giving the hostler his
half-guinea, till it had been earned by his care of Sawney.

It is the usual error of cunning people to take it for granted, that
others are fools. This hostler happened to be a match for our young laird
in cunning, and, as soon as he perceived that it was Archibald's
intention to cheat him of the interest of his half-guinea, he determined
to revenge himself in his _care_ of Sawney. We shall hereafter see the
success of his devices.



THE SADDLE AND BRIDLE.


Scarcely had Archibald Mackenzie been two days in possession of the
long-wished-for object of his mean soul, when he became dissatisfied with
his own saddle and bridle, which certainly did not, as Sir Philip
observed, suit his new horse. The struggles in Archibald's mind, betwixt
his taste for expense and his habits of saving, were often rather painful
to him. He had received from Lady Catherine a ten-guinea note, when he
first came to Dr. Campbell's; and he had withstood many temptations to
change it. One morning (the day that he had accompanied Henry and
Forester to the watchmaker's) he was so strongly charmed by the sight of
a watch-chain and seals, that he actually took his bank-note out of his
scrutoire at his return home, put it into his pocket, when he dressed for
dinner, and resolved to call that evening at the watchmaker's to indulge
his fancy, by purchasing the watch-chain, and to gratify his family
pride, by getting his coat of arms splendidly engraven upon the seal. He
called at the watchmaker's, in company with Sir Philip Gosling, but he
could not agree with him respecting the price of the chain and seals; and
Archibald consoled himself with the reflection, that his bank-note would
still remain. He held the note in his hand, whilst he higgled about the
price of the watch-chain.

"Oh, d--n the expense!" cried Sir Philip.

"Oh, I mind ten guineas as little as any man," said Archibald, thrusting
the bank-note, in imitation of the baronet, with affected carelessness,
into his waistcoat-pocket. He was engaged that night to go to the play
with Sir Philip, and he was much hurried in dressing. His servant
observed that his waistcoat was stained, and looked out another for him.

Now this man sometimes took the liberty of wearing his master's clothes;
and, when Archibald went to the play, the servant dressed himself in the
stained waistcoat, to appear at a ball, which was given that night in the
neighbourhood, by some "gentleman's gentleman." The waistcoat was rather
too tight for the servant: he tore it, and instead of sending it to the
washerwoman's, to have the stain washed out, as his master had desired,
he was now obliged to send it to the tailor's to have it mended.

Archibald's sudden wish for a new saddle and bridle for Sawney could not
be gratified without changing the bank-note; and, forgetting that he had
left it in the pocket of his waistcoat the night that he went to the
play, he searched for it in the scrutoire, in which he was accustomed to
keep his treasures. He was greatly disturbed, when the note was not
to be found in the scrutoire; he searched over and over again; not a
pigeon-hole, not a drawer, remained to be examined. He tried to recollect
when he had last seen it, and at length remembered, that he put it into
his waistcoat-pocket, when he went to the watchmaker's; that he had taken
it out to look at, whilst he was in the shop; but whether he had brought
it home safely or not he could not precisely ascertain. His doubts upon
this subject, however, he cautiously concealed, resolved, if possible, to
make somebody or other answerable for his loss. He summoned his servant,
told him that he had left a ten-guinea bank-note in his waistcoat-pocket
the night that he went to the play, and that, as the waistcoat was given
into his charge, he must be answerable for the note. The servant boldly
protested, that he neither could nor would be at the loss of a note which
he had never seen.

Archibald now softened his tone; for he saw, that he had no chance of
bullying the servant. "I desired you to send it to the washerwoman's,"
said he.

"And so I did, sir," said the man.

This was true, but not the whole truth. He had previously sent the
waistcoat to the tailor's to have the rent repaired, which it received
the night he wore it at the ball. These circumstances the servant thought
proper to suppress; and he was very ready to agree with his master in
accusing the poor washerwoman of having stolen the note. The washerwoman
was extremely industrious, and perfectly honest; she had a large family,
that depended upon her labour, and upon her character, for support. She
was astonished and shocked at the charge that was brought against her,
and declared, that if she were able, she would rather pay the whole money
at once, than suffer any suspicion to go abroad against her. Archibald
rejoiced to find her in this disposition; and he assured her, that the
only method to avoid disgrace, a lawsuit, and ruin, was instantly to pay,
or to promise to pay, the money. It was out of her power to pay it; and
she would not promise what she knew she could not perform.

Archibald redoubled his threats; the servant stood by his master. The
poor woman burst into tears; but she steadily declared that she was
innocent; and no promise could be extorted from her, even in the midst of
her terror. Though she had horrible, perhaps not absolutely visionary,
ideas of the dangers of a lawsuit, yet she had some confidence in the
certainty that justice was on her side. Archibald said, that she might
_talk_ about justice as much as she pleased, but that she must prepare to
submit to _the law_. The woman trembled at the sound of these words; but,
though ignorant, she was no fool, and she had a friend in Dr. Campbell's
family, to whom she resolved to apply in her distress. Henry Campbell
had visited her little boy when he was ill, and had made him some
small present; and, though she did not mean to encroach upon Henry's
good-nature, she thought, that he had so much _learning_, that he
certainly could, without its costing her any thing, put her in the right
way to avoid the _law_, with which she had been threatened by Archibald
Mackenzie and his servant.

Henry heard the story with indignation, such as Forester would have felt
in similar circumstances; but prudence tempered his enthusiastic
feelings; and prudence renders us able to assist others, whilst
enthusiasm frequently defeats its own purposes, and injures those whom it
wildly attempts to serve. Henry, knowing the character of Archibald,
governed himself accordingly; he made no appeal to his feelings; for he
saw that the person must be deficient in humanity, who could have
threatened a defenceless woman with such severity; he did not speak of
justice to the tyrannical laird, but spoke of _law_. He told Archibald,
that being thoroughly convinced of the woman's innocence, he had drawn up
a statement of her case, which she, in compliance with his advice, was
ready to lay before an advocate, naming the first counsel in Edinburgh.

The young laird repeated, with a mixture of apprehension and suspicion,
"Drawn up a case! No; you can't know how to draw up cases; you are not a
lawyer--you only say this to bully me."

Henry replied, that he was no lawyer; that he could, notwithstanding,
state plain facts in such a manner, he hoped, as to make a case
intelligible to any sensible lawyer; that he meant to show what he had
written to his father.

"You'll show it to me, first, won't you?" said Archibald, who wished to
gain time for consideration.

Henry put the paper, which he had drawn up, into his hands, and waited
with a determined countenance beside him, whilst he perused the case.
Archibald saw that Henry had abilities and steadiness to go through
with the business; the facts were so plainly and forcibly stated, that
his hopes even from law began to falter. He therefore talked about
humanity--said, he pitied the poor woman; could not bear to think of
distressing her; but that, at the same time, he had urgent occasion for
money; that, if he could even recover five guineas of it, it would be
something. He added, that he had debts, which he could not, in honour,
delay to discharge.

Now Henry had five guineas, which he had reserved for the purchase of
some additions to his cabinet of mineralogy, and he offered to lend this
money to Archibald, to pay _the debts that he could not, in honour, delay
to discharge_, upon express condition, that he should say nothing more to
the poor woman concerning the bank-note.

To this condition Archibald most willingly acceded; and as Henry, with
generous alacrity, counted the five guineas into his hand, this mean,
incorrigible being said to himself, "What fools these bookish young men
are, after all! Though he can draw up cases so finely, I've taken him in
at last; and I wish it were ten guineas instead of five!"

If you think books have dumbed down …
Alison Flood: Today we can take our laptops on the road, but could we use them to produce On The Road?

Kerouac's On the Road manuscript travels to the Midlands

John Crace swallows a very thirsty volume

Documentary to lay bare 'Narnia Code'

He wrote it in just three weeks, furiously and loudly tap-tap-tapping away on his typewriter on 12ft long reels of paper so that he did not have to stop, just writing writing writing fuelled only, he said, by coffee…

It became one of the most important American novels of the last century and yesterday the original manuscript - a scroll taped together with eight reels of paper - of Jack Kerouac's On The Road was unfurled in the UK for the first time.
Fifty years after the novel which more or less defined the Beat generation, was published in Britain, the Barber Institute in Birmingham is showing what is now one of the most valuable literary manuscripts in existence as part of its exhibition Jack Kerouac: Back On the Road.

The exhibition's curator Professor Dick Ellis said there had been a lot of competition to get the scroll which is itself spending a lot of time on the move, having toured a string of US cities and hitting the road to Rome once this show is over. "We're very excited indeed," he said. "This is an iconic manuscript. It is a record of the huge effort Kerouac put into composing it. It was 20 days of typing 6,500 words a day, flat out, in spontaneous composition. He wanted to record things with the most possible accuracy using the spontaneous technique. His typewriter became a compositional instrument.

"Truman Capote once accused Kerouac of typing rather than writing, I would say he was learning the ability of using the typewriter like a jazz instrument, like a saxophone. He also had an incredible memory. And he had great speed at typing, he became a lightning typist. He came to be able to use a typewriter in a way that has not been seen before or since. Kerouac said he wrote fast because the road was fast."

About 22 of the scroll's 120ft will be on display in a specially built cabinet and while visitors will have to slightly tilt their heads, Ellis believes they will get a much deeper knowledge of what Kerouac was all about. It comes to Birmingham courtesy of Jim Irsay, owner of the Indianapolis Colts, who bought it for $2.4m (£1.6m) in 2001 before agreeing to a tour. Of course, in the published novel, there are paragraph breaks but in the scroll, there are none. Kerouac did not have the time. The exhibition runs until January 28.

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