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Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth

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




The dancing-master, however, was interested in finding him out, because
he was informed that Forester had sat up almost all night to print his
cards, and that he had them now in his pocket.

M. Pasgrave at length gained admittance to him in his confinement: the
officers of justice were taking him and Random before Mr. W----, a
magistrate, with whom informations had been lodged by the confectioner,
who had suffered in his windows.

Pasgrave, when he beheld Forester, was surprised to such a degree, that
he could scarcely finish his bow, or express his astonishment, either in
French or English. "Eh, monsieur! mon Dieu! bon Dieu! I beg ten million
pardons--I am come to search for a printer who has my cards in his
pocket."

"Here are your cards," said Forester: "let me speak a few words to you."
He took M. Pasgrave aside. "I perceive," said he, "that you have
discovered who I am. Though in the service of a printer, I have still as
much the feelings and principles of a gentleman as I had when you saw me
in Dr. Campbell's house. I have particular reasons for being anxious to
remain undiscovered by Dr. Campbell, or any of his family: you may depend
upon it that my reasons are not dishonourable. I request that you will
not, upon any account, betray me to that family. I am going before a
magistrate, and am accused of being concerned in a riot, which I did
every thing in my power to prevent."

"Ah! monsieur," interrupted the dancing-master, "but you see de grand
inconvenience of concealing your _rank_ and name. You, who are comme il
faut, are confounded with the mob: permit me at least to follow you to
Mr. W----, the magistrate: I have de honneur to teach les demoiselles his
daughters to dance; dey are to be at my ball--dey take one half dozen
tickets. I must call dere wid my cards; and I shall, if you will give me
leave, accompany you now, and mention dat I know you to be un homme comme
il faut, above being guilty of an unbecoming action. I flatter myself I
have some interest wid de ladies of de family, and dat dey will do me de
favour to speak to monsieur leur cher pere sur votre compte."

Forester thanked the good-natured dancing-master, but he proudly said,
that he should trust to his own innocence for his defence.

M. Pasgrave, who had seen something more of the world than our hero, and
who was interested for him, because he had once made him a present of an
excellent violin, and because he had sat up half the night to print the
ball cards, resolved not to leave him entirely to his innocence for a
defence: he followed Forester to Mr. W----'s. The magistrate was a slow,
pompous man, by no means a good physiognomist, much less a good judge of
character. He was proud of his authority, and glad to display the small
portion of legal knowledge which he possessed. As soon as he was informed
that some young men were brought before him, who had been engaged the
preceding night in a _riot_, he put on all his magisterial terrors, and
assured the confectioner, who had a private audience of him, that he
should have justice, and that the person or persons concerned in breaking
his window or windows should be punished with the utmost severity that
the law would allow. Contrary to the humane spirit of the British law,
which supposes every man to be innocent till it is proved that he is
guilty, this harsh magistrate presumed that every man who was brought
before him was guilty till he was proved to be innocent. Forester's
appearance was not in his favour: he had been up all night; his hair was
dishevelled; his linen was neither fine nor white; his shoes were
thick-soled and dirty; his coat was that in which he had been at work at
the printer's the preceding day; it was in several places daubed with
printers' ink; and his unwashed hands bespoke his trade. Of all these
circumstances the slow circumspect eye of the magistrate took cognizance
one by one. Forester observed the effect which this survey produced upon
his judge; and he felt that appearances were against him, and that
appearances are sometimes of consequence. After having estimated his
poverty by these external symptoms, the magistrate looked, for the first
time, in his face, and pronounced that he had one of the worst
countenances he ever beheld. This judgment once pronounced, he proceeded
to justify, by wresting to the prisoner's disadvantage every circumstance
that appeared. Forester's having been frequently seen in Tom Random's
company was certainly against him: the confectioner perpetually repeated
that they were constant companions; that they were intimate friends; that
they were continually walking together every Sunday; and that they often
had come arm in arm into his shop, talking politics; that he believed
Forester to be of the same way of thinking with Mr. Random; and that he
saw him close behind him, at the moment the stones were thrown that broke
the windows. It appeared that Mr. Random was at that time active in
encouraging the mob. To oppose the angry confectioner's conjectural
evidence, the lad who threw the stone, and who was now produced, declared
that Forester held back his arm, and said, "My good lad, don't break this
man's windows: go home quietly; here's a shilling for you." The person
who gave this honest testimony, in whom there was a strange mixture of
the love of mischief and the spirit of generosity, was the very lad who
fought with Forester, and beat him, about the dancing dogs. He whispered
to Forester, "Do you remember me? I hope you don't bear malice." The
magistrate, who heard this whisper, immediately construed it to the
prisoner's disadvantage. "Then, sir," said he, addressing himself to our
hero, "this gentleman, I understand, claims acquaintance with you; his
acquaintance really does you honour, and speaks, strongly in favour of
your character. If I mistake not, this is the lad whom I sent to the
Tolbooth, some little time ago, for a misdemeanour; and he is not, I
apprehend, a stranger to the stocks."

Forester commanded his temper as well as he was able, and observed, that
whatever might be the character of the young man who had spoken in his
favour, his evidence would, perhaps, be thought to deserve some credit,
when the circumstances of his acquaintance with the witness were known.
He then related the adventure of the dancing dogs, and remarked, that the
testimony of an enemy came with double force in his favour. The language
and manner in which Forester spoke surprised all who were present; but
the history of the dancing dogs appeared so ludicrous and so improbable,
that the magistrate decidedly pronounced it to be "a fabrication, a story
invented to conceal the palpable collusion of the witnesses." Yet, though
he one moment declared that he did not believe the story, he the next
inferred from it, that Forester was disposed to riot and sedition, since
he was ready to fight with a vagabond in the streets for the sake of a
parcel of dancing dogs.

M. Pasgrave, in the meantime, had, with great good-nature, been
representing Forester in the best light he possibly could to the young
ladies, the magistrate's daughters. One of them sent to beg to speak to
their father. M. Pasgrave judiciously dwelt upon his assurances of
Forester's being a gentleman: he told Mr. W---- that he had met him in
one of the best families in Edinburgh; that he knew he had some private
reasons for concealing that he was a gentleman: "perhaps the young
gentleman was reduced to temporary distress," he said; but whatever might
be these reasons, M. Pasgrave vouched for his having very respectable
friends and connexions. The magistrate wished to know the family in which
M. Pasgrave had met Forester; but he was, according to his promise,
impenetrable on this subject. His representations had, however, the
desired effect upon Mr. W----: when he returned to the examination of our
hero, his opinion of his countenance somewhat varied; he despatched his
other business; bailed Tom Random on high sureties; and, when Forester
was the only person that remained, he turned to him with great solemnity;
bade him sit down; informed him that he knew him to be a gentleman; that
he was greatly concerned that a person like him, who had respectable
friends and connexions, should involve himself in such a disagreeable
affair; that it was a matter of grief and surprise to him, to see a young
gentleman in such apparel; that he earnestly recommended to him to
accommodate matters with his friends; and, above all things, to avoid the
company of seditious persons. Much good advice, but in a dictatorial
tone, and in cold, pompous language, he bestowed upon the prisoner, and
at length dismissed him. "How different," said Forester to himself, "is
this man's method of giving advice from Dr. Campbell's!"

This lesson strongly impressed, however, upon our hero's mind the belief,
that external appearance, dress, manners, and the company we keep, are
the usual circumstances by which the world judge of character and
conduct. When he was dismissed from Mr. W----'s august presence, the
first thing he did was to inquire for Pasgrave: he was giving the
magistrate's daughters a lesson, and could not be interrupted; but
Forester left a note for him, requesting to see him at ten o'clock the
next day, at Mr. ----, the bookseller's. New mortifications awaited
our hero: on his return to his master's, he was very coldly received;
Mr. ---- let him know, in unqualified terms, that he did not like to
employ any one in his work who got into quarrels at night in the public
streets. Forester's former favour with his master, his industry and
talents, were not considered without envy by the rest of the journeymen
printers; and they took advantage of his absence to misrepresent him to
the bookseller: however, when Forester came to relate his own story, his
master was convinced that he was not to blame; that he had worked
extremely hard the preceding day; and that, far from having been
concerned in a riot, he had done every thing in his power to prevent
mischief. He desired to see the essay, which was printed with so much
expedition: it was in the hands of the corrector of the press. The sheets
were sent for, and the bookseller was in admiration at the extraordinary
correctness with which it was printed; the corrector of the press
scarcely had occasion to alter a word, a letter, or a stop. There was a
quotation in the manuscript from Juvenal. Henry Campbell had, by mistake,
omitted to name the satire and line, and the author from which it was
taken, though he had left a blank in which they were to be inserted. The
corrector of the press, though a literary gentleman, was at a stand.
Forester immediately knew where to look for the passage in the original
author: he found it, and inserted the book and line in their proper
place. His master did not suffer this to pass unobserved; he hinted to
him, that it was a pity a young man of his abilities and knowledge should
waste his time in the mere technical drudgery of printing. "I should be
glad now," continued the bookseller, "to employ you as a corrector of the
press, and to advance you, according to your merits, in the world;
_but_," glancing his eye at Forester's dress, "you must give me leave to
say, that some attention to outward appearance is necessary in our
business. Gentlemen call here, as you well know, continually, and I like
to have the people about me make a creditable appearance. You have earned
money since you have been with me--surely you can afford yourself a
decent suit of clothes and a cleaner shirt. I beg your pardon for
speaking so freely; but I really have a regard for you, and wish to see
you get forward in life."



FORESTER, A CORRECTOR OF THE PRESS.


Forester had not, since he left Dr. Campbell's, been often spoken to in a
tone of friendship. The bookseller's well-meant frank remonstrance made
its just impression; and he resolved to make the necessary additions to
his wardrobe; nay, he even went to a hair-dresser, to have his hair cut
and brought into decent order. His companions, the printers, had not
been sparing in their remarks upon the meanness of his former apparel,
and Forester pleased himself with anticipating the respect they would
feel for him, when he should appear in better clothes. "Can such
trifles," said he to himself, "make such a change in the opinion of my
fellow-creatures? And why should I fight with the world for trifles? My
real merit is neither increased nor diminished by the dress I may happen
to wear; but I see, that unless I waste all my life in combating the
prejudices of superficial observers, I should avoid all those
pecuiliarities in my external appearance which prevent whatever good
qualities I have from obtaining their just respect." He was surprised at
the blindness of his companions, who could not discover his merit through
the roughness of his manners and the disadvantages of his dress; but he
determined to shine out upon them in the superior dress and character of
a corrector of the press. He went to a tailor's, and bespoke a suit of
clothes. He bought new linen; and our readers will perhaps hear with
surprise, that he actually began to consider very seriously whether he
should not take a few lessons in dancing. He had learned to dance
formerly, and was not naturally either inactive or awkward: but his
contempt for the art prevented him, for some years, from practising it;
and he had nearly forgotten his wonted agility. Henry Campbell once, when
Forester was declaiming against dancing, told him, that if he had learned
to dance, and excelled in the art, his contempt for the trifling
accomplishment would have more effect upon the minds of others, because
it could not be mistaken for envy. This remark made a deep impression
upon our hero, especially as he observed that his friend Henry was not in
the least vain of his personal graces, and had cultivated his
understanding, though he could dance a Scotch reel. Scotch reels were
associated in Forester's imagination with Flora Campbell; and in
balancing the arguments for and against learning to dance, the
recollection of Archibald Mackenzie's triumphant look, when he led her
away as his partner at the famous ball, had more influence perhaps upon
Forester's mind than his pride and philosophy apprehended. He began to
have some confused design of returning, at some distant period, to his
friends; and he had hopes that he should appear in a more amiable light
to Flora, after he had perfected himself in an accomplishment which he
fancied she admired prodigiously. His esteem for that lady was rather
diminished by this belief; but still a sufficient quantity remained to
excite in him a strong ambition to please. The agony he felt the night he
left the ball-room was such, that he could not even now recollect the
circumstances without confusion and anguish of mind. His hands were now
such as could appear without gloves; and he resolved to commence the
education of his feet.

M. Pasgrave called upon him, in consequence of the message which he
left at the magistrate's: his original design in sending for the
dancing-master was to offer him some acknowledgment for his obliging
conduct. "M. Pasgrave," said he, "you have behaved towards me like a man
of honour; you have kept my secret; I am convinced that you will continue
to keep it inviolate." As he spoke, he produced a ten-guinea bank-note,
for at length he had prevailed upon himself to have recourse to his
pocket-book, which, till this day, had remained unopened. Pasgrave stared
at the sight of the note, and withdrew his hand at first, when it was
offered; but he yielded at length, when Forester assured him that he was
not in any distress, and that he could perfectly well afford to indulge
his feelings of gratitude. "Nay," continued Forester, who, if he had not
always practised the maxims of politeness, notwithstanding possessed
that generosity of mind and good sense on which real politeness must
depend--"you shall not be under any obligation to me, M. Pasgrave: I am
just going to ask a favour from you. You must teach me to dance." "Wid de
utmost pleasure," exclaimed the delighted dancing-master; and the hours
of his attendance were soon settled. Whatever Forester attempted, he
pursued with energy. M. Pasgrave, after giving him a few lessons,
prophesied that he would do him infinite credit; and Forester felt a
secret pride in the idea that he should surprise his friends, some time
or other, with his new accomplishment.

He continued in the bookseller's service, correcting the press for him,
much to his satisfaction; and the change in his personal appearance
pleased his master, as it showed attention to his advice. Our hero, from
time to time, exercised his talents in writing; and, as he inserted his
compositions under a fictitious signature, in his master's newspaper, he
had an opportunity of hearing the most unprejudiced opinions of a variety
of critics, who often came to read the papers at their house. He stated,
in short essays, some of those arguments concerning the advantages and
disadvantages of politeness, luxury, the love of society, misanthropy,
&c., which had formerly passed between him and Henry Campbell; and he
listened to the remarks that were made upon each side of the question.
How it happened, we know not; but after he had taken lessons for about
six weeks from M. Pasgrave, he became extremely solicitous to have a
solution of all his Stoical doubts, and to furnish himself with the best
possible arguments in favour of civilized society. He could not bear the
idea that he yielded his opinions to any thing less than strict
demonstration: he drew up a list of queries, which concluded with the
following question:--"What should be the distinguishing characteristics
of the higher classes of people in society?" This query was answered in
one of the public papers, a few days after it appeared in Mr. ----'s
paper, and the answer was signed _H.C., a Friend to Society_. Even
without these initials, Forester would easily have discovered it to be
Henry Campbell's writing; and several strokes seemed to be so
particularly addressed to him, that he could not avoid thinking Henry had
discovered the querist. The impression which arguments make upon the mind
varies with time and change of situation. Those arguments in favour of
subordination in society, in favour of agreeable manners, and attention
to the feelings of others in the small as well as in the great concerns
of life, which our hero had heard with indifference from Dr. Campbell and
Henry in conversation, struck him, when he saw them in a printed essay,
with all the force of conviction; and he wondered how it had happened
that he never before perceived them to be conclusive.

He put the newspaper, which contained this essay, in his pocket; and,
after he had finished his day's work, and had taken his evening lesson
from M. Pasgrave, he went out with an intention of going to a favourite
spot upon Arthur's Seat, to read the essay again at his leisure.

But he was stopped at the turn from the North Bridge, into High-street,
by a scavenger's cart. The scavenger, with his broom which had just swept
the High-street, was clearing away a heap of mud. Two gentlemen on
horseback, who were riding like postilions, came up during this
operation--Sir Philip Gosling and Archibald Mackenzie. Forester had his
back towards them, and he never looked round, because he was too intent
upon his own thoughts. Archibald was mounted upon Sawney, the horse which
he had so _fairly_ won from his friend Sir Philip. The half-guinea which
had been promised to the hostler had not yet been paid; and the hostler,
determined to revenge himself upon Archibald, invented an ingenious
method of gratifying his resentment. He taught Sawney to rear and plunge
whenever his legs were touched by the broom with which the stables were
swept. When Sawney was perfectly well trained to this trick, the cunning
hostler communicated his design, and related his cause of complaint
against Archibald, to a scavenger, who was well known at the livery
stables. The scavenger entered into his friend the hostler's feeling, and
promised to use his broom in his cause, whenever a convenient and public
opportunity should offer. The hour of retribution was now arrived: the
scavenger saw his young gentleman in full glory, mounted upon Sawney; he
kept his eye upon him, whilst, in company with the baronet, he came over
the North Bridge: there was a stop, from the meeting of carts and
carriages. The instant Archibald came within reach of the broom, the
scavenger slightly touched Sawney's legs; Sawney plunged and reared, and
reared and plunged. The scavenger stood grinning at the sight. Forester
attempted to seize the horse's bridle; but Sawney, who seemed determined
upon the point, succeeded. When Forester snatched at his bridle, he
reared, then plunged; and Archibald Mackenzie was fairly lodged in the
scavenger's cart. Whilst the well-dressed laird floundered in the mud,
Forester gave the horse to the servant, who had now ridden up; and,
satisfied that Mackenzie had received no material injury, inquired no
further. He turned to assist a poor washerwoman, who was lifting a large
basket of clean linen into her house, to get it out of the way of the
cart. As soon as he had helped her to lift the basket into her passage,
he was retiring, when he heard a voice at the back-door, which was at the
other end of the passage. It was the voice of a child; and he listened,
for he thought he had heard it before. "The door is locked," said the
washerwoman. "I know who it is that is knocking; it is only a little girl
who is coming for a cap which I have there in the basket." The door was
unlocked, and Forester saw the little girl to whom the fine geranium
belonged. What a number of ideas she recalled to his mind! She looked at
him, and hesitated, courtesied, then turned away, as if she was afraid
she was mistaken, and asked the washerwoman if she had plaited her
grandmother's cap. The woman searched in her basket, and produced the cap
nicely plaited. The little girl, in the meantime, considered Forester
with anxious attention. "I believe," said she, timidly, "you are, or you
are very like, the gentleman who was so good as to--" "Yes,"
interrupted Forester, "I know what you mean. I am the man who went with
you to try to obtain justice from your tyrannical schoolmistress: I did
not do you any good. Have you seen--have you heard any thing of--?"
Such a variety of recollections pressed upon Forester's heart, that he
could not pronounce the name of Henry Campbell; and he changed his
question. "Is your old grandmother recovered?"

"She is quite well, thank you, sir; and she is grown young again, since
you saw her: perhaps you don't know how good Mr. Henry and the young lady
have been to us. We don't live now in that little, close, dark room at
the watchmaker's. We are as happy, sir, as the day is long." "But what of
Henry? what of--?" "Oh, sir! but if you are not very busy, or in a great
hurry--it is but a little way off--if you _could_ come and look at our
new house--I don't mean _our_ house, for it is not ours; but we take care
of it, and we have two little rooms to ourselves; and Mr. Henry and Miss
Flora very often come to see us. I wish you could come to see how nice
our rooms are! The house is not far off, only at the back of the
Meadows." "Go, show me the way--I'll follow you," said Forester, after he
had satisfied himself that there was no danger of his meeting any of Dr.
Campbell's family.



THE MEADOWS.


Our hero accompanied the little girl with eager, benevolent curiosity.
"There," said she, when they came to the Meadows, "do you see that white
house, with the paling before it?" "But that cannot be your house!" "No,
no, sir: Dr. Campbell and several gentlemen have the large room, and they
come there twice a-week to teach something to a great many children.
Grandmother can explain all that better to you, sir, than I can; but all
I know is, that it is our business to keep the room aired and swept, and
to take care of the glass things which you'll see; and you shall see how
clean it is: it was _I_ swept it this morning."

They had now reached the gate which was in the paling before the house.
The old woman came to the door, clean, neat, and cheerful; she
recollected to have seen Forester in company with Henry Campbell at the
watchmaker's; and this was sufficient to make him a welcome guest. "God
bless the family, and all that belongs to them, for ever and ever!" said
the woman. "This way, sir." "Oh, don't look into our little rooms yet:
look at the great room first, if you please, sir," said the child.

There was a large table in the middle of this long room, and several
glass retorts, and other chemical vessels, were ranged upon shelves;
wooden benches were placed on each side of the table. The grandmother, to
whom the little girl had referred for a clear explanation, could not,
however, tell Forester very exactly the use of the retorts; but she
informed him that many of the manufacturers in Edinburgh sent their sons
hither twice a-week; and Dr. Campbell, and Mr. Henry Campbell, and some
other gentlemen, came by turns to instruct them. Forester recollected now
that he once heard Henry talking to his father about a scheme for
teaching the children of the manufacturers of Edinburgh some knowledge of
chemistry, such as they might afterwards apply advantageously to the arts
and every-day business of life.

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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