ISHMAEL AND CLAUDIA.
And both were young--yet not alike in youth;
As the sweet moon upon the horizon's verge,
The maid was on the eve of womanhood;
The boy had no more summers; but his heart
Had far out-grown his years, and to his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on him.
--_Byron_.
The first of August, the decisive day, arrived. It was to be a fête day
for the whole neighborhood--that quiet neighbourhood, where fêtes,
indeed, were so unusual as to make a great sensation when they did
occur. There was to be the examination in the forenoon, followed by the
distribution of prizes in the afternoon, and a dance in the evening.
"The public" were invited to attend in the morning and afternoon, and
the parents, friends, and guardians of the pupils were invited to remain
for the dinner and ball in the evening. All the young people were on the
qui vive for this festival; and their elders were not much less excited.
Everywhere they were preparing dresses as well as lessons.
Poor Hannah Worth, whose circumstances were much improved since she had
been seamstress in general to Mrs. Middleton's large family, had
strained every nerve to procure for Ishmael a genteel suit of clothes
for this occasion. And she had succeeded. And this summer morning saw
Ishmael arrayed, for the first time in his life, in a neat, well-fitting
dress suit of light gray cassimere, made by the Baymouth tailor. Hannah
was proud of her nephew, and Ishmael was pleased with himself. He was
indeed a handsome youth, as he stood smiling there for the inspection of
his aunt. Every vestige of ill health had left him, but left him with a
delicacy, refinement, and elegance in his person, manners, and speech
very rare in any youth, rarer still in youth of his humble grade. But
all this was of the soul.
"You will do, Ishmael--you will do very well indeed!" said Hannah, as
she drew the boy to her bosom and kissed him with blended feelings of
affection, admiration, and remorse. Yes, remorse; for Hannah remembered
how often, in his feeble infancy, she had wished him dead, and had been
impatient for his death.
"I hope you will do yourself credit to-day, Ishmael," she said, as she
released him from her embrace.
"I shall try to do you credit, Aunt Hannah," replied the smiling youth,
as he set off gayly for the fête at the school.
It was a splendid morning, but promised to be a sultry day.
When he reached Brudenell Hall he found the young ladies and gentlemen
of the school, about twenty in all, assembled on the front lawn before
the house. The young gentlemen in their holiday suits were sauntering
lazily about among the parterres and shrubberies. The young ladies in
their white muslin dresses and pink sashes were grouped under the shade
of that grove of flowering locusts that stood near the house--the same
grove that had sheltered some of them on the night of the fire.
As Ishmael came up the flagged walk leading to the house Claudia saw him
and called out:
"Come here, Ishmael, and let us look at you!"
The youth, blushing with the consciousness of his new clothes, and the
criticisms they would be sure to provoke from his honored but
exasperating little patroness, advanced to the group of white-robed
girls.
Claudia, with her glittering black ringlets, her rich crimson bloom, and
glorious dark eyes, was brilliantly beautiful, and at fifteen looked
quite a young woman, while Ishmael at sixteen seemed still a boy.
Her manner, too, was that of a young lady towards a mere lad.
She took him by the hand, and looked at him from head to foot, and
turned him around; and then, with a triumphant smile, appealed to her
companions, exclaiming:
"Look at him now! Isn't he really elegant in his new clothes? Light gray
becomes him--his complexion is so fair and clear! There isn't another
boy in the neighborhood that wouldn't look as yellow as a dandelion in
gray! Isn't he handsome, now?"
This was a very severe ordeal for Ishmael. The young ladies had all
gathered around Claudia, and were examining her favourite. Ishmael felt
his face burn until it seemed as if the very tips of his ears would take
fire.
"Isn't he handsome, now, Bee?" pursued the relentless Claudia, appealing
to her cousin.
Beatrice was blushing in intense sympathy with the blushing youth.
"I say, isn't he handsome, Bee?" persevered the implacable critic,
turning him around for her cousin's closer inspection.
"Yes! he is a very handsome dog! I wonder you do not get a collar and
chain for him, for fear he should run away, or someone should steal him
from you, Claudia!" suddenly exclaimed the distressed girl, bursting
into indignant tears.
"Consternation! what is the matter now?" inquired the heiress, dropping
her victim, from whom general attention was now diverted.
"What is the matter, Bee? what is the matter?" inquired all the young
ladies, gathering around the excited girl.
Beatrice could only sob forth the words:
"Nothing, only Claudia vexes me."
"Jealous little imp!" laughed Miss Merlin.
"I am not jealous, I am only vexed," sobbed Beatrice.
"What at? what at?" was the general question.
But Beatrice only answered by tears and sobs. This gentlest of all
gentle creatures was in a passion! It was unprecedented; it was
wonderful and alarming!
"I should really like to know what is the matter with you, you foolish
child! Why are you so angry with me? It is very unkind!" said Miss
Merlin, feeling, she knew not why, a little ashamed.
"I would not be angry with you if you would treat him properly, like a
young gentleman, and not like a dog! You treat him for all the world as
you treat Fido," said this little lady of so few years, speaking with an
effort of moral courage that distressed her more than her companions
could have guessed, as she turned and walked away.
Ishmael stepped after her. There were moments when the boy's soul arose
above all the embarrassments incident to his age and condition.
He stepped after her, and taking her hand, and pressing it
affectionately, said:
"Thank you, Bee! Thank you, dear, dearest, Bee! It was bravely done!"
She turned her tearful, smiling face towards the youth, and replied:
"But do not blame Claudia. She means well always; but, she is--"
"What is she?" inquired the youth anxiously; for there was no book in
his collection that he studied with so much interest as Claudia. There
was no branch of knowledge that he wished so earnestly to be thoroughly
acquainted with as with the nature of Claudia.
"What is she?" he again eagerly inquired.
"She is blind, where you are concerned."
"I think so too," murmured Ishmael, as he pressed the hand of his little
friend and left her.
Was Ishmael's allegiance to his "elect lady" turned aside? Ah, no!
Claudia might misunderstand, humiliate, and wound him; but she was still
"his own star," the star of destiny. He went straight back to her side.
But before a word could be exchanged between them the bell rang that
summoned the young ladies to their places in the classroom.
The long drawing room, which was opened only once or twice in the year,
for large evening parties, had been fitted up and decorated for this
fête.
The room being in its summer suit of straw matting, lace curtains, and
brown holland chair and sofa covering, needed but little change in its
arrangements.
At the upper end of the room was erected a stage; upon that was placed a
long table; behind the table were arranged the seats of the examining
committee; and before it, and below the stage, were ranged, row behind
row, the benches for the classes, a separate bench being appropriated to
each class. The middle of the room was filled up with additional
chairs, arranged in rows, for the accommodation of the audience. The
walls were profusely decorated with green boughs and blooming flowers,
arranged in festoons and wreaths.
At twelve o'clock precisely, the examining committee being in their
places, the classbooks on the table before them, the classes ranged in
order in front of them, and the greater part of the company assembled,
the business of the examination commenced in earnest.
The examining committee was composed of the masters of a neighboring
collegiate school, who were three in number--namely, Professor Adams,
Doctor Martin, and Mr. Watkins. The school was divided into three
classes. They began with the lowest class and ascended by regular
rotation to the highest. The examination of these classes passed off
fairly enough to satisfy a reasonable audience. Among the pupils there
was the usual proportion of "sharps, flats, and naturals"--otherwise of
bright, dull, and mediocre individuals. After the examination of the
three classes was complete, there remained the two youths, Walter
Middleton and Ishmael Worth, who, far in advance of the other pupils,
were not classed with them, and, being but two, could not be called a
class of themselves. Yet they stood up and were examined together, and
acquitted themselves with alternating success and equal honor. For
instance, in mathematics Walter Middleton had the advantage; in
belles-lettres Ishmael excelled; in modern languages both were equal;
and nothing now remained but the reading of the two Greek theses to
establish the relative merits of these generous competitors. These
compositions had been placed in the hands of the committee, without the
names of their authors; so that the most captious might not be able to
complain that the decision of the examiners had been swayed by fear or
favor. The theses were to be read and deliberated upon by the examiners
alone, and while this deliberation was going on there was a recess,
during which the pupils were dismissed to amuse themselves on the lawn,
and the audience fell into easy disorder, moving about and chatting
among themselves.
In an hour a bell was rung, the pupils were called in and arranged in
their classes, the audience fell into order again, and the distribution
of prizes commenced. This was arranged on so liberal a scale that each
and all received a prize for something thing or other--if it were not
for scholastic proficiency, or exemplary deportment, then it was for
personal neatness or something else. The two Burghes, who were grossly
ignorant, slothful, perverse, and slovenly, got prizes for the regular
attendance, into which they were daily dragooned by their father.
Walter Middleton received the highest prize in mathematics; Ishmael
Worth took the highest in belles-lettres; both took prizes in modern
languages; so far they were head and head in the race; and nothing
remained but to award the gold watch which was to confer the highest
honors of the school upon its fortunate recipient. But before awarding
the watch the two theses were to be read aloud to the audience for the
benefit of the few who were learned enough to understand them. Professor
Adams was the reader. He arose in his place and opened the first paper;
it proved to be the composition of Ishmael Worth. As he read the eyes
and ears of the two young competitors, who were sitting together, were
strained upon him.
"Oh, I know beforehand you will get the prize! And I wish you joy of it,
my dear fellow!" whispered Walter.
"Oh, no, I am sure I shall not! You will get it! You will see!" replied
Ishmael.
Walter shook his head incredulously. But as the reading proceeded Walter
looked surprised, then perplexed, and then utterly confounded. Finally
he turned and inquired:
"Ish., what the mischief is the old fellow doing with your composition?
He is reading it all wrong."
"He is reading just what is written, I suppose," replied Ishmael.
"But he isn't, I tell you! I ought to know, for I have read it myself,
you remember! and I assure you he makes one or two mistakes in every
paragraph! The fact is, I do not believe he knows much of Greek, and he
will just ruin us both by reading our compositions in that style!"
exclaimed Walter.
"He is reading mine aright," persisted Ishmael.
And before Walter could reply again, the perusal of Ishmael's thesis was
finished, the paper was laid upon the table, and Walter's thesis was
taken up.
"Now then; I wonder if he is going to murder mine in the same manner,"
said Walter.
The reader commenced and went on smoothly to the end without having
miscalled a word or a syllable.
"That is a wonder; I do not understand it at all!" said young Middleton.
Ishmael smiled; but did not reply.
Professor Adams rapped upon the table and called the school to order;
and then, still retaining Walter's thesis in his hand, he said:
"Ihe highest prize in the gift of the examiners--the gold watch--is
awarded to the author of the thesis I hold in my hand. The young
gentleman will please to declare himself, walk forward, and receive the
reward."
"There, Walter! what did I tell you? I wish you joy now, old fellow!
There! 'go where glory awaits you,'" smilingly whispered Ishmael.
"I understand it all now, Ish.! I fully understand it! But I will not
accept the sacrifice, old boy," replied Walter.
"Will the young gentleman who is the author of the prize thesis step up
and be invested with this watch?" rather impatiently demanded the
wearied Professor Adams.
Walter Middleton arose in his place.
"I am the author of the thesis last read; but I am not entitled to the
prize; there has been a mistake."
"Walter!" exclaimed his father, in a tone of rebuke.
The examiners looked at the young speaker in surprise, and at each other
in perplexity.
"Excuse me, father; excuse me, gentlemen; but there has been a serious
mistake, which I hope to prove to you, and which I know you would not
wish me to profit by," persisted the youth modestly, but firmly.
"Don't, now, Walter! hush, sit down," whispered Ishmael in distress.
"I will," replied young Middleton firmly.
"Walter, come forward and explain yourself; you certainly owe these
gentlemen both an explanation and an apology for your unseemly
interruption of their proceedings and your presumptuous questioning of
their judgment," said Mr. Middleton.
"Father, I am willing and anxious to explain, and my explanation in
itself will be my very best apology; but, before I can go on, I wish to
beg the favor of a sight of the thesis that was first read," said
Walter, coming up to the table of the examiners.
The paper was put in his hands. He cast his eyes over it and smiled.
"Well, my young friend, what do you mean by that?" inquired Professor
Adams.
"Why, sir, I mean that it is just as I surmised; that this paper which I
hold in my hand is not the paper that was prepared for the examining
committee; this, sir, must be the original draft of the thesis, and not
the fair copy which was intended to compete for the gold watch," said
Walter firmly.
"But why do you say this, sir? What grounds have you for entertaining
such an opinion?" inquired Professor Adams. Young Middleton smiled
confidently as he replied:
"I have seen and read the fair copy; there was not a mistake in it; and
it was in every other respect greatly superior to my own."
"If this is true, and of course I know it must be so, since you say it,
my son, why was not the fair copy put in our hands? By what strange
inadvertence has this rough draft found its way to us?" inquired Mr.
Middleton.
"Father," replied Walter, in a low voice, "by no inadvertence at all!
Ishmael has done this on purpose that your son might receive the gold
watch. I am sure of it; but I cannot accept his noble sacrifice! Father,
you would not have me do it."
"No, Walter; no, my boy; not if a kingdom instead of a gold watch were
at stake. You must not profit by his renunciation, if there has been any
renunciation. But are you sure that there has been?"
"I will prove it to your satisfaction, sir. Yesterday, in my great
anxiety to know how my chances stood for the first prize, I asked
Ishmael for a sight of his thesis, and I tendered him a sight of mine.
Ishmael did not refuse me. We exchanged papers and read each other's
compositions. Ishmael's was fairly written, accurate, logical, and very
eloquent. Mine was very inferior in every respect except literal
accuracy. Ishmael must have seen, after comparing the two, that he must
gain the prize. I certainly knew he would; I expressed my conviction
strongly to that effect; and I congratulated him in anticipation of a
certain triumph. But, though I wished him joy, I must have betrayed the
mortification that was in my own heart; for Ishmael insisted that I
should be sure to get the medal myself. And this is the way in which he
has secured the fulfillment of his own prediction: by suppressing his
fair copy that must have taken the prize, and sending up that rough
draft on purpose to lose it in my favor."
"Can this be true?" mused Mr. Middleton.
"You can test its truth for yourself, sir. Call up Ishmael Worth. You
know that he will not speak falsely. Ask him if he has not suppressed
the fair copy and exhibited the rough draft. You have authority over
him, sir. Order him to produce the suppressed copy, that his abilities
may be justly tested," said Walter.
Mr. Middleton dropped his head upon his chest and mused. Meanwhile the
audience were curious and impatient to know what on earth could be going
on around the examiner's table. Those only who were nearest had heard
the words of Walter Middleton when he first got up to disclaim all right
to the gold watch. But after he had gone forward to the table no more
was heard, the conversation being carried on in a confidential tone much
too low to be heard beyond the little circle around the board.
After musing for a few minutes, Mr. Middleton lifted his head and said:
"I will follow your advice, my son." Then, raising his voice, he called
out:
"Ishmael Worth come forward."
Ishmael, who had half suspected what was going on around that table, now
arose, approached and stood respectfully waiting orders.
Mr. Middleton took the thesis from the hands of Walter and placed it in
those of Ishmael, saying:
"Look over that paper and tell me if it is not the first rough draft of
your thesis."
"Yes, sir, it is," admitted the youth, as with embarrassment he received
the paper.
"Have you a fair copy?" inquired Mr. Middleton.
"Yes, sir."
"Where is it? anywhere in reach?"
"It is in the bottom of my desk in the schoolroom, sir."
"Go and fetch it, that we may examine it and fairly test your
abilities," commanded the master.
Ishmael left the drawing-room, and after an absence of a few minutes
returned with a neatly folded paper, which he handed to Mr. Middleton.
That gentleman unfolded and looked at it. A very cursory examination
served to prove the great superiority of this copy over the original
one. Mr. Middleton refolded it, and, looking steadily and almost sternly
into Ishmael's face, inquired:
"Was the rough draft sent to the examiners, instead of this fair copy,
through any inadvertence of yours? Answer me truly."
"No, sir," replied Ishmael, looking down.
"It was done knowingly, then?"
"Yes, sir."
"For what purpose, may I ask you, did you suppress the fair copy, which
most assuredly must have won you the watch, and substitute this rough
draft, that as certainly must have lost it?"
Still looking down, Ishmael remained silent and embarrassed.
"Young man, I command you to reply to me," said the master.
"Sir, I thought I had a right to do as I pleased with my own
composition," replied Ishmael, lifting his head and looking straight
into the face of the questioner, with that modest confidence which
sometimes gained the victory over his shyness.
"Unquestionably; but that is not an answer to my question, as to why the
substitution was made."
"I wish you would not press the question, sir."
"But I do, Ishmael, and I enjoin you to answer it."
"Then, sir, I suppressed the fair copy, and sent up the rough draft,
because I thought there was one who, for his great diligence, had an
equal or better right to the watch than I had, and who would be more
pained by losing it than I should, and I did not wish to enter into
competition with him; for indeed, sir, if I had won the watch from my
friend I should have been more pained by his defeat than pleased at my
own victory," said Ishmael, his fine face clearing up under the
consciousness of probity. (But, reader, mark you this--it was the
amiable trait inherited from his father--the pain in giving pain; the
pleasure in giving pleasure. But we know that this propensity which had
proved so fatal to the father was guided by conscience to all good ends
in the son.)
While Ishmael gave this little explanation, the examiners listened,
whispered, and nodded to each other with looks of approval.
And Walter came to his friend's side, and affectionately took and
pressed his hand, saying:
"I knew it, as soon as I had heard both theses read, and saw that they
seemed to make mistakes only in yours. It was very generous in you,
Ishmael; but you seemed to leave out of the account the fact that I
ought not to have profited by such generosity; and also that if I had
lost the prize, and you had won it, my mortification would have been
alleviated by the thought that you, the best pupil in the school, and my
own chosen friend, had won it."
"Order!" said Mr. Middleton, interrupting this whispered conversation.
"Ishmael," he continued, addressing the youth, "your act was a generous
one, certainly; whether it was a righteous one is doubtful. There is an
old proverb which places 'justice before generosity.' I do not know that
it does not go so far as even to inculcate justice to ourselves before
generosity to our fellows. You should have been just to yourself before
being generous to your friend. It only remains for us now to rectify
this wrong." Then turning to Professor Adams, he said:
"Sir, may I trouble you to take this fair copy and read it aloud?"
Professor Adams bowed in assent as he received the paper. Ishmael and
Walter returned to their seats to await the proceedings.
Professor Adams arose in his place, and in a few words explained how it
happened that in the case of the first thesis read to them, he had given
the rough draft instead of the fair copy, which in justice to the young
writer he should now proceed to read.
Now, although not half a dozen persons in that room could have perceived
any difference in the two readings of a thesis written in a language of
which even the alphabet was unknown known to them, yet every individual
among them could keenly appreciate the magnanimity of Ishmael, who would
have sacrificed his scholastic fame for his friend's benefit, and the
quickness and integrity of Walter in discovering the generous ruse and
refusing the sacrifice. They put their heads together whispering,
nodding, and smiling approval. "Damon and Pythias," "Orestes and
Pylades," were the names bestowed upon the two friends. But at length
courtesy demanded that the audience should give some little attention to
the reading of the Greek thesis, whether they understood a word of it or
not. Their patience was not put to a long test. The reading was a matter
of about fifteen minutes, and at its close the three examiners conversed
together for a few moments.
And then Professor Adams arose and announced the young author of the
thesis which he had just read as the successful competitor for the
highest honors of the school, and requested him to come forward and be
invested with the prize.
"Now it is my time to wish you joy, and to say, 'Go where glory waits
you,' Ishmael!" whispered Walter, pressing his friend's hand and gently
urging him from his seat.
Ishmael yielded to the impulse and the invitation, and went up to the
table. Professor Adams leaned forward, threw the slender gold chain, to
which the watch was attached, around the neck of Ishmael, saying:
"May this well-earned prize be the earnest of future successes even more
brilliant than this."
Ishmael bowed low in acknowledgment of the gold watch and the kind
words, and amid the hearty applause of the company returned to his seat.
The business of the day was now finished, and as it was now growing late
in the afternoon, the assembly broke up. The "public" who had come only
for the examination returned home. The "friends" who had been invited to
the ball repaired first to the dining room to partake of a collation,
and then to chambers which had been assigned them, to change their
dresses for the evening.