“The Holy Supper is kept indeed,
In whatso we share with another's need
Not that which we give, but what we share,
For the gift without the giver is bare.
Who bestows himself with his alms feeds three,
Himself, his hungering neighbour and Me.”
--LOWELL, The Vision of Sir Launfal.
The next morning, after breakfast, Tom, East, and Gower met as usual
to learn their second lesson together. Tom had been considering how to
break his proposal of giving up the crib to the others, and having found
no better way (as indeed none better can ever be found by man or boy),
told them simply what had happened; how he had been to see Arthur, who
had talked to him upon the subject, and what he had said, and for his
part he had made up his mind, and wasn't going to use cribs any more;
and not being quite sure of his ground, took the high and pathetic tone,
and was proceeding to say “how that, having learnt his lessons with
them for so many years, it would grieve him much to put an end to the
arrangement, and he hoped, at any rate, that if they wouldn't go on
with him, they should still be just as good friends, and respect one
another's motives; but--”
Here the other boys, who had been listening with open eyes and ears,
burst in,--
“Stuff and nonsense!” cried Gower. “Here, East, get down the crib and
find the place.”
“O Tommy, Tommy!” said East, proceeding to do as he was bidden, “that it
should ever have come to this! I knew Arthur'd be the ruin of you some
day, and you of me. And now the time's come.” And he made a doleful
face.
“I don't know about ruin,” answered Tom; “I know that you and I would
have had the sack long ago if it hadn't been for him. And you know it as
well as I.”
“Well, we were in a baddish way before he came, I own; but this new
crotchet of his is past a joke.”
“Let's give it a trial, Harry; come. You know how often he has been
right and we wrong.”
“Now, don't you two be jawing away about young Square-toes,” struck in
Gower. “He's no end of a sucking wiseacre, I dare say; but we've no time
to lose, and I've got the fives court at half-past nine.”
“I say, Gower,” said Tom appealingly, “be a good fellow, and let's try
if we can't get on without the crib.”
“What! in this chorus? Why, we shan't get through ten lines.”
“I say, Tom,” cried East, having hit on a new idea, “don't you remember,
when we were in the upper fourth, and old Momus caught me construing
off the leaf of a crib which I'd torn out and put in my book, and which
would float out on to the floor, he sent me up to be flogged for it?”
“Yes, I remember it very well.”
“Well, the Doctor, after he'd flogged me, told me himself that he didn't
flog me for using a translation, but for taking it in to lesson, and
using it there when I hadn't learnt a word before I came in. He said
there was no harm in using a translation to get a clue to hard passages,
if you tried all you could first to make them out without.”
“Did he, though?” said Tom; “then Arthur must be wrong.”
“Of course he is,” said Gower--“the little prig. We'll only use the crib
when we can't construe without it.--Go ahead, East.”
And on this agreement they started--Tom, satisfied with having made his
confession, and not sorry to have a locus penitentiae, and not to be
deprived altogether of the use of his old and faithful friend.
The boys went on as usual, each taking a sentence in turn, and the crib
being handed to the one whose turn it was to construe. Of course
Tom couldn't object to this, as, was it not simply lying there to be
appealed to in case the sentence should prove too hard altogether for
the construer? But it must be owned that Gower and East did not make
very tremendous exertions to conquer their sentences before having
recourse to its help. Tom, however, with the most heroic virtue and
gallantry, rushed into his sentence, searching in a high-minded manner
for nominative and verb, and turning over his dictionary frantically for
the first hard word that stopped him. But in the meantime Gower, who
was bent on getting to fives, would peep quietly into the crib, and then
suggest, “Don't you think this is the meaning?” “I think you must take
it this way, Brown.” And as Tom didn't see his way to not profiting by
these suggestions, the lesson went on about as quickly as usual, and
Gower was able to start for the fives court within five minutes of the
half-hour.
When Tom and East were left face to face, they looked at one another for
a minute, Tom puzzled, and East chokefull of fun, and then burst into a
roar of laughter.
“Well, Tom,” said East, recovering himself, “I don t see any objection
to the new way. It's about as good as the old one, I think, besides the
advantage it gives one of feeling virtuous, and looking down on one's
neighbours.”
Tom shoved his hand into his back hair. “I ain't so sure,” said he; “you
two fellows carried me off my legs. I don't think we really tried one
sentence fairly. Are you sure you remember what the Doctor said to you?”
“Yes. And I'll swear I couldn't make out one of my sentences to-day--no,
nor ever could. I really don't remember,” said East, speaking slowly and
impressively, “to have come across one Latin or Greek sentence this half
that I could go and construe by the light of nature. Whereby I am sure
Providence intended cribs to be used.”
“The thing to find out,” said Tom meditatively, “is how long one ought
to grind at a sentence without looking at the crib. Now I think if one
fairly looks out all the words one don't know, and then can't hit it,
that's enough.”
“To be sure, Tommy,” said East demurely, but with a merry twinkle in his
eye. “Your new doctrine too, old fellow,” added he, “when one comes to
think of it, is a cutting at the root of all school morality. You'll
take away mutual help, brotherly love, or, in the vulgar tongue, giving
construes, which I hold to be one of our highest virtues. For how can
you distinguish between getting a construe from another boy and using a
crib? Hang it, Tom, if you're going to deprive all our school-fellows
of the chance of exercising Christian benevolence and being good
Samaritans, I shall cut the concern.”
“I wish you wouldn't joke about it, Harry; it's hard enough to see one's
way--a precious sight harder than I thought last night. But I suppose
there's a use and an abuse of both, and one'll get straight enough
somehow. But you can't make out, anyhow, that one has a right to use old
vulgus-books and copy-books.”
“Hullo, more heresy! How fast a fellow goes downhill when he once gets
his head before his legs. Listen to me, Tom. Not use old vulgus-books!
Why, you Goth, ain't we to take the benefit of the wisdom and admire and
use the work of past generations? Not use old copy-books! Why, you
might as well say we ought to pull down Westminster Abbey, and put up a
go-to-meeting shop with churchwarden windows; or never read Shakespeare,
but only Sheridan Knowles. Think of all the work and labour that our
predecessors have bestowed on these very books; and are we to make their
work of no value?”
“I say, Harry, please don't chaff; I'm really serious.”
“And then, is it not our duty to consult the pleasure of others rather
than our own, and above all, that of our masters? Fancy, then, the
difference to them in looking over a vulgus which has been carefully
touched and retouched by themselves and others, and which must bring
them a sort of dreamy pleasure, as if they'd met the thought
or expression of it somewhere or another--before they were born
perhaps--and that of cutting up, and making picture-frames round all
your and my false quantities, and other monstrosities. Why, Tom, you
wouldn't be so cruel as never to let old Momus hum over the 'O genus
humanum' again, and then look up doubtingly through his spectacles, and
end by smiling and giving three extra marks for it--just for old sake's
sake, I suppose.”
“Well,” said Tom, getting up in something as like a huff as he was
capable of, “it's deuced hard that when a fellow's really trying to do
what he ought, his best friends'll do nothing but chaff him and try to
put him down.” And he stuck his books under his arm and his hat on his
head, preparatory to rushing out into the quadrangle, to testify with
his own soul of the faithlessness of friendships.
“Now don't be an ass, Tom,” said East, catching hold of him; “you know
me well enough by this time; my bark's worse than my bite. You can't
expect to ride your new crotchet without anybody's trying to stick a
nettle under his tail and make him kick you off--especially as we shall
all have to go on foot still. But now sit down, and let's go over it
again. I'll be as serious as a judge.”
Then Tom sat himself down on the table, and waxed eloquent about all the
righteousnesses and advantages of the new plan, as was his wont whenever
he took up anything, going into it as if his life depended upon it, and
sparing no abuse which he could think of, of the opposite method, which
he denounced as ungentlemanly, cowardly, mean, lying, and no one knows
what besides. “Very cool of Tom,” as East thought, but didn't say,
“seeing as how he only came out of Egypt himself last night at bedtime.”
“Well, Tom,” said he at last, “you see, when you and I came to school
there were none of these sort of notions. You may be right--I dare say
you are. Only what one has always felt about the masters is, that it's
a fair trial of skill and last between us and them--like a match at
football or a battle. We're natural enemies in school--that's the fact.
We've got to learn so much Latin and Greek, and do so many verses, and
they've got to see that we do it. If we can slip the collar and do so
much less without getting caught, that's one to us. If they can get more
out of us, or catch us shirking, that's one to them. All's fair in war
but lying. If I run my luck against theirs, and go into school without
looking at my lessons, and don't get called up, why am I a snob or a
sneak? I don't tell the master I've learnt it. He's got to find out
whether I have or not. What's he paid for? If he calls me up and I get
floored, he makes me write it out in Greek and English. Very good. He's
caught me, and I don't grumble. I grant you, if I go and snivel to him,
and tell him I've really tried to learn it, but found it so hard without
a translation, or say I've had a toothache, or any humbug of that kind,
I'm a snob. That's my school morality; it's served me, and you too, Tom,
for the matter of that, these five years. And it's all clear and fair,
no mistake about it. We understand it, and they understand it, and I
don't know what we're to come to with any other.”
Tom looked at him pleased and a little puzzled. He had never heard
East speak his mind seriously before, and couldn't help feeling how
completely he had hit his own theory and practice up to that time.
“Thank you, old fellow,” said he. “You're a good old brick to be
serious, and not put out with me. I said more than I meant, I dare say,
only you see I know I'm right. Whatever you and Gower and the rest do, I
shall hold on. I must. And as it's all new and an uphill game, you see,
one must hit hard and hold on tight at first.”
“Very good,” said East; “hold on and hit away, only don't hit under the
line.”
“But I must bring you over, Harry, or I shan't be comfortable. Now, I'll
allow all you've said. We've always been honourable enemies with the
masters. We found a state of war when we came, and went into it of
course. Only don't you think things are altered a good deal? I don't
feel as I used to the masters. They seem to me to treat one quite
differently.”
“Yes, perhaps they do,” said East; “there's a new set you see, mostly,
who don't feel sure of themselves yet. They don't want to fight till
they know the ground.”
“I don't think it's only that,” said Tom. “And then the Doctor, he does
treat one so openly, and like a gentleman, and as if one was working
with him.”
“Well, so he does,” said East; “he's a splendid fellow, and when I get
into the sixth I shall act accordingly. Only you know he has nothing to
do with our lessons now, except examining us. I say, though,” looking at
his watch, “it's just the quarter. Come along.”
As they walked out they got a message, to say that Arthur was just
starting, and would like to say goodbye. So they went down to the
private entrance of the School-house, and found an open carriage,
with Arthur propped up with pillows in it, looking already better, Tom
thought.
They jumped up on to the steps to shake hands with him, and Tom mumbled
thanks for the presents he had found in his study, and looked round
anxiously for Arthur's mother.
East, who had fallen back into his usual humour, looked quaintly at
Arthur, and said,--
“So you've been at it again, through that hot-headed convert of yours
there. He's been making our lives a burden to us all the morning about
using cribs. I shall get floored to a certainty at second lesson, if I'm
called up.”
Arthur blushed and looked down. Tom struck in,--
“Oh, it's all right. He's converted already; he always comes through the
mud after us, grumbling and sputtering.”
The clock struck, and they had to go off to school, wishing Arthur a
pleasant holiday, Tom, lingering behind a moment to send his thanks and
love to Arthur's mother.
Tom renewed the discussion after second lesson, and succeeded so far as
to get East to promise to give the new plan a fair trial.
Encouraged by his success, in the evening, when they were sitting alone
in the large study, where East lived now almost, “vice Arthur on leave,”
after examining the new fishing-rod, which both pronounced to be the
genuine article (“play enough to throw a midge tied on a single
hair against the wind, and strength enough to hold a grampus”), they
naturally began talking about Arthur. Tom, who was still bubbling over
with last night's scene and all the thoughts of the last week, and
wanting to clinch and fix the whole in his own mind, which he could
never do without first going through the process of belabouring somebody
else with it all, suddenly rushed into the subject of Arthur's illness,
and what he had said about death.
East had given him the desired opening. After a serio-comic grumble,
“that life wasn't worth having, now they were tied to a young beggar
who was always 'raising his standard;' and that he, East, was like a
prophet's donkey, who was obliged to struggle on after the donkey-man
who went after the prophet; that he had none of the pleasure of starting
the new crotchets, and didn't half understand them, but had to take the
kicks and carry the luggage as if he had all the fun,” he threw his legs
up on to the sofa, and put his hands behind his head, and said,--
“Well, after all, he's the most wonderful little fellow I ever came
across. There ain't such a meek, humble boy in the school. Hanged if
I don't think now, really, Tom, that he believes himself a much worse
fellow than you or I, and that he don't think he has more influence in
the house than Dot Bowles, who came last quarter, and isn't ten yet. But
he turns you and me round his little finger, old boy--there's no mistake
about that.” And East nodded at Tom sagaciously.
“Now or never!” thought Tom; so, shutting his eyes and hardening his
heart, he went straight at it, repeating all that Arthur had said, as
near as he could remember it, in the very words, and all he had himself
thought. The life seemed to ooze out of it as he went on, and several
times he felt inclined to stop, give it all up, and change the subject.
But somehow he was borne on; he had a necessity upon him to speak it all
out, and did so. At the end he looked at East with some anxiety, and was
delighted to see that that young gentleman was thoughtful and attentive.
The fact is, that in the stage of his inner life at which Tom had lately
arrived, his intimacy with and friendship for East could not have lasted
if he had not made him aware of, and a sharer in, the thoughts that were
beginning to exercise him. Nor indeed could the friendship have lasted
if East had shown no sympathy with these thoughts; so that it was a
great relief to have unbosomed himself, and to have found that his
friend could listen.
Tom had always had a sort of instinct that East's levity was only
skin-deep, and this instinct was a true one. East had no want of
reverence for anything he felt to be real; but his was one of those
natures that burst into what is generally called recklessness and
impiety the moment they feel that anything is being poured upon them for
their good which does not come home to their inborn sense of right, or
which appeals to anything like self-interest in them. Daring and
honest by nature, and outspoken to an extent which alarmed all
respectabilities, with a constant fund of animal health and spirits
which he did not feel bound to curb in any way, he had gained for
himself with the steady part of the school (including as well those who
wished to appear steady as those who really were so) the character of a
boy with whom it would be dangerous to be intimate; while his own hatred
of everything cruel, or underhand, or false, and his hearty respect for
what he would see to be good and true, kept off the rest.
Tom, besides being very like East in many points of character, had
largely developed in his composition the capacity for taking the weakest
side. This is not putting it strongly enough: it was a necessity with
him; he couldn't help it any more than he could eating or drinking. He
could never play on the strongest side with any heart at football or
cricket, and was sure to make friends with any boy who was unpopular, or
down on his luck.
Now, though East was not what is generally called unpopular, Tom felt
more and more every day, as their characters developed, that he
stood alone, and did not make friends among their contemporaries, and
therefore sought him out. Tom was himself much more popular, for his
power of detecting humbug was much less acute, and his instincts were
much more sociable. He was at this period of his life, too, largely
given to taking people for what they gave themselves out to be; but
his singleness of heart, fearlessness, and honesty were just what East
appreciated, and thus the two had been drawn into great intimacy.
This intimacy had not been interrupted by Tom's guardianship of Arthur.
East had often, as has been said, joined them in reading the Bible; but
their discussions had almost always turned upon the characters of the
men and women of whom they read, and not become personal to themselves.
In fact, the two had shrunk from personal religious discussion, not
knowing how it might end, and fearful of risking a friendship very dear
to both, and which they felt somehow, without quite knowing why,
would never be the same, but either tenfold stronger or sapped at its
foundation, after such a communing together.
What a bother all this explaining is! I wish we could get on without
it. But we can't. However, you'll all find, if you haven't found it out
already, that a time comes in every human friendship when you must go
down into the depths of yourself, and lay bare what is there to your
friend, and wait in fear for his answer. A few moments may do it; and
it may be (most likely will be, as you are English boys) that you will
never do it but once. But done it must be, if the friendship is to be
worth the name. You must find what is there, at the very root and bottom
of one another's hearts; and if you are at one there, nothing on earth
can or at least ought to sunder you.
East had remained lying down until Tom finished speaking, as if fearing
to interrupt him; he now sat up at the table, and leant his head on one
hand, taking up a pencil with the other, and working little holes with
it in the table-cover. After a bit he looked up, stopped the pencil,
and said, “Thank you very much, old fellow. There's no other boy in
the house would have done it for me but you or Arthur. I can see well
enough,” he went on, after a pause, “all the best big fellows look on me
with suspicion; they think I'm a devil-may-care, reckless young scamp.
So I am--eleven hours out of twelve, but not the twelfth. Then all of
our contemporaries worth knowing follow suit, of course: we're very good
friends at games and all that, but not a soul of them but you and
Arthur ever tried to break through the crust, and see whether there was
anything at the bottom of me; and then the bad ones I won't stand and
they know that.”
“Don't you think that's half fancy, Harry?”
“Not a bit of it,” said East bitterly, pegging away with his pencil.
“I see it all plain enough. Bless you, you think everybody's as
straightforward and kindhearted as you are.”
“Well, but what's the reason of it? There must be a reason. You can play
all the games as well as any one and sing the best song, and are the
best company in the house. You fancy you're not liked, Harry. It's all
fancy.”
“I only wish it was, Tom. I know I could be popular enough with all the
bad ones, but that I won't have, and the good ones won't have me.”
“Why not?” persisted Tom; “you don't drink or swear, or get out at
night; you never bully, or cheat at lessons. If you only showed you
liked it, you'd have all the best fellows in the house running after
you.”
“Not I,” said East. Then with an effort he went on, “I'll tell you what
it is. I never stop the Sacrament. I can see, from the Doctor downwards,
how that tells against me.”
“Yes, I've seen that,” said Tom, “and I've been very sorry for it, and
Arthur and I have talked about it. I've often thought of speaking to
you, but it's so hard to begin on such subjects. I'm very glad you've
opened it. Now, why don't you?”
“I've never been confirmed,” said East.
“Not been confirmed!” said Tom, in astonishment. “I never thought of
that. Why weren't you confirmed with the rest of us nearly three years
ago? I always thought you'd been confirmed at home.”
“No,” answered East sorrowfully; “you see this was how it happened. Last
Confirmation was soon after Arthur came, and you were so taken up with
him I hardly saw either of you. Well, when the Doctor sent round for us
about it, I was living mostly with Green's set. You know the sort. They
all went in. I dare say it was all right, and they got good by it; I
don't want to judge them. Only all I could see of their reasons drove me
just the other way. 'Twas 'because the Doctor liked it;' 'no boy got
on who didn't stay the Sacrament;' it was the 'correct thing,' in fact,
like having a good hat to wear on Sundays. I couldn't stand it. I didn't
feel that I wanted to lead a different life. I was very well content
as I was, and I wasn't going to sham religious to curry favour with the
Doctor, or any one else.”
East stopped speaking, and pegged away more diligently than ever with
his pencil. Tom was ready to cry. He felt half sorry at first that he
had been confirmed himself. He seemed to have deserted his earliest
friend--to have left him by himself at his worst need for those long
years. He got up and went and sat by East, and put his arm over his
shoulder.
“Dear old boy,” he said, “how careless and selfish I've been. But why
didn't you come and talk to Arthur and me?”
“I wish to Heaven I had,” said East, “but I was a fool. It's too late
talking of it now.”
“Why too late? You want to be confirmed now, don't you?”
“I think so,” said East. “I've thought about it a good deal; only, often
I fancy I must be changing, because I see it's to do me good here--just
what stopped me last time. And then I go back again.”
“I'll tell you now how 'twas with me,” said Tom warmly. “If it hadn't
been for Arthur, I should have done just as you did. I hope I should. I
honour you for it. But then he made it out just as if it was taking the
weak side before all the world--going in once for all against everything
that's strong and rich, and proud and respectable, a little band of
brothers against the whole world. And the Doctor seemed to say so too,
only he said a great deal more.”
“Ah!” groaned East, “but there again, that's just another of my
difficulties whenever I think about the matter. I don't want to be one
of your saints, one of your elect, whatever the right phrase is. My
sympathies are all the other way--with the many, the poor devils who run
about the streets and don't go to church. Don't stare, Tom; mind, I'm
telling you all that's in my heart--as far as I know it--but it's all a
muddle. You must be gentle with me if you want to land me. Now I've seen
a deal of this sort of religion; I was bred up in it, and I can't stand
it. If nineteen-twentieths of the world are to be left to uncovenanted
mercies, and that sort of thing, which means in plain English to go to
hell, and the other twentieth are to rejoice at it all, why--”
“Oh! but, Harry, they ain't, they don't,” broke in Tom, really shocked.
“Oh, how I wish Arthur hadn't gone! I'm such a fool about these things.
But it's all you want too, East; it is indeed. It cuts both ways
somehow, being confirmed and taking the Sacrament. It makes you feel on
the side of all the good and all the bad too, of everybody in the world.
Only there's some great dark strong power, which is crushing you and
everybody else. That's what Christ conquered, and we've got to fight.
What a fool I am! I can't explain. If Arthur were only here!”
“I begin to get a glimmering of what you mean,” said East.
“I say, now,” said Tom eagerly, “do you remember how we both hated
Flashman?”
“Of course I do,” said East; “I hate him still. What then?”
“Well, when I came to take the Sacrament, I had a great struggle about
that. I tried to put him out of my head; and when I couldn't do that, I
tried to think of him as evil--as something that the Lord who was loving
me hated, and which I might hate too. But it wouldn't do. I broke down;
I believe Christ Himself broke me down. And when the Doctor gave me the
bread and wine, and leant over me praying, I prayed for poor Flashman,
as if it had been you or Arthur.”
East buried his face in his hands on the table. Tom could feel the table
tremble. At last he looked up. “Thank you again, Tom,” said he; “you
don't know what you may have done for me to-night. I think I see now how
the right sort of sympathy with poor devils is got at.”
“And you'll stop the Sacrament next time, won't you?” said Tom.
“Can I, before I'm confirmed?”
“Go and ask the Doctor.”
“I will.”
That very night, after prayers, East followed the Doctor, and the old
verger bearing the candle, upstairs. Tom watched, and saw the Doctor
turn round when he heard footsteps following him closer than usual, and
say, “Hah, East! Do you want to speak to me, my man?”
“If you please, sir.” And the private door closed, and Tom went to his
study in a state of great trouble of mind.
It was almost an hour before East came back. Then he rushed in
breathless.
“Well, it's all right,” he shouted, seizing Tom by the hand. “I feel as
if a ton weight were off my mind.”
“Hurrah,” said Tom. “I knew it would be; but tell us all about it.”
“Well, I just told him all about it. You can't think how kind and gentle
he was, the great grim man, whom I've feared more than anybody on earth.
When I stuck, he lifted me just as if I'd been a little child. And he
seemed to know all I'd felt, and to have gone through it all. And I
burst out crying--more than I've done this five years; and he sat down
by me, and stroked my head; and I went blundering on, and told him
all--much worse things than I've told you. And he wasn't shocked a bit,
and didn't snub me, or tell me I was a fool, and it was all nothing but
pride or wickedness, though I dare say it was. And he didn't tell me
not to follow out my thoughts, and he didn't give me any cut-and-dried
explanation. But when I'd done he just talked a bit. I can hardly
remember what he said yet; but it seemed to spread round me like
healing, and strength, and light, and to bear me up, and plant me on a
rock, where I could hold my footing and fight for myself. I don't know
what to do, I feel so happy. And it's all owing to you, dear old boy!”
And he seized Tom's hand again.
“And you're to come to the Communion?” said Tom.
“Yes, and to be confirmed in the holidays.”
Tom's delight was as great as his friend's. But he hadn't yet had
out all his own talk, and was bent on improving the occasion: so he
proceeded to propound Arthur's theory about not being sorry for his
friends' deaths, which he had hitherto kept in the background, and by
which he was much exercised; for he didn't feel it honest to take what
pleased him, and throw over the rest, and was trying vigorously to
persuade himself that he should like all his best friends to die
off-hand.
But East's powers of remaining serious were exhausted, and in five
minutes he was saying the most ridiculous things he could think of, till
Tom was almost getting angry again.
Despite of himself, however, he couldn't help laughing and giving it up,
when East appealed to him with, “Well, Tom, you ain't going to punch my
head, I hope, because I insist upon being sorry when you got to earth?”
And so their talk finished for that time, and they tried to learn first
lesson, with very poor success, as appeared next morning, when they were
called up and narrowly escaped being floored, which ill-luck, however,
did not sit heavily on either of their souls.