THE PHILOSOPHY OF MR. NORCOT
A company all clad in black assembled at the dinner-table
of Maurice Malherb. The family still mourned their hope,
while Mr. Norcot's loss was even more recent. He bore himself
with great correctness and resignation. The narrative of his
uncle's sensational death was held back until later in the evening;
out a matter more pressing filled Mr. Malherb's mind, and he
hurried the ladies from the table when dessert was done, that he
might open his project.
"How do you find Grace bear herself towards you now?"
began the farmer abruptly, when he found himself alone with his
future son-in-law.
"Alas! 'A fellow that lives in a windmill has not a more
whimsical dwelling than the heart of a man lodged in a
woman.' But I must be patient."
Malherb frowned.
"She's a fool--yet a fool may make the heart of the wise ache.
Who shall escape a fool's folly if that fool be his daughter?"
"Tut, tut! Don't call her a fool. She is young--still in her
halcyon hours. As Horace----"
"Listen to me, Peter. You are a reasonable man, and thank
your God that it is so, for they grow rare. Now you will readily
understand my feelings when my son died."
"I died myself when I pictured your sufferings, Mr. Malherb.
"'World-wasting Time, thou worker of our woes,
Thou keen-edged razor of our famous name.'"
"Even so. To be frank and avoid sentiment, I've put my life
and soul into this place. I've made it a strong fortress for those
to come. I have built and planted with my thoughts upon my
son. And then, while the mortar was a-drying and the young
larches getting their first root-hold, he fell. Think of what that
meant to me."
"My imagination can picture it. Death is so final. As Herrick
says:--
"'Man is a watch, wound up at first, but never
Wound up again: once down he's down for ever.'
I have sympathised with all my soul."
"Then you must be practical and prove your sympathy. I had
meant to write to you, but speech is more direct, and so I waited
until we met. Now thus it stands. My son has passed away;
my daughter remains."
"I have appreciated that. There was a verse writ on the
Duchess of St. Albans by the Earl of Halifax for the toasting-glasses
of the Kit-Cat Club. A word or two makes it exquisitely
applicable:--
"'The line Malherb, so long renown'd in arms,
Concludes with lustre in fair Grace's charms.
Her conquering eyes have made their race complete:
They rose in valour, and in beauty set.'"
"They mustn't set; that's the whole matter," answered Maurice
Malherb. "I have sworn to my heart that set they shall not.
My son is dead; my grandson remains a possibility--nay, a
certainty, so far as anything human can be certain."
"Your grandson! You amaze me. Tut, tut! Was Noel
married?"
"No! My grandson will be your firstborn. Where's the
amazement in that? Two years hence you will be the father of
a boy; and that boy I ask of you. Some might almost say I had
right of possession, circumstances being what they are; but I am
reasonable in my dealings, and just to all men. That boy I
ask--nay, I beg. My heart yearns to the unborn lad. I live in the
future always, for 'tis both true wisdom and true happiness to
look ahead. The present generally proves cursedly disappointing
to a sanguine soul. I gave you my daughter and you give me
your son--your firstborn son. He will come hither; his name
shall be Malherb; he succeeds me and founds the family which
my own son would have founded. You catch my sense? 'Tis
but a link missed in the chain. I cannot believe that I am asking
too great a thing. What say you?"
As a man of humour, Mr. Norcot always appreciated his present
host. Now he kept a judicial face and laughed out of sight. His
eyes were grave and his forehead wrinkled. He thought, of
course, of Grace, but he did not mention her.
"You are the most original and gifted man it has been my
fortune to meet. Even the crushing changes and chances of life
leave you quite unperplexed. You evade them in a masterly
manner by sheer quickness of perception. It is genius. Positively
you do more than deserve success: you command it."
"Sleep upon the proposition, Peter, if you find it too great
thing to decide instantly."
"I see no need. I seldom find myself in a difference of
opinion with Maurice Malherb. The phlegm with which I view
the advent of this unborn man-child quite surprises me. Your
idea is worthy of a big heart. I seem to feel it both just and
honourable. These walls must not fall into alien hands when
your work is done. That a son of mine should face the world
as a Malherb and follow his grandfather's footsteps--what a
privilege! To be honest, I have never much desired children,
though doubtless the bachelor's heart expands when he is
married, and the usual result follows. But now the case is
altered. Tut, tut!
"'Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot';
and also how to ride, and to fish, and to be a gentleman. By
'young idea' I mean my son--your son. Yes, your son--to
grow as you would have him grow, in the traditions of the
Malherbs."
"Upon my soul, you might have been my son yourself!" said
Malherb with stern exultation; "for you're the most level-headed
man that ever I met."
"I have learned from you," said Peter modestly, "life is really
not half so difficult as people make it. Wise sacrifice is the secret
of success--nay, more, of happiness. Man cannot have his way
all round. He doesn't grow in a flower-pot alone, but in a jungle
of other living men and women--some stronger and some weaker
than himself. Then let him sacrifice where he can't succeed,
that where he can succeed he may succeed superlatively. Lop
off this limb, for that stout tree will bruise it; cut out these fine
twigs, they will never get to the sun. But keep such and such a
branch, for its way promises clear, and it can kill the weaker
things if you only make it strong enough. Limit your aspirations,
like a gardener limits his melons; but once determine where
lies your strength, then throw heart and nerve and every pulse of
life that way. Spare no pains, no brain-sweat, no toil there. Pour
your life's blood out for that purpose. So you have taught me."
Mr. Malherb nodded with a satisfaction hardly concealed. It
was a system remote from his own, as the unwavering light of
the moon from fitful marsh fires; but Norcot knew well that he
would not perceive the fact.
"Tenacity of purpose is vital to success," the elder man
declared.
"Yes, it is so; our parts must limit our plans. I cannot do
much. I have neither your intellect, nor education, nor power of
driving many horses together; yet, what I can do--is done. My
subjects are few, but I have mastered them and pursued them to
the present limits of human knowledge. My ambitions are all
gratified save the greatest."
"And you still short of forty! You were easily satisfied,
Peter."
"Forgive me, but you would speak with more authority on
that point did you know what my ambitions were. Accident
gratified my penultimate desire two months ago. To achieve the
supreme place at the Wool Manufactory was impossible by my
own act, because a human life stood between; but my uncle
perished; and now the thing I thought would be so sweet proves
otherwise. 'Tis a sermon on the futility of human ambition."
"He was unfortunate in his wife. You must keep that sad
story for the drawing-room. Annabel is most anxious to hear it.
And your last ambition is Grace?"
"She is, indeed. She will, at least, exceed my highest hope."
"Her mother presses for a season in town."
"'Tis but natural that Mrs. Malherb should do so. Then
'farewell, a long farewell' to Peter Norcot.
"'And too, too well the fair vermilion knew
And silver tincture of her cheeks, that drew
The love of every swain.'
You don't read Marlowe?"
"You have my word. She might marry a Duke for that
matter; but would a Duke make me a present of his firstborn
son?"
"One may answer with absolute certainty that he would not,
Mr. Malherb. In fact, the constitution of the realm--She is,
however, of the stuff that Duchesses are made; I know that
perfectly; while I can never hope to be more than a plain
man--perhaps a knight and a member of Parliament, if all goes
well--yet----"
"She is yours and she'll have an uncommonly good husband,"
said Mr. Malherb shortly. "Now talk of the farm. Did you
note my sheep upon the Moor?"
"I did. They look most prosperous."
"There's a rascally law here that denies me the right to pasture
more cattle on the Forest than I can winter upon the farm. For
the overplus I am called to pay as though a stranger to Venville
rights. A monstrous injustice, as I've told 'em. But to meet it
I must build new great byres. Did you note the work?"
"I saw no new byres," answered Peter.
"Nay--I forgot. They are not yet begun. But so clearly do
I view them in my mind, that for the moment I thought they
existed already."
"You incur tremendous expenses."
"Why, naturally so. One does not come to Dartmoor empty-handed.
To tame a desert and turn it into an important agricultural
centre calls for capital among other things. Now let us
join the ladies."
"Gladly," returned Mr. Norcot. "Those are the pleasantest
words I can hear spoken under this roof. 'Tis not always
so--but here. 'And beauty draws us with a single hair.' I wrote
that to Grace when I heard that she had caught her first trout.
She never answers my letters, by the way."
Presently the visitor told of his uncle's death. The story
proved dramatic, and Mr. Norcot's method of delivering it was
very deliberate and effective. Her kinsman's unhappy end
specially interested Annabel, who had known him intimately in
earlier days.
"You are to understand that the cloud fell upon my poor
Uncle Norman when his wife left him. Some might have held
her departure a happy circumstance, seeing the light nature of
the minx; he took his fortune differently. To us it may seem
strange that any circumstances would make life unendurable--apart
from the question of morals. Massenger has a word on
that--a sort of answer to Hamlet.
"'This life's a fort committed to my trust,
Which I must not yield up till it be forced.'
Poor verse, but good sense. Well, there came a day when I
made yet another attempt to lift my uncle from his deep despondency;
and I thought that I had succeeded, for he consented to
come upon the Moor and take his gun. I was to fish; he proposed
to shoot duck--his favourite amusement in the old times. I
rejoiced, little guessing his dark purpose. Indeed, who could
have done so with a mind so lofty? What does Blair say in
'The Grave'?
"'Self-murder! Name it not; our island's shame;
That makes her the reproach of neighb'ring states.'
It should be looked into, for the crime grows appallingly common.
But a female is too often at the bottom of it. My uncle
exhibited the utmost bitterness when his wife ran away from him.
'Women are all alike,' he said to me; and when a man says that,
you know his luck has been to meet the exception. Never did
Norman Norcot touch upon the deed in his mind, however,
though Parson Haymes has since told me that upon one occasion
he found it his duty severely to reprove my uncle for ideas
favourable and lenient to suicide.
"To resume, he threw off dull care, as I fondly supposed, and
went to the Moor for a day's holiday along with me. I took my
man, Reginald Mason; while a lad accompanied my uncle. Our
plan was that I should fish the River Teign where it runs into
the central vastness of the Moor beneath Sittaford Tor; while he
proposed to shoot up the valley of the little Wallabrook, a stream
that rises in the marshes beneath Wattern and joins the Teign
near Scorhill. We were to meet at a lone dwelling by Teign
Head, where lives a shepherd. There we designed to take
luncheon; and my sister Gertrude had packed a goodly basket
with such delicacies as we knew that our uncle most esteemed.
There was a bottle of French burgundy at my order. ''Tis bad
for him,' said Gertrude. 'I know it,' I replied, 'but 'twill do him
no hurt for once after hard exercise.'
"Mason left me at the junction of Teign and Wallabrook, and
proceeded up the river to the place where we were to lunch three
hours later. The boy, with uncle's great red dog and little black
spaniel, went up to the head of the lesser stream, for he told this
lad to work down towards him, and drive any birds that might
rise into the lower reaches of the river. This plan Uncle Norman
proposed, and I wondered at the time that he should make
arrangements so unusual. For myself, I set up my rod and was
a little impatient to get at the trout, for there chanced to be a
good morning rise. But my uncle desired me to stop with him
for a while, and of course I did so.
"At last we parted, and he made no ado about leave-taking,
but compared his timepiece with mine and promised to be
punctual at the luncheon tryst. I wetted my fly and had moved
a hundred yards when he called me back and asked me for some
string. 'My bootlace has broken,' he said. I had no such thing
upon me, but cut off a yard of my line; then restored the cast
of flies and left him apparently putting his boot in order. I
never saw him again alive. When I had reached what I call
'the pool,' where Teign lies in long, still reaches between two
waterfalls, I thought that I heard the faint report of a gun; and
I smiled with satisfaction, little dreaming what had occurred.
"Punctual to the appointed time, I met Mason at Teign Head
cot. But my uncle did not appear. An hour we waited; then
came the boy and the dogs. The lad had also heard one report
of a distant fowling-piece, but he had worked all the way down
to our starting-place without seeing his master.
"Still I found myself not anxious. I partook of food, then
went down the valley expecting to meet him at every turn. At
last I reached the place where we had parted, and then Mason
and the dogs together made that terrible discovery. You know
the rest. My unhappy relative was reduced to the primal, 'porcelain
clay of human kind.' He had slain himself by putting his
weapon to his throat and pulling the trigger with his foot. My
fishing-line had been used for that terrible purpose.
"'Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace,' says Dryden.
Before set of sun, as though carried on magic pinions, the whole
little world of Chagford knew what had happened. It was a very
trying time for me. My spirit sank. But for thoughts of Fox
Tor Farm I could have relinquished my new responsibilities and
envied the eternal rest of the dead. I felt most dreadfully
unsettled. Nothing mattered. The dubiety of mundane affairs
was much borne in upon me. Reflections concerning the shortness
and darkness of man's days crowded down like a fog upon
my spirit. I felt as I never yet had felt, that
"'The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.'
Dryden again.
"There he lay in his life's blood--extinct and cold as ice. He
had chosen to destroy himself within a hollow worked by the
old-time miners. Great deliberation and forethought clearly
marked his actions. Yet I am thankful that they brought it in
as insanity; and, for my part, I am positive that the dear
gentleman's mind had given way under his misfortunes. But there is
no marrying nor giving in marriage where he is now."
Mrs. Malherb wept silently as Peter finished his story. Then
her husband spoke.
"He was a coward, and a coward is better out of the way.
No human tribulations can justify the evasion of suicide. The
man's duty had been to follow them, find his false lady, and,
with proper formality, blow her lover's brains out, not his own.
Go to the piano, Grace."