With the growth of his militant egoism, there had developed in Godwin
Peak an excess of nervous sensibility which threatened to deprive his
character of the initiative rightly belonging to it. Self-assertion is
the practical complement of self-esteem. To be largely endowed with the
latter quality, yet constrained by a coward delicacy to repress it, is
to suffer martyrdom at the pleasure of every robust assailant, and in
the end be driven to the refuge of a moody solitude. That encounter
with his objectionable uncle after the prize distribution at Whitelaw
showed how much Godwin had lost of the natural vigour which declared
itself at Andrew Peak's second visit to Twybridge, when the boy
certainly would not have endured his uncle's presence but for
hospitable considerations and the respect due to his mother. The
decision with which he then unbosomed himself to Oliver, still
characterised his thoughts, but he had not courage to elude the
dialogue forced upon him, still less to make known his resentment of
the man's offensive vulgarity. He endured in silence, his heart afire
with scornful wrath.
The affliction could not have befallen him at a time when he was less
capable of supporting it resignedly. Notwithstanding his noteworthy
success in two classes, it seemed to him that he had lost
everything--that the day was one of signal and disgraceful defeat. In
any case that sequence of second prizes must have filled him with
chagrin, but to be beaten thus repeatedly by such a fellow as Bruno
Chilvers was humiliation intolerable. A fopling, a mincer of effeminate
English, a rote-repeater of academic catchwords--bah! The
by-examinations of the year had whispered presage, but Peak always felt
that he was not putting forth his strength; when the serious trial came
he would show what was really in him. Too late he recognised his error,
though he tried not to admit it. The extra subjects had exacted too
much of him; there was a limit to his powers. Within the College this
would be well enough understood, but to explain a disagreeable fact is
not to change it; his name was written in pitiful subordination. And as
for the public assembly--he would have sacrificed some years of his
life to have stepped forward in facile supremacy, beneath the eyes of
those clustered ladies. Instead of that, they had looked upon his
shame; they had interchanged glances of amusement at each repetition of
his defeat; had murmured comments in their melodious speech; had ended
by losing all interest in him--as intuition apprised him was the wont
of women.
As soon as he had escaped from his uncle, he relapsed into musing upon
the position to which he was condemned when the new session came round.
Again Chilvers would be in the same classes with him, and, as likely as
not, with the same result. In the meantime, they were both 'going in'
for the First B.A.; he had no fear of failure, but it might easily
happen that Chilvers would achieve higher distinction. With an eye to
awards that might be won--substantial cash-annuities--he was reading
for Honours; but it seemed doubtful whether he could present himself,
as the second examination was held only in London. Chilvers would of
course be an Honours candidate. He would smile--confound him!--at an
objection on the score of the necessary journey to London. Better to
refrain altogether than again to see Chilvers come out ahead. General
surprise would naturally be excited, questions asked on all hands. How
would it sound: 'I simply couldn't afford to go up'--?
At this point of the meditation he had reached his lodgings; he
admitted himself with a latch-key, turned into his murky sitting-room,
and sat down.
The table was laid for tea, as usual. Though he might have gone to
Twybridge this evening, he had preferred to stay overnight, for an odd
reason. At a theatre in Kingsmill a London company, headed by an
actress of some distinction, was to perform _Romeo and Juliet_, and he
purposed granting himself this indulgence before leaving the town. The
plan was made when his eye fell upon the advertisement, a few days ago.
He then believed it probable that an evening at the theatre would
appropriately follow upon a day of victory. His interest in the
performance had collapsed, but he did not care to alter his
arrangements.
The landlady came in bearing the tea-pot. He wanted nothing, yet could
not exert himself to say so.
But he was losing sight of a menace more formidable than defeat by
Chilvers. What was it his blackguard uncle had said? Had the fellow
really threatened to start an eating-house opposite the College, and
flare his name upon a placard? 'Peak's Dining and Refreshment
Rooms'--merciful heavens!
Again the mood of laughter came upon him. Why, here was a solution of
all difficulties, as simple as unanticipated. If indeed that awful
thing came to pass, farewell to Whitelaw! What possibility of pursuing
his studies when every class-companion, every Professor,--nay, the very
porters,--had become aware that he was nephew to the man who supplied
meals over the way? Moral philosophy had no prophylactic against an
ordeal such as this. Could the most insignificant lad attending
lectures afford to disregard such an occasion of ridicule and contempt?
But the scheme would not be realised; it sounded too unlikely. Andrew
Peak was merely a loose-minded vagabond, who might talk of this and
that project for making money, but would certainly never quit his dirty
haunts in London. Godwin asked himself angrily why he had submitted to
the fellow's companionship. This absurd delicacy must be corrected
before it became his tyrant. The idea of scrupling to hurt the
sensibilities of Andrew Peak! The man was coarse-hided enough to
undergo kicking, and then take sixpence in compensation,--not a doubt
of it. This detestable tie of kindred must no longer be recognised. He
would speak gravely to his mother about it. If Andrew again presented
himself at the house he should be given plainly to understand that his
visits were something less than welcome,--if necessary, a downright
blunt word must effect their liberation. Godwin felt strong enough for
that, musing here alone. And, student-like, he passed on to debate the
theory of the problem. Andrew was his father's brother, but what is a
mere tie of blood if nature has alienated two persons by a subtler
distinction? By the dead man, Andrew had never been loved or esteemed;
memory supplied proof of this. The widow shrank from him. No obligation
of any kind lay upon them to tolerate the London ruffian.--Enough; he
should be got rid of!
Alternating his causes of misery, which--he could not quite
forget--might blend for the sudden transformation of his life, Godwin
let the tea grow cold upon the table, until it was time, if he still
meant to visit the theatre, for setting forth. He had no mind to go,
but as little to sit here and indulge harassing reflection. With an
effort, he made ready and left the house.
The cost of his seat at the theatre was two shillings. So nicely had he
adjusted the expenses of these last days that, after paying the
landlady's bill to-morrow morning, there would remain to him but a few
pence more than the money needed for his journey home. Walking into the
town, he debated with himself whether it were not better to save this
florin. But as he approached the pit door, the spirit of pleasure
revived in him; he had seen but one of Shakespeare's plays, and he
believed (naturally at his age) that to see a drama acted was necessary
for its full appreciation. Sidling with affected indifference, he added
himself to the crowd.
To stand thus, expectant of the opening doors, troubled him with a
sense of shame. To be sure, he was in the spiritual company of Charles
Lamb, and of many another man of brains who has waited under the lamp.
But contact with the pittites of Kingsmill offended his instincts; he
resented this appearance of inferiority to people who came at their
leisure, and took seats in the better parts of the house. When a
neighbour addressed him with a meaningless joke which defied grammar,
he tried to grin a friendly answer, but inwardly shrank. The events of
the day had increased his sensibility to such impressions. Had he
triumphed over Bruno Chilvers, he could have behaved this evening with
a larger humanity.
The fight for entrance--honest British stupidity, crushing ribs and
rending garments in preference to seemly order of progress--enlivened
him somewhat, and sent him laughing to his conquered place; but before
the curtain rose he was again depressed by the sight of a familiar
figure in the stalls, a fellow-student who sat there with mother and
sister, black-uniformed, looking very much a gentleman. 'I, of course,
am not a gentleman,' he said to himself, gloomily. Was there any chance
that he might some day take his ease in that orthodox fashion? Inasmuch
as it was conventionality, he scorned it; but the privileges which it
represented had strong control of his imagination. That lady and her
daughter would follow the play with intelligence. To exchange comments
with them would be a keen delight. As for him--he had a shop-boy on one
hand and a grocer's wife on the other.
By the end he had fallen into fatigue. Amid clamour of easily-won
applause he made his way into the street, to find himself in a heavy
downpour of rain. Having no umbrella, he looked about for a sheltered
station, and the glare of a neighbouring public-house caught his eye;
he was thirsty, and might as well refresh body and spirit with a glass
of beer, an unwonted indulgence which had the pleasant semblance of
dissipation. Arrived at the bar he came upon two acquaintances, who, to
judge by their flushed cheeks and excited voices, had been celebrating
jovially the close of their academic labours. They hailed him.
'Hollo, Peak! Come and help us to get sober before bedtime!'
They were not exactly studious youths, but neither did they belong to
the class that Godwin despised, and he had a comrade-like feeling for
them. In a few minutes his demeanour was wholly changed. A glass of hot
whisky acted promptly upon his nervous system, enabled him to forget
vexations, and attuned him to kindred sprightliness. He entered merrily
into the talk of a time of life which is independent of morality--talk
distinct from that of the blackguard, but equally so from that of the
reflective man. His first glass had several successors. The trio
rambled arm in arm from one place of refreshment to another, and
presently sat down in hearty fellowship to a supper of such viands as
recommend themselves at bibulous midnight. Peak was drawing recklessly
upon the few coins that remained to him; he must leave his landlady's
claim undischarged, and send the money from home. Prudence be hanged!
If one cannot taste amusement once in a twelvemonth, why live at all?
He reached his lodgings, at something after one o'clock, drenched with
rain, gloriously indifferent to that and all other chances of life.
Pooh! his system had been radically wrong. He should have allowed
himself recreation once a week or so; he would have been all the better
for it, body and mind. Books and that kind of thing are all very well
in their way, but one must live; he had wasted too much of his youth in
solitude. _O mihi praeteritos referat si Jupiter annos!_ Next session
he would arrange things better. Success in examinations--what trivial
fuss when one looked at it from the right point of view! And he had
fretted himself into misery, because Chilvers had got more
'marks',--ha, ha, ha!
The morrow's waking was lugubrious enough. Headache and nausea weighed
upon him. Worse still, a scrutiny of his pockets showed that he had
only the shamefaced change of half-a-crown wherewith to transport
himself and his belongings to Twybridge. Now, the railway fare alone
was three shillings; the needful cab demanded eighteenpence. O idiot!
And he hated the thought of leaving his bill unpaid; the more so
because it was a trifling sum, a week's settlement. To put himself
under however brief an obligation to a woman such as the landlady
gnawed at his pride. Not that only. He had no business to make a demand
upon his mother for this additional sum. But there was no way of
raising the money; no one of whom he could borrow it; nothing he could
afford to sell--even if courage had supported him through such a
transaction. Triple idiot!
Bread turned to bran upon his hot palate; he could only swallow cups of
coffee. With trembling hands he finished the packing of his box and
portmanteau, then braced himself to the dreaded interview. Of course,
it involved no difficulty, the words once uttered; but, when he was
left alone again, he paced the room for a few minutes in flush of
mortification. It had made his headache worse.
The mode of his homeward journey he had easily arranged. His baggage
having been labelled for Twybridge, he himself would book as far as his
money allowed, then proceed on foot for the remaining distance. With
the elevenpence now in his pocket he could purchase a ticket to a
little town called Dent, and by a calculation from the railway tariff
he concluded that from Dent to Twybridge was some five-and-twenty
miles. Well and good. At the rate of four miles an hour it would take
him from half-past eleven to about six o'clock. He could certainly
reach home in time for supper.
At Dent station, ashamed to ask (like a tramp) the way to so remote a
place as Twybridge, he jotted down a list of intervening railway
stoppages, and thus was enabled to support the semblance of one who
strolls on for his pleasure. A small handbag he was obliged to carry,
and the clouded sky made his umbrella a requisite. On he trudged
steadily, for the most part by muddy ways, now through a pleasant
village, now in rural solitude. He had had the precaution, at breakfast
time, to store some pieces of bread in his pocket, and after two or
three hours this resource was welcome. Happily the air and exercise
helped him to get rid of his headache. A burst of sunshine in the
afternoon would have made him reasonably cheerful, but for the wretched
meditations surviving from yesterday.
He pondered frequently on his spasmodic debauch, repeating, as well as
memory permitted, all his absurdities of speech and action. Defiant
self-justification was now far to seek. On the other hand, he perceived
very clearly how easy it would be for him to lapse by degrees of
weakened will into a ruinous dissoluteness. Anything of that kind would
mean, of course, the abandonment of his ambitions. All he had to fight
the world with was his brain; and only by incessant strenuousness in
its exercise had he achieved the moderate prominence declared in
yesterday's ceremony. By birth, by station, he was of no account; if he
chose to sink, no influential voice would deplore his falling off or
remind him of what he owed to himself. Chilvers, now--what a
wide-spreading outcry, what calling upon gods and men, would be excited
by any defection of that brilliant youth! Godwin Peak must make his own
career, and that he would hardly do save by efforts greater than the
ordinary man can put forth. The ordinary man?--Was he in any respect
extraordinary? were his powers noteworthy? It was the first time that
he had deliberately posed this question to himself, and for answer came
a rush of confident blood, pulsing through all the mechanism of his
being.
The train of thought which occupied him during this long trudge was to
remain fixed in his memory; in any survey of the years of pupilage this
recollection would stand prominently forth, associated, moreover, with
one slight incident which at the time seemed a mere interruption of his
musing. From a point on the high-road he observed a small quarry, so
excavated as to present an interesting section; though weary, he could
not but turn aside to examine these strata. He knew enough of the
geology of the county to recognise the rocks and reflect with
understanding upon their position; a fragment in his hand, he sat down
to rest for a moment. Then a strange fit of brooding came over him.
Escaping from the influences of personality, his imagination wrought
back through eras of geologic time, held him in a vision of the
infinitely remote, shrivelled into insignificance all but the one fact
of inconceivable duration. Often as he had lost himself in such
reveries, never yet had he passed so wholly under the dominion of that
awe which attends a sudden triumph of the pure intellect. When at
length he rose, it was with wide, blank eyes, and limbs partly numbed.
These needed half-an-hour's walking before he could recover his mood of
practical self-search.
Until the last moment he could not decide whether to let his mother
know how he had reached Twybridge. His arrival corresponded pretty well
with that of a train by which he might have come. But when the door
opened to him, and the familiar faces smiled their welcome, he felt
that he must have nothing to do with paltry deceit; he told of his
walk, explaining it by the simple fact that this morning he had found
himself short of money. How that came to pass, no one inquired. Mrs.
Peak, shocked at such martyrdom, tended him with all motherly care; for
once, Godwin felt that it was good to have a home, however simple.
This amiable frame of mind was not likely to last beyond the first day.
Matter of irritation soon enough offered itself, as was invariably the
case at Twybridge. It was pleasant enough to be feted as the hero of
the family, to pull out a Kingsmill newspaper and exhibit the full
report of prize-day at Whitelaw, with his own name, in very small type,
demanding the world's attention, and finally to exhibit the volumes in
tree-calf which his friend the librarian had forwarded to him. But
domestic circumstances soon made assault upon his nerves, and trial of
his brief patience.
First of all, there came an unexpected disclosure. His sister Charlotte
had affianced herself to a young man of Twybridge, one Mr Cusse, whose
prospects were as slender as his present means. Mrs Peak spoke of the
affair in hushed privacy, with shaking of the head and frequent sighs,
for to her mind Mr. Cusse had few even personal recommendations. He was
a draper's assistant. Charlotte had made his acquaintance on occasions
of church festivity, and urged the fact of his zeal in Sunday-school
tuition as sufficient reply to all doubts. As he listened, Godwin bit
his lips.
'Does he come here, then?' was his inquiry.
'Once or twice a week. I haven't felt able to say anything against it,
Godwin. I suppose it will be a very long engagement.'
Charlotte was just twenty-two, and it seemed probable that she knew her
own mind; in any case, she was of a character which would only be
driven to obstinacy by adverse criticism. Godwin learnt that his aunt
Emily (Miss Cadman) regarded this connection with serious disapproval.
Herself a shopkeeper, she might have been expected to show indulgence
to a draper's assistant, but, so far from this, her view of Mr. Cusse
was severely scornful. She had nourished far other hopes for Charlotte,
who surely at her age (Miss Cadman looked from the eminence of
five-and-forty) should have been less precipitate. No undue harshness
had been exhibited by her relatives, but Charlotte took a stand which
sufficiently declared her kindred with Godwin. She held her head higher
than formerly, spoke with habitual decision which bordered on
snappishness, and at times displayed the absentmindedness of one who in
silence suffers wrong.
There passed but a day or two before Godwin was brought face to face
with Mr. Cusse, who answered too well to the idea Charlotte's brother
had formed of him. He had a very smooth and shiny forehead, crowned by
sleek chestnut hair; his chin was deferential; the bend of his body
signified a modest hope that he did his duty in the station to which
Providence had summoned him. Godwin he sought to flatter with looks of
admiring interest; also, by entering upon a conversation which was
meant to prove that he did not altogether lack worldly knowledge, of
however little moment that might be in comparison with spiritual
concerns. Examining, volume by volume and with painful minuteness, the
prizes Godwin had carried off, he remarked fervently, in each instance,
'I can see how very interesting that is! So thorough, so thorough!'
Even Charlotte was at length annoyed, when Mr. Cusse had exclaimed upon
the 'thoroughness' of Ben Jonson's works; she asked an abrupt question
about some town affair, and so gave her brother an opportunity of
taking the books away. There was no flagrant offence in the man. He
spoke with passable accent, and manifested a high degree of amiability;
but one could not dissociate him from the counter. At the thought that
his sister might become Mrs. Cusse, Godwin ground his teeth. Now that
he came to reflect on the subject, he found in himself a sort of
unreasoned supposition that Charlotte would always remain single; it
seemed so unlikely that she would be sought by a man of liberal
standing, and at the same time so impossible for her to accept any one
less than a gentleman. Yet he remembered that to outsiders such
fastidiousness must show in a ridiculous light. What claim to gentility
had they, the Peaks? Was it not all a figment of his own self-conceit?
Even in education Charlotte could barely assert a superiority to Mr.
Cusse, for her formal schooling had ended when she was twelve, and she
had never cared to read beyond the strait track clerical inspiration.
There were other circumstances which helped to depress his estimate of
the family dignity. His brother Oliver, now seventeen, was developing
into a type of young man as objectionable as it is easily recognised.
The slow, compliant boy had grown more flesh and muscle than once
seemed likely, and his wits had begun to display that kind of
vivaciousness which is only compatible with a nature moulded in common
clay. He saw much company, and all of low intellectual order; he had
purchased a bicycle, and regarded it as a source of distinction, a
means of displaying himself before shopkeepers' daughters; he believed
himself a modest tenor, and sang verses of sentimental imbecility; he
took in several weekly papers of unpromising title, for the chief
purpose of deciphering cryptograms, in which pursuit he had singular
success. Add to these characteristics a penchant for cheap jewellery,
and Oliver Peak stands confessed.
It appeared to Godwin that his brother had leapt in a few months to
these heights of vulgar accomplishment; each separate revelation struck
unexpectedly upon his nerves and severely tried his temper. When at
length Oliver, waiting for supper, began to dance grotesquely to an air
which local talent had somehow caught from the London music-halls,
Godwin's self-control gave way.
'Is it your ambition,' he asked, with fiery sarcasm, 'to join a troupe
of nigger minstrels?'
Oliver was startled into the military posture of attention. He
answered, with some embarrassment:
'I can't say it is.'
'Yet anyone would suppose so,' went on Godwin, hotly. 'Though you are
employed in a shop, I should have thought you might still aim at
behaving like a gentleman.'
Indisposed to quarrel, and possessed of small skill in verbal fence,
Oliver drew aside with shadowed brow. As the brothers still had to
share one bedroom, they were presently alone together, and their
muteness, as they lay down to sleep, showed the estrangement that had
at length come between them. When all had been dark and still for
half-an-hour, Godwin spoke.
'Are you awake?'
'Yes.'
'There was something about Uncle Andrew. I didn't mention. He talks of
opening an eating-house just opposite Whitelaw.'
'Oh.'
The tone of this signified nothing more than curiosity.
'You don't see any reason why he shouldn't?'
Oliver delayed a little before replying.
'I suppose it wouldn't be very nice for you.'
'That's rather a mild way of putting it. It would mean that I should
have to leave the College, and give up all my hopes.'
'I see,' returned the other, with slow apprehension.
There followed several minutes of silence. Then Godwin sat up in bed,
as had always been his wont when he talked with earnestness at night.
'If you think I lost my temper without cause at suppertime, just
remember that I had that blackguard before my mind, and that it isn't
very pleasant to see you taking after that branch of our family.'
'Do you mean to say I am like uncle?'
'I mean to say that, if you are not careful, you won't be the kind of
man I should like to see you. Do you know what is meant by inherited
tendencies? Scientific men are giving a great deal of attention to such
things nowadays. Children don't always take after their parents; very
often they show a much stronger likeness to a grandfather, or an uncle,
or even more distant relatives. Just think over this, and make up your
mind to resist any danger of that sort. I tell you plainly that the
habits you are getting into, and the people you make friends of, are
detestable. For heaven's sake, spend more of your time in a rational
way, and learn to despise the things that shopkeepers admire. Read!
Force yourself to stick hard at solid books for two or three hours
every day. If you don't, it's all up with you. I am speaking for your
own good. Read, read, read!'
Quietness ensued. Then Oliver began to move uneasily in his bed, and at
length his protest became audible.
'I can't see what harm I do.'
'No!' burst from his brother's lips, scornfully. 'And that's just your
danger. Do you suppose _I_ could sing nigger songs, and run about the
town with shopboys, and waste hours over idiotic puzzles?'
'We're not all alike, and it wouldn't do for us to be.'
'It would do very well for us all to have brains and to use them. The
life you lead is a brainless life, brainless and vulgar.'
'Well, if I haven't got brains, I can't help it,' replied Oliver, with
sullen resignation.
'You have enough to teach you to live respectably, if only you look to
the right kind of example.'
There followed a vehement exhortation, now angry, now in strain of
natural kindliness. To this Oliver made only a few brief and muttered
replies; when it was all over, he fell asleep. But Godwin was wakeful
for hours.
The next morning he attempted to work for his approaching examination,
but with small result. It had begun to be very doubtful to him whether
he should 'go up' at all, and this uncertainty involved so great a
change in all his prospects that he could not command the mental calm
necessary for study. After dinner he went out with unsettled purpose.
He would gladly have conversed with Mr Gunnery, but the old people were
just now on a stay with relatives in Bedfordshire, and their return
might be delayed for another week. Perhaps it behoved him to go and see
Mr. Moxey, but he was indisposed to visit the works, and if he went to
the house this evening he would encounter the five daughters, who, like
all women who did not inspire him with admiration, excited his bashful
dislike. At length he struck off into the country and indulged restless
thoughts in places where no one could observe him.
A result of the family's removal first from London to the farm, and
then into Twybridge, was that Godwin had no friends of old standing. At
Greenwich, Nicholas Peak formed no intimacies, nor did a single
associate remain to him from the years of his growth and struggle; his
wife, until the renewal of intercourse with her sister at Twybridge,
had no society whatever beyond her home. A boy reaps advantage from the
half parental kindness of men and women who have watched his growth
from infancy; in general it affects him as a steadying influence,
keeping before his mind the social bonds to which his behaviour owes
allegiance. The only person whom Godwin regarded with feeling akin to
this was Mr. Gunnery, but the geologist found no favour with Mrs. Peak,
and thus he involuntarily helped to widen the gap between the young man
and his relatives. Nor had the intimacies of school time supplied
Godwin with friendships for the years to come; his Twybridge
class-fellows no longer interested him, nor did they care to continue
his acquaintance. One was articled to a solicitor; one was learning the
drug-trade in his father's shop; another had begun to deal in corn; the
rest were scattered about England, as students or salary-earners. The
dominion of the commonplace had absorbed them, all and sundry; they
were the stuff which destiny uses for its every-day purposes, to keep
the world a-rolling.
So that Godwin had no ties which bound him strongly to any district. He
could not call himself a Londoner; for, though born in Westminster, he
had grown to consciousness on the outskirts of Greenwich, and
remembered but dimly some of the London streets, and a few places of
public interest to which his father had taken him. Yet, as a matter of
course, it was to London that his ambition pointed, when he forecast
the future. Where else could he hope for opportunity of notable
advancement? At Twybridge? Impossible to find more than means of
subsistence; his soul loathed such a prospect. At Kingsmill? There was
a slender hope that he might establish a connection with Whitelaw
College, if he devoted himself to laboratory work; but what could come
of that--at all events for many years? London, then? The only
acceptable plan for supporting himself there was to succeed in a Civil
Service competition. That, indeed, seemed the most hopeful direction
for his efforts; a government office might afford him scope, and, he
had heard, would allow him abundant leisure.
Or to go abroad? To enter for the Indian clerkships, and possibly
cleave a wider way than could be hoped in England? There was allurement
in the suggestion; travel had always tempted his fancy. In that case he
would be safely severed from the humble origin which in his native
country might long be an annoyance, or even an obstacle; no Uncle
Andrew could spring up at inconvenient moments in the middle of his
path. Yes; this indeed might be best of all. He must send for papers,
and give attention to the matter.
Musing in this way, he had come within sight of the familiar chemical
works. It was near the hour at which Mr. Moxey was about to go home for
his afternoon dinner; why not interrupt his walk, and have a word with
him? That duty would be over.
He pushed on, and, as he approached the buildings, was aware of Mr
Moxey stepping into the road, unaccompanied. Greetings speedily
followed. The manufacturer, who was growing stout in his mellow years
and looking more leisurely than when Godwin first knew him, beamed with
smiles of approbation.
'Glad to see you; glad to see you! I have heard of your doings at
College.'
'Nothing to boast of, Mr. Moxey.'
'Why, what would satisfy you? A nephew of mine was there last Friday,
and tells me you carried off half a hundredweight of prizes. Here he
comes, I see.'
There drew near a young man of about four-and-twenty, well-dressed,
sauntering with a cane in his hand. His name was Christian Moxey.
'Much pleasure in meeting you, Mr. Peak,' he said, with a winning
smile. 'I was at Whitelaw the other day, when you distinguished
yourself, and if I had known then that you were an acquaintance of my
uncle's I should have been tempted to offer a word of congratulation.
Very glad indeed to meet you.'
Godwin, grateful as always for the show of kindness and flattered by
such a reception, at once felt a liking for Christian Moxey. Most
people would have admitted the young man's attractiveness. He had a
thin and sallow face, and seemed to be of weak constitution. In talking
he leant upon his cane, and his movements were languid; none the less,
his person was distinguished by an air of graceful manhood. His
features, separately considered, were ordinary enough; together they
made a countenance of peculiar charm, vividly illumined, full of appeal
to whosoever could appreciate emotional capabilities. The interest he
excited in Peak appeared to be reciprocal, for his eyes dwelt as often
and as long as possible on Godwin's features.
'Come along, and have something to eat with us,' said Mr. Moxey, in a
tone of genial invitation. 'I daresay you had dinner long enough ago to
have picked up a new appetite.'
Godwin had a perturbing vision of the five Miss Moxeys and of a dinner
table, such as he was not used to sit at; he wished to decline, yet
knew not how to do so with civility.
'Yes, yes; come along!' added his friend, heartily. 'Tell us something
about your chemistry paper. Any posers this time? My nephew won't be
out of it; he belongs to the firm of Bates Brothers--the Rotherhithe
people, you know.'
This information was a surprise to Godwin. He had imagined Christian
Moxey either a gentleman at large, or at all events connected with some
liberal profession. Glancing at the attractive face, he met a singular
look, a smile which suggested vague doubts. But Christian made no
remark, and Mr. Moxey renewed his inquiries about the examination in
chemistry.
The five daughters--all assembled in a homely sitting-room--were
nothing less than formidable. Plain, soft-spoken, not ill educated,
they seemed to live in perfect harmony, and to derive satisfaction from
pursuits independent of external society. In the town they were seldom
seen; few families called upon them; and only the most inveterate
gossips found matter for small-talk in their retired lives. It had
never been heard that any one of them was sought in marriage. Godwin,
superfluously troubled about his attire, met them with grim endeavour
at politeness; their gravity, a result of shyness, he misinterpreted,
supposing them to hold aloof from a young man who had been in their
father's employ. But before he could suffer much from the necessity of
formal conversation the door opened to admit yet another young lady, a
perfect stranger to him. Her age was about seventeen, but she had
nothing of the sprightly grace proverbially connected with that time of
life in girls; her pale and freckled visage expressed a haughty
reserve, intensified as soon as her eye fell upon the visitor. She had
a slight but well-proportioned figure, and a mass of auburn hair
carelessly arranged.
'My sister,' said Christian, glancing at Godwin. 'Marcella, you
recognise Mr. Peak.'
'Oh yes,' the girl replied, as she came forward, and made a sudden
offer of her hand.
She too had been present the other day at Whitelaw. Her 'Oh yes'
sounded offensive to Godwin, yet in shaking hands with her he felt a
warm pressure, and it flattered him when he became aware that Marcella
regarded him from time to time with furtive interest. Presently he
learnt that Christian and his sister were on a short visit at the house
of their relatives; their home was in London. Marcella had seated
herself stiffly by a window, and seemed to pay more attention to the
view without than to the talk which went on, until dinner was announced.
Speculating on all he saw, Godwin noticed that Christian Moxey showed a
marked preference for the youngest of his cousins, a girl of eighteen,
whose plain features were frequently brightened with a happy and very
pleasant smile. When he addressed her (by the name of Janet) his voice
had a playful kindness which must have been significant to everyone who
heard it. At dinner, his place was by her side, and he attended to her
with more than courtesy. This astonished Peak. He deemed it incredible
that any man should conceive a tender feeling for a girl so far from
beautiful. Constantly occupied with thought of sexual attachments, he
had never imagined anything of the kind apart from loveliness of
feature in the chosen object; his instincts were, in fact, revolted by
the idea of love for such a person as Janet Moxey. Christian seemed to
be degraded by such a suggestion. In his endeavour to solve the
mystery, Godwin grew half unconscious of the other people about him.
Such play of the imaginative and speculative faculties accounts for the
common awkwardness of intelligent young men in society that is strange
to them. Only the cultivation of a double consciousness puts them
finally at ease. Impossible to converse with suavity, and to heed the
forms of ordinary good-breeding, when the brain is absorbed in all
manner of new problems: one must learn to act a part, to control the
facial mechanism, to observe and anticipate, even whilst the intellect
is spending its sincere energy on subjects unavowed. The perfectly
graceful man will always be he who has no strong apprehension either of
his own personality or of that of others, who lives on the surface of
things, who can be interested without emotion, and surprised without
contemplative impulse. Never yet had Godwin Peak uttered a word that
was worth listening to, or made a remark that declared his mental
powers, save in most familiar colloquy. He was beginning to understand
the various reasons of his seeming clownishness, but this very process
of self-study opposed an obstacle to improvement.
When he found himself obliged to take part in conversation about
Whitelaw College, Godwin was disturbed by an uncertainty which had
never left his mind at rest during the past two years;--was it, or was
it not, generally known to his Twybridge acquaintances that he studied
as the pensioner of Sir Job Whitelaw? To outward seeming all delicacy
had been exercised in the bestowal of Sir Job's benefaction. At the
beginning of each academic session Mrs. Peak had privately received a
cheque which represented the exact outlay in fees for the course her
son was pursuing; payment was then made to the registrar as if from
Peak himself. But Lady Whitelaw's sisters were in the secret, and was
it likely that they maintained absolute discretion in talking with
their Twybridge friends? There seemed, in the first instance, to be a
tacit understanding that the whole affair should remain strictly
private, and to Godwin himself, sensible enough of such refinements, it
was by no means inconceivable that silence had been strictly preserved.
He found no difficulty in imagining that Sir Job's right hand knew
nothing of what the left performed, and it might be that the
authorities of Whitelaw had no hint of his peculiar position. Still, he
was perchance mistaken. The Professors perhaps regarded him as a sort
of charity-boy, and Twybridge possibly saw him in the same light. The
doubt flashed upon his mind while he was trying to eat and converse
with becoming self-possession. He dug his heel into the carpet and
silently cursed the burden of his servitude.
When the meal was over, Mr. Moxey led the way out into the garden.
Christian walked apart with Janet: Godwin strolled about between his
host and the eldest Miss Moxey, talking of he knew not what. In a short
half-hour he screwed up his courage to the point of leave-taking.
Marcella and three of her cousins had disappeared, so that the
awkwardness of departure was reduced. Christian, who seemed to be in a
very contented mood, accompanied the guest as far as the garden gate.
'What will be your special line of work when you leave Whitelaw?' he
inquired. 'Your tastes seem about equally divided between science and
literature.'
'I haven't the least idea what I shall do,' was Peak's reply.
'Very much my own state of mind when I came home from Zurich a year
ago. But it had been taken for granted that I was preparing for
business, so into business I went.' He laughed good-humouredly.
'Perhaps you will be drawn to London?'
'Yes--I think it likely,' Godwin answered, with an absent glance this
way and that.
'In any case,' pursued the other, 'you'll be there presently for First
B.A. Honours. Try to look in at my rooms, will you? I should be
delighted to see you. Most of my day is spent in the romantic locality
of Rotherhithe, but I get home about five o'clock, as a rule. Let me
give you a card.'
'Thank you.'
'I daresay we shall meet somewhere about here before then. Of course
you are reading hard, and haven't much leisure. I'm an idle dog,
unfortunately. I should like to work, but I don't quite know what at. I
suppose this is a transition time with me.'
Godwin tried to discover the implication of this remark. Had it any
reference to Miss Janet Moxey? Whilst he stood in embarrassed silence,
Christian looked about with a peculiar smile, and seemed on the point
of indulging in further self-revelation; but Godwin of a sudden held
out his hand for good-bye, and with friendly smiles they parted.
Peak was older than his years, and he saw in Christian one who might
prove a very congenial associate, did but circumstances favour their
intercourse. That was not very likely to happen, but the meeting at all
events turned his thoughts to London once more.
His attempts to 'read' were still unfruitful. For one thing, the stress
and excitement of the Whitelaw examinations had wearied him; it was
characteristic of the educational system in which he had become
involved that studious effort should be called for immediately after
that frenzy of college competition. He ought now to have been
'sweating' at his London subjects. Instead of that, he procured works
of general literature from a Twybridge library, and shut himself up
with them in the garret bedroom.
A letter from Mr. Gunnery informed him that the writer would be home in
a day or two. This return took place late one evening, and on the
morrow Godwin set forth to visit his friend. On reaching the house, he
learnt that Mr. Gunnery had suffered an accident which threatened
serious results. Walking barefoot in his bedroom the night before, he
had stepped upon the point of a large nail, and was now prostrate,
enduring much pain. Two days elapsed before Godwin could be admitted;
he then found the old man a mere shadow of his familiar
self--bloodless, hollow-eyed.
'This is the kind of practical joke that Fate likes to play upon us!'
the sufferer growled in a harsh, quaking voice, his countenance divided
between genial welcome and surly wrath. 'It'll be the end of me. Pooh!
who doesn't know that such a thing is fatal at my age? Blood-poisoning
has fairly begun. I'd a good deal rather have broken my neck among
honest lumps of old red sandstone. A nail! A damned Brummagem nail!--So
you collared the first prize in geology, eh? I take that as a kindness,
Godwin. You've got a bit beyond Figuier and his _Deluge_, eh? His
Deluge, bah!'
And he laughed discordantly. On the other side of the bed sat Mrs
Gunnery, grizzled and feeble dame. Shaken into the last stage of
senility by this alarm, she wiped tears from her flaccid cheeks, and
moaned a few unintelligible words.
The geologist's forecast of doom was speedily justified. Another day
bereft him of consciousness, and when, for a short while, he had
rambled among memories of his youth, the end came. It was found that he
had made a will, bequeathing his collections and scientific instruments
to Godwin Peak: his books were to be sold for the benefit of the widow,
who would enjoy an annuity purchased out of her husband's savings. The
poor old woman, as it proved, had little need of income; on the
thirteenth day after Mr. Gunnery's funeral, she too was borne forth
from the house, and the faithful couple slept together.
To inherit from the dead was an impressive experience to Godwin. At the
present stage of his development, every circumstance affecting him
started his mind upon the quest of reasons, symbolisms, principles; the
'natural supernatural' had hold upon him, and ruled his thought
whenever it was free from the spur of arrogant instinct. This tendency
had been strengthened by the influence of his friend Earwaker, a young
man of singularly complex personality, positive and analytic in a far
higher degree than Peak, yet with a vein of imaginative vigour which
seemed to befit quite a different order of mind. Godwin was not
distinguished by originality in thinking, but his strongly featured
character converted to uses of his own the intellectual suggestions he
so rapidly caught from others. Earwaker's habit of reflection had much
to do with the strange feelings awakened in Godwin when he transferred
to his mother's house the cabinets which had been Mr. Gunnery's pride
for thirty or forty years. Joy of possession was subdued in him by the
conflict of metaphysical questionings.
Days went on, and nothing was heard of Uncle Andrew. Godwin tried to
assure himself that he had been needlessly terrified; the eating-house
project would never be carried out. Practically dismissing that
anxiety, he brooded over his defeat by Chilvers, and thought with
extreme reluctance of the year still to be spent at Whitelaw, probably
a year of humiliation. In the meantime, should he or should he not
present himself for his First B.A.? The five pound fee would be a most
serious demand upon his mother's resources, and did the profit warrant
it, was it really of importance to him to take a degree?
He lived as much as possible alone, generally avoiding the society of
his relatives, save at meal times. A careless remark (not intentionally
offensive) with reference to Mr. Cusse had so affronted Charlotte that
she never spoke to him save in reply to a question. Godwin regretted
the pain he had given, but could not bring himself to express this
feeling, for a discussion would inevitably have disclosed all his mind
concerning the draper's assistant. Oliver seemed to have forgiven his
brother's reproaches, but no longer behaved with freedom when Godwin
was present. For all this, the elder's irritation was often aroused by
things he saw and heard; and at length--on a memorable Saturday
afternoon--debate revived between them. Oliver, as his custom was, had
attired himself sprucely for a visit to acquaintances, and a silk hat
of the very newest fashion lay together with his gloves upon the table.
'What is this thing?' inquired Godwin, with ominous calm, as he pointed
to the piece of head-gear.
'A hat, I suppose,' replied his brother.
'You mean to say you are going to wear that in the street?'
'And why not?'
Oliver, not venturing to raise his eyes, stared at the table-cloth
indignantly.
'Can't you feel,' burst from the other, 'that it's a disgrace to buy
and wear such a thing?'
'Disgrace! what's the matter with the hat? It's the fashionable shape.'
Godwin mastered his wrath, and turned contemptuously away. But Oliver
had been touched in a sensitive place; he was eager to defend himself.
'I can't see what you're finding fault with,' he exclaimed. 'Everybody
wears this shape.'
'And isn't that quite sufficient reason why anyone who respects himself
should choose something as different as possible? Everybody! That is to
say, all the fools in the kingdom. It's bad enough to follow when you
can't help it, but to imitate asses gratuitously is the lowest depth of
degradation. Don't you know that that is the meaning of vulgarity? How
you can offer such an excuse passes my comprehension. Have you no self?
Are you made, like this hat, on a pattern with a hundred thousand
others?'
'You and I are different,' said Oliver, impatiently. 'I am content to
be like other people.'
'And I would poison myself with vermin-killer if I felt any risk of
such contentment! Like other people? Heaven forbid and forfend! Like
other people? Oh, what a noble ambition!'
The loud passionate voice summoned Mrs. Peak from an adjacent room.
'Godwin! Godwin!' she remonstrated. 'Whatever is it? Why should you put
yourself out so?'
She was a short and slender woman, with an air of gentility,
independent of her badly made and long worn widow's dress.
Self-possession marked her manner, and the even tones in which she
spoke gave indication of a mild, perhaps an unemotional, temperament.
Oliver began to represent his grievance.
'What harm is there, if I choose to wear a hat that's in fashion? I pay
for it out of my own'--
But he was interrupted by a loud visitor's knock at the front door,
distant only a few paces. Mrs. Peak turned with a startled look.
Godwin, dreading contact with friends of the family, strode upstairs.
When the door was opened, there appeared the smiling countenance of
Andrew Peak; he wore the costume of a traveller, and by his side stood
a boy of ten, too plainly his son.
'Well, Grace!' was his familiar greeting, as the widow drew back. 'I
told you you'd 'ev the pleasure of seem' me again before so very long.
Godwin at 'ome with you, I s'pose? Thet you, Noll? 'Ow do, my bo-oy?
'Ere's yer cousin Jowey. Shike 'ands, Jowey bo-oy! Sorry I couldn't
bring my old lady over this time, Grace; she sends her respects, as
usual. 'Ow's Charlotte? Bloomin', I 'ope?'
He had made his way into the front parlour, dragging the youngster
after him. Having deposited his handbag and umbrella on the sofa, he
seated himself in the easy-chair, and began to blow his nose with
vigour.
'Set down, Jowey; set down, bo-oy! Down't be afride of your awnt.'
'Oi ain't afride!' cried the youth, in a tone which supported his
assertion.
Mrs. Peak trembled with annoyance and indecision. Andrew evidently
meant to stay for some time, and she could not bring herself to treat
him with plain discourtesy; but she saw that Oliver, after shaking
hands in a very strained way, had abruptly left the room, and Godwin
would be anything but willing to meet his uncle. When the name of her
elder son was again mentioned she withdrew on the pretence of summoning
him, and went up to his room. Godwin had heard the hateful voice, and
was in profound disturbance.
'What does he say, mother?' he inquired anxiously. 'Anything about
Kingsmill?'
'Not yet. Oh, I _do_ so wish we could bring this connection to an end!'
It was the first time Mrs. Peak had uttered her sentiments so
unreservedly.
'Then, shall I see him in private,' said Godwin, 'and simply let him
know the truth?'
'I dread the thought of that, Godwin. He would very likely be coarse
and violent. I must try to show him by my manner. Oliver has gone out,
and when Charlotte comes home I'll tell her to keep out of sight. He
has brought his boy. Suppose you don't come down at all? I might say
you are too busy.'
'No, no; you shan't have to do it all alone. I'll come down with you. I
must hear what he has to say.'
They descended. As soon as his nephew appeared, Andrew sprang up, and
shouted joyfully:
'Well, Godwin, bo-oy! It's all settled! Got the bloomin' shop from next
quarter dye! "Peak's Dinin' and Refreshment Rooms!" Jowey an' me was
over there all yisterday--wasn't us, Jowey? Oh, it's immense!'
Godwin felt the blood buzz in his ears, and a hot choking clutch at his
throat. He took his stand by the mantelpiece, and began to turn a
little glass ornament round and round. Fate had spoken. On the instant,
all his College life was far behind him, all his uneasiness regarding
the next session was dispelled, and he had no more connection with
Kingsmill.
Mrs. Peak had heard from Oliver of her brother-in-law's proposed
undertaking. She had spoken of it with anxiety to Godwin, who merely
shrugged his shoulders and avoided the topic, ashamed to dwell on the
particulars of his shame. In hearing Andrew's announcement she had much
ado to repress tears of vexation; silently she seated herself, and
looked with pained countenance from uncle to nephew.
'Shall you make any changes in the place?' Godwin asked, carelessly.
'Shan't I, jest! It'll take a month to refit them eatin' rooms. I'm
agoin' to do it proper--up to Dick! and I want your 'elp, my bo-oy. You
an' me 'II jest write a bit of a circular--see? to send round to the
big pots of the Collige, an' all the parents of the young fellers as we
can get the addresses of--see?'
Even amid his pangs of mortification Godwin found himself pondering an
intellectual question. Was his uncle wholly unconscious of the misery
he was causing? Had it never occurred to him that the public proximity
of an uneducated shopkeeping relative must be unwelcome to a lad who
was distinguishing himself at Whitelaw College? Were that truly the
case, then it would be unjust to regard Andrew resentfully; destiny
alone was to blame. And, after all, the man might be so absorbed in his
own interest, so strictly confined to the views of his own class, as
never to have dreamt of the sensibilities he wounded. In fact, the
shame excited by this prospect was artificial. Godwin had already felt
that it was unworthy alike of a philosopher and of a high-minded man of
the world. The doubt as to Andrew's state of mind, and this moral
problem, had a restraining effect upon the young man's temper. A
practical person justifies himself in wrath as soon as his judgment is
at one with that of the multitude. Godwin, though his passions were of
exceptional force, must needs refine, debate with himself points of
abstract justice.
'I've been tellin' Jowey, Grace, as I 'ope he may turn out such another
as Godwin 'ere. 'E'll go to Collige, will Jowey. Godwin, jest arst the
bo-oy a question or two, will you? 'E ain't been doin' bad at 'is
school. Jest put 'im through 'is pyces, as yer may sye. Stend up,
Jowey, bo-oy.'
Godwin looked askance at his cousin, who stood with pert face, ready
for any test.
'What's the date of William the Conqueror?' he asked, mechanically.
'Ow!' shouted the youth. 'Down't mike me larff! Zif I didn't know thet!
Tensixsixtenightysivn, of course!'
The father turned round with an expression of such sincere pride that
Godwin, for all his loathing, was obliged to smile.
'Jowey, jest sye a few verses of poitry; them as you learnt larst. 'E's
good at poitry, is Jowey.'
The boy broke into fearsome recitation:
'The silly buckits _on_ the deck That 'ed so long rem'ined, I dreamt as
they was filled with jew, End when I awowk, it r'ined.'
Half-a-dozen verses were thus massacred, and the reciter stopped with
the sudden jerk of a machine.
'Goes str'ight on, don't 'e, Grace?' cried the father, exultantly.
'Jowey ain't no fool. Know what he towld me the other day? Somethin' as
I never knew, and shouldn't never 'ave thought of s'long as I lived. We
was talkin' about jewellery, an' Jowey, 'e pops up all at wunst. "It's
called jewellery," says 'e, "'cos it's mostly the Jews as sell it."
Now, oo'd a thought o' that? But you see it's right as soon as you're
towld, eh? Now ain't it right, Godwin?'
'No doubt,' was the dry answer.
'It never struck me,' murmured Mrs. Peak, who took her son's assent
seriously, and felt that it was impossible to preserve an obstinate
silence.
''E ain't no fool, ain't Jowey!' cried the parent. 'Wite till 'e gits
to Collige. Godwin'll put us up to all the ins and outs. Plenty o' time
for that; 'e'll often run over an' 'ev a bit o' dinner, and no need to
talk about p'yment.'
'Do you stay in Twybridge to-night?' inquired Godwin, who had changed
in look and manner, so that he appeared all but cheerful.
'No, we're on our w'y 'ome, is Jowey an' me. Jest thought we'd break
the journey 'ere. We shall ketch the six-fifty hup.'
'Then you will have a cup of tea with us,' said Mrs. Peak, surprised at
Godwin's transformation, but seeing that hospitality was now
unavoidable.
Charlotte presently entered the house, and, after a private
conversation with her mother, went to greet Andrew. If only to signify
her contempt for Godwin's prejudices, Charlotte would have behaved
civilly to the London uncle. In the end, Andrew took his leave in the
friendliest possible way, repeating often that he would soon have the
pleasure of entertaining Mrs. Peak and all her family at his new
dining-rooms over against Whitelaw College.