Evan Harrington, Complete

G >> George Meredith >> Evan Harrington, Complete

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'Where's the yarmony, Mr. Chair, I axes--so please ye?' sang out Farmer
Broadmead.

'Ay, ay! Silence!' the chairman called.

Mr. Raikes begged permission to pronounce his excuses, but lapsed into a
lamentation for the squandering of property bequeathed to him by his
respected uncle, and for which--as far as he was intelligible--he
persisted in calling the three offensive young cricketers opposite to
account.

Before he could desist, Harmony, no longer coy, burst on the assembly
from three different sources. 'A Man who is given to Liquor,' soared
aloft with 'The Maid of sweet Seventeen,' who participated in the
adventures of 'Young Molly and the Kicking Cow'; while the guests
selected the chorus of the song that first demanded it.

Evan probably thought that Harmony was herself only when she came single,
or he was wearied of his fellows, and wished to gaze a moment on the
skies whose arms were over and around his young beloved. He went to the
window and threw it up, and feasted his sight on the moon standing on the
downs. He could have wept at the bitter ignominy that severed him from
Rose. And again he gathered his pride as a cloak, and defied the world,
and gloried in the sacrifice that degraded him. The beauty of the night
touched him, and mixed these feelings with mournfulness. He quite forgot
the bellow and clatter behind. The beauty of the night, and heaven knows
what treacherous hope in the depths of his soul, coloured existence
warmly.

He was roused from his reverie by an altercation unmistakeably fierce.

Raikes had been touched on a tender point. In reply to a bantering remark
of his, Laxley had hummed over bits of his oration, amid the chuckles of
his comrades. Unfortunately at a loss for a biting retort, Raikes was
reduced to that plain confession of a lack of wit; he offered combat.

'I 'll tell you what,' said Laxley, 'I never soil my hands with a
blackguard; and a fellow who tries to make fun of Scripture, in my
opinion is one. A blackguard--do you hear? But, if you'll give me
satisfactory proofs that you really are what I have some difficulty in
believing the son of a gentleman--I 'll meet you when and where you
please.'

'Fight him, anyhow,' said Harry. 'I 'll take him myself after we finish
the match to-morrow.'

Laxley rejoined that Mr. Raikes must be left to him.

'Then I'll take the other,' said Harry. 'Where is he?'

Evan walked round to his place.

'I am here,' he answered, 'and at your service.'

'Will you fight?' cried Harry.

There was a disdainful smile on Evan's mouth, as he replied: 'I must
first enlighten you. I have no pretensions to your blue blood, or yellow.
If, sir, you will deign to challenge a man who is not the son of a
gentleman, and consider the expression of his thorough contempt for your
conduct sufficient to enable you to overlook that fact, you may dispose
of me. My friend here has, it seems, reason to be proud of his
connections. That you may not subsequently bring the charge against me of
having led you to "soil your hands"--as your friend there terms it--I,
with all the willingness in the world to chastise you or him for your
impertinence, must first give you a fair chance of escape, by telling you
that my father was a tailor.'

The countenance of Mr. Raikes at the conclusion of this speech was a
painful picture. He knocked the table passionately, exclaiming:

'Who'd have thought it?'

Yet he had known it. But he could not have thought it possible for a man
to own it publicly.

Indeed, Evan could not have mentioned it, but for hot fury and the ale.
It was the ale in him expelling truth; and certainly, to look at him,
none would have thought it.

'That will do,' said Laxley, lacking the magnanimity to despise the
advantage given him, 'you have chosen the very best means of saving your
skins.'

'We 'll come to you when our supply of clothes runs short,' added Harry.
'A snip!'

'Pardon me!' said Evan, with his eyes slightly widening, 'but if you
come to me, I shall no longer give you a choice of behaviour. I wish you
good-night, gentlemen. I shall be in this house, and am to be found here,
till ten o'clock to-morrow morning. Sir,' he addressed the chairman, 'I
must apologize to you for this interruption to your kindness, for which I
thank you very sincerely. It 's "good-night," now, sir,' he pursued,
bowing, and holding out his hand, with a smile.

The chairman grasped it: 'You're a hot-headed young fool, sir: you're an
ill-tempered ferocious young ass. Can't you see another young donkey
without joining company in kicks-eh? Sit down, and don't dare to spoil
the fun any more. You a tailor! Who'll believe it? You're a nobleman in
disguise. Didn't your friend say so?--ha! ha! Sit down.' He pulled out
his watch, and proclaiming that he was born into this world at the hour
about to strike, called for a bumper all round.

While such of the company as had yet legs and eyes unvanquished by the
potency of the ale, stood up to drink and cheer, Mark, the waiter,
scurried into the room, and, to the immense stupefaction of the chairman,
and amusement of his guests, spread the news of the immediate birth of a
little stranger on the premises, who was declared by Dr. Pillie to be a
lusty boy, and for whom the kindly landlady solicited good luck to be
drunk.

CHAPTER XIII

THE MATCH OF FALLOW FIELD AGAINST BECKLEY

The dramatic proportions to which ale will exalt the sentiments within
us, and our delivery of them, are apt to dwindle and shrink even below
the natural elevation when we look back on them from the hither shore of
the river of sleep--in other words, wake in the morning: and it was with
no very self-satisfied emotions that Evan, dressing by the full light of
day, reviewed his share in the events of the preceding night. Why, since
he had accepted his fate, should he pretend to judge the conduct of
people his superiors in rank? And where was the necessity for him to
thrust the fact of his being that abhorred social pariah down the throats
of an assembly of worthy good fellows? The answer was, that he had not
accepted his fate: that he considered himself as good a gentleman as any
man living, and was in absolute hostility with the prejudices of society.
That was the state of the case: but the evaporation of ale in his brain
caused him to view his actions from the humble extreme of that delightful
liquor, of which the spirit had flown and the corpse remained.

Having revived his system with soda-water, and finding no sign of his
antagonist below, Mr. Raikes, to disperse the sceptical dimples on his
friend's face, alluded during breakfast to a determination he had formed
to go forth and show on the cricket-field.

'For, you know,' he observed, 'they can't have any objection to fight
one.'

Evan, slightly colouring, answered: 'Why, you said up-stairs, you thought
fighting duels disgraceful folly.'

'So it is, so it is; everybody knows that,' returned Jack; 'but what can
a gentleman do?'

'Be a disgraceful fool, I suppose,' said Evan: and Raikes went on with
his breakfast, as if to be such occasionally was the distinguished fate
of a gentleman, of which others, not so happy in their birth, might well
be envious.

He could not help betraying that he bore in mind the main incidents of
the festival over-night; for when he had inquired who it might be that
had reduced his friend to wear mourning, and heard that it was his father
(spoken by Evan with a quiet sigh), Mr. Raikes tapped an egg, and his
flexible brows exhibited a whole Bar of contending arguments within. More
than for the love of pleasure, he had spent his money to be taken for a
gentleman. He naturally thought highly of the position, having bought it.
But Raikes appreciated a capital fellow, and felt warmly to Evan, who,
moreover, was feeding him.

If not born a gentleman, this Harrington had the look of one, and was
pleasing in female eyes, as the landlady, now present, bore witness,
wishing them good morning, and hoping they had slept well. She handed to
Evan his purse, telling him she had taken it last night, thinking it
safer for the time being in her pocket; and that the chairman of the
feast paid for all in the Green Dragon up to twelve that day, he having
been born between the hours, and liking to make certain: and that every
year he did the same; and was a seemingly rough old gentleman, but as
soft-hearted as a chicken. His name must positively not be inquired, she
said; to be thankful to him was to depart, asking no questions.

'And with a dart in the bosom from those eyes--those eyes!' cried Jack,
shaking his head at the landlady's resistless charms.

'I hope you was not one of the gentlemen who came and disturbed us last
night, Sir?' she turned on him sharply.

Jack dallied with the imputation, but denied his guilt.

'No; it wasn't your voice,' continued the landlady. 'A parcel of young
puppies calling themselves gentlemen! I know him. It's that young Mr.
Laxley: and he the nephew of a Bishop, and one of the Honourables! and
then the poor gals get the blame. I call it a shame, I do. There's that
poor young creature up-stairs-somebody's victim she is: and nobody's to
suffer but herself, the little fool!'

'Yes,' said Raikes. 'Ah! we regret these things in after life!' and he
looked as if he had many gentlemanly burdens of the kind on his
conscience.

'It 's a wonder, to my mind,' remarked the landlady, when she had
placidly surveyed Mr. Raikes, 'how young gals can let some of you
men-folk mislead 'em.'

She turned from him huffily, and addressed Evan:

'The old gentleman is gone, sir. He slept on a chair, breakfasted, and
was off before eight. He left word, as the child was born on his
birthright, he'd provide for it, and pay the mother's bill, unless you
claimed the right. I'm afraid he suspected--what I never, never-no! but
by what I've seen of you--never will believe. For you, I'd say, must be a
gentleman, whatever your company. She asks one favour of you, sir:--for
you to go and let her speak to you once before you go away for good.
She's asleep now, and mustn't be disturbed. Will you do it, by-and-by?
Please to comfort the poor creature, sir.'

Evan consented. I am afraid also it was the landlady's flattering speech
made him, without reckoning his means, add that the young mother and her
child must be considered under his care, and their expenses charged to
him. The landlady was obliged to think him a wealthy as well as a noble
youth, and admiringly curtsied.

Mr. John Raikes and Mr. Evan Harrington then strolled into the air, and
through a long courtyard, with brewhouse and dairy on each side, and a
pleasant smell of baking bread, and dogs winking in the sun, cats at the
corners of doors, satisfied with life, and turkeys parading, and fowls,
strutting cocks, that overset the dignity of Mr. Raikes by awakening his
imitative propensities. Certain white-capped women, who were washing in a
tub, laughed, and one observed: 'He's for all the world like the little
bantam cock stickin' 'self up in a crow against the Spaniar'.' And this,
and the landlady's marked deference to Evan, induced Mr. Raikes
contemptuously to glance at our national blindness to the true diamond,
and worship of the mere plumes in which a person is dressed.

They passed a pretty flower-garden, and entering a smooth-shorn meadow,
beheld the downs beautifully clear under sunlight and slowly-sailing
images of cloud. At the foot of the downs, on a plain of grass, stood a
white booth topped by a flag, which signalled that on that spot Fallow
field and Beckley were contending.

'A singular old gentleman! A very singular old gentleman, that!' Raikes
observed, following an idea that had been occupying him. 'We did wrong to
miss him. We ought to have waylaid him in the morning. Never miss a
chance, Harrington.'

'What chance?' Evan inquired.

'Those old gentlemen are very odd,' Jack pursued, 'very strange. He
wouldn't have judged me by my attire. Admetus' flocks I guard, yet am a
God! Dress is nothing to those old cocks. He's an eccentric. I know it; I
can see it. He 's a corrective of Cudford, who is abhorrent to my soul.
To give you an instance, now, of what those old boys will do--I remember
my father taking me, when I was quite a youngster, to a tavern he
frequented, and we met one night just such an old fellow as this; and the
waiter told us afterwards that he noticed me particularly. He thought me
a very remarkable boy--predicted great things. For some reason or other
my father never took me there again. I remember our having a Welsh
rarebit there for supper, and when the waiter last night mentioned a
rarebit, 'gad he started up before me. I gave chase into my early youth.
However, my father never took me to meet the old fellow again. I believe
it lost me a fortune.'

Evan's thoughts were leaping to the cricket-field, or he would have
condoled with Mr. Raikes for a loss that evidently afflicted him still.

Now, it must be told that the lady's-maid of Mrs. Andrew Cogglesby,
borrowed temporarily by the Countess de Saldar for service at Beckley
Court, had slept in charge of the Countess's boxes at the Green Dragon:
the Countess having told her, with the candour of high-born dames to
their attendants, that it would save expense; and that, besides, Admiral
Combleman, whom she was going to see, or Sir Perkins Ripley (her father's
old friend), whom she should visit if Admiral Combleman was not at his
mansion-both were likely to have full houses, and she could not take them
by storm. An arrangement which left her upwards of twelve hours' liberty,
seemed highly proper to Maria Conning, this lady's-maid, a very demure
young person. She was at her bed-room window, as Evan passed up the
courtyard of the inn, and recognized him immediately. 'Can it be him they
mean that's the low tradesman?' was Maria's mysterious exclamation. She
examined the pair, and added: 'Oh, no. It must be the tall one they
mistook for the small one. But Mr. Harrington ought not to demean himself
by keeping company with such, and my lady should know of it.'

My lady, alighting from the Lymport coach, did know of it, within a few
minutes after Evan had quitted the Green Dragon, and turned pale, as
high-born dames naturally do when they hear of a relative's disregard of
the company he keeps.

'A tailor, my lady!' said scornful Maria; and the Countess jumped and
complained of a pin.

'How did you hear of this, Conning?' she presently asked with composure.

'Oh, my lady, he was tipsy last night, and kept swearing out loud he was
a gentleman.'

'Tipsy!' the Countess murmured in terror. She had heard of inaccessible
truths brought to light by the magic wand of alcohol. Was Evan
intoxicated, and his dreadful secret unlocked last night?

'And who may have told you of this, Conning?' she asked.

Maria plunged into one of the boxes, and was understood to say that
nobody in particular had told her, but that among other flying matters it
had come to her ears.

'My brother is Charity itself,' sighed the Countess. 'He welcomes high or
low.'

'Yes, but, my lady, a tailor!' Maria repeated, and the Countess,
agreeing with her scorn as she did, could have killed her. At least she
would have liked to run a bodkin into her, and make her scream. In her
position she could not always be Charity itself: nor is this the required
character for a high-born dame: so she rarely affected it.

'Order a fly: discover the direction Mr. Harrington has taken; spare me
further remarks,' she said; and Maria humbly flitted from her presence.

When she was gone, the Countess covered her face with her hands. 'Even
this creature would despise us!' she exclaimed.

The young lady encountered by Mr. Raikes on the road to Fallow field, was
wrong in saying that Beckley would be seen out before the shades of
evening caught up the ball. Not one, but two men of Beckley--the last
two--carried out their bats, cheered handsomely by both parties. The
wickets pitched in the morning, they carried them in again, and plaudits
renewed proved that their fame had not slumbered. To stand before a
field, thoroughly aware that every successful stroke you make is adding
to the hoards of applause in store for you is a joy to your friends, an
exasperation to your foes; I call this an exciting situation, and one as
proud as a man may desire. Then, again, the two last men of an eleven are
twins: they hold one life between them; so that he who dies extinguishes
the other. Your faculties are stirred to their depths. You become engaged
in the noblest of rivalries: in defending your own, you fight for your
comrade's existence. You are assured that the dread of shame, if not
emulation, is making him equally wary and alert.

Behold, then, the two bold men of Beckley fighting to preserve one life.
Under the shadow of the downs they stand, beneath a glorious day, and
before a gallant company. For there are ladies in carriages here, there
are cavaliers; good county names may be pointed out. The sons of
first-rate families are in the two elevens, mingled with the yeomen and
whoever can best do the business. Fallow field and Beckley, without
regard to rank, have drawn upon their muscle and science. One of the bold
men of Beckley at the wickets is Nick Frim, son of the gamekeeper at
Beckley Court; the other is young Tom Copping, son of Squire Copping, of
Dox Hall, in the parish of Beckley. Last year, you must know, Fallow
field beat. That is why Nick Frim, a renowned out-hitter, good to finish
a score brilliantly with a pair of threes, has taken to blocking, and Mr.
Tom cuts with caution, though he loves to steal his runs, and is usually
dismissed by his remarkable cunning.

The field was ringing at a stroke of Nick Frim's, who had lashed out in
his old familiar style at last, and the heavens heard of it, when Evan
came into the circle of spectators. Nick and Tom were stretching from
post to post, might and main. A splendid four was scored. The field took
breath with the heroes; and presume not to doubt that heroes they are. It
is good to win glory for your country; it is also good to win glory for
your village. A Member of Parliament, Sir George Lowton, notes this
emphatically, from the statesman's eminence, to a group of gentlemen on
horseback round a carriage wherein a couple of fair ladies reclined.

'They didn't shout more at the news of the Battle of Waterloo. Now this
is our peculiarity, this absence of extreme centralization. It must be
encouraged. Local jealousies, local rivalries, local triumphs--these are
the strength of the kingdom.'

'If you mean to say that cricket's a ----' the old squire speaking
(Squire Uplift of Fallow field) remembered the saving presences, and
coughed--'good thing, I'm one with ye, Sir George. Encouraged, egad! They
don't want much of that here. Give some of your lean London straws a
strip o' clean grass and a bit o' liberty, and you'll do 'em a service.'

'What a beautiful hit!' exclaimed one of the ladies, languidly watching
the ascent of the ball.

'Beautiful, d' ye call it?' muttered the squire.

The ball, indeed, was dropping straight into the hands of the
long-hit-off. Instantly a thunder rolled. But it was Beckley that took
the joyful treble--Fallow field the deeply--cursing bass. The
long-hit-off, he who never was known to miss a catch-butter-fingered
beast!--he has let the ball slip through his fingers.

Are there Gods in the air? Fred Linnington, the unfortunate of Fallow
field, with a whole year of unhappy recollection haunting him in
prospect, ere he can retrieve his character--Fred, if he does not accuse
the powers of the sky, protests that he cannot understand it, which means
the same.

Fallow field's defeat--should such be the result of the contest--he knows
now will be laid at his door. Five men who have bowled at the indomitable
Beckleyans think the same. Albeit they are Britons, it abashes them. They
are not the men they were. Their bowling is as the bowling of babies; and
see! Nick, who gave the catch, and pretends he did it out of
commiseration for Fallow field, the ball has flown from his bat sheer
over the booth. If they don't add six to the score, it will be the fault
of their legs. But no: they rest content with a fiver and cherish their
wind.

Yet more they mean to do, Success does not turn the heads of these
Britons, as it would of your frivolous foreigners.

And now small boys (who represent the Press here) spread out from the
marking-booth, announcing foremost, and in larger type, as it were, quite
in Press style, their opinion--which is, that Fallow field will get a
jolly good hiding; and vociferating that Beckley is seventy-nine ahead,
and that Nick Frim, the favourite of the field, has scored fifty-one to
his own cheek. The boys are boys of both villages: but they are British
boys--they adore prowess. The Fallow field boys wish that Nick Frim would
come and live on their side; the boys of Beckley rejoice in possessing
him. Nick is the wicketkeeper of the Beckley eleven; long-limbed, wiry,
keen of eye. His fault as a batsman is, that he will be a slashing
hitter. He is too sensible of the joys of a grand spanking hit. A short
life and a merry one, has hitherto been his motto.

But there were reasons for Nick's rare display of skill. That woman may
have the credit due to her (and, as there never was a contest of which
she did not sit at the springs, so is she the source of all superhuman
efforts exhibited by men), be it told that Polly Wheedle is on the field;
Polly, one of the upper housemaids of Beckley Court; Polly, eagerly
courted by Fred Linnington, humbly desired by Nick Frim--a pert and
blooming maiden--who, while her suitors combat hotly for an undivided
smile, improves her holiday by instilling similar unselfish aspirations
into the breasts of others.

Between his enjoyment of society and the melancholy it engendered in his
mind by reflecting on him the age and decrepitude of his hat, Mr. John
Raikes was doubtful of his happiness for some time. But as his taste for
happiness was sharp, he, with a great instinct amounting almost to genius
in its pursuit, resolved to extinguish his suspicion by acting the
perfectly happy man. To do this, it was necessary that he should have
listeners: Evan was not enough, and was besides unsympathetic; he had not
responded to Jack's cordial assurances of his friendship 'in spite of
anything,' uttered before they came into the field.

Heat and lustre were now poured from the sky, on whose soft blue a fleet
of clouds sailed heavily. Nick Frim was very wonderful, no doubt. He
deserved that the Gods should recline on those gold-edged cushions above,
and lean over to observe him. Nevertheless, the ladies were beginning to
ask when Nick Frim would be out. The small boys alone preserved their
enthusiasm for Nick. As usual, the men took a middle position. Theirs was
the pleasure of critics, which, being founded on the judgement, lasts
long, and is without disappointment at the close. It was sufficient that
the ladies should lend the inspiration of their bonnets to this fine
match. Their presence on the field is another beautiful instance of the
generous yielding of the sex simply to grace our amusement, and their
acute perception of the part they have to play.

Mr. Raikes was rather shy of them at first. But his acting rarely failing
to deceive himself, he began to feel himself the perfectly happy man he
impersonated, and where there were ladies he went, and talked of days
when he had creditably handled a bat, and of a renown in the annals of
Cricket cut short by mysterious calamity. The foolish fellow did not know
that they care not a straw for cricketing fame. His gaiety presently
forsook him as quickly as it had come. Instead of remonstrating at Evan's
restlessness, it was he who now dragged Evan from spot to spot. He spoke
low and nervously.

'We're watched!'

There was indeed a man lurking near and moving as they moved, with a
speculative air. Writs were out against Raikes. He slipped from his
friend, saying:

'Never mind me. That old amphitryon's birthday hangs on till the
meridian; you understand. His table invites. He is not unlikely to enjoy
my conversation. What mayn't that lead to? Seek me there.'

Evan strolled on, relieved by the voluntary departure of the weariful
funny friend he would not shake off, but could not well link with.

A long success is better when seen at a distance of time, and Nick Frim
was beginning to suffer from the monotony of his luck. Fallow field could
do nothing with him. He no longer blocked. He lashed out at every ball,
and far flew every ball that was bowled. The critics saw, in this return
to his old practices, promise of Nick's approaching extinction. The
ladies were growing hot and weary. The little boys gasped on the grass,
but like cunning circulators of excitement, spread a report to keep it
up, that Nick, on going to his wickets the previous day, had sworn an
oath that he would not lay down his bat till he had scored a hundred.

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