Friends and Neighbors, or Two Ways of Living in the World

T >> T. S. Arthur >> Friends and Neighbors, or Two Ways of Living in the World

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"Bravo, James."

"Yes, but the water was so low and the current so small, that my
hand felt nothing. I put in the end of my stick, it was not moved. I
rubbed my head finally, I said, 'I am a fool, here is my
handkerchief;' I took it, I fastened it to the end of my cane. Soon
I felt that it moved gently to the right, very gently. Noiesemont is
on the right. I started again and I get home to Juliana, who began
to be uneasy."

"O," cried the young man, "this is admir----"

But Mr. Desgranges stopped him, and leading him to the other end of
the room,

"Silence!" said he to him in a low voice. "Not admirable--do not
corrupt by pride the simplicity of this man. Look at him, see how
tranquil his face is, how calm after this recital which has moved
you so much. He is ignorant of himself, do not spoil him."

"It is so touching," said the young man, in a low tone.

"Undoubtedly, and still his superiority does not lie there. A
thousand blind men have found out these ingenious resources, a
thousand will find them again; but this moral perfection--this
heart, which opens itself so readily to elevated consolations--this
heart which so willingly takes upon it the part of a victim--this
heart which has restored him to life. For do not be deceived, it is
not I who have saved him, it is his affection for me; his ardent
gratitude has filled his whole soul, and has sustained--he has lived
because he has loved!"

At that moment, James, who had remained at the other end of the
room, and who perceived that we were speaking low, got up softly,
and with a delicate discretion, said to his wife,

"We will go away without making any noise."

"Are you going, James?"

"I am in the way, my dear Mr. Desgranges."

"No, pray stay longer."

His benefactor retained him, reaching out to him cordially his hand.
The blind man seized the hand in his turn, and pressed it warmly
against his heart.

"My dear friend, my dear good friend, you permit me to stay a little
longer. How glad I am to find myself near you. When I am sad I
say--'James, the good God will, perhaps, of His mercy, put you in
the same paradise with Mr. Desgranges,' and that does me good."

The young man smiled at this simple tenderness, which believed in a
hierarchy in Heaven. James heard him.

"You smile, sir. But this good man has re-created James. I dream of
it every night--I have never seen him, but I shall know him then. Oh
my God, if I recover my sight I will look at him for ever--for ever,
like the light, till he shall say to me, James, go away. But he will
not say so, he is too good. If I had known him four years ago, I
would have served him, and never have left him."

"James, James!" said Mr. Desgranges; but the poor man could not be
silenced.

"It is enough to know he is in the village; this makes my heart
easy. I do not always wish to come in, but I pass before his house,
it is always there; and when he is gone a journey I make Juliana
lead me into the plain of Noiesemont, and I say--'turn me towards
the place where he is gone, that I may breathe the same air with
him.'"

Mr. Desgranges put his hand before his mouth. James stopped.

"You are right, Mr. Desgranges, my mouth is rude, it is only my
heart which is right. Come, wife," said he, gayly, and drying his
great tears which rolled from his eyes, "Come, we must give our
children their supper. Good-by, my dear friend, good-by, sir."

He went away, moving his staff before him. Just as he laid his hand
upon the door, Mr. Desgranges called him back.

"I want to tell you a piece of news which will give you pleasure. I
was going to leave the village this year; but I have just taken a
new lease of five years of my landlady."

"Do you see, Juliana," said James to his wife, turning round, "I was
right when I said he was going away."

"How," replied Mr. Desgranges, "I had told them not to tell you
of it."

"Yes; but here," putting his hand on his heart, "everything is plain
here. I heard about a month since, some little words, which had
begun to make my head turn round; when, last Sunday, your landlady
called me to her, and showed me more kindness than usual, promising
me that she would take care of me, and that she would never abandon
me. When I came home, I said to Juliana, 'Wife, Mr. Desgranges is
going to quit the village; but that lady has consoled me.'"

In a few moments the blind man had returned to his home.

DEPENDENCE.

"WELL, Mary," said Aunt Frances, "how do you propose to spend the
summer? It is so long since the failure and death of your guardian,
that I suppose you are now familiar with your position, and prepared
to mark out some course for the future."

"True, aunt; I have had many painful thoughts with regard to the
loss of my fortune, and I was for a time in great uncertainty about
my future course, but a kind offer, which I received, yesterday, has
removed that burden. I now know where to find a respectable and
pleasant home."

"Is the offer you speak of one of marriage?" asked Aunt Frances,
smiling.

"Oh! dear, no; I am too young for that yet. But Cousin Kate is
happily married, and lives a few miles out of the city, in just the
cosiest little spot, only a little too retired; and she has
persuaded me that I shall do her a great kindness to accept a home
with her."

"Let me see. Kate's husband is not wealthy, I believe?"

"No: Charles Howard is not wealthy, but his business is very good,
and improving every year; and both he and Kate are too whole-souled
and generous to regret giving an asylum to an unfortunate girl like
me. They feel that 'it is more blessed to give than to receive.'"

"A very noble feeling, Mary; but one in which I am sorry to perceive
that you are a little wanting."

"Oh! no, Aunt Frances, I do feel it deeply; but it is the curse of
poverty that one must give up, in some measure, the power of
benefiting others. And, then, I mean to beguile Kate of so many
lonely hours, and perform so many friendly offices for her husband,
that they will think me not a burden but a treasure."

"And you really think you can give them as much comfort as the
expense of your maintenance could procure them in any other way?"

"Yes, aunt; it may sound conceited, perhaps, but I do really think I
can. I am sure, if I thought otherwise, I would never consent to
become a burden to them."

"Well, my dear, then your own interest is all that remains to be
considered. There are few blessings in life that can compensate for
the loss of self-reliance. She who derives her support from persons
upon whom she has no natural claim, finds the effect upon herself to
be decidedly narrowing. Perpetually in debt, without the means of
reimbursement, barred from any generous action which does not seem
like 'robbing Peter to pay Paul,' she sinks too often into the
character of a sponge, whose only business is absorption. But I see
you do not like what I am saying, and I will tell you something
which I am sure you _will_ like--my own veritable history.

"I was left an orphan in childhood, like yourself, and when my
father's affairs were settled, not a dollar remained for my support.
I was only six years of age, but I had attracted the notice of a
distant relative, who was a man of considerable wealth. Without any
effort of my own, I became an inmate of his family, and his only
son, a few years my elder, was taught to consider me as a sister.

"George Somers was a generous, kind-hearted boy, and I believe he
was none the less fond of me, because I was likely to rob him of
half his fortune. Mr. Somers often spoke of making a will, in which
I was to share equally with his son in the division of his property,
but a natural reluctance to so grave a task led him to defer it from
one year to another. Meantime, I was sent to expensive schools, and
was as idle and superficial as any heiress in the land.

"I was just sixteen when my kind benefactor suddenly perished on
board the ill-fated Lexington, and, as he died without a will, I had
no legal claim to any farther favours. But George Somers was known
as a very open-handed youth, upright and honourable, and, as he was
perfectly well acquainted with the wishes of his father, I felt no
fears with regard to my pecuniary condition. While yet overwhelmed
with grief at the loss of one whom my heart called father, I
received a very kind and sympathizing letter from George, in which
he said he thought I had better remain at school for another year,
as had been originally intended.

"'Of course,' he added, 'the death of my father does not alter our
relation in the least; you are still my dear and only sister.'

"And, in compliance with his wishes, I passed another year at a very
fashionable school--a year of girlish frivolity, in which my last
chance of acquiring knowledge as a means of future independence was
wholly thrown away. Before the close of this year I received another
letter from George, which somewhat surprised, but did not at all
dishearten me. It was, in substance, as follows:--

"'_MY own dear Sister_:--I wrote you, some months ago, from
Savannah, in Georgia told you how much I was delighted with the
place and people; how charmed with Southern frankness and
hospitality. But I did not tell you that I had there met with
positively the most bewitching creature in the world--for I was but
a timid lover, and feared that, as the song says, the course of true
love never would run smooth. My charming Laura was a considerable
heiress, and, although no sordid considerations ever had a feather's
weight upon her own preferences, of course, yet her father was
naturally and very properly anxious that the guardian of so fair a
flower should be able to shield it from the biting winds of poverty.
Indeed, I had some difficulty in satisfying his wishes on this
point, and in order to do so, I will frankly own that I assumed to
myself the unencumbered possession of my father's estate, of which
so large a share belongs of right to you. I am confident that when
you know my Laura you will forgive me this merely nominal injustice.
Of course, this connexion can make no sort of difference in your
rights and expectations. You will always have a home at my house.
Laura is delighted, with the idea of such a companion, and says she
would on no account dispense with that arrangement. And whenever,
you marry as girls do and will, I shall hold myself bound to satisfy
any reasonable wishes on the part of the happy youth that wins you.
Circumstances hastened my marriage somewhat unexpectedly, or I
should certainly have informed you previously, and requested your
presence at the nuptial ceremony. We have secured a beautiful house
in Brooklyn, and shall expect you to join us as soon as your present
year expires, Laura sends her kindest regards, and I remain, as
always, your sincere and affectionate brother,
GEORGE SOMERS.'

"Not long after the receipt of this letter, one of the
instructresses, in the institution where I resided requested the
favour of a private interview. She then said she knew something
generally of my position and prospects, and, as she had always felt
an instinctive interest in my fortunes, she could not see me leave
the place without seeking my confidence, and rendering me aid, if
aid was in her power. Though surprised and, to say the truth,
indignant, I simply inquired what views, had occurred to her with
regard to my future life.

"She said, then, very kindly, that although I was not very thorough
in, any branch of study, yet she thought I had a decided taste for
the lighter and more ornamental parts of female education. That a
few months earnest attention to these would fit me for a position
independent of my connexions, and one of which none of my friends
would have cause to be ashamed.

"I am deeply pained to own to you how I answered her. Drawing myself
up, I said, coldly,

"'I am obliged to you, madam, for your quite unsolicited interest in
my affairs. When I leave this place, it will be to join my brother
and sister in Brooklyn, and, as we are all reasonably wealthy, I
must try to make gold varnish over any defects in my neglected
education.'

"I looked to see my kind adviser entirely annihilated by these
imposing words, but she answered with perfect calmness,

"'I know Laura Wentworth, now Mrs. Somers. She was educated at the
North, and was a pupil of my own for a year. She is wealthy and
beautiful, and I hope you will never have cause to regret assuming a
position with regard to her that might be mistaken for dependence.'

"With these words, my well-meaning, but perhaps injudicious friend,
took leave, and I burst into a mocking laugh, that I hoped she might
linger long enough to hear. 'This is too good!' I repeated to
myself--but I could not feel perfectly at ease. However, I soon
forgot all thoughts of the future, in the present duties of
scribbling in fifty albums, and exchanging keepsakes, tears, and
kisses, with a like number of _very_ intimate friends.

"It was not until I had finally left school, and was fairly on the
way to the home of my brother, that I found a moment's leisure to
think seriously of the life that was before me. I confess that I
felt some secret misgivings, as I stood at last upon the steps of
the very elegant house that was to be my future home. The servant
who obeyed my summons, inquired if I was Miss Rankin, a name I had
never borne since childhood.

"I was about to reply in the negative, when she added, 'If you are
the young lady that Mr. Somers is expecting from the seminary, I
will show you to your room.'

"I followed mechanically, and was left in a very pretty chamber,
with the information that Mrs. Somers was a little indisposed, but
would meet me at dinner. The maid added that Mr. Somers was out of
town, and would not return till evening. After a very uncomfortable
hour, during which I resolutely suspended my opinion with regard to
my position, the dinner-bell rang, and the domestic again appeared
to show me to the dining-room.

"Mrs. Somers met me with extended hand. 'My dear Miss Rankin!' she
exclaimed, 'I am most happy to see you. I have heard George speak of
you so often and so warmly that I consider you quite as a relative.
Come directly to the table. I am sure you must be famished after
your long ride. I hope you will make yourself one of us, at once,
and let me call you Fanny. May I call you Cousin Fanny?' she
pursued, with an air of sweet condescension that was meant to be
irresistible.

"'As you please,' I replied coldly.

"To which she quickly responded, 'Oh, that will be delightful.'

"She then turned to superintend the carving of a fowl, and I had
time to look at her undisturbed. She was tall and finely formed,
with small delicate features, and an exquisite grace in every
movement; a haughty sweetness that was perfectly indescribable. She
had very beautiful teeth, which she showed liberally when she
smiled, and in her graver moments her slight features wore an
imperturbable serenity, as if the round world contained nothing that
was really worth her attention. An animated statue, cold, polished,
and pitiless! was my inward thought, as I bent over my dinner.

"When the meal was over, Mrs. Somers said to me, in a tone of
playful authority,

"'Now, Cousin Fanny, I want you to go to your room and rest, and not
do an earthly thing until teatime. After that I have a thousand
things to show you.'

"At night I was accordingly shown a great part of the house; a
costly residence, and exquisitely furnished, but, alas! I already
wearied of this icy splendour. Every smile of my beautiful hostess
(I could not now call her sister), every tone of her soft voice,
every movement of her superb form, half queen-like dignity, half
fawn-like grace--seemed to place an insurmountable barrier between
herself and me. It was not that I thought more humbly of myself--not
that I did not even consider myself her equal--but her dainty
blandishments were a delicate frost-work, that almost made me shiver
and when, she touched her cool lips to mine, and said 'Good-night,
dear,' I felt as if even then separated from her real, living self,
by a wall of freezing marble.

"'Poor George!' I said, as I retired to rest--'You have wedded this
soulless woman, and she will wind you round her finger.'

"I did not sit up for him, for he was detained till a late hour, but
I obeyed the breakfast-bell with unfashionable eagerness, as I was
becoming nervous about our meeting, and really anxious to have it
over. After a delay of some minutes, I heard the wedded pair coming
leisurely down the stairs, in, very amicable chatter.

"'I am glad you like her, Laura,' said a voice which I knew in a
moment as that of George. How I shivered as I caught the smooth
reply, 'A nice little thing. I am very glad of the connexion. It
will be such a relief not to rely entirely upon servants. There
should be a middle class in every family.'

"With these words she glided through the door, looked with perfect
calmness in my flashing eyes, and said,

"'Ah, Fanny! I, was just telling George here how much I shall like
you.'

"The husband came forward with an embarrassed air; I strove to meet
him with dignity, but my heart failed me, and I burst into tears.

"'Forgive me, madam,' I said, on regaining my composure--'This is
our first meeting since the death of _our father_.'

"'I understand your feelings perfectly,' she quietly replied. 'My
father knew the late Mr. Somers well, and thought very highly of
him, He was charitable to a fault, and yet remarkable for
discernment. His bounty was seldom unworthily bestowed.'

"His bounty! I had never been thought easy to intimidate, but I
quailed before this unapproachable ice-berg. It made no attempt
from that moment to vindicate what I was pleased to call my rights,
but awaited passively the progress of events.

"After breakfast, Mrs. Somers said to the maid in attendance,

"'Dorothy, bring some hot water and towels for Miss Rankin.'

"She then turned to me and continued, 'I shall feel the china
perfectly safe in your hands, cousin. These servants are so very
unreliable.'

"And she followed George to the parlour above, where their lively
tones and light laughter made agreeable music.

"In the same easy way, I was invested with a variety of domestic
cares, most of them such as I would willingly have accepted, had she
waited for me to manifest such a willingness. But a few days after
my arrival, we received a visit from little Ella Grey, a cousin of
Laura's, who was taken seriously ill on the first evening of her
stay. A physician was promptly summoned, and, after a conference
with him, Mrs. Somers came to me, inquiring earnestly,

"'Cousin Fanny, have you ever had the measles?'

"I replied in the affirmative.

"'Oh, I am very glad!' was her response; 'for little Ella is
attacked with them, and very severely; but, if you will take charge
of her, I shall feel no anxiety. It is dreadful in sickness to be
obliged to depend upon hirelings.'

"So I was duly installed as little Ella's nurse, and, as she was a
spoiled child, my task was neither easy nor agreeable.

"No sooner was the whining little creature sufficiently improved to
be taken to her own home, than the house was thrown into confusion
by preparations for a brilliant party. Laura took me with her on a
shopping excursion, and bade me select whatever I wished, and send
the bill with hers to Mr. Somers. I purchased a few indispensable
articles, but I felt embarrassed by her calm, scrutinizing gaze, and
by the consciousness that every item of my expenditures would be
scanned by, perhaps, censorious eyes.

"What with my previous fatigue while acting as Ella's nurse, and the
laborious preparations for the approaching festival, I felt, as the
time drew near, completely exhausted. Yet I was determined not to so
far give way to the depressing influences that surrounded me, as to
absent myself from the party. So, after snatching an interval of
rest, to relieve my aching head, I dressed myself with unusual care,
and repaired to the brilliantly lighted rooms. They were already
filled, and murmuring like a swarm of bees, although, as one of the
guests remarked, there were more drones than workers in the hive. I
was now no drone, certainly, and that was some consolation. When I
entered, Laura was conversing with a group of dashing young men, who
were blundering over a book of charades. Seeing me enter, she came
towards me immediately.

"'Cousin Fanny, you who help everybody, I want you to come to the
aid of these stupid young men. Gentlemen, this is our Cousin Fanny,
the very best creature in the world.' And with this introduction she
left me, and turned to greet some new arrivals. After discussing the
charades till my ears were weary of empty and aimless chatter, I was
very glad to find my group of young men gradually dispersing, and
myself at liberty to look about me, undisturbed. George soon came to
me, gave me his arm, and took me to a room where were several
ladies, friends of his father, and who had known me very well as a
child.

"'You remember Fanny,' he said to them; and then left me, and
devoted himself to the courteous duties of the hour. While I was
indulging in a quiet chat with a very kind old friend, she proposed
to go with me to look at the dancers, as the music was remarkably
fine, and it was thought the collected beauty and fashion of the
evening would make a very brilliant show. We left our seats,
accordingly, but were soon engaged in the crowd, and while waiting
for an opportunity to move on, I heard one of my young men ask
another,

"'How do you like _la cousine_?'

"I lost a part of the answer, but heard the closing words
distinctly--'_et un peu passee._' '_Oui, decidement!_' was the
prompt response, and a light laugh followed, while, shrinking close
to my kind friend, I rejoiced that my short stature concealed me
from observation. I was not very well taught, but, like most
school-girls, I had a smattering of French, and I knew the meaning
of the very ordinary phrases that had been used with regard to me.
Before the supper-hour, my headache became so severe that I was glad
to take refuge in my own room. There I consulted my mirror, and felt
disposed to forgive, the young critics for their disparaging
remarks. _Passee!_ I looked twenty-five at least, and yet I was not
eighteen, and six months before I had fancied myself a beauty and an
heiress!

"But I will not weary you with details. Suffice it to say; that I
spent only three months of this kind of life, and then relinquished
the protection of Mr. and Mrs. Somers, and removed to a second-rate
boarding-house, where I attempted to maintain myself by giving
lessons in music. Every day, however, convinced me of my unfitness
for this task, and, as I soon felt an interest in the sweet little
girls who looked up to me for instruction, my position with regard
to them became truly embarrassing. One day I had been wearying
myself by attempting the impossible task of making clear to another
mind, ideas that lay confusedly in my own, and at last I said to my
pupil,

"'You may go home now, Clara, dear, and practise the lesson of
yesterday. I am really ill to-day, but to-morrow I shall feel
better, and I hope I shall then be able to make you understand me.'

"The child glided out, but a shadow still fell across the carpet. I
looked up, and saw in the doorway a young man, whose eccentricities
sometimes excited a smile among his fellow-boarders, but who was
much respected for his sense and independence.

"'To make yourself understood by others, you must first learn to
understand yourself,' said he, as he came forward. Then, taking my
hand, he continued,--'What if you should give up all this abortive
labour, take a new pupil, and, instead of imparting to others what
you have not very firmly grasped yourself, try if you can make a
human being of me?'

"I looked into his large gray eyes, and saw the truth and
earnestness shining in their depths, like pebbles at the bottom of a
pellucid spring. I never once thought of giving him a conventional
reply. On the contrary, I stammered out,

"'I am full, of faults and errors; I could never do you any good.'

"'I have studied your character attentively,' returned he, 'and I
know you have faults, but they are unlike mine; and I think that you
might be of great service to me; or, if the expression suits you
better, that we might be of great aid to each other. Become my wife,
and I will promise to improve more rapidly than any pupil in your
class.'

"And I did become his wife, but not until a much longer acquaintance
had convinced me, that in so doing, I should not exchange one form
of dependence for another, more galling and more hopeless."

"Then this eccentric young man was Uncle Robert?"

"Precisely. But you see he has made great improvement, since."

"Well, Aunt Frances, I thank you for your story; and now for the
moral. What do you think I had better do?"

"I will tell you what you can do, if you choose. Your uncle has just
returned from a visit to his mother. He finds her a mere child,
gentle and amiable, but wholly unfit to take charge of herself. Her
clothes have taken fire repeatedly, from her want of judgment with
regard to fuel and lights, and she needs a companion for every
moment of the day. This, with their present family, is impossible,
and they are desirous to secure some one who will devote herself to
your grandmother during the hours when your aunt and the domestics
are necessarily engaged. You were always a favourite there, and I
know they would be very much relieved if you would take this office
for a time, but they feel a delicacy in making any such proposal.
You can have all your favourites about you--books, flowers, and
piano; for the dear old lady delights to hear reading or music, and
will sit for hours with a vacant smile upon her pale, faded face.
Then your afternoons will be entirely your own, and Robert is
empowered to pay any reliable person a salary of a fixed and ample
amount, which will make you independent for the time."

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