Delphi Complete Works of Booth Tarkington (Illustrated), page 36
“I tol’ you that I would not soil my hand with you,” answered the young man. “If you send a message no gentleman will bring it. Whoever shall bear it will receive a little beating from Francois.”
He stepped to Lady Mary’s side. Her head was bent low, her face averted. She seemed to breathe with difficulty, and leaned heavily upon a chair. “Monseigneur,” she faltered in a half whisper, “can you — forgive me? It is a bitter — mistake-I have made. Forgive.”
“Forgive?” he answered, and his voice was as broken as hers; but he went on, more firmly: “It is — nothing — less than nothing. There is — only jus’ one — in the — whole worl’ who would not have treat’ me the way that you treat’ me. It is to her that I am goin’ to make reparation. You know something, Henri? I am not goin’ back only because the king forgive’ me. I am goin’ to please him; I am goin’ to espouse mademoiselle, our cousin. My frien’s, I ask your felicitations.”
“And the king does not compel him!” exclaimed young Henri.
“Henri, you want to fight me?” cried his brother sharply. “Don’ you think the King of France is a wiser man than me?”
He offered his hand to Lady Mary. “Mademoiselle is fatigue’. Will she honor me?”
He walked with her to the door. Her hand fluttering faintly in his. From somewhere about the garments of one of them a little cloud of faded rose-leaves fell, and lay strewn on the floor behind them. He opened the door, and the lights shone on a multitude of eager faces turned toward it. There was a great hum of voices, and, over all, the fiddles wove a wandering air, a sweet French song of the voyageur.
He bowed very low, as, with fixed and glistening eyes, Lady Mary Carlisle, the Beauty of Bath, passed slowly by him and went out of the room.
Cherry (1901)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. MR. SUDGEBERRY
CHAPTER II. THE CONFESSION OF LOVE
CHAPTER III. THE TOAST
CHAPTER IV. MAJESTY OF THE HUMAN INTELLECT
CHAPTER V. THE NOTE
CHAPTER VI. THE FAREWELL
CHAPTER VII. THE INTERVIEW
CHAPTER VIII. THE JOURNEY
CHAPTER IX. THE STRANGER
CHAPTER X. THE CAROUSE
CHAPTER XI. MR. SUDGEBERRY’S RECKLESS HUMOR
CHAPTER XII. THE DOGS OF WAR
CHAPTER XIII. THE DOUBLE VILLAIN
CHAPTER XIV. THERE CAME ONE SHRIEKING “JUSTICE!”
CHAPTER XV. MR. SUDGEBERRY AND THE CHERRY RIBBONS
To the diligent and industrious members of the class of 1893 at Nassau Hall; also to the idler spirits who wasted the Golden Hours of Youth in profitless playing of toss-the-ball; and even to those more dissolute ones who risked the tutor’s detection at pitch-the-penny and carved their names on Adam’s table — in brief, to all of that happy class is dedicated this heroic tale of the days when Commencement came in September.
CHAPTER I. MR. SUDGEBERRY
ACROSS THE MOST vital precincts of the mind a flippant sprite of memory will sometimes skip, to the dismay of all philosophy. So it was with me no longer ago than last night; for, as I sat engaged in the composition of a treatise upon a subject worthy of the profoundest concentration, there suddenly fluttered before my mental eye some cherry-colored ribbons; and, quite inexplicably, at the same time, it became clear to me that the most charming morning of my life was that sunshiny one, in 1762, when Miss Sylvia Gray and I went walking.
It may be there are some who will declare that an aging person would do better to get forward with his treatise than to waste the treasure of his talent upon a narrative of the follies of youth; but this I refute. The flicker of cherry color having caused my pen to wander and me to have dreams all night — I never dream — what better than to seek relief by setting down the bewildering circumstances connected with the ribbons? Let me say that I have found through many experiences that writing out a thing works to lighten the burden of it, as a full-worded person must be bled of his words, or they coagulate within him and choke the veins of his mind, a condition which, in my younger days, was often near bringing me to the very italics of suffering.
Very early on the sunshiny morning to which allusion has been made, I found Miss Sylvia at her gate, waiting to take the walk she had promised me. It was then, even before we set out, that I noticed the ribbons she wore that day. The fact that I remember a detail of this insignificance so great a number of years after is the more uncommon because I do not think that at the time I particularly noticed the ribbons, my mind being occupied with considerations of the lady’s mental and moral attributes. However, it may not be gainsaid that this twinkling of bright colors seemed to me most befitting her appearance.
I had arrived at my father’s house in the country but two days before, repairing thither upon finishing my third year of study at Nassau Hall, and I had proceeded at once to renew my pleasing acquaintance with Miss Gray, an acquaintance begun in childhood on account of our parents being neighbors, and continued later because of various be-tokenings of a feeling of growing admiration and reciprocal regard, clearly apparent, I think, between the maiden and myself. There was another lady of the neighborhood, Miss Amelia Robbins, who attracted me by the delicacy of her appreciation of my attentions, but at the time of which I speak my greater pleasure was in Miss Sylvia’s company — I might put it: my infinitely greater pleasure.
In candor, I hope that I am justified in stating that certain qualities I was admitted to possess must have appealed to her liking, a something thoughtful and philosophic, a leaning toward théologic earnestness, added to a contempt for the gayeties of the world, mingled with a particular cautiousness and a nice severity of habit — which attributes, I believe will be confessed, are unusual in a youth of nineteen. Moreover, my achievements in the classics and mathematics under Dr. Finley must have excited in her the warmest feelings of respect, such attainments being out of the reach of women. There may be those to cry out that I claim much for my character at so early a period of my career, but it is not I who originate the claim.
I had the heartiest assurance of my mother and other females of my family that these things were so, and, since they have always shown themselves to be persons of great judgment and verity, I can do no less than to accept their opinion, hoping that, if there be any immodesty in my so doing, it may be attributable to the fondness of their regard.
In respect to my feeling for Miss Gray, I have little leaning to outward appearance as a test of true worth, yet I will never attempt to deny that I found some attraction in the lady’s uncommon likeliness of face and form, and in the gracefulness of her bearing. What must account for my graver consideration, however, is the fact that, although exhibiting a taste for frivolity which disturbed me somewhat, I believed her, underneath, to be of an exceedingly serious character. She at all times manifested a ready sympathy with a mind investigating the deeper things of life; she had a quick perception of the beauties of the classics — when translated and pointed out to her — and a suddeness of insight concerning the foibles of those partisans who advocate pernicious liberality in divers questions — when the two sides of the debate had been explained to her.
I have remarked the same quality in all the agreeable women I have ever known. Miss Amelia Robbins is to this day an almost perfect example of it.
But I digress from the sunshiny morning. After greeting me as I joined her, “Where shall we go?” cried Miss Gray.
“Miss Sylvia,” I made reply, as she descended the steps from the gate, “it matters little whither we betake ourselves this morning, for—”
“Why?” she interrupted, at the same time casting down her eyes and speaking in a low voice. I remember thinking her manner strange, and it still seems so to me. There were many incomprehensible things about this young lady, as must be luminously set forth ere the conclusion of my narrative, “Because,” I said, briskly, “to him who possesses a true understanding of the art of conversation, time and place count for little.”
“Then why should we walk at all?” she asked.
“Why, indeed?” said I, pausing; but straightway she went on, even quickening her steps instead of stopping; so, without more ado, I followed.
“Shall we go to the brook, Mr. Sudgeberry?” she asked, as we reached the lane. “Shall we cross the fields?” Not waiting for my assent, she climbed the stile, and we set off toward the brook.
“How glorious it is to be stirring so early!” says she, presently. “See the dew shining on the cobwebs in the grass, and hark to the birds in the grove. La! I could dance for the very gayety of it!” And she began to sing a little song.
It had ever been my custom to reply to such outbursts of Miss Gray’s with some thoughtful sentiment, delivered in a serious tone, as tending to check (or moderate) the ebulliencies of her disposition, hence I answered, walking the while with quiet dignity:
“How often do we unthinkingly pass by lessons which humble nature sets forth for our improvement! Here in the lowly cobweb we see an allegory, if we be not too heedless. What lesson do you obtain from it, Miss Gray?”
My purpose was effected at once, for the song, which was an idle one, with no moral to it, ceased, and she became all interest and sympathy.
“What lesson, Mr. Sudgeberry?” she inquired, gravely.
“Why,” I answered, “the lesson of industry, of perseverance!”
“Yes, indeed, Mr. Sudgeberry. I see; the spider’s industry. How appropriate!”
I looked upon her approvingly, and continued:
“See how laboriously he has builded himself a place of refuge and rest for his weary head, a retreat where he may raise and shelter his young, and—”
“Surely,” she interrupted, “I have read somewhere that the females do that.”
Quite confounded for the moment, I walked on in silence, whereupon she began to sing again. Then, not because the sound of her voice was distasteful to me (although I have no great patience with music of any sort), but because I regarded the theme of the song as unworthy to occupy time which might be spent in profitable interchange of ideas, I began a modest dissertation upon the place allegory has occupied in history. “Oh,” I concluded, “how easily it puts to shame the baser uses of fiction! How unworthy the time thrown away upon the study of poetry — except the classics — compared to that which is enriched by the reading of allegories, great moral truths tending ever to our improvement in diligence and learning, and conceived by the loftiest intellects for our advancement and profit!”
Our walk had fatigued Miss Gray, for at this moment she exclaimed, with an accent of relief: “How beautiful, Mr. Sudgeberry! Here we are at the brook,” and sat down in the grass.
After ascertaining that the ground was not damp, the sun having by this time sucked up all the dew, I sat down beside her. We were upon a knoll which ran down to the little stream, and, shaded by a group of great trees, our position was not unpleasant. The spot was remote from the customary haunts of the youth of the neighborhood, a fact upon which I considered us both subject for felicitation, the more so because we appeared to have escaped the attendance of an intolerable fellow, William Fentriss, who was everlastingly lolling at or near the Grays’ domicile. Indeed, I had been under some apprehension that he might spy us as we crossed the fields, and join us, forcing upon us his idle talk, which had no capacity to be aught but the veriest nonsense, utterly unintelligible to an intellect concerned with anything of weight or worth.
This impertinent, though never my companion, was my fellow - student at Nassau Hall, being one year beneath me; and in that I could treat him with the superiority I felt. He was much about taverns, fretted when a horse fell sick, loved dogs, music, and the new poets; and at Princeton lavished those golden hours of youth in wanton idling or profitless visiting with the liveliest young ladies of the surrounding country. Nor could I understand how he was tolerated by women of tone, refinement, or cultivation, being, as he was, always grossly overdressed to the extreme point of every changing fashion; but even the most impeccable model of female decorum and charm called this rattle “fascinating” (!) “handsome”(!) and, to my amazement, proved ready with a gracious smile whenever he came near.
It was impossible to comprehend how Miss Gray could find his conversation worth hearing, or how she could permit his continued presence near her; and I judged the present time to be appropriate for the venturing of a few remarks which might indicate, indirectly and delicately, her error, and at the same time point out the preferable merits of true worth as subject for her esteem. I did not wish to make her very unhappy, yet I hoped for a few signs of contrition.
Therefore, after turning over the matter in my mind and thinking up with care the opening sentences, as well as the general trend of the conversation as it should be directed, I began as follows:
“Oh, how oft,” said I — for I felt there could be no harm in a somewhat poetical phrase or two— “how oft in the lot of man does he encounter circumstances and things which leave him speechless with amazement, upon which there is no profit in pondering, and as a final dictum upon which there can be no other than the simple words, ‘I do not understand!’”
“There can be no doubt of that,” agreed Miss Gray, looking thoughtfully at the buckle of my shoe.
“Take, as an instance,” I continued, “an anomaly furnished by human nature. How frequently do we see true merit neglected, or even despised, for the sake of those more gaudy allurements which lie but upon the surface! If it were given to me to consult an oracle (I have explained to you this usage of the ancients, I think), there is one question I would propound to it before any other, and that is: ‘Why do ladies sometimes prefer the idle and superficial to those from whom they might derive lasting benefits of a serious and learned nature?” A spectacle I have sometimes observed, one which has astonished me beyond all others, is that of young females, apparently sane and desirous of improvement, listening with seeming pleasure to the conversation of the light and sprightly — ay! to all appearances enjoying the society of mere men of fashion, who pour into their ears pernicious extravagances, pitiful nonsensicalities, and flippant nothings, while philosophical, studious, and pious youths who are incapable of lightness, and who would scorn to utter a word unfraught with earnest sobriety or profoundest learning, are allowed to remain unnoticed!” —
Here, I judged, the tone of my expressions demanded more than ordinary address; so, with proper gravity and deliberation, I reached out to take her hand, which lay close to mine upon the grass; but, encountering a spider-nest in my progress toward it, the mother - spider issued from the interior of her mansion and bit me on the thumb, which I was forced to place in my mouth in order to extract her poison. Nevertheless, it could be discerned that my argument had not been without its effect upon Miss Sylvia, for she cast down her eyes and turned her face away.
“Let us now consider,” I was beginning to continue, approaching my climax — when we suffered an interruption of the most annoying description.
From a group of trees on our right came the sounds of a guitar, strummed in preliminary chords, and then a man’s voice, the airy, impertinent quality of which I was at no loss to recognize, though the singer was hidden from our sight, buzzed out the following ditty, to which we were compelled to listen willy-nilly:
“When Beauty wanders far from home For a June-time ramble, Then Cupid starts to ambush her At a rapid amble.
“Sylvia, Sylvia, turn not away;
Hark to the words I’d be saying.
Sylvia, Sylvia, Love lurks all day
Where’er your feet go a-straying!
“No fancy could depict what charms
Always must surround her,
Till Cupid heralds them abroad
When he’s caught and bound her.
“Sylvia, Sylvia, never berate I
List to the song I’d be sighing.
Sylvia, Sylvia, Love lies in wait,
Ever his nets for you trying.”
“So!” I exclaimed, with great contempt, at the conclusion. “What vain pretension to elegance is disclosed in the imperfections of — the last stanza! One does not ‘sigh’ a song, but sings it. ’Tis polled in with a rope for the rhyme!”
At this moment William Fentriss stepped into view from behind the trunk of a great tree, and, the guitar swung “over his shoulder by a silken ribbon, came toward us with the easy swagger and confident manner of which true impudence is invariably master. Such cheerful insolence, combined with greater foppery of attire, mine eyes have never beheld.
“Nay, nay!” cries he. “A song to cruel Lady Sylvia must needs be sighed. Take my word, Mr. Sudgeberry, Tis the only way to find half their favor. Sigh, sir, be humility itself, and you will win half of a lady’s heart.”
“And the other half, Mr. Fentriss?” smiled Miss Gray. I could not understand her smiling, after what I had said to her.
“Oh, for the other half, you’d best take a stick and beat her,” he answered, laughing. “But, until you have won the first portion, constantly prostrate yourself at her feet.”
With that he deliberately flung himself on the ground within an inch of Miss Gray’s shoes, and marvellous clumsy I thought he looked.
“And sigh,” says he. And he fetches a sigh. Never have I seen an uninvited person appear more invited.
After a pause, “Such gayety, Mr. Sudgeberry!” says he. At this I showed the scorn I felt by so stem and commanding a frown that he had surely been confounded and left in pitiable consternation, but Miss Gray intervened.
“What a pretty day!” she instantly exclaimed.
“Indeed,” I was replying, “it—”
I achieved only so far when the impudent varlet took the words out of my mouth, as though the lady’s remark were addressed to him.
