CHAPTER XV.
There is no man so friendless but what he can find a friend sincere
enough to tell him disagreeable truths.
Meanwhile the Comedian had made himself and Sir Isaac extremely
comfortable. No unabstemious man by habit was Gentleman Waife. He could
dine on a crust, and season it with mirth; and as for exciting drinks,
there was a childlike innocence in his humour never known to a brain that
has been washed in alcohol. But on this special occasion, Waife's heart
was made so bounteous by the novel sense of prosperity that it compelled
him to treat himself. He did honour to the grilled chicken to which he
had vainly tempted Sophy. He ordered half a pint of port to be mulled
into negus. He helped himself with a bow, as if himself were a guest,
and nodded each time he took off his glass, as much as to say, "Your
health, Mr. Waife!" He even offered a glass of the exhilarating draught
to Sir Isaac, who, exceedingly offended, retreated under the sofa, whence
he peered forth through his deciduous ringlets, with brows knit in grave
rebuke. Nor was it without deliberate caution--a whisker first, and then
a paw--that he emerged from his retreat, when a plate heaped with the
remains of the feast was placed upon the hearth-rug.
The supper over, and the attendant gone, the negus still left, Waife
lighted his pipe, and, gazing on Sir Isaac, thus addressed that canine
philosopher: "Illustrious member of the Quadrupedal Society of Friends to
Man, and, as possessing those abilities for practical life which but few
friends to man ever display in his service, promoted to high rank--
Commissary-General of the Victualling Department, and Chancellor of the
Exchequer--I have the honour to inform you that a vote of thanks in your
favour has been proposed in this house, and carried unanimously." Sir
Isaac, looking shy, gave another lick to the plate, and wagged his tail.
"It is true that thou wert once (shall I say it?) in fault at 'Beauty and
Worth,'--thy memory deserted thee; thy peroration was on the verge of a
breakdown; but 'Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit, I as the Latin
grammar philosophically expresseth it. Mortals the wisest, not only on
two legs but even upon four, occasionally stumble. The greatest general,
statesman, sage, is not he who commits no blunder, but he who best
repairs a blunder and converts it to success. This was thy merit and
distinction! It hath never been mine! I recognize thy superior genius.
I place in thee unqualified confidence; and consigning thee to the arms
of Morpheus, since I see that panegyric acts on thy nervous system as a
salubrious soporific, I now move that this House do resolve itself into a
Committee of Ways and Means for the Consideration of the Budget!"
Therewith, while Sir Isaac fell into a profound sleep the Comedian
deliberately emptied his pockets on the table; and arranging gold and
silver before him, thrice carefully counted the total, and then divided
it into sundry small heaps.
"That's for the bill," quoth he,--"Civil List!--a large item. That's
for Sophy, the darling! She shall have a teacher, and learn Music,--
Education Grant; Current Expenses for the next fortnight; Miscellaneous
Estimates; tobacco,--we'll call that Secret-service Money. Ah, scamp,
vagrant, is not Heaven kind to thee at last? A few more such nights, and
who knows but thine old age may have other roof than the workhouse? And
Sophy?--Ah, what of her? Merciful Providence, spare my life till she has
outgrown its uses!" A tear came to his eye; he brushed it away quickly,
and, recounting his money, hummed a joyous tune.
The door opened; Waife looked up in surprise, sweeping his hand over the
coins, and restoring them to his pocket. The Mayor entered.
As Mr. Hartopp walked slowly up the room, his eye fixed Waife's; and that
eye was so searching, though so mild, that the Comedian felt himself
change colour. His gay spirits fell,--falling lower and lower, the
nearer the Mayor's step came to him; and when Hartopp, without speaking,
took his hand,--not in compliment, not in congratulation, but pressed it
as if in deep compassion, still looking him full in the face, with those
pitying, penetrating eyes, the actor experienced a sort of shock as if he
were read through, despite all his histrionic disguises, read through to
his heart's core; and, as silent as his visitor, sank back in his chair,
--abashed, disconcerted.
MR. HARTOPP.--"Poor man!"
THE COMEDIAN (rousing himself with an effort, but still confused).--
"Down, Sir Isaac, down! This visit, Mr. Mayor, is an honour which may
well take a dog by surprise! Forgive him!"
MR. HARTOPP (patting Sir Isaac, who was inquisitively sniffing his
garments, and drawing a chair close to the actor, who thereon edged his
own chair a little away,--in vain; for, on that movement, Mr. Hartopp
advanced in proportion).--"Your dog is a very admirable and clever
animal; but in the exhibition of a learned dog there is something which
tends to sadden one. By what privations has he been forced out of his
natural ways? By what fastings and severe usage have his instincts been
distorted into tricks? Hunger is a stern teacher, Mr. Chapman; and to
those whom it teaches, we cannot always give praise unmixed with pity."
THE COMEDIAN (ill at ease under this allegorical tone, and surprised at a
quicker intelligence in Mr. Hartopp than he had given that person credit
for).--"You speak like an oracle, Mr. Mayor; but that dog, at least, has
been mildly educated and kindly used. Inborn genius, sir, will have its
vent. Hum! a most intelligent audience honoured us to-night; and our
best thanks are due to you."
MR. HARTOPP.--"Mr. Chapman, let us be frank with each other. I am not a
clever man; perhaps a dull one. If I had set up for a clever man, I
should not be where I am now. Hush! no compliments. But my life has
brought me into frequent contact with those who suffer; and the dullest
of us gain a certain sharpness in the matters to which our observation is
habitually drawn. You took me in at first, it is true. I thought you
were a philanthropical humourist, who might have crotchets, as many
benevolent men, with time on their hands and money in their pockets, are
apt to form. But when it came to the begging hat (I ask your pardon;
don't let me offend you), when it came to the begging hat, I recognized
the man who wants philanthropy from others, and whose crotchets are to be
regarded in a professional point of view. Sir, I have come here alone,
because I alone perhaps see the case as it really is. Will you confide
in me? you may do it safely. To be plain, who and what are you?"
THE COMEDIAN (evasively).--"What do you take me for, Mr. Mayor? What can
I be other than an itinerant showman, who has had resort to a harmless
stratagem in order to obtain an audience, and create a surprise that
might cover the naked audacity of the 'begging hat'!"
MR. HARTOPP (gravely).--"When a man of your ability and education is
reduced to such stratagems, he must have committed some great faults.
Pray Heaven it be no worse than faults!"
THE COMEDIAN (bitterly).--"That is always the way with the prosperous.
Is a man unfortunate? They say, 'Why don't he help himself?' Does he
try to help himself? They say, 'With so much ability, why does not he
help himself better?' Ability and education! Snares and springes, Mr.
Mayor! Ability and education! the two worst mantraps that a poor fellow
can put his foot into! Aha! Did not you say if you had set up to be
clever, you would not be where you now are:' A wise saying; I admire you
for it. Well, well, I and my dog have amused your townsfolk; they have
amply repaid us. We are public servants; according as we act in public--
hiss us or applaud. Are we to submit to an inquisition into our private
character? Are you to ask how many mutton bones has that dog stolen?
how many cats has he worried? or how many shirts has the showman in his
wallet? how many debts has he left behind him? what is his rent-roll
on earth, and his account with Heaven? Go and put those questions to
ministers, philosophers, generals, poets. When they have acknowledged
your right to put them, come to me and the other dog."
MR. HARTOPP (rising and drawing on his gloves).--"I beg your pardon! I
have done, sir. And yet I conceived an interest in you. It is because I
have no talents myself that I admire those who have. I felt a mournful
anxiety, too, for your poor little girl,--so young, so engaging. And is
it necessary that you should bring up that child in a course of life
certainly equivocal, and to females dangerous?"
The Comedian lifted his eyes suddenly, and stared hard at the face of his
visitor, and in that face there was so much of benevolent humanity, so
much sweetness contending with authoritative rebuke, that the vagabond's
hardihood gave way! He struck his breast, and groaned aloud.
MR. HARTOPP (pressing on the advantage he had gained).--"And have you no
alarm for her health? Do you not see how delicate she is? Do you not
see that her very talent comes from her susceptibility to emotions which
must wear her away?"
WAIFE.-"No, no! stop, stop, stop! you terrify me, you break my heart.
Man, man! it is all for her that I toil and show and beg,--if you call it
begging. Do you think I care what becomes of this battered hulk? Not a
straw. What am I to do? What! what! You tell me to confide in you;
wherefore? How can you help me? Would you give me employment? What am
I fit for? Nothing! You could find work and bread for an Irish
labourer, nor ask who or what he was; but to a man who strays towards
you, seemingly from a sphere in which, if Poverty enters, she drops a
courtesy, and is called 'genteel,' you cry, 'Hold, produce your passport;
where are your credentials, references?' I have none. I have slipped
out of the world I once moved in. I can no more appeal to those I knew
in it than if I had transmigrated from one of yon stars, and said, 'See
there what I was once!' Oh, but you do not think she looks ill!--do you?
do you? Wretch that I am! And I thought to save her!"
The old man trembled from head to foot, and his cheek was as pale as
ashes.
Again the good magistrate took his hand, but this time the clasp was
encouraging. "Cheer up: where there is a will there is a way; you
justify the opinion I formed in your favour despite all circumstances
to the contrary. When I asked you to confide in me, it was not from
curiosity, but because I would serve you if I can. Reflect on what I
have said. True, you can know but little of me. Learn what is said of
me by my neighbours before you trust me further. For the rest, to-morrow
you will have many proposals to renew your performance. Excuse me if I
do not actively encourage it. I will not, at least, interfere to your
detriment; but--"
"But," exclaimed Waife, not much heeding this address, "but you think she
looks ill? you think this is injuring her? you think I am murdering my
grandchild,--my angel of life, my all?"
"Not so; I spoke too bluntly. Yet still--"
"Yes, yes, yet still--"
"Still, if you love her so dearly, would you blunt her conscience and
love of truth? Were you not an impostor tonight? Would you ask her to
reverence and imitate and pray for an impostor?"
"I never saw it in that light!" faltered Waife, struck to the soul;
"never, never, so help me Heaven!"
"I felt sure you did not," said the Mayor; "you saw but the sport of the
thing; you took to it as a schoolboy. I have known many such men, with
high animal spirits like yours. Such men err thoughtlessly; but did they
ever sin consciously, they could not keep those high spirits! Good
night, Mr. Chapman, I shall hear from you again."
The door closed on the form of the visitor; Waife's head sank on his
breast, and all the deep lines upon brow and cheek stood forth, records
of mighty griefs revived,--a countenance so altered, now its innocent
arch play was gone, that you would not have known it. At length he rose
very quietly, took up the candle, and stole into Sophy's room. Shading
the light with careful hand, he looked on her face as she slept. The
smile was still upon the parted lip: the child was still in the fairyland
of dreams. But the cheek was thinner than it had been weeks ago, and the
little hand that rested on the coverlet seemed wasted. Waife took that
hand noiselessly into his own! it was hot and dry. He dropped it with a
look of unutterable fear and anguish, and, shaking his head piteously;
stole back again. Seating himself by the table at which he had been
caught counting his gains, he folded his arms, and rooted his gaze on the
floor; and there, motionless, and as if in stupefied suspense of thought
itself, he sat till the dawn crept over the sky,--till the sun shone into
the windows. The dog, crouched at his feet, sometimes started up and
whined as to attract his notice: he did not heed it. The clock struck
six; the house began to stir. The chambermaid came into the room. Waife
rose and took his hat, brushing its nap mechanically with his sleeve.
"Who did you say was the best here?" he asked with a vacant smile,
touching the chambermaid's arm.
"Sir! the best--what?"
"The best doctor, ma'am; none of your parish apothecaries,--the best
physician,--Dr. Gill,--did you say Gill? Thank you; his address, High
Street. Close by, ma'am." With his grand bow,--such is habit!--
Gentleman Waife smiled graciously, and left the room. Sir Isaac
stretched himself and followed.
