CHAPTER V
Frank Gresham's First Speech
We have said, that over and above those assembled in the house, therecame to the Greshamsbury dinner on Frank's birthday the Jacksonsof the Grange, consisting of Mr and Mrs Jackson the Batesons fromAnnesgrove, viz., Mr and Mrs Bateson, and Miss Bateson, theirdaughter--an unmarried lady of about fifty; the Bakers of Mill Hill,father and son and Mr Caleb Oriel, the rector, with his beautifulsister, Patience. Dr Thorne, and his niece Mary, we count among thosealready assembled at Greshamsbury.
There was nothing very magnificent in the number of the guests thusbrought together to do honour to young Frank; but he, perhaps, wascalled on to take a more prominent part in the proceedings, to bemade more of a hero than would have been the case had half the countybeen there. In that case the importance of the guests would have beenso great that Frank would have got off with a half-muttered speech ortwo; but now he had to make a separate oration to every one, and veryweary work he found it.
The Batesons, Bakers, and Jacksons were very civil; no doubt the moreso from an unconscious feeling on their part, that as the squire wasknown to be a little out at elbows as regards money, any deficiencyon their part might be considered as owing to the present stateof affairs at Greshamsbury. Fourteen thousand a year will receivehonour; in that case there is no doubt, and the man absolutelypossessing it is not apt to be suspicious as to the treatment he mayreceive; but the ghost of fourteen thousand a year is not always soself-assured. Mr Baker, with his moderate income, was a very muchricher man than the squire; and, therefore, he was peculiarly forwardin congratulating Frank on the brilliancy of his prospects.
Poor Frank had hardly anticipated what there would be to do, andbefore dinner was announced he was very tired of it. He had no warmerfeeling for any of the grand cousins than a very ordinary cousinlylove; and he had resolved, forgetful of birth and blood, and allthose gigantic considerations which, now that manhood had come uponhim, he was bound always to bear in mind,--he had resolved to sneakout to dinner comfortably with Mary Thorne if possible; and if notwith Mary, then with his other love, Patience Oriel.
Great, therefore, was his consternation at finding that, after beingkept continually in the foreground for half an hour before dinner, hehad to walk out to the dining-room with his aunt the countess, andtake his father's place for the day at the bottom of the table.
"It will now depend altogether upon yourself, Frank, whether youmaintain or lose that high position in the county which has been heldby the Greshams for so many years," said the countess, as she walkedthrough the spacious hall, resolving to lose no time in teachingto her nephew that great lesson which it was so imperative that heshould learn.
Frank took this as an ordinary lecture, meant to inculcate generalgood conduct, such as old bores of aunts are apt to inflict onyouthful victims in the shape of nephews and nieces.
"Yes," said Frank; "I suppose so; and I mean to go along all square,aunt, and no mistake. When I get back to Cambridge, I'll read likebricks."
His aunt did not care two straws about his reading. It was not byreading that the Greshams of Greshamsbury had held their heads up inthe county, but by having high blood and plenty of money. The bloodhad come naturally to this young man; but it behoved him to look forthe money in a great measure himself. She, Lady de Courcy, coulddoubtless help him; she might probably be able to fit him with a wifewho would bring her money onto his birth. His reading was a matter inwhich she could in no way assist him; whether his taste might leadhim to prefer books or pictures, or dogs and horses, or turnips indrills, or old Italian plates and dishes, was a matter which did notmuch signify; with which it was not at all necessary that his nobleaunt should trouble herself.
"Oh! you are going to Cambridge again, are you? Well, if your fatherwishes it;--though very little is ever gained now by a universityconnexion."
"I am to take my degree in October, aunt; and I am determined, at anyrate, that I won't be plucked."
"Plucked!"
"No; I won't be plucked. Baker was plucked last year, and all becausehe got into the wrong set at John's. He's an excellent fellow if youknew him. He got among a set of men who did nothing but smoke anddrink beer. Malthusians, we call them."
"Malthusians!"
"'Malt,' you know, aunt, and 'use;' meaning that they drink beer. Sopoor Harry Baker got plucked. I don't know that a fellow's any theworse; however, I won't get plucked."
By this time the party had taken their place round the long board,Mr Gresham sitting at the top, in the place usually occupied by LadyArabella. She, on the present occasion, sat next to her son on theone side, as the countess did on the other. If, therefore, Frank nowwent astray, it would not be from want of proper leading.
"Aunt, will you have some beef?" said he, as soon as the soupand fish had been disposed of, anxious to perform the rites ofhospitality now for the first time committed to his charge.
"Do not be in a hurry, Frank," said his mother; "the servants will--"
"Oh! ah! I forgot; there are cutlets and those sort of things. Myhand is not in yet for this work, aunt. Well, as I was saying aboutCambridge--"
"Is Frank to go back to Cambridge, Arabella?" said the countess toher sister-in-law, speaking across her nephew.
"So his father seems to say."
"Is it not a waste of time?" asked the countess.
"You know I never interfere," said the Lady Arabella; "I never likedthe idea of Cambridge myself at all. All the de Courcys were ChristChurch men; but the Greshams, it seems, were always at Cambridge."
"Would it not be better to send him abroad at once?"
"Much better, I would think," said the Lady Arabella; "but you know,I never interfere: perhaps you would speak to Mr Gresham."
The countess smiled grimly, and shook her head with a decidedlynegative shake. Had she said out loud to the young man, "Your fatheris such an obstinate, pig-headed, ignorant fool, that it is no usespeaking to him; it would be wasting fragrance on the desert air,"she could not have spoken more plainly. The effect on Frank was this:that he said to himself, speaking quite as plainly as Lady de Courcyhad spoken by her shake of the face, "My mother and aunt are alwaysdown on the governor, always; but the more they are down on him themore I'll stick to him. I certainly will take my degree: I will readlike bricks; and I'll begin to-morrow."
"Now will you take some beef, aunt?" This was said out loud.
The Countess de Courcy was very anxious to go on with her lessonwithout loss of time; but she could not, while surrounded by guestsand servants, enunciate the great secret: "You must marry money,Frank; that is your one great duty; that is the matter to be bornesteadfastly in your mind." She could not now, with sufficient weightand impress of emphasis, pour this wisdom into his ears; the moreespecially as he was standing up to his work of carving, and was deepto his elbows in horse-radish, fat, and gravy. So the countess satsilent while the banquet proceeded.
"Beef, Harry?" shouted the young heir to his friend Baker. "Oh! but Isee it isn't your turn yet. I beg your pardon, Miss Bateson," and hesent to that lady a pound and a half of excellent meat, cut out withgreat energy in one slice, about half an inch thick.
And so the banquet went on.
Before dinner Frank had found himself obliged to make numerous smallspeeches in answer to the numerous individual congratulations of hisfriends; but these were as nothing to the one great accumulated onusof an oration which he had long known that he should have to sustainafter the cloth was taken away. Someone of course would propose hishealth, and then there would be a clatter of voices, ladies andgentlemen, men and girls; and when that was done he would findhimself standing on his legs, with the room about him, going roundand round and round.
Having had a previous hint of this, he had sought advice from hiscousin, the Honourable George, whom he regarded as a dab at speaking;at least, so he had heard the Honourable George say of himself.
"What the deuce is a fellow to say, George, when he stands up afterthe cl
atter is done?"
"Oh, it's the easiest thing in life," said the cousin. "Only rememberthis: you mustn't get astray; that is what they call presence ofmind, you know. I'll tell you what I do, and I'm often called up, youknow; at our agriculturals I always propose the farmers' daughters:well, what I do is this--I keep my eye steadfastly fixed on one ofthe bottles, and never move it."
"On one of the bottles!" said Frank; "wouldn't it be better if I madea mark of some old covey's head? I don't like looking at the table."
"The old covey'd move, and then you'd be done; besides there isn'tthe least use in the world in looking up. I've heard people say, whogo to those sort of dinners every day of their lives, that wheneveranything witty is said; the fellow who says it is sure to be lookingat the mahogany."
"Oh, you know I shan't say anything witty; I'll be quite the otherway."
"But there's no reason you shouldn't learn the manner. That's the wayI succeeded. Fix your eye on one of the bottles; put your thumbs inyour waist-coat pockets; stick out your elbows, bend your knees alittle, and then go ahead."
"Oh, ah! go ahead; that's all very well; but you can't go ahead ifyou haven't got any steam."
"A very little does it. There can be nothing so easy as your speech.When one has to say something new every year about the farmers'daughters, why one has to use one's brains a bit. Let's see: how willyou begin? Of course, you'll say that you are not accustomed to thissort of thing; that the honour conferred upon you is too much foryour feelings; that the bright array of beauty and talent aroundyou quite overpowers your tongue, and all that sort of thing. Thendeclare you're a Gresham to the backbone."
"Oh, they know that."
"Well, tell them again. Then of course you must say something aboutus; or you'll have the countess as black as old Nick."
"Abut my aunt, George? What on earth can I say about her when she'sthere herself before me?"
"Before you! of course; that's just the reason. Oh, say any lie youcan think of; you must say something about us. You know we've comedown from London on purpose."
Frank, in spite of the benefit he was receiving from his cousin'serudition, could not help wishing in his heart that they had allremained in London but this he kept to himself. He thanked hiscousin for his hints, and though he did not feel that the troubleof his mind was completely cured, he began to hope that he might gothrough the ordeal without disgracing himself.
Nevertheless, he felt rather sick at heart when Mr Baker got up topropose the toast as soon as the servants were gone. The servants,that is, were gone officially; but they were there in a body, menand women, nurses, cooks, and ladies' maids, coachmen, grooms, andfootmen, standing in two doorways to hear what Master Frank wouldsay. The old housekeeper headed the maids at one door, standingboldly inside the room; and the butler controlled the men at theother, marshalling them back with a drawn corkscrew.
Mr Baker did not say much; but what he did say, he said well. Theyhad all seen Frank Gresham grow up from a child; and were nowrequired to welcome as a man amongst them one who was well qualifiedto carry on the honour of that loved and respected family. Hisyoung friend, Frank, was every inch a Gresham. Mr Baker omitted tomake mention of the infusion of de Courcy blood, and the countess,therefore, drew herself up on her chair and looked as though she wereextremely bored. He then alluded tenderly to his own long friendshipwith the present squire, Francis Newbold Gresham the elder; and satdown, begging them to drink health, prosperity, long life, and anexcellent wife to their dear young friend, Francis Newbold Greshamthe younger.
There was a great jingling of glasses, of course; made the merrierand the louder by the fact that the ladies were still there aswell as the gentlemen. Ladies don't drink toasts frequently; and,therefore, the occasion coming rarely was the more enjoyed. "Godbless you, Frank!" "Your good health, Frank!" "And especially agood wife, Frank!" "Two or three of them, Frank!" "Good health andprosperity to you, Mr Gresham!" "More power to you, Frank, my boy!""May God bless you and preserve you, my dear boy!" and then a merry,sweet, eager voice from the far end of the table, "Frank! Frank! Dolook at me, pray do Frank; I am drinking your health in real wine;ain't I, papa?" Such were the addresses which greeted Mr FrancisNewbold Gresham the younger as he essayed to rise up on his feet forthe first time since he had come to man's estate.
When the clatter was at an end, and he was fairly on his legs, hecast a glance before him on the table, to look for a decanter. Hehad not much liked his cousin's theory of sticking to the bottle;nevertheless, in the difficulty of the moment, it was well to haveany system to go by. But, as misfortune would have it, though thetable was covered with bottles, his eye could not catch one. Indeed,his eye first could catch nothing, for the things swam before him,and the guests all seemed to dance in their chairs.
Up he got, however, and commenced his speech. As he could not followhis preceptor's advice as touching the bottle, he adopted his owncrude plan of "making a mark on some old covey's head," and thereforelooked dead at the doctor.
"Upon my word, I am very much obliged to you, gentlemen and ladies,ladies and gentlemen, I should say, for drinking my health, anddoing me so much honour, and all that sort of thing. Upon my word Iam. Especially to Mr Baker. I don't mean you, Harry, you're not MrBaker."
"As much as you're Mr Gresham, Master Frank."
"But I am not Mr Gresham; and I don't mean to be for many a long yearif I can help it; not at any rate till we have had another coming ofage here."
"Bravo, Frank; and whose will that be?"
"That will be my son, and a very fine lad he will be; and I hopehe'll make a better speech than his father. Mr Baker said I was everyinch a Gresham. Well, I hope I am." Here the countess began to lookcold and angry. "I hope the day will never come when my father won'town me for one."
"There's no fear, no fear," said the doctor, who was almost put outof countenance by the orator's intense gaze. The countess lookedcolder and more angry, and muttered something to herself about abear-garden.
"Gardez Gresham; eh? Harry! mind that when you're sticking in a gapand I'm coming after you. Well, I am sure I am very obliged to youfor the honour you have all done me, especially the ladies, who don'tdo this sort of thing on ordinary occasions. I wish they did; don'tyou, doctor? And talking of the ladies, my aunt and cousins have comeall the way from London to hear me make this speech, which certainlyis not worth the trouble; but, all the same I am very much obligedto them." And he looked round and made a little bow at the countess."And so I am to Mr and Mrs Jackson, and Mr and Mrs and Miss Bateson,and Mr Baker--I'm not at all obliged to you, Harry--and to Mr Orieland Miss Oriel, and to Mr Umbleby, and to Dr Thorne, and to Mary--Ibeg her pardon, I mean Miss Thorne." And then he sat down, amid theloud plaudits of the company, and a string of blessings which camefrom the servants behind him.
After this the ladies rose and departed. As she went, Lady Arabella,kissed her son's forehead, and then his sisters kissed him, and oneor two of his lady-cousins; and then Miss Bateson shook him by thehand. "Oh, Miss Bateson," said he, "I thought the kissing was to goall round." So Miss Bateson laughed and went her way; and PatienceOriel nodded at him, but Mary Thorne, as she quietly left the room,almost hidden among the extensive draperies of the grander ladies,hardly allowed her eyes to meet his.
He got up to hold the door for them as they passed; and as they went,he managed to take Patience by the hand; he took her hand and pressedit for a moment, but dropped it quickly, in order that he might gothrough the same ceremony with Mary, but Mary was too quick for him.
"Frank," said Mr Gresham, as soon as the door was closed, "bringyour glass here, my boy;" and the father made room for his son closebeside himself. "The ceremony is now over, so you may have your placeof dignity." Frank sat himself down where he was told, and Mr Greshamput his hand on his son's shoulder and half caressed him, while thetears stood in his eyes. "I think the doctor is right, Baker, I thinkhe'll never make us ashamed of him."
"I am sure he never will," said Mr Baker. r />
"I don't think he ever will," said Dr Thorne.
The tones of the men's voices were very different. Mr Baker did notcare a straw about it; why should he? He had an heir of his own aswell as the squire; one also who was the apple of _his_ eye. But thedoctor,--he did care; he had a niece, to be sure, whom he loved,perhaps as well as these men loved their sons; but there was room inhis heart also for young Frank Gresham.
After this small expose of feeling they sat silent for a moment ortwo. But silence was not dear to the heart of the Honourable John,and so he took up the running.
"That's a niceish nag you gave Frank this morning," he said to hisuncle. "I was looking at him before dinner. He is a Monsoon, isn'the?"
"Well I can't say I know how he was bred," said the squire. "He showsa good deal of breeding."
"He's a Monsoon, I'm sure," said the Honourable John. "They've allthose ears, and that peculiar dip in the back. I suppose you gave agoodish figure for him?"
"Not so very much," said the squire.
"He's a trained hunter, I suppose?"
"If not, he soon will be," said the squire.
"Let Frank alone for that," said Harry Baker.
"He jumps beautifully, sir," said Frank. "I haven't tried him myself,but Peter made him go over the bar two or three times this morning."
The Honourable John was determined to give his cousin a helping hand,as he considered it. He thought that Frank was very ill-used in beingput off with so incomplete a stud, and thinking also that the son hadnot spirit enough to attack his father himself on the subject, theHonourable John determined to do it for him.
"He's the making of a very nice horse, I don't doubt. I wish you hada string like him, Frank."
Frank felt the blood rush to his face. He would not for worlds havehis father think that he was discontented, or otherwise than pleasedwith the present he had received that morning. He was heartilyashamed of himself in that he had listened with a certain degree ofcomplacency to his cousin's tempting; but he had no idea that thesubject would be repeated--and then repeated, too, before his father,in a manner to vex him on such a day as this, before such people aswere assembled there. He was very angry with his cousin, and for amoment forgot all his hereditary respect for a de Courcy.
"I tell you what, John," said he, "do you choose your day, some dayearly in the season, and come out on the best thing you have, andI'll bring, not the black horse, but my old mare; and then do you tryand keep near me. If I don't leave you at the back of Godspeed beforelong, I'll give you the mare and the horse too."
The Honourable John was not known in Barsetshire as one of the mostforward of its riders. He was a man much addicted to hunting, as faras the get-up of the thing was concerned; he was great in boots andbreeches; wondrously conversant with bits and bridles; he had quitea collection of saddles; and patronised every newest invention forcarrying spare shoes, sandwiches, and flasks of sherry. He wasprominent at the cover side;--some people, including the masterof hounds, thought him perhaps a little too loudly prominent;he affected a familiarity with the dogs, and was on speakingacquaintance with every man's horse. But when the work was cut out,when the pace began to be sharp, when it behoved a man either to rideor visibly to decline to ride, then--so at least said they who hadnot the de Courcy interest quite closely at heart--then, in thoseheart-stirring moments, the Honourable John was too often founddeficient.
There was, therefore, a considerable laugh at his expense when Frank,instigated to his innocent boast by a desire to save his father,challenged his cousin to a trial of prowess. The Honourable Johnwas not, perhaps, as much accustomed to the ready use of his tongueas was his honourable brother, seeing that it was not his annualbusiness to depict the glories of the farmers' daughters; at anyrate, on this occasion he seemed to be at some loss for words; heshut up, as the slang phrase goes, and made no further allusion tothe necessity of supplying young Gresham with a proper string ofhunters.
But the old squire had understood it all; had understood the meaningof his nephew's attack; had thoroughly understood also the meaning ofhis son's defence, and the feeling which actuated it. He also hadthought of the stableful of horses which had belonged to himself whenhe came of age; and of the much more humble position which his sonwould have to fill than that which _his_ father had prepared for him.He thought of this, and was sad enough, though he had sufficientspirit to hide from his friends around him the fact, that theHonourable John's arrow had not been discharged in vain.
"He shall have Champion," said the father to himself. "It is time forme to give it up."
Now Champion was one of the two fine old hunters which the squirekept for his own use. And it might have been said of him now, at theperiod of which we are speaking, that the only really happy momentsof his life were those which he spent in the field. So much as to itsbeing time for him to give up.