CHAPTER XI
DULCE DOMUM
I must skip a few years; long years they were then to me; as I look backupon them now, they seem to have fleeted away like a dream. Victor andI are still at Everdon, but we are now the two senior boys in theschool. De Rohan has grown into one of the handsomest youths you willoften see. His blue eye is as clear and merry as ever, but the chestnutcurls have turned dark and glossy, and the light, agile form is rapidlydeveloping itself into a strong, symmetrical young man. He is stillfrank, gay, and unsophisticated; quick enough at his studies, bututterly without perseverance, and longing ardently for the time when heshall be free to embark upon a course of pleasure and dissipation. I ammuch altered too. With increasing growth and the assumption of the_toga virilis_, or that manly garment which schoolboys abruptlydenominate "tails," I have acquired a certain degree of outwardequanimity and self-command, but still suffer much from inwardmisgivings as to my own appearance and personal advantages. HopelesslyI consult the glass in our joint bed-room--the same glass that dailyreflects Victor's handsome face and graceful figure--and am forcedunwillingly to confess that it presents to me the image of a swarthy,coarse-featured lad, with sunken eyes and scowling eyebrows, sallow incomplexion, with a wide, low forehead overhung by a profusion of bushyblack hair; this unprepossessing countenance surmounting a short squarefigure, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, and possessed of great physicalstrength. Yes, I was proud of my strength. I shall never forget theday when first I discovered that nature had gifted me with one personaladvantage, that I, of all others, was disposed most to appreciate. Alever had been left in the playground, by which the workmen, who wererepairing the wall, intended to lift the stem of the well-known treewhich had formerly constituted what we called "The Club." We boys hadcome out of school whilst the men were gone to dinner. Manners, themuscular, was delighted with such an opportunity of displaying hisprowess; how foolish he looked when he found himself incapable of movingthe huge inert mass--he said it was impossible; two boys attempted it,then three, still the great trunk remained motionless. I asked leave totry, amidst the jeers of all, for I was usually so quiet andundemonstrative that no one believed Egerton had, in schoolboy parlance,either "pith or pluck" in him. I laid my weight to it and heaved "witha will"; the great block of timber vibrated, moved, and rolled along thesward. What a triumph it was, and how I prided myself on it. I, too,had my ideal of what I should like to be, although I would not haveconfessed it to a soul. I wished to be like some _preux chevalier_ ofthe olden time; my childish longing to be loved had merged into anardent desire to be admired; I would have been brave and courteous andchivalrous and strong. Yes, in all the characters of the olden timethat I so loved to study, strength was described as one of the firstattributes of a hero. Sir Tristram, Sir Launcelot, Sir Bevis, were all"strong," and my heart leapt to think that if the opportunity everarrived, my personal strength might give me a chance of distinguishingmyself, when the beautiful and the gallant were helpless and overcome.But there was another qualification of which in my secret soul I hadhideous misgivings,--I doubted my own courage: I knew I was nervous andtimid in the common every-day pursuits of a schoolboy's life; I couldnot venture on a strange horse without feeling my heart in my mouth; Idid not dare stop a ball that was bowled swiftly in to my wicket, norfire a gun without shutting both eyes before I ventured to pull thetrigger. What if I should be a coward after all? A _coward!_ thethoughts of it almost drove me mad; and yet how could I tell but that Iwas branded with that hideous curse? I longed, yet dreaded, to know theworst.
In my studies I was unusually backward for a boy of my age. Virgil,thanks to the picture of Dido, never to be forgotten, I had completelymastered; but mathematics, arithmetic--all that are termed the exactsciences--I appeared totally incapable of learning. Languages I pickedup with extraordinary facility, and this alone redeemed me from thecharacter of an irreclaimable dunce.
"You _can_ learn, sir, if you will," was March's constant remark, afterI had arrived at the exalted position of a senior boy, to whom floggingand such coercive measures were inappropriate, and for whom "out ofbounds" was not. "You _can_ learn, or else why do I see you poring overArabic and Sanscrit during play-hours, when you had much better be atcricket? You must have brains somewhere, but to save my life I can'tfind them. You can speak half-a-dozen languages, as I am informed,nearly as well as I can speak Latin, and yet if I set you to do a 'Ruleof Three' sum, you make more blunders than the lowest little dunce inthe school! Egerton, I can't make you out."
It was breaking-up day at Everdon. Victor and I walked with our armsover each other's shoulders, up and down, up and down, in the oldplayground, and as we paced those well-worn flags, of which we knewevery stone, my heart sank within me to think it was for the last,_last_ time. What is there that we are not sorry to do for the lasttime? I had hated school as much as any schoolboy could; I had lookedforward to my emancipation as the captive looks forward to the openingof his prison-door; and now the time was come, and I felt grieved andout of spirits to think that I should see the old place no more.
"You must write to me constantly, Vere," said Victor, with anaffectionate hug, as we took our hundredth turn. "We must never forgeteach other, however far apart, and next winter you must come again toEdeldorf; I shall be there when the shooting begins. Oh, Vere, you willbe very dull at home."
"No," I replied; "I like Alton Grange, and I like a quiet life. I amnot of your way of thinking, Victor; you are never happy except in abustle; I wish I were more like you;" and I sighed as I thought of thecontrast between us.
I do not know what brought it to my mind, but I thought of ConstanceBeverley, and the first time we saw her when we were all childrentogether at Beverley Manor. Since then our acquaintance had indeedprogressed but little; we scarcely ever met except on certain Sundays,when we took advantage of our liberty as senior boys to go to church atFleetsbury, where from the gallery we could see right into the Beverleypew, and mark the change time had wrought on our former playfellow.After service, at the door we might perhaps exchange a stiff greetingand a few words before she and her governess got into the carriage; andthis transcendent pleasure we were content to purchase with a broilingwalk of some five miles on a dusty high-road, and a patient endurance ofthe longest sermon from the worthy rector of Fleetsbury, an excellentman, skilled in casuistry, and gifted with extraordinary powers ofdiscourse. Victor, I think, took these expeditions in his owngood-natured way, and seemed to care but little whether he went or not.One hot Sunday, I recollect he suggested that we should dispense withafternoon church altogether, and go to bathe instead, a proposal Iscouted with the utmost indignation, for I looked forward to ourmeetings with a passionate longing for which I could not account even tomyself, and which I never for an instant dreamed of attributing to thecharms of Miss Beverley. I know not now what tempted me to ask thequestion, but I felt myself becoming bright scarlet as I inquired of myschool-fellow whether he had not _other_ friends in Somersetshirebesides myself whom he would regret leaving. His reply ought to haveset my mind at ease, if I was disturbed at the suspicion of hisentertaining any _penchant_ for Miss Beverley, for he answered at oncein his own off-hand way--"None whatever that I care a sixpence about,not even that prim little girl and her governess, whom you drag me fivemiles every Sunday to see. No, Vere, if I could take you with me, Ishould sing for joy the whole way from here to London. As it is, Ishall not break my heart: I am so glad to get away from this dull,dreadful place."
Then he did not care for Miss Beverley, after all. Well, and whatdifference could that possibly make to me? Certainly, I was likely tosee her pretty constantly in the next year or two, as our respectiveabodes would be but a short distance apart; but what of that? Therecould be nothing in common between the high-born, haughty young lady,and her awkward, repulsive neighbour. Yet I was glad, too, that Victordid not care for her. All my old affection for him came back wi
th agush, and I wrung his hand, and cried like a fool to think we were sosoon to be parted, perhaps for years. The other boys were singing_Dulce domum_ in the schoolroom, hands joined, dancing round and round,and stamping wildly with the chorus, like so many Bacchanals; they hadno regrets, no misgivings; they were not going to leave for _good_.Even Manners looked forward to his temporary release with brightanticipations of amusement. He was to spend the vacation with aclerical cousin in Devonshire, the cousin of whom we all knew so much byreport, and who, indeed, to judge by his relative's account, must havebeen an individual of extraordinary talents and attainments. The usherapproached us with an expression of mingled pleasure and pain on hisgood-looking, vacant countenance. He had nearly finished packing histhings, and was now knocking the dust out of those old green slippers Iremembered when first I came to Everdon. He was a good-hearted fellow,and was sorry to lose his two old friends.
"We shall miss you both very much next half," said he; "nothing butlittle boys here now. Everdon is not what it used to be. Dear me, wenever have such a pupil as Ropsley now. When you two are gone therewill be no one left for me to associate with: this is not a place for aman of energy, for a man that feels he is a man," added Manners,doubling his arm, and feeling if the biceps was still in its rightplace. "Here am I now, with a muscular frame, a good constitution, aspirit of adventure, and a military figure" (appealing to me, forVictor, as usual, was beginning to laugh), "and what chances have I ofusing my advantages in this circumscribed sphere of action? I might aswell be a weak, puny stripling, without an atom of nerve, or manliness,or energy, for all the good I am likely to do here. I must cut it,Egerton; I must find a career; I am too good for an usher--an usher," herepeated, with a strong expression of disgust; "I, who feel fit to fightmy way anywhere--I have mistaken my profession--I ought to have been anofficer--a cavalry officer; that would have suited me better than thisdull, insipid life. I must consult my cousin about it; perhaps we shallmeet again in some very different scenes. What say you, De Rohan,should you not be surprised to see me at the head of a regiment?"
Victor could conceal his mirth no longer, and Manners turned somewhatangrily to me. "You seem to be very happy as you are," I answered,sadly, for I was contrasting his well-grown, upright figure and simplefresh-coloured face, with my own repulsive exterior, and thinking howwillingly I would change places with him, although he _was_ an usher;"but wherever we meet, I am sure _I_ shall be glad to see you again."In my own heart I thought Manners was pretty certain to be at Everdon ifI should revisit it that day ten years, as I was used to these visionaryschemes of his for the future, and had heard him talk in the same strainevery vacation regularly since I first came to school.
But there was little time now for such speculations. The chaises weredriving round to the door to take the boys away. March bid us anaffectionate farewell in his study. Victor and I were presentedrespectively with a richly-bound copy of _Horatius Flaccus_ and_Virgilius Maro_--copies which, I fear, in after life, were never soiledby too much use. The last farewell was spoken--the last pressure of thehand exchanged--and we drove off on our different destinations; myfriend bound for London, Paris, and his beloved Hungary; myself, longingto see my father once more, and taste the seclusion and repose of AltonGrange. To no boy on earth could a school-life have been moredistasteful than to me; no boy could have longed more ardently for thepeaceful calm of a domestic hearth, and yet I felt lonely and out ofspirits even now, when I was going home.