________________________________________________
_ For the first time in his life Theobald felt that he had done
something right, and could look forward to meeting his father
without alarm. The old gentleman, indeed, had written him a most
cordial letter, announcing his intention of standing godfather to
the boy--nay, I may as well give it in full, as it shows the writer
at his best. It runs:
"Dear Theobald,--Your letter gave me very sincere pleasure, the more
so because I had made up my mind for the worst; pray accept my most
hearty congratulations for my daughter-in-law and for yourself.
"I have long preserved a phial of water from the Jordan for the
christening of my first grandson, should it please God to grant me
one. It was given me by my old friend Dr Jones. You will agree
with me that though the efficacy of the sacrament does not depend
upon the source of the baptismal waters, yet, ceteris paribus, there
is a sentiment attaching to the waters of the Jordan which should
not be despised. Small matters like this sometimes influence a
child's whole future career.
"I shall bring my own cook, and have told him to get everything
ready for the christening dinner. Ask as many of your best
neighbours as your table will hold. By the way, I have told Lesueur
NOT TO GET A LOBSTER--you had better drive over yourself and get one
from Saltness (for Battersby was only fourteen or fifteen miles from
the sea coast); they are better there, at least I think so, than
anywhere else in England.
"I have put your boy down for something in the event of his
attaining the age of twenty-one years. If your brother John
continues to have nothing but girls I may do more later on, but I
have many claims upon me, and am not as well off as you may
imagine.--Your affectionate father,
"G. PONTIFEX."
A few days afterwards the writer of the above letter made his
appearance in a fly which had brought him from Gildenham to
Battersby, a distance of fourteen miles. There was Lesueur, the
cook, on the box with the driver, and as many hampers as the fly
could carry were disposed upon the roof and elsewhere. Next day the
John Pontifexes had to come, and Eliza and Maria, as well as
Alethea, who, by her own special request, was godmother to the boy,
for Mr Pontifex had decided that they were to form a happy family
party; so come they all must, and be happy they all must, or it
would be the worse for them. Next day the author of all this hubbub
was actually christened. Theobald had proposed to call him George
after old Mr Pontifex, but strange to say, Mr Pontifex over-ruled
him in favour of the name Ernest. The word "earnest" was just
beginning to come into fashion, and he thought the possession of
such a name might, like his having been baptised in water from the
Jordan, have a permanent effect upon the boy's character, and
influence him for good during the more critical periods of his life.
I was asked to be his second godfather, and was rejoiced to have an
opportunity of meeting Alethea, whom I had not seen for some few
years, but with whom I had been in constant correspondence. She and
I had always been friends from the time we had played together as
children onwards. When the death of her grandfather and grandmother
severed her connection with Paleham my intimacy with the Pontifexes
was kept up by my having been at school and college with Theobald,
and each time I saw her I admired her more and more as the best,
kindest, wittiest, most lovable, and, to my mind, handsomest woman
whom I had ever seen. None of the Pontifexes were deficient in good
looks; they were a well-grown shapely family enough, but Alethea was
the flower of the flock even as regards good looks, while in respect
of all other qualities that make a woman lovable, it seemed as
though the stock that had been intended for the three daughters, and
would have been about sufficient for them, had all been allotted to
herself, her sisters getting none, and she all.
It is impossible for me to explain how it was that she and I never
married. We two knew exceedingly well, and that must suffice for
the reader. There was the most perfect sympathy and understanding
between us; we knew that neither of us would marry anyone else. I
had asked her to marry me a dozen times over; having said this much
I will say no more upon a point which is in no way necessary for the
development of my story. For the last few years there had been
difficulties in the way of our meeting, and I had not seen her,
though, as I have said, keeping up a close correspondence with her.
Naturally I was overjoyed to meet her again; she was now just thirty
years old, but I thought she looked handsomer than ever.
Her father, of course, was the lion of the party, but seeing that we
were all meek and quite willing to be eaten, he roared to us rather
than at us. It was a fine sight to see him tucking his napkin under
his rosy old gills, and letting it fall over his capacious waistcoat
while the high light from the chandelier danced about the bump of
benevolence on his bald old head like a star of Bethlehem.
The soup was real turtle; the old gentleman was evidently well
pleased and he was beginning to come out. Gelstrap stood behind his
master's chair. I sat next Mrs Theobald on her left hand, and was
thus just opposite her father-in-law, whom I had every opportunity
of observing.
During the first ten minutes or so, which were taken up with the
soup and the bringing in of the fish, I should probably have
thought, if I had not long since made up my mind about him, what a
fine old man he was and how proud his children should be of him; but
suddenly as he was helping himself to lobster sauce, he flushed
crimson, a look of extreme vexation suffused his face, and he darted
two furtive but fiery glances to the two ends of the table, one for
Theobald and one for Christina. They, poor simple souls, of course
saw that something was exceedingly wrong, and so did I, but I
couldn't guess what it was till I heard the old man hiss in
Christina's ear: "It was not made with a hen lobster. What's the
use," he continued, "of my calling the boy Ernest, and getting him
christened in water from the Jordan, if his own father does not know
a cock from a hen lobster?"
This cut me too, for I felt that till that moment I had not so much
as known that there were cocks and hens among lobsters, but had
vaguely thought that in the matter of matrimony they were even as
the angels in heaven, and grew up almost spontaneously from rocks
and sea-weed.
Before the next course was over Mr Pontifex had recovered his
temper, and from that time to the end of the evening he was at his
best. He told us all about the water from the Jordan; how it had
been brought by Dr Jones along with some stone jars of water from
the Rhine, the Rhone, the Elbe and the Danube, and what trouble he
had had with them at the Custom Houses, and how the intention had
been to make punch with waters from all the greatest rivers in
Europe; and how he, Mr Pontifex, had saved the Jordan water from
going into the bowl, etc., etc. "No, no, no," he continued, "it
wouldn't have done at all, you know; very profane idea; so we each
took a pint bottle of it home with us, and the punch was much better
without it. I had a narrow escape with mine, though, the other day;
I fell over a hamper in the cellar, when I was getting it up to
bring to Battersby, and if I had not taken the greatest care the
bottle would certainly have been broken, but I saved it." And
Gelstrap was standing behind his chair all the time!
Nothing more happened to ruffle Mr Pontifex, so we had a delightful
evening, which has often recurred to me while watching the after
career of my godson.
I called a day or two afterwards and found Mr Pontifex still at
Battersby, laid up with one of those attacks of liver and depression
to which he was becoming more and more subject. I stayed to
luncheon. The old gentleman was cross and very difficult; he could
eat nothing--had no appetite at all. Christina tried to coax him
with a little bit of the fleshy part of a mutton chop. "How in the
name of reason can I be asked to eat a mutton chop?" he exclaimed
angrily; "you forget, my dear Christina, that you have to deal with
a stomach that is totally disorganised," and he pushed the plate
from him, pouting and frowning like a naughty old child. Writing as
I do by the light of a later knowledge, I suppose I should have seen
nothing in this but the world's growing pains, the disturbance
inseparable from transition in human things. I suppose in reality
not a leaf goes yellow in autumn without ceasing to care about its
sap and making the parent tree very uncomfortable by long growling
and grumbling--but surely nature might find some less irritating way
of carrying on business if she would give her mind to it. Why
should the generations overlap one another at all? Why cannot we be
buried as eggs in neat little cells with ten or twenty thousand
pounds each wrapped round us in Bank of England notes, and wake up,
as the sphex wasp does, to find that its papa and mamma have not
only left ample provision at its elbow, but have been eaten by
sparrows some weeks before it began to live consciously on its own
account?
About a year and a half afterwards the tables were turned on
Battersby--for Mrs John Pontifex was safely delivered of a boy. A
year or so later still, George Pontifex was himself struck down
suddenly by a fit of paralysis, much as his mother had been, but he
did not see the years of his mother. When his will was opened, it
was found that an original bequest of 20,000 pounds to Theobald
himself (over and above the sum that had been settled upon him and
Christina at the time of his marriage) had been cut down to 17,500
pounds when Mr Pontifex left "something" to Ernest. The "something"
proved to be 2500 pounds, which was to accumulate in the hands of
trustees. The rest of the property went to John Pontifex, except
that each of the daughters was left with about 15,000 pounds over
and above 5000 pounds a piece which they inherited from their
mother.
Theobald's father then had told him the truth but not the whole
truth. Nevertheless, what right had Theobald to complain?
Certainly it was rather hard to make him think that he and his were
to be gainers, and get the honour and glory of the bequest, when all
the time the money was virtually being taken out of Theobald's own
pocket. On the other hand the father doubtless argued that he had
never told Theobald he was to have anything at all; he had a full
right to do what he liked with his own money; if Theobald chose to
indulge in unwarrantable expectations that was no affair of his; as
it was he was providing for him liberally; and if he did take 2500
pounds of Theobald's share he was still leaving it to Theobald's
son, which, of course, was much the same thing in the end.
No one can deny that the testator had strict right upon his side;
nevertheless the reader will agree with me that Theobald and
Christina might not have considered the christening dinner so great
a success if all the facts had been before them. Mr Pontifex had
during his own life-time set up a monument in Elmhurst Church to the
memory of his wife (a slab with urns and cherubs like illegitimate
children of King George the Fourth, and all the rest of it), and had
left space for his own epitaph underneath that of his wife. I do
not know whether it was written by one of his children, or whether
they got some friend to write it for them. I do not believe that
any satire was intended. I believe that it was the intention to
convey that nothing short of the Day of Judgement could give anyone
an idea how good a man Mr Pontifex had been, but at first I found it
hard to think that it was free from guile.
The epitaph begins by giving dates of birth and death; then sets out
that the deceased was for many years head of the firm of Fairlie and
Pontifex, and also resident in the parish of Elmhurst. There is not
a syllable of either praise or dispraise. The last lines run as
follows:-
HE NOW LIES AWAITING A JOYFUL RESURRECTION
AT THE LAST DAY.
WHAT MANNER OF MAN HE WAS
THAT DAY WILL DISCOVER. _
Read next: CHAPTER XIX
Read previous: CHAPTER XVII
Table of content of Way of All Flesh
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
