Part 16 (1/2)
Julian relieved his disgust by an expression of impatience.
”I have no doubt, dear Ju--, I mean Home--I have no doubt,” he continued, with a gusto infinitely annoying, ”that you needed this rod.
I am afraid that you are as yet unconverted; that you have as yet no saving, no vital sense of Christianity. Some sin, perhaps, needs correction; some--”
”Confound your intolerable impudence and cant!” said Julian, starting from his seat, aroused by his hypocritical prate into unwonted intolerance; and he suddenly observed, by the cowering att.i.tude which Hazlet a.s.sumed, that the worthy youth was afraid of receiving at his head the water-bottle, on which Julian's hand was resting. Julian thought it best to avoid the temptation, and hoping Hazlet would take the hint, he said, ”Forgive my rudeness, Hazlet, but I am very tired and annoyed just now; in fact, I am hardly in a condition to talk with, as you see, and you are really _quite_ incapable of saying anything to help me.”
But Hazlet had come prepared to say his say, and did not attempt to move.
”Ah,” he said, with a sigh which seemed to express satisfaction--(some people always sigh when they thank G.o.d)--”I am afraid you are unprepared for the consolations of religion.”
”Of such a religion as yours, most certainly,” interrupted Julian, with haughty vehemence.
”The natural man, you see--” He stopped as he saw Julian's hand fidgeting towards the water-bottle. ”Ah! well, you will have still to sit at the sizars' table, and dine on the Fellows' leavings; perhaps it might inscrutably be good for you to bear the yoke--”
Had the fellow come to insult him? Was he there on purpose to gratify his malice at another's misfortune, under the pretext of pious reflections? Half-a-dozen times Julian had thought so, and thought so correctly. Hazlet's very little and very ignorant mind had been fed into self-complacency by the cheering belief that he and his friends formed a select party whose future welfare was secure, while ”the world”
was very wicked, and destined to everlasting burning; and in proportion to his gross conceit, was he nettled with the evident manner in which Julian, though without any rudeness, avoided his company even at Ildown, where he reigned with undisputed sway among his own admiring circle of _gynaikazia_. (Excuse the word, gentle reader; it is Saint Paul's--not mine.) Hazlet had come there, though in the depth of his hypocrisy he hardly knew it himself, to enjoy a little triumph over Julian's pride, and to pour a little vinegar, in the guise of a good Samaritan, on wounds which he knew to be bleeding still.
In saying the last sentence, in which he cut Julian to the very quick, Hazlet had seemed to his victim's excited imagination to be actually smacking his lips with undisguised delight. ”Ah, you will have still to dine at the sizars' table on the Fellows' leavings.” Julian knew that the form of the sentence made it most maliciously and odiously false;-- and that this hypocritical son of Belial should address him at such a moment in such a way was so revolting to his own generous spirit, that he could endure it no longer.
”What did you say?” he asked sharply.
”Of course, my dear Ju--, Home, I mean--poverty is no disgrace to you, you know. Some of the sizars are pious men, I have no doubt, and I dare say the Fellows leave--”
”I swear this is too much,” said Julian, using the only oath that ever in all his life-time crossed his lips. ”You canting and mean--Pshaw!
you are beneath my abuse. _Sizar_ indeed! there, take that, and begone.” He had meant to empty the tumbler in his face, but his hand shook with pa.s.sion, and the gla.s.s flew out of it, and after cutting the top of Hazlet's head, fell broken on the floor.
With a howl of dismay Hazlet fled to his own rooms, where, having satisfied himself that the cut had done little other harm than leaving some red streaks upon his damp and lanky hair, he put over it some strips of plaster as large as he conveniently could, and then with a lugubrious expression went to hall, and gratified his malice by buzzing and babbling among his fellows all sorts of lies and exaggerations about Julian's conduct and state of mind. When Kennedy came in, however, he put an abrupt end to Hazlet's calumnies by handling his own tumbler with so significant a glance, that Hazlet a.s.sumed a look of terror, and, amid shouts of laughter, retired with all speed out of reach of the danger.
Lillyston, always a firm and faithful friend, was grieved to the soul to hear of Julian's condition; for, without believing half that Hazlet said, it was at least clear that Julian had shown some violence, and, if Hazlet was to be trusted, ”had sworn at him in a manner perfectly awful.” What had come over Julian of late? Since that fit of uncontrollable and lasting pa.s.sion which had overpowered him when he was screwed in, he did not seem to have recovered that n.o.ble moral strength and equilibrium which was usually conspicuous in his character. The restlessness which had prevented him from doing the paper, the half sullen silence through the day, the horse-whipping of Brogten, the second outburst of unchecked feeling at the loss of the scholars.h.i.+p, and finally, this treatment of Hazlet, caused Lillyston a deep regret that his friend should have strayed so widely from his usual calm and manly course. It was as if one staggering blow had loosened all the joints of his moral armour, and left room for successive wounds. He determined to go and see him before chapel, and, if possible, get him to come and spend the evening quietly with him; he was only prevented from going at once by supposing that Julian would be dining by himself to avoid meeting any one in hall, and he did not wish to disturb him at his lonely meal.
Julian's head was aching with mortification, pa.s.sion, and fatigue; it seemed as if he had but one thought to which he could turn, and that this was a thought of weariness and pain. He dwelt much less on his own defeat than on the disappointment which he knew it would cause to Violet and his young brothers. He knew well that Mrs Home would bear it with equanimity, because she regarded all the events of life, however painful, with the same quiet resignation, and trusted ever in the gentle dealing and loving purposes of His hand who guides them all. Poor Julian longed to be able to regard it in this light too, but he had suffered the angry part of his nature to gain the victory, and his human reason was now being torn by his lion heart.
Unable to endure the notion of going to hall, which would be a painful reminder that the opportunity to which he had long looked for emanc.i.p.ation from his sizars.h.i.+p had pa.s.sed by, he determined to take some wine, in the hope that it would support him till the evening. He could not of course afford to give wine parties, but he always kept a few bottles in his rooms for medicinal purposes, or to offer to any stranger who might come to visit him. Taking out a decanter, he sat down in his armchair, and drank a gla.s.s or two. The wine exhilarated him; as he had scarcely tasted anything all day, it got rapidly into his head, and in a few minutes his thoughts seemed in a tumult of delirious emotion. Pride and pa.s.sion triumphed over every other feeling; after all, what was the scholars.h.i.+p to him? Tus.h.!.+ he looked for better things in life than scholars.h.i.+ps. He would discard the petty successes of pedantry, and would seek a loftier greatness. He had been a fool to trouble himself about such trifles. And as these arrogant mists clouded his fancy, he broke out into irregular s.n.a.t.c.hes of unmeaning song.
It was a saint's-day evening, and consequently chapel was at a quarter past six instead of six, and the undergraduates wore surplices in chapel instead of their ordinary gowns. On saints'-days there is always a choral service at Saint Werner's College, and the excellence of the choir generally attracted a large congregation. To Julian, who was fond of music, these saint's-day services had a peculiar interest; and now while his brain was swimming with the fumes of wine, he determined to go to chapel, and imagined to himself the pleasure he should feel in striding haughtily through the throng of men up the long aisle to the sizar's seat, to show by his look and manner that his courage was undaunted, and that his self-confidence rose superior to defeat.
Although the chapel-bell had not yet begun to ring, he put out his cap and surplice, and sat down to drink more wine.
Just as the clock struck six, Lillyston knocked at Julian's door.
”Aha! old fellow,” said Julian, ”you are just in time to have a gla.s.s of wine before chapel.”
”No, thank you,” said Lillyston coldly, sick at heart to see a fresh proof of his friend's unworthy excitement, but without realising as yet his true condition.
”Tus.h.!.+ you think I care about that trumpery Clerkland? Not I! Won't you have some wine?--no? well, I shall, and then I'm going to chapel.”
His flushed countenance, and excited manner, joined to the harsh tones of his generally pleasant and musical voice, produced on Lillyston's mind a feeling of deep pain and shame, and when with unsteady hand, Julian endeavoured to pour out for himself a fresh gla.s.s, and in doing so spilt the wine in great streams over the table, Lillyston saw that he was in an utterly unfit state to go to chapel, and that the attempt to do so would certainly draw upon him exposure and disgrace.
”Julian,” he said gently; ”you are not in a condition to go to chapel; you must not think of it.”