The Egoist: A Comedy in Narrative

  CHAPTER I

  A MINOR INCIDENT SHOWING AN HEREDITARY APTITUDE IN THE USE OF THE KNIFE

  There was an ominously anxious watch of eyes visible and invisible overthe infancy of Willoughby, fifth in descent from Simon Patterne, ofPatterne Hall, premier of this family, a lawyer, a man of solidacquirements and stout ambition, who well understood thefoundation-work of a House, and was endowed with the power of saying Noto those first agents of destruction, besieging relatives. He said itwith the resonant emphasis of death to younger sons. For if the oak isto become a stately tree, we must provide against the crowding oftimber. Also the tree beset with parasites prospers not. A great Housein its beginning lives, we may truly say, by the knife. Soil is easilygot, and so are bricks, and a wife, and children come of wishing forthem, but the vigorous use of the knife is a natural gift and points togrowth. Pauper Patternes were numerous when the fifth head of the racewas the hope of his county. A Patterne was in the Marines.

  The country and the chief of this family were simultaneously informedof the existence of one Lieutenant Crossjay Patterne, of the corps ofthe famous hard fighters, through an act of heroism of the unpretendingcool sort which kindles British blood, on the part of the modest youngofficer, in the storming of some eastern riverain stronghold, somewhereabout the coast of China. The officer's youth was assumed on thestrength of his rank, perhaps likewise from the tale of his modesty:"he had only done his duty". Our Willoughby was then at College,emulous of the generous enthusiasm of his years, and strangelyimpressed by the report, and the printing of his name in thenewspapers. He thought over it for several months, when, coming to histitle and heritage, he sent Lieutenant Crossjay Patterne a cheque for asum of money amounting to the gallant fellow's pay per annum, at thesame time showing his acquaintance with the first, or chemical,principles of generosity, in the remark to friends at home, that "bloodis thicker than water". The man is a Marine, but he is a Patterne. Howany Patterne should have drifted into the Marines, is of the order ofquestions which are senselessly asked of the great dispensary. In thecomplimentary letter accompanying his cheque, the lieutenant wasinvited to present himself at the ancestral Hall, when convenient tohim, and he was assured that he had given his relative and friend ataste for a soldier's life. Young Sir Willoughby was fond of talking ofhis "military namesake and distant cousin, young Patterne--the Marine".It was funny; and not less laughable was the description of hisnamesake's deed of valour: with the rescued British sailor inebriate,and the hauling off to captivity of the three braves of the blackdragon on a yellow ground, and the tying of them together back to backby their pigtails, and driving of them into our lines upon a newlydevised dying-top style of march that inclined to the oblique, like theastonished six eyes of the celestial prisoners, for straight they couldnot go. The humour of gentlemen at home is always highly excited bysuch cool feats. We are a small island, but you see what we do. Theladies at the Hall, Sir Willoughby's mother, and his aunts Eleanor andIsabel, were more affected than he by the circumstance of their havinga Patterne in the Marines. But how then! We English have ducal bloodin business: we have, genealogists tell us, royal blood in commontrades. For all our pride we are a queer people; and you may beordering butcher's meat of a Tudor, sitting on the cane-bottom chairsof a Plantagenet. By and by you may . . . but cherish your reverence.Young Willoughby made a kind of shock-head or football hero of hisgallant distant cousin, and wondered occasionally that the fellow hadbeen content to dispatch a letter of effusive thanks without availinghimself of the invitation to partake of the hospitalities of Patterne.

  He was one afternoon parading between showers on the stately gardenterrace of the Hall, in company with his affianced, the beautiful anddashing Constantia Durham, followed by knots of ladies and gentlemenvowed to fresh air before dinner, while it was to be had. Chancing withhis usual happy fortune (we call these things dealt to us out of thegreat hidden dispensary, chance) to glance up the avenue of limes, ashe was in the act of turning on his heel at the end of the terrace, andit should be added, discoursing with passion's privilege of the passionof love to Miss Durham, Sir Willoughby, who was anything but obtuse,experienced a presentiment upon espying a thick-set stumpy man crossingthe gravel space from the avenue to the front steps of the Hall,decidedly not bearing the stamp of the gentleman "on his hat, his coat,his feet, or anything that was his," Willoughby subsequently observedto the ladies of his family in the Scriptural style of gentlemen who dobear the stamp. His brief sketch of the creature was repulsive. Thevisitor carried a bag, and his coat-collar was up, his hat wasmelancholy; he had the appearance of a bankrupt tradesman absconding;no gloves, no umbrella.

  As to the incident we have to note, it was very slight. The card ofLieutenant Patterne was handed to Sir Willoughby, who laid it on thesalver, saying to the footman, "Not at home."

  He had been disappointed in the age, grossly deceived in the appearanceof the man claiming to be his relative in this unseasonable fashion;and his acute instinct advised him swiftly of the absurdity ofintroducing to his friends a heavy unpresentable senior as thecelebrated gallant Lieutenant of Marines, and the same as a member ofhis family! He had talked of the man too much, too enthusiastically, tobe able to do so. A young subaltern, even if passably vulgar in figure,can be shuffled through by the aid of the heroical story humourouslyexaggerated in apology for his aspect. Nothing can be done with amature and stumpy Marine of that rank. Considerateness dismisses him onthe spot, without parley. It was performed by a gentleman supremelyadvanced at a very early age in the art of cutting.

  Young Sir Willoughby spoke a word of the rejected visitor to MissDurham, in response to her startled look: "I shall drop him a cheque,"he said, for she seemed personally wounded, and had a face of crimson.

  The young lady did not reply.

  Dating from the humble departure of Lieutenant Crossjay Patterne up thelimes-avenue under a gathering rain-cloud, the ring of imps inattendance on Sir Willoughby maintained their station with strictobservation of his movements at all hours; and were comparisons inquest, the sympathetic eagerness of the eyes of caged monkeys for thehand about to feed them, would supply one. They perceived in him afresh development and very subtle manifestation of the very old thingfrom which he had sprung.