Of Human Bondage
Once there had been a serious quarrel between the pair, and Mrs. Carey
still thought of that anxious time with dismay. The Conservative
candidate had announced his intention of addressing a meeting at
Blackstable; and Josiah Graves, having arranged that it should take
place in the Mission Hall, went to Mr. Carey and told him that he hoped
he would say a few words. It appeared that the candidate had asked
Josiah Graves to take the chair. This was more than Mr. Carey could put
up with. He had firm views upon the respect which was due to the cloth,
and it was ridiculous for a churchwarden to take the chair at a meeting
when the Vicar was there. He reminded Josiah Graves that parson meant
person, that is, the vicar was the person of the parish. Josiah Graves
answered that he was the first to recognise the dignity of the church,
but this was a matter of politics, and in his turn he reminded the
Vicar that their Blessed Saviour had enjoined upon them to render unto
Caesar the things that were Caesar’s. To this Mr. Carey replied that
the devil could quote scripture to his purpose, himself had sole
authority over the Mission Hall, and if he were not asked to be
chairman he would refuse the use of it for a political meeting. Josiah
Graves told Mr. Carey that he might do as he chose, and for his part he
thought the Wesleyan Chapel would be an equally suitable place. Then
Mr. Carey said that if Josiah Graves set foot in what was little better
than a heathen temple he was not fit to be churchwarden in a Christian
parish. Josiah Graves thereupon resigned all his offices, and that very
evening sent to the church for his cassock and surplice. His sister,
Miss Graves, who kept house for him, gave up her secretaryship of the
Maternity Club, which provided the pregnant poor with flannel, baby
linen, coals, and five shillings. Mr. Carey said he was at last master
in his own house. But soon he found that he was obliged to see to all
sorts of things that he knew nothing about; and Josiah Graves, after
the first moment of irritation, discovered that he had lost his chief
interest in life. Mrs. Carey and Miss Graves were much distressed by
the quarrel; they met after a discreet exchange of letters, and made up
their minds to put the matter right: they talked, one to her husband,
the other to her brother, from morning till night; and since they were
persuading these gentlemen to do what in their hearts they wanted,
after three weeks of anxiety a reconciliation was effected. It was to
both their interests, but they ascribed it to a common love for their
Redeemer. The meeting was held at the Mission Hall, and the doctor was
asked to be chairman. Mr. Carey and Josiah Graves both made speeches.
When Mrs. Carey had finished her business with the banker, she
generally went upstairs to have a little chat with his sister; and
while the ladies talked of parish matters, the curate or the new bonnet
of Mrs. Wilson—Mr. Wilson was the richest man in Blackstable, he was
thought to have at least five hundred a year, and he had married his
cook—Philip sat demurely in the stiff parlour, used only to receive
visitors, and busied himself with the restless movements of goldfish in
a bowl. The windows were never opened except to air the room for a few
minutes in the morning, and it had a stuffy smell which seemed to
Philip to have a mysterious connection with banking.
Then Mrs. Carey remembered that she had to go to the grocer, and they
continued their way. When the shopping was done they often went down a
side street of little houses, mostly of wood, in which fishermen dwelt
(and here and there a fisherman sat on his doorstep mending his nets,
and nets hung to dry upon the doors), till they came to a small beach,
shut in on each side by warehouses, but with a view of the sea. Mrs.
Carey stood for a few minutes and looked at it, it was turbid and
yellow, [and who knows what thoughts passed through her mind?] while
Philip searched for flat stones to play ducks and drakes. Then they
walked slowly back. They looked into the post office to get the right
time, nodded to Mrs. Wigram the doctor’s wife, who sat at her window
sewing, and so got home.
Dinner was at one o’clock; and on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday it
consisted of beef, roast, hashed, and minced, and on Thursday, Friday,
and Saturday of mutton. On Sunday they ate one of their own chickens.
In the afternoon Philip did his lessons, He was taught Latin and
mathematics by his uncle who knew neither, and French and the piano by
his aunt. Of French she was ignorant, but she knew the piano well
enough to accompany the old-fashioned songs she had sung for thirty
years. Uncle William used to tell Philip that when he was a curate his
wife had known twelve songs by heart, which she could sing at a
moment’s notice whenever she was asked. She often sang still when there
was a tea-party at the vicarage. There were few people whom the Careys
cared to ask there, and their parties consisted always of the curate,
Josiah Graves with his sister, Dr. Wigram and his wife. After tea Miss
Graves played one or two of Mendelssohn’s Songs without Words, and Mrs.
Carey sang When the Swallows Homeward Fly, or Trot, Trot, My Pony.
But the Careys did not give tea-parties often; the preparations upset
them, and when their guests were gone they felt themselves exhausted.
They preferred to have tea by themselves, and after tea they played
backgammon. Mrs. Carey arranged that her husband should win, because he
did not like losing. They had cold supper at eight. It was a scrappy
meal because Mary Ann resented getting anything ready after tea, and
Mrs. Carey helped to clear away. Mrs. Carey seldom ate more than bread
and butter, with a little stewed fruit to follow, but the Vicar had a
slice of cold meat. Immediately after supper Mrs. Carey rang the bell
for prayers, and then Philip went to bed. He rebelled against being
undressed by Mary Ann and after a while succeeded in establishing his
right to dress and undress himself. At nine o’clock Mary Ann brought in
the eggs and the plate. Mrs. Carey wrote the date on each egg and put
the number down in a book. She then took the plate-basket on her arm
and went upstairs. Mr. Carey continued to read one of his old books,
but as the clock struck ten he got up, put out the lamps, and followed
his wife to bed.
When Philip arrived there was some difficulty in deciding on which
evening he should have his bath. It was never easy to get plenty of hot
water, since the kitchen boiler did not work, and it was impossible for
two persons to have a bath on the same day. The only man who had a
bathroom in Blackstable was Mr. Wilson, and it was thought ostentatious
of him. Mary Ann had her bath in the kitchen on Monday night, because
she liked to begin the week clean. Uncle William could not have his on
Saturday, because he had a heavy day before him and he was always a
little tired after a bath, so he had it on Friday. Mrs. Carey had hers
on Thursday for the same reason. It looked as though Saturday were
naturally indicated for Philip, but Mary Ann said she couldn’t keep the
fire up on Saturday night: what with all the cooking on Sunday, having
to make pastry and she didn’t know what all, she did not feel up to
giving the boy his bath on Saturday night; and it was quite clear that
he could not bath himself. Mrs. Carey was shy about bathing a boy, and
of course the Vicar had his sermon. But the Vicar insisted that Philip
should be clean and sweet for the lord’s Day. Mary Ann said she would
rather go than be put upon—and after eighteen years she didn’t expect
to have more work given her, and they might show some consideration—and
Philip said he didn’t want anyone to bath him, but could very well bath
himself. This settled it. Mary Ann said she was quite sure he wouldn’t
bath himself properly, and rather than he should go dirty—and not
because he was going into the presence of the Lord, but because she
couldn’t abide a boy who wasn’t properly washed—she’d work herself to
the bone even if it was Saturday night.
VII
Sunday was a day crowded with incident. Mr. Carey was accustomed to say
that he was the only man in his parish who worked seven days a week.
The household got up half an hour earlier than usual. No lying abed for
a poor parson on the day of rest, Mr. Carey remarked as Mary Ann
knocked at the door punctually at eight. It took Mrs. Carey longer to
dress, and she got down to breakfast at nine, a little breathless, only
just before her husband. Mr. Carey’s boots stood in front of the fire
to warm. Prayers were longer than usual, and the breakfast more
substantial. After breakfast the Vicar cut thin slices of bread for the
communion, and Philip was privileged to cut off the crust. He was sent
to the study to fetch a marble paperweight, with which Mr. Carey
pressed the bread till it was thin and pulpy, and then it was cut into
small squares. The amount was regulated by the weather. On a very bad
day few people came to church, and on a very fine one, though many
came, few stayed for communion. There were most when it was dry enough
to make the walk to church pleasant, but not so fine that people wanted
to hurry away.
Then Mrs. Carey brought the communion plate out of the safe, which
stood in the pantry, and the Vicar polished it with a chamois leather.
At ten the fly drove up, and Mr. Carey got into his boots. Mrs. Carey
took several minutes to put on her bonnet, during which the Vicar, in a
voluminous cloak, stood in the hall with just such an expression on his
face as would have become an early Christian about to be led into the
arena. It was extraordinary that after thirty years of marriage his
wife could not be ready in time on Sunday morning. At last she came, in
black satin; the Vicar did not like colours in a clergyman’s wife at
any time, but on Sundays he was determined that she should wear black;
now and then, in conspiracy with Miss Graves, she ventured a white
feather or a pink rose in her bonnet, but the Vicar insisted that it
should disappear; he said he would not go to church with the scarlet
woman: Mrs. Carey sighed as a woman but obeyed as a wife. They were
about to step into the carriage when the Vicar remembered that no one
had given him his egg. They knew that he must have an egg for his
voice, there were two women in the house, and no one had the least
regard for his comfort. Mrs. Carey scolded Mary Ann, and Mary Ann
answered that she could not think of everything. She hurried away to
fetch an egg, and Mrs. Carey beat it up in a glass of sherry. The Vicar
swallowed it at a gulp. The communion plate was stowed in the carriage,
and they set off.
The fly came from The Red Lion and had a peculiar smell of stale straw.
They drove with both windows closed so that the Vicar should not catch
cold. The sexton was waiting at the porch to take the communion plate,
and while the Vicar went to the vestry Mrs. Carey and Philip settled
themselves in the vicarage pew. Mrs. Carey placed in front of her the
sixpenny bit she was accustomed to put in the plate, and gave Philip
threepence for the same purpose. The church filled up gradually and the
service began.
Philip grew bored during the sermon, but if he fidgetted Mrs. Carey put
a gentle hand on his arm and looked at him reproachfully. He regained
interest when the final hymn was sung and Mr. Graves passed round with
the plate.
When everyone had gone Mrs. Carey went into Miss Graves’ pew to have a
few words with her while they were waiting for the gentlemen, and
Philip went to the vestry. His uncle, the curate, and Mr. Graves were
still in their surplices. Mr. Carey gave him the remains of the
consecrated bread and told him he might eat it. He had been accustomed