III
This history goes forward and goes backward, as occasion calls. Nimble center, circumference elastic you must have. Now we return to Pierre, wending homeward from his reveries beneath the pine-tree.
His burst of impatience against the sublime Italian, Dante, arising from that poet being the one who, in a former time, had first opened to his shuddering eyes the infinite cliffs and gulfs of human mystery and misery;-though still more in the way, of experimental vision, than of sensational presentiment or experience (for as yet he had not seen so far and deep as Dante, and therefore was entirely incompetent to meet the grim bard fairly on his peculiar ground), this ignorant burst of his young impatience, — also arising from that half-contemptuous dislike, and sometimes selfish loathing, with which, either naturally feeble or undeveloped minds, regard those dark ravings of the loftier poets, which are in eternal opposition to their own finespun, shallow dreams of rapturous or prudential Youth;-this rash, untutored burst of Pierre's young impatience, seemed to have carried off with it, all the other forms of his melancholy — if melancholy it had been-and left him now serene again, and ready for any tranquil pleasantness the gods might have in store. For his, indeed, was true Youth's temperament, — summary with sadness, swift to joyfulness, and long protracting, and detaining with that joyfulness, when once it came fully nigh to him.
As he entered the dining-hall, he saw Dates retiring from another door with his tray. Alone and meditative, by the bared half of the polished table, sat his mother at her dessert; fruit-baskets and a decanter were before her. On the other leaf of the same table, still lay the cloth, folded back upon itself, and set out with one plate and its usual accompaniments.
"Sit down, Pierre; when I came home, I was surprised to hear that the phaeton had returned so early, and here I waited dinner for you, until I could wait no more. But go to the green pantry now, and get what Dates has but just put away for you there. Heigh-ho! too plainly I foresee it-no more regular dinner-hours, or tea-hours, or supper-hours, in Saddle Meadows, till its young lord is wedded. And that puts me in mind of something, Pierre; but I'll defer it till you have eaten a little. Do you know, Pierre, that if you continue these irregular meals of. yours, and deprive me so entirely almost of your company, that I shall run fearful risk of getting to be a terrible wine-bibber;-yes, could you unalarmed see me sitting all alone here with this decanter, like any old nurse, Pierre; some solitary, forlorn old nurse, Pierre, deserted by her last friend, and therefore forced to embrace her flask?"
"No, I did not feel any great alarm, sister," said Pierre, smiling, "since I could not but perceive that the decanter was still full to the stopple."
"Possibly it may be only a fresh decanter, Pierre;" then changing her voice suddenly-"but mark me, Mr. Pierre Glen-dinning!"
"Well, Mrs. Mary Glendinning!"
"Do you know, sir, that you are very shortly to be married, — that indeed the day is all but fixed?"
"How!" cried Pierre, in real joyful astonishment, both at the nature of the tidings, and the earnest tones in which they were conveyed-"dear, dear mother, you have strangely changed your mind then, my dear mother."
"It is even so, dear brother;-before this day month I hope to have a little sister Tartan."
"You talk very strangely, mother," rejoined Pierre, quickly. "I suppose, then, I have next to nothing to say in the matter?"
"Next to nothing, Pierre! What indeed could you say to the purpose? what at all have you to do with it, I should like to know? Do you so much as dream, you silly boy, that men ever have the marrying of themselves? Juxtaposition marries men. There is but one match-maker in the world, Pierre, and that is Mrs. Juxtaposition, a most notorious lady!"
"Very peculiar, disenchanting sort of talk, this, under the circumstances, sister Mary," laying down his fork. "Mrs. Juxtaposition, ah! And in your opinion, mother, does this fine glorious passion only amount to that?"
"Only to that, Pierre; but mark you: according to my creed-though this part of it is a little hazy-Mrs. Juxtaposition moves her pawns only as she herself is moved to so doing by the spirit."
"Ah! that sets it all right again," said Pierre, resuming his fork-"my appetite returns. But what was that about my being married so soon?" he added, vainly striving to assume an air of incredulity and unconcern; "you were joking, I suppose; it seems to me, sister, either you or I was but just now wandering in the mind a little, on that subject. Are you really thinking of any such thing? and have you really vanquished your sagacious scruples by yourself, after I had so long and ineffectually sought to do it for you? Well, I am a million times delighted; tell me quick!"
"I will, Pierre. You very well know, that from the first hour you apprised me-or rather, from a period prior to that-from the moment that I, by my own insight, became aware of your love for Lucy, I have always approved it. Lucy is a delicious girl; of honorable descent, a fortune, well-bred, and the very pattern of all that I think amiable and attractive in a girl of seventeen."
"Well, well, well," cried Pierre rapidly and impetuously; "we both knew that before."
"Well, well, well, Pierre," retorted his mother, mockingly.
"It is not well, well, well; but ill, ill, ill, to torture me so, mother; go on, do!"
"But notwithstanding my admiring approval of your choice, Pierre; yet, as you know, I have resisted your entreaties for my consent to your speedy marriage, because I thought that a girl of scarcely seventeen, and a boy scarcely twenty, should not be in such a hurry;-there was plenty of time, I thought, which could be profitably employed by both."
"Permit me here to interrupt you, mother. Whatever you may have seen in me; she, — I mean Lucy, — has never been in the slightest hurry to be married;-that's all. But I shall regard it as a lapsus-lingua in you."
"Undoubtedly, a lapsus. But listen to me. I have been carefully observing both you and Lucy of late; and that has made me think further of the matter. Now, Pierre, if you were in any profession, or in any business at all; nay, if I were a farmer's wife, and you my child, working in my fields; why, then, you and Lucy should still wait awhile. But as you have nothing to do but to think of Lucy by day, and dream of her by night, and as she is in the same predicament, I suppose, with respect to you; and as the consequence of all this begins to be discernible in a certain, just perceptible, and quite harmless thinness, so to speak, of the cheek; but a very conspicuous and dangerous febrileness of the eye; therefore, I choose the lesser of two evils; and now you have my permission to be married, as soon as the thing can be done with propriety. I dare say you have no objection to have the wedding take place before Christmas, the present month being the first of summer."
Pierre said nothing; but leaping to his feet, threw his two arms around his mother, and kissed her repeatedly.
"A most sweet and eloquent answer, Pierre; but sit down again. I desire now to say a little concerning less attractive, but quite necessary things connected with this affair. You know, that by your father's will, these lands and-"
"Miss Lucy, my mistress," said Dates, throwing open the door.
Pierre sprang to his feet; but as if suddenly mindful of his mother's presence, composed himself again, though he still approached the door.
Lucy entered, carrying a little basket of strawberries.
"Why, how do you do, my dear," said Mrs. Glendinning affectionately. 'This is an unexpected pleasure."
"Yes; and I suppose that Pierre here is a little surprised too; seeing that he was to call upon me this evening, and not I upon him before sundown. But I took a sudden fancy for a solitary stroll, — the afternoon was such a delicious one; and chancing-it was only chancing-to pass through the Locust Lane leading hither, I met the strangest little fellow, with this basket in his hand.-'Yes, buy them, miss'-said he. 'And how do you know I want to buy them?' returned I. 'I don't want to buy them.'-'Yes, you do, miss; they ought to be twenty-six cents, but I'll take thirteen cents, that being my shilling. I always want the odd half cent, I do. Come, I can't wait, I have been expecting you long enough.'"