Of Human Bondage (7 page)

  One day a good fortune befell him, for he hit upon
Lane's translation of The Thousand Nights and a Night. He was
captured first by the illustrations, and then he began to read, to
start with, the stories that dealt with magic, and then the others;
and those he liked he read again and again. He could think of
nothing else. He forgot the life about him. He had to be called two
or three times before he would come to his dinner. Insensibly he
formed the most delightful habit in the world, the habit of
reading: he did not know that thus he was providing himself with a
refuge from all the distress of life; he did not know either that
he was creating for himself an unreal world which would make the
real world of every day a source of bitter disappointment.
Presently he began to read other things. His brain was precocious.
His uncle and aunt, seeing that he occupied himself and neither
worried nor made a noise, ceased to trouble themselves about him.
Mr. Carey had so many books that he did not know them, and as he
read little he forgot the odd lots he had bought at one time and
another because they were cheap. Haphazard among the sermons and
homilies, the travels, the lives of the Saints, the Fathers, the
histories of the church, were old-fashioned novels; and these
Philip at last discovered. He chose them by their titles, and the
first he read was The Lancashire Witches, and then he read The
Admirable Crichton, and then many more. Whenever he started a book
with two solitary travellers riding along the brink of a desperate
ravine he knew he was safe.

  The summer was come now, and the gardener, an old
sailor, made him a hammock and fixed it up for him in the branches
of a weeping willow. And here for long hours he lay, hidden from
anyone who might come to the vicarage, reading, reading
passionately. Time passed and it was July; August came: on Sundays
the church was crowded with strangers, and the collection at the
offertory often amounted to two pounds. Neither the Vicar nor Mrs.
Carey went out of the garden much during this period; for they
disliked strange faces, and they looked upon the visitors from
London with aversion. The house opposite was taken for six weeks by
a gentleman who had two little boys, and he sent in to ask if
Philip would like to go and play with them; but Mrs. Carey returned
a polite refusal. She was afraid that Philip would be corrupted by
little boys from London. He was going to be a clergyman, and it was
necessary that he should be preserved from contamination. She liked
to see in him an infant Samuel.

  The Careys made up their minds to send Philip to
King's School at Tercanbury. The neighbouring clergy sent their
sons there. It was united by long tradition to the Cathedral: its
headmaster was an honorary Canon, and a past headmaster was the
Archdeacon. Boys were encouraged there to aspire to Holy Orders,
and the education was such as might prepare an honest lad to spend
his life in God's service. A preparatory school was attached to it,
and to this it was arranged that Philip should go. Mr. Carey took
him into Tercanbury one Thursday afternoon towards the end of
September. All day Philip had been excited and rather frightened.
He knew little of school life but what he had read in the stories
of The Boy's Own Paper. He had also read Eric, or Little by
Little.

  When they got out of the train at Tercanbury, Philip
felt sick with apprehension, and during the drive in to the town
sat pale and silent. The high brick wall in front of the school
gave it the look of a prison. There was a little door in it, which
opened on their ringing; and a clumsy, untidy man came out and
fetched Philip's tin trunk and his play-box. They were shown into
the drawing-room; it was filled with massive, ugly furniture, and
the chairs of the suite were placed round the walls with a
forbidding rigidity. They waited for the headmaster.

  "What's Mr. Watson like?" asked Philip, after a
while.

  "You'll see for yourself."

  There was another pause. Mr. Carey wondered why the
headmaster did not come. Presently Philip made an effort and spoke
again.

  "Tell him I've got a club-foot," he said.

  Before Mr. Carey could speak the door burst open and
Mr. Watson swept into the room. To Philip he seemed gigantic. He
was a man of over six feet high, and broad, with enormous hands and
a great red beard; he talked loudly in a jovial manner; but his
aggressive cheerfulness struck terror in Philip's heart. He shook
hands with Mr. Carey, and then took Philip's small hand in his.

  "Well, young fellow, are you glad to come to
school?" he shouted.

  Philip reddened and found no word to answer.

  "How old are you?"

  "Nine," said Philip.

  "You must say sir," said his uncle.

  "I expect you've got a good lot to learn," the
headmaster bellowed cheerily.

  To give the boy confidence he began to tickle him
with rough fingers. Philip, feeling shy and uncomfortable, squirmed
under his touch.

  "I've put him in the small dormitory for the
present.... You'll like that, won't you?" he added to Philip. "Only
eight of you in there. You won't feel so strange."

  Then the door opened, and Mrs. Watson came in. She
was a dark woman with black hair, neatly parted in the middle. She
had curiously thick lips and a small round nose. Her eyes were
large and black. There was a singular coldness in her appearance.
She seldom spoke and smiled more seldom still. Her husband
introduced Mr. Carey to her, and then gave Philip a friendly push
towards her.

  "This is a new boy, Helen, His name's Carey."

  Without a word she shook hands with Philip and then
sat down, not speaking, while the headmaster asked Mr. Carey how
much Philip knew and what books he had been working with. The Vicar
of Blackstable was a little embarrassed by Mr. Watson's boisterous
heartiness, and in a moment or two got up.

  "I think I'd better leave Philip with you now."

  "That's all right," said Mr. Watson. "He'll be safe
with me. He'll get on like a house on fire. Won't you, young
fellow?"

  Without waiting for an answer from Philip the big
man burst into a great bellow of laughter. Mr. Carey kissed Philip
on the forehead and went away.

  "Come along, young fellow," shouted Mr. Watson.
"I'll show you the school-room."

  He swept out of the drawing-room with giant strides,
and Philip hurriedly limped behind him. He was taken into a long,
bare room with two tables that ran along its whole length; on each
side of them were wooden forms.

  "Nobody much here yet," said Mr. Watson. "I'll just
show you the playground, and then I'll leave you to shift for
yourself."

  Mr. Watson led the way. Philip found himself in a
large play-ground with high brick walls on three sides of it. On
the fourth side was an iron railing through which you saw a vast
lawn and beyond this some of the buildings of King's School. One
small boy was wandering disconsolately, kicking up the gravel as he
walked.

  "Hulloa, Venning," shouted Mr. Watson. "When did you
turn up?"

  The small boy came forward and shook hands.

  "Here's a new boy. He's older and bigger than you,
so don't you bully him."

  The headmaster glared amicably at the two children,
filling them with fear by the roar of his voice, and then with a
guffaw left them.

  "What's your name?"

  "Carey."

  "What's your father?"

  "He's dead."

  "Oh! Does your mother wash?"

  "My mother's dead, too."

  Philip thought this answer would cause the boy a
certain awkwardness, but Venning was not to be turned from his
facetiousness for so little.

  "Well, did she wash?" he went on.

  "Yes," said Philip indignantly.

  "She was a washerwoman then?"

  "No, she wasn't."

  "Then she didn't wash."

  The little boy crowed with delight at the success of
his dialectic. Then he caught sight of Philip's feet.

  "What's the matter with your foot?"

  Philip instinctively tried to withdraw it from
sight. He hid it behind the one which was whole.

  "I've got a club-foot," he answered.

  "How did you get it?"

  "I've always had it."

  "Let's have a look."

  "No."

  "Don't then."

  The little boy accompanied the words with a sharp
kick on Philip's shin, which Philip did not expect and thus could
not guard against. The pain was so great that it made him gasp, but
greater than the pain was the surprise. He did not know why Venning
kicked him. He had not the presence of mind to give him a black
eye. Besides, the boy was smaller than he, and he had read in The
Boy's Own Paper that it was a mean thing to hit anyone smaller than
yourself. While Philip was nursing his shin a third boy appeared,
and his tormentor left him. In a little while he noticed that the
pair were talking about him, and he felt they were looking at his
feet. He grew hot and uncomfortable.

  But others arrived, a dozen together, and then more,
and they began to talk about their doings during the holidays,
where they had been, and what wonderful cricket they had played. A
few new boys appeared, and with these presently Philip found
himself talking. He was shy and nervous. He was anxious to make
himself pleasant, but he could not think of anything to say. He was
asked a great many questions and answered them all quite willingly.
One boy asked him whether he could play cricket.

  "No," answered Philip. "I've got a club-foot."

  The boy looked down quickly and reddened. Philip saw
that he felt he had asked an unseemly question. He was too shy to
apologise and looked at Philip awkwardly.

  Next morning when the clanging of a bell awoke
Philip he looked round his cubicle in astonishment. Then a voice
sang out, and he remembered where he was.

  "Are you awake, Singer?"

  The partitions of the cubicle were of polished
pitch-pine, and there was a green curtain in front. In those days
there was little thought of ventilation, and the windows were
closed except when the dormitory was aired in the morning.