The Swing Of The Pendulum - Part 13

"The Swing of The Pendulum" is a novel from English author Frances Mary Peard, published in 1893. It follows the adventures of a group of English travellers to Norway and explores what life was really like for young women in Victorian Britain. Set against the backdrop of the Industrial Revolution, this book offers a fascinating insight into the massive societal shifts that were at play back then!

Transcript

Hello there.

Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of The Swing of the Pendulum,

The charming novel from 1893 by English author Frances Mary Peard.

We are following along with the adventures of a group of English travellers in Norway in the Victorian era.

Perhaps you've heard the preceding parts of this story already.

If you haven't,

You can look for the playlist for The Swing of the Pendulum and you'll find all of the previous parts there in order.

But for now,

Let's just take a moment here to have a nice,

Deep exhale.

Letting go of the day,

Letting go of whichever baggage we might be bringing along with us into this moment.

For right now,

There's nowhere else we have to go and nothing else we have to be doing.

So we can just get comfortable,

Relax and enjoy the ongoing story of The Swing of the Pendulum.

Chapter 13.

Persuasion.

The next day,

The wreathing mists which lightly swept the mountains had gathered moisture enough to descend in thick rain.

It fell continuously,

But was still so vaporish that there was as much white as grey everywhere and the sun behind the clouds suffused them with dazzling light.

The broad fjord presented enchantingly ethereal and aerial effects.

A grey veil blurred the heights on its other side,

But here and there a mysterious gleam of whiteness shot out from the snowy summit.

Radiantly piercing the gloom,

Silvery lights fell across the faint grey of the waters,

Which changed to opal near a shore and took in places a clear,

Transparent emerald green.

A rough ridge of stone walled in a small harbour and here were boats drawn up.

Black,

Green,

White,

Sharp points of contrast to the delicate half-tones beyond.

The covered balconies of the inn were thronged with dissatisfied travellers.

Casting gloomy glances at the falling rain.

Detestable climate,

Muttered Colonel Martin,

Pulling up his coat collar.

He added to Wareham,

You're a lucky fellow to be getting out of it.

I wish I could.

Don't be absurd,

Tom,

His wife retaliated.

The weather at home is infinitely worse.

I don't see it.

You are like the ostrich.

You bury your head.

The professor lifted his from a newspaper with the sniff of a warhorse.

My dear Mrs Martin,

You don't credit that ridiculous fable.

She raised her hands imploringly.

Take it,

I yield.

The professor has got possession of a hundred harmless illustrations,

Which he puts to the torture and then gibbets.

To be worth anything,

An illustration should be accurate.

Anne went to the rescue.

We may struggle after truth,

But accuracy.

Half an hour hence and unprepared,

I defy the professor to repeat this conversation without an error.

Facts,

Facts,

Facts come to us thick with paint.

Who will describe the view before us?

One person says beastly weather.

Another is eloquent on the loveliness of silver grey.

What then?

The fact remains that it rains,

Said the professor with a bow.

He was forbearing to Anne.

Not a drop.

Hugh turned round from contemplation,

His laugh vigorous and infectious.

The ostrich is forfeit.

Confessed the professor gallantly.

To some eyes it appears that he buries his head.

Others behold him running upright.

He is gone.

And science with him.

Am I forgiven?

You never asked me that question,

Said Mrs.

Martin.

My dear lady,

You never gave me the opportunity.

While they laughed,

Anne made a scarcely perceptible sign to wear him.

He came close.

What takes you back in such a hurry to England?

He hesitated.

Is it business which I should not understand?

Business which I can't explain would be nearer the truth.

She leaned forward,

Dropping her eyes.

Mr.

Forbes says that all his endeavours to keep you have been in vain.

Are you inexorable?

I believe we are going to the finest part of Norway.

But perhaps you are afraid of another contretemps such as that of Monday?

His head.

His head.

World.

He dared not look at her.

In an odd,

Strained voice,

He muttered something which sounded like perhaps.

She took no notice,

But went on lightly.

You need not have any fear.

You will be amply protected.

With Colonel Martin of the party,

I defy anyone to be late for anything,

He kept his eyes fixed on the opal waters and stood up as stiffly as if he had to receive the shock of a charge.

Who,

To look at him,

Would have guessed that he felt as if all were lost?

The ages have at least taught man to keep his face like a mask.

You are very good.

Hugh will look after you.

It is impossible for me to stay.

He stammered.

He did not know what he said,

But he had not yielded.

He was sure he had not yielded.

The victor is too often represented as a fine fellow,

Marching away self-contentedly to the sound of his own trumpets.

Much more frequently,

He is bruised and battered,

Nobody giving him so much as a cheer,

While his own discontented ideal scornfully holds up a mirror that he may not deceive himself with vain imaginings.

This,

A hero,

Poor mud-bespattered figure,

Just scraped through a conflict without utter overthrow.

Standing upright,

It may be,

But in what condition?

Nothing to be proud of here.

No subject for triumphal arches or laurel wreaths,

Which indeed became ludicrous even in imagination.

Fit only to creep away,

Bind up his wounds as best he may,

And cleanse himself from the mud-stains,

And say as little as possible of what has happened.

And yet,

A victor.

Wareham wandered about that day,

Seeing little of the others,

And especially avoiding hue.

The misty rain continued,

Grey and silver predominated everywhere about the fjord,

But the mountains behind the little village reared purple glooms into the cloud regions,

And the greens were vivid.

The whole party were to go on board the steamer,

Which came in at seven or eight in the evening,

And to separate at Vadheim at one in the morning.

By the time they started,

The rain had ceased,

And there were clear lights about,

Though no gorgeous pomp of sunset.

A chill was in the air,

Suggesting raps,

And if adventurous spirits made excursions to the upper deck,

They soon retreated to the heap of luggage which offered seats and comparative shelter.

Anne had taken up a position between the professor and the elderly lady.

Hue could not get at her,

And mooned about,

Disconsolate.

He went to Mrs Martin at last,

In sheer despair.

She laughed at him.

How many days has your satisfaction lasted,

Mr Forbes?

And do not copybooks assure us that happiness is a shy goddess?

Be indifferent.

That is your only chance of cajoling her to stay,

As well say,

Be someone else.

Won't you help me?

I would not if I could.

Anne is charming as she is.

Married,

I don't know which would be the most miserable,

She or her husband.

I would risk it,

Of course,

Because you have lost your head.

I should not wonder if the professor would risk it too.

Hue began to laugh.

You will be saying as much of Wareham in a minute.

Do you mean that he owns to it?

Asked Mrs Martin innocently.

His laugh grew hilarious.

No,

No,

No.

Oh,

The bare idea was too comic.

I have never known him,

Smitten.

He will not even consent to stay on with us,

Though Anne asked him herself.

And you have asked him also,

No doubt?

In vain,

Though.

I have never known him so stiff.

If it had been anyone else,

I should have suspected the attraction of Miss Ravenhill's dimple.

Mrs Martin gazed at him admiringly.

How clear sighted you men are,

She cried.

Hue disclaimed modestly.

Not we.

For you women often puzzle us.

But if I didn't know Wareham,

I don't know who should.

He's been better than a brother to me.

Stuck by me and pulled me through a lot.

Hang that old man.

If he's going to monopolise Anne,

I'll have a smoke meanwhile.

You're coming down to the feed,

Mrs Martin.

May I choose your places?

Leave that to Mr Wareham.

She called after him with a laugh.

Wareham sat with the Ravenhills at the other table of the narrow cabin.

Anne's voice behind him sounded in his ears so that he heard little else and gave himself the luxury of silence that he might listen to the dear sounds.

Mrs Ravenhill found him a dull companion and raised her eyebrows to Millie to indicate her opinion while she praised the salmon.

Youth had ousted age and hue was at Anne's elbow with irreverent jests upon the professor's dread of the cabin.

The steamer had anchored off a little village to disembark a company of unkempt soldiers and was rolling steadily to the discomfort of more than one.

I looked into the lady's cabin,

Said Anne.

It is not to be faced and I shall spend the night on deck.

I too,

But the night is not very long.

True,

I had forgotten we land at one.

Are you really coming with us?

What else on earth should I do?

That is easily answered.

Go home with your friend.

Are you not his fider cicades?

Don't you think it base to desert him?

He dropped his voice into rapture.

You don't expect me to prefer his society to yours.

Mrs Martin,

Who had quick ears,

Bestowed a mental smile on the one-sidedness of friendship.

Anne looked at him calmly and remarked,

You are an extraordinary boy.

He flushed and asked her not to call him a boy.

She answered that she thought him younger now than ever before.

It is only a boy that would have shown so much rashness.

How?

In hurling yourself upon us,

As you have done,

Unasked,

Except by your faithful friend,

Threat lurked in her voice and terrified him into instant humbleness.

Forgive me.

If I do,

It is because you are what you disclaim and not quite responsible.

The real offender should have remained to take care of you.

I don't need him if you won't laugh at me too cruelly.

Besides,

Do you know that Dick is only three years my senior?

Upon my honour,

That's all.

She made no remark on this,

But changed her note to one more serious and therefore more alarming.

Your coming with us is certain to revive talk.

Hush!

And I do not wish that to happen.

While you were here with another,

The fact was not so pointed.

But I did not realise that Mr Wareham proposed to leave you altogether on our hands.

And I do not like it.

He will go,

Hugh said gloomily.

He began to see Wareham's departure in a menacing light.

You know he told you so.

Oh,

Me?

Me?

Am I his friend?

When he gave you wise advice,

Did he not treat me in the light of a baleful ogress?

However,

There is no more to be said,

For if he will not make so small a concession for you,

Her tones betrayed annoyance.

Hugh's heart descended to his boots and he mentally resolved upon another and stronger argument with Wareham.

His path would not be strewn with roses,

He began to see.

At any rate,

If the roses were there,

Thorns also gave plentiful promise.

And he could not understand Wareham,

On whom he would have counted for staunch support in these prickly ways.

Poor Hugh,

Whose lights were steady but not brilliant,

Felt himself unable to comprehend either his friend or Anne.

At times,

She suffered his hope to sail like a kite,

Straining at its cord.

Then,

With a jerk,

Down came the poor flutterer and dragged helplessly on the ground.

Up again,

He forgot the downfall and was as unprepared as ever for disaster.

It was cold,

Sharply cold,

On deck.

People began to prepare for sleep.

Mrs Martin betook herself to the ladies' cabin.

Mrs Ravenhill and Millie stretched themselves on the ground in a small corner at the head of the companion ladder.

Anne barricaded herself amongst the small luggage and warned off Hugh,

Who wandered round,

Disconsolate.

There was still clear light in the sky,

Though the horizontal layer of clouds had grown dark,

Almost black.

Black,

Too,

Were the low hills,

Which rose on either side of the broad sogne.

Here and there,

A single light gleamed out of the solitude.

Now and then,

A bubble of laughter broke from a group on the deck.

Hugh went in pursuit of Wareham and found him in the forepart of the vessel talking to a Norwegian gentleman on the politics which were causing upheaval in the country.

When he at last walked away,

Wareham remarked to his friend,

Individually,

They are a strong nation,

But our overgrown world now requires quantity at the back of quality.

Besides,

They have no young men.

Why?

Emigration.

The passion for their country remains,

But only as a sentiment.

It does not bring them back to starve for her.

They would be fools if it did,

Commented Hugh.

True.

But it requires fools to do great things.

However,

My Norwegian is not quite of my opinion.

He thinks the struggle with nature's physical forces is so tremendous that it exhausts the energy of the people.

In old days,

It flung them southward to conquer more promising lands.

This is no longer possible.

And he holds that they must,

For the present,

Content themselves with crossing the seas and growing rich by the work of their brains.

The worst is that the men who return do not bring back the fine qualities they took.

You are interested in them.

They seem to me among the best people in the world.

But you have seen so little.

One day I must come back.

Look here,

Dick.

What a fellow you are,

Hugh exclaimed remonstrantly.

There's nothing to take you home.

And you won't stop.

When you might be of the greatest possible use to me.

Anne is beginning to cut up rough because she thinks my staying on with them alone looks marked.

Do think better of it.

You're not tied to those other people.

I can't be uncivil to them.

I claim you before them.

Wareham sighed wearily.

Haven't we gone through it all?

I tell you,

I know what I am about.

That letter.

It has something to do with that letter.

I'll swear it has.

And what rubbish!

As if anything you said could ever come between us.

Out with it,

Man.

Let's hear this mighty matter.

Then perhaps you'll stay and study your Norwegian in peace.

My Norwegian must wait.

The Ceylon has me fast booked.

Hugh was put out.

I never knew you so stiff,

He cried with vexation in his tone.

You must take my word that I have reasons.

At any rate,

You might give me one.

Wareham was silent.

Hugh kicked at a rope.

What on earth can I say to Anne?

You might be satisfied with your position?

The other man went on disregarding.

A week ago,

You would have thought it bliss.

So it is.

Hugh rose on wings.

But if ever you'd been in love,

You'd understand that the uncertainty is awfully trying.

After what happened once,

I shan't have a minute's peace until we're married.

Now,

When she might have let me say something,

She has sent me off.

Wareham was understood to mutter that no one could assist Hugh but Hugh himself.

Oh,

I know,

I know.

Only,

I want to keep her pleased.

Three weeks before,

His friend would have flung out that if he couldn't affect this preliminary,

He had better step aside and leave the lady to please herself.

Three weeks,

However,

Had changed,

If not his opinions,

At least his power of advancing them.

Silence was again his refuge,

And Hugh meandered on.

Perhaps old Martin will say a good word for me.

Suppose Anne says,

I am not to go on with them.

Can't you take your dismissal?

No!

Hugh flung out the word with such energy that a passing sailor looked round to see whether the quarrel was serious.

Wareham recognised and admired the tenacity.

You've grip,

He admitted.

It would take less to put me off.

The young man made no answer.

They were nearing a landing place.

The usual group stood there,

Only that at this hour they were dark shadows,

Now and then flashed upon by a moving light.

Two boys in fur caps carried great plates of wild strawberries.

Hugh bought a couple,

With promise that the steamer should bring back the plates.

He dashed off with them to Anne and was back in a moment.

Happy hit!

She likes them,

But she wants you to come too.

Wareham hesitated,

Went with a shrug at his own weakness.

Anne pushed a campstool in front of her.

Sit there.

Mr Forbes,

Please carry some to Mrs Ravenhill.

They are delicious.

As he went off obediently,

Wareham said,

You are unkind.

No,

He is pleased.

He thinks you are sure to say something in his favour and jumps at the opportunity.

Is that why you sent for me?

To hear your counsel,

Yes.

As it is you who have planted me in this quandary,

You had better at least tell me what you would advise that I leave to your own heart.

He was conscious that prudence would have touched the string more lightly.

You are so uncomplimentary as to have forgotten what I told you.

And not so long ago.

I don't own the thing.

At all events,

It is of the smallest.

So is what we see of the moon,

Said Wareham,

Pointing to a slender crescent.

Anne smiled,

For a woman who talks of heartlessness does so to be contradicted.

Well,

It appears to me that you put forth little on behalf of your friend.

One doesn't praise the people one loves.

He dared not look at her.

But her nearness thrilled him.

And he had not thought to be thus together again,

In the mysterious dusk of a northern night.

She was silent for a time.

When she spoke,

It was to say,

Slowly,

If you tell me that you honestly wish it,

I may,

Perhaps,

But he had started up impatiently.

Good heavens!

Am I your guide?

I have nothing to do with it.

I wash my hands of all,

He added with a strong effort.

Let me say that you could not choose a better fellow.

And that he loves you with his whole heart.

How big is that?

Anne demanded in a mocking tone.

The question jarred.

He loved,

But did not like her so well as before.

You,

At any rate,

Have no reason to doubt its generosity,

He answered gravely.

And one thing I will ask of you.

Do not cause unnecessary pain.

The situation is none of my creating.

Give me credit at least for having done my utmost to avoid painful positions.

You,

Or fate,

Have baffled me,

Yet now you refuse to interfere,

And I do not pretend to answer for myself.

She pushed away the plate of strawberries and leaned back among the rugs and furs,

Her face pale in the half-light,

Her voice cold.

Wareham was still standing when Hugh came back and glanced from one to the other.

Have you persuaded him?

He inquired.

Mr Wareham,

Said Anne carelessly.

I should not venture to attempt it.

Time's nearly up,

Hugh announced.

In a quarter of an hour we shall be at Vadheim,

And Colonel Martin wants to know if you have seen the brown rug.

Tell him it is here,

She said with a little eagerness,

And Hugh was turning away when Wareham stopped him.

Stay,

He said.

I will go.

He did not return.

Lights shone out ahead of them,

And there was a stir in the vessel and an uprising of sleepers,

For this is the point where those bound for northern Norway leave the Sogne.

The professor's voice was heard,

Acutely insistent.

Colonel Martin came to look for Anne and his rug.

The lights resolved themselves into illuminated windows of a square inn,

And with no movement about it,

This midnight illumination had an almost spectral effect.

A procession of goodbyes followed.

Goodbye,

Mr Wareham,

Said Mrs Martin with a laugh.

High ideals may be very fine things,

But they don't pay,

And you had better have stayed.

Lucky man,

With a tender chop in sight,

Muttered her husband.

As Anne passed out,

She turned a smiling face towards Wareham,

But if he had feared or hoped for a farewell word,

He was disappointed.

She said no more than goodnight and put a warm hand into his.

He had prepared himself for words,

But silence knocked aside his defences.

We are friends,

He asked eagerly.

She lifted her eyebrows,

Still smiling.

I should never reach your ideal of friendship.

Keep it for Mr Forbes.

Hugh pressed in from behind,

Laden with bundles.

Here's everything,

As far as I can see,

But if you find anything,

Dick,

Leave it with Bennet in Bergen.

You're a villain not to come along with us.

Then,

In a whisper,

Wish me well,

Old fellow.

He had only time to spring on shore.

The vessel backed slowly away from the pier.

The figures faded into darkness.

The spectral inn presented its squares of steady light.

Wareham stood watching.

Then,

With something like a groan,

Turned away and flung himself down where Anne had sat among the luggage.