Chapter XV

by William Somerset Maugham

　　The King's School at Tercanbury, to which Philip went when he wasthirteen, prided itself on its antiquity. It traced its origin to an abbeyschool, founded before the Conquest, where the rudiments of learning weretaught by Augustine monks; and, like many another establishment of thissort, on the destruction of the monasteries it had been reorganised by theofficers of King Henry VIII and thus acquired its name. Since then,pursuing its modest course, it had given to the sons of the local gentryand of the professional people of Kent an education sufficient to theirneeds. One or two men of letters, beginning with a poet, than whom onlyShakespeare had a more splendid genius, and ending with a writer of prosewhose view of life has affected profoundly the generation of which Philipwas a member, had gone forth from its gates to achieve fame; it hadproduced one or two eminent lawyers, but eminent lawyers are common, andone or two soldiers of distinction; but during the three centuries sinceits separation from the monastic order it had trained especially men ofthe church, bishops, deans, canons, and above all country clergymen: therewere boys in the school whose fathers, grandfathers, great-grandfathers,had been educated there and had all been rectors of parishes in thediocese of Tercanbury; and they came to it with their minds made upalready to be ordained. But there were signs notwithstanding that eventhere changes were coming; for a few, repeating what they had heard athome, said that the Church was no longer what it used to be. It wasn't somuch the money; but the class of people who went in for it weren't thesame; and two or three boys knew curates whose fathers were tradesmen:they'd rather go out to the Colonies (in those days the Colonies werestill the last hope of those who could get nothing to do in England) thanbe a curate under some chap who wasn't a gentleman. At King's School, asat Blackstable Vicarage, a tradesman was anyone who was not lucky enoughto own land (and here a fine distinction was made between the gentlemanfarmer and the landowner), or did not follow one of the four professionsto which it was possible for a gentleman to belong. Among the day-boys, ofwhom there were about a hundred and fifty, sons of the local gentry and ofthe men stationed at the depot, those whose fathers were engaged inbusiness were made to feel the degradation of their state.The masters had no patience with modern ideas of education, which theyread of sometimes in The Times or The Guardian, and hoped ferventlythat King's School would remain true to its old traditions. The deadlanguages were taught with such thoroughness that an old boy seldomthought of Homer or Virgil in after life without a qualm of boredom; andthough in the common room at dinner one or two bolder spirits suggestedthat mathematics were of increasing importance, the general feeling wasthat they were a less noble study than the classics. Neither German norchemistry was taught, and French only by the form-masters; they could keeporder better than a foreigner, and, since they knew the grammar as well asany Frenchman, it seemed unimportant that none of them could have got acup of coffee in the restaurant at Boulogne unless the waiter had known alittle English. Geography was taught chiefly by making boys draw maps, andthis was a favourite occupation, especially when the country dealt withwas mountainous: it was possible to waste a great deal of time in drawingthe Andes or the Apennines. The masters, graduates of Oxford or Cambridge,were ordained and unmarried; if by chance they wished to marry they couldonly do so by accepting one of the smaller livings at the disposal of theChapter; but for many years none of them had cared to leave the refinedsociety of Tercanbury, which owing to the cavalry depot had a martial aswell as an ecclesiastical tone, for the monotony of life in a countryrectory; and they were now all men of middle age.The headmaster, on the other hand, was obliged to be married and heconducted the school till age began to tell upon him. When he retired hewas rewarded with a much better living than any of the under-masters couldhope for, and an honorary Canonry.But a year before Philip entered the school a great change had come overit. It had been obvious for some time that Dr. Fleming, who had beenheadmaster for the quarter of a century, was become too deaf to continuehis work to the greater glory of God; and when one of the livings on theoutskirts of the city fell vacant, with a stipend of six hundred a year,the Chapter offered it to him in such a manner as to imply that theythought it high time for him to retire. He could nurse his ailmentscomfortably on such an income. Two or three curates who had hoped forpreferment told their wives it was scandalous to give a parish that neededa young, strong, and energetic man to an old fellow who knew nothing ofparochial work, and had feathered his nest already; but the mutterings ofthe unbeneficed clergy do not reach the ears of a cathedral Chapter. Andas for the parishioners they had nothing to say in the matter, andtherefore nobody asked for their opinion. The Wesleyans and the Baptistsboth had chapels in the village.When Dr. Fleming was thus disposed of it became necessary to find asuccessor. It was contrary to the traditions of the school that one of thelower-masters should be chosen. The common-room was unanimous in desiringthe election of Mr. Watson, headmaster of the preparatory school; he couldhardly be described as already a master of King's School, they had allknown him for twenty years, and there was no danger that he would make anuisance of himself. But the Chapter sprang a surprise on them. It chosea man called Perkins. At first nobody knew who Perkins was, and the namefavourably impressed no one; but before the shock of it had passed away,it was realised that Perkins was the son of Perkins the linendraper. Dr.Fleming informed the masters just before dinner, and his manner showed hisconsternation. Such of them as were dining in, ate their meal almost insilence, and no reference was made to the matter till the servants hadleft the room. Then they set to. The names of those present on thisoccasion are unimportant, but they had been known to generations ofschool-boys as Sighs, Tar, Winks, Squirts, and Pat.They all knew Tom Perkins. The first thing about him was that he was nota gentleman. They remembered him quite well. He was a small, dark boy,with untidy black hair and large eyes. He looked like a gipsy. He had cometo the school as a day-boy, with the best scholarship on their endowment,so that his education had cost him nothing. Of course he was brilliant. Atevery Speech-Day he was loaded with prizes. He was their show-boy, andthey remembered now bitterly their fear that he would try to get somescholarship at one of the larger public schools and so pass out of theirhands. Dr. Fleming had gone to the linendraper his father--they allremembered the shop, Perkins and Cooper, in St. Catherine's Street--andsaid he hoped Tom would remain with them till he went to Oxford. Theschool was Perkins and Cooper's best customer, and Mr. Perkins was onlytoo glad to give the required assurance. Tom Perkins continued to triumph,he was the finest classical scholar that Dr. Fleming remembered, and onleaving the school took with him the most valuable scholarship they had tooffer. He got another at Magdalen and settled down to a brilliant careerat the University. The school magazine recorded the distinctions heachieved year after year, and when he got his double first Dr. Fleminghimself wrote a few words of eulogy on the front page. It was with greatersatisfaction that they welcomed his success, since Perkins and Cooper hadfallen upon evil days: Cooper drank like a fish, and just before TomPerkins took his degree the linendrapers filed their petition inbankruptcy.In due course Tom Perkins took Holy Orders and entered upon the professionfor which he was so admirably suited. He had been an assistant master atWellington and then at Rugby.But there was quite a difference between welcoming his success at otherschools and serving under his leadership in their own. Tar had frequentlygiven him lines, and Squirts had boxed his ears. They could not imaginehow the Chapter had made such a mistake. No one could be expected toforget that he was the son of a bankrupt linendraper, and the alcoholismof Cooper seemed to increase the disgrace. It was understood that the Deanhad supported his candidature with zeal, so the Dean would probably askhim to dinner; but would the pleasant little dinners in the precincts everbe the same when Tom Perkins sat at the table? And what about the depot?He really could not expect officers and gentlemen to receive him as one ofthemselves. It would do the school incalculable harm. Parents would bedissatisfied, and no one could be surprised if there were wholesalewithdrawals. And then the indignity of calling him Mr. Perkins! Themasters thought by way of protest of sending in their resignations in abody, but the uneasy fear that they would be accepted with equanimityrestrained them."The only thing is to prepare ourselves for changes," said Sighs, who hadconducted the fifth form for five and twenty years with unparalleledincompetence.And when they saw him they were not reassured. Dr. Fleming invited them tomeet him at luncheon. He was now a man of thirty-two, tall and lean, butwith the same wild and unkempt look they remembered on him as a boy. Hisclothes, ill-made and shabby, were put on untidily. His hair was as blackand as long as ever, and he had plainly never learned to brush it; it fellover his forehead with every gesture, and he had a quick movement of thehand with which he pushed it back from his eyes. He had a black moustacheand a beard which came high up on his face almost to the cheek-bones, Hetalked to the masters quite easily, as though he had parted from them aweek or two before; he was evidently delighted to see them. He seemedunconscious of the strangeness of the position and appeared not to noticeany oddness in being addressed as Mr. Perkins.When he bade them good-bye, one of the masters, for something to say,remarked that he was allowing himself plenty of time to catch his train."I want to go round and have a look at the shop," he answered cheerfully.There was a distinct embarrassment. They wondered that he could be sotactless, and to make it worse Dr. Fleming had not heard what he said. Hiswife shouted it in his ear."He wants to go round and look at his father's old shop."Only Tom Perkins was unconscious of the humiliation which the whole partyfelt. He turned to Mrs. Fleming."Who's got it now, d'you know?"She could hardly answer. She was very angry."It's still a linendraper's," she said bitterly. "Grove is the name. Wedon't deal there any more.""I wonder if he'd let me go over the house.""I expect he would if you explain who you are."It was not till the end of dinner that evening that any reference was madein the common-room to the subject that was in all their minds. Then it wasSighs who asked:"Well, what did you think of our new head?" They thought of theconversation at luncheon. It was hardly a conversation; it was amonologue. Perkins had talked incessantly. He talked very quickly, with aflow of easy words and in a deep, resonant voice. He had a short, oddlittle laugh which showed his white teeth. They had followed him withdifficulty, for his mind darted from subject to subject with a connectionthey did not always catch. He talked of pedagogics, and this was naturalenough; but he had much to say of modern theories in Germany which theyhad never heard of and received with misgiving. He talked of the classics,but he had been to Greece, and he discoursed of archaeology; he had oncespent a winter digging; they could not see how that helped a man to teachboys to pass examinations, He talked of politics. It sounded odd to themto hear him compare Lord Beaconsfield with Alcibiades. He talked of Mr.Gladstone and Home Rule. They realised that he was a Liberal. Their heartssank. He talked of German philosophy and of French fiction. They could notthink a man profound whose interests were so diverse.It was Winks who summed up the general impression and put it into a formthey all felt conclusively damning. Winks was the master of the upperthird, a weak-kneed man with drooping eye-lids, He was too tall for hisstrength, and his movements were slow and languid. He gave an impressionof lassitude, and his nickname was eminently appropriate."He's very enthusiastic," said Winks.Enthusiasm was ill-bred. Enthusiasm was ungentlemanly. They thought of theSalvation Army with its braying trumpets and its drums. Enthusiasm meantchange. They had goose-flesh when they thought of all the pleasant oldhabits which stood in imminent danger. They hardly dared to look forwardto the future."He looks more of a gipsy than ever," said one, after a pause."I wonder if the Dean and Chapter knew that he was a Radical when theyelected him," another observed bitterly.But conversation halted. They were too much disturbed for words.When Tar and Sighs were walking together to the Chapter House onSpeech-Day a week later, Tar, who had a bitter tongue, remarked to hiscolleague:"Well, we've seen a good many Speech-Days here, haven't we? I wonder if weshall see another."Sighs was more melancholy even than usual."If anything worth having comes along in the way of a living I don't mindwhen I retire."