Speaker 1: Vera's First Christmas Adventure by Arnold Bennett. One. Five days
before Christmas, Cheswardine came home to his wife from a
week's sojourn in London on business. Vera, in her quality
of the best dressed woman in Bersley, met him on
the doorstep or thereabouts of their charming but childless home,
attired in a tea gown that would have ravished a
far less impressionable male than her husband, while he, in
his quality of a prosaic and flourishing earthenware manufacturer, pretended
to take the tea gown as a matter of course,
and gave her the sober, solid kiss of a man
who has been married six years and is getting used
to it. Still, the tea gown had pleased him, and
by certain secret symptoms, Vera knew that it had pleased him.
She hoped much from that tea gown. She hoped that
he had come home in a more pacific temper than
he had shown when he left her, and she would
carry her point after all. Now, Naturally, when a husband
in easy circumstances the possessor of a pretty and pampered wife,
spends a week in London and returns five days before Christmas,
certain things are rightly and properly to be expected from him.
He would need outstanding courage an amazing lack of a
sense of the amenity of conjugal existence in such a
husband to enable him to disappoint such reasonable expectations. And Cheeswerdine,
though capable of pulling the curb very tight on the
caprices of his wife, was a highly decent fellow. He
had no intention to disappoint. He knew his duty, so
that during afternoon tea, with the tea gown, in a
cozy corner of the great Chippendale drawing room, he began
to unfasten a small wooden case which he had brought
into the house in his own hand, opened it with
considerable precaution, making a fine mess of packing stuff on
the carpet, and gradually drew to light a pair of
vases of Venetian glass. He put them on the mantel piece. There,
he said, proudly and with a virtuous air. They were
obviously costly antique vases, exquisite in form, exquisite in the
graduated tints of their pale blue and rose seventeenth century.
He said, they're very nice Vera agreed with a show
of enthusiasm. What are they for your Christmas present? Cheswardine explained,
and added, my dear, oh Stephen, She murmured, A kiss
on these occasions is only just, and Cheswardine had one.
Juvenes told me they were quite unique, he said, modestly,
and I believe them. You might imagine that a pair
of Venetian vases of the seventeenth century, stated by Juvenes
to be unique, would have satisfied a woman who had
a generous dress allowance and lacked absolutely nothing that was essential.
But Vera was not satisfied. She was, on the contrary,
profoundly disappointed, for the presence of those vases proved that
she had not carried her point. They deprived her of hope.
The unpleasantness before Chezwudine went to London had been more
or less apropos of a Christmas present. Vera had seen
in Bostock's vast Emporium in the neighboring town of Hanbridge,
a music stool in the style known as Art nouveaux,
which had enslaved her fancy. She had taken her husband
to see it, and it had not enslaved her husband
fancy in the slightest degree. It was made in light woods,
and the woods were curved and twisted, as though they
had recently spent seven years in a purgatory for sinful trees.
Here and there in the design onyx stones had been
set in the wood. The seat itself was beauty soft.
What captured Vera was chiefly the fact that it did
not open at the top, as most elaborate music stools do,
but at either side you pressed a button onix and
the panel fell down, displaying your music in little compartments
ready to hand. And the eastern moiety of the music
stool was for piano pieces, and the Western moiety for songs.
In short, it was the last word of music stools.
Nothing could possibly beneure. But Cheswardine did not like it,
and did not conceal his opinion. He argued that it
would not go with the Chippendale furniture, and Vera said
that all beautiful things went together, and Cheswardine admitted that
they did rather dryly. You see, they took the matter
seriously because the house was their hobby. They were always
changing its interior, which was more than they could have
done for a child, even if they had had one,
and Cheeswardine's finer and soberer taste was always fire against
Vera's predilection for the novel and the bizarre. Apart from clothes,
Vera had not much more than the taste of a mouse.
They did not quarrel in Bostocks. Indeed, they did not
quarrel anywhere. But after Vera had suggested that he might
at any rate humor her by giving her the music
stool for a Christmas present, she seemed to think that
this would somehow help it to go with the Chippendale,
and Cheswardine had politely but firmly declined there had been
a certain cool nurse, and quite six tears. Vera had
caused it to be understood that even if Cheswardine was
not interested in music, and even if he did hate
music and did call the broadwood ebony grand ugly, that
was no reason why she should be deprived of a
pretty and original music stool that would keep her music tidy,
and that would be hers. As for it not going
with the Chippendale, that was simply an excuse, et cetera. Hence,
it is not surprising that the Venetian vases of the
seven teenth century left Vera cold, and that the domestic
prospects for Christmas were a little cold. However, Vera, with
wifely and submissive tact, made the best of things, and
that evening she began to decorate the hall, dining room,
and drawing room with holly and mizzletoe. Before the pair
retired to rest. The true Christmas feeling slightly tinged with
a tender melancholy permeated the house, and the servants were
growing excited in advance. The servants weren't going to have
a dinner party with crackers and port and a table
center unmatched in the five towns. The servants weren't going
to invite their friends to an evening's jollity. The servants
were merely going to work somewhat harder and have somewhat
less sleep. But such is the magical effect of holly
and mistletoe twined round picture cords and hung under chandeliers,
that the excitement of the servants was entirely pleasurable. And
as Vera shut the bedroom door, she said, with a delightful,
forgiving smile, I saw a lovely cigar cabinet at Bostox yesterday,
oh said Cheswodine touched he had no cigar cabinet, and
he wanted one, and Vera knew that he wanted one,
and Vera slept in the sweet consciousness of her thoughtful wifeliness.
The next morning, at breakfast, Cheswudine demanded, getting pretty hard up,
aren't you Maria? He called her Maria when he wished
to be arch well. She said, as a matter of fact,
I am what with thee? And he gave her a
five pound note. It happened so every year he provided
her with the money to buy him a Christmas present.
But it is, I hope unnecessary to say that the
connection between her present to him and the money he
furnished was never crudely mentioned. She made an opportunity before
he left for the works to praise the Venetian vases,
and she insisted that he should wrap up well because
he was showing some kines of one of his bad colds.
Two in the early afternoon, she went to Bosstock's emporium
at Hambridge to buy the cigar cabinets and a few
domestic trifles. Bostocks is a good shop. I do not
say that it has the classic and serene dignity of
Brunts over the way where one orders one's dining room
suites and one's flocks for the January dances. But it
is a good shop and one of the chief glories
of the Paris of the five towns. It has frontages
in three streets, and it might be called the shop
of the hundred windows. You can buy pretty nearly anything
at Boss Stocks, from an art nouveau music stool up
to the highest cheese, for there is a provision department.
You can't get cheese at Brunt's. Vera made her uninteresting
purchases first in the basement, and then she went upstairs
to the special Christmas department, which certainly was wonderful. A
blaze and splendor of electric light, a glitter of gilded,
iridescent toys and knickknacks, A smiling, excited pushing multitude of faces,
young and old, and the cashiers in their cages gathering
in money as fast as they could lay their tired
hands on it. A joyous, brilliant scene calculated to bring
soft tears of satisfaction to the board of directors that
presided over Boss Stocks. It was a record Christmas for
Boss Stocks. The electric cars were thundering over the frozen
streets in all the five towns to bring customers to
boss Stocks. Children dreamt of boss Stocks. Fathers went to
scoff and remained to pay. Brunce was not exactly alarmed,
for nothing could alarm Bruns. But there was just a
sort of suspicion of something in the air at Brunce
that did not make for odious self conceit. People seemed
to become intoxicated when they went into boss Stocks to
close their heads in a frenzy of buying, and there
the art nouveaux music stools stood in the corner. Had
originally seen it, she approached it, not thinking of the
terrible danger. The compartments for music lay inviting the open
four pounds nine and six missus chest were dying, said
a shop walker who knew her. She stopped to finger it. Well,
of course, everybody is acquainted with that peculiar ecstasy that
undoubtedly does overtake you in good shops, sometimes especially at Christmas.
I prefer to call it ecstasy rather than an intoxication,
but I have heard it called even drunkenness. It is
a magnificent and overwhelming experience like good wine. A blind
instinct seizes your reason and throws her out of the
window of your soul, and then assumes entire control of
the volition or machinery. You listen to, no arguments, you
care for, no consequences. You want a thing, you must
have it. You do have it. Vera was caught unawares
by this magnificent and overwhelming experience, just as she stooped
to finger the music stool, a fig for the cigar cabinet,
a fig for her husband's objections. After all, she was
a grown up woman in twenty nine or thirty and
entitled to a certain freedom. She was not and would
not be, a slave. It would look perfect in the
drawing room. I'll take it, she said, yes, missus Jeswuddine.
The unique thing, quite unique. Pinkethmann and Vera followed Penkethman
to a cash desk and received half a guinea out
of a five pound note. I want it carefully packed,
said Vera, Yes, ma'am, it will be delivered in the morning.
She was just beginning to realize that she had been
under the sinister influence of the ecstasy, and that she
had not bought the cigar cabinet, and that she had
practically no more money, and that Stephen's rule against credit
was the strictest of all his rules. When she caught
sight of mister Charles Woodruff buying toys doubtless for his
nephew's nieces. Mister Woodruff was the bachelor friend of the family.
He had loved Vera before Stephen loved her, and he
was still attached to her. Stephen and he were chums
for the most advanced kind. Why Stephen and Vera thought
nothing of bickering in front of mister Woodruff, who rated
them both and sided with neither. Hello, said Woodruff, flushing
and moving his long, clumsy limbs when she touched him
on the shoulder. I'm just buying a few toys. She
helped him to buy toys, and then he asked her
to go and have tea with him at the newly
opened sub Rosa Tea Rooms in Machin Street. She agreed,
and in passing the music stool, gave a small parcel
which she was carrying to Penkuthman and told him he
might as well put it in the music stool. She
was glad to have tea with Charlie Woodruff, it would
distract her, prevent her from thinking. The ecstasy had almost
died out, and she had a violent desire not to think.
Three A terrible blow fell upon her. The next morning.
Stephen had one of his bad colds, one of his worst.
The mere cold she could have supported with fortitude, but
he was forced to remain indoors, and his presence in
the house she could not support with fortitude. The music
stool would be sure to arrive before lunch, and he
would be there to see it arrive. The ecstasy had
fully expired now, and she had more leisure to think
than she wanted. She could not imagine what mad instinct
had compelled her to buy the music stool once out
of the shop. These instincts are always difficult to imagine.
She knew that Stephen would be angry. He might perhaps
go to the length of returning the music stool whence
it came for Though she was a pretty and pampered woman,
Stephen had a way in the last resort of being
master of his own house, and she could not even
placate him with the gift of a cigar cabinet. She
could not buy a five guineas cigar cabinet with ten
and six. She had no other money in the world.
She never had money yet much and he was always
running through her fingers. Stephen treated her generously gave her
an ample allowance, but he would under no circumstances permit credit,
nor would he pay her allowance in advance. She had
nothing to expect till the new year. She attended to
his cold and telephoned to the works for a clock
to come up, and she refrained from telling Stephen that
he must have been very careless while in London to
catch a cold like that her self. Denial in this
respect surprised Stephen, but he put it down to the
beneficent influence of Christmas and the Venetian vases. Boss Stock's
pear horse van arrived before the garden gate, earlier than
her worst fears had anticipated, and boss Stock's men were
evidently in a tremendous hurry that morning. In quite an
abnormally small number of seconds, the wooden case containing the
fragile music stool was lying in the inner hall waiting
to be unpacked. Having signed a delivery book. Vera stood
staring at the accusatory p package. Stephen was lounging over
the dining room fire, perhaps dozing, she would have the
thing swiftly transported upstairs and hidden in an attic for
a time. But just then Stephen popped out of the
dining room. Stephen's masculine curiosity had been aroused by the
advent of Bostoc's van. He had observed the incoming of
the package from the window, and he had ventured to
the hall to inspect it. The event had roused him
wonderfully from the heavy torpor which a cold induces. He
wore a dressing gown, the pockets of which bulged with handkerchiefs.
You oughtn't to be out here, Stephen, said his wife. Nonsense,
he said, why upon my soul, this steam heat is
warmer than the dining room fire. Vera, silenced by the
voice of truth, could not reply. Stephen bent his great
height to inspect the package. It was an appetizing Christmas package.
Straw escaped from between its ribs, and it had an
air of being filled with something at once large and dead. Oh,
observed Stephen humorously. Ah so this is it? Is it? Ah? Oh?
Very good? And he walked round it. How on earth
had he learnt that she had bought it. She had
not mentioned the purchase to mister Woodruff. Yes, Stephen, she
said timidly, that's it, and I hope he ought to
hold a tidy few cigars. That ought, remarked Stephen complacently.
He took it for the cigar cabinet. She paused, struck.
She had to make up her mind in an instant.
Oh yes, she murmured. A thousand, Yes, a thousand, she said,
I thought so, murmured Stephen. I mustn't kiss you because
I've got a cold, said he. But all the same,
I'm awfully obliged. VERA suppose we have it open now, eh,
Then we could decide where it is to go, and
I could put my cigars in it. Oh no, she protested,
don't know, Stephen, that's not fair. It must be opened
before Christmas morning. But I gave you my vases yesterday.
That's different, she said, Christmas is Christmas. Oh very well,
he yielded, that's all right, my dear. Then he began
to sniff. There's a deuced, odd smell from it. He said.
Perhaps it's the wood. She faltered, I hope it isn't,
he said, I expect it's the straw. A deuced odd's smell.
We'll have the thing put in the side hall next
to the clock. It'll be out of the way there
and I can come and gaze at it when I
feel depressed, eh Maria. He was undoubtedly charmed at the
prospect of owning so large and precious a cigar cabinet,
considering that the parcel which he had given to Penkethman
to put in the music stool comprised a half pound
of Bosstoc's very ripest gorgan Zola cheese, brought at the
cook's special request. The smell, which proceeded from the mysterious
inwards of the packing gase, did not surprise Verra at all,
but its inserted her none the less, and she wondered
how she could get the cheese out. For thirty hours,
the smell from the unopened packing case waxed in vigor
and strength. Stephen's cold grew worse and prevented him from
appreciating its full beauty, But he saved enough of it
to induce him to compare it facetiously with the effluvium
of a dead rat, and he said several times that
Bostocks really ought to use better straw. He was frequently
to be seen in the hall gloating over his cigar cabinet.
Once he urged Vera to have it opened and so
get rid of the straw, but she refused and found
the nerve to tell him that he was exaggerating the odor.
She was at a loss what to do. She could
not get up in the middle of the night and
unpack the package and hide its guilty secret. Indeed, to
unpack the package would bring about her ruin instantly, or
the package unpacked, Stephen would naturally expect to see the
cigar cabinet, and so the hours crept on to Christmas
and Vera's undoing. She gave herself a headache. It was
just thirty hours after the arrival of the package when
mister Woodruff dropped in for tea. Stephen was asleep in
the dining room, which apartment he particularly affected during his colds.
Woodruff was shown into the drawing room where Vera was
having her head ache. Vera brightened, In fact, she suddenly
grew very bright, and she gave Woodruff tea and took
some herself, and Woodruff passed an enjoyable twenty minutes. The
two Venetian vases were on the mantelpiece. Vera rose into
ecstasies about them and called upon Charlie Woodruff to rise too.
He got up from his chair to examine the vases,
which Vera had placed close together, side by side, at
the corner of the mantelpiece nearest to him. Vera and
Woodrooff also stood close together, side by side, and just
as Woodruff was about to handle the vases, Vera knocked
his arm. His arm collided with bon vase. That vase
collided with the next, and both fell to earth to
the hard, unfeeling, unyielding tiles of the hearth. Four they
were smashed to atoms. Vera screamed, She screamed twice and
ran out of the room. Stephen, Stephen, she cried hysterically,
Charlie has broken my vases, both of them. It is
too bad of him, He's really too clumsy. There was
a terrific pother. Stephen wakened violently, and in a moment
all three were staring in effectually at the thousand crystal
fragments on the hearth. But began Charlie Woodruff, and that
was all he did say. He and Vera and Stephen
had been friends since infancy, so she had the right
not to conceal her feelings before him. Stephen had the
same right, and they both exercised it, but began Charlie again, Oh,
never mind, Stephen stopped him curtly. Accidents can't be helped.
I shall get another pair, said Woodruff. No you won't,
replied Stephen. You can't. There isn't another pair in the world. See.
The two men simultaneously perceived that Vera was weeping. She
was very pretty in tears, but that did not prevent
the masculine world from feeling awkward and self conscious. Charley
had notions about going out and burying himself. Come Vera, come,
her husband enjoined, blowing his nose with unnecessary energy, bad
as his cold was. I I like those vases more
than anything you've you've ever given me. Vera blubbered charmingly,
patting her eyes. Stephen glanced at Woodruff as who should say, well,
my boy, you uncork those tears. I'll leave you to
deal with them. You see, I'm an invalid and addressing gown.
I leave you and went no, no, but look here,
look here, I say, Charlie. Woodruff expostulated to Vera. When
he was alone with her, he often started and expostulation
with that singular phrase, I'm awfully sorry. I don't know
how it happened. You must let me give you something else.
Vera shook her head. No, she said, I wanted Stephen
awfully to give me that music stool that I told
you about a fortnight ago, but he gave me the
vases instead, and I like them ever so much better.
I shall give you the music stool if you wanted
it a fortnight ago, you want it now. It won't
make up for the vases, of course. But no, no,
said Vera positively. Why not? I do not wish you
to give me anything. It wouldn't be quite nice. Vera insisted.
But I give you something every Christmas, do you, asked
Vera innocently. Yes, and you and Stephen give me something. Besides,
Stephen doesn't quite like the music stool. What's that got
to do with it? You like it, I'm giving it
to you, not him. I shall go over to Bostocks
tomorrow morning and get it. I forbid you to I shall.
Woodruff departed within five minutes. The Cheswudine coachman was driving
off in the dog cart, a hanbridge, with the packing
case in the back of the cart and a note.
He brought back the cigar cabinet. Stephen had not stirred
from the dining room, afraid to encounter a tearful wife. Presently,
his wife came into the dining room bearing the vast
load of the cigar cabinet in her delicate arms. I
thought it might amuse you to fill it with your cigars,
just to pass the time, she said. Stephen thought was well,
women take the cake. It was a thought that occurs
frequently to the husband's of Vera's. There was ripe gorgan
zola at dinner. Stephen met it as one meets a
person whom one fancies one has met somewhere but cannot
remember where. The next afternoon, the music stool came for
the second time into the house. Charlie brought it in
his dogcart. It was unpacked ostentatiously by the radiant Vera.
What could Stephen say in depreciation of this gift from
their oldest and best friend? As a fact, he could
and did say a great deal. But he said it
when he happened to be all alone in the drawing
room and had observed the appalling way in which the
music stool did not go with the Chippendale. Look at
the deep thing, he exclaimed to himself. Look at it. However,
the Christmas dinner party was a brilliant success, and after
it Vera sat on the Art nouveaux music stool and
twittered songs. And what with her being so attractive and
bird like, and what with the Christmas feeling in the
air well, Stephen resigned himself to the music stool. End
of Vera's first Christmas adventure.