Born in Exile

Name: Born in Exile
Author: Gissing, George

Gissing, George

England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century

They were in a little room sacred to the two girls, very daintily
furnished and fragrant of sweet-brier, which Sidwell loved so much
that, when the season allowed it, she often wore a little spray of it
at her girdle. Buckland opened a book on the table, and, on seeing the
title, exclaimed with a disparaging laugh:

'I can't get out of the way of this fellow M'Naughten! Wherever I go,
there he lies about on the tables and chairs. I should have thought he
was thoroughly smashed by an article that came out in _The Critical_
last year.'

Sidwell smiled, evidently in no way offended.

'That article could "smash" nobody,' she made answer. 'It was too
violent; it overshot the mark.'

'Not a bit of it!--So you read it, eh? You're beginning to read, are
you?'

'In my humble way, Buckland.'

'M'Naughten, among other things. Humble enough, that, I admit.'

'I am not a great admirer of M'Naughten,' returned his sister, with a
look of amusement.

'No? I congratulate you.--I wonder what Peak thinks of the book?'

'I really don't know.'

'Then let me ask another question. What do you think of Peak?'

Sidwell regarded him with quiet reflectiveness.

'I feel,' she said, 'that I don't know him very well yet. He is
certainly interesting.'

'Yes, he is. Does he impress you as the kind of man likely to make a
good clergyman?'

'I don't see any reason why he should not.'

Her brother mused, with wrinkles of dissatisfaction on his brow.

'Father gets to like him, you say?'

'Yes, I think father likes him.'

'Well, I suppose it's all right.'

'All right?'

'It's the most astounding thing that ever came under my observation,'
exclaimed Buckland, walking away and then returning.

'That Mr. Peak should be studying for the Church?'

'Yes.'

'But do reflect more modestly!' urged Sidwell, with something that was
not quite archness, though as near it as her habits of tone and feature
would allow. 'Why should you refuse to admit an error in your own way
of looking at things? Wouldn't it be better to take this as a proof
that intellect isn't necessarily at war with Christianity?'

'I never stated it so broadly as that,' returned her brother, with
impatience. 'But I should certainly have maintained that _Peak's_
intellect was necessarily in that position.'

'And you see how wrong you would have been,' remarked the girl, softly.

'Well--I don't know.'

'You don't know?'

'I mean that I can't acknowledge what I can't understand.'

'Then do try to understand, Buckland!--Have you ever put aside your
prejudice for a moment to inquire what our religion really means? Not
once, I think--at all events, not since you reached years of
discretion.'

'Allow me to inform you that I studied the question thoroughly at
Cambridge.'

'Yes, yes; but that was in your boyhood.'

'And when does manhood begin?'

'At different times in different persons. In your case it was late.'

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Opening the text

Born in ExileGissing, George

General

Born in Exile

Gissing, George

England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century

They were in a little room sacred to the two girls, very daintily
furnished and fragrant of sweet-brier, which Sidwell loved so much
that, when the season allowed it, she often wore a little spray of it
at her girdle. Buckland opened a book on the table, and, on seeing the
title, exclaimed with a disparaging laugh:

'I can't get out of the way of this fellow M'Naughten! Wherever I go,
there he lies about on the tables and chairs. I should have thought he
was thoroughly smashed by an article that came out in _The Critical_
last year.'

Sidwell smiled, evidently in no way offended.

'That article could "smash" nobody,' she made answer. 'It was too
violent; it overshot the mark.'

'Not a bit of it!--So you read it, eh? You're beginning to read, are
you?'

'In my humble way, Buckland.'

'M'Naughten, among other things. Humble enough, that, I admit.'

'I am not a great admirer of M'Naughten,' returned his sister, with a
look of amusement.

'No? I congratulate you.--I wonder what Peak thinks of the book?'

'I really don't know.'

'Then let me ask another question. What do you think of Peak?'

Sidwell regarded him with quiet reflectiveness.

'I feel,' she said, 'that I don't know him very well yet. He is
certainly interesting.'

'Yes, he is. Does he impress you as the kind of man likely to make a
good clergyman?'

'I don't see any reason why he should not.'

Her brother mused, with wrinkles of dissatisfaction on his brow.

'Father gets to like him, you say?'

'Yes, I think father likes him.'

'Well, I suppose it's all right.'

'All right?'

'It's the most astounding thing that ever came under my observation,'
exclaimed Buckland, walking away and then returning.

'That Mr. Peak should be studying for the Church?'

'Yes.'

'But do reflect more modestly!' urged Sidwell, with something that was
not quite archness, though as near it as her habits of tone and feature
would allow. 'Why should you refuse to admit an error in your own way
of looking at things? Wouldn't it be better to take this as a proof
that intellect isn't necessarily at war with Christianity?'

'I never stated it so broadly as that,' returned her brother, with
impatience. 'But I should certainly have maintained that _Peak's_
intellect was necessarily in that position.'

'And you see how wrong you would have been,' remarked the girl, softly.

'Well--I don't know.'

'You don't know?'

'I mean that I can't acknowledge what I can't understand.'

'Then do try to understand, Buckland!--Have you ever put aside your
prejudice for a moment to inquire what our religion really means? Not
once, I think--at all events, not since you reached years of
discretion.'

'Allow me to inform you that I studied the question thoroughly at
Cambridge.'

'Yes, yes; but that was in your boyhood.'

'And when does manhood begin?'

'At different times in different persons. In your case it was late.'

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Born in Exile

Born in Exile

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