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diff --git a/6690-h/6690-h.htm b/6690-h/6690-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a51d837 --- /dev/null +++ b/6690-h/6690-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9485 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Revolution in Tanner's Lane, by Mark Rutherford</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Revolution in Tanner's Lane, by Mark +Rutherford + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Revolution in Tanner's Lane + + +Author: Mark Rutherford + + + +Release Date: August 12, 2014 [eBook #6690] +[This file was first posted on January 12, 2003] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1913 Hodder and Stoughton edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Woman in church" +title= +"Woman in church" +src="images/fps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>THE REVOLUTION IN<br /> +TANNER’S LANE</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +MARK RUTHERFORD</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">HODDER & +STOUGHTON’S</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">SEVENPENNY LIBRARY</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">HODDER AND STOUGHTON<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LONDON NEW YORK +TORONTO</span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">CHAPTER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">I.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The World Outside</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page9">9</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">II.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Outside Pike Street</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">III.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Theatre</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">IV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Friend of the People</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">V.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Horizon Widens</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page46">46</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Tea à La Mode</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Jephthah</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page66">66</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Unconventional Justice</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">IX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Strain on the Cable</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page83">83</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">X.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Disintegration by Degrees</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Politics and Pauline</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">One Body and One Spirit</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">To the Greeks Foolishness</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page120">120</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The School of Adversity: the Sixth +Form thereof</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page134">134</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">End of the Beginning</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page148">148</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XVI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Cowfold</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page155">155</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XVII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">When Wilt Thou Arise Out of Thy +Sleep? Yet a Little Sleep</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page168">168</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XVIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Religious Picnic</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">“The Kingdom of Heaven is like +unto Leaven”</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page182">182</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Reverend Thomas Broad’s +Exposition of Romans viii. 7</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page188">188</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Wisdom of the Serpent</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page195">195</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">The Oracle Warns—after the +Event</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page199">199</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Further Development</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXIV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">“I Came Not to Send Peace, But a +Sword”</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page215">215</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">“And a Man’s Foes Shall be +They of His Own Household”</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page231">231</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXVI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">A Professional Consultation</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page239">239</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXVII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p><span class="smcap">Mr. Broad’s Last Church +Meeting—Latimer Chapel</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page247">247</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<blockquote><p>“Per various casus, per tot discrimina +rerum,<br /> +Tendimus in Latium; sedes ubi fata quietas<br /> +Ostendunt. Illic fas regna resurgere Trojæ.<br /> +Durate, et vosmet rebus servate secundis.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">—<i>Virgil</i>.</p> +<p>“By diuers casis, sere parrellis and sufferance<br /> +Unto Itaill we ettill (aim) quhare destanye<br /> +Has schap (shaped) for vs ane rest and quiet harbrye<br /> +Predestinatis thare Troye sall ryse agane.<br /> +Be stout on prosper fortoun to remane.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">—<i>Gwain Douglas’s +translation</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>CHAPTER +I<br /> +<span class="smcap">The World Outside</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> 20th April 1814, an almost +cloudless, perfectly sunny day, saw all London astir. On +that day Lewis the Eighteenth was to come from Hartwell in +triumph, summoned by France to the throne of his ancestors. +London had not enjoyed too much gaiety that year. It was +the year of the great frost. Nothing like it had been known +in the memory of man. In the West of England, where snow is +rare, roads were impassable and mails could not be +delivered. Four dead men were dug out of a deep drift about +ten miles west of Exeter. Even at Plymouth, close to the +soft south-western ocean, the average depth of the fall was +twenty inches, and there was no other way of getting eastwards +than by pack-horses. The Great North Road was completely +blocked, and there was a barricade over it near Godmanchester of +from six to ten feet high. The Oxford coach was +buried. Some passengers inside were rescued with great +difficulty, and their lives were barely saved. The Solway +Firth at Workington resembled the Arctic Sea, and the Thames was +so completely frozen over between Blackfriars and London Bridges +that people were able, not only to walk across, but to erect +booths on the ice. Coals, of course, rose to famine prices +in London, as it was then dependent solely upon water-carriage +for its supply. The Father of his people, the Prince +Regent, was much moved by the general distress of “a large +and meritorious class of industrious persons,” as he called +them, and issued a circular to all Lords Lieutenant ordering them +to provide all practicable means of removing obstructions from +the highways.</p> +<p>However, on this 20th April the London mob forgot the frost, +forgot the quartern loaf and the national debt, and prepared for +a holiday, inspired thereto, not so much by Lewis the Eighteenth +as by the warmth and brilliant sky. There are two factors +in all human bliss—an object and the subject. The +object may be a trifle, but the condition of the subject is most +important. Turn a man out with his digestion in perfect +order, with the spring in the air and in his veins, and he will +cheer anything, any Lewis, Lord Liverpool, dog, cat, or rat who +may cross his path. Not that this is intended as a +sufficient explanation of the Bourbon reception. Far from +it; but it does mitigate it a trifle. At eleven +o’clock in the forenoon two troops of the Oxford Blues drew +up at Kilburn turnpike to await the sacred arrival. The +Prince Regent himself went as far as Stanmore to meet his August +Brother. When the August Brother reached the village, the +excited inhabitants thereof took the horses out of the carriage +and drew him through the street. The Prince, standing at +the door of the principal inn, was in readiness to salute him, +and this he did by embracing him! There have been some +remarkable embraces in history. Joseph fell on +Israel’s neck, and Israel said unto Joseph, “Now let +me die, since I have seen thy face:” Paul, after preaching +at Ephesus, calling the elders of the Church to witness that, for +the space of three years, he ceased not to warn every one night +and day with tears, kneeled down and prayed, so that they all +wept sore and fell on his neck: Romeo took a last embrace of +Juliet in the vault, and sealed the doors of breath with a +righteous kiss: Penelope embraced Ulysses, who was welcome to her +as land is welcome to shipwrecked swimmers escaping from the grey +seawater—there have, we say, been some remarkable embraces +on this earth since time began, but none more remarkable than +that on the steps of the Abercorn Arms. The Divine couple +then drove in solemn procession to town. From the park +corner for three-quarters of a mile or so was a line of private +carriages, filled with most fashionable people, the ladies all +standing on the seats. The French Royalist flag waved +everywhere. All along the Kilburn Road, then thinly lined +with houses, it was triumphant, and even the trees were decorated +with it. Arriving by way of Cumberland Gate at Piccadilly, +Lewis was escorted, amidst uproarious rejoicing, to +Grillon’s Hotel in Albemarle Street. There, in reply +to an address from the Prince, he “ascribed, under +Providence,” to his Royal Highness and the British people +his present blissful condition; and soon afterwards, being +extremely tired, went to bed. This was on a +Wednesday. The next day, Thursday, His Sacred Majesty, or +Most Christian Majesty, as he was then called, was solemnly made +a Knight of the Garter, the Bishops of Salisbury and Winchester +assisting. On Friday he received the corporation of London, +and on Saturday the 23rd he prepared to take his departure. +There was a great crowd in the street when he came out of the +hotel and immense applause; the mob crying out, “God bless +your Majesty!” as if they owed him all they had, and even +their lives. It was very touching, people thought at the +time, and so it was. Is there anything more touching than +the waste of human loyalty and love? As we read the history +of the Highlands or a story of Jacobite loyalty such as that of +Cooper’s Admiral Bluewater, dear to boys, we sadden that +destiny should decree that in a world in which piety is not too +plentiful it should run so pitifully to waste, and that men and +women should weep hot tears and break their hearts over +bran-stuffing and wax.</p> +<p>Amidst the hooraying multitude that Saturday April morning was +one man at least, Zachariah Coleman by name, who did not hooray, +and did not lift his hat even when the Sacred Majesty appeared on +the hotel steps. He was a smallish, thin-faced, lean +creature in workman’s clothes; his complexion was white, +blanched by office air, and his hands were black with +printer’s ink.</p> +<p>“Off with your tile, you b—y Corsican!” +exclaimed a roaring voice behind him. Zachariah turned +round, and found the request came from a drayman weighing about +eighteen stone; but the tile was not removed. In an instant +it was sent flying to the other side of the road, where it was +trodden on, picked up, and passed forward in the air amidst +laughter and jeers, till it was finally lost.</p> +<p>Zachariah was not pugnacious, and could not very well be so in +the presence of his huge antagonist; but he was no coward, and +not seeing for the moment that his hat had hopelessly gone, he +turned round savagely, and laying hold of the drayman, said:</p> +<p>“You ruffian, give it me back; if I am a Corsican, are +you an Englishman?”</p> +<p>“Take that for your b—y beaver,” said the +other, and dealt him a blow with the fist right in his face, +which staggered and stupefied him, covering him with blood.</p> +<p>The bystanders, observing the disparity between the two men, +instantly took Zachariah’s side, and called out +“Shame, shame!” Nor did they confine themselves +to ejaculations, for a young fellow of about eight and twenty, +well dressed, with a bottle-green coat of broadcloth, buttoned +close, stepped up to the drayman.</p> +<p>“Knock my tile off, beer-barrel.”</p> +<p>The drayman instantly responded by a clutch at it, but before +he could touch it he had an awful cut across the lips, delivered +with such scientific accuracy from the left shoulder that it was +clear it came from a disciple of Jackson or Tom Cribb. The +crowd now became intensely delighted and excited, and a cry of +“A ring, a ring!” was raised. The drayman, +blind with rage, let out with his right arm with force enough to +fell an ox, but the stroke was most artistically parried, and the +response was another fearful gash over the right eye. By +this time the patriot had had enough, and declined to continue +the contest. His foe, too, seemed to have no desire for any +further display of his powers, and retired smilingly, edging his +way to the pavement, where he found poor Zachariah almost +helpless.</p> +<p>“Holloa, my republican friend, d—n it, +that’s a nasty lick you’ve got, and from one of the +people too; that makes it harder to bear, eh? Never mind, +he’s worse off than you are.”</p> +<p>Zachariah thanked him as well as he could for defending +him.</p> +<p>“Not a word; haven’t got a scratch myself. +Come along with me;” and he dragged him along Piccadilly +into a public-house in Swallow Street, where apparently he was +well known. Water was called for; Zachariah was sponged, +the wound strapped up, some brandy given him, and the stranger, +ordering a hackney coach, told the driver to take the gentleman +home.</p> +<p>“Wait a bit,” he called, as the coach drove +off. “You may feel faint; I’ll go home with +you,” and in a moment he was by Zachariah’s +side. The coach found its way slowly through the streets to +some lodgings in Clerkenwell. It was well the stranger did +go, for his companion on arrival was hardly able to crawl +upstairs to give a coherent account to his wife of what had +happened.</p> +<p>Zachariah Coleman, working man, printer, was in April 1814 +about thirty years old. He was employed in a jobbing office +in the city, where he was compositor and pressman as well. +He had been married in January 1814 to a woman a year younger +than himself, who attended the meeting-house at Hackney, whither +he went on the Sunday. He was a Dissenter in religion, and +a fierce Radical in politics, as many of the Dissenters in that +day were. He was not a ranter or revivalist, but what was +called a moderate Calvinist; that is to say, he held to Calvinism +as his undoubted creed, but when it came to the push in actual +practice he modified it. In this respect he was +inconsistent; but who is there who is not? His theology +probably had no more gaps in it than that of the latest and most +enlightened preacher who denies miracles and affirms the +Universal Benevolence. His present biographer, from +intimate acquaintance with the class to which Zachariah belonged, +takes this opportunity to protest against the general assumption +that the Calvinists of that day, or of any day, arrived at their +belief by putting out their eyes and accepting blindly the +authority of St. Paul or anybody else. It may be +questioned, indeed, whether any religious body has ever stood so +distinctly upon the understanding and has used its intellect with +such rigorous activity, as the Puritans, from whom Zachariah was +a genuine descendant. Even if Calvinism had been carved on +tables of stone and handed down from heaven by the Almighty Hand, +it would not have lived if it had not have found to agree more or +less with the facts, and it was because it was a deduction from +what nobody can help seeing that it was so vital, the Epistle to +the Romans serving as the inspired confirmation of an +experience. Zachariah was a great reader of all kinds of +books—a lover especially of Bunyan and Milton; as logical +in his politics as in his religion; and he defended the execution +of Charles the First on the ground that the people had just as +much right to put a king to death as a judge had to order the +execution of any other criminal.</p> +<p>The courtship between Zachariah and the lady who became his +wife had been short, for there could be no mistake, as they had +known one another so long. She was black-haired, with a +perfectly oval face, always dressed with the most scrupulous +neatness, and with a certain plain tightness which Zachariah +admired. She had exquisitely white and perfect teeth, a +pale, clear complexion, and the reputation of being a most +sensible woman. She was not a beauty, but she was +good-looking; the weak points in her face being her eyes, which +were mere inexpressive optic organs, and her mouth, which, when +shut, seemed too much shut, just as if it were compressed by an +effort of the will or by a spring. These, however, +Zachariah thought minor matters, if, indeed, he ever noticed +them. “The great thing was, that she +was”—sometimes this and sometimes that—and so +it was settled. Unfortunately in marriage it is so +difficult to be sure of what the great thing is, and what the +little thing is, the little thing becoming so frightfully big +afterwards! Theologically, Mrs. Zachariah was as strict as +her husband, and more so, as far as outward observance went, for +her strictness was not tempered by those secular interests which +to him were so dear. She read little or +nothing—nothing, indeed, on week-days, and even the +<i>Morning Chronicle</i>, which Zachariah occasionally borrowed, +was folded up when he had done with it and put under the +tea-caddy till it was returned. On Sundays she took up a +book in the afternoon, but she carefully prepared herself for the +operation as though it were a sacramental service. When the +dinner-things were washed up, when the hearth was swept and the +kettle on the fire, having put on her best Sunday dress, it was +her custom to go to the window, always to the window, never to +the fire—where she would open Boston’s <i>Fourfold +State</i> and hold it up in front of her with both hands. +This, however, did not last long, for on the arrival of the +milkman the volume was replaced, and it was necessary to make +preparations for tea.</p> +<p>The hackney coach drove up to the house in Rosoman Street +where Zachariah dwelt on the first floor. He was too weak +to go upstairs by himself, and he and his friend therefore walked +into the front room together. It was in complete order, +although it was so early in the morning. Everything was +dusted; even the lower fire-bar had not a speck of ashes on it, +and on the hob already was a saucepan in which Mrs. Coleman +proposed to cook the one o’clock dinner. On the walls +were portraits of Sir Francis Burdett, Major Cartwright, and the +mezzotint engraving of Sadler’s Bunyan. Two black +silhouettes—one of Zachariah and the other of his +wife—were suspended on each side of the mantelpiece.</p> +<p>Mrs. Coleman was busily engaged in the bedroom, but hearing +the footsteps, she immediately entered. She was slightly +taken aback at seeing Zachariah in such a plight, and uttered a +little scream, but the bottle-green stranger, making her a +profound bow, arrested her.</p> +<p>“Pardon me, my dear madam, there is nothing seriously +the matter. Your husband has had the misfortune to be the +victim of a most blackguardly assault; but I am sure that, under +your care, he will be all right in a day or two; and, with your +permission, I take my leave.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Coleman was irritated. The first emotion was not +sympathy. Absolutely the first was annoyance at being seen +without proper notice by such a fine-looking gentleman. She +had, however, no real cause for vexation under this head. +She had tied a white handkerchief over her hair, fastening it +under her chin, as her manner was when doing her morning’s +work, and she had on her white apron; but she was trim and +faultless, and the white handkerchief did but set off her black +hair and marble complexion. Her second emotion, too, was +not sympathy. Zachariah was at home at the wrong +time. Her ordinary household arrangements were upset. +He might possibly be ill, and then there would be a mess and +confusion. The thought of sickness was intolerable to her, +because it “put everything out.” Rising up at +the back of these two emotions came, haltingly, a third when she +looked her husband in the face. She could not help it, and +she did really pity him.</p> +<p>“I am sure it is very kind of you,” she +replied.</p> +<p>Zachariah had as yet spoken no word, nor had she moved towards +him. The stranger was departing.</p> +<p>“Stop!” cried Zachariah, “you have not told +me your name. I am too faint to say how much I owe you for +your protection and kindness.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense. My name is Maitland—Major +Maitland, <span class="GutSmall">1A</span> Albany. +Good-bye.”</p> +<p>He was at the top of the stairs, when he turned round, and +looking at Mrs. Coleman, observed musingly, “I think +I’ll send my doctor, and, if you will permit me, will call +in a day or two.”</p> +<p>She thanked him; he took her hand, politely pressed it to his +lips, and rode off in the coach which had been waiting for +him.</p> +<p>“What has happened, my dear? Tell me all about +it,” she inquired as she went back into the parlour, with +just the least colour on her cheek, and perceptibly a little +happier than she was five minutes before. She did nothing +more than put her hand on his shoulder, but he brightened +immediately. He told her the tale, and when it was over +desired to lie down and to have some tea.</p> +<p>Emotion number two returned to Mrs. Coleman immediately. +Tea at that time, the things having been all cleared away and +washed up! She did not, however, like openly to object, but +she did go so far as to suggest that perhaps cold water would be +better, as there might be inflammation. Zachariah, although +he was accustomed to give way, begged for tea; and it was made +ready, but not with water boiled there. She would not again +put the copper kettle on the fire, as it was just cleaned, but +she asked to be allowed to use that which belonged to the +neighbour downstairs who kept the shop. The tea-things were +replaced when Zachariah had finished, and his wife returned to +her duties, leaving him sitting in the straight-backed +Windsor-chair, looking into the grate and feeling very +miserable.</p> +<p>In the afternoon Rosoman Street was startled to see a grand +carriage stop at Zachariah’s door, and out stepped the +grand doctor, who, after some little hesitation and inquiry, made +his way upstairs. Having examined our friend, he pronounced +him free from all mortal or even serious injury—it was a +case of contusion and shaken nerves, which required a little +alterative medicine, and on the day after to-morrow the patient, +although bruised and sore in the mouth, might go back to +work.</p> +<p>The next morning he was better, but nevertheless he was +depressed. It was now three months since his wedding-day, +and the pomp and beauty of the sunrise, gold and scarlet bars +with intermediate lakes of softest blue, had been obscured by +leaden clouds, which showed no break and let loose a cold +drizzling rain. How was it? He often asked himself +that question, but could obtain no satisfactory answer. Had +anything changed? Was his wife anything which he did not +know her to be three months ago? Certainly not. He +could not accuse her of passing herself off upon him with false +pretences. What she had always represented herself to be +she was now. There she stood precisely as she stood twelve +months ago, when he asked her to become his wife, and he thought +when she said “yes” that no man was more blessed than +he. It was, he feared, true he did not love her, nor she +him; but why could not they have found that out before? +What a cruel destiny was this which drew a veil before his eyes +and led him blindfold over the precipice! He at first +thought, when his joy began to ebb in February or March, that it +would rise again, and that he would see matters in a different +light; but the spring was here, and the tide had not +turned. It never would turn now, and he became at last +aware of the sad truth—the saddest a man can +know—that he had missed the great delight of +existence. His chance had come, and had gone. +Henceforth all that was said and sung about love and home would +find no echo in him. He was paralysed, dead in half of his +soul, and would have to exist with the other half as well he +could. He had done no wrong: he had done his best; he had +not sold himself to the flesh or the devil, and, Calvinist as he +was, he was tempted at times to question the justice of such a +punishment. If he put his finger in the fire and got burnt, +he was able to bow to the wisdom which taught him in that plain +way that he was not to put his finger in the fire. But +wherein lay the beneficence of visiting a simple +mistake—one which he could not avoid—with a curse +worse than the Jewish curse of excommunication—“the +anathema wherewith Joshua cursed Jericho; the curse which Elisha +laid upon the children; all the curses which are written in the +law. Cursed be he by day, and cursed be he by night: cursed +be he in sleeping, and cursed be he in waking: cursed in going +out, and cursed in coming in.” Neither the wretched +victim nor the world at large was any better for such a +visitation, for it was neither remedial nor monitory. Ah, +so it is! The murderer is hung at Newgate, and if he +himself is not improved by the process, perhaps a few wicked +people are frightened; but men and women are put to a worse death +every day by slow strangulation which endures for a lifetime, +and, as far as we can see, no lesson is learned by anybody, and +no good is done.</p> +<p>Zachariah, however, did not give way to despair, for he was +not a man to despair. His religion was a part of +himself. He had immortality before him, in which he thanked +God there was no marrying nor giving in marriage. This +doctrine, however, did not live in him as the other dogmas of his +creed, for it was not one in which his intellect had such a +share. On the other hand, predestination was dear to +him. God knew him as closely as He knew the angel next His +throne, and had marked out his course with as much concern as +that of the seraph. What God’s purposes were he did +not know. He took a sort of sullen pride in not knowing, +and he marched along, footsore and wounded, in obedience to the +orders of his great Chief. Only thirty years old, and only +three months a husband, he had already learned +renunciation. There was to be no joy in life? Then he +would be satisfied if it were tolerable, and he strove to dismiss +all his dreams and do his best with what lay before him. Oh +my hero! Perhaps somewhere or other—let us hope it is +true—a book is kept in which human worth is duly appraised, +and in that book, if such a volume there be, we shall find that +the divinest heroism is not that of the man who, holding life +cheap, puts his back against a wall, and is shot by Government +soldiers, assured that he will live ever afterwards as a martyr +and saint: a diviner heroism is that of the poor printer, who, in +dingy, smoky Rosoman Street, Clerkenwell, with forty years before +him, determined to live through them, as far as he could, without +a murmur, although there was to be no pleasure in them. A +diviner heroism is this, but divinest of all, is that of him who +can in these days do what Zachariah did, and without +Zachariah’s faith.</p> +<p>The next evening, just as Zachariah and his wife were sitting +down to tea, there was a tap at the door, and in walked Major +Maitland. He was now in full afternoon costume, and, if not +dandyish, was undeniably well dressed. Making a profound +bow to Mrs. Coleman, he advanced to the fireplace and instantly +shook hands with Zachariah.</p> +<p>“Well, my republican, you are better, although the beery +loyalist has left his mark upon you.”</p> +<p>“Certainly, much better; but where I should have been, +sir, if it had not been for you, I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“Ah, well; it was an absolute pleasure to me to teach +the blackguard that cheering a Bourbon costs something. My +God, though, a man must be a fool who has to be taught +that! I wonder what it <i>has</i> cost us. Why, I see +you’ve got my friend, Major Cartwright, up +there.”</p> +<p>Zachariah and his wife started a moment at what they +considered the profane introduction of God’s name; but it +was not exactly swearing, and Major Maitland’s relationship +to them was remarkable. They were therefore silent.</p> +<p>“A true friend of the people,” continued Maitland, +“is Major Cartwright; but he does not go quite far enough +to please me.”</p> +<p>“As for the people so-called,” quoth Zachariah, +“I doubt whether they are worth saving. Look at the +mob we saw the day before yesterday. I think not of the +people. But there is a people, even in these days of Ahab, +whose feet may yet be on the necks of their enemies.”</p> +<p>“Why, you are an aristocrat,” said Maitland, +smiling; “only you want to abolish the present aristocracy +and give us another. You must not judge us by what you saw +in Piccadilly, and while you are still smarting from that smasher +on your eye. London, I grant you, is not, and never was, a +fair specimen. But, even in London, you must not be +deceived. You don’t know its real temper; and then, +as to not being worth saving—why, the worse men are the +more they want saving. However, we are both agreed about +this—crew, Liverpool, the Prince Regent, and his +friends.” A strong word was about to escape before +“crew,” but the Major saw that he was in a house +where it would be out of place. “I wish you’d +join our Friends of the People. We want two or three +determined fellows like you. We are all safe.”</p> +<p>“What are the ‘Friends of the +People’?”</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s a club of—a—good fellows who +meet twice a week for a little talk about affairs. Come +with me next Friday and see.”</p> +<p>Zachariah hesitated a moment, and then consented.</p> +<p>“All right; I’ll fetch you.” He was +going away, and picked up from the table a book he had brought +with him.</p> +<p>“By the way, you will not be at work till +to-morrow. I’ll leave you this to amuse you. It +has not been out long. Thirteen thousand copies were sold +the first day. It is the <i>Corsair</i>—Byron’s +<i>Corsair</i>. My God, it <i>is</i> poetry and no +mistake! Not exactly, perhaps, in your line; but you are a +man of sense, and if that doesn’t make your heart leap in +you I’m much mistaken. Lord Byron is a neighbour of +mine in the Albany. I know him by sight. I’ve +waited a whole livelong morning at my window to see him go +out. So much the more fool you, you’ll say. Ah, +well, wait till you have read the <i>Corsair</i>.”</p> +<p>The Major shook hands. Mrs. Coleman, who had been +totally silent during the interview, excepting when she asked him +if he would join in a cup of tea—an offer most gracefully +declined—followed him to the top of the stairs. As +before, he kissed her hand, made her a profound bow, and was +off. When she came back into the room the faint flush on +the cheek was repeated, and there was the same unusual little +rippling overflow of kindness to her husband.</p> +<p>In the evening Zachariah took up the book. Byron was +not, indeed, in his line. He took no interest in him, +although, like every other Englishman, he had heard much about +him. He had passed on his way to Albemarle Street the +entrance to the Albany. Byron was lying there asleep, but +Zachariah, although he knew he was within fifty yards of him, +felt no emotion whatever. This was remarkable, for +Byron’s influence, even in 1814, was singular, beyond that +of all predecessors and successors, in the wideness of its +range. He was read by everybody. Men and women who +were accessible to no other poetry were accessible to his, and +old sea-captains, merchants, tradesmen, clerks, tailors, +milliners, as well as the best judges in the land repeated his +verses by the page.</p> +<p>Mrs. Coleman, having cleared away the tea-things, sat knitting +till half-past six. It was prayer-meeting night, and she +never missed going. Zachariah generally accompanied her, +but he was not quite presentable, and stayed at home. He +went on with the <i>Corsair</i>, and as he read his heart warmed, +and he unconsciously found himself declaiming several of the most +glowing and eloquent lines aloud. He was by nature a poet; +essentially so, for he loved everything which lifted him above +what is commonplace. Isaiah, Milton, a storm, a revolution, +a great passion—with these he was at home; and his +education, mainly on the Old Testament, contributed greatly to +the development both of the strength and weakness of his +character. For such as he are weak as well as strong; weak +in the absence of the innumerable little sympathies and +worldlinesses which make life delightful, and but too apt to +despise and tread upon those gentle flowers which are as really +here as the sun and the stars, and are nearer to us. +Zachariah found in the <i>Corsair</i> exactly what answered to +his own inmost self, down to its very depths. The lofty +style, the scorn of what is mean and base, the courage—root +of all virtue—that dares and evermore dares in the very +last extremity, the love of the illimitable, of freedom, and the +cadences like the fall of waves on a sea-shore were attractive to +him beyond measure. More than this, there was Love. +His own love was a failure, and yet it was impossible for him to +indulge for a moment his imagination elsewhere. The +difference between him and his wife might have risen to absolute +aversion, and yet no wandering fancy would ever have been +encouraged towards any woman living. But when he came to +Medora’s song:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Deep in my soul that tender secret +dwells,<br /> + Lonely and lost to light for evermore,<br /> +Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,<br /> + Then trembles into silence as before.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and more particularly the second verse:</p> +<blockquote><p>“There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp<br +/> + Burns the slow flame, eternal—but unseen;<br +/> +Which not the darkness of despair can damp,<br /> + Though vain its ray as it had never been.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>love again asserted itself. It was not love for a +person; perhaps it was hardly love so much as the capacity for +love. Whatever it may be, henceforth this is what love will +be in him, and it will be fully maintained, though it knows no +actual object. It will manifest itself in suppressed force, +seeking for exit in a thousand directions; sometimes grotesque +perhaps, but always force. It will give energy to +expression, vitality to his admiration of the beautiful, devotion +to his worship, enthusiasm to his zeal for freedom. More +than this, it will <i>not</i> make his private life unbearable by +contrast; rather the reverse. The vision of Medora will not +intensify the shadow over Rosoman Street, Clerkenwell, but will +soften it.</p> +<h2><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>CHAPTER II<br /> +<span class="smcap">Outside Pike Street</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">On</span> the Friday evening the Major +called for Zachariah. He had not yet returned, but his wife +was at home. The tea-things were ready, the kettle was on +the hob, and she sat knitting at the window. Her visitor +knocked at the door; she rose, and he entered. This time he +was a little less formal, for after making his bow he shook her +hand. She, too, was not quite so stiff, and begged him to +be seated.</p> +<p>“Upon my word, madam,” he began, “if I were +as well looked after as Mr. Coleman, I doubt if I should be so +anxious as he is to change the existing order of things. +You would think there is some excuse for me if you were to see +the misery and privation of my lodgings. Nobody cares a +straw, and as for dust and dirt, they would drive you +distracted.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Zachariah smiled, and shifted one of her little +white-stockinged feet over the other. She had on the +neatest of sandals, with black ribbons, which crossed over the +instep. It was one of Zachariah’s weak points, she +considered, that he did not seem to care sufficiently for +cleanliness, and when he came in he would sometimes put his black +hand, before he had washed, on the white tea-cloth, or on the +back of a chair, and leave behind him a patch of printer’s +ink. It was bad enough to be obliged always to wipe the +door-handles.</p> +<p>“I do my best; but as for dirt, you cannot be so badly +off in the Albany as we are in Clerkenwell. Clerkenwell is +very disagreeable, but we are obliged to live here.”</p> +<p>“If Clerkenwell is so bad, all the more honour to you +for your triumph.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know about honour; my husband says it +is simply my nature.”</p> +<p>“Nature! All the better. I could never live +with anybody who was always trying and trying and +struggling. I believe in Nature. Don’t +you?”</p> +<p>This was an abstract inquiry beyond Mrs. Zachariah’s +scope. “It is some people’s nature to like to +be tidy,” she contented herself with observing; “and +others do not care for it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, perhaps it is because I am a soldier, and +accustomed to order, that I care for it above +everything.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Zachariah started for a moment. She +reflected. She had forgotten it—that she was talking +to an officer in His Majesty’s service.</p> +<p>“Have you seen much fighting, sir?”</p> +<p>“Oh, well, for the matter of that, have had my +share. I was at Talavera, and suffer a good deal now in +damp weather, from having slept so much in the open +air.”</p> +<p>“Dear me, that is very hard! My husband is +rheumatic, and finds Tarver’s embrocation do him more good +than anything. Will you try it if I give you +some?”</p> +<p>“With profound gratitude.” Mrs. Coleman +filled an empty bottle, took a piece of folded brown paper out of +the fireplace cupboard, untied a coil of twine, made up a compact +little parcel, and gave it to the Major.</p> +<p>“A thousand thanks. If faith now can really cure, +I shall be well in a week.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Zachariah smiled again.</p> +<p>“Are you Dissenters?” he asked abruptly.</p> +<p>“Yes. Independents.”</p> +<p>“I am not surprised. Ever since Cromwell’s +days you have always been on the side of liberty; but are you +strict—I don’t know exactly what to call it—go +to the prayer-meetings—and so on?”</p> +<p>“We are both members of the church, and Mr. Coleman is a +deacon,” replied Mrs. Zachariah, with a gravity not +hitherto observable.</p> +<p>She looked out of the window, and saw him coming down the +street. She placed the kettle nearer the fire, put the tea +in the teapot, and sat down again. He came upstairs, went +straight into his bedroom, cleaned himself as much as possible, +changed his coat, and entered. The Major, being pressed, +consented to take tea, and Mrs. Zachariah was a cheerful and even +talkative hostess, to the surprise of at least one member of the +company. She sat next to her husband, and the Major sat +opposite. Three silver spoons and silver sugar-tongs had +been put on the table. Ordinarily the spoons were +pewter. Zachariah, fond of sugar, was in the habit of +taking it with his fingers—a practice to which Mrs. +Zachariah strongly objected, and with some reason. It was +dirty, and as his hands were none of the whitest, the +neighbouring lumps became soiled, and acquired a flavour which +did not add to their sweetness. She had told him of it a +score of times; but he did not amend, and seemed to think her +particularity rather a vice than a virtue. So it is that, +as love gilds all defects, lack of love sees nothing but defect +in what is truly estimable. Notwithstanding the +sugar-tongs, Zachariah—excusable, perhaps, this time, +considering the warmth of the speech he was making against the +late war—pushed them aside, and helped himself after the +usual fashion. A cloud came over Mrs. Zachariah’s +face; she compressed her lips in downright anger, pushed the +tongs towards him with a rattle, and trod on his foot at the same +time. His oration came to an end; he looked round, became +confused, and was suddenly silent; but the Major gallantly came +to the rescue by jumping up to prevent Mrs. Zachariah from moving +in order to put more water on the tea.</p> +<p>“Excuse me, pray;” but as he had risen somewhat +suddenly to reach the kettle, he caught the table-cloth on his +knee, and in a moment his cup and saucer and the plate were on +the floor in twenty pieces, and the tea running all over the +carpet. Zachariah looked at his wife, and expected to see +her half frantic. But no; though it was her best china, she +stopped the Major’s apologies, and assured him, with +something almost like laughter, that it was not of the slightest +consequence. “Tea doesn’t stain; I hope it has +not gone on your coat;” and producing a duster from the +cupboard, the evil, save the loss of the crockery, was remedied +in a couple of minutes.</p> +<p>At half-past seven o’clock the Major and Zachariah +departed. They walked across the top of Hatton Garden, and +so onwards till they came to Red Lion Street. Entering a +low passage at the side of a small public-house, they went up +some stairs, and found themselves opposite a door which was +locked. The Major gave three taps and then paused. A +moment afterwards he tapped again twice; the lock was turned, and +he was admitted. Zachariah found himself in a spacious kind +of loft. There was a table running down the middle, and +round it were seated about a dozen men, most of whom were smoking +and drinking beer. They welcomed the Major with rappings, +and he moved towards the empty chair at the head of the +board.</p> +<p>“You’re late, chairman,” said one.</p> +<p>“Been to fetch a new comrade.”</p> +<p>“Is that the cove? He looks all right. +Here’s your health, guv’nor, and d—n all +tyrants.” With that he took a pull at the beer.</p> +<p>“Swear him,” said the Major.</p> +<p>A disagreeable-looking man with a big round nose, small red +eyes, unshaven face, and slightly unsteady voice, rose, laid down +his pipe, and beckoned to Zachariah, who advanced towards +him.</p> +<p>The Secretary—for he it was—produced a +memorandum-book, and began with a stutter:</p> +<p>“In the sacred name of—”</p> +<p>“Stop!” cried Zachariah, “I don’t +swear.”</p> +<p>“That will do,” shouted the Major across a hubbub +which arose—“religious. I’ll answer for +him: let him sign; that’s enough.”</p> +<p>“You <i>are</i> answerable,” growled the Secretary +“if he’s a d—d spy we’ll have his blood, +that’s all, and yours too, Major.” The Major +took no notice, and Zachariah put his name in the book, the roll +of the Red Lion Friends of the People.</p> +<p>“Business, Mr. Secretary—the last +minutes.”</p> +<p>The minutes were read, and an adjourned debate was then +renewed on a motion to organise public meetings to petition in +favour of Parliamentary Reform. The reader must understand +that politics in those days were somewhat different from the +politics of fifty or sixty years later. Bread was +thirteenpence a quartern loaf; the national debt, with a much +smaller population, was what it is now; everything was taxed, and +wages were very low. But what was most galling was the fact +that the misery, the taxes, and the debt had been accumulated, +not by the will of the people, but by a corrupt House of Commons, +the property of borough-mongers, for the sake of supporting the +Bourbons directly, but indirectly and chiefly the House of +Hanover and the hated aristocracy. There was also a +scandalous list of jobs and pensions. Years afterwards, +when the Government was forced to look into abuses, the Reverend +Thomas Thurlow, to take one example amongst others, was awarded, +as compensation for the loss of his two offices, Patentee of +Bankrupts and Keeper of Hanaper, the modest allowance annually +until his death of £11,380 14s. 6d. The men and women +of that time, although there were scarcely any newspapers, were +not fools, and there was not a Nottingham weaver who put a morsel +of bread in his hungry belly who did not know that two morsels +might have gone there if there were no impost on foreign corn to +maintain rents, and if there were no interest to pay on money +borrowed to keep these sacred kings and lords safe in their +palaces and parks. Opinion at the Red Lion Friends of the +People Club was much divided. Some were for demonstrations +and agitation, whilst others were for physical force. The +discussion went on irregularly amidst much tumult.</p> +<p>“How long would they have waited over the water if they +had done nothing but jaw? They met together and tore down +the Bastile, and that’s what we must do.”</p> +<p>“That may be true,” said a small white-faced man +who neither smoked nor drank, “but what followed? You +don’t do anything really till you’ve reasoned it +out.”</p> +<p>“It’s my belief, parson,” retorted the +other, “that you are in a d—d funk. This is not +the place for Methodists.”</p> +<p>“Order, order!” shouted the chairman.</p> +<p>“I am not a Methodist,” quietly replied the other; +“unless you mean by Methodist a man who fears God and loves +his Saviour. I am not ashamed to own that, and I am none +the worse for it as far as I know. As for being a coward, +we shall see.”</p> +<p>The Secretary meanwhile had gone on with his beer. +Despite his notorious failing, he had been chosen for the post +because in his sober moments he was quick with his pen. He +was not a working man; nay, it was said he had been at +Oxford. His present profession was that of attorney’s +clerk. He got up and began a harangue about Brutus.</p> +<p>“There’s one way of dealing with tyrants—the +old way, Mr. Chairman. Death to them all, say I; the short +cut; none of your palaver; what’s the use of +palavering?”</p> +<p>He was a little shaky, took hold of the rail of his chair, and +as he sat down broke his pipe.</p> +<p>Some slight applause followed; but the majority were either +against him, or thought it better to be silent.</p> +<p>The discussion continued irregularly, and Zachariah noticed +that about half-a-dozen of those present took no part in +it. At about ten o’clock the chairman declared the +meeting at an end; and it was quite time he did so, for the smoke +and the drink had done their work.</p> +<p>As Zachariah came out, a man stood by his side whom he had +scarcely noticed during the evening. He was evidently a +shoemaker. There was a smell of leather about him, and his +hands and face were grimy. He had a slightly turned-up +nose, smallish eyes, half hidden under very black eyebrows, and +his lips were thin and straight. His voice was exceedingly +high-pitched, and had something creaking in it like the sound of +an ill-greased axle. He spoke with emphasis, but not quite +like an Englishman, was fond of alliteration, and often, in the +middle of a sentence, paused to search for a word which pleased +him. Having found it, the remainder of the sentence was +poised and cast from him like a dart. His style was a +curious mixture of foreign imperfection and rhetoric—a +rhetoric, however, by no means affected. It might have been +so in another person, but it was not so in him.</p> +<p>“Going east?” said he.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“If you want company, I’ll walk with you. +What do you think of the Friends?”</p> +<p>Zachariah, it will be borne in mind, although he was a +Democrat, had never really seen the world. He belonged to a +religious sect. He believed in the people, it is true, but +it was a people of Cromwellian Independents. He purposely +avoided the company of men who used profane language, and never +in his life entered a tavern. He did not know what the +masses really were; for although he worked with his hands, +printers were rather a superior set of fellows, and his was an +old-established shop which took the best of its class. When +brought actually into contact with swearers and drunkards as +patriots and reformers he was more than a little shocked.</p> +<p>“Not much,” quoth he.</p> +<p>“Not worse than our virtuous substitute for a +sovereign?”</p> +<p>“No, certainly.”</p> +<p>“You object to giving them votes, but is not the opinion +of the silliest as good as that of Lord Sidmouth?”</p> +<p>“That’s no reason for giving them +votes.”</p> +<p>“I should like to behold the experiment of a new form of +misgovernment. If we are to be eternally enslaved to fools +and swindlers, why not a change? We have had regal misrule +and aristocratic swindling long enough.”</p> +<p>“Seriously, my friend,” he continued, “study +that immortal charter, the Declaration of the Rights of +Man.”</p> +<p>He stopped in the street, and with an oratorical air repeated +the well-known lines, “Men are born and always continue +free, and equal in respect of their rights. . . . Every +citizen has a right, either by himself or by his representative, +to a free voice in determining the necessity of public +contributions, the appropriation of them, and their amount, mode +of assessment, and duration.” He knew them by +heart. “It is the truth,” he continued: +“you must come to that, unless you believe in the Divine +appointment of dynasties. There is no logical repose +between Lord Liverpool and the Declaration. What is the +real difference between him and you? None but a question of +degree. He does not believe in absolute monarchy, and stays +at this point. You go a little lower. You are both +alike. How dare you say, ‘My brother, I am more +honest and more religious than you; pay me half-a-crown and I +will spend it for your welfare’? You cannot tell me +that. You know I should have a <i>right</i> to reject +you. I refuse to be coerced. I prefer freedom +to—felicity.”</p> +<p>Zachariah was puzzled. He was not one of those persons +who can see no escape from an argument and yet are not convinced; +one of those happy creatures to whom the operations of the +intellect are a joke—who, if they are shown that the three +angles of a triangle are equal to two right angles, decline to +disprove it, but act as if they were but one. To Zachariah +the appeal “Where will you stop?” was generally +successful. If his understanding told him he could not +stop, he went on. And yet it so often happens that if we do +go on we are dissatisfied; we cannot doubt each successive step, +but we doubt the conclusion. We arrive serenely at the end, +and lo! it is an absurdity which common sense, as we call it, +demolishes with scoffs and laughter.</p> +<p>They had walked down to Holborn in order to avoid the rather +dangerous quarter of Gray’s Inn Lane. Presently they +were overtaken by the Secretary, staggering under more +liquor. He did not recognise them, and rolled on. The +shoemaker instantly detached himself from Zachariah and followed +the drunken official. He was about to turn into a +public-house, when his friend came up to him softly, abstracted a +book which was sticking out of his pocket, laid hold of him by +the arm, and marched off with him across the street and through +Great Turnstile.</p> +<p>Sunday came, and Zachariah and his wife attended the services +at Pike Street Meeting-house, conducted by that worthy servant of +God, the Reverend Thomas Bradshaw. He was at that time +preaching a series of sermons on the Gospel Covenant, and he +enlarged upon the distinction between those with whom the +covenant was made and those with whom there was none, save of +judgment. The poorest and the weakest, if they were sons of +God, were more blessed than the strongest who were not. +These were nothing: “they should go out like the smoke of a +candle with an ill favour; whereas the weak and simple ones are +upholden, and go from strength to strength, and increase with the +increasings of God.” Zachariah was rather confused by +what had happened during the week, and his mind, especially +during the long prayer, wandered a good deal much to his +discomfort.</p> +<h2><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>CHAPTER III<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Theatre</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Major Maitland</span> was very fond of the +theatre, and as he had grown fond of Zachariah, and frequently +called at his house, sometimes on business and sometimes for +pleasure, he often asked his friend to accompany him. But +for a long time he held out. The theatre and dancing in +1814 were an abomination to the Independents. Since 1814 +they have advanced, and consequently they not only go to plays +and dance like other Christians, but the freer, less prejudiced, +and more enlightened encourage the ballet, spend their holidays +in Paris, and study French character there. Zachariah, +however, had a side open to literature, and though he had never +seen a play acted, he read plays. He read Shakespeare, and +had often thought how wonderful one of his dramas must be on the +stage. So it fell out that at last he yielded, and it was +arranged that Mrs. and Mr. Coleman should go with the Major to +Drury Lane to see the great Edmund Kean in +“Othello.” The day was fixed, and Mrs. Coleman +was busy for a long time beforehand in furbishing up and altering +her wedding-dress, so that she might make a decent figure. +She was all excitement, and as happy as she could well be. +For months Zachariah had not known her to be so +communicative. She seemed to take an interest in politics; +she discussed with him the report that Bonaparte was mad, and +Zachariah, on his part, told her what had happened to him during +the day, and what he had read in the newspapers. The Prince +Regent had been to Oxford, and verses had been composed in his +honour. Mr. Bosanquet had recited to the Prince an ode, or +something of the kind, and had ventured, after dilating on the +enormous services rendered by kings in general to the community +during the last twenty years, to warn them:</p> +<blockquote><p>“But ye yourselves must bow: your praise be +given<br /> +To Him, the Lord of lords, your King in heaven.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And Mrs. Zachariah, with a smile and unwonted wit, wondered +whether Mr. Bosanquet would not be prosecuted for such +treasonable sentiments. Zachariah hardly knew what to make +of his wife’s gaiety, but he was glad. He thought +that perhaps he was answerable for her silence and coldness, and +he determined at all costs to try and amend, and, however weary +he might be when he came home at night, that he would speak and +get her to speak too.</p> +<p>The eventful evening arrived. Zachariah was to get away +as early as he could; the Major was to call at about six. +After Zachariah had washed and dressed, they were to take a +hackney coach together. At the appointed hour the Major +appeared, and found Mrs. Zachariah already in her best clothes +and tea ready. She was charming—finished from the +uttermost hair on her head to the sole of her slipper—and +the dove-coloured, somewhat Quakerish tint of her wedding-gown +suited her admirably. Quarter-past six came, but there was +no Zachariah, and she thought she would make the tea, as he was +never long over his meals. Half-past six, and he was not +there. The two now sat down, and began to listen to every +sound. The coach was ordered at a quarter to seven.</p> +<p>“What shall we do?” said the Major. “I +cannot send you on and wait for him.”</p> +<p>“No. How vexing it is! It is just +like—” and she stopped.</p> +<p>“We must stay where we are, I suppose; it is rather a +pity to miss being there when Kean first comes on.”</p> +<p>She was in a fretful agony of impatience. She rose and +looked out of the window, thought she heard somebody on the +stairs, went outside on the landing, returned, walked up and +down, and mentally cursed her husband, not profanely—she +dared not do that—but with curses none the less +intense. Poor man! he had been kept by a job he had to +finish. She might have thought this possible, and, in fact, +did think it possible; but it made no difference in the hatred +which she permitted to rise against him. At last her +animosity relaxed, and she began to regard him with more +composure, and even with pleasure.</p> +<p>“Had you not better go and leave me here, so that we may +follow? I do not know what has happened, and I am sure he +would be so sorry if you were to be disappointed.”</p> +<p>She turned her eyes anxiously towards the Major.</p> +<p>“That will never do. You know nothing about the +theatre. No! no!”</p> +<p>She paused and stamped her little foot, and looked again out +of the window.</p> +<p>The coachman knocked at the door, and when she went down asked +her how long he had to wait.</p> +<p>She came back, and throwing herself on a chair, fairly gave +way to her mortification, and cried out, “It is too +bad—too bad!—it is, really.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you what,” replied the +Major. “Do you mind coming with me? We will +leave one of the tickets which I have bought, and we can add a +message that he is to follow, and that we will keep his place for +him. Put on your bonnet at once, and I will scribble a line +to him.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Zachariah did not see any other course open; her wrath +once more disappeared, and in another moment she was busy before +the looking-glass. The note was written, and pinned to the +ticket, both being stuck on the mantelpiece in a conspicuous +place, so that Zachariah might see them directly he +arrived. In exuberant spirits she added in her own hand, +“Make as much haste as you can, my dear,” and +subscribed her initials. It was a tremendously hot +afternoon and, what with the fire and the weather and the tea, +the air was very oppressive. She threw the bottom sash open +a little wider therefore, and the two rolled off to Drury +Lane. As the door slammed behind them, the draught caught +the ticket and note, and in a moment they were in the flames and +consumed.</p> +<p>Ten minutes afterwards in came Zachariah. He had run all +the way, and was dripping with perspiration. He rushed +upstairs, but there was nobody. He stared round him, looked +at the plates, saw that two had been there, rushed down again, +and asked the woman in the shop:</p> +<p>“Has Mrs. Coleman left any message?”</p> +<p>“No. She went off with that gentleman that comes +here now and then; but she never said nothing to me,” and +Zachariah thought he saw something like a grin on her face.</p> +<p>It may be as well to say that he never dreamed of any real +injury done to him by his wife, and, in truth, the Major was +incapable of doing him any. He was gay, unorthodox, a man +who went about in the world, romantic, republican, but he never +would have condescended to seduce a woman, and least of all a +woman belonging to a friend. He paid women whom he admired +all kinds of attentions, but they were nothing more than the +gallantry of the age. Although they were nothing, however, +to him, they were a good deal more than nothing to Mrs. +Zachariah. The symbolism of an act varies much, and what +may be mere sport to one is sin in another. The +Major’s easy manners and very free courtesy were innocent +so far as he was concerned; but when his rigid, religious +companion in the hackney coach felt them sweet, and was better +pleased with them than she had ever been with her husband’s +caresses, she sinned, and she knew that she sinned.</p> +<p>What curiously composite creatures we are! Zachariah for +a moment was half pleased, for she had now clearly wronged +him. The next moment, however, he was wretched. He +took up the teapot; it was empty; the tea-caddy was locked +up. It was a mere trifle, but, as he said to himself, the +merest trifles are important if they are significant. He +brooded, therefore, over the empty teapot and locked tea-caddy +for fully five minutes. She had not only gone without him, +but had forgotten him. At the end of the five minutes +teapot and tea-caddy had swollen to enormous dimensions and had +become the basis of large generalisations. “I would +rather,” he exclaimed, “be condemned to be led out +and hung if I knew one human soul would love me for a week +beforehand and honour me afterwards, than live half a century and +be nothing to any living creature.” Presently, +however, it occurred to him that, although in the abstract this +might be true yet at that particular moment he was a fool; and he +made the best of his way to Drury Lane. He managed to find +his way into the gallery just as Kean came on the stage in the +second scene of the first act. Far down below him, through +the misty air, he thought he could see his wife and the Major; +but he was in an instant arrested by the play. It was all +new to him; the huge building, the thousands of excited, eager +faces, the lights, and the scenery. He had not listened, +moreover, to a dozen sentences from the great actor before he had +forgotten himself and was in Venice, absorbed in the fortunes of +the Moor. What a blessing is this for which we have to +thank the playwright and his interpreters, to be able to step out +of the dingy, dreary London streets, with all their wretched +corrosive cares, and at least for three hours to be swayed by +nobler passions. For three hours the little petty self, +with all its mean surroundings, withdraws: we breathe a different +atmosphere, we are jealous, glad, weep, laugh with +Shakespeare’s jealousy, gladness, tears, and +laughter! What priggishness, too, is that which objects to +Shakespeare on a stage because no acting can realise the ideal +formed by solitary reading! Are we really sure of it? +Are we really sure that Garrick or Kean or Siddons, with all +their genius and study, fall short of a lazy dream in an +arm-chair! Kean had not only a thousand things to tell +Zachariah—meanings in innumerable passages which had before +been overlooked—but he gave the character of Othello such +vivid distinctness that it might almost be called a +creation. He was exactly the kind of actor, moreover, to +impress him. He was great, grand, passionate, overwhelming +with a like emotion the apprentice and the critic. +Everybody after listening to a play or reading a book uses it +when he comes to himself again to fill his own pitcher, and the +Cyprus tragedy lent itself to Zachariah as an illustration of his +own Clerkenwell sorrows and as a gospel for them, although his +were so different from those of the Moor. Why did he so +easily suspect Desdemona? Is it not improbable that a man +with any faith in woman, and such a woman, should proceed to +murder on such evidence? If Othello had reflected for a +moment, he would have seen that everything might have been +explained. Why did he not question, sift, examine, before +taking such tremendous revenge?—and for the moment the +story seemed unnatural. But then he considered again that +men and women, if they do not murder one another, do actually, in +everyday life, for no reason whatever, come to wrong conclusions +about each other; utterly and to the end of their lines +misconstrue and lose each other. Nay, it seems to be a kind +of luxury to them to believe that those who could and would love +them are false to them. We make haste to doubt the divinest +fidelity; we drive the dagger into each other, and we smother the +Desdemona who would have been the light of life to us, not +because of any deadly difference or grievous injury, but because +we idly and wilfully reject.</p> +<p>The tale, evermore is:</p> +<blockquote><p> “Of one +whose hand,<br /> +Like the base Indian, threw a pearl away<br /> +Richer than all his tribe.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So said Zachariah to himself as he came out into Drury Lane +and walked eastwards. His wife and the Major were back +before him. The Major did not wait but returned at once to +Albany Street, leaving Mrs. Coleman to sit up for her +husband. He was not hurrying himself, and could not free +himself from the crowd so easily as those who left from +below. The consequence was that he was a full half-hour +behind her, and she was not particularly pleased at having been +kept so long out of her bed. When she let him in all that +she said was, “Oh, here you are at last,” and +immediately retired. Strange to say, she forgot all about +family worship—never before omitted, however late it might +be. If she had taken the trouble to ask him whether he had +seen her message and the ticket so much might have been cleared +up. Of course he, too, ought to have spoken to her; it was +the natural thing to do, and it was extraordinary that he did +not. But he let her go; she knelt down by her bed, prayed +her prayer to her God, and in five minutes was asleep. +Zachariah ten minutes afterwards prayed his prayer to <i>his</i> +God, and lay down, but not to sleep. No sooner was his head +on his pillow than the play was before his eyes, and Othello, +Desdemona, and Iago moved and spoke again for hours. Then +came the thoughts with which he had left the theatre and the +revulsion on reaching home. Burning with excitement at what +was a discovery to him, he had entered his house with even an +enthusiasm for his wife, and an impatient desire to try upon her +the experiment which he thought would reveal so much to him and +make him wealthy for ever. But when she met him he was +struck dumb. He was shut up again in his old prison, and +what was so hopeful three hours before was all vanity. So +he struggled through the short night, and, as soon as he could, +rose and went out. This was a frequent practice, and his +wife was not surprised when she woke to find he had gone. +She was in the best of spirits again, and when he returned, after +offering him the usual morning greeting, she inquired at once in +what part of the theatre he was, and why he had not used the +ticket.</p> +<p>“We waited for you till the last moment; we should have +been too late if we had stayed an instant longer, and I made sure +you would come directly.”</p> +<p>“Ticket—what ticket? I saw no +ticket?”</p> +<p>“We left it on the mantelpiece, and there was a message +with it.”</p> +<p>His face brightened, but he said nothing. A rush of +blood rose to his head; he moved towards her and kissed her.</p> +<p>“What a wretch you must have thought me!” she said +half laughingly, as she instantly smoothed her hair again, which +he had ruffled. “But what has become of the +ticket?”</p> +<p>“Fell in the fire most likely; the window was open when +I came in, and the draught blew the picture over the mantelpiece +nearly off its hook.”</p> +<p>The breakfast was the happiest meal they had had for +months. Zachariah did his best to overcome his natural +indisposition to talk. Except when he was very much +excited, he always found conversation with his wife too difficult +on any save the most commonplace topics, although he was eloquent +enough in company which suited him. She listened to him, +recalling with great pleasure the events of the preceding +evening. She was even affectionate—affectionate for +her—and playfully patted his shoulder as he went out, +warning him not to be so late again. What was the cause of +her gaiety? Was she thinking improperly of the Major? +No. If she had gone with Zachariah alone to the theatre +would she have been so cheerful? No. Did she really +think she loved her husband better? Yes. The human +heart, even the heart of Mrs. Coleman, is beyond our +analysis.</p> +<h2><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>CHAPTER IV<br /> +A <span class="smcap">Friend of the People</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Friends of the People continued +their meetings, and Zachariah attended regularly, although, after +about three months’ experience, he began to doubt whether +any advance was being made. The immediate subject of +discussion now was a projected meeting in Spitalfields, and each +branch of the Society was to organise its own contingent. +All this was perfectly harmless. There was a good deal of +wild talk occasionally; but it mostly came from Mr. Secretary, +especially when he had had his beer. One evening he had +taken more than enough, and was decidedly staggering as he walked +down Lamb’s Conduit Street homewards. Zachariah was +at some distance, and in front of him, in close converse, were +his shoemaking friend, the Major, and a third man whom he could +not recognise. The Secretary swayed himself across Holborn +and into Chancery Lane, the others following. Presently +they came up to him, passed him, and turned off to the left, +leaving him to continue his troubled voyage southwards. The +night air, however, was a little too much for him, and when he +got to Fleet Street he was under the necessity of supporting +himself against a wall. He became more and more seditious +as he became more and more muddled, so that at last he attracted +the attention of a constable who laid hold of him and locked him +up for the night. In the morning he was very much surprised +to find himself in a cell, feeling very miserable, charged with +being drunk and disorderly, and, what was ten times worse, with +uttering blasphemy against the Prince Regent. It may as +well be mentioned here that the greatest precautions had been +taken to prevent any knowledge by the authorities of the +proceedings of the Friends of the People. The Habeas Corpus +Act was not yet suspended, but the times were exceedingly +dangerous. The Friends, therefore, never left in a body nor +by the same door. Watch was always kept with the utmost +strictness, not only on the stairs, but from a window which +commanded the street. No written summons was ever sent to +attend any meeting, ordinary or extraordinary. Mr. +Secretary, therefore, was much disconcerted when he found that +his pockets were emptied of all his official documents. He +languished in his cell till about twelve o’clock, very sick +and very anxious, when he was put into a cab, and, to his great +surprise, instead of being taken to a police court, was carried +to Whitehall. There he was introduced to an elderly +gentleman, who sat at the head of a long table covered with green +cloth. A younger man, apparently a clerk, sat at a smaller +table by the fire and wrote, seeming to take no notice whatever +of what was going on. Mr. Secretary expected to hear +something about transportation, and to be denounced as an enemy +of the human race; but he was pleasantly disappointed.</p> +<p>“Sorry to see a respectable person like you in such a +position.”</p> +<p>Mr. Secretary wondered how the gentleman knew he was +respectable; but was silent. He was not now in an eloquent +or seditious humour.</p> +<p>“You may imagine that we know you, or we should not have +taken the trouble to bring you here. We should merely have +had you committed for trial.”</p> +<p>The Secretary thought of his empty pockets. In truth it +was the Major who had emptied them before he crossed Holborn; but +of course he suspected the constable.</p> +<p>“You must be aware that you have exposed yourself to +heavy penalties. I prefer, however, to think of you as a +well-meaning but misguided person. What good do you think +you can do? I can assure you that the Government are fully +aware of the distress which prevails, and will do all they can to +alleviate it. If you have any grievances, why not seek +their redress by legitimate and constitutional means?”</p> +<p>The Secretary was flattered. He had never been brought +face to face with one of the governing classes before. He +looked round; everything was so quiet, so pacific; there were no +fetters nor thumbscrews; the sun was lighting up the park; +children were playing in it, and the necessity for a revolution +was not on that particular spot quite apparent.</p> +<p>A messenger now entered carrying some sandwiches and a little +decanter of wine on a tray, covered with the whitest of +cloths.</p> +<p>“It struck me,” continued the official, taking a +sandwich and pouring out a glass of wine, “when I heard of +your arrest, that I should like myself to have a talk with +you. We really are most loth to proceed to extremities, and +you have, I understand, a wife and children. I need not +tell you what we could do with you if we liked. Now, just +consider, my friend. I don’t want you to give up one +single principle; but is it worth your while to be sent to jail +and to have your home broken up merely because you want to +achieve your object in the wrong way, and in a foolish way? +Keep your principles; we do not object; but don’t go out +into the road with them. And you, as an intelligent man, +must see that you will not get what you desire by violence as +soon as you will by lawful methods. Is the difference +between us worth such a price as you will have to pay?”</p> +<p>The Secretary hesitated; he could not speak; he was very faint +and nervous.</p> +<p>“Ah, you’ve had nothing to eat, I dare +say.”</p> +<p>The bell was rung, and was answered immediately.</p> +<p>“Bring some bread and cheese and beer.”</p> +<p>The bread and cheese and beer were brought.</p> +<p>“Sit down there and have something; I will go on with my +work, and we will finish our talk afterwards.”</p> +<p>The Secretary could not eat much bread and cheese, but he +drank the beer greedily.</p> +<p>When he had finished the clerk left the room. The +Commissioner—for he was one of the Commissioners of His +Majesty’s Treasury—followed him to the door, closed +it, not without satisfying himself that the constable was at his +post outside, returned to his seat, opened his drawer, saw that a +pistol and five guineas were there, and then began:</p> +<p>“Now, look here, my dear sir, let me speak plainly with +you and come to an understanding. We have made inquiries +about you; we believe you to be a good sort of fellow, and we are +not going to prosecute you. We do hope, however, that, +should you hear anything which is—well—really +treasonable, you will let us know. Treason, I am sure, is +as dreadful to you as it is to me. The Government, as I +said before, are most desirous of helping those who really +deserve it; and to prove this, as I understand you are out of +work, just accept that little trifle.”</p> +<p>The guineas were handed to Mr. Secretary, who looked at them +doubtfully. With the beer his conscience had returned, and +he broke out:</p> +<p>“If you want me to be a d—d spy, d—d if I +do!” The Commissioner was not in the least +disconcerted. “Spy, my man!—who mentioned the +word? The money was offered because you haven’t got a +sixpence. Haven’t I told you you are not required to +give up a single principle? Have I asked you to denounce a +single companion? All I have requested you to do, as an +honest citizen, is to give me a hint if you hear of anything +which would be as perilous to you as to me.”</p> +<p>The Secretary after his brief explosion felt flaccid. He +was subject to violent oscillations, and he looked at the five +guineas again. He was very weak—weak naturally, and +weaker through a long course of alcohol. He was, therefore, +prone to obscure, crooked, silly devices, at any rate when he was +sober. Half drunk he was very bold; but when he had no +liquor inside him he could <i>not</i> do what was straight. +He had not strength sufficient, if two courses were open, to cast +aside the one for which there were the fewer and less conclusive +reasons, and to take the proper path, as if no other were before +him. A sane, strong person is not the prey of reasons: a +person like Mr. Secretary can never free himself from them, and +after he has arrived at some kind of determination is still +uncertain and harks back. With the roar of the flames of +the Cities of the Plain in his ears, he stops, and is half afraid +that it was his duty after all to stay and try and put them +out. The Secretary, therefore, pondered again. The +money was given on no condition that was worth anything. +For aught he knew, the Commissioner had his books and papers +already. He could take the guineas and be just as free as +he was before. He could even give a part of it to the funds +of the Friends. There obtruded, moreover, visions of +Newgate, and his hands slowly crept to the coins.</p> +<p>“I am a Radical, sir, and I don’t mind who knows +it.”</p> +<p>“Nothing penal in that. Every man has a right to +his own political creed.”</p> +<p>The fingers crept closer and touched the gold.</p> +<p>“If I thought you wanted to bribe me, I’d rot +before I had anything to do with you.”</p> +<p>The Commissioner smiled. There was no necessity to say +anything more, for the guineas were disappearing and finally, +though slowly, chinked down into Mr. Secretary’s +pocket.</p> +<p>The Commissioner held out his hand.</p> +<p>The Secretary before he took it looked loftier than ever.</p> +<p>“I hope you understand me, sir, clearly.”</p> +<p>“I <i>do</i> understand you clearly.”</p> +<p>The Secretary shook the hand; the Commissioner went with him +to the door.</p> +<p>“Show this gentleman downstairs.”</p> +<p>The constable, without a look of surprise, went downstairs, +and Mr. Secretary found himself in the street.</p> +<p>Mr. Commissioner drank another glass of wine, and then +pencilled something in a little memorandum book, which he put +under the pistol. The drawer had two locks, and he +carefully locked both with two little keys attached to a ribbon +which he wore round his neck.</p> +<h2><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>CHAPTER V<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Horizon Widens</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Jean Caillaud</span>, shoemaker, whom we +have met before, commonly called John Kaylow, friend of the Major +and member of the Society of the Friends of the People, was by +birth a Frenchman. He had originally come to this country +in 1795, bringing with him a daughter, Pauline, about four or +five years old. Why he came nobody knew, nor did anybody +know who was the mother of the child. He soon obtained +plenty of employment, for he was an admirable workman, and +learned to speak English well. Pauline naturally spoke both +English and French. Her education was accomplished with +some difficulty, though it was not such a task as it might have +been, because Jean’s occupation kept him at home; his house +being in one of the streets in that complication of little alleys +and thoroughfares to most Londoners utterly unknown; within the +sound of St. Bride’s nevertheless, and lying about a +hundred yards north of Fleet Street. If the explorer goes +up a court nearly opposite Bouverie Street, he will emerge from a +covered ditch into one that is opened, about six feet wide. +Presently the ditch ends in another and wider ditch running east +and west. The western one turns northward, and then +westward again, roofs itself over, squeezes itself till it +becomes little less than a rectangular pipe, and finally +discharges itself under an oil and colourman’s house in +Fetter Lane. The eastern arm, strange to say, suddenly +expands, and one side of it, for no earthly reason, is set back +with an open space in front of it, partitioned by low +palings. Immediately beyond, as if in a fit of sudden +contrition for such extravagance, the passage or gutter contracts +itself to its very narrowest and, diving under a printing-office +shows itself in Shoe Lane. The houses in these trenches +were not by any means of the worst kind. In the aforesaid +expansion they were even genteel, or at any rate aspired to be +so, and each had its own brass knocker and kept its front-door +shut with decent sobriety and reticence. On the top floor +of one of these tenements lodged Jean Caillaud and Pauline. +They had three rooms between them; one was Jean’s +bedchamber, one Pauline’s, and one was workroom and +living-room, where Jean made ball-slippers and light +goods—this being his branch of the trade—and Pauline +helped him. The workroom faced the north, and was exactly +on a level with an innumerable multitude of red chimney-pots +pouring forth stinking smoke which, for the six winter months, +generally darkened the air during the whole day. But +occasionally Nature resumed her rights, and it was possible to +feel that sky, stars, sun, and moon still existed, and were not +blotted out by the obscurations of what is called civilised +life. There came, occasionally, wild nights in October or +November, with a gale from the south-west and then, when almost +everybody had gone to bed and the fires were out, the clouds, +illuminated by the moon, rushed across the heavens, and the Great +Bear hung over the dismal waste of smutty tiles with the same +solemnity with which it hangs over the mountains, the sea, or the +desert. Early in the morning, too, in summer, between three +and four o’clock in June, there were sights to be seen +worth seeing. The distance was clear for miles, and the +heights of Highgate were visible, proclaiming the gospel of a +beyond and beyond even to Kent’s Court, and that its +immediate surroundings were mercifully not infinite. The +light made even the nearest bit of soot-grimed, twisted, rotten +brickwork beautiful, and occasionally, but at very rare +intervals, the odour of London was vanquished, and a genuine +breath from the Brixton fields was able to find its way +uncontaminated across the river. Jean and Pauline were, on +the whole, fond of the court. They often thought they would +prefer the country, and talked about it; but it is very much to +be doubted, if they had been placed in Devonshire, whether they +would not have turned back uneasily after a time to their +garret. They both liked the excitement of the city, and the +feeling that they were so near to everything that was stirring in +men’s minds. The long stretch of lonely sea-shore is +all very well, very beautiful, and, maybe, very instructive to +many people; but to most persons half-an-hour’s rational +conversation is much more profitable. Pauline was not a +particularly beautiful girl. Her hair was black, and, +although there was a great deal of it, it was coarse and +untidy. Her complexion was sallow—not as clear as it +might be—and underneath the cheek-bones there were slight +depressions. She had grown up without an attachment, so far +as her father knew, and indeed so far as she knew. She had +one redeeming virtue—redeeming especially to Jean, who was +with her alone so much. She had an intellect, and it was +one which sought for constant expression; consequently she was +never dull. If she was dull, she was ill. She had +none of that horrible mental constriction which makes some +English women so insupportably tedious. The last thing she +read, the last thing she thought, came out with vivacity and +force, and she did not need the stimulus of a great excitement to +reveal what was in her. Living as she did at work side by +side with her father all day, she knew all his thoughts and read +all his books. Neither of them ever went to church. +They were not atheists, nor had they entirely pushed aside the +religious questions which torment men’s minds. They +believed in what they called a Supreme Being, whom they thought +to be just and good; but they went no further. They were +revolutionary, and when Jean joined the Friends of the People, he +and the Major and one other man became a kind of interior secret +committee, which really directed the affairs of the branch. +Companions they had none, except the Major and one or two +compatriots; but they were drawn to Zachariah, and Zachariah was +drawn to them, very soon after he became a member of the +Society. The first time he went to Kent’s Court with +Jean was one night after a meeting. The two walked home +together, and Zachariah turned in for an hour, as it was but ten +o’clock. There had been a grand thanksgiving at St. +Paul’s that day. The Prince Regent had returned +thanks to Almighty God for the restoration of peace. The +Houses of Parliament were there, with the Foreign Ambassadors, +the City Corporation, the Duke of Wellington, Field-Marshal +Blucher, peeresses, and society generally. The Royal Dukes, +Sussex, Kent, York, and Gloucester, were each drawn by six horses +and escorted by a separate party of the Guards. It took +eight horses to drag the Prince himself to divine service, and +he, too, was encompassed by soldiers. Arrived at the +cathedral, he was marshalled to a kind of pew surmounted by a +lofty crimson-and-gold canopy. There he sat alone, +worshipped his Creator, and listened to a sermon by the Bishop of +Chester. Neither Jean nor Pauline troubled themselves to go +out, and indeed it would not have been of much use if they had +tried; for it was by no means certain that Almighty God, who had +been so kind as to get rid of Napoleon, would not permit a row in +the streets. Consequently, every avenue which led to the +line of the procession was strictly blocked. They heard the +music from a distance, and although they both hated Bonaparte, it +had not a pleasant sound in their ears. It was the sound of +triumph over Frenchmen, and, furthermore, with all their dislike +to the tyrant, they were proud of his genius.</p> +<p>Walking towards Clerkenwell that evening, the streets being +clear, save for a number of drunken men and women, who were +testifying to the orthodoxy of their religious and political +faith by rolling about the kennel in various stages of +intoxication, Jean pressed Zachariah to go upstairs with +him. Pauline had prepared supper for herself and her +father, and a very frugal meal it was, for neither of them could +drink beer nor spirits, and they could not afford wine. +Pauline and Zachariah were duly introduced, and Zachariah looked +around him. The room was not dirty, but it was extremely +unlike his own. Shoe-making implements and unfinished jobs +lay here and there without being “put away.” An +old sofa served as a seat, and on it were a pair of lasts, a bit +of a French newspaper, and a plateful of small onions and +lettuce, which could not find a place on the little table. +Zachariah, upstairs in Rosoman Street, had often felt just as if +he were in his Sunday clothes and new boots. He never could +make out what was the reason for it. There are some houses +in which we are always uncomfortable. Our freedom is +fettered, and we can no more take our ease in them than in a +glass and china shop. We breathe with a sense of +oppression, and the surroundings are like repellant <i>chevaux de +frise</i>. Zachariah had no such feelings here. There +was disorder, it is true; but, on the other hand, there was no +polished tea-caddy to stare at him and claim equal rights against +him, defying him to disturb it. He was asked to sit upon +the sofa, and in so doing upset the plateful of salad upon the +floor. Pauline smiled, was down upon her knees in an +instant, before he could prevent her, picked up the vegetables +and put them back again. To tell the truth, they were +rather dirty; and she, therefore, washed them in a +hand-basin. Zachariah asked her if she had been out that +day.</p> +<p>“I?—to go with the Lord Mayor and bless the good +God for giving us back Louis Bourbon? No Mr. Coleman; if +the good God did give us Louis back again, I wouldn’t bless +Him for it, and I don’t think He had much to do with +it. So there were two reasons why I didn’t +go.”</p> +<p>Zachariah was a little puzzled, a little shocked, and a little +out of his element.</p> +<p>“I thought you might have gone to see the procession and +hear the music.”</p> +<p>“I hate processions. Whenever I see one, and am +squeezed and trampled on just because those fine people may ride +by, I am humiliated and miserable. As for the music, I hate +that too. It is all alike, and might as well be done by +machinery. Come, you are eating nothing. What +conspiracy have you and my father hatched to-night?”</p> +<p>“Conspiracy!” said Jean. “Who are the +conspirators? Not we. The conspirators are those +thieves who have been to St. Paul’s.”</p> +<p>“To give thanks,” said Pauline. “If I +were up there in the sky, shouldn’t I laugh at them. +How comical it is! Did they give thanks for Austerlitz or +Jena?”</p> +<p>“That’s about the worst of it,” replied +Jean. “It is one vast plot to make the people believe +lies. I shouldn’t so much mind their robbing the +country of its money to keep themselves comfortable, but what is +the meaning of their <i>Te Deums</i>? I tell you +again,”—and he repeated the words with much +emphasis—“it is a vast plot to make men believe a +lie. I abhor them for that ten times more than for taking +my money to replace Louis.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” resumed Pauline, “<i>if</i> I were +only up in the sky for an hour, I would have thundered and +lightened on them just as they got to the top of Ludgate Hill, +and scattered a score or so of them. I wonder if they would +have thanked Providence for their escape? O father, such a +joke! The Major told me the other day of an old gentleman +he knew who was riding along in his carriage. A fireball +fell and killed the coachman. The old gentleman, talking +about it afterwards, said that “<i>providentially</i> it +struck the box-seat.”</p> +<p>Zachariah, although a firm believer in his faith, and not a +coward, was tempted to be silent. He was heavy and slow in +action, and this kind of company was strange to him. +Furthermore, Pauline was not an open enemy, and notwithstanding +her little blasphemies, she was attractive. But then he +remembered with shame that he was ordered to testify to the truth +wherever he might be, and unable to find anything of his own by +which he could express himself, a text of the Bible came into his +mind, and, half to himself, he repeated it aloud:</p> +<p>“I form the light and create darkness: I make peace and +create evil; I the Lord do all these things.”</p> +<p>“What is that?” said Jean. “Repeat +it.”</p> +<p>Zachariah slowly repeated it. He had intended to add to +it something which might satisfy his conscience and rebuke +Pauline, but he could not.</p> +<p>“Whence is that?” said Jean.</p> +<p>“From the Bible; give me one and I will show it to +you.”</p> +<p>There was no English Bible in the house. It was a book +not much used; but Pauline presently produced a French version, +and Jean read the passage—“<i>Qui forme la +lumière</i>, <i>et qui crée les +ténèbres</i>; <i>qui fait la paix</i>, <i>et qui +crée l’adversité</i>; <i>c’est moi</i>, +<i>l’Eternel</i>, <i>qui fais toutes les choses +là</i>.”</p> +<p>Pauline bent over her father and read it again.</p> +<p>“<i>Qui crée l’adversité</i>,” +she said. “Do you believe that?”</p> +<p>“If it is there I do,” said Zachariah.</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t.”</p> +<p>“What’s adversity to hell fire? If He made +hell-fire, why not adversity? Besides, if He did not, who +did?”</p> +<p>“Don’t know a bit, and don’t mean to bother +myself about it.”</p> +<p>“Right!” broke in Jean—“right, my +child; bother—that is a good word. Don’t bother +yourself about anything when—bothering will not +benefit. There is so much in the world which +will—bear a botheration out of which some profit will +arise. Now, then, clear the room, and let Zachariah see +your art.”</p> +<p>The plates and dishes were all put in a heap and the table +pushed aside. Pauline retired for a few moments, and +presently came back in a short dress of black velvet, which +reached about half-way down from the knee to the ankle. It +was trimmed with red; she had stuck a red artificial flower in +her hair, and had on a pair of red stockings with dancing +slippers, probably of her own make. Over her shoulders was +a light gauzy shawl. Her father took his station in a +corner, and motioned to Zachariah to compress himself into +another. By dint of some little management and piling up +the chairs an unoccupied space of about twelve feet square was +obtained. Pauline began dancing, her father accompanying +her with an oboe. It was a very curious performance. +It was nothing like ordinary opera-dancing, and equally unlike +any movement ever seen at a ball. It was a series of +graceful evolutions with the shawl which was flung, now on one +shoulder and now on the other, each movement exquisitely +resolving itself, with the most perfect ease, into the one +following, and designed apparently to show the capacity of a +beautiful figure for poetic expression. Wave fell into wave +along every line of her body, and occasionally a posture was +arrested, to pass away in an instant into some new +combination. There was no definite character in the dance +beyond mere beauty. It was melody for melody’s +sake. A remarkable change, too, came over the face of the +performer. She looked serious; but it was not a seriousness +produced by any strain. It was rather the calm which is +found on the face of the statue of a goddess. In none of +her attitudes was there a trace of coquettishness, although some +were most attractive. One in particular was so. She +held a corner of the shawl high above her with her right hand, +and her right foot was advanced so as to show her whole frame +extended excepting the neck; the head being bent downward and +sideways.</p> +<p>Suddenly Jean ceased; Pauline threw the shawl over both her +shoulders, made a profound curtsey, and retired; but in five +minutes she was back again in her ordinary clothes. +Zachariah was in sore confusion. He had never seen anything +of the kind before.</p> +<p>He had been brought up in a school which would have considered +such an exhibition as the work of the devil. He was +distressed too to find that the old Adam was still so strong +within him that he detected a secret pleasure in what he had +seen. He would have liked to have got up and denounced Jean +and Pauline, but somehow he could not. His great great +grandfather would have done it, beyond a doubt, but Zachariah sat +still.</p> +<p>“Did you ever perform in public?” he asked.</p> +<p>“No. I was taught when I was very young; but I +have never danced except to please father and his +friends.”</p> +<p>This was a relief, and some kind of an excuse. He felt +not quite such a reprobate; but again he reflected that when he +was looking at her he did not know that she was not in a theatre +every night in the week. He expected that Jean would offer +some further explanation of the unusual accomplishment which his +daughter had acquired; but he was silent, and Zachariah rose to +depart, for it was eleven o’clock. Jean apparently +was a little restless at the absence of approval on +Zachariah’s part, and at last he said abruptly:</p> +<p>“What do you think of her?”</p> +<p>Zachariah hesitated, and Pauline came to the rescue. +“Father, what a shame! Don’t put him in such an +awkward position.”</p> +<p>“It was very wonderful,” stammered Zachariah, +“but we are not used to that kind of thing.”</p> +<p>“Who are the ‘we’?” said +Pauline. “Ah, of course you are Puritans. I am +a—what do you call it?—a daughter, no, that +isn’t it—a child of the devil. I won’t +have that though. My father isn’t the devil. +Even <i>you</i> wouldn’t say that, Mr. Coleman. Ah, I +have no business to joke, you look so solemn; you think my tricks +are satanic; but what was it in your book, ‘<i>C’est +moi</i>, <i>l’Eternel</i>, <i>qui fais toutes les choses +là</i>’?” and as Zachariah advanced to the +doors he made him a bow with a grace which no lady of quality +could have surpassed.</p> +<p>He walked home with many unusual thoughts. It was the +first time he had ever been in the company of a woman of any +liveliness of temperament, and with an intellect which was on +equal terms with that of a man. In his own Calvinistic +Dissenting society the pious women who were members of the church +took little or no interest in the mental life of their +husband. They read no books, knew nothing of politics, were +astonishingly ignorant, and lived in their household +duties. To be with a woman who could stand up against him +was a new experience. Here was a girl to whom every thought +her father possessed was familiar!</p> +<p>But there was another experience. From his youth upwards +he had been trained with every weapon in the chapel armoury, and +yet he now found himself as powerless as the merest novice to +prevent the very sinful occupation of dwelling upon every +attitude of Pauline, and outlining every one of her limbs. +Do what he might, her image was for ever before his eyes, and +reconstructed itself after every attempt to abolish it, just as a +reflected image in a pool slowly but inevitably gathers itself +together again after each disturbance of the water. When he +got home, he found, to his surprise, that his wife was still +sitting up. She had been to the weekly prayer-meeting, and +was not in a very pleasant temper. She was not spiteful, +but unusually frigid. She felt herself to be better than +her husband, and she asked him if he could not arrange in future +that his political meetings might not interfere with his +religious duties.</p> +<p>“Your absence, too, was noticed, and Mrs. Carver asked +me how it was that Mr. Coleman could let me go home alone. +She offered to tell Mr. Carver to come home with me; but I +refused.”</p> +<p>Delightfully generous of Mrs. Carver! That was the sort +of kindness for which she and many of her Pike Street friends +were so distinguished; and Mrs. Coleman not only felt it deeply, +but was glad of the opportunity of letting Mr. Coleman know how +good the Carvers were.</p> +<p>It was late, but Mrs. Coleman produced the Bible. +Zachariah opened it rather mechanically. They were going +regularly through it at family worship, and had got into +Numbers. The portion for that evening was part of the 26th +chapter: “And these are they that were numbered of the +Levites after their families: of Gershon, the family of the +Gershonites: of Kohath, the family of the Kohathites: of Merari, +the family of the Merarites,” &c., &c. +Zachariah, having read about a dozen verses, knelt down and +prayed; but, alas, even in his prayer he saw Pauline’s red +stockings.</p> +<p>The next morning his wife was more pleasant, and even +talkative—talkative, that is to say, for her. +Something had struck her.</p> +<p>“My dear,” quoth she, as they sat at breakfast, +“what a pity it is that the Major is not a converted +character!”</p> +<p>Zachariah could not but think so too.</p> +<p>“I have been wondering if we could get him to attend our +chapel. Who knows?—some word might go to his heart +which might be as the seed sown on good ground.”</p> +<p>“Have you tried to convert him yourself?”</p> +<p>“Oh no, Zachariah! I don’t think that would +be quite proper.”</p> +<p>She screwed up her lips a little, and then, looking down at +her knees very demurely, smoothed her apron.</p> +<p>“Why not, my dear? Surely it is our duty to +testify to the belief that is in us. Poor Christiana, left +alone, says, as you will remember, ‘O neighbour, knew you +but as much as I do, I doubt not but that you would go with +me.’”</p> +<p>“Ah, yes, that was all very well then.” She +again smoothed her apron. “Besides, you know,” +she added suddenly, “there were no public means of grace in +the City of Destruction. Have <i>you</i> said anything to +the Major?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>She did not push her advantage, and the unpleasant fact again +stood before Zachariah’s eyes, as it had stood a hundred +times before them lately, that when he had been with sinners he +had been just what they were, barring the use of profane +language. What had he done for his master with the Major, +with Jean, and with Pauline?—and the awful figure of the +Crucified seemed to rise before him and rebuke him. He was +wretched: he had resolved over and over again to break out +against those who belonged to the world, to abjure them and all +their works. Somehow or other, though, he had not done +it.</p> +<p>“Suppose,” said Mrs. Zachariah, “we were to +ask the Major here on Sunday afternoon to tea, and to chapel +afterwards.”</p> +<p>“Certainly.” He was rather pleased with the +proposition. He would be able to bear witness in this way +at any rate to the truth.</p> +<p>“Perhaps we might at the same time ask Jean Caillaud, +his friend. Would to God”—his wife +started—“would to God,” he exclaimed fervently, +“that these men could be brought into the Church of +Christ!”</p> +<p>“To be sure. Ask Mr. Caillaud, then, +too.”</p> +<p>“If we do, we must ask his daughter also; he would not +go out without her.”</p> +<p>“I was not aware he had a daughter. You never told +me anything about her.”</p> +<p>“I never saw her till the other evening.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know anything of her. She is a +foreigner too. I hope she is a respectable young +person.”</p> +<p>“I know very little; but she is more English than +foreign. Jean has been here a good many years, and she came +over when she was quite young. I think she must +come.”</p> +<p>“Very well.” And so it was settled.</p> +<p>Zachariah that night vowed to his Redeemer that, come what +might, he would never again give Him occasion to look at him with +averted face and ask if he was ashamed of Him. The text ran +in his ears: “<i>Whosoever therefore shall be ashamed of me +and of My words in this adulterous and sinful generation</i>, +<i>of him also shall the Son of man be ashamed</i>, <i>when He +cometh in the glory of His Father with the holy +angels</i>.”</p> +<h2><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>CHAPTER VI<br /> +<span class="smcap">Tea à La Mode</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Sunday</span> afternoon came. It was +the strangest party. Pauline, on being introduced to Mrs. +Coleman, made a profound curtsey, which Mrs. Coleman returned by +an inclination of her head, as if she consented to recognise +Pauline, but to go no further. Tea was served early, as +chapel began at half-past six. Mrs. Coleman, although it +was Sunday, was very busy. She had made hot buttered toast, +and she had bought some muffins, but had appeased her conscience +by telling the boy that she would not pay for them till +Monday. The milk was always obtained on the same +terms. She also purchased some water-cresses; but the +water-cress man demanded prompt cash settlement, and she was in a +strait. At last the desire for the water-cresses prevailed, +and she said:</p> +<p>“How much?”</p> +<p>“Three-halfpence.”</p> +<p>“Now, mind I give you twopence for yourself—mind I +give it you. I do not approve of buying and selling on +Sunday. We will settle about the other ha’porth +another time.”</p> +<p>“All right, ma’am; if you like it that way, +it’s no odds to me;” and Mrs. Coleman went her way +upstairs really believing that she had prevented the commission +of a crime.</p> +<p>Let those of us cast the stone who can take oath that in their +own morality there is no casuistry. Probably ours is worse +than hers, because hers was traditional and ours is +self-manufactured.</p> +<p>Everything being at last in order, Mrs. Coleman, looking +rather warm, but still very neat and very charming, sat at the +head of the table, with her back to the fireplace; the Major was +on her right, Jean on her left, Pauline next to him, and opposite +to her Zachariah. Zachariah and his wife believed in asking +a blessing on their food; but, curiously enough, in 1814, even +amongst the strictest sort, it had come to be the custom not to +ask it at breakfast or tea, but only at dinner; although +breakfast and tea in those days certainly needed a blessing as +much as dinner, for they were substantial meals. An +exception was made in favour of public tea-meetings. At a +public tea-meeting a blessing was always asked and a hymn was +always sung.</p> +<p>For some time nothing remarkable was said. The weather +was very hot, and Mrs. Coleman complained. It had been +necessary to keep up a fire for the sake of the kettle. The +Major promptly responded to her confession of faintness by +opening the window wider, by getting a shawl to put over the back +of her chair; and these little attentions she rewarded by smiles +and particular watchfulness over his plate and cup. At last +he and Jean fell to talking about the jubilee which was to take +place on the first of the next month to celebrate the centenary +of the “accession of the illustrious family of Brunswick to +the throne”—so ran the public notice. There was +to be a grand display in the parks, a sham naval action on the +Serpentine, and a balloon ascent.</p> +<p>“Are you going, Caillaud?” said the Major. +“It will be a holiday.”</p> +<p>“We,” cried Pauline—“we! I +should think not. <i>We</i> go to rejoice over your House +of Brunswick; and it is to be the anniversary of your battle of +the Nile too! <i>We</i> go! No, no.”</p> +<p>“What’s your objection to the House of +Brunswick? And as for the battle of the Nile, you are no +friend to Napoleon.” So replied the Major, who always +took a pleasure in exciting Pauline.</p> +<p>“The House of Brunswick! Why should we thank God +for them; thank God for the stupidest race that ever sat upon a +throne; thank God for stupidity—and in a king, Major? +God, the Maker of the sun and stars—to call upon the nation +to bless Him for your Prince Regent. As for the Nile, I am, +as you say, no friend to Napoleon, but I am French. It is +horrible to me to think—I saw him the other day—that +your Brunswick Prince is in London and Napoleon is in +Elba.”</p> +<p>“God, after all,” said the Major, laughing, +“is not so hostile to stupidity, then; as you +suppose.”</p> +<p>“Ah! don’t plague me, Major; that’s what you +are always trying to do. I’m not going to thank the +Supreme for the Brunswicks. I don’t believe He wanted +them here.”</p> +<p>Pauline’s religion was full of the most lamentable +inconsistencies, which the Major was very fond of exposing, but +without much effect, and her faith was restored after every +assault with wonderful celerity. By way of excuse for her +we may be permitted to say that a perfectly consistent, +unassailable creed, in which conclusion follows from premiss in +unimpeachable order, is impossible. We cannot construct +such a creed about any man or woman we know, and least of all +about the universe. We acknowledge opposites which we have +no power to bring together; and Pauline, although she knew +nothing of philosophy, may not have been completely wrong with +her Supreme who hated the Brunswicks and nevertheless sanctioned +Carlton House.</p> +<p>Pauline surprised Mrs. Zachariah considerably. A woman, +and more particularly a young woman, even supposing her to be +quite orthodox, who behaved in that style amongst the members of +Pike Street, would have been like a wild seagull in a farmyard of +peaceful, clucking, brown-speckled fowls. All the chapel +maidens and matrons, of course, were serious; but their +seriousness was decent and in order. Mrs. Coleman was +therefore scandalised, nervous, and dumb. Jean, as his +manner was when his daughter expressed herself strongly, was also +silent. His love for her was a consuming, hungry +fire. It utterly extinguished all trace, not merely of +selfishness, but of self, in him, and he was perfectly content, +when Pauline spoke well, to remain quiet, and not allow a word of +his to disturb the effect which he thought she ought to +produce.</p> +<p>The Major, as a man of the world, thought the conversation was +becoming a little too metaphysical, and asked Mrs. Coleman gaily +if she would like to see the <i>fête</i>.</p> +<p>“Really, I hardly know what to say. I +suppose”—and this was said with a peculiar +acidity—“there is nothing wrong in it? +Zachariah, my dear, would you like to go?”</p> +<p>Zachariah did not reply. His thoughts were +elsewhere. But at last the spirit moved in him:</p> +<p>“Miss Pauline, your Supreme Being won’t help you +very far. There is no light save in God’s Holy +Word. God hath concluded them all in unbelief that He might +have mercy upon all. As by one man’s disobedience +many were made sinners, so by the obedience of One shall many be +made righteous. That is the explanation; that is the +gospel. God allows all this wickedness that His own glory +may be manifested thereby, and His own love in sending Jesus +Christ to save us: that, as sin hath reigned unto death, even so +might grace reign through righteousness unto eternal life by +Jesus Christ our Lord. Do you ask me why does God wink at +the crimes of kings and murderers? What if God, willing to +show His wrath, and to make His power known, endured with much +long-suffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction, and +that He might make known the riches of His glory on the vessels +of mercy which He had afore prepared unto glory, even us whom He +had called? Miss Pauline, the mere light of human reason +will never save you or give you peace. Unless you believe +God’s Word you are lost; lost here and hereafter; lost +<i>here</i> even, for until you believe it you wander in a fog of +ever deepening confusion. All is dark and +inexplicable.”</p> +<p>Being very much excited, he used largely the words of St. +Paul, and not his own. How clear it all seemed to him, how +indisputable! Childish association and years of +unquestioning repetition gave an absolute certainty to what was +almost unmeaning to other people.</p> +<p>Mrs. Zachariah, although she had expressed a strong desire for +the Major’s conversion, and was the only other +representative of the chapel present, was very fidgety and +uncomfortable during this speech. She had an exquisite art, +which she sometimes practised, of dropping her husband, or rather +bringing him down. So, when there was a pause, everybody +being moved at least by his earnestness, she said:</p> +<p>“My dear, will you take any more tea?”</p> +<p>He was looking on the table-cloth, with his head on his hands, +and did not answer.</p> +<p>“Major Maitland, may I give you some more +tea?”</p> +<p>“No, thank you.” The Major too was +impressed—more impressed than the lady who sat next to him, +and she felt rebuffed and annoyed. To Pauline, Zachariah +had spoken Hebrew; but his passion was human, and her heart leapt +out to meet him, although she knew not what answer to make. +Her father was in the same position; but the Major’s case +was a little different. He had certainly at some time or +other read the Epistle to the Romans, and some expressions were +not entirely unfamiliar to him.</p> +<p>“‘Vessels of wrath fitted to +destruction!’—a strong and noble phrase. Who +are your vessels of wrath, Coleman?”</p> +<p>Caillaud and Pauline saw a little light, but it was speedily +eclipsed again.</p> +<p>“The unregenerate.”</p> +<p>“Who are they?”</p> +<p>“Those whom God has not called.”</p> +<p>“Castlereagh, Liverpool, Sidmouth, and the rest of the +gang, for example?”</p> +<p>Zachariah felt that the moment had come.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes; but not only they. More than +they. God help me if I deny the Cross of Christ—all +of us into whose hearts God’s grace has not been +poured—we, you, all of us, if we have not been born of the +Spirit and redeemed by the sacrifice of His Son.”</p> +<p>Zachariah put in the “us” and the +“we,” it will be observed. It was a concession +to blunt the sharpness of that dreadful dividing-line.</p> +<p>“We? Not yourself, Caillaud, and +Pauline?”</p> +<p>He could not face the question. Something within him +said that he ought to have gone further; that he ought to have +singled out the Major, Caillaud, and Pauline; held them fast, +looked straight into their eyes, and told them each one there and +then that they were in the bonds of iniquity, sold unto Satan, +and in danger of hell-fire. But, alas! he was at least a +century and a half too late. He struggled, wrestled, self +against self, and failed, not through want of courage, but +because he wanted a deeper conviction. The system was still +the same, even to its smallest details, but the application had +become difficult. The application, indeed, was a good deal +left to the sinner himself. That was the difference. +Phrases had been invented or discovered which served to express +modern hesitation to bring the accepted doctrine into actual, +direct, week-day practice. It was in that way that it was +gradually bled into impotence. One of these phrases came +into his mind. It was from his favourite author:</p> +<p>“‘Who art thou that judgest?’ It is +not for me, Major Maitland.”</p> +<p>Ah, but, Zachariah, do you not remember that Paul is not +speaking of those who deny the Lord, but of the weak in faith; of +differences in eating and drinking, and the observation of +days? Whether he remembered it or not, he could say no +more. Caillaud, the Major, Pauline, condemned to the +everlasting consequences of the wrath of the Almighty! He +could not pronounce such a sentence, and yet his conscience +whispered that just for want of the last nail in a sure place +what he had built would come tumbling to the ground. During +the conversation the time had stolen away, and, to their horror, +Zachariah and his wife discovered that it was a quarter-past +six. He hastily informed his guests that he had hoped they +would attend him to his chapel. Would they go? The +Major consented. He had nothing particular on hand, but +Caillaud and Pauline refused. Zachariah was particularly +urgent that these two should accompany him, but they were +steadfast, for all set religious performances were hateful to +them.</p> +<p>“No, Coleman, no more; I know what it all +means.”</p> +<p>“And I,” added Pauline, “cannot sit still +with so many respectable people; I never could. I have been +to church, and always felt impelled to do something peculiar in +it which would have made them turn me out. I cannot, too, +endure preaching. I cannot tolerate that man up in the +pulpit looking down over all the people—so wise and so +self-satisfied. I want to pull him out and say. +‘Here, you, sir, come here and let me see if you can tell +me two or three things I want to know.’ Then, Mr. +Coleman, I am never well in a great building, especially in a +church; I have such a weight upon my head as if the roof were +resting on it.”</p> +<p>He looked mournfully at her, but there was no time to +remonstrate. Mrs. Zachariah was ready, in her Sunday best +of sober bluish cloud-colour. Although it was her Sunday +best, there was not a single thread of finery on it, and there +was not a single crease nor spot. She bade Caillaud and +Pauline good-bye with much cheerfulness, and tripped +downstairs. The Major had preceded her, but Zachariah +lingered for a moment with the other two.</p> +<p>“Come, my dear, make haste, we shall be so +late.”</p> +<p>“Go on with the Major; I shall catch you in a moment; I +walk faster than you. I must close the window a trifle, and +take two or three of the coals off the fire.”</p> +<p>Caillaud and Pauline lingered too. The three were +infinitely nearer to one another than they knew. Zachariah +thought he was so far, and yet he was so close. The man +rose up behind the Calvinist, and reached out arms to touch and +embrace his friends.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Caillaud; good-bye, Pauline! May God in +His mercy bless and save you. God bless you!”</p> +<p>Caillaud looked steadfastly at him for a moment, and then, in +his half-forgotten French fashion, threw his arms round his neck, +and the two remained for a moment locked together, Pauline +standing by herself apart. She came forward, took +Zachariah’s hand, when it was free, in both her own, held +her head back a little, as if for clearness of survey, and said +slowly, “God bless you, Mr. Coleman.” She then +went downstairs. Her father followed her, and Zachariah +went after his wife and the Major, whom, however, he did not +overtake till he reached the chapel door, where they were both +waiting for him.</p> +<h2><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>CHAPTER VII<br /> +<span class="smcap">Jephthah</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Reverend Thomas Bradshaw, of +Pike Street Meeting-House, was not a descendant from Bradshaw the +regicide, but claimed that he belonged to the same family. +He was in 1814 about fifty years old, and minister of one of the +most important churches in the eastern part of London. He +was tall and spare, and showed his height in the pulpit, for he +always spoke without a note, and used a small Bible, which he +held close to his eyes. He was a good classical scholar, +and he understood Hebrew, too, as well as few men in that day +understood it. He had a commanding figure, ruled his church +like a despot; had a crowded congregation, of which the larger +portion was masculine; and believed in predestination and the +final perseverance of the saints. He was rather unequal in +his discourses, for he had a tendency to moodiness, and, at +times, even to hypochondria. When this temper was upon him +he was combative or melancholy; and sometimes, to the disgust of +many who came from all parts of London to listen to him, he did +not preach in the proper sense of the word, but read a chapter, +made a comment or two upon it, caused a hymn to be sung, and then +dismissed his congregation with the briefest of prayers. +Although he took no active part in politics, he was republican +through and through, and never hesitated for a moment in those +degenerate days to say what he thought about any scandal. +In this respect he differed from his fellow-ministers, who, under +the pretence of increasing zeal for religion, had daily fewer and +fewer points of contact with the world outside. Mr. +Bradshaw had been married when he was about thirty; but his wife +died in giving birth to a daughter, who also died,—and for +twenty years he had been a widower, with no thought of changing +his condition. He was understood to have peculiar opinions +about second marriages, although he kept them very much to +himself. One thing, however, was known, that for a +twelvemonth after the death of his wife he was away from England, +and that he came back an altered man to his people in +Bedfordshire, where at that time he was settled. His +discourses were remarkably strong, and of a kind seldom, or +indeed never, heard now. They taxed the whole mental powers +of his audience, and were utterly unlike the simple stuff which +became fashionable with the Evangelistic movement. Many of +them, taken down by some of his hearers, survive in manuscript to +the present day. They will not, as a rule, bear printing, +because the assumption on which they rest is not now assumed; but +if it be granted, they are unanswerable; and it is curious that +even now and then, although they are never for a moment anything +else than a strict deduction from what we in the latter half of +the century consider unproven or even false, they express +themselves in the same terms as the newest philosophy. +Occasionally too, more particularly when he sets himself the task +of getting into the interior of a Bible character, he is +intensely dramatic, and what are shadows to the careless reader +become living human beings, with the reddest of blood visible +under their skin.</p> +<p>On this particular evening Mr. Bradshaw took the story of +Jephthah’s daughter:—“The Spirit of the Lord +came upon Jephthah.” Here is an abstract of his +discourse. “It <i>was</i> the Spirit of the Lord, +notwithstanding what happened. I beg you also to note that +there is a mistranslation in our version. The Hebrew has +it, ‘Then it shall be, that +<i>whosoever</i>’—not +<i>whatsoever</i>—‘cometh forth of the doors of my +house to meet me, when I return in peace from the children of +Ammon, shall surely be the Lord’s, and I will offer +<i>him</i>’—not <i>it</i>—‘up for a +burnt-offering.’ Nevertheless I believe my +text—it <i>was</i> the Spirit of the Lord. This +Hebrew soldier was the son of a harlot. He was driven by +his brethren out of his father’s house. Ammon made +war upon Israel, and in their distress the elders of Israel went +to fetch Jephthah. Mark, my friends, God’s +election. The children of the lawful wife are passed by, +and the child of the harlot is chosen. Jephthah forgets his +grievances and becomes captain of the host. Ammon is over +against them. Jephthah’s rash vow—this is +sometimes called. I say it is not a rash vow. It may +be rash to those who have never been brought to extremity by the +children of Ammon—to those who have not cared whether Ammon +or Christ wins. Men and women sitting here in comfortable +pews”—this was said with a kind of +snarl—“may talk of Jephthah’s rash vow. +God be with them, what do they know of the struggles of such a +soul? It does not say so directly in the Bible, but we are +led to infer it, that Jephthah was successful because of his +vow. ‘The Lord delivered them into his +hands.’ He would not have done it if He had been +displeased with the ‘rash vow’” (another +snarl). “He smote them from Aroer even till thou come +to Minnith. Ah, but what follows? The Omnipotent and +Omniscient might have ordered it, surely, that a slave might have +met Jephthah. Why, in His mercy, did He not do it? +Who are we that we should question what He did? But if we +may not inquire too closely into His designs, it is permitted us, +my friends, when His reason accords with ours, to try and show +it. Jephthah had played for a great stake. Ought the +Almighty—let us speak it with reverence—to have let +him off with an ox, or even with a serf? I say that if we +are to conquer Ammon we must pay for it, and we ought to pay for +it. Yes, and perhaps God wanted the girl—who can +tell? Jephthah comes back in triumph. Let me read the +passage to you:—‘Behold his daughter came out to meet +him with timbrels and with dances: <i>and she was his only +child</i>: <i>beside her he had neither son nor +daughter</i>. And it came to pass, when he saw her, that he +rent his clothes, and said, Alas, my daughter! thou hast brought +me very low, and thou art one of them that trouble me: for I have +opened my mouth unto the Lord, and I cannot go back.’ +Now, you read poetry, I dare say—what you call +poetry. I say in all of it—all, at least, I have +seen—nothing comes up to that. ‘<i>She was his +only child</i>: <i>beside her he had neither son nor +daughter</i>.’”—(Mr. Bradshaw’s voice +broke a little as he went over the words again with great +deliberation and infinite pathos.)—“The inspired +writer leaves the fact just as it stands, and is content. +Inspiration itself can do nothing to make it more touching than +it is in its own bare nakedness. There is no thought in +Jephthah of recantation, nor in the maiden of revolt, but +nevertheless he has his own sorrow. <i>He is brought very +low</i>. God does not rebuke him for his grief. He +knows well enough, my dear friends, the nature which He took upon +Himself—nay, are we not the breath of His nostrils, created +in His image? He does not anywhere, therefore, I say, +forbid that we should even break our hearts over those we love +and lose. She asks for two months by herself upon the +mountains before her death. What a time for him! At +the end of the two months God held him still to his vow; he did +not shrink; she submitted, and was slain. But you will want +me to tell you in conclusion where the gospel is in all +this. Gospel! I say that the blessed gospel is in the +Old Testament as well as in the New. I say that the Word of +God is one, and that His message is here this night for you and +me, as distinctly as it is at the end of the sacred volume. +Observe, as I have told you before, that Jephthah is the son of +the harlot. He hath mercy on whom He will have mercy. +He calls them His people who are not His people; and He calls her +beloved which was not beloved. God at any rate is no +stickler for hereditary rights. Moreover, it does not +follow because you, my hearers, have God-fearing parents, that +God has elected you. He may have chosen, instead of you, +instead of me, the wretchedest creature outside, whose rags we +will not touch. But to what did God elect Jephthah? +To a respectable, easy, decent existence, with money at interest, +regular meals, sleep after them, and unbroken rest at +night? He elected him to that tremendous oath and that +tremendous penalty. He elected him to the agony he endured +while she was away upon the hills! That is God’s +election; an election to the cross and to the cry, ‘Eli, +Eli, lama Sabachthani.’ ‘Yes,’ you will +say, ‘but He elected him to the victory over +Ammon.’ Doubtless He did; but what cared Jephthah for +his victory over Ammon when she came to meet him, or, indeed, for +the rest of his life? What is a victory, what are triumphal +arches and the praise of all creation to a lonely man? Be +sure, if God elects you, He elects you to suffering. Whom +He loveth He chasteneth, and His stripes are not play-work. +Ammon will not be conquered unless your heart be well nigh +broken. I tell you, too, as Christ’s minister, that +you are not to direct your course according to your own +desires. You are not to say,—‘I will give up +this and that so that I may be saved.’ Did not St. +Paul wish himself accursed from Christ for his brethren? If +God should command you to go down to the bottomless pit in +fulfilment of His blessed designs, it is your place to go. +Out with self—I was about to say this damned self; and if +Israel calls, if Christ calls, take not a sheep or ox—that +is easy enough—but take your choicest possession, take your +own heart, your own blood, your very self, to the +altar.”</p> +<p>During the sermon the Major was much excited. Apart +altogether from the effect of the actual words spoken, Mr. +Bradshaw had a singular and contagious power over men. The +three, Mrs. Coleman, the Major, and Zachariah, came out +together. Mrs. Zachariah stayed behind in the lobby for +some female friend to whom she wished to speak about a +Sunday-school tea-meeting which was to take place that +week. The other two stood aside, ill at ease, amongst the +crowd pressing out into the street. Presently Mrs. Coleman +found her friend, whom she at once informed that Major Maitland +and her husband were waiting for her, and that therefore she had +not a moment to spare. That little triumph accomplished, +she had nothing of importance to say about the tea-meeting, and +rejoined her party with great good-humour. She walked +between the Major and Zachariah, and at once asked the Major how +he “enjoyed the service.” The phrase was very +unpleasant to Zachariah, but he was silent.</p> +<p>“Well, ma’am,” said the Major, “Mr. +Bradshaw is a very remarkable man. It is a long time since +any speaker stirred me as he did. He is a born orator, if +ever there was one.”</p> +<p>“I could have wished,” said Zachariah, “as +you are not often in chapel, that his sermon had been founded on +some passage in the New Testament which would have given him the +opportunity of more simply expounding the gospel of +Christ.”</p> +<p>“He could not have been better, I should think. He +went to my heart, though it is rather a difficult passage in the +case of a man about town like me; and I tell you what, Coleman, +he made me determine I would read the Bible again. What a +story that is!”</p> +<p>“Major, I thank God if you will read it; and not for the +stories in it, save as all are part of one story—the story +of God’s redeeming mercy.”</p> +<p>The Major made no reply, for the word was unwinged.</p> +<p>Mrs. Zachariah was silent, but when they came to their door +both she and her husband pressed him to come in. He +refused, however; he would stroll homeward, he said, and have a +smoke as he went.</p> +<p>“He touched me, Coleman, he did. I thought, +between you and me”—and he spoke +softly—“I had not now got such a tender place; I +thought it was all healed over long ago. I cannot come +in. You’ll excuse me. Yes, I’ll just +wander back to Piccadilly. I could not talk.”</p> +<p>They parted, and Zachariah and his wife went upstairs. +Their supper was soon ready.</p> +<p>“Jane,” he said slowly, “I did not receive +much assistance from you in my endeavours to bring our friends to +a knowledge of the truth. I thought that, as you desired +the attempt, you would have helped me a little.”</p> +<p>“There is a reason for everything; and, what is more, I +do not consider it right to take upon myself what belongs to a +minister. It may do more harm than good.”</p> +<p>“Take upon yourself what belongs to a minister! My +dear Jane, is nobody but a minister to bear witness for the +Master?”</p> +<p>“Of course I did not mean to say that; you know I did +not. Why do you catch at my words? Perhaps, if you +had not been quite so forward, Mr. Caillaud and his daughter +might have gone to chapel.”</p> +<p>After supper, and when he was alone, Zachariah sat for some +time without moving. He presently rose and opened the Bible +again, which lay on the table—the Bible which belonged to +his father—and turned to the fly-leaf on which was written +the family history. There was the record of his +father’s marriage, dated on the day of the event. +There was the record of his own birth. There was the record +of his mother’s death, still in his father’s writing, +but in an altered hand, the letters not so distinct, and the +strokes crooked and formed with difficulty. There was the +record of Zachariah’s own marriage. A cloud of +shapeless, inarticulate sentiment obscured the man’s eyes +and brain. He could not define what he felt, but he did +feel. He could not bear it, and he shut the book, opening +it again at the twenty-second Psalm—the one which the +disciples of Jesus called to mind on the night of the +crucifixion. It was one which Mr. Bradshaw often read, and +Zachariah had noted in it a few corrections made in the +translation:</p> +<blockquote><p>“<i>My God</i>, <i>my God</i>, <i>why hast +Thou forsaken me</i>? <i>Our fathers trusted in Thee</i>; +<i>they trusted</i>, <i>and Thou didst deliver them</i>. . . +. <i>Be not far from me</i>; <i>for trouble is near</i>; +<i>for there is none to help</i>. . . . <i>Be Thou not far +from me</i>, <i>O Lord</i>: <i>O my strength</i>, <i>haste Thee +to help me</i>. . . . <i>Save me from the lion’s +mouth</i>: <i>and from the horns of the wild oxen Thou hast +answered me</i>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“From the horns of the wild oxen”—that +correction had often been precious to Zachariah. When at +the point of being pinned to the ground—so he understood +it—help had arisen; risen up from the earth, and might +again arise. It was upon the first part of the text he +dwelt now. It came upon him with fearful distinctness that +he was alone—that he could never hope for sympathy from his +wife as long as he lived. Mr. Bradshaw’s words that +evening recurred to him. God’s purpose in choosing to +smite Jephthah in that way was partly intelligible, and, after +all, Jephthah was elected to redeem his country too. But +what could be God’s purpose in electing one of his servants +to indifference and absence of affection where he had a right to +expect it? Could anybody be better for not being +loved? Even Zachariah could not think it possible. +But Mr. Bradshaw’s words again recurred. Who was he +that he should question God’s designs? It might be +part of the Divine design that he, Zachariah Coleman, should not +be made better by anything. It might be part of that +design, part of a fulfilment of a plan devised by the Infinite +One, that he should be broken, nay, perhaps not saved. Mr. +Bradshaw’s doctrine that night was nothing new. +Zachariah had believed from his childhood, or had thought he +believed, that the potter had power over the clay—of the +same lump to make one vessel unto honour and another unto +dishonour; and that the thing formed unto dishonour could not +reply and say to him that formed it: ‘Why hast thou made me +thus?’ Nevertheless, to believe it generally was one +thing; to believe it as a truth for him was another. +Darkness, the darkness as of the crucifixion night, seemed over +and around him. Poor wretch! he thought he was struggling +with his weakness; but he was in reality struggling against his +own strength. <i>Why</i> had God so decreed? Do what +he could, that fatal <i>why</i>, the protest of his reason, +asserted itself; and yet he cursed himself for permitting it, +believing it to be a sin. He walked about his room for some +relief. He looked out of the window. It was getting +late; the sky was clearing, as it does in London at that hour, +and he saw the stars. There was nothing to help him +there. They mocked him rather with their imperturbable, +obstinate stillness. At last he turned round, fell upon his +knees, and poured out himself before his Maker, entreating Him +for light. He rose from the ground, looked again out of the +window, and the first flush of the morning was just +visible. Light was coming to the world in obedience to the +Divine command, but not to him. He was exhausted, and crept +into his bedroom, undressing without candle, and without a +sound. For a few minutes he thought he should never sleep +again, save in his grave; but an unseen Hand presently touched +him, and he knew nothing till he was awakened by the broad day +streaming over him.</p> +<h2><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>CHAPTER VIII<br /> +<span class="smcap">Unconventional Justice</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">In</span> December, 1814, a steamboat was +set in motion on the Limehouse Canal, the Lord Mayor and other +distinguished persons being on board. In the same month +Joanna Southcott died. She had announced that on the 19th +October she was to be delivered of the Prince of Peace, although +she was then sixty years old. Thousands of persons believed +her, and a cradle was made. The Prince of Peace did not +arrive, and in a little more than two months poor Joanna had +departed, the cause of her departure having being certified as +dropsy. Death did not diminish the number of her disciples, +for they took refuge in the hope of her resurrection. +“The arm of the Lord is not shortened,” they truly +affirmed; and even to this day there are people who are waiting +for the fulfilment of Joanna’s prophecies and the +appearance of the “second Shiloh.” Zachariah +had been frequently twitted in joke by his profane companions in +the printing-office upon his supposed belief in the +delusion. It was their delight to assume that all the +“pious ones,” as they called them, were alike; and on +the morning of the 30th of December, the day after Joanna +expired, they were more than usually tormenting. Zachariah +did not remonstrate. In his conscientious eagerness to bear +witness for his Master, he had often tried his hand upon his +mates; but he had never had the smallest success, and had now +desisted. Moreover, his thoughts were that morning with his +comrades, the Friends of the People. He hummed to himself +the lines from <i>Lara</i>:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Within that land was many a malcontent,<br +/> +Who cursed the tyranny to which he bent;<br /> +That soil full many a wringing despot saw,<br /> +Who worked his wantonness in form of law:<br /> +Long war without and frequent broil within<br /> +Had made a path for blood and giant sin.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The last meeting had been unusually exciting. +Differences of opinion had arisen as to future procedure, many of +the members, the Secretary included, advocating action; but what +they understood by it is very difficult to say. A special +call had been made for that night, and Zachariah was in a +difficulty. His native sternness and detestation of kings +and their ministers would have led him almost to any length; but +he had a sober head on his shoulders. So had the Major, and +so had Caillaud. Consequently they held back, and insisted, +before stirring a step towards actual revolution, that there +should be some fair chance of support and success. The +Major in particular warned them of the necessity of drill; and +plainly told them also that, not only were the middle classes all +against them, but their own class was hostile. This was +perfectly true, although it was a truth so unpleasant that he had +to endure some very strong language, and even hints of +treason. No wonder: for it is undoubtedly very bitter to be +obliged to believe that the men whom we want to help do not +themselves wish to be helped. To work hard for those who +will thank us, to head a majority against oppressors, is a brave +thing; but far more honour is due to the Maitlands, Caillauds, +Colemans, and others of that stamp who strove for thirty years +from the outbreak of the French revolution onwards, not merely to +rend the chains of the prisoners, but had to achieve the more +difficult task of convincing them that they would be happier if +they were free. These heroes are forgotten, or nearly +so. Who remembers the poor creatures who met in the early +mornings on the Lancashire moors or were shot by the +yeomanry? They sleep in graves over which stands no +tombstone, or probably their bodies have been carted away to make +room for a railway which has been driven through their +resting-place. They saw the truth before those whom the +world delights to honour as its political redeemers; but they +have perished utterly from our recollection, and will never be +mentioned in history. Will there ever be a great Day of +Assize when a just judgment shall be pronounced; when all the +impostors who have been crowned for what they did not deserve +will be stripped, and the Divine word will be heard calling upon +the faithful to inherit the kingdom,—who, when “I was +an hungered gave me meat, when I was thirsty gave me drink; when +I was a stranger took me in; when I was naked visited me; when I +was in prison came unto me?” Never! It was a +dream of an enthusiastic Galilean youth, and let us not desire +that it may ever come true. Let us rather gladly consent to +be crushed into indistinguishable dust, with no hope of record: +rejoicing only if some infinitesimal portion of the good work may +be achieved by our obliteration, and content to be remembered +only in that anthem which in the future it will be ordained shall +be sung in our religious services in honour of all holy apostles +and martyrs who have left no name.</p> +<p>The night before the special meeting a gentleman in a blue +cloak, and with a cigar in his mouth, sauntered past the entrance +to Carter’s Rents, where Mr. Secretary lived. It was +getting late, but he was evidently not in a hurry, and seemed to +enjoy the coolness of the air, for presently he turned and walked +past the entrance again. He took out his watch—it was +a quarter to eleven o’clock—and he cursed Mr. +Secretary and the beer-shops which had probably detained +him. A constable came by, but never showed himself in the +least degree inquisitive; although it was odd that anybody should +select Carter’s Rents for a stroll. Presently Mr. +Secretary came in sight, a trifle, but not much, the worse for +liquor. It was odd, also, that he took no notice of the +blue cloak and cigar, but went straight to his own lodging. +The other, after a few moments followed; and it was a third time +odd that he should find the door unbolted and go upstairs. +All this, we say, would have been strange to a spectator, but it +was not so to these three persons. Presently the one first +named found himself in Mr. Secretary’s somewhat squalid +room. He then stood disclosed as the assistant whom the +Secretary had first seen at Whitehall sitting in the +Commissioner’s Office. This was not the second nor +third interview which had taken place since then.</p> +<p>“Well, Mr. Hardy, what do you want here +to-night?”</p> +<p>“Well, my friend, you know, I suppose. How goes +the game?”</p> +<p>“D—m me if I <i>do</i> know. If you think I +am going to split, you are very much mistaken.”</p> +<p>“Split! Who wants you to split? Why, +there’s nothing to split about. I can tell you just +as much as you can tell me.”</p> +<p>“Why do you come here then?”</p> +<p>“For the pleasure of seeing you, and +to—” Mr. Hardy put his hand carelessly in his +pocket, a movement which was followed by a metallic +jingle—“and just to—to—explain one or two +little matters.”</p> +<p>The Secretary observed that he was very tired.</p> +<p>“Are you? I believe I am tired too.”</p> +<p>Mr. Hardy took out a little case-bottle with brandy in it, and +the Secretary, without saying a word, produced two mugs and a jug +of water. The brandy was mixed by Mr. Hardy; but his share +of the spirit differed from that assigned to his friend.</p> +<p>“Split!” he continued; “no, I should think +not. But we want you to help us. The Major and one or +two more had better be kept out of harm’s way for a little +while; and we propose not to hurt them, but to take care of them +a bit, you understand? And if, the next time, he and the +others will be there—we have been looking for the Major for +three or four days, but he is not to be found in his old +quarters—we will just give them a call. When will you +have your next meeting? They will be all handy +then.”</p> +<p>“You can find that out without my help. It’s +to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“Ah! I suppose you’ve had a stormy +discussion. I hope your moderate counsels +prevailed.”</p> +<p>Mr. Secretary winked and gave his head a twist on one side, as +if he meant thereby to say: “You don’t catch +me.”</p> +<p>“It’s a pity,” continued Mr. Hardy, taking +no notice, “that some men are always for rushing into +extremities. Why don’t they try and redress their +grievances, if they have any, in the legitimate way which you +yourself propose—by petition?”</p> +<p>It so happened that a couple of hours before, Mr. Secretary +having been somewhat noisy and insubordinate, the Major had been +obliged to rule him out of order and request his silence. +The insult—for so he considered it—was rankling in +him.</p> +<p>“Because,” he replied, “we have amongst us +two or three d—d conceited, stuck-up fools, who think they +are going to ride over us. By God, they are mistaken +though! They are the chaps who do all the mischief. +Not that I’d say anything against them—no, +notwithstanding I stand up against them.”</p> +<p>“Do all the mischief—yes, you’ve just hit +it. I do believe that if it were not for these fellows the +others would be quiet enough.”</p> +<p>The Secretary took a little more brandy and water. The +sense of wrong within him was like an open wound, and the brandy +inflamed it. He also began to think that it would not be a +bad thing for him if he could seclude the Major, Caillaud, and +Zachariah for a season. Zachariah in particular he mortally +hated.</p> +<p>“What some of these fine folks would like to do, you +see, Mr. Hardy, is to persuade us poor devils to get up the row, +while they <i>direct</i> it. <i>Direct</i> it, that’s +their word; but we’re not going to be humbugged.”</p> +<p>“Too wide awake, I should say.”</p> +<p>“I should say so too. We are to be told off for +the Bank of England, and they are to show it to us at the other +end of Cheapside.”</p> +<p>“Bank of England,” said Mr. Hardy, laughing; +“that’s a joke. You might run your heads a long +while against that before you get in. You don’t drink +your brandy and water.”</p> +<p>The Secretary took another gulp. “And he’s a +military man—a military man—a military +man.” He was getting rather stupid now, and repeated +the phrase each of the three times with increasing unsteadiness, +but also with increasing contempt.</p> +<p>Mr. Hardy took our his watch. It was getting on towards +midnight. “Good-bye; glad to see you all +right,” and he turned to leave. There was a jingling +of coin again, and when he had left Mr. Secretary took up the +five sovereigns which had found their way to the table and put +them in his pocket. His visitor picked his way +downstairs. The constable was still pacing up and down +Carter’s Rents, but again did not seem to observe him, and +he walked meditatively to Jermyn Street. He was at his +office by half-past nine, and his chief was only half-an-hour +later.</p> +<p>The Major had thought it prudent to change his address; and, +furthermore, it was the object of the Government to make his +arrest, with that of his colleagues, at the place of meeting, not +only to save trouble, but because it would look better. Mr. +Hardy had found out, therefore, all he wanted to know, and was +enabled to confirm his opinion that the Major was the head of the +conspiracy.</p> +<p>But underneath Mr. Secretary’s mine was a deeper mine; +for as the Major sat at breakfast the next morning a note came +for him, the messenger leaving directly he delivered it to the +servant. It was very brief:—“No meeting +to-night. Warn all except the Secretary, who has already +been acquainted.” There was no signature, and he did +not know the handwriting. He reflected for a little while, +and then determined to consult Caillaud and Coleman, who were his +informal Cabinet. He had no difficulty in finding Coleman, +but the Caillauds were not at home, and it was agreed that +postponement could do no harm. A message was therefore left +at Caillaud’s house, and one was sent to every one of the +members, but two or three could not be discovered.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Mr. Secretary, who, strange to say, had <i>not</i> +been acquainted, had been a little overcome by Mr. Hardy’s +brandy on the top of the beer he had taken beforehand, and woke +in the morning very miserable. Finding the five guineas in +his pocket, he was tempted to a public-house hard by, in order +that he might cool his stomach and raise his spirits with a +draught or two of ale. He remained there a little too long, +and on reaching home was obliged to go to bed again. He +awoke about six, and then it came into his still somewhat +confused brain that he had to attend the meeting. At +half-past seven he accordingly took his departure. +Meanwhile the Major and Zachariah had determined to post +themselves in Red Lion Street, to intercept those of their +comrades with whom they had not been able to communicate, and +also to see what was going to happen. At a quarter to eight +the Secretary turned out of Holborn, and when he came a little +nearer, Zachariah saw that at a distance of fifty yards there was +a constable following him. He came on slowly until he was +abreast of a narrow court, when suddenly there was a pistol-shot, +and he was dead on the pavement. Zachariah’s first +impulse was to rush forward, but he saw the constable running, +followed by others, and he discerned in an instant that to +attempt to assist would lead to his own arrest and do no +good. He managed, however, to reach the Major, and for two +or three moments they stood stock-still on the edge of the +pavement struck with amazement. Presently a woman passed +them with a thick veil over her face.</p> +<p>“Home,” she said; “don’t stay here +like fools. Pack up your things and be off. +You’ll be in prison to-morrow morning.”</p> +<p>“Be off!” gasped Zachariah; “be +off!—where?”</p> +<p>“Anywhere!” and she had gone.</p> +<p>The constables, after putting the corpse in a hackney coach, +proceeded to the room; but it was dark and empty. They had +no directions to do anything more that night, and returned to Bow +Street. The next morning, however, as soon as it was light, +a Secretary of State’s warrant, backed by sufficient force, +was presented at the lodgings of Caillaud and Zachariah. +The birds had flown, and not a soul could tell what had become of +them. In Zachariah’s street, which was rather a +Radical quarter, the official inquiries were not answered +politely, and one of the constables received on the top of his +head an old pail with slops in it. The minutest +investigation failed to discover to whom the pail belonged.</p> +<h2><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>CHAPTER IX<br /> +<span class="smcap">A Strain on the Cable</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Bow Street</span> was completely at fault, +and never discovered the secret of that assassination. It +was clear that neither the Major nor Coleman were the murderers, +as they had been noticed at some distance from the spot where the +Secretary fell by several persons who described them +accurately. Nor was Caillaud suspected, as the constable +testified that he passed him on the opposite side of the street, +as he followed the Secretary. The only conclusion, +according to Bow Street, which was free from all doubt was, that +whoever did the deed was a committee consisting of a single +member. A reward of £500 did not bring forward +anybody who knew anything about the business. As for +Caillaud, his daughter and the Major, the next morning saw them +far on the way to Dover, and eventually they arrived at Paris in +safety. Zachariah, when he reached home, found his wife +gone. A note lay for him there, probably from the same hand +which warned the Major, telling him not to lose an instant, but +to join in Islington one of the mails to Manchester. His +wife would start that night from St. Martin’s le Grand by a +coach which went by another road. He was always prompt, and +in five minutes he was out of the house. The fare was +carefully folded by his unknown friend in the letter. He +just managed as directed, to secure a place, not by the regular +Manchester mail, but by one which went through Barnet and stopped +to take up passengers at the “Angel.” He +climbed upon the roof, and presently was travelling rapidly +through Holloway and Highgate. He found, to his relief, +that nobody had heard of the murder, and he was left pretty much +to his own reflections. His first thoughts were an attempt +to unravel the mystery. Why was it so sudden? Why had +no word not hint of what was intended reached him? He could +not guess. In those days the clubs were so beset with spies +that frequently the most important resolutions were taken by one +man, who confided in nobody. It was winter, but fortunately +Zachariah was well wrapped up. He journeyed on, hour after +hour, in a state of mazed bewilderment, one thought tumbling over +another, and when morning broke over the flats he had not +advanced a single step in the determination of his future +path. Nothing is more painful to a man of any energy than +the inability to put things in order in himself—to place +before himself what he has to do, and arrange the means for doing +it. To be the passive victim of a rushing stream of +disconnected impressions is torture, especially if the emergency +be urgent. So when the sun came up Zachariah began to be +ashamed of himself that the night had passed in these idiotic +moonings, which had left him just where he was, and he tried to +settle what he was to do when he reached Manchester. He did +not know a soul; but he could conjecture why he was advised to go +thither. It was a disaffected town, and Friends of the +People were very strong there. His first duty was to get a +lodging, his second to get work, and his third to find out a +minister of God under whom he could worship. He put this +last, not because it was the least important, but because he had +the most time to decide upon it. At about ten o’clock +at night he came to his journey’s end, and to his joy saw +his wife waiting for him. They went at once to a small inn +hard by, and Mrs. Coleman began to overwhelm him with +interrogation; but he quietly suggested that not a syllable +should be spoken till they had had some rest, and that they +should swallow their supper and go to bed. In the morning +Zachariah rose and looked out of the window. He saw nothing +but a small backyard in which some miserable, scraggy fowls were +crouching under a cart to protect themselves from the rain, which +was falling heavily through the dim, smoky air. His spirits +sank. He had no fear of apprehension or prosecution, but +the prospect before him was depressing. Although he was a +poor man, he had not been accustomed to oscillations of fortune, +and he was in an utterly strange place, with five pounds in his +pocket, and nothing to do.</p> +<p>He was, however, resolved not to yield, and thought it best to +begin with his wife before she could begin with him.</p> +<p>“Now, my dear, tell me what has happened, who sent you +here, and what kind of a journey you have had?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Bradshaw came about seven o’clock, and told +me the Government was about to suppress the Friends of the +People; that you did not know it; that I must go to Manchester; +that you would come after me; and that a message would be left +for you. He took me to the coach, and paid for +me.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Bradshaw! Did he tell you anything +more?”</p> +<p>“No; except that he did not think we should be pursued, +and that he would send our things after us when he knew where we +were.”</p> +<p>“You have not heard anything more, then?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“You haven’t heard that the Secretary was +shot?”</p> +<p>“Shot! Oh dear! Zachariah, what will become +of us?”</p> +<p>Her husband then told her what he knew, she listening with +great eagerness and in silence.</p> +<p>“Oh, Zachariah, what will become of us?” she broke +out again.</p> +<p>“There is no reason to worry yourself, Jane; it is +perfectly easy for me to prove my innocence. It is better +for us, however, to stay here for a time. The Government +won’t go any further with us; they will search for the +murderer—that’s all.”</p> +<p>“Why, then, are we sent here and the others are let +alone? I suppose the Major is not here?”</p> +<p>“I cannot say.”</p> +<p>“To think I should ever come to this! I +haven’t got a rag with me beyond what I have on. I +haven’t got any clean things; a nice sort of creature I am +to go out of doors. And it all had nothing to do with +us.”</p> +<p>“Nothing to do with us! My dear Jane, do you mean +that we are not to help other people, but sit at home and enjoy +ourselves? Besides, if you thought it wrong, why did you +not say so before?”</p> +<p>“How was I to know what you were doing? You never +told me anything; you never do. One thing I do know is that +we shall starve and I suppose I shall have to go about and +beg. I haven’t even another pair of shoes or +stockings to my feet.”</p> +<p>Zachariah pondered for a moment. His first impulse was +something very different; but at last he rose, went up to his +wife, kissed her softly on the forehead, and said:</p> +<p>“Never mind, my dear; courage, you will have your +clothes next week. Come with me and look out for a +lodging.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Zachariah, however, shook herself free—not +violently, but still decidedly—from his caresses.</p> +<p>“Most likely seized by the Government. Look for a +lodging! That’s just like you! How can I go out +in this pouring rain?”</p> +<p>Zachariah lately, at any rate, had ceased to expect much +affection in his wife for him; but he thought she was sensible, +and equal to any complexity of circumstances, or even to +disaster. He thought this, not on any positive evidence; +but he concluded, somewhat absurdly, that her coldness meant +common sense and capacity for facing trouble courageously and +with deliberation. He had now to find out his mistake, and +to learn that the absence of emotion neither proves, nor is even +a ground for suspecting, any good whatever of a person; that, on +the contrary, it is a ground for suspecting weakness, and +possibly imbecility.</p> +<p>Mrs. Coleman refused to go out, and after breakfast Zachariah +went by himself, having first inquired what was a likely +quarter. As he wandered along much that had been before him +again and again once more recurred to him. He had been +overtaken by calamity, and he had not heard from his wife one +single expression of sympathy, nor had he received one single +idea which could help him. She had thought of nothing but +herself, and even of herself not reasonably. She was not +the helpmeet which he felt he had a right to expect. He +could have endured any defect, so it seemed, if only he could +have had love; he could have endured the want of love if only he +could have had a counsellor. But he had neither, and he +rebelled, questioning the justice of his lot. Then he fell +into the old familiar controversy with himself, and it was +curiously characteristic of him, that, as he paced those dismal +Manchester pavements, all their gloom disappeared as he re-argued +the universal problem of which his case was an example. He +admitted the unquestionable right of the Almighty to damn three +parts of creation to eternal hell if so He willed; why not, then, +one sinner like Zachariah Coleman to a weary pilgrimage for +thirty or forty years? He rebuked himself when he found +that he had all his life assented so easily to the doctrine of +God’s absolute authority in the election and disposal of +the creatures He had made, and yet that he revolted when God +touched him, and awarded him a punishment which, in comparison +with the eternal loss of His presence, was as nothing. At +last—and here, through his religion, he came down to the +only consolation possible for him—he said to himself, +“Thus hath He decreed; it is foolish to struggle against +His ordinances; we can but submit.” “A poor +gospel,” says his critic. Poor!—yes, it may be; +but it is the gospel according to Job, and any other is a mere +mirage. “Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom and stretch +her wings towards the south?” Confess ignorance and +the folly of insurrection, and there is a chance that even the +irremediable will be somewhat mitigated. Poor!—yes; +but it is genuine; and this at least must be said for Puritanism, +that of all the theologies and philosophies it is the most honest +in its recognition of the facts; the most real, if we penetrate +to the heart of it, in the remedy which it offers.</p> +<p>He found two small furnished rooms which would answer his +purpose till his own furniture should arrive, and he and his wife +took possession that same morning. He then wrote to his +landlord in London—a man whom he knew he could +trust—and directed him to send his goods. For the +present, although he had no fear whatever of any prosecution, he +thought fit to adopt a feigned name, with which we need not +trouble ourselves. In the afternoon he sallied out to seek +employment. The weather had cleared, but Mrs. Coleman still +refused to accompany him, and she occupied herself moodily with +setting the place to rights, as she called it, although, as it +happened, it was particularly neat and clean. There was not +so much printing done in Manchester then as now, and Zachariah +had no success. He came home about seven o’clock, +weary and disheartened. His wife was one of those women who +under misfortune show all that is worst in them, as many women in +misfortune show all that is best.</p> +<p>“You might have been sure you would get nothing to do +here. If, as you say, there is no danger, why did you not +stay in London?”</p> +<p>“You know all about it, my dear; we were warned to +come.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but why in such a hurry? Why didn’t +you stop to think?”</p> +<p>“It is all very well to say so now, but there were only +a few minutes in which to decide. Besides, when I got home +I found you gone.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Zachariah conveniently took no notice of the last part of +this remark, which, of course, settled the whole question, but +continued:</p> +<p>“Ah, well, I suppose it’s all right; but I’m +sure we shall starve—I am convinced we shall. Oh! I +wish my poor dear mother were alive! I have no home to go +to. What <i>will</i> become of us?”</p> +<p>He lost his patience a little.</p> +<p>“Jane,” he said, “what is our religion worth +if it does not support us in times like these? Does it not +teach us to bow to God’s will? Surely we, who have +had such advantages, ought to behave under our trials better than +those who have been brought up like heathens. God will not +leave us. Don’t you remember Mr. Bradshaw’s +sermon upon the passage through the Red Sea. When the +Israelites were brought down to the very shore with nothing but +destruction before them, a way was opened. What did Mr. +Bradshaw bid us observe? The Egyptians were close +behind—so close that the Israelites saw them; the sea was +in front. The road was not made till the enemy was upon +them, and then the waters were divided and became a wall unto +them on their right hand and on their left; the very waters, Mr. +Bradshaw remarked, which before were their terror. God, +too, might have sent them a different way; no doubt He might, but +He chose <i>that</i> way.”</p> +<p>“Zachariah, I heard Mr. Bradshaw as well as yourself; I +am a member of the church just as much as you are, and I +don’t think it becoming of you to preach to me as if you +were a minister.” Her voice rose and became shriller +as she went on. “I will not stand it. Who are +you that you should talk to me so?—bad enough to bring me +down here to die, without treating me as if I were an unconverted +character. Oh! if I had but a home to go to!” and she +covered her face with her apron and became hysterical.</p> +<p>What a revelation! By this time he had looked often into +the soul of the woman whom he had chosen—the woman with +whom he was to be for ever in this world—and had discovered +that there was nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing which +answered anything in himself with a smile of recognition; but he +now looked again, and found something worse than emptiness. +He found lurking in the obscure darkness a reptile with cruel +fangs which at any moment might turn upon him when he was at his +weakest and least able to defend himself. He had that in +him by nature which would have prompted him to desperate +deeds. He could have flung himself from her with a curse, +or even have killed himself in order to escape from his +difficulty. But whatever there was in him originally had +been changed. Upon the wild stem had been grafted a nobler +slip, which drew all its sap from the old root, but had civilised +and sweetened its acrid juices. He leaned over his wife, +caressed her, gave her water, and restored her.</p> +<p>“God knows,” he said, “I did not mean to +preach to you. God in heaven knows I need that somebody +should preach to me.” He knelt down before her as she +remained leaning back in the chair, and he repeated the +Lord’s Prayer: “<i>Give us this day our daily +bread</i>. <i>Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them +that trespass against us</i>.” But will it be +believed that as he rose from his knees, before he had actually +straightened his limbs, two lines from the +“<i>Corsair</i>” flashed into his mind, not +particularly apposite, but there they were:</p> +<blockquote><p>“She rose—she sprung—she clung +to his embrace<br /> +Till his heart heaved beneath her hidden face?”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Whence had they descended? He was troubled at their +sudden intrusion, and he went silently to the window, moodily +gazing into the street. His wife, left to herself, +recovered, and prepared supper. There was no +reconciliation, at least on her side. She was not capable +of reconciliation. Her temper exhausted itself +gradually. With her the storm never broke up nobly and with +magnificent forgetfulness into clear spaces of azure, with the +singing of birds and with hot sunshine turning into diamonds +every remaining drop of the deluge which had threatened ruin; the +change was always rather to a uniformly obscured sky and a cold +drizzle which lasted all day.</p> +<p>The next morning he renewed his quest. He was away all +day long, but he had no success. He was now getting very +anxious. He was expecting his furniture, which he had +directed to be sent to the inn where they had first stayed, and +he would have to pay for the carriage. His landlord had +insisted on a week’s rent beforehand, so that, putting +aside the sum for the carrier, he had now two pounds left. +He thought of appealing to his friends; but he had a great horror +of asking for charity, and could not bring himself to do it.</p> +<p>The third, fourth, and fifth day passed, with no result. +On the seventh day he found that his goods had come; but he +decided not to move, as it meant expense. He took away a +chest of clothes, and remained where he was. By way of +recoil from the older doctrine that suffering does men good, it +has been said that it does no good. Both statements are +true, and both untrue. Many it merely brutalises. +Half the crime of the world is caused by suffering, and half its +virtues are due to happiness. Nevertheless suffering, +actual personal suffering, is the mother of innumerable +beneficial experiences, and unless we are so weak that we yield +and break, it extracts from us genuine answers to many questions +which, without it, we either do not put to ourselves, or, if they +are asked, are turned aside with traditional replies. A man +who is strong and survives can hardly pace the pavements of a +city for days searching for employment, his pocket every day +becoming lighter, without feeling in after life that he is richer +by something which all the universities in the world could not +have given him. The most dramatic of poets cannot imagine, +even afar off, what such a man feels and thinks, especially if +his temperament be nervous and foreboding. How foreign, +hard, repellent, are the streets in which he is a stranger, alone +amidst a crowd of people all intent upon their own occupation, +whilst he has none! At noon, when business is at its +height, he, with nothing to do, sits down on a seat in an open +place, or, may be, on the doorstep of an empty house, unties the +little parcel he has brought with him, and eats his dry +bread. He casts up in his mind the shops he has visited; he +reflects that he has taken all the more promising first, and that +not more than two or three are left. He thinks of the vast +waste of the city all round him; its miles of houses; and he has +a more vivid sense of abandonment than if he were on a plank in +the middle of the Atlantic. Towards the end of the +afternoon the pressure in the offices and banks increases; the +clerks hurry hither and thither; he has no share whatever in the +excitement; he is an intrusion. He lingers about aimlessly, +and presently the great tide turns outwards and flows towards the +suburbs. Every vehicle which passes him is crowded with +happy folk who have earned their living and are going home. +He has earned nothing. Let anybody who wants to test the +strength of the stalk of carle hemp in him try it by the wringing +strain of a day thus spent! How humiliating are the +repulses he encounters! Most employers to whom a request is +made for something to do prefer to treat it as a petition for +aims, and answer accordingly. They understand what is +wanted before a word is spoken, and bawl out “No! +Shut the door after you.” One man to whom Zachariah +applied was opening his letters. For a moment he did not +pay the slightest attention, but as Zachariah continued waiting, +he shouted with an oath, “What do you stand staring there +for? Be off!” There was once a time when +Zachariah would have stood up against the wretch; but he could +not do it now, and he retreated in silence. Nevertheless, +when he got out into the Street he felt as if he could have +rushed back and gripped the brute’s throat till he had +squeezed the soul out of his carcass. Those of us who have +craved unsuccessfully for permission to do what the Maker of us +all has fitted us to do alone understand how revolutions are +generated. Talk about the atrocities of the +Revolution! All the atrocities of the democracy heaped +together ever since the world began would not equal, if we had +any gauge by which to measure them, the atrocities perpetrated in +a week upon the poor, simply because they are poor; and the +marvel rather is, not that there is every now and then a +September massacre at which all the world shrieks, but that such +horrors are so infrequent. Again, I say, let no man judge +communist or anarchist <i>till he has asked for leave to +work</i>, and a “Damn your eyes!” has rung in his +ears.</p> +<p>Zachariah had some self-respect; he was cared for by God, and +in God’s Book was a registered decree concerning him. +These men treated him as if he were not a person, an individual +soul, but as an atom of a mass to be swept out anywhere, into the +gutter—into the river. He was staggered for a +time. Hundreds and thousands of human beings swarmed past +him, and he could not help saying to himself as he looked up to +the grey sky, “Is it true, then? Does God really know +anything about me? Are we not born by the million every +week, like spawn, and crushed out of existence like spawn? +Is not humanity the commonest and cheapest thing in the +world?” But as yet his faith was unshaken, and he +repelled the doubt as a temptation of Satan. Blessed is the +man who can assign promptly everything which is not in harmony +with himself to a devil, and so get rid of it. The pitiful +case is that of the distracted mortal who knows not what is the +degree of authority which his thoughts and impulses possess; who +is constantly bewildered by contrary messages, and has no +evidence as to their authenticity. Zachariah had his rule +still; the suggestion in the street was tried by it; found to be +false; was labelled accordingly, and he was relieved.</p> +<p>The dread of the real, obvious danger was not so horrible as a +vague, shapeless fear which haunted him. It was a coward +enemy, for it seized him when he was most tired and most +depressed. What is that nameless terror? Is it a +momentary revelation of the infinite abyss which surrounds us; +from the sight of which we are mercifully protected by a painted +vapour, by an illusion that unspeakable darkness which we all of +us know to exist, but which we hypocritically deny, and determine +never to confess to one another? Here again, however, +Zachariah had his advantage over others. He had his +precedent. He remembered that quagmire in the immortal +Progress into which, if even a good man falls, he can find no +bottom; he remembered that gloom so profound “that +ofttimes, when he lifted up his foot to set forward, he knew not +where or upon what he should set it next;” he remembered +the flame and smoke, the sparks and hideous noises, the things +that cared not for Christian’s sword, so that he was forced +to betake himself to another weapon called All-prayer; he +remembered how that Christian “<i>was so confounded that he +did not know his own voice</i>;” he remembered the voice of +a man as going before, saying, “<i>Though I walk through +the valley of the shadow of death I will fear none ill</i>, +<i>for Thou art with me</i>.” Lastly, he remembered +that by-and-by the day broke, and Christian cried, “<i>He +hath turned the shadow of death into the +morning</i>.” He remembered all this; he could +connect his trouble with the trouble of others; he could give it +a place in the dispensation of things, and could therefore lift +himself above it.</p> +<p>He had now been in Manchester a fortnight, and his little +store had dwindled down to five shillings. It was Saturday +night. On the Sunday, as his last chance, he meant to write +to Mr. Bradshaw. He went out on the Sunday morning, and had +persuaded his wife to accompany him. They entered the first +place of worship they saw. It was a Methodist chapel, and +the preacher was Arminian in the extreme. It was the first +time Zachariah had ever been present at a Methodist +service. The congregation sang with much fervour, and +during the prayer, which was very long, they broke in upon it +with ejaculations of their own, such as “Hear him, O +Lord!”—“Lord have mercy on us!”</p> +<p>The preacher spoke a broad Lancashire dialect, and was very +dramatic. He pictured God’s efforts to save a +soul. Under the pulpit ledge was the imaginary bottomless +pit of this world—not of the next. He leaned over and +pretended to be drawing the soul up with a cord. “He +comes, he comes!” he cried; “God be praised he is +safe!” and he landed him on the Bible. The +congregation gave a great groan of relief. “There he +is on the Rock of Ages! No, no, he slips; the Devil has +him!” The preacher tried to rescue him: “He is +gone—gone!” and he bent over the pulpit in +agony. The people almost shrieked. +“Gone—gone!” he said again with most moving +pathos, and was still for a moment. Then gathering himself +up, he solemnly repeated the terrible verses: “<i>For it is +impossible for those who were once enlightened</i>, <i>and have +tasted of the heavenly gift</i>, <i>and were made partakers of +the Holy Ghost</i>, <i>and have tasted the good word of God</i>, +<i>and the powers of the world to come</i>, <i>if they shall fall +away</i>, <i>to renew them again unto repentance</i>; <i>seeing +they crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh</i>, <i>and put +Him to an open shame</i>.” Zachariah knew that text +well. Round it had raged the polemics of ages. Mr. +Bradshaw had never referred to it but once, and all the elder +members of his congregation were eager in the extreme to hear +what he had to say about it. He boldly declared that it had +nothing to do with the elect. He was compelled to do +so. Following his master Calvin, he made it apply to +outsiders. The elect, says Calvin, are beyond the risk of +fatal fall. But “I deny,” he goes on to say, +that “there is any reason why God may not bestow even on +the reprobate a taste of His favour; may irradiate their minds +with some scintillations of His light; may touch them with some +sense of His goodness; may somehow engrave His word on their +minds.” Horrible, most horrible, we scream, that the +Almighty should thus play with those whom He means to destroy; +but let us once more remember that these men did not idly believe +in such cruelty. They were forced into their belief by the +demands of their understanding, and their assent was more +meritorious than the weak protests of so-called +enlightenment. Zachariah, pondering absently on what he had +heard, was passing out of the chapel when a hand was gently laid +on his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Ah, friend, what are you doing here?”</p> +<p>He turned round and recognised William Ogden, who had been +sent by the Hampden Club in Manchester some six months before as +a delegate to the Friends of the People in London. The two +walked some distance together, and Zachariah gave him the history +of the last three weeks. With the murder he was, of course, +acquainted. Ogden was a letterpress printer, and when he +heard that Zachariah was in such straits, he said that he thought +he might perhaps find him a job for the present, and told him to +come to his office on the following morning. +Zachariah’s heart rejoiced that his bread would not fail, +but he characteristically rejoiced even more at this signal proof +that his trust in his God was justified. When he reached +home he proposed to his wife that they should at once kneel down +and thank God for His mercy.</p> +<p>“Of course, Zachariah; but you are not yet sure you will +get anything. I will take off my things +directly.”</p> +<p>“Need you wait to take off your things, my +dear?”</p> +<p>“Really, Zachariah, you do make such strange remarks +sometimes. I need not wait; but I am sure it will be more +becoming, and it will give you an opportunity to think over what +you are going to say.”</p> +<p>Accordingly Mrs. Coleman retired for about five minutes. +On her return she observed that it was the time for regular +family prayer, and she produced the Bible. Zachariah had +indeed had the opportunity to think, and he had thought very +rapidly. The mere opening of the sacred Book, however, +always acted as a spell, and when its heavy lids fell down on +either side the room cleared itself of all haunting, intrusive +evil spirits. He read the seventeenth chapter of Exodus, +the story of the water brought out of the rock; and he thanked +the Almighty with great earnestness for the favour shown him, +never once expressing a doubt that he would not be +successful. He was not mistaken, for Ogden had a place for +him, just as good and just as permanent as the one he had left in +London.</p> +<h2><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +97</span>CHAPTER X<br /> +<span class="smcap">Disintegration by Degrees</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> must now advance a little more +rapidly. It was in the beginning of 1815 that Zachariah +found himself settled in Manchester. That eventful year +passed without any external change, so far as he was +concerned. He became a member of the Hampden Club, to which +Ogden and Bamford belonged; but he heard nothing of Maitland nor +of Caillaud. He had a letter now and then from Mr. Bradshaw +and it was a sore trial to him that nobody could be found in +Manchester to take the place of that worthy man of God. He +could not attach himself definitely to any church in the town, +and the habit grew upon him of wandering into this or the other +chapel as his fancy led him. His comrades often met on +Sunday evenings. At first he would not go; but he was +afterwards persuaded to do so. The reasons which induced +him to alter his mind were, in the first place, the piety, +methodistic most of it, which was then mixed up with politics; +and secondly, a growing fierceness of temper, which made the +cause of the people a religion. From 1816 downwards it may +be questioned whether he would not have felt himself more akin +with any of his democratic friends, who were really in earnest +over the great struggle, than with a sleek half Tory professor of +the gospel, however orthodox he might have been. In 1816 +the situation of the working classes had become almost +intolerable. Towards the end of the year wheat rose to a +quarter, and incendiarism was common all over England. A +sense of insecurity and terror took possession of +everybody. Secret outrages, especially fires by night, +chill the courage of the bravest, as those know well enough who +have lived in an agricultural county, when, just before going to +bed, great lights are seen on the horizon; when men and women +collect on bridges or on hill tops, asking “Where is +it?” and when fire-engines tearing through the streets +arrive useless at their journey’s end because the hose has +been cut. One evening in November 1816, Zachariah was +walking home to his lodgings. A special meeting of the club +had been called for the following Sunday to consider a proposal +made for a march of the unemployed upon London. Three +persons passed him—two men and a woman—who turned +round and looked at him and then went on. He did not +recognise them, but he noticed that they stopped opposite a +window, and as he came up they looked at him again. He +could not be mistaken; they were the Major, Caillaud, and his +daughter. The most joyous recognition followed, and +Zachariah insisted on their going home with him. It often +happens that we become increasingly intimate with one another +even when we are shut out from all intercourse. Zachariah +had not seen the Major nor Caillaud nor Pauline for two years, +and not a single thought had been interchanged. +Nevertheless he was much nearer and dearer to them than he was +before. He had unconsciously moved on a line rapidly +sweeping round into parallelism with theirs. The +relationship between himself and his wife during those two years +had become, not openly hostile, it is true, but it was +neutral. Long ago he had given up the habit of talking to +her about politics, the thing which lay nearest to his heart just +then. The pumping effort of bringing out a single sentence +in her presence on any abstract topic was incredible, and so he +learned at last to come home, though his heart and mind were full +to bursting, and say nothing more to her than that he had seen +her friend Mrs. Sykes, or bought his tea at a different +shop. On the other hand, the revolutionary literature of +the time, and more particularly Byron, increasingly interested +him. The very wildness and remoteness of Byron’s +romance was just what suited him. It is all very well for +the happy and well-to-do to talk scornfully of poetic +sentimentality. Those to whom a natural outlet for their +affection is denied know better. They instinctively turn to +books which are the farthest removed from commonplace and are in +a sense unreal. Not to the prosperous man, a dweller in +beautiful scenery, well married to an intelligent wife, is Byron +precious, but to the poor wretch, say some City clerk, with an +aspiration beyond his desk, who has two rooms in Camberwell and +who before he knew what he was doing made a +marriage—well—which was a mistake, but who is able to +turn to that island in the summer sea, where dwells Kaled, his +mistress—Kaled, the Dark Page disguised as a man, who +watches her beloved dying:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Who nothing fears, nor feels, nor heeds, +nor sees,<br /> +Save that damp brow which rests upon his knees;<br /> +Save that pale aspect, where the eye, though dim,<br /> +Held all the light that shone on earth for him.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When they came indoors, and Mrs. Zachariah heard on the stairs +the tramp of other feet besides those of her husband, she +prepared herself to be put out of temper. Not that she +could ever be really surprised. She was not one of those +persons who keep a house orderly for the sake of +appearances. She would have been just the same if she had +been living alone, shipwrecked on a solitary island in the +Pacific. She was the born natural enemy of dirt, dust, +untidiness, and of every kind of irregularity, as the cat is the +born natural enemy of the mouse. The sight of dirt, in +fact, gave her a quiet kind of delight, because she foresaw the +pleasure of annihilating it. Irregularity was just as +hateful to her. She could not sit still if one ornament on +the mantelpiece looked one way and the other another way, and she +would have risen from her deathbed, if she could have done so, to +put a chair straight. She was not, therefore, aggrieved in +expectancy because she was not fit to be seen. It was +rather because she resented any interruption of domestic order of +which she had not been previously forewarned. As it +happened, however the Major came first, and striding into the +room, he shook her hand with considerable fervour and kissed it +gallantly. Her gathering ill-temper disappeared with the +promptitude of a flash. It was a muddy night; the Major had +not carefully wiped his boots, and the footmarks were all over +the floor. She saw them, but they were nothing.</p> +<p>“My dear Mrs. Coleman, how are you? What a +blessing to be here again in your comfortable +quarters.”</p> +<p>“Really, Major Maitland, it is very good of you to say +so. I am very glad to see you again. Where have you +been? I thought we had lost you for ever.”</p> +<p>Caillaud and his daughter had followed. They bowed to +her formally, and she begged them to be seated.</p> +<p>“Then, my dear madam,” continued the Major, +laughing, “you must have thought me dead. You might +have known that if I had not been dead I must have come +back.”</p> +<p>She coloured just a trifle, but made no reply further than to +invite all the company to have supper.</p> +<p>Zachariah was somewhat surprised. He did not know what +sort of a supper it could be; but he was silent. She asked +Pauline to take off her bonnet, and then proceeded to lay the +cloth. For five minutes, or perhaps ten minutes, she +disappeared, and then there came, not only bread and cheese, but +cold ham, a plentiful supply of beer, and, more wonderful still, +a small cold beefsteak pie. Everything was produced as +easily as if it had been the ordinary fare, and Zachariah was +astonished at his wife’s equality to the emergency. +Whence she obtained the ham and beefsteak pie he could not +conjecture. She apologised for having nothing hot; would +have had something better if she had known, etc., etc., and then +sat down at the head of the table. The Major sat on her +right, Pauline next to him, and opposite to Pauline, Caillaud and +Zachariah. Their hostess immediately began to ask questions +about the events of that fatal night when they all left +London.</p> +<p>The Major, however, interposed, and said that it would perhaps +be better if nothing was said upon that subject.</p> +<p>“A dismal topic,” he observed; “talking +about it can do no good, and I for one don’t want to be +upset by thinking about it just before I go to bed.”</p> +<p>“At least,” said Zachariah, “you can tell us +why you are in Manchester?”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” replied the Major. “In +the first place, Paris is not quite so pleasant as it used to be; +London, too, is not attractive; and we thought that, on the +whole, Manchester was to be preferred. Moreover, a good +deal will have to be done during the next twelvemonth, and +Manchester will do it. You will hear all about it when your +club meets next time.”</p> +<p>“You’ve been in Paris?” said Mrs. +Zachariah. “Isn’t it very wicked?”</p> +<p>“Well, that depends on what you call wicked.”</p> +<p>“Surely there cannot be two opinions on that +point.”</p> +<p>“It does seem so; and yet when you live abroad you find +that things which are made a great deal of here are not thought +so much of there; and, what is very curious, they think other +things very wrong there of which we take no account +here.”</p> +<p>“Is that because they are not Christians?”</p> +<p>“Oh dear no; I am speaking of good Christian people; at +least so I take them to be. And really, when you come to +consider it, we all of us make a great fuss about our own little +bit of virtue, and undervalue the rest—I cannot tell upon +whose authority.”</p> +<p>“But are they not, Major, dreadfully immoral in +France?”</p> +<p>Pauline leaned over her plate and looked Mrs. Coleman straight +in the face.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Coleman, you are English; you—”</p> +<p>Her father put up his hand; he foresaw what was coming, and +that upon this subject Pauline would have defied all the rules of +hospitality. So he replied calmly, but with the calm of +suppressed force:</p> +<p>“Mrs. Coleman, as my daughter says, you are English; you +are excusable. I will not dispute with you, but I will tell +you a little story.”</p> +<p>“Will you not take some more beer, Mr. Caillaud, before +you begin?”</p> +<p>“No, thank you, madam, I have finished.”</p> +<p>Caillaud pushed away his plate, on which three parts of what +was given him, including all the ham, remained untouched, and +began—his Gallicisms and broken English have been corrected +in the version now before the reader:</p> +<p>“In 1790 a young man named Dupin was living in Paris, in +the house of his father, who was a banker there. The Dupins +were rich, and the son kept a mistress, a girl named +Victorine. Dupin the younger had developed into one of the +worst of men. He was strictly correct in all his dealings, +sober, guilty of none of the riotous excesses which often +distinguish youth at that age, and most attentive to business; +but he was utterly self-regarding, hard, and emotionless. +What could have induced Victorine to love him I do not know; but +love him she did, and her love instead of being a folly, was her +glory. If love were always to be in proportion to desert, +measured out in strictest and justest huckstering conformity +therewith, what a poor thing it would be! The love at least +of a woman is as the love of the Supreme Himself, and just as +magnificent. Victorine was faithful to Dupin; and poor and +handsome as she was, never wronged him by a loose look. +Well, Dupin’s father said his son must marry, and the son +saw how reasonable and how necessary the proposal was. He +did marry, and he cut himself adrift from Victorine without the +least compunction, allowing her a small sum weekly, insufficient +to keep her. There was no scene when they parted, for his +determination was communicated to her by letter. Three +months afterwards she had a child of whom he was the +father. Did she quietly take the money and say +nothing? Did she tear up the letter in a frenzy and return +him the fragments? She did neither. She wrote to him +and told him that she would not touch his gold. She would +never forget him, but she could not be beholden to him now for a +crust of bread. She had done no wrong hitherto—so she +said, Mrs. Coleman; I only repeat her words—they are not +mine. But to live on him after he had left her would be a +mortal crime. So they separated, a victim she—both +victims, I may say—to this cursed thing we call +Society. One of the conditions on which the money was to +have been given was, that she should never again recognise him in +any way whatever. This half of the bargain she faithfully +observed. For some months she was alone, trying to keep +herself and her child, but at last she was taken up by a working +stone-mason named Legouvé. In 1793 came the Terror, +and the Dupins were denounced and thrown into the +Luxembourg. Legouvé was one of the Committee of +Public Safety. It came to the recollection of the younger +Dupin as he lay expecting death that he had heard that the girl +Victorine had gone to live with Legouvé, and a ray of +light dawned on him in his dungeon. He commissioned his +wife to call on Victorine and implore her to help them. She +did so. Ah, that was a wonderful sight—so like the +Revolution! Madame Dupin, in her silks and satins, had +often passed the ragged Victorine in the streets, and, of course, +had never taken the slightest notice of her. Now Madame was +kneeling to her! Respectability was in the dust before that +which was not by any means respectable; the legitimate before the +illegitimate! Oh, it was, I say, a wonderful sight in +Victorine’s wretched garret! She was touched with +pity, and, furthermore, the memory of her old days with Dupin and +her love for him revived. Legouvé was frightfully +jealous, and she knew that if she pleaded Dupin’s cause +before him she would make matters worse. A sudden thought +struck her. She went to Couthon and demanded an +audience.</p> +<p>“‘Couthon,’ she said, ‘are the Dupins +to die?’</p> +<p>“‘Yes, to-morrow.’</p> +<p>“‘Dupin the younger is the father of my +child.’</p> +<p>“‘And he has deserted you, and you hate him. +He shall die.’</p> +<p>“‘Pardon me, I do not hate him.’</p> +<p>“‘Ah, you love him still; but that is no reason +why he should be spared, my pretty one. We must do our +duty. They are plotters against the Republic, and must +go.’</p> +<p>“‘Couthon, they must live. Consider; shall +that man ascend the scaffold with the thought in his heart that I +could have rescued him, and that I did not; that I have had my +revenge? Besides, what will be said?—that the +Republic uses justice to satisfy private vengeance. All the +women in my quarter know who I am.’</p> +<p>“‘That is a fancy.’</p> +<p>“‘Fancy! Is it a fancy to murder +Dupin’s wife—murder all that is good in +her—murder the belief in her for ever that there is such a +thing as generosity? You do not wish to kill the +soul? That is the way with tyrants, but not with the +Republic.’</p> +<p>“Thus Victorine strove with Couthon, and he at last +yielded. Dupin and his father were released that night, and +before daybreak they were all out of Paris and safe. In the +morning Legouvé found that they were liberated, and on +asking Couthon the reason, was answered with a smile that they +had an eloquent advocate. Victorine had warned Couthon not +to mention her name, and he kept his promise; but Legouvé +conjectured but too truly. He went home, and in a furious +rage taxed Victorine with infidelity to him, in favour of the man +who had abandoned her. He would not listen to her, and +thrust her from him with curses. I say nothing more about +her history. I will only say this, that Pauline is that +child who was born to her after Dupin left her. I say it +because I am so proud that Pauline has had such a +mother!”</p> +<p>“Pauline her daughter!” said Zachariah. +“I thought she was your daughter.”</p> +<p>“She is my daughter: I became her father.”</p> +<p>Everybody was silent.</p> +<p>“Ah, you say nothing,” said Caillaud; “I am +not surprised. You are astonished. Well may you be so +that such a creature should ever have lived. What would +Jesus Christ have said to her?”</p> +<p>The company soon afterwards rose to go.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Mrs. Coleman,” said the Major in his +careless way; “I am glad to find Manchester does not +disagree with you. At least, I should think it does +not.”</p> +<p>“Oh no, Major Maitland, I like it quite as well as +London. Mind, you promise to come again +<i>soon</i>—very soon.”</p> +<p>The Major had gone downstairs first. She had followed +him to the first landing, and then returned to bid Pauline and +Caillaud good-bye. She stood like a statue while Pauline +put on her hat.</p> +<p>“Good-night, madam,” said Caillaud, slightly +bowing.</p> +<p>“Good-night, madam,” said Pauline, not bowing in +the least.</p> +<p>“Good-night,” she replied, without relaxing her +rigidity.</p> +<p>As soon as they were in the street Pauline said, +“Father, I abhor that woman. If she lives she will +kill her husband.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Coleman, on the other hand, at the same moment said, +“Zachariah, Pauline and Caillaud cannot come to this house +again.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Why not, Zachariah? I am astonished at you! +The child of a woman who lived in open sin!”</p> +<p>He made no reply. Years ago not a doubt would have +crossed his mind. That a member of Mr. Bradshaw’s +church could receive such people as Caillaud and Pauline would +have seemed impossible. Nevertheless, neither Caillaud nor +Pauline were now repugnant to him; nor did he feel that any +soundless gulf separated them from him, although, so far as he +knew his opinions had undergone no change.</p> +<p>Mrs. Coleman forbore to pursue the subject, for her thoughts +went off upon another theme, and she was inwardly wondering +whether the Major would ever invite her to the theatre +again. Just as she was going to sleep, the figure of the +Major hovering before her eyes, she suddenly bethought herself +that Pauline, if not handsome, was attractive. She started, +and lay awake for an hour. When she rose in the morning the +same thought again presented itself, to dwell with her hence +forwards, and to gnaw her continually like vitriol.</p> +<h2><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>CHAPTER XI<br /> +<span class="smcap">Politics and Pauline</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Soon</span> after this visit debates arose +in Zachariah’s club which afterwards ended in the famous +march of the Blanketeers, as they were called. Matters were +becoming very serious, and the Government was thoroughly alarmed, +as well it might be, at the discontent which was manifest all +over the country. The Prince Regent was insulted as he went +to open Parliament, and the windows of his carriage were +broken. It was thought, and with some reason, that the army +could not be trusted. One thing is certain, that the +reformers found their way into the barracks at Knightsbridge and +had lunch there at the expense of the soldiers, who discussed +Hone’s pamphlets and roared with laughter over the +<i>Political Litany</i>. The Prince Regent communicated to +both Houses certain papers, and recommended that they should at +once be taken into consideration. They contained evidence, +so the royal message asserted, of treasonable combinations +“to alienate the affections of His Majesty’s subjects +from His Majesty’s person and Government,” +&c. Secret committees were appointed to consider them +both by Lords and Commons, and in about a fortnight they made +their reports. The text was the Spitalfields meeting of the +preceding 2nd of December. A mob had made it an excuse to +march through the city and plunder some shops. Some of the +charges brought against the clubs by the Lords’ Committee +do not now seem so very appalling. One was, that they were +agitating for universal suffrage and annual +Parliaments—“projects,” say the Committee, +“which evidently involve, not any qualified or partial +change but a total subversion of the British +constitution.” Another charge was the advocacy of +“parochial partnership in land, on the principle that the +landholders are not proprietors in chief; that they are but +stewards of the public; that the land is the people’s farm; +that landed monopoly is contrary to the spirit of Christianity +and destructive of the independence and morality of +mankind.” The Reform party in Parliament endeavoured +to prove that the country was in no real danger, and that the +singularly harsh measures proposed were altogether +unnecessary. That was true. There was nothing to be +feared, because there was no organisation; but nevertheless, +especially in the manufacturing towns, the suffering was fearful +and the hatred of the Government most bitter. What is so +lamentable in the history of those times is the undisciplined +wildness and feebleness of the attempts made by the people to +better themselves. Nothing is more saddening than the +spectacle of a huge mass of humanity goaded, writhing, starving, +and yet so ignorant that it cannot choose capable leaders, cannot +obey them if perchance it gets them, and does not even know how +to name its wrongs. The governing classes are apt to +mistake the absurdity of the manner in which a popular demand +expresses itself for absurdity of the demand itself; but in truth +the absurdity of the expression makes the demand more noteworthy +and terrible. Bamford, when he came to London in the +beginning of 1817, records the impression which the clubs made +upon him. He went to several and found them all alike; +“each man with his porter-pot before him and a pipe in his +mouth; many speaking at once, more talkers than thinkers; more +speakers than listeners. Presently ‘Order’ +would be called, and comparative silence would ensue; a speaker, +stranger or citizen, would be announced with much courtesy and +compliment. ‘Hear, hear, hear’ would follow, +with clapping of hands and knocking of knuckles on the tables, +till the half-pints danced; then a speech, with compliments to +some brother orator or popular statesman; next a resolution in +favour of Parliamentary Reform, and a speech to second it; an +amendment on some minor point would follow; a seconding of that; +a breach of order by some individual of warm temperament; half a +dozen would rise to set him right; a dozen to put them down; and +the vociferation and gesticulation would become loud and +confounding.”</p> +<p>The Manchester clubs had set their hearts upon an expedition +to London—thousands strong; each man with a blanket to +protect him and a petition in his hand. The discussion on +this project was long and eager. The Major, Caillaud and +Zachariah steadfastly opposed it; not because of its hardihood, +but because of its folly. They were outvoted; but they +conceived themselves loyally bound to make it a success. +Zachariah and Caillaud were not of much use in organisation, and +the whole burden fell upon the Major. Externally gay, and +to most persons justifying the charge of frivolity, he was really +nothing of the kind when he had once settled down to the work he +was born to do. His levity was the mere idle sport of a +mind unattached and seeking its own proper object. He was +like a cat, which will play with a ball or its own tail in the +sunshine, but if a mouse or a bird crosses its path will fasten +on it with sudden ferocity. He wrought like a slave during +the two months before the eventful 10th March 1817, and well nigh +broke his heart over the business. Everything had to be +done subterraneously; for though the Habeas Corpus Act was not +yet suspended, preparations for what looked like war were +perilous. But this was not the greatest difficulty. +He pleaded for dictatorial powers, and at once found he had made +himself suspected thereby. He was told bluntly that working +men did not mean to exchange one despot for another, and that +they were just as good as he was. Any other man would have +thrown up his commission in disgust, but not so Major +Maitland. He persevered unflaggingly, although a +sub-committee had been appointed to act with him and check his +proceedings. The secretary of this very sub-committee, who +was also treasurer, was one of the causes of the failure of the +enterprise, for when the march began neither he nor the funds +with which he had been entrusted could be found. After the +club meetings in the evening there was often an adjournment to +Caillaud’s lodgings, where the Major, Zachariah, Caillaud, +and Pauline sat up till close upon midnight. One evening +there was an informal conference of this kind prior to the club +meeting on the following night. The Major was not present, +for he was engaged in making some arrangements for the +commissariat on the march. He had always insisted on it +that they were indispensable, and he had been bitterly opposed +the week before by some of his brethren, who were in favour of +extempore foraging which looked very much like plunder. He +carried his point, notwithstanding some sarcastic abuse and +insinuations of half-heartedness, which had touched also Caillaud +and Zachariah, who supported him. Zachariah was much +depressed.</p> +<p>“Mr. Coleman, you are dull,” said Pauline. +“What is the matter?”</p> +<p>“Dull!—that’s not exactly the word. I +was thinking of to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“Ah! I thought so. Well?”</p> +<p>Zachariah hesitated a little. “Is it worth all the +trouble?” at last he said, an old familiar doubt recurring +to him—“Is it worth all the trouble to save +them? What are they?—and, after all, what can we do +for them? Suppose we succeed, and a hundred thousand +creatures like those who blackguarded us last week get votes, and +get their taxes reduced, and get all they want, what +then?”</p> +<p>Pauline broke in with all the eagerness of a woman who is +struck with an idea—“Stop, stop, Mr. Coleman. +Here is the mistake you make. Grant it all—grant your +achievement is ridiculously small—is it not worth the +sacrifice of two or three like you and me to accomplish it? +That is our error. We think ourselves of such mighty +importance. The question is, whether we are of such +importance, and whether the progress of the world one inch will +not be cheaply purchased by the annihilation of a score of +us. You believe in what you call salvation. You would +struggle and die to save a soul; but in reality you can never +save a man; you must be content to struggle and die to save a +little bit of him—to prevent one habit from descending to +his children. You won’t save him wholly, but you may +arrest the propagation of an evil trick, and so improve a +trifle—just a trifle—whole generations to come. +Besides, I don’t believe what you will do is nothing. +‘Give a hundred thousand blackguard creatures +votes’—well, that is something. You are +disappointed they do not at once become converted and all go to +chapel. That is not the way of the Supreme. Your +hundred thousand get votes, and perhaps are none the better, and +die as they were before they had votes. But the Supreme has +a million, or millions, of years before Him.”</p> +<p>Zachariah was silent. Fond of dialectic, he generally +strove to present the other side; but he felt no disposition to +do so now, and he tried rather to connect what she had said with +something which he already believed.</p> +<p>“True,” he said at last; “true, or true in +part. What are we?—what are we?” and so +Pauline’s philosophy seemed to reconcile itself with one of +his favourite dogmas, but it had not quite the same meaning which +it had for him ten years ago.</p> +<p>“Besides,” said Caillaud, “we hate Liverpool +and all his crew. When I think of that speech at the +opening of Parliament I become violent. There it is; I have +stuck it up over the mantelpiece:</p> +<blockquote><p>“<i>Deeply as I lament the pressure of these +evils upon the country</i>, <i>I am sensible that they are of a +nature not to admit of an immediate remedy</i>. <i>But +whilst I observe with peculiar satisfaction the fortitude with +which so many privations have been borne</i>, <i>and the active +benevolence which has been employed to mitigate them</i>, <i>I am +persuaded that the great sources of our national prosperity are +essentially unimpaired</i>; <i>and I entertain a confident +expectation that the native energy of the country will at no +distant period surmount all the difficulties in which we are +involved</i>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“My God,” continued Caillaud, “I could drive +a knife into the heart of the man who thus talks!”</p> +<p>“No murder, Caillaud,” said Zachariah.</p> +<p>“Well, no. What is it but a word? Let us say +sacrifice. Do you call the death of your Charles a +murder? No; and the reason why you do not is what? +Not that it was decreed by a Court. There have been many +murders decreed by Courts according to law. Was not the +death of your Jesus Christ a murder? Murder means death for +base, selfish ends. What said Jesus—that He came to +send a sword? Of course He did. Every idea is a +sword. What a God He was! He was the first who ever +cared for the people—for the real people, the poor, the +ignorant, the fools, the weak-minded, the slaves. The +Greeks and Romans thought nothing of these. I salute thee, +O Thou Son of the People!” and Caillaud took down a little +crucifix which, strange to say, always hung in his room, and +reverently inclined himself to it. “A child of the +people,” he continued, “in everything, simple, +foolish, wise, ragged, Divine, martyred Hero.”</p> +<p>Zachariah was not astonished at this melodramatic display, for +he knew Caillaud well; and although this was a little more +theatrical than anything he had ever seen before, it was not out +of keeping with his friend’s character. Nor was it +insincere, for Caillaud was not an Englishman. Moreover, +there is often more insincerity in purposely lowering the +expression beneath the thought, and denying the thought thereby, +than in a little exaggeration. Zachariah, although he was a +Briton, had no liking for that hypocrisy which takes a pride in +reducing the extraordinary to the commonplace, and in forcing an +ignoble form upon that which is highest. The conversation +went no further. At last Caillaud said:</p> +<p>“Come, Pauline, a tune; we have not had one for a long +time.”</p> +<p>Pauline smiled, and went into her little room. Meanwhile +her father removed chairs and table, piling them one on another +so as to leave a clear space. He and Zachariah crouched +into the recess by the fireplace. Pauline entered in the +self same short black dress trimmed with red, with the red +artificial flower, wearing the same red stockings and +dancing-slippers, but without the shawl. The performance +this time was not quite what it was when Zachariah had seen it in +London. Between herself and the corner where Zachariah and +her father were seated she now had an imaginary partner, before +whom she advanced, receded, bowed, displayed herself in the most +exquisitely graceful attitudes, never once overstepping the mark, +and yet showing every limb and line to the utmost +advantage. Zachariah, as before, followed every movement +with eager—shall we say with hungry eyes? He was so +unused to exhibitions of this kind that their grace was not, as +it should have been, their only charm; for, as we before +observed, in his chapel circle even ordinary dancing was a thing +prohibited. The severity of manners to which he had been +accustomed tended to produce an effect the very opposite to that +which was designed; for it can hardly be doubted that if it were +the custom in England for women to conceal the face, a glimpse of +an eye or a nose would excite unpleasant thoughts.</p> +<p>The dance came to an end, and as it was getting late Zachariah +rose.</p> +<p>“Stop,” said Caillaud. “It is agreed +that if they persist on this march, one or the other of us goes +too. The Major will be sure to go. Which shall it be, +you or me?”</p> +<p>“We will draw lots.”</p> +<p>“Good.” And Zachariah departed, Pauline +laughingly making him one of her costume curtseys. He was +very awkward. He never knew how to conduct himself +becomingly, or with even good manners, on commonplace +occasions. When he was excited in argument he was +completely equal to the best company, and he would have held his +own on level terms at a Duke’s dinner-party, provided only +the conversation were interesting. But when he was not +intellectually excited he was lubberly. He did not know +what response to make to Pauline’s graceful adieu, and +retreated sheepishly. When he got home he found his wife +waiting for him. The supper was cleared away, and, as +usual, she was reading, or pretending to be reading, the +Bible.</p> +<p>“You have had supper, of course?” There was +a peculiar tone in the “of course,” as if she meant +to imply not merely that it was late, but that he had preferred +to have it with somebody else.</p> +<p>“I do not want any.”</p> +<p>“Then we had better have prayers.”</p> +<h2><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>CHAPTER XII<br /> +<span class="smcap">One Body and One Spirit</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Next</span> week Zachariah found it +necessary to consult with Caillaud again. The Major was to +be there. The intended meeting was announced to Mrs. +Coleman by her husband at breakfast on the day before, and he +informed her that he should probably be late, and that no supper +need be kept for him.</p> +<p>“Why do you never meet here, Zachariah? Why must +it always be at Caillaud’s?”</p> +<p>“Did you not say that they should not come to this house +again?”</p> +<p>“Yes; but I meant I did not want to see them as +friends. On business there is no reason why Caillaud should +not come.”</p> +<p>“I cannot draw the line.”</p> +<p>“Zachariah, do you mean to call unconverted infidels +your friends?”</p> +<p>They were his friends—he felt they were—and they +were dear to him; but he was hardly able as yet to confess it, +even to himself.</p> +<p>“It will not do,” he said. “Besides, +Caillaud will be sure to bring his daughter.”</p> +<p>“She will not be so bold as to come if she is not +asked. Do <i>I</i> go with you anywhere except when I am +asked?”</p> +<p>“She has always been used to go out with her father +wherever he goes. She knows all his affairs, and is very +useful to him.”</p> +<p>“So it seems. She must be <i>very</i> +useful. Well, if it must be so, and it is on business, +invite her too.”</p> +<p>“I think still it will be better at Caillaud’s; +there more room. There would be five of us.”</p> +<p>“How do you make five?”</p> +<p>“There is the Major. And why, by the way, do you +object to Caillaud and Pauline more than the Major? He is +not converted.”</p> +<p>“There is plenty of room here. I didn’t say +I didn’t object to the Major. Besides, there is a +difference between French infidels and English people, even if +they are not church members. But I see how it is. You +want to go there, and you will go. I am of no use to +you. You care nothing for me. You can talk to such +dreadful creatures as Caillaud and that woman who lives with him, +and you never talk to me. Oh, I wish Mr. Bradshaw were +here, or I were back again at home! What would Mr. Bradshaw +say?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Coleman covered her face in her hands. Zachariah +felt no pity. His anger was roused. He was able to +say hard things at times, and there was even a touch of brutality +in him.</p> +<p>“Whose fault is it that I do not talk to you? When +did I ever get any help from you? What do you understand +about what concerns me, and when have you ever tried to +understand anything? Your home is no home to me. My +life is blasted, and it might have been different. The +meeting shall not be here, and I will do as I please.”</p> +<p>He went out of the room in a rage, and downstairs into the +street, going straight to his work. It is a terrible moment +when the first bitter quarrel takes place, and when hatred, even +if it be hatred for the moment only first finds expression. +That moment can never be recalled! Is it ever really +forgotten, or really forgiven? Some of us can call to mind +a word, just one word, spoken, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years +ago, which rings in our ears even to-day as distinctly as when it +was uttered, and forces the blood into the head as it did +then. When Zachariah returned that night he and his wife +spoke to each other as if nothing had happened, but they spoke +only about indifferent things. The next day Mrs. Coleman +wondered whether, after all, he would repent; but the evening +came and she waited and waited in vain. The poor woman for +hours and hours had thought one thought and one thought only, +until at last she could bear it no longer. At about eight +o’clock she rose, put on her cloak, and went out of +doors. She made straight for Caillaud’s house. +It was cold, and the sky was clear at intervals, with masses of +clouds sweeping over the nearly full moon. What she was to +do when she got to Caillaud’s had not entered her +head. She came to the door and stopped. It had just +begun to rain heavily. The sitting-room was on the +ground-floor, abutting on the pavement. The blind was drawn +down, but not closely, and she could see inside. Caillaud, +Pauline, and Zachariah were there, but not the Major. +Caillaud was sitting by the fireside; her husband and Pauline +were talking earnestly across the table. Apparently both of +them were much interested, and his face was lighted up as she +never saw it when he was with her. She was fascinated, and +could not move. It was a dull lonely street and nobody was +to be seen that wet night. She had no protection from the +weather but her cloak, and in ten minutes, as the rain came down +more heavily, she was wet through and shivering from head to +foot—she who was usually so careful, so precise, so +singularly averse from anything like disorder. Still she +watched—watched every movement of those two—every +smile, every gesture; and when Caillaud went out of the room, +perhaps to fetch something, she watched with increasing and +self-forgetting intensity. She had not heard footsteps +approaching. The wind had risen; the storm was ever fiercer +and fiercer, and the feverish energy which poured itself into her +eyes had drained and deadened every other sense.</p> +<p>“Well, my good woman, what do you want?”</p> +<p>She turned with a start, and it was the Major!</p> +<p>“Mrs. Coleman! Good God! what are you doing +here? You are soaked. Why don’t you come +in?”</p> +<p>“Oh no, Major Maitland indeed I cannot. I—I +had been out, and I had just stopped a moment. I +didn’t know it was going to rain.”</p> +<p>“But I say you are dripping. Come in and see your +husband; he will go with you.”</p> +<p>“Oh no, Major, please don’t; please don’t +mention it to him; oh no, please don’t; he would be very +vexed. I shall be all right; I will go on at once and dry +myself.”</p> +<p>“You cannot go alone. I will see you as far as +your house. Here, take my coat and put it over your +shoulders.”</p> +<p>The Major took off a heavy cloak with capes, wrapped it round +her, drew her arm through his, and they went to her +lodgings. She forgot Zachariah, Caillaud, and +Pauline. When they arrived she returned the cloak and +thanked him. She dared not ask him upstairs and he made no +offer to stay.</p> +<p>“Please say nothing to my husband; promise you will +not. He would be in such a way if he thought I had been +out; but I could not help it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, certainly not, Mrs. Coleman, if you wish it; though +I am sure he wouldn’t, he couldn’t be angry with +you.”</p> +<p>She lingered as he took the coat.</p> +<p>“Come inside and put it on, Major Maitland; why, it is +you who are dripping now. You will not wear that over your +sopped clothes. Cannot I lend you something? +Won’t you have something hot to drink?”</p> +<p>“No, thank you. I think not; it is not so bad as +all that.”</p> +<p>He shook hands with her and had gone.</p> +<p>She went upstairs into her dark room. The fire was +out. She lighted no candle, but sat down just as she was, +put her head on the table, and sobbed as if her heart would +break. She was very seldom overcome by emotion of this +kind, and used to be proud that she had never once in her life +fainted, and was not given to hysterics. Checked at last by +a deadly shivering which came over her, she took off her wet +garments, threw them over a chair, and crept into bed, revolving +in her mind the explanation which she could give to her +husband. When she saw him, and he inquired about her +clothes, she offered some trifling excuse, which seemed very +readily to satisfy him, for he made scarcely any reply, and was +soon asleep. This time it was her turn to lie awake, and +the morning found her restless, and with every symptom of a +serious illness approaching.</p> +<h2><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +120</span>CHAPTER XIII<br /> +<span class="smcap">To the Greeks Foolishness</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Neither</span> Mrs. Coleman nor her +husband thought it anything worse than a feverish cold, and he +went to his work. It was a club night, the night on which +the final arrangements for the march were to be made, and he did +not like to be away. His wife was to lie in bed; but a +woman in the house offered to wait upon her and bring what little +food she wanted. It was settled at the club that the Major +should accompany the expedition and Zachariah and Caillaud having +drawn lots, the lot fell upon Caillaud. A last attempt was +made to dissuade the majority from the undertaking; but it had +been made before, not only by our three friends, but by other +Lancashire societies, and had failed. The only effect its +renewal had now was a disagreeable and groundless insinuation +which was unendurable. On his return from the meeting +Zachariah was alarmed. His wife was in great pain, and had +taken next to nothing all day. Late as it was, he went for +a doctor, who would give no opinion as to the nature of the +disease then, but merely ordered her some kind of sedative +mixture, which happily gave her a little sleep. Zachariah +was a working man and a poor man. Occasionally it does +happen that a working man and a poor man has nerves, and never +does his poverty appear so hateful to him as when he has sickness +in his house.</p> +<p>The mere discomforts of poverty are bad enough—the +hunger and cold of it—but worse than all is the +impossibility of being decently ill, or decently dying, or of +paying any attention to those who take it into their heads to be +ill or to die. A man tolerably well off can at least get +his wife some help when she is laid up, and when she is near her +end can remain with her to take her last kiss and blessing. +Not so the bricklayer’s labourer. If his wife is in +bed, he must depend upon charity for medicine and +attendance. And although he knows he will never see her +again, he is forced away to the job on which he is employed; for +if he does not go he will lose it, and must apply to the parish +for a funeral. Happily the poor are not slow to help one +another. The present writer has known women who have to +toil hard all day long, sit up night after night with their +neighbours, and watch them with the most tender care. +Zachariah found it so in his case. A fellow-lodger, the +mother of half-a-dozen children, a woman against whom the +Colemans had conceived a prejudice, and whom they had avoided, +came forward and modestly asked Zachariah if she might +“look after” Mrs. Coleman while he was away. He +thought for a moment of sundry harsh things which he had said +about her, and then a well-known parable came into his mind about +a certain Samaritan, and he could have hugged her with joy at her +offer.</p> +<p>Mrs. Carter was one of those healthy, somewhat red-faced, gay +creatures whom nothing represses. She was never melancholy +with those who were suffering; not because she had no sympathy +for she was profoundly sympathetic—but because she was +subduable. Her pulse was quick, and her heart so sound that +her blood, rich and strong—blood with never a taint in +it—renewed every moment every fibre of her brain. Her +very presence to those who were desponding was a magnetic charm +and she could put to flight legions of hypochondriacal fancies +with a cheery word. Critics said she ruled her husband; but +what husband would not rejoice in being so ruled? He came +home weary and he did not want to rule. He wanted to be +directed, and he gladly saw the reins in the hands of his +“missus,” of whom he was justly proud. She +conducted all the conversation; she spent his money, and even +bought him his own clothes; and although she said a sharp thing +or two now and then, she never really quarrelled with him. +The eldest of her six children was only twelve years old, and she +was not over methodical, so that her apartments were rather +confused and disorderly. She was not, however, dirty, and +would not tolerate dirt even in her boys, to whom, by the way, +she administered very short and sharp corrections +sometimes. If they came to the table with grimy paws, the +first intimation they had that their mother noticed it was a rap +on the knuckles with the handle of a knife which sent the bread +and butter flying out of their fingers. She read no books, +and, what was odd in those days, did not go to chapel or church; +but she had her “opinions,” as she called them, upon +everything which was stirring in the world, and never was +behindhand in the news. She was really happier when she +found that she had to look after Mrs. Coleman. She bustled +about, taking directions from the doctor—not without some +scepticism, for she had notions of her own on the subject of +disease—and going up and down stairs continually to see how +her patient was getting on. It was curious that although +she was a heavy woman she was so active. She was always on +her legs from morning to night, and never seemed fatigued. +Indeed, when she sat still she was rather uncomfortable; and this +was her weak point, for her restlessness interfered with sewing +and mending, which she abominated.</p> +<p>The time for the march was close at hand. The Habeas +Corpus Act had meanwhile been suspended and every reformer had to +walk very warily. Ogden, in whose office it will be +remembered that Zachariah was engaged, had issued a handbill +informing all the inhabitants of Manchester and its neighbourhood +that on the 10th March a meeting would be held near St. +Peter’s Church of those persons who had determined to carry +their petitions to London. Zachariah, going to his shop, as +usual, on the morning of the 10th—a Monday—was +astonished to find that Ogden was arrested and in prison.</p> +<p>We must, however, for a time, follow the fortunes of Caillaud +and the Major on that day. They were both astir at five +o’clock, and joined one another at the club. All the +members were to assemble there at seven. Never was the +Major more despondent. As for organisation, there was none, +and every proposal he had made had been thwarted. He saw +well enough, as a soldier, that ten times the enthusiasm at his +command would never carry a hundred men to London in that cold +weather, and that if twenty thousand started, the number would be +the difficulty. The Yeomanry cavalry were under orders to +oppose them, and what could an undisciplined mob do against a +semi-military force? The end of it would be the prompt +dispersion of the pilgrims and the discredit of the cause. +Nevertheless, both he and Caillaud had determined not to desert +it. The absence of all preparations on the part of these +poor Blanketeers was, in truth, very touching, as it showed the +innocent confidence which they had in the justice of their +contention. Their avowed object was to present a petition +personally to the Prince Regent, that they might +“undeceive” him; as if such a thing were possible, +or, being possible, would be of the slightest service. The +whole country would rise and help them; their journey would be a +triumphal procession; they were not a hostile army; the women +would come to the doors and offer them bread and milk; they would +reach London; Lord Liverpool would resign; and they would come +back to Manchester with banners flying, having saved their +country. At nine o’clock the club was in St. +Peter’s fields, and a kind of platform had been erected, +from which an address was to be given. Caillaud and the +Major were down below. Both of them were aghast at what +they saw. Thousands of men were present with whom they were +unacquainted, who had been attracted by Ogden’s +proclamation; some with coats; others without coats; some with +sticks; some with petitions; but most of them with blankets, +which they had rolled up like knapsacks. The Major’s +heart sank within him. What on earth could he do? +Nothing except accompany them and try to prevent collision with +the troops. The magistrates were distracted by no doubts +whatever. They read the Riot Act, although there was no +riot, nor the semblance of one, and forthwith surrounded the +platform and carried off everyone on it to prison. The +crowd was then chased by the soldiers and special constables, +till all power of combination was at an end. About three +hundred however, were collected, and found their way to Ardwick +Green. They had been joined by others on the route, and the +Major informally reviewed his men. Never, surely, was there +such a regiment! never, surely, did any regiment go on such an +errand! Ragged many of them; ignorant all, fanatical, +penniless, they determined, in spite of all arguments, to +proceed. He pointed out that if they could be so easily +scattered when they were thousands strong, every one of them +would be cut down or captured before they were twenty miles on +the road. He was answered as before with contempt and +suspicions of cowardice. A Methodist, half-starved, +grey-haired, with black rings round his eyes and a yellow face, +harangued them.</p> +<p>“My friends,” he said, “we have been told to +go back; that we are too few to accomplish the task to which we +have set ourselves. What said the Lord unto Gideon, Judges +vii.: ‘The people that are with thee are too many for me to +give the Midianites into their hands lest Israel vaunt themselves +against me, saying, Mine own hand hath saved me. Now +therefore go to, proclaim in the ears of the people, saying, +Whosoever is fearful and afraid, let him return and depart early +from Gilead.’ Well, twenty-two thousand went back and +at last Gideon had only the three hundred who lapped the +water. By those three hundred Israel was saved from the +Midianites. Our thousands have left us; but we shall +triumph. It may be the Lord’s will that more should +depart. It may be that there are yet too many. I say, +then, in the words of Gideon, ‘Whosoever is fearful and +afraid, let him return.’ Is there +anybody?” (Loud shouts answered +“None.”) “The Lord is with us,” +continued the speaker—“the sword of the Lord and of +Gideon!” Every one shouted again.</p> +<p>Respectable Manchester was frightened when the Blanketeers +met, and laughed them to scorn when they were dispersed. No +wonder at the laughter. What could be more absurd? +And yet, when we call to mind the <span +class="GutSmall">THING</span> then on the throne; the <span +class="GutSmall">THING</span> that gave £180 for an evening +coat, and incurred enormous debts, while his people were +perishing; the <span class="GutSmall">THING</span> that drank and +lied and whored; the <span class="GutSmall">THING</span> that +never did nor said nor thought anything that was not utterly +brutish and contemptible—when we think that the <span +class="GutSmall">THING</span> was a monarch, Heaven-ordained, so +it was said, on which side does the absurdity really lie? +Of a truth, not only is the wisdom of this world foolishness, as +it ever was, but that which to this world is foolishness is +adjudged wisdom by the Eternal Arbiter. The Blanketeers +shivering on Ardwick Green, the weavers who afterwards drilled on +the Lancashire moors, and were hung according to law, or killed +at Peterloo, are less ridiculous than those who hung or sabred +them, less ridiculous than the Crimean war and numberless +dignified events in human history, the united achievements of the +sovereigns and ministries of Europe.</p> +<p>The route of the three hundred was towards Stockport; but when +they reached the bridge they found it occupied by the Yeomanry +and a troop of the Life Guards. To attempt to force a +passage was impossible; but numbers threw themselves into the +river, and so crossed. The soldiers then withdrew into +Stockport town, and the bridge was left open to the main +body. When they got into the street on the other side the +soldiers and police dashed at them, and arrested everybody whom +they could catch. The Major was foremost in the crowd, +endeavouring to preserve some sort of discipline, and one of the +Yeomanry, suspecting him to be a leader, rode up to him, and, +leaning from his horse, collared him. He was unarmed; but +he was a powerful man, and wrenched himself free. The +soldier drew his sword, and although Caillaud was close by, and +attempted to parry the blow with a stick, the Major lay a dead +man on the ground. The next moment, however, the soldier +himself was dead—dead from a pistol-shot fired by Caillaud, +who was instantly seized, handed over to a guard, and marched off +with a score of others to Manchester jail. A remnant only +of the Blanketeers escaped from Stockport, and a smaller remnant +got to Macclesfield. There there was no shelter for them, +and many of them lay in the streets all night. When the +morning dawned only twenty went on into Staffordshire, and these +shortly afterwards separated, and wandered back to +Manchester. The sword of Gideon was, alas! not the sword of +the Lord, and aching hearts in that bitter March weather felt +that there was something worse than the cold to be borne at they +struggled homewards. Others, amongst whom was our Methodist +orator, were not discouraged. It is a poor religion which +makes no provision for disaster, and even for apparently final +failure. The test of faith is its power under defeat, and +these silly God-fearing souls argued to themselves that their +Master’s time was not their time; that perhaps they were +being punished for their sins, and that when it pleased Him they +would triumph. Essentially right they were, right in every +particular, excepting, perhaps, that it was not for their own +sins that this sore visitation came upon them. Visitation +for sin it was certainly, but a visitation for the sins of +others—such is the way of Providence, and has been ever +since the world began, much to the amazement of many reflective +persons. Thou hast laid on Him the iniquity of us all, and +Jesus is crucified rather than the Scribes and Pharisees! +Yet could we really wish it otherwise? Would it have been +better in the end that Caiaphas and the elders should have been +nailed upon Calvary, and Jesus die at a good old age, crowned +with honour? It was not yet God’s time in 1817, but +God’s time was helped forward, as it generally is, by this +anticipation of it. It is a commonplace that a premature +outbreak puts back the hands of the clock and is a blunder. +Nine times out of ten this is untrue, and a revolt +instantaneously quenched in blood is not merely the precursor, +but the direct progenitor of success.</p> +<p>We will spend no time over the death of Major Maitland. +The tragic interest, as one of our greatest masters has said, +lies not with the corpse but with the mourners, and we turn back +to Zachariah. Ogden’s office was shut. On the +night after the breakdown at Stockport a note in pencil was left +at Zachariah’s house, in Pauline’s handwriting. +It was very short:—“Fly for your life—they will +have you to-night—P.”</p> +<p>Fly for his life! But how could he fly, with his wife in +bed and with no work before him? Would it not be base to +leave her? Then it occurred to him that if he were taken +and imprisoned, he would be altogether incapable of helping +her. He determined to speak to Mrs. Carter. He showed +her the note, and she was troubled with no hesitation of any +kind.</p> +<p>“My good man,” she said, “you be off this +minute. That’s what you’ve got to do. +Never mind your wife; I’ll see after her. +Expense? Lord, Mr. Coleman what’s that? She +don’t eat much. Besides, we’ll settle all about +that afterwards.”</p> +<p>Zachariah hesitated.</p> +<p>“Now don’t stand shilly-shallying and a-thinking +and a-thinking,—that never did anybody any good. I +can’t a-bear a man as thinks and thinks when there’s +anything to be done as plain as the nose in his face. +Where’s your bag?”</p> +<p>Mrs. Carter was out of the room in an instant, and in ten +minutes came back with a change of clothes.</p> +<p>“Now, let us know where you are; but don’t send +your letters here. You write to my sister; there’s +her address. You needn’t go up there; your +wife’s asleep. I’ll bid her good-bye for +you. Take my advice—get out of this county somewhere, +and get out of Manchester to-night.”</p> +<p>“I must go upstairs to get some money,” and +Zachariah stole into his bedroom to take half a little hoard +which was in a desk there. His wife, as Mrs. Carter had +said, was asleep. He went to her bedside and looked at +her. She was pale and worn. Lying there unconscious, +all the defects which had separated him from her vanished. +In sleep and death the divine element of which we are compounded +reappears, and we cease to hate or criticise; we can only weep or +pray. He looked and looked again. The hours of first +love and courtship passed before him; he remembered what she was +to him then, and he thought that perhaps the fault, after all, +might have been on his side, and that he had perhaps not tried to +understand her. He thought of her loneliness—taken +away by him into a land of strangers—and now he was about +to desert her; he thought, too, that she also was one of +God’s children just as much as he was; perhaps more +so. The tears filled his eyes, although he was a hard, +strong man not used to tears, and something rose in his throat +and almost choked him. He was about to embrace her; but he +dared not disturb her. He knelt down at the foot of the +bed, and in an agony besought his God to have mercy on him. +“God have mercy on me! God have mercy on +her!” That was all he could say—nothing else, +although he had been used to praying habitually. His face +was upon her feet, as she lay stretched out there, and he softly +uncovered one of them, so gently that she could not perceive +it. Spotlessly white it was, and once upon a time she was +so attractive to him because she was so exquisitely +scrupulous! He bent his lips over it, kissed it—she +stirred, but did not wake; a great cry almost broke from him, but +he stifled it and rose. There was a knock at the door, and +he started. It was Mrs. Carter.</p> +<p>“Come,” she said as he went out, “you have +been here long enough. Poor dear man!—there, +there—of course it’s hard to bear—poor dear +man!”—and the good creature put her hand +affectionately on his shoulder.</p> +<p>“I don’t know how it is,” she continued, +wiping her eyes with her apron, “I can’t a-bear to +see a man cry. It always upsets me. My husband +ain’t done it above once or twice in his life, and, Lord, +I’d sooner a cried myself all night long. Good-bye, +my dear, good-bye, good-bye; God bless you! It will all +come right.”</p> +<p>In another minute Zachariah was out of doors. It was +dark, and getting late. The cold air revived him but he +could not for some time come to any determination as to what he +ought to do next. He was not well acquainted with the +country round Manchester, and he could not decide to what point +of the compass it would be safest to bend his steps. At +last he remembered that at any rate he must escape from the town +boundaries, and get a night’s lodging somewhere outside +them. With the morning some light would possibly dawn upon +him.</p> +<p>Pauline’s warning was well-timed, for the constables +made a descent upon Caillaud’s lodgings as soon as they got +him into jail, and thence proceeded to Coleman’s. +They insisted on a search, and Mrs. Carter gave them a bit of her +mind, for they went into every room of the house, and even into +Mrs. Coleman’s bedroom.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Nadin,” she +said, turning towards the notorious chief constable, “if +God A’mighty had to settle who was to be hung in +Manchester, it wouldn’t be any of them poor +Blanketeers. Wouldn’t you like to strip the clothes +off the bed? That would be just in your line.”</p> +<p>“Hold your damned tongue!” quoth Mr. Nadin; but, +nevertheless, seeing his men grinning and a little ashamed of +themselves, he ordered them back.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Zachariah pursued his way north-westward +unchallenged, and at last came to a roadside inn, which he +thought looked safe. He walked in, and found half a dozen +decent-looking men sitting round a fire and smoking. One of +them was a parson, and another was one of the parish +overseers. It was about half-past ten, and they were not +merry, but a trifle boozy and stupid. Zachariah called for +a pint of beer and some bread and cheese, and asked if he could +have a bed. The man who served him didn’t know; but +would go and see. Presently the overseer was beckoned out +of the room, and the man came back again and informed Zachariah +that there was no bed for him, and that he had better make haste +with his supper, as the house would close at eleven. In a +minute or two the door opened again, and a poor, emaciated weaver +entered and asked the overseer for some help. His wife, he +said, was down with the fever; he had no work; he had had no +victuals all day, and he and his family were starving. He +was evidently known to the company.</p> +<p>“Ah,” said the overseer, “no work, and the +fever and starving; that’s what they always say. +I’ll bet a sovereign you’ve been after them +Blanketeers.”</p> +<p>“It’s a judgment on you,” observed the +parson. “You and your like go setting class against +class; you never come near the church, and then you wonder God +Almighty punishes you.”</p> +<p>“You can come on your knees to us when it suits you, and +you’d burn my rick to-morrow,” said a third.</p> +<p>“There’s a lot of fever amongst ’em down my +way,” said another, whose voice was rather thick, +“and a damned lot of expense they are, too, for physic and +funerals. It’s my belief that they catch it out of +spite.”</p> +<p>“Aren’t you going to give me nothing?” said +the man. “There isn’t a mouthful of food in the +place, and the wife may be dead before the morning.”</p> +<p>“Well, what do you say, parson?” said the +overseer.</p> +<p>“I say we’ve got quite enough to do to help those +who deserve help,” he replied, “and that it’s +flying in the face of Providence to interfere with its +judgment.” With that he knocked the ashes out of his +pipe, and took a great gulp of his brandy-and-water.</p> +<p>There was an echo of assent.</p> +<p>“God have mercy on me!” said the man, as he sat +down on the form by the table. Zachariah touched him +gently, and pushed the plate and jug to him. He looked at +Zachariah, and without saying a word, devoured it greedily. +He just had time to finish, for the landlord, entering the room, +roughly ordered them to turn out. Out they went +accordingly.</p> +<p>“The Lord in heaven curse them!” exclaimed +Zachariah’s companion when they were in the road. +“I could have ripped ’em up, every one of +’em. My wife is in bed with her wits a-wandering, and +there a’nt a lump of coal, nor a crumb of bread, nor a +farthing in the house.”</p> +<p>“Hush, my friend, cursing is of no use.”</p> +<p>“Ah! it’s all very well to talk; you’ve got +money maybe.”</p> +<p>“Not much. I too have no work, no lodging, and +I’m driven away from home. Here’s half of +what’s left.”</p> +<p>“What a sinner I am!” said the other. +“You wouldn’t think it, to hear me go on as I did, +but I am a Methodist. The last two or three days, though, +I’ve been like a raving madman. That’s the +worst of it. Starvation has brought the devil into +me. I’m not a-going to take all that though, master; +I’ll take some of it; and if ever I prayed to the Throne of +Grace in my life, I’ll pray for you. Who are +you? Where are you going?”</p> +<p>Zachariah felt that he could safely trust him, and told him +what had happened.</p> +<p>“I haven’t got a bit of straw myself on which to +put you; but you come along with me.”</p> +<p>They walked together for about half a mile, till they came to +a barn. There was a haystack close by, and they dragged +some of the dry hay into it.</p> +<p>“You’d better be away from these parts afore +it’s light, and, if you take my advice, Liverpool is the +best place for you.”</p> +<p>He was right. Liverpool was a large town, and, what was +of more consequence, it was not so revolutionary as Manchester, +and the search there for the suspected was not so strict. +The road was explained, so far as Zachariah’s friend knew +it, and they parted.</p> +<p>Zachariah slept but little, and at four o’clock, with a +bright moon, he started. He met with no particular +adventure, and in the evening found himself once more in a +wilderness of strange streets, with no outlook, face to face with +the Red Sea. Happy is the man who, if he is to have an +experience of this kind, is trained to it when young, and is not +suddenly brought to it after a life of security. Zachariah, +although he was desponding, could now say he had been in the same +straits before, and had survived. That is the consolation +of all consolations to us. We have actually touched and +handled the skeleton, and after all we have not been struck dead. +<a name="citation132"></a><a href="#footnote132" +class="citation">[132]</a></p> +<blockquote><p>“O socii, neque enim ignari sumus ante +malorum,<br /> +O passi graviora, dabit Deus his quoque finem.<br /> +Vos et Scyllæam rabiem penitusque sonantes<br /> +Accestis scopulos; vos et Cyclopia saxa<br /> +Experti. Revocate animos, moestumque timorem<br /> +Mittite; forsan et hæc olim meminisse juvabit.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He wandered down to the water and saw a ship cleared for some +port across the Atlantic. A longing seized him to go with +her. Over the sea,—he thought there he would be at +rest. So we all think, and as we watch the vessels dropping +below the horizon in the sunset cloud, we imagine them bound with +a happy crew to islands of the blest, the truth being that the +cloud is a storm, and the destined port is as commonplace and +full of misery as the one they have left. Zachariah, +however, did not suffer himself to dream. He went +diligently and systematically to work; but this time all his +efforts were fruitless. He called on every printing-office +he could find, and there was not one which wanted a hand, or saw +any prospect of wanting one. He thought of trying the +river-side; but he stood no chance there, as he had never been +accustomed to carry heavy weights. His money was running +short, and at last, when evening came on the third day, and he +was faint with fatigue, his heart sank. He was ill, too, +and sickness began to cloud his brain. As the power of +internal resistance diminishes, the circumstance of the external +world presses on us like the air upon an exhausted glass ball, +and finally crushes us. It saddened him, too, to think, as +it has saddened thousands before him, that the fight which he +fought, and the death which, perhaps, was in front of him, were +so mean. Ophelia dies; Juliet dies, and we fancy that their +fate, although terrible, is more enviable than that of a pauper +who drops undramatically on London stones. He came to his +lodging at the close of the third day, wet, tired, hungry, and +with a headache. There was nobody to suggest anything to +him or offer him anything. He went to bed, and a thousand +images, uncontrolled, rushed backwards and forwards before +him. He became excited, so that he could not rest, and +after walking about his room till nearly daylight, turned into +bed again. When morning had fairly arrived he tried to +rise, but he was beaten. He lay still till about eleven, +and then the woman who kept the lodging-house appeared and asked +him if he was going to stay all day where he was. He told +her he was very bad; but she went away without a word, and he saw +nothing more of her. Towards night he became worse and +finally delirious.</p> +<h2><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>CHAPTER XIV<br /> +<span class="smcap">The School of Adversity: the Sixth Form +thereof</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Zachariah came to himself he +was in a large, long, whitewashed room, with twenty beds or more +in it. A woman in a greyish check dress was standing near +him.</p> +<p>“Where am I?” he said.</p> +<p>“Where are yer?” she said; “why, in the +workus infirmary, to be sure, with me a-looking after yer. +Where would yer be?”</p> +<p>Zachariah relapsed and was still. The next time he +opened his eyes the woman had left him. It was true he was +in the workhouse, and a workhouse then was not what it is +now. Who can possibly describe what it was? Who can +possibly convey to anybody who has not known what it was by +actual imprisonment in it any adequate sense of its gloom; of the +utter, callous, brutal indifference of the so-called nurses; of +the neglect of the poor patients by those who were paid to attend +to them; of the absence of even common decency; of the desperate +persistent attempts made by everybody concerned to impress upon +the wretched mortals who were brought there that they were +chargeable to the parish and put there for form’s sake, +prior to being shovelled into a hole in the adjoining +churchyard? The infirmary nurses were taken from the other +side of the building—sometimes for very strange +reasons. The master appointed them, and was not bound to +account to anybody for his preferences. One woman had given +him much trouble. She was a stout, lazy brute, who had no +business in the House, and who went in and out just as she +liked. One day something displeased her, and she attacked +him with such fury and suddenness that he would have been a dead +man in a few minutes if she had not been pulled off. But he +dared not report her. She knew too much about him, and she +was moved a few days afterwards to look after the sick. She +it was who spoke to Zachariah. She, however, was not by any +means the worst. Worse than her were the old, degraded, +sodden, gin-drinking hags, who had all their lives breathed +pauper air and pauper contamination; women with not one single +vestige of their Maker’s hand left upon them, and +incapable, even under the greatest provocation, of any human +emotion; who would see a dying mother call upon Christ, or cry +for her husband and children, and would swear at her and try to +smother her into silence. As for the doctor, he was hired +at the lowest possible rate, and was allowed a certain sum for +drugs. It was utterly insufficient to provide anything +except the very commonest physic; and what could he do in the +midst of such a system, even if he had been inclined to do +anything? He accordingly did next to nothing; walked +through the wards, and left his patients pretty much to +Providence. They were robbed even of their food. They +were not much to be pitied for being robbed of the stimulants, +for every drop, including the “port wine,” was +obtained by the directors from those of their number or from +their friends who were in the trade, and it was mostly +poisonous. Death is always terrible—terrible on the +battlefield; terrible in a sinking ship; terrible to the +exile—but the present writer, who has seen Death in the +“House” of years gone by, cannot imagine that he can +ever be so distinctively the King of Terrors as he was +there. The thought that thousands and thousands of human +beings, some of them tender-hearted, have had to face him there +is more horrifying than the thought of French soldiers freezing +in their blood on the Borodino, or of Inquisitional +tortures. It is one of those thoughts which ought not to be +thought—a thought to be suppressed, for it leads to +atheism, or even something worse than mere denial of a God. +Thank Heaven that the present generation of the poor has been +relieved at least of one argument in favour of the creed that the +world is governed by the Devil! Thank Heaven that the +modern hospital, with its sisters gently nurtured, devoted to +their duty with that pious earnestness which is a true religion, +has supplied some evidence of a Theocracy.</p> +<p>Zachariah looked round again. There was an old male +attendant near him. He had on a brown rough coat with brass +buttons, and shoes which were much too big for him. They +were supplied in sizes, and never fitted. The old men +always took those that were too large. They had as their +place of exercise a paved courtyard surrounded by high brick +walls, and they all collected on the sunny side, and walked up +and down there, making a clapping noise with their feet as the +shoes slipped off their heels. This sound was +characteristic of the whole building. It was to be heard +everywhere.</p> +<p>“You’ve been very bad,” said the old man, +“but you’ll get better now; it a’nt many as get +better here.”</p> +<p>He was a poor-looking, half-fed creature, with a cadaverous +face. He had the special, workhouse, bloodless +aspect—just as if he had lived on nothing stronger than +gruel and had never smelt fresh air. The air, by the way, +of those wards was something peculiar. It had no +distinctive odour—that is to say, no odour which was +specially this or that; but it had one that bore the same +relation to ordinary odours which well-ground London mud bears to +ordinary colours. The old man’s face, too, had +nothing distinctive in it. The only thing certainly +predicable of him was, that nothing could be predicated of +him. He was neither selfish nor generous; neither a liar +nor truthful; neither believed anything, nor disbelieved +anything; was neither good nor bad; had no hope hereafter, nor +any doubt.</p> +<p>“Who are you?” said Zachariah.</p> +<p>“Well, that ain’t easy to say. I does odd +jobs here as the nurses don’t do, and I gets a little extra +ration.”</p> +<p>“How long have I been here?”</p> +<p>“About a fortnight.”</p> +<p>Zachariah was too weak to say anything more, and fell asleep +again. Next day he was better, and he then thought of his +wife; he thought of Caillaud, the Major, and Pauline; but he had +no power to reflect connectedly. He was in that miserable +condition in which objects present themselves in a tumbling +crowd, one following the other with inconceivable rapidity, the +brain possessing no power to disentangle the chaos. He +could not detach the condition of his wife, for example, and +determine what ought to be done; he could not even bring himself +to decide if it would be best to let her know where he was. +No sooner did he try to turn his attention to her, even for a +moment, than the Major came before him, and then his other +friends, and then the workhouse and the dread of death +there. Mercifully he went to sleep again, and after another +long night’s rest he was much stronger. He was able +now—first sign of restored power—to settle that he +ought before everything to communicate with Mrs. Carter, and he +inquired of the old man if he could write.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I can write,” said he, and something +like a gleam of light passed over his countenance at being asked +to practise an art almost forgotten in those walls.</p> +<p>A letter was accordingly written to Mrs. Carter, at her +sister’s address, telling her briefly what had happened, +but that she was not to be alarmed, as the writer was rapidly +recovering. He was able to sign his name; but when the +letter was finished, he reflected that he had not got a coin in +his pocket with which to pay the postage. One of the +institutions of the workhouse was, however, a kind of pawnshop +kept by one of the under-masters, as they were called, and +Zachariah got a shilling advanced on a pocket-knife. The +letter, therefore, was duly despatched, and he gave his secretary +a penny for his trouble. This led to a little further +intimacy, and Zachariah asked him how he came there.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” he replied. “I +was born in the country, and when I was fourteen, my father +apprenticed me to the watchmaking. He was well off—my +father was—and when I was out of my time he set me up in +business in Liverpool. It was a business as had been +established some time—a fairish business it was. But +when I came to Liverpool I felt dull.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by dull? Stupid?”</p> +<p>“No, not exactly that. You know what dull means, +don’t you?—low-spirited like—got nothing to +talk about. Well, I can’t tell how it come about, but +I was always dull, and have been so ever since. I got +married soon after I was settled. My wife was a good sort +of woman, but she wasn’t cheerful, and she wasn’t +very strong. Somehow the business fell off. Customers +as used to come didn’t come, and I got no new ones. I +did my work pretty well; but still, for all that, things went +down and down by degrees. I never could make out why, +except that people liked to be talked to, and I had nothing +particular to say to any of them when they came in. The +shop, too, ought to have been painted more often, and I ought to +have had something in the window, but, as I say, I was always +dull, and my wife wasn’t strong. At last I was +obliged to give up and go to journey-work; but when I got old I +couldn’t see, and was put in here.”</p> +<p>“But,” said Zachariah, “is that all? +Why, you are nearly seventy years old. You must have +something more to tell me.”</p> +<p>“No. I don’t know as I have; that seems +about all.”</p> +<p>“But what became of your father? He was well +off. What became of his money when he died?”</p> +<p>“I’d had my share.”</p> +<p>“Had you no brothers nor sisters to help you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I had some.”</p> +<p>“Did they let you come here?”</p> +<p>“Why, you see, as I’ve told you before, I was +dull, and my wife wasn’t strong. They never came much +to see me. It was my fault; I never had nothing to say to +them.”</p> +<p>“Had you no children?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I had a son and daughter.”</p> +<p>“Are they alive now?”</p> +<p>“Yes—both of them; at least I haven’t heard +as they are dead.”</p> +<p>“And able to keep themselves?”</p> +<p>“They used to be.”</p> +<p>“And do you mean that your son and daughter let you go +to the workhouse?”</p> +<p>The old man was a little disturbed, and for a moment some +slight sign of nervous excitement revealed itself in his +lustreless eyes.</p> +<p>“I haven’t see anything of ’em for +years.”</p> +<p>“Did you quarrel?”</p> +<p>“No, we didn’t quarrel; but they left off visiting +us. They both of them married, and went out a good bit, and +were gayer than we were. We used to ask them, and then +they’d look in sometimes: but never except when they were +asked, and always seemed to wish to get away. We never had +nothing to show anybody, nor nothing to give anybody; for we +didn’t drink and I never smoked. They went away too, +both of them, from Liverpool, somewhere towards +London.”</p> +<p>“But when you broke down didn’t you inform +them?”</p> +<p>“No. I hadn’t heard anything of them for so +long. I thought I might as well get into the House. +It will do very well.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t you know anybody belonging to your church +or chapel?”</p> +<p>“Well, we went to church; but when the business dropped +we left off going, for nothing much seemed to come of it, and +nobody ever spoke to us.”</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t you like to get out of this +place?”</p> +<p>“No—I don’t know as I should now; I +shouldn’t know what to do, and it won’t last +long.”</p> +<p>“How old are you?”</p> +<p>“Sixty-five.”</p> +<p>It puzzled Zachariah that the man’s story of his life +was so short—all told in five minutes.</p> +<p>“But did you never have any adventures? Did you +never hear about anything, or see anybody worth +remembering? Tell me all about yourself. We’ve +got nothing to do.”</p> +<p>“I don’t recollect anything particular after I +came to Liverpool. Things seemed to go on pretty much in +the same way.”</p> +<p>“But you got married, and your wife died?”</p> +<p>“Yes—I got married, and she died.”</p> +<p>“What was your wife’s name?”</p> +<p>“Her name was Jenkins; she was the daughter of the +saddler that lived next door.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t her friends have helped you?”</p> +<p>“After she died they had nothing more to do with +me.”</p> +<p>“And you really cannot tell me any more?”</p> +<p>“No—how can I? What more is there to +tell? It’s all alike.”</p> +<p>The old pauper was called away, and went shuffling along to +the door, leaving Zachariah to his meditations.</p> +<p>Another day passed, and he was lying half asleep when a +visitor was announced, and close upon the announcement stood +before him—who should it be?—no other than Mrs. +Carter, out of breath, radiant, healthy, impetuous.</p> +<p>“God bless the poor dear man!” she burst out; +“to think of finding you here, and not to have told us +before. But I suppose you couldn’t. Directly as +I got your letter off I came, and here I am, you see.”</p> +<p>Her presence was like the south-west wind and sunlight after +long north-easterly gloom and frost. Astonishing is that +happy power which some people possess which enables them at once +to dispel depression and even disease. A woman like Mrs. +Carter comes into a house where there is misery and darkness; +where the sufferer is possessed by demons; unnameable +apprehensions, which thicken his blood and make him cry for +death, and they retreat precipitately, as their brethren were +fabled to retreat at the sign of the cross. No man who is +so blessed as to have a friend with that magnetic force in him +need disbelieve in much of what is recorded as miraculous. +Zachariah felt as if a draught of good wine had been poured down +his throat. But he instantly asked:</p> +<p>“How is my wife?”</p> +<p>“She is all right; but you mustn’t bother about +her. You must come out at once. You mustn’t go +back to Manchester just yet—not as they’d care much +about you now; Nadin’s got plenty of work to do, and +wouldn’t concern himself about you—but you +aren’t well enough and are better away. Now, look +here—I’ll tell you what I’ve been and +done. I’ve got a cousin living here in Liverpool, as +good a soul as ever lived. I goes to her and tells her you +must stay there.”</p> +<p>“But how can I? Just think of the trouble and +expense. I don’t know her.”</p> +<p>“Lord a mercy, there you are again—trouble and +expense! What trouble will you be? And as for +expense, one would think you’d been living like a Lord +Mayor to hear you talk. What are we made for if not to help +one another?”</p> +<p>“I can’t walk; and shouldn’t I be obliged to +get the doctor’s permission?”</p> +<p>“Walk! Of course you can’t. And what +did my husband say to me before I started? Says he, +‘You’ll have to get a conveyance to take +him.’ ‘Leave me alone for that,’ says I; +‘although right you are.’ And I says to my +cousin’s husband, who drives a hackney coach, ‘Just +you drop down and carry him home. It won’t be ten +minutes out of your time.’ So he’ll be here in +about a quarter of an hour. As for the doctor, I understand +as much about you as he does, and, doctor or no doctor, you +won’t sleep in this bed to-night. I’ll go and +tell the head nurse or master, or somebody or the other, that you +are off. You just put on your clothes.”</p> +<p>In a short time she returned, found Zachariah dressed, wrapped +him round in shawls and rugs, helped him downstairs, put him into +the coach, and brought him to her cousin’s. It was a +little house, in a long uniform street; but a good deal of pains +had been taken with it to make it something special. There +were two bedroom windows in front, on the upper storey, and each +one had flowers outside. The flower-pots were prevented +from falling off the ledge by a lattice-work wrought in the +centre into a little gate—an actual little gate. What +purpose it was intended to answer is a mystery; but being there +the owner of the flower-pots unfastened it every morning when the +sill was dusted, and removed them through it, although lifting +them would have been a much simpler operation. There were +flowers in the sitting-room downstairs too; but they were inside, +as the window was flush with the pavement. This +sitting-room was never used except on Sundays. It was about +nine feet square, and it had in it a cupboard on either side of +the fireplace, a black horse-hair sofa alongside the wall on the +right-hand side of the door, red curtains, a black horse-hair +arm-chair, three other chairs to match, a little round table, two +large shells, a framed sampler on the wall representing first the +letters of the alphabet, then the figures 1, 2, 3, &c., and, +finally, a very blue Jesus talking to a very red woman of Samaria +on a very yellow well—underneath, the inscription and date, +“Margaret Curtin, 10th March 1785.” The only +other decorations—for pictures were dear in those +days—were two silhouettes, male, and female, one at each +corner of the mantelpiece, and two earthenware dogs which sat +eternally looking at one another on the top of one of the +cupboards. On the cupboard farthest away from the window +was a large Bible with pictures in it and notes, and, strange to +say, a copy of Ferguson’s Astronomy and a handsome quarto +edition in three volumes of Cook’s First Voyage. +Everything was as neat and clean as it could possibly be; but Mr. +and Mrs. Hocking had no children, and had saved a little +money.</p> +<p>Into this apartment Zachariah was brought. There was a +fire burning, though it was not cold, and on the table, covered +with a perfectly white cloth, stood a basin of broth, with some +toast, a little brandy in a wine-glass, a jug of water, and a +tumbler. The books, including the Bible, had apparently not +been read much, and were probably an heirloom. As Zachariah +began to recover strength he read the Ferguson. It was the +first time he had ever thought seriously of Astronomy, and it +opened a new world to him. His religion had centred all his +thoughts upon the earth as the theatre of the history of the +universe, and although he knew theoretically that it was but a +subordinate planet, he had not realised that it was so. For +him, practically, this little globe had been the principal object +of the Creator’s attention. Ferguson told him also, +to his amazement, that the earth moved in a resisting medium, and +that one day it would surely fall into the sun. That day +would be the end of the world, and of everything in it. He +learned something about the magnitude of the planets and the +distances of the fixed stars, and noted that his author, pious as +he is, cannot admit that planets or stars were created for the +sake of man. He dwelt upon these facts, more especially +upon the first till the ground seemed to disappear under his +feet, and he fell into that strange condition in which people in +earthquake countries are said to be when their houses begin to +tremble. We may laugh, and call him a fool to be disturbed +by a forecast of what is not going to happen for millions of +years; but he was not a fool. He was one of those unhappy +creatures whom an idea has power to shake, and almost to +overmaster. Ferguson was a Christian, and the thought of +the destruction of our present dwelling-place, with every +particle of life on it, did not trouble him. He had his +refuge in Revelation. Zachariah too was a Christian, but +the muscles of his Christianity were—now at any rate, +whatever they may once have been—not firm enough to +strangle this new terror. His supernatural heaven had +receded into shadow; he was giddy, and did not know where he +was. He did not feel to their full extent the tremendous +consequences of this new doctrine, and the shock which it has +given to so much philosophy and so many theories, but he felt +quite enough, and wished he had never opened the volume. +There are many truths, no doubt, which we are not robust enough +to bear. In the main it is correct that the only way to +conquer is boldly to face every fact, however horrible it may +seem to be, and think, and think, till we pass it and come to a +higher fact; but often we are too weak, and perish in the +attempt. As we lie prostrate, we curse the day on which our +eyes were opened, and we cry in despair that it would have been +better for us to have been born oxen or swine than men. It +is an experience, I suppose, not new that in certain diseased +conditions some single fear may fasten on the wretched victim so +that he is almost beside himself. He is unaware that this +fear in itself is of no importance, for it is nothing but an +index of ill-health, which might find expression in a hundred +other ways. He is unconscious of the ill-health except +through his fancy, and regards it as an intellectual +result. It is an affliction worse ten thousand times than +any direct physical pain which ends in pain. Zachariah +could not but admit that he was still physically weak; he had +every reason, therefore, for supposing that his mental agony was +connected with his sickness, but he could not bring himself to +believe that it was so, and he wrestled with his nightmares and +argued with them as though they were mere logical +inferences. However, he began to get better, and forthwith +other matters occupied his mind. His difficulty was not +fairly slain, pierced through the midst by some heaven-directed +arrow, but it was evaded and forgotten. Health, sweet +blood, unimpeded action of the heart, are the divine narcotics +which put to sleep these enemies to our peace and enable us to +pass happily through life. Without these blessings a man +need not stir three steps without finding a foe able to give him +his death-stroke.</p> +<p>Zachariah longed to see his wife again; but he could not bring +her to Liverpool until he had some work to do. At last the +day came when he was able to say that he was once more earning +his living, and one evening when he reached home she was there +too. Mrs. Carter had herself brought her to Liverpool, but +had gone back again to Manchester at once, as she could not stay +the night. When he first set eyes on his wife he was +astonished at the change in her. She was whiter, if +possible, than ever, thin in the face, dark-ringed about the +eyes, and very weak. But otherwise she was what she had +always been. The hair was just as smooth, everything about +her just as spotlessly clean and unruffled, and she sat as she +always did, rather upright and straight, as if she preferred the +discomfort of a somewhat rigid position to the greater discomfort +of disarranging her gown.</p> +<p>Zachariah had much to say. During the whole of the four +hours before bedtime he did not once feel that drying-up of +conversation which used to be so painful to him. It is true +she herself said little or nothing, but that was of no +moment. She was strengthless, and he did not expect her to +talk. So long as he could speak he was happy. The +next morning came, and with it came Hope, as it usually came to +him in the morning, and he kissed her with passionate fervour as +he went out, rejoicing to think that, although she was so feeble, +she was recovering; that he could once more look forward as in +earlier days, to the evening, and forgetting every cloud which +had ever come between them. Alas, when the night of that +very day came he found his little store exhausted, and he and the +companion of his life sat together for a quarter of an hour or +more without speaking a word. He proposed reading a book, +and took up the Ferguson, thinking he could extract from it +something which might interest her; but she was so irresponsive, +and evidently cared so little for it, that he ceased. It +was but eight o’clock, and how to fill up the time he did +not know. At last he said he would just take a turn outside +and look at the weather. He went out and stood under the +stars of which he had been reading. The meeting, after such +a separation, was scarcely twenty-four hours old, and yet he felt +once more the old weariness and the old inability to profit by +her society or care for it. He wished, or half wished, that +there might have existed such differences between them that they +could have totally disregarded or even hated one another. +The futility, however, of any raving was soon perfectly clear to +him. He might as well have strained at a chain which held +him fast by the leg, and he therefore strove to quiet +himself. He came back, after being absent longer than he +intended and found she was upstairs. He sat down and +meditated again, but came to no conclusion, for no conclusion was +possible. The next evening, after they had sat dumb for +some moments, he said, “My dear; you don’t seem +well.”</p> +<p>“I am not well, as you know. You yourself +don’t seem well.”</p> +<p>He felt suddenly as if he would have liked to throw himself on +his knees before her, and to have it all out with her; to say to +her all he had said to himself; to expose all his misery to her; +to try to find out whether she still loved him; to break or thaw +the shell of ice which seemed to have frozen round her. But +he could not do it. He was on the point of doing it, when +he looked at her face, and there was something in it which +stopped him. No such confidence was possible, and he went +back into himself again.</p> +<p>“Shall I read to you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, if you like.”</p> +<p>“What shall I read?”</p> +<p>“I don’t care; anything you please.”</p> +<p>“Shall it be Cook’s Voyages?”</p> +<p>“I have just said I really do not care.”</p> +<p>He took down the Cook’s Voyages; but after about ten +minutes he could not go on and he put it back in its place.</p> +<p>“Caillaud’s trial is to take place next +week,” he observed after a long pause.</p> +<p>“Horrible man!” she exclaimed, with a sudden +increase of energy. “I understand that it was in +defending him Major Maitland lost his life.”</p> +<p>“My dear, you are quite wrong. He was defending +Major Maitland, and shot the soldier who killed him.”</p> +<p>“Quite wrong, am I? Of course I am quite +wrong!”</p> +<p>“I was at head-quarters, you remember.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you were; but you were not near Major +Maitland.”</p> +<p>Zachariah raised his eyes; he thought he detected, he was sure +he detected, in the tone of this sentence a distinct sneer.</p> +<p>“I was not with Major Maitland; my duties called me +elsewhere; but I am more likely to know what happened than any +gossiping outsider.”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe in your foreign +infidels.”</p> +<p>“<i>My</i> foreign infidels! You have no right to +call them my infidels, if you mean that, I am one. But let +me tell you again you are mistaken. Besides, supposing you +are right, I don’t see why he should be a horrible +man. He will probably be executed for what he +did.”</p> +<p>“It was he and that daughter of his who dragged you and +the Major into all this trouble.”</p> +<p>“On the contrary, Caillaud, as well as myself and the +Major, did all we could to prevent the march. You must +admit I understand what I am talking about. I was at every +meeting.”</p> +<p>“As usual, nothing I say is right. It was to be +expected that you would take the part of the +Caillauds.”</p> +<p>Zachariah did not reply. It was supper-time; the chapter +from the Bible was duly read, the prayer duly prayed, and husband +and wife afterwards once more, each in turn, silently at the +bedside, with more or less of sincerity or pathos, sought Him who +was the Maker of both. It struck Zachariah during his +devotions—a rather unwelcome interruption—that his +wife as well as himself was in close communication with the +Almighty.</p> +<h2><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span>CHAPTER XV<br /> +<span class="smcap">End of the Beginning</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> trial took place at +Lancaster. Zachariah was sorely tempted to go; but, in the +first place, he had no money, and, in the second place, he feared +arrest. Not that he would have cared two pins if he had +been put into jail; but he could not abandon his wife. He +was perfectly certain what the result would be, but nevertheless, +on the day when the news was due, he could not rest. There +was a mail coach which ran from Lancaster to Liverpool, starting +from Lancaster in the afternoon and reaching Liverpool between +eleven and twelve at night. He went out about that time and +loitered about the coach-office as if he were waiting for a +friend. Presently he heard the wheels and the rapid trot of +the horses. His heart failed him, and he could almost have +fainted.</p> +<p>“What’s the news?” said the clerk to the +coachman. “All the whole d—d lot convicted, and +one of ’em going to be hung.”</p> +<p>“One of them hung! Which one is that?”</p> +<p>“Why, him as killed the soldier, of course—the +Frenchman.”</p> +<p>“A d—d good job too,” replied the +clerk. “I should like to serve every — +Frenchman in the country the same way.”</p> +<p>Zachariah could not listen any longer, but went home, and all +night long a continuous series of fearful images passed before +his eyes—condemned cells, ropes, gallows and the actual +fall of the victim, down to the contortion of his muscles. +He made up his mind on the following day that he would see +Caillaud before he died, and he told his wife he was going. +She was silent for a moment, and then she said:</p> +<p>“You will do as you like, I suppose: but I cannot see +what is the use of it. You can do no good; you will lose +your place here; it will cost you something; and when you get +there you may have to stop there.”</p> +<p>Zachariah could not restrain himself.</p> +<p>“Good God!” he cried, “you hear that one of +my best friends is about to be hung, and you sit there like a +statue—not a single word of sympathy or horror—you +care no more than a stone. <i>Use</i> of going! I +tell you I will go if I starve, or have to rot in jail all my +lifetime. Furthermore, I will go this instant.”</p> +<p>He went out of the room in a rage, rammed a few things into a +bag, and was out of the house in ten minutes. He was +excusably unjust to his wife—excusably, because he could +not help thinking that she was hard, and even cruel. Yet +really she was not so, or if she was, she was not necessarily so, +for injustice, not only to others, but to ourselves, is always +begotten by a false relationship. There were multitudes of +men in the world, worse than Zachariah, with whom she would have +been, not only happier, but better. He, poor man, with all +his virtues, stimulated and developed all that was disagreeable +in her.</p> +<p>He was in no mood to rest, and walked on all that night. +Amidst all his troubles he could not help being struck with the +solemn, silent procession overhead. It was perfectly +clear—so clear that the heavens were not a surface, but a +depth, and the stars of a lesser magnitude were so numerous and +brilliant that they obscured the forms of the greater +constellations. Presently the first hint of day appeared in +the east. We must remember that this was the year 1817, +before, so it is commonly supposed, men knew what it was properly +to admire a cloud or a rock. Zachariah was not, therefore, +on a level with the most ordinary subscriber to a modern +circulating library. Nevertheless he could not help +noticing—we will say he did no more—the wonderful, +the sacredly beautiful, drama which noiselessly displayed itself +before him. Over in the east the intense deep blue of the +sky softened a little. Then the trees in that quarter began +to contrast themselves against the background and reveal their +distinguishing shapes. Swiftly, and yet with such even +velocity that in no one minute did there seem to be any progress +compared with the minute preceding, the darkness was thinned, and +resolved itself overhead into pure sapphire, shaded into yellow +below and in front of him, while in the west it was still almost +black. The grassy floor of the meadows now showed its +colour, grey green, with the dew lying on it, and in the glimmer +under the hedge might be discerned a hare or two stirring. +Star by star disappeared, until none were left, save Venus, +shining like a lamp till the very moment almost when the +sun’s disc touched the horizon. Half a dozen larks +mounted and poured forth that ecstasy which no bird but the lark +can translate. More amazing than the loveliness of scene, +sound, and scent around him was the sense of irrestisible +movement. He stopped to watch it, for it grew so rapid that +he could almost detect definite pulsations. Throb followed +throb every second with increasing force, and in a moment more a +burning speck of gold was visible, and behold it was day! +He slowly turned his eyes away and walked onwards.</p> +<p>Lancaster was reached on the second evening after he left +Liverpool. He could not travel fast nor long together, for +he was not yet completely strong. He secured a bed in a low +part of the town, at a public-house, and on the morning of the +third day presented himself at the prison door. After some +formalities he was admitted, and taken by a warder along a +corridor with whitewashed walls to the condemned cell where +Caillaud lay. The warder looked through a grating, and said +to Zachariah that a visitor was already there. Two were not +allowed at a time, but he would tell the prisoner that somebody +was waiting for him.</p> +<p>“Let’s see, what’s your name?” said +the warder. Then it suddenly struck him that he had been +fool enough, in the excitement of entering the prison, to sign +his real name in the book. There was no help for it now, +and he repeated that it was Coleman.</p> +<p>“Ah yes, Coleman,” echoed the man, in a manner +which was significant.</p> +<p>“Who is the other visitor?” said Zachariah.</p> +<p>“It is his daughter.”</p> +<p>His first thought was to ask to be let in, but his next was, +that it would be profanity to disturb the intercourse of father +and child, and he was silent. However, he had been +announced, and Caillaud appeared at the grating begging +permission for his friend to enter. It was at first +refused; but presently something seemed to strike the jailer, for +he relented with a smile.</p> +<p>“You won’t want to come again?” he observed +interrogatively.</p> +<p>“No; that is to say, I think not.”</p> +<p>“No; that is to say, I think not,” he repeated +slowly, word for word, adding, “I shall have to stay with +you while you are together.”</p> +<p>Zachariah entered, the warder locking the door behind him, and +seating himself on the edge of the bedstead, where he remained +during the whole of the interview, jingling his keys and +perfectly unmoved.</p> +<p>The three friends spoke not a word for nearly five +minutes. Zachariah was never suddenly equal to any occasion +which made any great demands upon him. It often made him +miserable that it was so. Here he was, in the presence of +one whom he had so much loved, and who was about to leave him for +ever, and he had nothing to say. That could have been +endured could he but have <i>felt</i> and showed his feeling, +could he but have cast himself upon his neck and wept over him, +but he was numbed and apparently immovable. It was Caillaud +who first broke the silence.</p> +<p>“It appears I shall have to console you rather than you +me; believe me, I care no more about dying, as mere dying, than I +do about walking across this room. There are two things +which disturb me—the apprehension of some pain, and bidding +good-bye to Pauline and you, and two or three more.”</p> +<p>There was, after all, but just a touch needed to break up +Zachariah and melt him.</p> +<p>“You are happier than I,” he cried. +“Your work is at an end. No more care for things done +or undone; you are discharged, and nobly discharged, with +honour. But as for me!”</p> +<p>“With honour!” and Caillaud smiled. +“To be hung like a forger of bank-notes—not even to +be shot—and then to be forgotten. Forgotten +utterly! This does not happen to be one of those +revolutions which men remember.”</p> +<p>“No! men will not remember,” said Pauline, with an +elevation of voice and manner almost oratorical. “Men +will not remember, but there is a memory in the world which +forgets nothing.”</p> +<p>“Do you know,” said Caillaud, “I have always +loved adventure, and at times I look forward to death with +curiosity and interest, just as if I were going to a foreign +country.”</p> +<p>“Tell me,” said Zachariah, “if there is +anything I can do.”</p> +<p>“Nothing. I would ask you to see that Pauline +comes to no harm, but she can take care of herself. I have +nothing to give you in parting. They have taken everything +from me.”</p> +<p>“What a brute I am! I shall never see you again, +and I cannot speak,” sobbed Zachariah.</p> +<p>“Speak! What need is there of speaking? What +is there which can be said at such a time? To tell you the +truth, Coleman, I hardly cared about having you here. I did +not want to imperil the calm which is now happily upon me; we all +of us have something unaccountable and uncontrollable in us, and +I do not know how soon it may wake in me. But I did wish to +see you, in order that your mind might be at peace about +me. Come, good-bye!”</p> +<p>Caillaud put his hand on Zachariah’s shoulder.</p> +<p>“This will not do,” he said. “For my +sake forbear. I can face what I have to go through next +Monday if am not shaken. Come, Pauline, you too, my child, +must leave me for a bit.”</p> +<p>Zachariah looked at Pauline, who rose and threw her shawl over +her shoulders. Her lips were tightly shut, but she was +herself. The warder opened the door. Zachariah took +his friend’s hand, held it for a moment, and then threw his +arms round his neck. There is a pathos in parting which the +mere loss through absence does not explain. We all of us +feel it, even if there is to be a meeting again in a few months, +and we are overcome by incomprehensible emotion when we turn back +down the pier, unable any longer to discern the waving of the +handkerchief, or when the railway train turns the curve in the +cutting and leaves us standing on the platform. Infinitely +pathetic, therefore, is the moment when we separate for ever.</p> +<p>Caillaud was unsettled for an instant, and then, slowly +untwining the embrace, he made a sign to Pauline, who took +Zachariah’s hand and led him outside; the heavy well-oiled +bolt of the lock shooting back under the key with a smooth strong +thud between them. She walked down the corridor alone, not +noticing that he had not followed her, and had just passed out of +sight when an officer stepped up to him and said:</p> +<p>“Your name is Coleman?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Sorry to hear it. My name is Nadin. You +know me, I think. You must consider yourself my +prisoner.”</p> +<p>Zachariah was in prison for two years. He had not been +there three months when his wife died.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * *</p> +<p>Let us now look forward to 1821; let us walk down one of the +new streets just beginning to stretch northwards from +Pentonville; let us stop opposite a little house, with a little +palisade in front, enclosing a little garden five and twenty feet +long and fifteen feet broad; let us peep through the chink +between the blind and the window. We see Zachariah and +Pauline. Another year passes; we peep through the same +chink again. A cradle is there, in which lies Marie Pauline +Coleman; but where is the mother? She is not there, and the +father alone sits watching the child.</p> +<h2><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +155</span>CHAPTER XVI<br /> +<span class="smcap">Cowfold</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Cowfold</span>, half village, half town, +lies about three miles to the west of the great North Road from +London to York. As you go from London, about fifty miles +from the Post-Office in St. Martin’s le Grand—the +fiftieth milestone is just beyond the turning—you will see +a hand-post with three arms on it; on one is written in large +letters, “To <span class="smcap">London</span>;” on +the second, in equally large letters, “To <span +class="smcap">York</span>;” and on the third, in small +italic letters, “<i>To Cowfold</i>.” Two or +three years before the events narrated in the following chapters +took place—that is to say, about twenty years after the +death of Zachariah’s second wife—a hundred coaches a +day rolled past that hand-post, and about two miles beyond it was +a huge inn, with stables like cavalry barracks, where horses were +changed. No coach went through Cowfold. When the +inhabitants wished to go northwards or southwards they walked or +drove to the junction, and waited on the little grassy triangle +till a coach came by which had room for them. When they +returned they were deposited at the same spot, and the passengers +who were going through from London to York or Scotland, or who +were coming up to London, always seemed to despise people who +were taken up or who were left by the roadside there.</p> +<p>There was, perhaps, some reason for this contempt. The +North Road was at that time one of the finest roads in the world, +broad, hard-metalled, and sound in the wettest weather. +That which led to Cowfold was under the control of the parish, +and in winter-time was very bad indeed. When you looked +down it it seemed as if it led nowhere, and indeed the +inhabitants of the town were completely shut off from any close +communication with the outer world. How strange it was to +emerge from the end of the lane and to see those wonderful words, +“To <span class="smcap">London</span>,” “To +<span class="smcap">York</span>!” What an opening +into infinity! Boys of a slightly imaginative turn of +mind—for there were boys with imagination even in +Cowfold—would, on a holiday trudge the three miles eastward +merely to get to the post and enjoy the romance of those +mysterious fingers. No wonder; for the excitement begotten +by the long stretch of the road—London at one end, York at +the other—by the sight of the <i>Star</i>, <i>Rover</i>, +<i>Eclipse</i>, or <i>Times</i> racing along at twelve miles an +hour, and by the inscriptions on them, was worth a whole +afternoon’s cricket or wandering in the fields. +Cowfold itself supplied no such stimulus. The only thing +like it was the mail-cart, which every evening took the letters +from the post-office, disappeared into the dark, nobody could +tell whither, and brought letters in the morning, nobody could +tell whence, before the inhabitants were out of bed. There +was a vague belief that it went about fifteen miles and +“caught” something somewhere; but nobody knew for +certain, except the postmistress and the mail-cart driver, who +were always remarkably reticent on the point. The driver +was dressed in red, carried a long horn slung at the side of the +cart, and was popularly believed also to have pistols with +him. He never accosted anybody; sat on a solitary perch +just big enough for him; swayed always backwards and forwards a +little in a melancholy fashion as he rode; was never seen during +the day-time, and was not, in any proper sense, a Cowfold +person.</p> +<p>Cowfold had four streets, or, more correctly, only two, which +crossed one another at right angles in the middle of the town, +and formed there a kind of square or open place, in which, on +Saturdays, a market was held.</p> +<p>The “Angel” was in this square, and the shops +grouped themselves round it. In the centre was a large pump +with a great leaden spout that had a hole bored in it at the +side. By stopping up the mouth of the spout with the hand +it was possible through this hole to get a good drink, if a +friend was willing to work the handle; and as the square was a +public playground, the pump did good service, especially amongst +the boys, all of whom preferred it greatly to a commonplace +mug. On Sundays it was invariably chained up; for although +it was no breach of the Sabbath to use the pump in the backyard, +the line was drawn there, and it would have been voted by +nine-tenths of Cowfold as decidedly immoral to get water from the +one outside. The shops were a draper’s, a +grocer’s, an ironmonger’s, a butcher’s and a +baker’s. All these were regular shops, with +shop-windows, and were within sight of one another.</p> +<p>There were also other houses where things were sold; but these +were mere dwelling-houses, and were at the poorer and more remote +ends of Cowfold. None of the regular shops aforesaid were +strictly what they professed to be. Each of them diverged +towards “the general.” The draper sold boots +and shoes; the grocer sold drugs, stationery, horse and cow +medicines, and sheep ointment; and the ironmonger dealt in +crockery. Even the butcher was more than a butcher, for he +was never to be seen at his chopping block, and his wife did all +the retail work. He himself was in the +“jobbing” line, and was always jogging about in a +cart, in the hind part of which, covered with a net, was a calf +or a couple of pigs. Three out of the four streets ran out +in cottages; but one was more aristocratic. This was Church +Street, which contained the church and the parsonage. It +also had in it four red brick houses, each surrounded with large +gardens. In one lived a brewer who had a brewery in +Cowfold, and owned a dozen beer-shops in the neighbourhood; +another was a seminary for young ladies; in the third lived the +doctor; and in the fourth old Mr. and Mrs. Muston, who had no +children, had been there for fifty years; and this, so far as +Cowfold was aware, was all their history. Mr. and Mrs. +Muston and the seminary were the main strength of the +church. To be sure the doctor and the landlord of the +“Angel” professed devotion to the Establishment, but +they were never inside the church, except just now and then, and +were charitably excused because of their peculiar calling. +The rest of Cowfold was Dissenting or “went +nowhere.” There were three chapels; one the chapel, +orthodox, Independent, holding about seven hundred persons, and +more particularly to be described presently; the second Wesleyan, +new, stuccoed, with grained doors and cast-iron railing; the +third, strict Baptist, ultra-Calvinistic, Antinomian according to +the other sects, dark, down an alley, mean, surrounded by a small +long-grassed graveyard, and named <span class="smcap">Zoar</span> +in large letters over the long window in front. The +“went nowhere” class was apparently not very +considerable. On Sunday morning at twelve o’clock +Cowfold looked as if it had been swept clean. It was only +by comparison between the total number of church-goers and +chapel-goers and the total population that it could be believed +that there was anybody absent from the means of grace; but if a +view could have been taken of the back premises an explanation +would have been discovered. Men and women “did up +their gardens,” or found, for a variety of reasons, that +they were forced to stay at home. In the evening they grew +bolder, and strolled through the meadows. It is, however, +only fair to respectable Cowfold to say that it knew nothing of +these creatures, except by employing them on week-days.</p> +<p>With regard to the Wesleyan Chapel, nothing much need be +said. Its creed was imported, and it had no roots in the +town. The Church disliked it because it was Dissenting, and +the Dissenters disliked it because it was half-Church, and, above +all, Tory. It was supported mainly by the brewer, who was +drawn thither for many reasons, one of which was political. +Another was, that he was not in trade, and although he objected +to be confounded with his neighbours who stood behind counters, +the Church did not altogether suit him, because there Mr. and +Mrs. Muston and the seminary stood in his way. Lastly, as +he owned beer-shops, supplied liquor which was a proverb +throughout the county, and did a somewhat doubtful business +according to the more pious of the Cowfold Christians, he +preferred to be accredited as a religious person by Methodism +than by any other sect, the stamp of Methodism standing out in +somewhat higher relief.</p> +<p>As for Zoar, it was a place apart. Its minister was a +big, large-jawed, heavy-eyed man, who lived in a little cottage +hard by. His wife was a very plain-looking person, who wore +even on Sundays a cotton gown without any ornament, and who took +her husband’s arm as they walked down the lane to the +chapel. The Independent minister, the Wesleyan minister, +and, of course, the rector had nothing to do with the minister of +Zoar. This was not because of any heresy or difference of +doctrine, but because he was a poor man and poor persons sat +under him. Nevertheless he was not in any way a +characteristic Calvinist. The Calvinistic creed was stuck +in him as in a lump of fat, and had no organising influence upon +him whatever. He had no weight in Cowfold, took part in +none of its affairs, and his ministrations were confined to about +fifty sullen, half stupid, wholly ignorant people who found in +the Zoar services something sleepier and requiring less mental +exertion than they needed elsewhere; although it must be said +that the demands made upon the intellect in none of the places of +worship were very extensive. There was a small endowment +attached to Zoar, and on this, with the garden and house rent +free, the minister lived. Once now and then—perhaps +once in every three or four years—there was a baptism in +Zoar, and at such times it was crowded. The children of the +congregation, as a rule fell away from it as they grew up; but +occasionally a girl remained faithful and was formally admitted +to its communion. In front of the pulpit was an open space +usually covered; but the boards could be taken up, and then a +large kind of tank was disclosed, which was filled with water +when the ceremony was performed. After hymns had been sung +the minister went down into the water, and the candidate appeared +dressed in a long white robe very much like a night-gown. +The dear sister, during a short address, stood on the brink of +the tank for a few moments, and then descended into it beside the +minister, who, taking her by the neck and round the waist, ducked +her fairly and completely. She emerged, and walked dripping +into the vestry, where it was always said that hot brandy and +water was ready.</p> +<p>Many of us have felt that we would give all our books if we +could but see with our own eyes how a single day was passed by a +single ancient Jewish, Greek, or Roman family; how the house was +opened in the morning; how the meals were prepared; what was +said; how the husband, wife, and children went about their work; +what clothes they wore, and what were their amusements. +Would that the present historian could do as much for +Cowfold! Would that he could bring back one blue summer +morning, one afternoon and evening, and reproduce exactly what +happened in Cowfold Square, in one of the Cowfold shops, in one +of the Cowfold parlours, and in one Cowfold brain and +heart. Could this be done with strictest accuracy, a book +would be written, although Cowfold was not Athens, Rome, nor +Jerusalem, which would live for many many years longer than much +of the literature of this century. But alas! the +preliminary image in the mind of the writer is faint enough, and +when he comes to trace it, the pencil swerves and goes off into +something utterly unlike it. An attempt, however, to show +what the waking hours in Cowfold Square were like may not be out +of place. The shopkeeper came into his shop at half-past +seven, about half an hour after the shutters had been taken down +by his apprentice. At eight o’clock breakfast was +ready; but before breakfast there was family worship, and a +chapter was read from the Bible, followed by an extempore prayer +from the head of the household. If the master happened to +be absent, it was not considered proper that the mistress should +pray extempore, and she used a book of “Family +Devotions.” A very solid breakfast followed, and +business began. It was very slow, but it was very +human—much more so than business at the present day in the +City. Every customer had something to say beyond his own +immediate errand, and the shop was the place where everything +touching Cowfold interests was abundantly discussed. +Cowfold too, did much trade in the country round it. Most +of the inhabitants kept a gig, and two or three times, perhaps, +in a week a journey somewhere or other was necessary which was +not in the least like a journey in a railway train. Debts +in the villages were collected by the creditor in person, who +called and invited his debtors to a most substantial dinner at +the inn. At one o’clock Cowfold dined. Between +one and two nobody was to be seen in the streets, and the doors +were either fastened or a bell was put upon them. After +dinner the same duties returned in the shop; but inside the house +dinner was the turning-point of the day. When the +“things were washed, up,” servant and mistress began +to smarten themselves, and disappearing into their bedrooms, +emerged at four, to make preparations for tea, the meal most +enjoyed in all Cowfold. If any spark of wit slept in any +Cowfoldian male or female, it appeared then. No invitations +to dinner were ever heard of; but tea was the opportunity for +hospitality, especially amongst women. The minister, when +he visited, invariably came to tea. The news circulated at +tea, and, in fact, at tea between five and six, Cowfold, if its +intellect could have been measured by a properly constructed +gauge, would have been found many degrees higher in the scale +than at any other hour. Granted that the conversation was +personal, trivial, and even scandalous, it was in a measure +philosophical. Cowfold, though it knew nothing, or next to +nothing of abstractions, took immense interest in the creatures +in which they were embodied. It would have turned a deaf +ear to any debate on the nature of ethical obligation; but it was +very keen indeed in apportioning blame to its neighbours who had +sinned, and in deciding how far they had gone wrong. +Cowfold in other words believed that flesh and blood, and not +ideas, are the school and the religion for most of us, and that +we learn a language by the examples rather than by the +rules. The young scholar fresh from his study is impatient +at what he considers the unprofitable gossip about the people +round the corner; but when he gets older he sees that often it is +much better than his books, and that distinctions are expressed +by a washerwoman, if the objects to be distinguished eat and +drink and sleep, which he would find it difficult to make with +his symbols. Moreover, the little Cowfold clubs and parties +understood what they were saying, and so far had an advantage +over the clubs and parties which, since the days of penny +newspapers, now discuss in Cowfold the designs of Russia, the +graduation of the Income Tax, or the merits and demerits of the +administration. The Cowfold horizon has now been widened, +to use the phrase of an enlightened gentleman who came down and +lectured there on the criminality of the advertisement duty; but +unfortunately the eyes remain the same. Cowfold now looks +abroad, and is very eloquent upon the fog in the distance, and +the objects it thinks it sees therein; but, alas! what it has +gained in inclusive breadth it has lost in definition. +Politics, however, were not unknown in Cowfold; for before 1832 +it was a borough, and after 1832 it was one of the principal +polling-places for the county. Nevertheless it was only on +the eve of an election that anybody dabbled in them, and even +then they were very rudimentary. The science to most of the +voters meant nothing more than a preference of blue to yellow, or +yellow to blue; and women had nothing whatever to do with it, +excepting that wives always, of course, took their +husbands’ colours. Politics, too, as a rule, were not +mentioned in private houses. They were mostly reserved for +the “Angel,” and for the brandies and water and pipes +which collected there in the evening.</p> +<p>To return. After tea the master went back once more to +his counter, and the shutters were put up at eight. From +eight to nine was an hour of which no account can be given: The +lights were left burning in the shops, and the neighbour across +the way looked in and remained talking till his supper was +ready. Supper at nine, generally hot, was an institution +never omitted, and, like tea, was convivial; but the conviviality +was of a distinctly lower order. Everybody had whisky, gin, +or brandy afterwards, and every male person who was of age +smoked. There was, as a rule, no excess, but the remarks +were apt to be disconnected and woolly; and the wife, who never +had grog for herself, but always sipped her husband’s went +to sleep. Eleven o’clock saw all Cowfold in bed, and +disturbed only by such dreams as were begotten of the previous +liver and bacon and alcohol.</p> +<p>There were no villains amongst that portion of the inhabitants +with which this history principally concerns itself, nor was a +single adventure of any kind ever known to happen beyond the +adventures of being born, getting married, falling sick, and +dying, with now and then an accident from a gig. +Consequently it might be thought that there was no romance in +Cowfold. There could not be a greater mistake. The +history of every boy or girl of ordinary make is one of robbery, +murder, imprisonment, death sentence, filing of chains, scaling +of prison walls, recapture, scaffold, reprieve, poison, and +pistols; the difference between such a history and that in the +authorised versions being merely circumstantial. The garden +of Eden, the murder of Cain, the deluge, the salvation of Noah, +the exodus from Egypt, David and Bathsheba, with the murder of +Uriah, the Assyrian invasion, the Incarnation, the Atonement, and +the Resurrection from the Dead; to say nothing of the Decline and +Fall of the Roman Empire, the tragedy of Count Cenci, the +execution of Mary Queen of Scots, the Inquisition in Spain, and +Revolt of the Netherlands, all happened in Cowfold, as well as +elsewhere, and were perhaps more interesting there because they +could be studied in detail and the records were authentic.</p> +<p>Church Street, Cowfold—that is to say, the street in +which the church stood—was tolerably broad going east and +west, so that the sun shone full on the white window-frames and +red brick of Mr. Muston’s house, in which everything seemed +to sleep in eternal calm. On the opposite side was the +seminary, also red brick and white paint, facing the north; but, +to make amends, the garden had a southern aspect, and the back of +the house was covered with a huge magnolia whose edges curled +round to the western side, so that it could be seen by +wayfarers. It was a sight not to be forgotten—the red +brick, the white paint, the July sun; the magnolia leaves, the +flanking elms on the east high above the chimneys, the glimpse of +the acre of lawn through the great gates when they happened to be +open, the peace, so profound, of summer noon! How lovely it +looks as it hovers unsteadily before the eye, seen through the +transfiguring haze of so many years! It was really, there +is no doubt about it, handsomer than the stuccoed villa which +stares at us over the way; but yet, if Cowfold Church Street, red +brick, white paint, elms, lawn, and midsummer repose could be +restored at the present moment, would it be exactly what the +vision of it is? What is this magic gift which even for the +humblest of us paints and frames these enchanting pictures? +It is nothing less than the genius which is common to +humanity. If we are not able to draw or model, we possess +the power to select, group, and clothe with an ideal grace, which +is the very soul of art, and every man and woman, every bush, +nay, every cabbage, cup, and saucer, provided only it be not +actually before us, becomes part of a divine picture. Would +that we could do with the present what we do with the past! +We <i>can</i> do something if we try.</p> +<p>At the end of Church Street came the vicarage, and then the +churchyard, with the church. Beyond was the park, which +half embraced Cowfold, for it was possible to enter it not only +from Church Street, but from North Street, which ran at right +angles to it. The Hall was not much. It was a large +plain stone mansion, built in the earlier part of the eighteenth +century; but in front of the main entrance was a double row of +limes stretching for a quarter of a mile, and the whole of the +park was broken up into soft swelling hills, from whose tops, +owing to the flatness of the country round, an almost +immeasurable distance could be seen, gradually losing itself in +deepening mist of tenderest blue. The park, too, was not +rigidly circumscribed. Public roads led through it. +It melted on two or three sides into cultivated fields, and even +the private garden of the Hall seemed a part of it, for there was +nothing between them but a kind of grassy ditch and an almost +invisible fence. The domain of Cowfold Hall was the glory +of Cowfold and the pride of its inhabitants. The modern +love of scenery was not known in Cowfold, and still less was that +worship of landscape and nature known which, as before observed, +is peculiar to the generation born under the influence of +Wordsworth. We have learnt, however, from Zachariah that +even before Wordsworth’s days people were sometimes touched +by dawn or sunset. The morning cheered, the moon lent +pathos and sentiment, and the stars awoke unanswerable +interrogations in Cowfold, although it knew no poetry, save Dr. +Watts, Pollok’s <i>Course of Time</i>, and here and there a +little of Cowper. Under the avenue, too, whose slender +columns, in triple rows on either side, rose to an immense +height, and met in a roof overhead with all the grace of +cathedral stone, and without its superincumbent weight and +imprisonment—a roof that was not impervious to the +sunlight, but let it pass and fall in quivering flakes on the +ground—Cowfold generally took off its hat, partly, no +doubt, because the place was cool, but also as an act of +homage. Here and in the woods adjoining youths and maidens +for three hundred years had walked and made love, for, though the +existing house was new, it stood on the site of a far older +building. Dead men and women, lord and churl, gone to +indistinguishable dust, or even beyond that—gone perhaps, +into vapour and gas, which had been blown to New Zealand, and +become men and women again—had burned with passion here, +and vowed a union which was to last beyond the Judgment +Day. They wept here, quarrelled here, rushed again into one +another’s arms here, swore to one another here, when Henry +the Eighth was king; and they wept here, quarrelled here, +embraced here, swore here, in exactly the same mad fashion, when +William the Fourth sat upon the throne. Half-way up the +avenue was a stone pillar commanding a gentle descent, one way to +the Hall, and the other way to the lodge. It set forth the +anguish of a former lord of the time of Queen Anne, who had lost +his wife when she was twenty-six years old. She was beneath +him in rank, but very beautiful, and his affection for her had +fought with and triumphed over the cruel opposition of father, +mother, and relations, who had other designs. He had made +enemies of them all; but he won his wife, and, casting her in the +scale, father, mother, and friends were as gossamer. She +died two years after the wedding—to the very day. +Rich in her love, he had never taken a thought to propitiate +anybody, nor to make friends with the Mammon of Unrighteousness, +and when she suddenly departed, he turned round and found himself +alone. So far from knocking at men’s doors, he more +fiercely hated those who now, touched with pity, would gladly +have welcomed him. He broke from them all, lived his own +life, was reputed to be a freethinker, and when he came to his +estate, a long while afterwards, he put up the obelisk, and +recorded in Latin how Death, the foul adulterer, had ravished his +sweet bride—the coward Death whom no man could +challenge—and that the inconsolable bridegroom had erected +this monument in memory of her matchless virtues. That was +all: no blessed resurrection nor trust in the Saviour. The +Reverend John Broad, minister of Tanner’s Lane Chapel, when +he brought visitors here regularly translated the epitaph. +He was not very good at Latin, but he had somehow found out its +meaning. He always observed that it was not classic, and +consequently not easy to render. He pointed out, too, as a +further curiosity, which somewhat increased the difficulty to any +ordinary person, that V was used for U, and I for J. He +never, as might be expected, omitted to enlarge upon the omission +of any reference to the Atoning Blood and the Life to Come, and +remarked how the poor man’s sufferings would have been +entirely “assuaged”—a favourite word with Mr. +Broad—if he had believed in those +“remedies.” At the same time Mr. Broad dwelt +upon the “associations” of the avenue, which, he +thought, added much to its natural +“attractiveness.” Cowfold thought so too, and +welcomed the words as exactly expressing what it felt. John +Broad and Cowfold were right, and more right, perhaps, than they +knew. The draper’s young man, who walked through the +park with his arm round his young woman’s waist, looked up +at the obelisk, repeated its story, and became more +serious. Thus it came to pass that the old lord’s +love lived again somewhat in the apprentice, and that which to +the apprentice seemed most particularly himself was a little bit +of the self of the Queen Anne’s earl long since asleep in +the vault under Cowfold Church.</p> +<h2><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +168</span>CHAPTER XVII<br /> +<span class="smcap">When Wilt Thou Arise out of Thy +Sleep</span>? <span class="smcap">Yet a Little +Sleep</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Reverend John Broad was +minister of Tanner’s Lane Chapel, or, more properly, +Meeting-house, a three gabled building, with the date 1688 upon +it, which stood in a short street leading out of North +Street. Why it was called Tanner’s Lane nobody knew; +for not in the memory of man had any tanner carried on his trade +there. There was nothing of any consequence in it but the +meeting-house, and when people said Tanner’s Lane this was +what they meant. There were about seven hundred and fifty +sittings in it, and on Sundays it was tolerably full, for it was +attended by large numbers of people from the surrounding +villages, who came in gigs and carts, and brought their dinners +with them, which they ate in the vestry. It was, in fact, +the centre of the Dissenting activity for a whole district. +It had small affiliated meeting-houses in places like Sheepgate, +Hackston Green, and Bull’s Cross, in which service was held +on Sunday evening by the deacons of Tanner’s Lane, or by +some of the young men whom Mr. Broad prepared to be +missionaries. For a great many years the congregation had +apparently undergone no change in character; but the uniformity +was only apparent. The fervid piety of Cowper’s time +and of the Evangelical revival was a thing almost of the +past. The Reverend John Broad was certainly not of the +Revival type. He was a big, gross-feeding, heavy person, +with heavy ox-face and large mouth, who might have been bad +enough for anything if nature had ordained that he should have +been born in a hovel at Sheepgate or in the Black Country. +As it happened, his father was a woollen draper, and John was +brought up to the trade as a youth; got tired of it, thought he +might do something more respectable; went to a Dissenting +College; took charge of a little chapel in Buckinghamshire; +married early; was removed to Tanner’s Lane, and became a +preacher of the Gospel. He was moderate in all of what he +called his “views;” neither ultra-Calvinist nor +Arminian not rigid upon Baptism, and certainly much unlike his +lean and fervid predecessor, the Reverend James Harden, M.A., who +was educated at Cambridge; threw up all his chances there when he +became convinced of sin; cast in his lot with the Independents, +and wrestled even unto blood with the world, the flesh, and the +devil in Cowfold for thirty years, till he was gathered to his +rest. A fiery, ardent, untamable soul was Harden’s, +bold and uncompromising. He never scrupled to tell anybody +what he thought, and would send an arrow sharp and swift through +any iniquity, no matter where it might couch. He absolutely +ruled Cowfold, hated by many, beloved by many, feared by +all—a genuine soldier of the Cross. Mr. Broad very +much preferred the indirect mode of doing good, and if he thought +a brother had done wrong, contented himself with praying in +private for him. He was, however, not a hypocrite, that is +to say, not an ordinary novel or stage hypocrite. There is +no such thing as a human being simply hypocritical or simply +sincere. We are all hypocrites, more or less, in every word +and every action, and, what is more, in every thought. It +is a question simply of degree. Furthermore, there are +degrees of natural capacity for sincerity, and Mr. Broad was +probably as sincere as his build of soul and body allowed him to +be. Certainly no doubt as to the truth of what he preached +ever crossed his mind. He could not doubt, for there was no +doubt in the air; and yet he could not believe as Harden +believed, for neither was Harden’s belief now in the +air. Nor was Mr. Broad a criminal in any sense. He +was upright, on the whole, in all his transactions, although a +little greedy and hard, people thought, when the trustees +proposed to remit to Widow Oakfield, on her husband’s +death, half the rent of a small field belonging to the +meeting-house, and contributing a modest sum to Mr. Broad’s +revenue. He objected. Widow Oakfield was poor; but +then she did not belong to Tanner’s Lane, and was said to +have relations who could help her. Mr. Broad loved his wife +decently, brought up his children decently, and not the slightest +breath of scandal ever tarnished his well-polished +reputation. On some points he was most particular, and no +young woman who came to him with her experience before she was +admitted into the church was ever seen by him alone. Always +was a deacon present, and all Cowfold admitted that the minister +was most discreet. Another recommendation, too, was that he +was temperate in his drink. He was not so in his +meat. Supper was his great meal, and he would then consume +beef, ham, or sausages, hot potatoes, mixed pickles, fruit pies, +bread, cheese, and celery in quantities which were remarkable +even in those days; but he never drank anything but beer—a +pint at dinner and a pint at supper.</p> +<p>On one Monday afternoon in July, 1840, Mr. and Mrs. Broad sat +at tea in the study. This was Mr. Broad’s habit on +Monday afternoon. On that day, after the three sermons on +the Sunday, he always professed himself +“Mondayish.” The morning was given over to +calling in the town; when he had dined he slept in his large +leathern chair; and at five husband and wife had tea by +themselves. Thomas, the eldest son, and his two younger +sisters, Priscilla and Tryphosa, aged seventeen and fifteen, were +sent to the dining-room. Mr. Broad never omitted this +custom of spending an hour and a half on Monday with Mrs. +Broad. It gave them an opportunity of talking over the +affairs of the congregation, and it added to Mr. Broad’s +importance with the missionary students, because they saw how +great were the weight and fatigue of the pastoral office.</p> +<p>A flock like that which was shepherded by Mr. Broad required +some management. Mrs. Broad took the women, and Mr. Broad +the men; but Mrs. Broad was not a very able tactician. She +was a Flavel by birth, and came from a distant part of the +country. Her father was a Dissenting minister; but he was +Dr. Flavel, with a great chapel in a great town. +Consequently she gave herself airs, and occasionally let fall, to +the great displeasure of the Cowfold ladies, words which implied +some disparagement of Cowfold. She was a shortish, stout, +upright little woman, who used a large fan and spoke with an +accent strange to the Midlands. She was not a great help to +the minister, because she was not sufficiently flexible and +insinuating for her position; but nevertheless they always worked +together, and she followed as well as she could the directions of +her astuter husband, who, considering his bovine cast, was +endowed with quite a preternatural sagacity in the secular +business of his profession.</p> +<p>On this particular afternoon, however, the subject of the +conversation was not the congregation, but young Thomas Broad, +aged eighteen, the exact, and almost ridiculously exact, +counterpart of his father. He had never been allowed to go +to school, but had been taught at home. There was only one +day-school in Cowfold, and his mother objected to the +“mixture.” She had been heard to say as much, +and Cowfold resented this too, and the Cowfold youths resented it +by holding Tommy Broad in extreme contempt. He had never +been properly a boy, for he could play at no boyish games; had a +tallowy, unpleasant complexion, went for formal walks, and +carried gloves. But though in a sense incompletely +developed, he was not incompletely developed in another +direction. He was at what is called an awkward age, and +both father and mother had detected in him an alarming tendency +to enjoy the society of young women—a tendency much +stimulated by his unnatural mode of life. Thomas was +already a member of the church and was a teacher in the +Sunday-school; but his mother was uneasy, for a serious +attachment between Thomas and anybody in the town would have been +very distasteful to her. The tea having been poured out, +and Mr. Broad having fairly settled down upon the buttered toast +and radishes, Mrs. Broad began:</p> +<p>“Have you thought anything more about Thomas, my +dear?”</p> +<p>Being a minister’s son, he was never called Tom by +either papa or mamma.</p> +<p>“Yes, my love; but it is very difficult to know how to +proceed judiciously in such a case.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Allen asked me, last Wednesday, when he was going +to leave home, and I told her we had not made up our minds. +She said that her brother in Birmingham wanted a youth in his +office, but my answer was directly that we had quite determined +that Thomas should not enter into any trade.”</p> +<p>“What did she say?”</p> +<p>“That she was not surprised, for she hardly thought +Thomas was fitted for it.”</p> +<p>The minister looked grave and perplexed, for Mr. Allen was in +trade, and was a deacon. Mrs. Broad proceeded:</p> +<p>“I am quite sure Thomas ought to be a minister; and I am +quite sure, too, he ought to leave Cowfold and go to +college.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you think this event might be +procrastinated; the expense would be considerable.”</p> +<p>“Well, my dear, Fanny Allen came here to tea the day +before yesterday. When she went away she could not find her +clogs. I was on the landing, and saw what happened, though +they did not think it. Fanny’s brother was waiting +outside. Priscilla had gone somewhere far the +moment—I don’t know where—and Tryphosa was +upstairs. Thomas said he would look for the clogs, and +presently I saw him fastening them for her. Then he walked +with her down the garden. I just went into the front +bedroom and looked. It was not very dark, and,—well, +I may be mistaken, but I do believe—” The rest +of the sentence was wanting. Mrs. Broad stopped at this +point. She felt it was more becoming to do so. She +shifted on her chair with a fidgety motion, threw her head back a +little, looked up at the portrait of Dr. Flavel in gown and bands +which hung over the fireplace, straightened her gown upon her +knees, and pushed it forward over her feet so as to cover them +altogether—a mute protest against the impropriety of the +scene she had partly described. Mr. Broad inwardly would +have liked her to go on; but he always wore his white +neckerchief, except when he was in bed, and he was still the +Reverend John Broad, although nobody but his wife was with +him. He therefore refrained, but after a while slowly +observed:</p> +<p>“Thomas has not made much progress in systematic +theology.”</p> +<p>“They do not require much on admission, do they? +He knows the outlines, and I am sure the committee will recollect +my father and be glad to get Thomas. I have heard that the +social position of the candidates is not what it used to be, and +that they wish to obtain some of a superior stamp, who ultimately +may be found adapted to metropolitan churches.”</p> +<p>“One of the questions last year, my dear, was upon the +office of the Comforter, and you remember Josiah Collins was +remanded. I hardly think Thomas is sufficiently instructed +on that subject at present; and there are others. On the +whole, it is preferable that he should not go till September +twelvemonths.”</p> +<p>“His personal piety would have weight.”</p> +<p>“Undoubtedly.”</p> +<p>There was a pause, and Mrs. Broad then continued:</p> +<p>“Well, my dear, you know best; but what about +Fanny? I shall not ask her again. How very forward, +and indeed altogether”— Another stoppage, +another twitch at her gown, with another fidget on the chair, the +eyes going up to Dr. Flavel’s bands as before. +“In <i>our</i> house too—to put herself in +Thomas’s way!”</p> +<p>Ah! Mrs. Broad, are you sure Thomas did not go out of +his way—even in your house, that eminently respectable, +eminently orthodox residence—even Thomas, your Samuel, who +had been granted to the Lord, and who, to use his own words when +his written religious autobiography was read at the +church-meeting, being the child of pious parents, and of many +prayers, had never been exposed to those assaults of the enemy of +souls which beset ordinary young men, and consequently had not +undergone a sudden conversion?</p> +<p>“But,” observed Mr. Broad, leaning back in his +easy-chair, and half covering his face with his great broad, fat +hand, “we shall offend the Allens if Fanny does not come, +and we shall injure the cause.”</p> +<p>“Has George Allen, Fanny’s brother, prayed at the +prayer-meeting yet? He was admitted two months +ago.”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Then ask his father to let him pray; and we need not +invite Fanny till Thomas has left.”</p> +<p>The papa objected that perhaps Thomas might go to the +Allen’s, but the mamma, with Dr. Flavel’s bands +before her, assured him that Thomas would do nothing of the +kind. So it was settled that Mr. Broad should call at the +Allen’s to-morrow, and suggest that George should +“engage” on the following Thursday. This, it +was confidently hoped, would prevent any suspicion on their part +that Fanny had been put aside. Of course, once having +begun, George would be regularly on the list.</p> +<h2><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>CHAPTER XVIII<br /> +A<span class="smcap"> Religious Picnic</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Occasionally</span>, in the summer months, +Tanner’s Lane indulged in a picnic; that is to say, the +principal members of the congregation, with their wives and +children, had an early dinner, and went in gigs and four-wheel +chaises to Shott Woods, taking hampers of bread, cake, jam, +butter, ham, and other eatables with them. At Shott Woods, +in a small green space under an immense oak, a fire was lighted +and tea was prepared. Mr. Broad and his family always +joined the party. These were the days when Dissenters had +no set amusements, and the entertainment at Shott mainly +consisted in getting the sticks for the fire, fetching the water, +and waiting on one another; the waiting being particularly +pleasant to the younger people. Dancing, of course, was not +thought of. In 1840 it may safely be said that there were +not twenty Independent families in Great Britain in which it +would have been tolerated, and, moreover, none but the rich +learned to dance.</p> +<p>No dancing-master ever came into Cowfold; there was no +music-master there; no concert was ever given; and Cowfold, in +fact, never “saw nor heard anything;” to use a modern +phrase, save a travelling menagerie with a brass band. What +an existence! How <i>did</i> they live? It’s +certain, however, that they did live, and, on the whole, enjoyed +their life.</p> +<p>The picnics were generally on a Monday, as a kind of +compliment to Mr. Broad, who was supposed to need rest and change +on Monday, and who was also supposed not to be able to spare the +time on any other day. About a month after the conversation +recorded in the previous chapter Tanner’s Lane was jogging +along to Shott on one of its excursions. It was a +brilliant, blazing afternoon towards the end of August. The +corn stood in shocks, and a week with that sun would see it all +stacked. There was no dreary suburb round Cowfold, neither +town nor country, to shut out country influences. The +fields came up to the gardens and orchards at the back of half +the houses, and flowed irregularly, like an inundation, into the +angles of the streets. As you walked past the great gate of +the “Angel” yard you could see the meadow at the +bottom belonging to Hundred Acres. Consequently all Cowfold +took an interest in agriculture, and knew a good deal about +it. Every shopkeeper was half a farmer, and understood the +points of a pig or a horse. Cowfold was not a town properly +speaking, but the country a little thickened and congested. +The conversation turned upon the crops, and more particularly +upon turnips and drainage, both of them a new importation. +Hitherto all the parishes round had no drainage whatever, +excepting along the bottoms of the ridges, and the now familiar +red pipes had just made their appearance on a farm belonging to a +stranger to those parts—a young fellow from Norfolk. +Everybody was sceptical, and called him a fool. Everybody +wanted to know how water was going to get through fifteen inches +of heavy land when it would lie for two days where a horse +trod. However, the pipes went in, and it so happened that +the first wet day after they were laid was a Sunday. The +congregation in Shott Church was very restless, although the +sermon was unusually short. One by one they crept out, and +presently they were followed by the parson. All of them had +collected in the pouring rain and were watching the outfall in +the ditches. To their unspeakable amazement the pipes were +all running! Shott scratched its head and was utterly +bewildered. A new idea in a brain not accustomed to the +invasion of ideas produces a disturbance like a revolution. +It causes giddiness almost as bad as that of a fit, and an +extremely unpleasant sensation of having been whirled round and +turned head over heels. It was the beginning of new things +in Shott, the beginning of a breakdown in its traditions; a +belief in something outside the ordinary parochial uniformities +was forced into the skull of every man, woman, and child by the +evidence of the senses; and when other beliefs asked, in the +course of time, for admittance they found the entrance easier +than it would have been otherwise.</p> +<p>The elderly occupants of the Tanner’s Lane gigs and +chaises talked exclusively upon these and other cognate +topics. The sons and daughters talked about other things +utterly unworthy of any record in a serious history. +Delightful their chatter was to them. What does it signify +to eighteen years what is said on such an afternoon by seventeen +years, when seventeen years is in a charming white muslin dress, +with the prettiest hat? Words are of importance between me +and you, who care little or nothing for one another. But +there is a thrice blessed time when words are nothing. The +real word is that which is not uttered. We may be silent, +or we may be eloquent with nonsense or sense—it is all +one. So it was between George Allen and Miss Priscilla +Broad, who at the present moment were sitting next to one +another. George was a broad, hearty, sandy-haired, +sanguine-faced young fellow of one and twenty, eldest son of the +ironmonger. His education had been that of the middle +classes of those days. Leaving school at fourteen, he had +been apprenticed to his father for seven years, and had worked at +the forge down the backyard before coming into the front +shop. On week-days he generally wore a waistcoat with +sleeves and a black apron. He was never dirty; in fact, he +was rather particular as to neatness and cleanliness; but he was +always a little dingy and iron-coloured, as retail ironmongers +are apt to be. He was now in charge of the business under +his father; stood behind the counter; weighed nails; examined +locks brought for repair; went to the different houses in Cowfold +with a man under him to look at boiler-pipes, the man wearing a +cap and George a tall hat. He had a hard, healthy, honest +life, was up at six o’clock in the morning, ate well, and +slept well. He was always permitted by his father to go on +these excursions, and, in fact, they could not have been a +success without him. If anything went wrong he was always +the man to set it right. If a horse became restive, George +was invariably the one to jump out, and nobody else thought of +stirring. He had good expectations. The house in +which the Allens lived was their own. Mr. Allen did a +thriving trade, not only in Cowfold, but in all the country +round, and particularly among the village blacksmiths, to whom he +sold iron. He had steadily saved money, and had enlarged +the original little back parlour into a room which would hold +comfortably a tea-party of ten or a dozen.</p> +<p>Miss Priscilla Broad was framed after a different model. +Her face was not much unlike that of one of those women of the +Restoration so familiar to us in half a hundred pictures. +Not that Restoration levity and Restoration manners were +chargeable to Miss Priscilla. She never forgot her +parentage; but there were the same kind of prettiness, the same +sideways look, the same simper about the lips, and there were the +same flat unilluminated eyes. She had darkish brown hair, +which fell in rather formal curls on her shoulder, and she was +commonly thought to be “delicate.” Like her +sister and brother, she had never been to school, on account of +the “mixture,” but had been taught by her +mother. Her accomplishments included Scripture and English +history, arithmetic, geography, the use of the globes, and +dates. She had a very difficult part to play in Cowfold, +for she was obliged to visit freely all Tanner’s Lane, but +at the same time to hold herself above it and not to form any +exclusive friendships. These would have been most +injudicious, because, in the first place, they would have excited +jealousy, and, in the next place, the minister’s daughter +could not be expected to be very intimate with anybody belonging +to the congregation. She was not particularly popular with +the majority, and was even thought to be just a bit of a +fool. But what could she have been with such +surroundings? The time had passed when religion could be +talked on week-days, and the present time, when ministers’ +children learn French, German, and Latin, and read selected plays +of Shakespeare, had not come. Miss Priscilla Broad found it +very difficult, also, to steer her course properly amongst the +young men in Cowfold. Mrs. Broad would not have permitted +any one of them for a moment to dream of an alliance with her +family. As soon might a Princess of the Blood Royal unite +herself with an ordinary knight. Miss Broad, however, as +her resources within herself were not particularly strong, +thought about little or nothing else than ensnaring the hearts of +the younger Cowfold males—that is to say, the hearts which +were converted, and yet she encouraged none of them, save by a +general acceptance of little attentions, by little mincing +smiles, and little mincing speeches.</p> +<p>“Such a beautiful day,” said George, “and +such pleasant company!”</p> +<p>“Really, Mr. Allen, don’t you think it would have +been pleasanter for you in front?”</p> +<p>“What did you say, my dear?” came immediately from +her mother, the ever-watchful dragon just before them. She +forthwith turned a little round, for the sun was on her left +hand, and with her right eye kept Priscilla well in view for the +rest of the journey.</p> +<p>In the chaise behind pretty much the same story was told, but +with a difference. In the back part were Mr. Thomas Broad +and Miss Fanny Allen. The arrangement which brought these +two together was most objectionable to Mrs. Broad; but +unfortunately she was a little late in starting, and it was made +before she arrived. She could not, without insulting the +Allens, have it altered; but she consoled herself by vowing that +it should not stand on the return journey in the dusk. Miss +Fanny was flattered that the minister’s son should be by +her side, and the minister’s son was not in the least +deterred from playing with Miss Fanny by the weight of +responsibility which oppressed and checked his sister. He +did not laugh much; he had not a nature for wholesome laughter, +but he chuckled, lengthened his lips, half shut his eyes; asked +his companion whether the rail did not hurt her, put his arm on +the top, so that she might lean against it, and talked in a +manner which even she would have considered a little silly and a +little odd, if his position, that of a student for the ministry, +had not surrounded him with such a halo of glory.</p> +<p>Presently Shott Woods were reached; the parcels and hampers +were unpacked, the fire was lit, the tea prepared, and the pastor +asked a blessing. Everybody sat on the grass, save the +reverend gentleman and his wife, who had chairs which had been +brought on purpose. It would not have been considered +proper that Mr. or Mrs. Broad should sit upon the grass, and +indeed physically it would have been inconvenient to Mr. Broad to +do so. He ate his ham in considerable quantities, adding +thereto much plumcake, and excusing himself on the ground that +the ride had given him an appetite. The meal being over, +grace was said, and the victuals that were left were +repacked. About an hour remained before the return journey +began. This was usually passed in sauntering about or in +walking to the springs, a mile away, down one of the grass +drives. Mrs. Broad never for a moment lost sight of Thomas, +and pressed him as much as possible into her service; but when +Mrs. Allen announced that the young people had all determined to +go to the springs, Mrs. Broad could not hold out. +Accordingly off they started, under strict orders to be back by +eight. They mixed themselves up pretty indiscriminately as +they left their seniors; but after a while certain affinities +displayed themselves, George being found with Priscilla, for +example, and Thomas with Fanny. The party kept together; +but Thomas and Fanny lagged somewhat till they came to a little +opening in the underwood, which Thomas said was a short cut, and +he pressed her to try it with him. She agreed, and they +slipped out of sight nearly, but not, quite, unobserved. +Thomas professed himself afraid Fanny might be tired, and offered +his arm. She again consented, not without a flutter, and so +they reached a clearing with three or four paths branching from +it. Thomas was puzzled, and as for Fanny, she knew +nothing. To add to their perplexity some drops of rain were +felt. She was a little frightened, and was anxious to try +one of the most likely tracks which looked, she thought, as if it +went to the springs, where they could take shelter in the cottage +with the others. Thomas, however, was doubtful, and +proposed that they should stand up in a shed which had been used +for faggot-making. The rain, which now came down heavily, +enforced his arguments, and she felt obliged to stay till the +shower had ceased.</p> +<p>“Only think, Fanny,” he said, “to be here +alone with you!”</p> +<p>He called her Fanny now; he had always called her Miss Allen +before.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said she, not knowing what answer to +make.</p> +<p>“You are cold,” he added, with a little trembling +in his voice and a little more light than usual in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Oh no, I am not cold.”</p> +<p>“I know you are,” and he took her hand; +“why, it is quite cold.”</p> +<p>“Oh dear no, Mr. Thomas, it is really not cold,” +and she made a movement to withdraw it, but it remained.</p> +<p>The touch of the hand caused his voice to shake a little more +than before.</p> +<p>“I say you are cold; come a little closer to me. +What will your mamma say if you catch a chill?” and he drew +Fanny a little nearer to him. The thick blood now drove +through him with increasing speed: everything seemed in a mist, +and a little perspiration was on his forehead. His arm +found its way round Fanny’s waist, and he pressed her +closer and closer to him till his hot lips were upon her +cheek. She made two or three futile attempts to release +herself; but she might as well have striven with that brazen, +red-hot idol who was made to clasp his victims to death. +She was frightened and screamed, when suddenly a strong +man’s voice was heard calling “Fanny, +Fanny.” It was her brother. Knowing that she +and Thomas had no umbrellas, he had brought them a couple.</p> +<p>“But, Fanny,” he cried, “did I not hear you +scream? What was the matter?”</p> +<p>“Nothing,” hastily interposed Thomas; “she +thought she saw it lighten.” Fanny looked at Thomas +for a moment; but she was scared and bewildered, and held her +peace.</p> +<p>The three went down to the rendezvous together, where the rest +of the party had already assembled. Mrs. Broad had been +very uneasy when she found that Thomas and Fanny were the only +absentees, and she had urged George the moment she saw him to +look for his sister without a moment’s delay. The +excuse of the rain was given and accepted; but Mrs. Broad felt +convinced from Fanny’s forward look that she had once more +thrown herself in the way of her beloved child, her delicate +Samuel. She was increasingly anxious that he should go to +college, and his papa promised at once to transmit the +application. Meanwhile, in the few days left before the +examination, he undertook to improve Thomas where he was weakest, +that is to say, in Systematic Theology, and more particularly in +the doctrine of the Comforter.</p> +<h2><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>CHAPTER XIX<br /> +“<span class="smcap">The Kingdom of Heaven is like unto +Leaven</span>”</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Isaac Allen</span>, Fanny’s +father, was an ardent Whig in politics—what in later years +would have been called a Radical. He had been apprenticed +in London, and had attended Mr. Bradshaw’s ministrations +there. He was the chosen friend of Zachariah Coleman; but +although he loved Zachariah, he had held but little intercourse +with him during his first marriage. There were family +reasons for the estrangement, due principally to a quarrel +between Mrs. Isaac and the first Mrs. Zachariah. But after +Mrs. Zachariah had died and her husband suffered so much Isaac +was drawn to him again. He was proud of him as a martyr for +a good cause, and he often saw him when he went to London on +business.</p> +<p>It was in consequence of these London visits that books +appeared on the little book-shelf in Cowfold Square which were to +be found nowhere else in the town, at any rate not in the +Dissenting portion of it. It was a little bookcase, it is +true, for people in country places were not great readers in +those days; but Sir Walter Scott was there, and upstairs in Mr. +Allen’s room there was Byron—not an uncut copy, but +one well used both by husband and wife. Mrs. Allen was not +a particularly robust woman, although she was energetic. +Often without warning, she would not make her appearance till +twelve or one o’clock in the day, and would have her fire +alight in her bedroom and take her breakfast in bed. It was +well understood when she was not at the table with the others +that the house was to be kept quiet. After a cup of +tea—nothing more—she rose and sat reading for a good +two hours. It was not that she was particularly +unwell—she simply needed rest. Every now and then +retreat from the world and perfect isolation were a necessity to +her. If she forced herself to come downstairs when she +ought to be by herself she became really ill. Occasionally +the fire was alight in the evening, too, and she would be off the +moment tea was over, Isaac frequently joining her then, although +he never remained with her in the morning. She was almost +sure to escape on the day following any excitement or undue worry +about household affairs. She knew Sir Walter Scott from end +to end, and as few people knew him. He had been to her, and +to her husband too, what he can only be to people leading a dull +life far from the world. He had broken up its monotony and +created a new universe! He had introduced them into a royal +society of noble friends. He had added to the ordinary +motives which prompted Cowfold action a thousand higher +motives. Then there was the charm of the magician, so +sanative, so blessed, felt directly any volume of that glorious +number was opened. <i>Kenilworth</i> or <i>Redgauntlet</i> +was taken down, and the reader was at once in another country and +in another age, transported as if by some Arabian charm away from +Cowfold cares. If anywhere in another world the blessings +which men have conferred here are taken into account in +distributing reward, surely the choicest in the store of the Most +High will be reserved for His servant Scott! It may be said +of others that they have made the world wise or rich, but of him +it must be said that <i>he</i>, <i>more than all</i>, <i>has made +the world happier</i>—wiser too, wiser through its +happiness.</p> +<p>Of the influence of Byron nothing more need be said here, +because so much has been said before. It may seem strange +that the deacon of a Dissenting chapel and his wife could read +him, and could continue to wait upon the ministrations of the +Reverend John Broad; but I am only stating a fact. Mrs. +Allen could repeat page after page of <i>Childe Harold</i>, and +yet she went diligently to Tanner’s Lane. Part of +what was read exhaled in the almost republican politics of the +Allen household; but it had also its effect in another direction, +and it was always felt by the Broads that the Allens were +questionable members of the flock. They were gathered into +the fold on Sunday, and had the genuine J. B. on their wool, but +there was a cross in them. There was nothing which could be +urged against them. No word of heresy ever escaped them, no +symptom of disbelief was ever seen and yet Mr. Broad often +desired exceedingly that they were different, was never at ease +with them, and in his heart of hearts bitterly hated them. +After all that can be said by way of explanation, there was much +in this concealed animosity of Mr. Broad which was +unaccountable. It was concealed because he was far too +worldly-wise to show it openly; but it was none the less +intense. Indeed, it was so intense as to be almost +inconsistent with Mr. Broad’s cast of character, and his +biographer is at a loss to find the precise point where it +naturally connects itself with the main stem from which branch +off the rest of his virtues and vices. However, there it +was, and perhaps some shrewder psychologist may be able to +explain how such a passion could be begotten in a nature +otherwise so somnolent.</p> +<p>For this literary leaven in the Allen’s household, as we +have said, Zachariah was answerable. Mrs. Allen loved him +as she loved her father, and he wrote to her long letters, +through which travelled into Cowfold Square all the thought of +the Revolution. He never went to Cowfold himself, nor could +he ever be persuaded to let little Pauline go. She had been +frequently invited, but he always declined the invitation +courteously on the ground that he could not spare her. The +fame of her beauty and abilities had, however, reached Cowfold, +and so it came to pass that when Mr. Thomas Broad, junior, being +duly instructed in the doctrine of the Comforter, entered the +Dissenting College in London, he determined that at the first +opportunity he would call and see her. He had been +privately warned both by his father and mother that he was on no +account to visit this particular friend of the Allens, firstly, +because Zachariah was reputed to be, “inclined towards +infidelity,” and secondly, because, summing up the whole +argument, he was not “considered respectable.”</p> +<p>“Of course, my dear, you know his history,” quoth +Mrs. Broad, “and it would very much interfere with your +usefulness if you were to be intimate with him.”</p> +<p>Little Pauline had by this time grown to be a woman, or very +nearly one. She had, as in nine times, perhaps, out of ten +is the case, inherited her temperament from her mother. She +had also inherited something more, for she was like her in +face. She had the same luxuriantly dark hair—a wonder +to behold when it was let down over her shoulders—the same +grey eyes, the same singularly erect attitude, and lips which, +although they were not tight and screwed up, were always set with +decision. But her distinguishing peculiarity was her +inherited vivacity, which was perfectly natural, but frequently +exposed her—just as it did her mother—to the charge +of being theatrical. The criticism was as unjust in her +case as in that of her mother, if by being theatrical we mean +being unreal. The unreal person is the half-alive languid +person. Pauline felt what she said, and acted it in every +gesture. Her precious promptitude of expression made her +invaluable as a companion to her father. He was English all +over and all through; hypochondriacal, with a strong tendency to +self-involution and self-absorption. She was only half +English, or rather altogether French, and when he came home in +the evening he often felt as if some heavy obstruction in his +brain and about his heart were suddenly dissolved. She and +her mother were like Hercules in the house of Admetus. +Before Hercules has promised to rescue Alcestis we feel that the +darkness has disappeared. Pauline was loved by her father +with intense passion. When she was a little child, and he +was left alone with a bitter sense of wrong, a feeling that he +had more than his proper share of life’s misery, his heart +was closed, and he cared for no friendship. But the +man’s nature could not be thus thwarted, and gradually it +poured itself out in full flood—denied exit +elsewhere—at this one small point. He rejoiced to +find that he had not stiffened into death, and he often went up +to her bedside as she lay asleep, and the tears came, and he +thanked God, not only for her but for his tears. He could +not afford to bring her up like a lady, but he did his best to +give her a good education. He was very anxious that she +should learn French, and as she was wonderfully quick at +languages, she managed in a very short time to speak it +fluently.</p> +<h2><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +188</span>CHAPTER XX<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Reverend Thomas Broad’s Exposition +of Romans viii</span>. 7</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Such</span> was the Coleman household when +Mr. Thomas Broad called one fine Monday afternoon about three +months after he had been at college. He had preached his +first sermon on the Sunday before, in a village about twelve +miles from London in a north-easterly direction, somewhere in the +flat regions of Essex. Mr. Thomas was in unusually good +humour, for he had not broken down, and thought he had crowned +himself with glory. The trial, to be sure, was not very +severe. The so-called chapel was the downstairs living-room +of a cottage holding at a squeeze about five-and-twenty +people. Nevertheless, there was a desk at one corner, with +two candles on either side, and Mr. Thomas was actually, for the +first time, elevated above an audience. It consisted of the +wheelwright and his wife, both very old, half a dozen labourers, +with their wives, and two or three children. The old +wheelwright, as he was in business, was called the +“principal support of the cause.” The +“cause,” however, was not particularly prosperous, +nor its supporters enthusiastic. It was +“supplied” always by a succession of +first-year’s students, who made their experiments on the +<i>corpus vile</i> here. Spiritual teaching, spiritual +guidance, these poor peasants had none, and when the Monday came +they went to their work in the marshes and elsewhere, and lived +their blind lives under grey skies, with nothing left in them of +the Sunday, save the recollection of a certain routine performed +which might one day save them from some disaster with which +flames and brimstone had something to do. It was not, +however, a reality to them. Neither the future nor the past +was real to them; no spiritual existence was real; nothing, in +fact, save the most stimulant sensation. Once upon a time, +a man, looking towards the celestial city, saw “The +reflection of the sun upon the city (for the city was of pure +gold), so exceeding glorious that he could not as yet with open +face behold it, save through an instrument made for that +purpose;” but Mr. Thomas Broad and his hearers needed no +smoked glass now to prevent injury to their eyes. Mr. +Thomas had put on a white neckerchief, had mounted the desk, and +had spoken for three-quarters of an hour from the text, +“The carnal mind is at enmity with God.” He had +received during the last three weeks his first lectures on the +“Scheme of Salvation,” and his discourse was a +reproduction of his notes thereon. The wheelwright and his +wife, and the six labourers with their wives, listened as oxen +might listen, wandered home along the lanes heavy-footed like +oxen, with heads towards the ground, and went heavily to +bed. The elder student who had accompanied Mr. Thomas +informed him that, on the whole, he had acquitted himself very +well, but that it would be better, perhaps, in future to be a +little simpler, and avoid what “may be called the +metaphysics of Redemption.”</p> +<p>“No doubt,” said he, “they are very +attractive, and of enormous importance. There is no +objection to expound them before a cultivated congregation in +London; but in the villages we cannot be too plain—that, at +least, is my experience. Simply tell them we are all +sinners, and deserve damnation. God sent His Son into the +world. If we believe in Him we shall be saved; if not, we +shall be lost. There is no mystery in that; everybody can +understand it; and people are never weary of hearing the old old +gospel.”</p> +<p>Mr. Thomas was well contented with himself, as we have said, +when he knocked at Zachariah’s door. It was opened by +Pauline. He took off his hat and smiled.</p> +<p>“My name is Broad. I come from Cowfold, and know +the Allens very well. I am now living in London, and having +heard of you so often, I thought I should like to +call.”</p> +<p>“Pray come in,” she said; “I am very glad to +see you. I wish my father were here.”</p> +<p>He was shown into the little front room, and after some +inquiries about his relations Pauline asked him where was his +abode in London.</p> +<p>“At the Independent College. I am studying for the +ministry.”</p> +<p>Pauline was not quite sure what “the ministry” +meant; but as Mr. Thomas had yesterday’s white tie round +his neck—he always “dirtied out” the +Sunday’s neckerchief on Monday, and wore a black one on the +other week-days—she guessed his occupation.</p> +<p>“Dear me! you must be tired with walking so +far.”</p> +<p>“Oh no, not tired with walking; but the fact is I am a +little Mondayish.”</p> +<p>“A little what?”</p> +<p>Mr. Thomas giggled a little. “Ah, you young +ladies, of course, don’t know what that means. I had +to conduct a service in the country yesterday, and am rather +fatigued. I am generally so on Mondays, and I always relax +on that day.” This, it is to be remembered, was his +first Monday.</p> +<p>Pauline regretted very much that she had no wine in the house; +neither had they any beer. They were not total abstainers, +but nothing of the kind was kept in their small store-closet.</p> +<p>“Oh, thank you; never mind.” He took a +bottle of smelling-salts from the mantelpiece and smelt it. +The conversation flagged a little. Pauline sat at the +window, and Mr. Thomas at the table. At last he +observed.</p> +<p>“Are you alone all day?”</p> +<p>“Generally, except on Sunday. Father does not get +home till late.”</p> +<p>“Dear me! And you are not dull nor +afraid?”</p> +<p>“Dull or afraid! Why?”</p> +<p>“Oh, well,” he sniggered, “dull—why, +young ladies, you know, usually like society. At +least,” and he laughed a little greasy laugh at his wit, +“we like theirs. And then—afraid—well, if +my sister were so attractive”—he looked to see if +this pretty compliment was effective—“I should not +like her to be without anybody in the house.”</p> +<p>Pauline became impatient. She rose. “When +you come again,” she said, “I hope my father will be +here.”</p> +<p>Mr. Thomas rose too. He had begun to feel awkward. +For want of something better to say, he asked whose was the +portrait over the mantelpiece.</p> +<p>“Major Cartwright.”</p> +<p>“Major Cartwright! Dear me, is that Major +Cartwright?” He had never heard of him before, but he +did not like to profess ignorance of a Major.</p> +<p>“And this likeness of this young gentleman?” he +inquired, looking at Pauline sideways, with an odious simper on +his lips. “Nobody I know, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“My father when he was one-and-twenty.” She +moved towards the door. Mr. Thomas closed his fat eyes till +they became almost slits, simpered still more effectively, as he +thought, trusted he might have the pleasure of calling again, and +departed.</p> +<p>Pauline returned, opened the window and door for ten minutes, +and went upstairs. When she saw her father she told him +briefly that she had entertained a visitor, and expressed her +utter loathing of him in terms so strong that he was obliged to +check her. He did not want a quarrel with any of +Isaac’s friends.</p> +<p>Mr. Thomas, having returned to the college, did not delay to +communicate by mysterious hints to his colleagues that he was on +visiting terms with a most delightfully charming person, and +sunned himself deliciously in their bantering +congratulations. About three weeks afterwards he thought he +might safely repeat his visit; but he was in a difficulty. +He was not quite so stupid as not to see that, the next time he +went, it ought to be when her father was present, and yet he +preferred his absence. At last he determined he would go +about tea-time. He was quite sure that Mr. Coleman would +not have returned then; but he could assume that he had, and +would propose to wait for him. He therefore duly presented +himself at half-past five.</p> +<p>“Good-evening, Miss Coleman. Is your father at +home?”</p> +<p>“No, not yet,” replied Pauline, holding the door +doubtingly.</p> +<p>“Oh, I am so sorry;” and, to Pauline’s +surprise, he entered without any further ceremony. She +hardly knew what to do; but she followed him as he walked into +the room, where she had just laid the tea-things and put the +bread and butter on the table.</p> +<p>“Oh, tea!” he cried. “Dear me, it +would be very rude of me to ask myself to tea, and yet, do you +know, Miss Coleman, I can hardly help it.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid my father will not be here till +eight.” He sat down.</p> +<p>“That is very unfortunate. You will tell him I +came on purpose to see him.”</p> +<p>Pauline hesitated whether she should or should not inform Mr. +Thomas that his presence was disagreeable, but her father’s +caution recurred to her, and she poured out a cup for her +visitor.</p> +<p>It was one of his peculiarities that tea, of which he took +enormous quantities, made him garrulous, and he expatiated much +upon his college. By degrees, however, he became silent, +and as he was sitting with his face to the window, he shifted his +chair to the opposite side, under the pretence that the light +dazzled his eyes. Pauline shifted too, apparently to make +room for him, but really to get farther from him.</p> +<p>“Do people generally say that you take after your +mother?” he said.</p> +<p>“I believe I am like my mother in many +things.”</p> +<p>Another pause. He became fidgety; the half smile, half +grin which he almost perpetually wore passed altogether from his +face, and he looked uncomfortable and dangerous. Pauline +felt him to be so, and resolved that, come what might, he should +never set foot in the house again.</p> +<p>“You have such black hair,” he observed.</p> +<p>She rose to take away the tea-things.</p> +<p>“I am afraid,” said she, “that I must go +out; I have one or two commissions to execute.”</p> +<p>He remained seated, and observed that surely she would not go +alone.</p> +<p>“Why not?” and having collected the tea-things, +she was on the point of leaving. He then rose, and she bade +him good-bye. He held out his hand, and she took it in +hers, but he did not let it go, and having pulled it upwards with +much force, kissed it. He still held it, and before the +astonished Pauline knew what he was doing his arm was round her +waist. At that moment the little front gate swung +back. Nobody was there; but the Reverend Thomas was +alarmed, and in an instant she had freed herself, and had placed +the table between them.</p> +<p>“What do you mean, you Gadarene pig, you scoundrel, by +insulting a stranger in this way?” she cried. +“Away! My father will know what to do with +you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, if you please, Miss Coleman, pray say nothing about +it, pray do not mention it to your father; I do not know what the +consequences will be; I really meant nothing; I really did +not”—which was entirely true.</p> +<p>“You who propose to teach religion to people! I +ought to stop you; but no, I will not be dragged into the +mud.”</p> +<p>A sudden thought struck her. He was shaky, and was +holding on by the table. “I will be silent,” +she cried—what a relief it was to him to hear her say that! +“but I will mark you,” and before he could comprehend +what she was doing she had seized a little pair of scissors which +lay near her, had caught his wrist, and had scored a deep cross +on the back of the hand. The blood burst out and she threw +him a handkerchief.</p> +<p>“Take that and be gone!”</p> +<p>He was so amazed and terrified, not only at the sight of the +blood, but at her extraordinary behaviour, that he turned ghastly +white. The pain, however, recalled him to his senses; he +rolled the handkerchief over the wound, twisted his own round it +too, for the red stain came through Pauline’s cambric, and +departed. The account current in the college was, that he +had torn himself against a nail in a fence. The accident +was a little inconvenient on the following Sunday, when he had to +preach at Hogsbridge Corner; but as he reproduced the sermon on +the carnal mind, which he knew pretty well by heart, he was not +nervous. He had made it much simpler, in accordance with +the advice given on a former occasion. He had struck out +the metaphysics and had put in a new head—“Neither +indeed <i>can</i> be.” “The apostle did not +merely state a fact that the carnal mind was not subject to the +law of God; he said, ‘Neither indeed <i>can</i> +be.’ Mark, my brethren, the force of the neither +can.”</p> +<h2><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +195</span>CHAPTER XXI<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Wisdom of the Serpent</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">George Allen</span> meanwhile, at Cowfold, +languished in love with Priscilla Broad, who was now a comely +girl of eighteen. Mrs. Broad had, of course, discovered +what was in the wind, and her pride suffered a severe +shock. She had destined Priscilla, as the daughter of a +Flavel, for a London minister, and that she should marry a +tradesman was intolerable. Worse still, a tradesman in +Cowfold! What would become of their influence in the town, +she continually argued with Mr. Broad, if they became connected +with a member of their congregation? She thought it would +be a serious hindrance to their usefulness. But Mr. Broad +was not so sure, although he hated the Allens; and Priscilla, +somehow or other, was not so sure, for, despite her +mother’s constant hints about their vulgarity, she not +infrequently discovered that something was wanted from the shop, +and bought it herself.</p> +<p>One Monday afternoon, Mr. Broad having thrown the silk +handkerchief off his face and bestirred himself at the sight of +the radishes, water-cresses, tea, and hot buttered toast, thus +addressed his wife:</p> +<p>“My love, I am not altogether inclined to discountenance +the attentions which George pays to Priscilla. There are so +many circumstances to be taken into account.”</p> +<p>“It is a great trouble to me, John, and I really think +if anything of the kind were to happen, at least you would have +to seek another cause. Just consider the position in which +I should stand towards Mrs. Allen. Besides, I am sure it +will interfere with your duties here if we are obliged to take +notice of the Allens more than of other people in the +town.”</p> +<p>“To seek for another cause, my love? That is a +very grave matter at my time of life. You remember too, +that there is an endowment here.”</p> +<p>“Quite so; and that is the more reason why we should not +permit the attachment.”</p> +<p>“But, my love, as I observed, there are so many +circumstances to be taken into account. You know as well as +I do in what aspect I view the Allens, and what my sentiments +with regard to them are—personally that is to say, and not +as minister of the gospel. Perhaps Providence, my dear, +intends this opportunity as a means whereby the emotions of my +poor sinful nature—emotions which may have been +uncharitable—may be converted into brotherly love. +Then we must recollect that Isaac is a prominent member of the +church and a deacon. Thirdly, in all probability, if we do +not permit Priscilla to marry George, offence will be taken and +they may withdraw their subscription, which, I believe, comes +altogether to twenty pounds per annum. Fourthly, the Allens +have been blessed with an unusual share of worldly prosperity, +and George is about to become a partner. Fifthly and +lastly”—Mr. Broad had acquired a habit of dividing +his most ordinary conversation into heads—“it is by +no means improbable that I may need a co-pastor before long, and +we shall secure the Allens’ powerful influence in favour of +Thomas.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Broad felt the full force of these arguments.</p> +<p>“I should think,” she added, “that George, +after marriage, cannot live at the shop.”</p> +<p>“No, that will not be possible; they must take a private +house.”</p> +<p>So it was agreed, without any reference to the question +whether Priscilla and George cared for one another, that no +opposition should be offered. The Allens themselves, father +and mother, were by no means so eager for the honour of the match +as Mrs. Broad supposed them to be, for Mrs. Isaac, particularly +proud of her husband, and a little proud of their comfortable +business and their comfortable property, was not dazzled by the +Flavel ancestry.</p> +<p>When George formally asked permission of Mr. Broad to sanction +his addresses, a meeting between the parents became necessary, +and Mrs. Broad called on Mrs. Allen. She was asked into the +dining-room at the back of the shop. At that time, at any +rate in Cowfold, the drawing-room, which was upstairs, was an +inaccessible sanctuary, save on Sunday and on high tea-party +days. Mrs. Broad looked round at the solid mahogany +furniture; cast her eyes on the port and sherry standing on the +sideboard, in accordance with Cowfold custom; observed that not a +single thing in the room was worn or shabby; that everything was +dusted with absolute nicety, for the Allens kept two servants; +and became a little reconciled to her lot.</p> +<p>Mrs. Allen presently appeared in her black silk dress, with +her gold watch hanging in front, and saluted the minister’s +wife with the usual good-humoured, slightly democratic freedom +which always annoyed Mrs. Broad.</p> +<p>“My dear Mrs. Allen,” began Mrs. Broad, “I +have called to announce to you a surprising piece of +intelligence, although I dare say you know it all. Your son +George has asked Mr. Broad to be allowed to consider himself as +Priscilla’s suitor. We have discussed the matter +together, and I have come to know what your views are. I +may say that we had +destined—hoped—that—er—Priscilla would +find her sphere as a minister’s wife in the metropolis; but +it is best, perhaps, to follow the leadings of +Providence.”</p> +<p>“Well, Mrs. Broad, I must say I was a little bit +disappointed myself—to tell you the plain truth; but it is +of no use to contradict young people in love with one +another.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Broad was astonished. Disappointed! But she +remembered her husband’s admonitions. So she +contented herself with an insinuation.</p> +<p>“What I meant, my dear Mrs. Allen, was that, as the +Flavels have been a ministerial family for so long, it would have +been gratifying to me, of course, if Priscilla had bestowed +herself upon—upon somebody occupying the same +position.”</p> +<p>“That is just what my mother used to say. I was a +Burton, you remember. They were large tanners in +Northamptonshire, and she did not like my going to a shop. +But you know, Mrs. Broad, you had better be in a shop and have +plenty of everything, and not have to pinch and screw, than have +a brass knocker on your door, and not be able to pay for the +clothes you wear. That’s my belief, at any +rate.”</p> +<p>The dart entered Mrs. Broad’s soul. She remembered +some “procrastination”—to use her +husband’s favourite word—in settling a draper’s +bill, even when it was diminished by the pew rent, and she +wondered if Mrs. Allen knew the facts. Of course she did; +all Cowfold knew every fact connected with everybody in the +town. She discerned it was best to retreat.</p> +<p>“I wished to tell you, Mrs. Allen, that we do not intend +to offer the least objection”—she thought that +perhaps a little professional unction might reduce her +antagonist—“and I am sure I pray that God will bless +their union.”</p> +<p>“As I said before, Mrs. Broad, neither shall we +object. We shall let George do as he likes. He is a +real good boy, worth a princess, and if he chooses to have Miss +Broad, we shan’t hinder him. She will always be +welcome here, and it will be a consolation to you to know she +will never want anything.” Mrs. Allen shook her silk +dress out a little, and offered Mrs. Broad a glass of wine. +Her feelings were a little flustered, and she needed support, but +she refused.</p> +<p>“No thank you, Mrs. Allen. I must be +going.”</p> +<h2><a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +199</span>CHAPTER XXII<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Oracle Warns—After the +Event</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is no part of my business to +tell the story of the love-making between George and +Priscilla. Such stories have been told too often. +Every weakness in her was translated by George into some +particularly attractive virtue. He saw nothing, heard +nothing, which was not to her advantage. Once, indeed, when +he was writing the letter that was for ever to decide his +destiny, it crossed his mind that this was an epoch—a +parting of the ways—and he hesitated as he folded it +up. But no warning voice was heard; nothing smote him; he +was doing what he believed to be the best; he was allowed to go +on without a single remonstrant sign. The messenger was +despatched, and his fate was sealed. His mother and father +had held anxious debate. They believed Priscilla to be +silly, and the question was whether they should tell George +so. The more they reflected on the affair the less they +liked it; but it was agreed that they could do nothing, and that +to dissuade their son would only embitter him against them.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Allen, “when she has a +family she will be better.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Allen had a belief that children cured a woman of many +follies.</p> +<p>Nevertheless the mother could not refrain, when she had to +talk to George about his engagement, from “letting +out” just a word.</p> +<p>“I hope you will be happy, my dear boy. The great +thing is not to have a fool for a wife. There has never, to +my knowledge, been a woman amongst the Burtons or the Allens who +was a fool.”</p> +<p>George felt nothing at the time, for he suspected nothing; but +the words somehow remained with him, and reappeared later on in +black intensity like invisible writing under heat.</p> +<p>So they were married, and went to live in a cottage, small, +but very respectable, in the Shott Road. For the first six +months both were in bliss. Priscilla was constantly +backwards and forwards to her mother, who took upon herself at +once the whole direction of her affairs; but there was no rupture +with the Allens, for, whatever her other faults might be, +Priscilla was not given to making quarrels, and there was little +or no bitterness or evil temper in her. George came home +after his work was over at the shop, and sometimes went out to +supper with his wife, or read to her the newspaper, which came +once a week. Like his father, he was an ardent politician, +and, from the very beginning of the struggle, an enthusiastic +Free Trader. The Free Trade creed was, indeed, the cause of +serious embarrassment, for not only were the customers +agricultural and Protectionist, but the deacons at Tanner’s +Lane, being nearly all either farmers or connected with the land, +were also Protectionist, and Mr. Broad had a hard time of +it. For himself, he expressed no opinion; but once, at a +deacons’ meeting, when it looked as if some controversy +would arise, he begged Brother Allen to remember that, though we +might be wise as serpents, we were also commanded to be harmless +as doves. There was a small charity connected with the +chapel, which was distributed, not in money, but in bread, and +Brother Allen, not being able to contain himself, had let fall a +word or two about the price of bread which would have raised a +storm if Mr. Broad had not poured on the troubled waters that oil +of which he was a perfect reservoir.</p> +<p>George did his best to instruct his wife in the merits of the +controversy, and when he found anything in his newspaper read it +aloud to her.</p> +<p>“You see, Priscilla,” he said one evening, +“it stands to reason that if foreign corn pays a duty, the +price of every quarter grown here is raised, and this increased +price goes into the farmer’s or landlord’s pocket: +Why should I, or why should my men, pay twopence more for every +loaf to buy Miss Wootton a piano?”</p> +<p>“Really, George, do you mean to say that they are going +to buy Miss Wootton a piano?”</p> +<p>“My dear, I said that when they buy a loaf of bread +twopence out of it goes to buy Miss Wootton’s piano!” +repeated George, laying an emphasis on every word. “I +did not mean, of course, that they put their twopences in her +pocket. The point is, that the duty enables Wootton to get +more for his corn.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Priscilla triumphantly, “I can +tell you she is <i>not</i> going to have a piano. +She’s going to have a little organ instead, because she can +play tunes better on an organ, and it’s more suitable for +her; so there’s an end of that.”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter whether it is an organ or +piano,” said George, “the principle is the +same.”</p> +<p>“Well, but you said a piano; I don’t think the +principle is the same. If I were she I would sooner have +the piano.”</p> +<p>A shade of perplexed trouble crossed George’s face, and +some creases appeared in his forehead; but he smoothed them away +and laid down his paper.</p> +<p>“Priscilla, put away your work for a moment and just +listen.”</p> +<p>Priscilla was making something in the shape of netting by +means of pins and a long loop which was fastened under her +foot.</p> +<p>“I can listen, George; there is no occasion to put it +away.”</p> +<p>“Well then,” he answered, placing both his elbows +on the table, and resting his face upon them, “all corn +which comes into this country pays a duty—that you +understand. Consequently it cannot be sold here for less +than sixty shillings a quarter. Of course, if that is the +case, English wheat is kept up to a higher price than it would +fetch it there was no duty. Therefore bread is, as I +calculate, about twopence a loaf dearer than it ought to +be. And why should it be? That’s what I want to +know.”</p> +<p>“I believe,” said Priscilla, “we might save +a good bit by baking at home.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes; but never mind that now. You know that +foreign corn pays a duty. You do know that?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Priscilla, because there was nothing +else to be said.</p> +<p>“Well, then, you must see that, if that be so, farmers +can obtain a higher price for English corn.”</p> +<p>Poor Priscilla really did her best to comprehend. She +stopped her knitting for a moment, put her knitting-pin to her +lips, and answered very slowly and solemnly +“Ye-es.”</p> +<p>“Ah; but I know when you say ‘Ye-es’ like +that you do not understand.”</p> +<p>“I do understand,” she retorted, with a little +asperity.</p> +<p>“Well then, repeat it, and let us see.”</p> +<p>“No, I shall not.”</p> +<p>“Dear Priscilla, I am not vexed: but I only wanted to +make it quite plain to you. The duty on foreign corn is a +tax in favour of the farmer, or perhaps the landlord, just as +distinctly as if the tax-collector carried the coin from our till +and gave it them.”</p> +<p>“Of course it is quite plain,” she responded, +making a bold stroke for her life. “Of course it is +quite plain we are taxed”—George’s face grew +bright, for he thought the truth had dawned upon +her—“because the farmers have to pay the duty on +foreign corn.”</p> +<p>He took up his newspaper, held it open so as to cover his +face, was silent for a few minutes, and then, pulling out his +watch, declared it was time to go to bed. She gathered up +her netting, looked at him doubtfully as she passed, and went +upstairs.</p> +<p>The roof of George’s house had a kind of depression or +well in the middle of it, whence ran a rainwater pipe, which +passed down inside, and so, under the floor, to the soft-water +cistern. A bad piece of construction, thought he, and he +wished, if he could have done so, to improve it; but there was no +way of altering it without pulling the whole place to +pieces. One day, a very short time after the talk about +Free Trade, a fearful storm of rain broke over Cowfold, and he +was startled by Ellen, his servant, running into the shop and +telling him that the staircase was flooded, and missis wanted him +at once. He put on his coat and was off in a moment. +When he got there Priscilla met him at the door crying, and in a +great fright. The well up aloft was full of water, and it +was pouring in torrents through the little window. It had +gone through the floor of the bedroom and into the dining-room, +pulling down with it about half the ceiling, which lay in a +horrid mess upon the dining table and the carpet, George saw in +an instant what was the matter. He ran up the steps to the +well, pulled out a quantity of straw and dirt which blocked up +the entrance to the pipe; the water disappeared in two minutes, +and all further danger was arrested.</p> +<p>“Why on earth,” he cried in half a passion, +“did not you think to clear away the rubbish, instead of +wasting your time in sending for me? It ought to have +entered into anybody’s head to do such a simple thing as +that.”</p> +<p>“How was I to know?” replied Mrs. George. +“I am not an ironmonger. What have I to do with +pipes? You shouldn’t have had such a +thing.”</p> +<p>Ellen stood looking at the wreck.</p> +<p>“We don’t want you;” said George savagely; +“go into the kitchen,” and he shut the dining-room +door. There the husband and wife stood face to face with +one another, with the drip, drip, drip still proceeding, the +ruined plaster, and the spoilt furniture.</p> +<p>“I don’t care,” he broke out, “one +brass farthing for it all; but what I do care for is that you +should not have had the sense to unstop that pipe.”</p> +<p>She said nothing, but cried bitterly. At last she sat +down and sobbed out: “O George, George, you are in a rage +with me; you are tired of me; you are disappointed with me. +Oh! what shall I do, what <i>shall</i> I do?” Poor +child! her pretty curls fell over her face as she covered it with +her long white hands. George was touched with pity in an +instant, and his arms were round her neck. He kissed her +fervently, and besought her not to think anything of what he had +said. He took out his handkerchief, wiped her eyes +tenderly, lifted one of her arms and put it round his neck as he +pulled a chair towards him and sat down beside her. Nothing +she loved like caresses! She knew what <i>their</i> import +was, though she could not follow his economical logic, and she +clung to him, and buried her face on his shoulder. At that +moment, as he drew her heavy brown tresses over him, smothered +his eyes and mouth in them, and then looked down through them on +the white, sweet beauty they shadowed, he forgot or overlooked +everything, and was once more completely happy.</p> +<p>Suddenly she released herself. “What shall we do +to-night, George, the bedroom will be so damp?”</p> +<p>He recovered himself, and admitted that they could not sleep +there. There was the spare bedroom; but the wet had come in +there too.</p> +<p>“I will sleep at father’s, and you sleep at home +too. We will have fires alight, and we shall be dry enough +to-morrow. You be off now, my dear; I will see about it +all.”</p> +<p>So George had the fires alight, got in a man to help him, and +they swept and scoured and aired till it was dark. In a day +or two the plasterer could mend the ceiling.</p> +<p>Priscilla had left, and, excepting the servant, who was +upstairs, George was alone. He looked round, walked +about—what was it? Was he tired? It could not +be that; he was never tired. He left as soon as he could +and went back to the shop. After telling the tale of the +calamity which had befallen him he announced—it was now +supper-time—that he was going to stay all night. +Mother, father, and sister were delighted to have +him—“It looked like old times again;” but +George was not in much of a mood for talking, and at ten +o’clock went upstairs; his early departure being, of +course, set down to the worry he had gone through. He +turned into bed. Generally speaking he thought no more of +sleep than he did of breathing; it came as naturally as the air +into his lungs; but what was this new experience? Half an +hour, an hour, after he had laid down he was still awake, and +worse than awake; for his thoughts were of a different cast from +his waking thoughts; fearful forebodings; a horror of great +darkness. He rose and bathed his head in cold water, and +lay down again; but it was of no use, and he walked about his +room. What an epoch is the first sleepless night—the +night when the first wrench has been given us by the Destinies to +loosen us from the love of life; when we have first said to +ourselves that there are worse things than death!</p> +<p>George’s father always slept well, but the mother +stirred at the slightest sound. She heard her boy on the +other side of the wall pacing to and fro, and she slipped out of +bed, put on her dressing-gown, and went to listen. +Presently she knocked gently.</p> +<p>“George, my dear, aren’t you well?”</p> +<p>“Yes, mother; nothing the matter.”</p> +<p>“Let me in.”</p> +<p>He let her in, and sat down. The moon shone brightly, +and there was no need for any other light.</p> +<p>The mother came and sat beside her child.</p> +<p>“George, my dear, there is something on you mind? +What is it?—tell me.”</p> +<p>“Nothing, mother; nothing indeed.”</p> +<p>She answered by taking his cold hand in both her own and +putting it on her lap. Presently he disengaged himself and +went to the window. She sat still for a moment, and +followed him. She looked up in his face; the moonlight was +full upon it; there was no moisture in his eyes, but his lips +quivered. She led him away, and got him to sit down again, +taking his hand as before, but speaking no word. Suddenly, +without warning, his head was on his mother’s bosom, and he +was weeping as if his heart would break. Another first +experience to him and to her; the first time he had ever wept +since he was a child and cried over a fall or because it was +dark. She supported that heavy head with the arm which had +carried him before he could walk alone; she kissed him, and her +tears flowed with his; but still she was silent. There was +no reason why she should make further inquiry; she knew it +all. By themselves there they remained till he became a +little calmer, and then he begged her to leave him. She +wished to stay, but he would not permit it, and she +withdrew. When she reached her bedroom her husband was +still asleep, and although she feared to wake him, she could no +longer contain herself, and falling on her knees with her face in +the bedclothes, so that she might not be heard, she cried to her +Maker to have mercy on her child. She was not a woman much +given to religious exercises, but she prayed that night such a +prayer as had not been prayed in Tanner’s Lane since its +foundation was laid. For this cause shall a man leave +father and mother and cleave to his wife? Ah, yes! he does +leave them; but in his heart does he never go back? And if +he never does, does his mother ever leave him?</p> +<p>In the morning Mrs. Allen was a little pale, and was asked by +her husband if she was unwell, but she held her peace. +George, too, rose, went about his work, and in the afternoon +walked up to the cottage to meet his wife there. She was +bright and smiling, and had a thousand things to tell him about +what her mamma said, and how mamma hoped that the nasty pipe +would be altered and never ought to have been there; and how she +was coming after tea to talk to him, and how she herself, +Priscilla, had got a plan.</p> +<p>“What is it?” said George.</p> +<p>“Why, I would put a grating, or something, over the +pipe, so that it shouldn’t get stopped up.”</p> +<p>“But if the grating got stopped up that would be just as +bad.”</p> +<p>“Well then, I wouldn’t have a well there at +all. Why don’t you cover it over?”</p> +<p>‘“But what are you to do with the window? +You cannot block out the light.”</p> +<p>So Priscilla’s “plans,” as she called them, +were nothing. And though George had a plan which he thought +might answer, he did not consult her about it.</p> +<h2><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +208</span>CHAPTER XXIII<br /> +<span class="smcap">Further Development</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Six</span> months afterwards Priscilla was +about to give birth to her first-born. At Mrs. +Allen’s earnest request old nurse Barton had been engaged, +who nursed Mrs. Allen when George came into the world, and loved +him like her own child. As a counterpoise, Mrs. Broad, who +had desired a nurse from a distance, whom she knew, installed +herself with Priscilla. Nurse Barton had a great dislike to +Mrs. Broad, although she attended Mr. Broad’s ministrations +at Tanner’s Lane. She was not a member of the church, +and never could be got to propose herself for membership. +There was, in fact, a slight flavour of Paganism about her. +She was considered to belong to the “world,” and it +was only her age and undoubted skill which saved her practice +amongst the Tanner’s Lane ladies. There was a rival +in the town; but she was a younger woman, and never went out to +any of the respectable houses, save when Mrs. Barton was not +available.</p> +<p>The child was safely born, and as soon as nurse Barton could +be spared for an hour or two she went to Mrs. Allen, whom she +found alone. The good woman then gave Mrs. Allen her +opinions, which, by the way, she always gave with prefect +frankness.</p> +<p>“Thank the Lord-i-mercy this ’ere job, Mrs. Allen, +is near at an end. If it ’adn’t been my dear +boy George’s wife, never would I have set foot in that +’ouse.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Why not? Now, Mrs. Allen, you know as well as I +do. To see that there Mrs. Broad! She might +’ave ordered me about; that wouldn’t a been +nothin’; but to see ’er a orderin’ +’<i>im</i>, and a ridin’ on ’im like a wooden +rockin’-’orse, and with no more feelin’! +A nasty, prancin’, ’igh-’eaded +creatur’. Thinks I to myself, often and often, if +things was different I’d let yer know, that I would; but I +’eld my tong. It ’ud a been wuss for us all, +p’r’aps, if I ’adn’t.”</p> +<p>“I should think so,” said Mrs. Allen; +“remember she is the minister’s wife.”</p> +<p>“Minister’s wife!” repeated Mrs. Barton, and +with much scorn. “And then them children of +hern. Lord be praised I never brought such things as them +into the world. That was her fine nuss as she must get down +from London; and pretty creaturs they are!”</p> +<p>“Hush, hush; George has one of them, and she is +mine.”</p> +<p>“I can’t ’elp it, ma’am, I must speak +out. I say as he ought to ’ave married somebody +better nor ’er; though I don’t mind a tellin’ +of yer she’s the best of the lot. Why did the Lord in +heaven, as sent Jesus Christ to die for our souls, let my George +’ave such a woman as that? What poor silly creaturs +we all are!” and the old woman, bending her head down, +shook it mournfully and rubbed her knees with her hand. She +was thinking of him as he lay in her lap years and years ago, and +pondering, in her disconnected, incoherent way, over the +mysteries which are mysteries to us as much as to her.</p> +<p>Mrs. Broad, who was in constant attendance upon Priscilla, at +the very earliest moment pronounced the baby a Flavel, and made +haste to tell father and mother so. There was no mistaking +a refinement, so to say, in the features and an expression in the +eye. George, of course, was nearly banished for a time, and +was much with his father and mother. At length, however, +the hour arrived when the nurse took her departure, and, Mrs. +Broad having also somewhat retired, he began to see a little more +of his wife; but it was very little. She was altogether +shut up in maternal cares—closed round, apparently, from +the whole world. He was not altogether displeased, but he +did at times think that she might give him a moment now and then, +especially as he was greatly interested in the coming county +election. It was rather too early in the day for a Free +Trader to stand as a candidate, but two Whigs, of whom they had +great hopes, had been put up, and both George and his father were +most energetic in canvassing and on committees.</p> +<p>Mr. Broad had decided not to vote. He did not deny that +his sympathies were not with the Tories, but as a minister of +religion it would be better for him to remain neutral. This +annoyed the Allens and damaged their cause. At a meeting +held by the Tories one of the speakers called upon the audience +to observe that all the respectable people, with very few +exceptions, were on their side. “Why,” cried +he, “I’ll bet you, my friends, all Lombard Street to +a china orange that they don’t get even the Dissenting +parson to vote for the Radicals. Of course he won’t, +and why? Just because he’s a cut above his +congregation, and knows a little more than they do, and belongs +to the intelligent classes.”</p> +<p>George bethought himself that perhaps he might do something +through Priscilla to influence her mother, and he determined to +speak to her about it. He came home one evening after +attending a committee, and found supper ready. Priscilla +was downstairs, sitting with the door open.</p> +<p>“Hadn’t we better shut the door?” said +George; “it is rather cold.”</p> +<p>“No, no, George; I shouldn’t hear the +baby.”</p> +<p>“But Ellen is upstairs.”</p> +<p>“Yes; but then she might go to sleep.”</p> +<p>“My dear,” began George, “I wish your father +could be got to vote straight. You see that by not doing so +he goes against all the principles of the Independents. +Ever since they have been in existence they have always stood up +for freedom, and we are having the large yellow flag worked with +the words, Civil and Religious Liberty. It will be a bad +thing for us if he holds aloof. I cannot understand,” +he continued, getting eloquent, “how a Dissenting minister +can make up his mind not to vote against a party which has been +answerable for all the oppression and all the wrongs in English +history, and for all our useless wars, and actually persecuted +his predecessors in this very meeting-house in which he now +preaches. Besides, to say nothing about the past, just look +at what we have before us now. The Tories are the most +bitter opponents of Free Trade. I can’t tell you how +I feel about it, and I do think that if you were to speak to your +mother she would perhaps induce him to change his +mind.”</p> +<p>It was a long time since he had said so much all at once to +his wife.</p> +<p>“George, George, I am sure he’s awake!” and +she was off out of the room in an instant. Presently she +returned.</p> +<p>“Mamma came here this afternoon and brought his +hood—a new one—such a lovely hood!—and she says +he looks more than ever like a Flavel in it.”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe you listened to a word of what I +was saying.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, I did; you always think I don’t listen; +but I can listen to you and watch for him too.”</p> +<p>“What did I say?”</p> +<p>“Never mind, I know.”</p> +<p>“I cannot understand,” he said sullenly, and +diverted for a moment from his subject, “why mamma should +be always telling <i>you</i> he is a Flavel.”</p> +<p>“Well, really, George, why shouldn’t she? +Tryphosa said the other day that if you were to take away +grandpapa Flavel’s wig and bands from the picture in the +<i>Evangelical Magazine</i> he would be just like him.”</p> +<p>“It seems to me,” replied George, “that if +there’s any nonsense going about the town, it always comes +to you. People don’t talk such rubbish to +me.”</p> +<p>What the effect of this speech might have been cannot be told, +for at this moment the baby did really cry, and Priscilla +departed hastily for the night. She never spoke to her +mother about the election, for, as George suspected, she had not +paid the slightest attention to him; and as to exchanging with +her mother a single word upon such a subject as politics, or upon +any other subject which was in any way impersonal,—she +never did such a thing in her life.</p> +<p>It was the uniform practice of the Reverend John Broad to walk +down the main Street of Cowfold on Monday morning, and to +interchange a few words with any of his congregation whom he +might happen to meet. This pastoral perambulation not only +added importance to him, and made him a figure in Cowfold, but, +coming always on Monday, served to give people some notion of a +preoccupation during the other days of the week which was +forbidden, for mental reasons, on the day after Sunday. On +this particular Monday Mr. Broad was passing Mr. Allen’s +shop, and seeing father and son there, went in. Mr. Allen +himself was at a desk which stood near the window, and George was +at the counter, in a black apron, weighing nails.</p> +<p>After an unimportant remark or two about the weather, Mr. +Allen began in a cheery tone, so as to prevent offence:</p> +<p>“Mr. Broad, we are sorry we cannot persuade you to vote +for the good cause.”</p> +<p>Mr. Broad’s large mouth lengthened itself, and his +little eyes had an unpleasant light in them.</p> +<p>“Brother Allen, I have made this matter the subject of +much meditation, and I may even say of prayer, and I have come to +the conclusion it will be better for me to occupy a neutral +position.”</p> +<p>“Why, Mr. Broad? You cannot doubt on which side +the right lies.”</p> +<p>“No; but then there are so many things to be considered, +so many responsibilities, and my first care, you see, must be the +ministerial office and the church which Providence has placed in +my charge.”</p> +<p>“But, Mr. Broad, there are only two or three of them who +are Tory.”</p> +<p>“Only old Bushel and another farmer or two,” +interrupted George.</p> +<p>Mr. Broad looked severely at George, but did not condescend to +answer him.</p> +<p>“Those two or three, Brother Allen, require +consideration as much as ourselves. Brother Bushel is, I +may say, a pillar of the cause, a most faithful follower of the +Lord; and what are political questions compared with that? +How could I justify myself if my liberty were to become a +stumbling-block to my brother. The house of God without +Brother Bushel to give out the hymns on Sunday would, I am sure, +not be the same house of God to any of us.”</p> +<p>“But, Mr. Broad, do you think he will be so silly as to +be offended because you exercise the same right which he claims +for himself?”</p> +<p>“Ah, Brother Allen—offended! You remember, +no doubt, the text, ‘Wherefore, if meat make my brother to +offend, I will eat no flesh while the world +standeth.’”</p> +<p>It is a very good thing to have at one’s elbow a Bible +of rules for our guidance; but unfortunately we relieve ourselves +very often of the most necessary inquiry whether the rule applies +to the particular case in hand. Mr. Allen had the greatest +possible respect for St. Paul, but he felt sure the apostle was +where he had no business to be just at that particular +moment. George also saw the irrelevance of the quotation, +and discerned exactly where it did not fit.</p> +<p>“Mr. Broad, I am sure I don’t pretend to know what +St. Paul thought as well as you do—of course not—but +do you think that voting is like eating meat? Is it not a +duty to express our convictions on such questions as those now +before the country? It didn’t much matter whether a +man ate meat which had been offered to an idol or not, but it +does matter how we are governed.”</p> +<p>Mr. Broad turned round on George, and smiled with a smile +which was certainly not a sign of affection, but otherwise did +not notice him.</p> +<p>“Well, Mr. Broad,” continued Mr. Allen, “all +I can say is, I regret it; and I am sure you will excuse me if I +also say that we too deserve some consideration. You forget +that your refusal to declare yourself may be stumbling-block to +<i>us</i>.”</p> +<p>“I hope not, I hope not. George, how is Priscilla, +and how is her child? Are they both quite well?” and +with a pontifical benediction the minister moved away. When +he got home he consulted the oracle; not on his knees, but +sitting in his arm-chair; that is to say, Mrs. Broad at the +Monday afternoon tea, and she relieved his anxiety. There +was no fear of any secession on the part of the Allens, connected +as they were with them through Priscilla. On the other +hand, Brother Bushel, although he gave out the hymns, had already +had a quarrel with the singing pew because they would not more +frequently perform a tune with a solo for the double bass, which +he always accompanied with his own bass voice, and Mr. Broad had +found it difficult to restore peace; the flute and clarionet +justly urging that they never had solos, and why the double bass, +who only played from ear, and not half as many notes as they +played, should be allowed to show off they didn’t +know. Mr. Bushel, too, contributed ten pounds a year to the +cause, and Piddingfold Green Chapel was but a mile farther off +from him than Cowfold. There were allies of the Allens in +Tanner’s Lane, no doubt; but none of them would be likely +to desert so long as the Allens themselves remained. +Therefore Providence seemed to point out to Mr. and Mrs. Broad +that their course was clear.</p> +<h2><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +215</span>CHAPTER XXIV<br /> +“I <span class="smcap">Came Not to Send Peace, But a +Sword</span>”</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Allen</span>, having business in +London, determined to go on Saturday, and spend the next day with +Zachariah. Although he always called on his old friend +whenever he could do so, he was not often away from home on a +Sunday. He also resolved to take George with him. +Accordingly on Saturday morning they were up early and caught a +coach on the North Road. The coaches by this time had +fallen off considerably, for the Birmingham railway was open, and +there was even some talk of a branch through Cowfold; but there +were still perhaps a dozen which ran to places a good way east of +the line. Father and son dismounted at the “George +and Blue Boar,” where they were to sleep. Sunday was +to be spent with the Colemans, whom George had seen before but +very seldom; never, indeed, since he was a boy.</p> +<p>Zachariah still went to Pike Street Chapel, but only in the +morning to hear Mr. Bradshaw, who was now an old man, and could +not preach twice. On that particular Sunday on which +Zachariah, Pauline, Mr. Allen, and George heard him he took for +his text the thirteenth verse of the twelfth chapter of +Deuteronomy: “Take heed to thyself that thou offer not thy +burnt offerings in every place thou seest.” He put +down his spectacles after he had read these words, for he never +used a note, and said: “If your religion doesn’t help +you, it is no religion for you; you had better be without +it. I don’t mean if it doesn’t help you to a +knowledge of a future life or of the way to heaven. +Everybody will say his religion does that. What I do mean +is, that the sign of a true religion—true for <i>you</i>, +is this—Does it assist you to bear your own private +difficulties?—does it really?—not the difficulties of +the schools and theology, but those of the parlour and +countinghouse; ay, difficulties most difficult, those with +persons nearest to you? . . . Everybody ought to have his +<i>own</i> religion. In one sense we are all disciples of +Christ, but nevertheless each man has troubles peculiar to +himself, and it is absurd to expect that any book system will be +sufficient for each one of us at all points. You must make +your own religion, and it is only what you make yourself which +will be of any use to you. Don’t be disturbed if you +find it is not of much use to other persons. Stick to it +yourself if it is really your own, a bit of yourself. There +are, however, in the Book of God universal truths, and the +wonderful thing about them is, that they are at the same time +more particularly adapted to you and me and all our innermost +wants than anything we can discover for ourselves. That is +the miracle of inspiration. For thousands and thousands of +years some of the sayings here have comforted those who have well +nigh despaired in the desert of the world. The wisdom of +millions of apostles, of heroes, of martyrs, of poor field +labourers, of solitary widows, of orphans of the destitute, of +men driven to their last extremity has been the wisdom of this +volume—not their own, and yet most truly theirs. . . +. Here is a word for us this morning: ‘<i>Take heed +to thyself that thou offer not thy burnt offerings in every place +thou seest</i>.’ Ah, what a word it is! You and +I are not idolaters, and there is no danger of our being +so. For you and me this is not a warning against +idolatry. What is it for us then? Reserve yourself; +discriminate in your worship. Reserve yourself, I say; but +what is the implication? What says the next verse? +‘<i>In the place which the Lord shall choose</i>;’ +that is to say, keep your worship for the Highest. Do not +squander yourself, but, on the other hand, before the shrine of +the Lord offer all your love and adoration. What a +practical application this has! . . . I desire to come a little +closer to you. What are the consequences of not obeying +this Divine law? You will not be struck dead nor +excommunicated, you will be simply <i>disappointed</i>. +Your burnt offering will receive no answer; you will not be +blessed through it; you will come to see that you have been +pouring forth your treasure, and something worse, your +heart’s blood—not the blood of cattle—before +that which is no God—a nothing, in fact. +‘Vanity of vanities,’ you will cry, ‘all is +vanity.’ My young friends, young men and young women, +you are particularly prone to go wrong in this matter. You +not only lay your possessions but yourselves on altars by the +roadside.”</p> +<p>It was the first time George had ever heard anything from any +public speaker which came home to him, and he wondered if Mr. +Bradshaw knew his history. He interpreted the discourse +after his own way, and Priscilla was ever before him.</p> +<p>They came back to the little house, and sat down to dinner in +the little front room. There were portraits on the +walls—nothing else but portraits—and the collection +at first sight was inconsistent. Major Cartwright was still +there; there were also Byron, Bunyan, Scott, Paine, Burns, Mr. +Bradshaw, and Rousseau. It was closely expressive of its +owners. Zachariah and Pauline were private persons; they +were, happily for them, committed to nothing, and were not +subsidised by their reputations to defend a system. They +were consequently free to think at large, and if they admired +both Bunyan and Rousseau, they were at liberty to do so. +Zachariah, in a measure, and a very large measure, had remained +faithful to his earliest beliefs—who is there that does +not?—and although they had been modified, they were still +there; and he listened to Mr. Bradshaw with the faith of thirty +years ago. He also believed in a good many things he had +learned without him, and perhaps the old and the new were not so +discordant as at first sight they might have seemed to be. +He was not, in fact, despite all his love of logic, the +“yes <i>or</i> no” from which most people cannot +escape, but a “yes <i>and</i> no”; not immorally and +through lack of resolution, but by reason of an original +receptivity and the circumstances of his training. If he +had been merely a student the case would have been different but +he was not a student. He was a journeyman printer; and hard +work has a tendency to demolish the distinctions of +dialectics. He had also been to school outside his shop, +and had learned many lessons, often confusing and apparently +contradictory. Blanketeer marches; his first wife; the +workhouse imprisonment; his second wife; the little Pauline had +each come to him with its own special message, and the net result +was a character, but a character disappointing to persons who +prefer men and women of linear magnitude to those of three +dimensions.</p> +<p>After dinner the conversation turned upon politics and Mr. +Allen described his interview with Mr. Broad, regretting that the +movement in the district round Cowfold would receive no +countenance from the minister of the very sect which ought to be +its chief support.</p> +<p>“A sad falling off,” said Zachariah, “from +the days, even in my time, when the Dissenters were the +insurrectionary class. Mr. Bradshaw, last Sunday, after his +sermon, shut his Bible, and told the people that he did not now +interfere much in political matters; but he felt he should not be +doing his duty if he did not tell those whom he taught which way +they ought to vote, and that what he had preached to them for so +many years would be poor stuff if it did not compel them into a +protest against taxing the poor for the sake of the +rich.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Mr. Allen; “but then Broad +never has taught what Bradshaw teaches; he never seems to me to +see anything clearly; at least he never makes me see anything +clearly; the whole world is in a fog to him.”</p> +<p>“From what I have heard of Mr. Broad,” said +Pauline, “I should think the explanation of him is very +simple; he is a hypocrite—an ordinary hypocrite. What +is the use of going out of the way to seek for explanations of +such commonplace persons?”</p> +<p>“Pauline, Pauline,” cried Zachariah, “you +surely forget, my child, in whose company you are!”</p> +<p>“Oh, as for that,” said George, “Miss +Coleman needn’t mind me. I haven’t married Mr. +Broad, and my father is quite right. For that matter, I +believe Miss Coleman is right too.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Allen, “it is rather strong +to say a man is an ordinary hypocrite, and it is not easy to +prove it.”</p> +<p>“Not easy to prove it,” said Pauline, shifting a +little her chair and looking straight at Mr. Allen, with great +earnestness; “hypocrisy is the one thing easiest to +prove. I can tell whether a man is a hypocrite before I +know anything else about him. I may not for a long time be +able to say what else he may be, but before he speaks, almost, I +can detect whether he is sincere.”</p> +<p>“You women,” said Zachariah, with a smile, +“or you girls rather, are so positive. Just as though +the world were divided like the goats and the sheep in the +gospel. That is a passage that I never could quite +understand. I never, hardly, see a pure breed either of +goat or sheep. I never see anybody who deserves to go +straight to heaven or who deserves to go straight to hell. +When the judgment day comes it will be a difficult task. +Why, Pauline, my dear, I am a humbug myself.”</p> +<p>“Ah well, I have heard all that before; but, +nevertheless, what I say is true. Some men, using speech as +God meant men to use it, are liars, and some are not. Of +course not entirely so, nor at all times. We cannot speak +mere truth; we are not made to speak it. For all that you +are not a liar.”</p> +<p>“Anyhow, I shall go on,” said Mr. Allen. +“We shall have a desperate fight, and shall most likely +lose; but no Tory shall sit for our county if I can help +it.”</p> +<p>“Of course you will go on,” said Zachariah. +“So shall I go on. We are to have a meeting in +Clerkenwell to-morrow night, although, to tell you the truth, I +don’t feel exactly the interest in the struggle which I did +in those of five-and-twenty years ago, when we had to whisper our +treasons to one another in locked rooms and put sentries at the +doors. You know nothing about those times, +George.”</p> +<p>“I wish I had,” said George, with an unusual +passion, which surprised his father and caused Pauline to lift +her eyes from the table and look at him. “I only wish +I had. I can’t speak as father can, and I often say +to myself I should like to take myself off to some foreign +country where men get shot for what they call conspiracy. +If I knew such a country I half believe I would go +to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“Which means,” said Pauline, “that there +would be an end of you and your services. If you care +anything for a cause, you can do something better than get shot +for it; and if you want martyrdom, there is a nobler martyrdom +than death. The Christians who were trundled in barrels +with spikes in them deserve higher honour than those who died in +a moment, before they could recant. The highest form of +martyrdom, though, is not even living for the sake of a cause, +but living without one, merely because it is your duty to +live. If you are called upon to testify to a great truth, +it is easy to sing in flames. Yes, yes, Mr. George, the +saints whom I would canonise are not martyrs for a cause, but +those who have none.”</p> +<p>George thought that what Pauline said—just as he had +thought of Mr. Bradshaw’s sermon—seemed to be said +for him; and yet what did she know about him? +Nothing. He was silent. All were silent, for it is +difficult to follow anybody who pitches the conversation at so +high a level; and Zachariah, who alone could have maintained it, +was dreaming over his lost Pauline and gazing on the sacred +pictures which were hung in the chamber of his heart. Just +at that moment he was looking at the one of his wife as a girl; +the room in which he was sitting had gone; he was in the court +near Fleet Street; she had cleared the space for the dance; she +had begun, and he was watching her with all the passion of his +youth. The conversation gradually turned to something more +indifferent, and the company broke up.</p> +<p>On the Monday George and his father went home. It is +very depressing, after being with people who have been at their +best, and with whom we have been at our best, to descend upon +ordinary existence. George felt it particularly as he stood +in the shop on Tuesday morning and reflected that for the whole +of that day—for his father was out—he should probably +not say nor hear a word for which he cared a single straw. +But there was to be an election meeting that evening, and Mr. +Allen was to speak, and George, of course, must be there. +The evening came, and the room at the Mechanics’ Institute, +which had just been established in Cowfold, was crowded. +Admission was not by ticket, so that, though the Whigs had +convened it, there was a strong muster of the enemy. Mr. +Allen moved the first resolution in a stirring speech, which was +constitutionally interrupted with appeals to him to go home and +questions about a grey mare—“<i>How about old +Pinfold’s grey mare</i>?”—which seemed +conclusive and humorous to the last degree. Old Pinfold was +a well-known character in Cowfold, horse-dealer, pig-jobber, +attendant at races, with no definite occupation, and the grey +mare was an animal which he managed to impose upon Mr. Allen, who +sued him and lost. When Mr. Allen’s resolution had +been duly seconded, one Rogers, a publican, got up and said he +had something to say. There was indescribable confusion, +some crying, “Turn him out;” others “Pitch into +’em, Bill.” Bill Rogers was well known as the +funny man in Cowfold, a half-drunken buffoon, whose wit, such as +it was, was retailed all over the place; a man who was specially +pleased if he could be present in any assembly collected for any +serious purpose and turn it into ridicule. He got upon a +chair, not far from where George sat, but refused to go upon the +platform. “No, thank yer my friends, I’m best +down here; up there’s the place for the gentlefolk, the +clever uns, them as buy grey mares!”—(roars of +laughter)—“but, Mr. Chairman, with your +permission”—and here Bill put his had upon his chest +and made a most profound bow to the chair, which caused more +laughter—“there is just one question I should like to +ask—not about the grey mare, sir”—(roars of +laughter again)—“but I see a young gentleman here +beknown to us all”—(points to +George)—“and I should just like to ask him, does his +mother-in-law—not his mother, you observe, sir—does +his mother-in-law know he’s out?” Once more +there was an explosion, for Mr. Broad’s refusal to take +part in the contest was generally ascribed to Mrs. Broad. +George sat still for a moment, hardly realising his position, and +then the blood rose to his head; up crashed across the forms, and +before the grin had settled into smoothness on Bill’s +half-intoxicated features there was a grip like that of a giant +on his greasy coat collar; he was dragged amidst shouts and blows +to the door, George nothing heeding, and dismissed with such +energy that he fell prostrate on the pavement. His friends +had in vain attempted to stop George’s wrathful progress; +but they were in a minority.</p> +<p>Next Saturday a report of the scene appeared in the county +newspaper, giving full particulars, considerably exaggerated; and +Mr. Broad read all about it to Mrs. Broad on Saturday afternoon, +in the interval between the preparation of his two sermons. +He had heard the story on the following day; but here was an +authentic account in print. Mrs. Broad was of opinion that +it was shocking; so vulgar, so low; her poor dear Priscilla, and +so forth. Mr. Broad’s sullen animosity was so much +stimulated that it had overcome his customary circumspection, and +on the Sunday evening he preached from the text, “Pure +religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To +visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep +himself unspotted from the world.” Mr. Broad remarked +that the Apostle James made no mention here of the scheme of +redemption; not because that was not the chief part of religion, +but because he was considering religion in the aspect—he +was very fond of this word “aspect”—which it +presented to those outside the Church. He called upon his +hearers to reflect with him for a few moments, in the first +place, upon what religion was not; secondly, upon what it was; +and thirdly, he would invite their attention to a few practical +conclusions. He observed that religion did not consist in +vain strife upon earthly matters, which only tended towards +divisions in the Body of Christ. “At such a time as +this, my brethren, it is important for us to remember that these +disputes, especially if they are conducted with unseemly heat, +are detrimental to the interests of the soul and give occasion to +the enemy to blaspheme.” When Mr. Broad came to the +secondly, and to that sub-division of it which dealt with freedom +from worldly spots, he repeated the words with some emphasis, +“‘Unspotted from the world.’ Think, my +friends, of what this involves. Spots! The world +spots and stains! We are not called upon to withdraw +ourselves from the world—the apostle does not say +that—but to keep ourselves unspotted, uncontaminated he +appears to mean, by worldly influence. The word unspotted +in the original bears that +interpretation—uncontaminated. Therefore, though we +must be in the world, we are not to be <i>of</i> the world, but +to set an example to it. In the world! Yes, my +brethren, we must necessarily be in the world; that is the +condition imposed upon us by the Divine Providence, because we +are in a state of probation; we are so constituted, with a body, +and with fleshly appetites, that we must be in the world; but we +must be separate from it and its controversies, which are so +unimportant compared with our eternal welfare.”</p> +<p>Mr. Bushel sat on high at his desk, where he gave out the +hymns, and coughed every now and then, and looked straight at the +pew where the Allens and George sat. Mr. Bushel knew well +enough that, although he was just as ardent on the other side, +the sermon was not meant for him, and not one of Mr. +Broad’s remarks touched him. He thought only of the +Allens, and rejoiced inwardly. George walked home with +Priscilla in silence. At supper-time he suddenly said:</p> +<p>“I think your father might have found something better +to do than preach at me.”</p> +<p>Priscilla was shocked. She had never heard a criticism +on her father before.</p> +<p>“Really, George, what are you thinking of to talk in +that way about a sermon, and on a Sunday night too?”</p> +<p>“He did preach at me; and if he has anything to say +against me, why doesn’t he come and say it here or at the +shop?”</p> +<p>“O George, this is dreadful! Besides, mamma +<i>did</i> come and talk to me.”</p> +<p>“What has that got to do with it? Well, what did +your mother say?”</p> +<p>“Why, she told me all about this meeting, and how you +fought a man and nearly killed him, and you a member at +Tanner’s Lane, and how you oughtn’t to have been +there at all, and what Mr. Bushel was going to do.”</p> +<p>“Oughtn’t to have been there at all? Why +not? I don’t believe you know any more than this +table why I was there.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, I do. You never tell me anything, but +Mrs. Bushel told me. You want to get them all turned out of +their farms.”</p> +<p>“Bosh! There you are again!—the pains I took +the other night again to make you comprehend what Free Trade +meant. I knew you didn’t understand a word about it; +and if you did understand, you wouldn’t believe me. +You never take any notice of anything I say; but if Mrs. Bushel +or any other blockhead tells you anything, you believe that +directly.”</p> +<p>Priscilla’s eyes filled; she took out her handkerchief, +and went upstairs. George sat still for a while, and then +followed her. He found her sitting by the baby’s +cradle, her head on her hands and sobbing. It touched him +beyond measure to see how she retreated to her child; he went to +her; his anger was once more forgotten, and once more he was +reconciled with kisses and self-humiliation. The next +morning, however, as he went to the square, the conversation of +the night before returned to him. “What does it all +mean?” he cried to himself. “Would to God it +were either one thing or another! I could be happy if I +really cared for her, and if I hated her downright I could endure +it like any other calamity which cannot be altered; but this is +more than I can bear!”</p> +<p>The Allens, father and mother, held anxious debate whether +they should take any notice of the attack by their pastor, and in +the end determined to do nothing. They considered, and +rightly considered, that any action on their part would only make +George’s position more difficult, and he was the first +person to be considered.</p> +<p>Next Saturday there was some business to be done in London, +and George went, this time by himself. On the Sunday +morning he called on the Colemans, and found Zachariah at home, +but Pauline away. Mr. Bradshaw, too, was not to preach that +day. It was wet, and Zachariah and George sat and talked, +first about the election, and then about other indifferent +subjects. Conversation—even of the best, and between +two friends—is poor work when one of the two suffers from +some secret sorrow which he cannot reveal, and George grew +weary. Zachariah knew what was the matter with him, and had +known it for a long while, but was too tender to hint his +knowledge. Nevertheless, remembering his own history, he +pitied the poor boy exceedingly. He loved him as his own +child, for his father’s sake, and loved him all the more +for an experience so nearly resembling another which he +recollected too well.</p> +<p>“How is it Mr. Bradshaw is not preaching to-day?” +said George.</p> +<p>“He is ill; I am afraid he is breaking up; and latterly +he has been worried by the small attacks made upon him by people +who are afraid to say anything distinctly.”</p> +<p>“What kind of attacks?”</p> +<p>“Well, they insinuate that he is Arian.”</p> +<p>“What is that?”</p> +<p>Zachariah explained the case as well as he could, and George +was much interested.</p> +<p>“Arian or not, I tell you one thing, Mr. Coleman, that +Mr. Bradshaw, whenever I have heard him, seems to help me as Mr. +Broad never does. I never think about what Mr. Broad says +except when I am in chapel, and sometimes not then.”</p> +<p>“Bradshaw speaks from himself. He said a thing +last Sunday which stuck by me, and would have pleased a country +lad like you more than it did three parts of his congregation, +who are not so familiar with country life as he is. He told +us he was out for a holiday, and saw some men hoeing in a +field—‘Hoeing the charlock,’ he said to +himself; but when he came nearer he found they were hoeing +turnips—hoeing up the poor plants themselves, which lay +dying all around; hoeing them up to let the other plants have +room to grow.</p> +<p>“I have known men,” added Zachariah after a pause, +“from whose life so much—all love, for +example—has been cut out; and the effect has been, not +ruin, but growth in other directions which we should never have +seen without it.”</p> +<p>Zachariah took down a little book from his shelf, and wrote +George’s name in it.</p> +<p>“There, my boy, it is not much to look at, but I know +nothing better, and keep it always in your pocket. It is +the <i>Imitation of Christ</i>. You will find a good deal +in it which will suit you, and you will say, as I have said a +thousand times over it, that other people may write of science or +philosophy, but this man writes about me.”</p> +<p>He put it on the table, and George opened it at the sentence, +“<i>He that can best tell how to suffer will best keep +himself in peace</i>. <i>That man is conqueror of +himself</i>, <i>and lord of the world</i>, <i>the friend of +Christ</i>, <i>and the heir of heaven</i>.” He turned +over the leaves again—“<i>He to whom the Eternal Word +speaketh is delivered from a world of unnecessary +conceptions</i>.” Zachariah bent his head near him +and gently expounded the texts. As the exposition grew +George’s heart dilated, and he was carried beyond his +troubles. It was the birth in him—even in him, a +Cowfold ironmonger, not a scholar by any means—of what +philosophers call the <i>idea</i>, that Incarnation which has +ever been our Redemption. He said nothing to Zachariah +about his own affairs, nor did Zachariah, as before observed, say +anything to him; but the two knew one another, and felt that they +knew one another as intimately as if George had imparted to his +friend the minutest details of his unhappiness with his wife.</p> +<p>Towards the end of the afternoon Pauline returned, and +inquired how the battle went in Cowfold.</p> +<p>“I am afraid we shall be beaten. Sometimes I +don’t seem to care much about it.”</p> +<p>“Don’t care! Why not?”</p> +<p>“Oh, we talk and talk, father and I, and somehow +people’s minds are made up without talking, and nobody ever +changes. When we have our meetings, who is it who +comes? Does Bushel come? Not a bit of it. We +only get our own set.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Zachariah, the old man’s +republican revolutionary ardour returning, “this is about +the only struggle in which I have felt much interest of late +years. I should like to have cheap bread, and what is more, +I should like to deprive the landlords of that bit of the price +which makes the bread dear. I agree with you, my boy. +Endless discussion is all very well—forms ‘public +opinion,’ they say; but I wish a stop could be put to it +when it has come round to where it began; that one side could say +to the other, ‘You have heard all our logic, and we have +heard all yours;’ now then, let us settle it. +‘Who is the strongest and best drilled?’ I +believe in insurrection. Everlasting debate—and it is +not genuine debate, for nobody really ranges himself alongside +his enemy’s strongest points—demoralises us +all. It encourages all sorts of sophistry, becomes mere +manœuvring, and saps people’s faith in the +truth. In half an hour, if two persons were to sit opposite +one another, they could muster every single reason for and +against Free Trade. What is the use of going on after +that? Moreover, insurrection strengthens the belief of men +in the right. A man who voluntarily incurs the risk of +being shot believes ever afterwards, if he escapes, a little more +earnestly than he did before. ‘Who is on the +Lord’s side, let him come unto me,’ says the +flag. Insurrection strengthens, too, the faith of +others. When a company of poor men meet together and +declare that things have got to such a pass that they will either +kill their enemies or die themselves, the world then thinks there +must, after all, be <i>some</i> difference between right and +wrong.”</p> +<p>“Father, that is all past now. We must settle our +quarrels in the appointed way. Don’t say anything to +discourage Mr. Allen. Besides, people are not so immovable +as you think. How they alter I don’t know; but they +do alter. There is a much larger minority in favour of Free +Trade than there was ten years ago.”</p> +<p>“All past now, is it? You will see one of these +days.”</p> +<p>It was time for tea, and Pauline left to get the +tea-things. In the evening they strolled out for a walk +through Barnsbury and up Maiden Lane, then a real and pretty lane +stretching north-westwards through hedges to Highgate. +After they had gone a few hundred yards Zachariah went back; he +had forgotten something, and George and Pauline walked on slowly +together. The street was crowded, for it was just about +church time, but on the opposite side of the road George saw +somebody whom he knew, but who took no notice of him.</p> +<p>“How odd!” he said to Pauline; “that is Tom +Broad! What is he doing here, I wonder?”</p> +<p>Pauline made no answer, and at that moment Zachariah rejoined +them.</p> +<p>The reason for Mr. Thomas Broad’s appearance in that +quarter will be best explained by the following letter, which he +had received the day before from his father:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">My dear +Thomas</span>,—I was very glad to hear of your success at +Mr. Martin’s chapel, at Hackney, on Sunday afternoon. +Although it was nothing more than an afternoon service, you must +remember that it is the first invitation to a metropolitan pulpit +which you have received. It would be as well if you were to +call on Mr. Martin at your earliest convenience, and also on Mr. +Chandler, in Leather Lane, whom you mentioned to me, and who, I +believe, is a prominent deacon. The choice of your subject +was judicious, although it is not so easy to fix the character of +a discourse for the afternoon as for the morning or +evening. ‘<i>I will give him a white stone</i>’ +is a text I have used myself with great profit. A young +minister, I need hardly say, my dear Thomas, ought to confine +himself to what is generally accepted, and not to +particularise. For this reason he should avoid not only all +disputed topics, but, as far as possible, all reference to +particular offences. I always myself doubted the wisdom, +for example, of sermons against covetousness, or worldliness, or +hypocrisy. Let us follow our Lord and Master, and warn our +hearers against sin, and leave the application to the Holy +Spirit. I only mention this matter now because I have found +two or three young students err in this direction, and the error, +I am sure, militates against their usefulness.</p> +<p>“Your dear mamma and Tryphosa are both quite well. +Not so Priscilla. I grieve to say she is <i>not</i> +well. George’s conduct lately has been very +strange. I am afraid that he will be a trouble not only to +us, but to the Church of Christ. Both he and his father +have kindled strife amongst us in this unhappy election contest, +for which, as a minister of God’s Word, I have held +aloof. For one or two Sundays the Allens have absented +themselves from Divine service in the evening, and we know that +there has been no sickness in the house. I feel certain +that before long they will withdraw their subscription. I +have good reason to believe that their friend, Mr. Coleman, +exercises a very baleful influence upon them. However, +God’s will be done! These are the trials which His +servants who minister to His flock must expect. Good-bye, +my dear Thomas. Mamma and Tryphosa send their love. +Give diligence to make your calling and election sure.—Your +affectionate father,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">“<span class="smcap">John +Broad</span>.</p> +<p>“<i>P.S.</i>—It will be as well, perhaps, if you +can ascertain whether the Allens visit the Colemans, and more +particularly if George goes there. The Coleman household +consists, I believe, of a father and daughter. You will +remember that Coleman has been a convict, and, I have heard, has +tendencies towards infidelity. Priscilla informs me that +Mr. Allen and George will be in London to-morrow; but she does +not know what they are going to do there. You will +doubtless be able to obtain the information I desire, and on +future occasions I will also advise you when either George or his +father is in the metropolis.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Thomas Broad had his own reasons for complying with his +father’s request. He hated the Colemans and George +with as much active malignity as was possible to his heavy +unctuous nature. Why he should hate the Colemans is +intelligible, and his hatred to George can also be explained, +partly through sympathy between father and son, and partly +because the hatred of a person like Thomas Broad to a person like +George Allen needs no explanation.</p> +<h2><a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +231</span>CHAPTER XXV<br /> +“<span class="smcap">And a Man’s Foes shall be They +of His own Household</span>”</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> county polling day meanwhile +drew near, and with its approach party spirit rose and the mutual +exasperation of both sides increased. George and his father +were out every evening at the Institute or canvassing, and +George’s first attempts at public speaking were a +success. At length the day dawned which was to decide their +fate. Cowfold was the polling station for a large district, +and both sides fully recognised its importance. The +Democratic colour was orange, and the Tory was purple. +Everybody wore rosettes, and bands of music went about the town, +carrying flags and banners, which had such an effect upon the +Cowfold population, more particularly upon that portion of it +which knew nothing whatever of the questions at issue, that the +mere sound of the instruments or sight of a bit of bunting tied +to a pole was sufficient to enable them to dare a broken head, or +even death. Beer may have been partly the cause of this +peculiar mental condition, but not entirely, for sober persons +felt the contagion. We may laugh at it if we please, and no +doubt it is evidence of the weakness of human nature; but, like +much more evidence of the same order, it is double-voiced, and +testifies also to our strength.</p> +<p>Priscilla was staying that night with her mother. Mr. +Broad’s house, at the end of the town, was very quiet, and +George did not care to leave her alone with the servant. +Those were the days when the state of the poll was published +every hour, and as Cowfold lay near the centre of the county a +very fair opinion could be formed of the progress of the +voting. By three o’clock it was known that up to +eleven parties were neck and neck, and the excitement grew more +and more intense. Every public-house in Cowfold was free, +and soon after dinner-time there was not a single person in the +place who was ever drunk before who had not found it necessary to +get drunk then in order to support the strain on his +nerves. Four o’clock came, and the polling-booth was +shut; the numbers were made up, and the two committees now +anxiously awaited the news from the outlying districts. The +general impression seemed to be that the popular candidate would +win by about a dozen, and by eight o’clock a crowd had +assembled before the “Cross Keys” to give due welcome +to the desired announcement. Ten o’clock came, and +the mob began to get impatient and unruly. Then there was a +stir and a roar, and the whole assemblage rushed off to the +“Angel,” in the square. On the balcony was a +huge placard, with the purple hero at the +top—1837—and below was the orange favourite, in small +and ignominious figures—1831. Bushel stood at the +open window waving his hat, apparently half frantic. Just +underneath him was a smaller crowd of the purple faction, who +were cheering and bawling with all their might as the enemy came +in sight. In an instant the conflict had begun. The +purple banners were the first objects of attack, and disappeared +every one of them, in less than five minutes, underfoot. +Seen from one of the upper storeys of the houses, the square +looked like a great pot full of boiling confusion. By +degrees the wearers of purple were driven hard against the +“Angel” yard-gates, which opened to receive them; +some who were not successful in securing admittance escaping, +with bloody heads, down the side lane, and so out across the +fields. There was great difficulty in shutting the gates +again; but the “Angel” hostlers appeared on the scene +with pitchforks and other weapons, which caused an ebb of the +tide for a moment. They managed in the nick of time to +swing the gates together, and the heavy wooden bar was thrown +across them. The orange party was now triumphant, but very +unhappy, because it was able to do no further mischief. +Suddenly Bushel was seen again at the window, and, as it was +afterwards averred, made some insulting gesture. A stone +was the prompt response, and in five minutes there was not a +whole pane of glass left in the front of the building. +“Have old Bushel out! Smoke ’em out!” was +shouted, and a rush followed towards the door. But the +insurgents had no siege train for such a fortress, and the sight +of two or three fowling-pieces somewhat damped their +courage. They therefore turned off, wrecked the +brewer’s house, and forced the “Angel” tap, +which was separated from the main building. The +spirit-casks were broached, and men turned the gin and brandy +taps into their mouths without waiting for glasses. Many of +them, especially those who first entered, were at once overcome +and dropped, lying about in the room and in the gutter perfectly +insensible. The remainder, who could only drink what was +left, became more and more riotous, and a general sack of all +purple property was imminent. Mr. Allen was at the +“Cross Keys,” but George was at home, and as he +watched the scene he saw the mob take a kind of lurch and sway +along the street which led to Mr. Broad’s. He thought +he heard Mr. Broad’s name, and in an instant he had +buttoned-up his coat, taken the heaviest stick he could find, and +was off. He had the greatest difficulty in forcing his way, +and he did not reach the front of the crowd till it was opposite +Mr. Broad’s and the destruction of the windows had +begun. He leaped over the iron railing, and presented +himself at the gate with the orange rosette on his coat and the +stick in his right hand. He was just in time, for yells of +“Psalm-singing old hypocrite!” were already in the +air, and the fence was being stormed. George administered +to the foremost ruffian a blow on the shoulder which felled him +on the path outside, and then, standing on the low brick wall on +which the railings rested, showed his rosette, brandished his +club, and made some kind of inarticulate expostulation, which, +happily for him and Mr. Broad, was received with cheers. +Whether taken by itself it would have been effectual or not +cannot be said, for just at that moment a more powerful auxiliary +appeared. When the “Angel” was abandoned the +imprisoned garrison, amongst whom were one or two county +magistrates, held a brief consultation. They organised +their force and marched out, the well-to-do folk in front and +abreast, armed with bludgeons, the “Angel” +dependents—and about fifty more of the refugees coming in +the rear, every garden and stable weapon of offence being +distributed amongst them. They had the advantage, of +course, of being sober. They advanced at a run, and their +tramp was heard just as George was beginning to try the effect of +his eloquence. Panic and scattering flight at once +followed, not, however, before some dozen or so of the fugitives +had recovered what little sense they ever had by virtue of sundry +hard knocks on their skulls, and a dozen more or so had been +captured. By twelve o’clock Cowfold was quiet and +peaceable.</p> +<p>Citizens were left to wonder how their town, lying usually so +sleepily still, like a farmyard on a summer Sunday afternoon, +could ever transform itself after this fashion. Men unknown +and never before seen seemed suddenly to spring out of the earth, +and as suddenly to disappear. Who were they? +Respectable Cowfold, which thought it knew everybody in the +place, could not tell. There was no sign of their existence +on the next day. People gathered together and looked at the +mischief wrought the night before, and talked everlastingly about +it; but the doers of it vanished, rapt away apparently into an +invisible world. On Sunday next, at one o’clock, +Cowfold Square, save for a few windows not yet mended, looked +just as it always looked; that is to say, not a soul was visible +in it, and the pump was, as usual, chained.</p> +<p>The band of rescuers had passed George as he stood in the +garden, and when they had gone he knocked at the door. It +was a long time before anybody came, but at last it was partly +opened, just as far as the chain would permit, and the Reverend +John Broad, looking very white and with a candle in his hand +appeared.</p> +<p>“It is I, George, Mr. Broad. Please tell me how +Priscilla is, and—how you all are after your fright. +I will not come in if you are all well.”</p> +<p>“No, Mr. George, you will not come in. I little +thought that a member of Tanner’s Lane Church, and my +daughter’s husband, would associate himself with such +disgraceful proceedings as those we have witnessed this +evening.”</p> +<p>“But, Mr. Broad, you are quite mistaken. I was not +with the mob. I came here as soon as I could to protect +you.”</p> +<p>Mr. Broad, terrified and wrathful, had, however, disappeared, +and George heard the bolts drawn. He was beside himself +with passion, and knocked again and again, but there was no +answer. He was inclined to try and break open the door at +first, or seek an entrance through a window, but he thought of +Priscilla, and desisted.</p> +<p>He was turning homewards, when he reflected that it would be +useless to attempt to go to sleep, and he wandered out into the +country towards Piddingfold, pondering over many things. +The reaction of that night had been too severe. His ardour +was again almost entirely quenched when he saw the men for whom +he had worked, and who professed themselves his supporters, +filthily drunk. A noble sentence, however, from the +<i>Idler</i> came into his mind—his mother had a copy of +the <i>Idler</i> in her bedroom, and read and re-read it, and +oftentimes quoted it to her husband and her +son—“<i>He that has improved the virtue or advanced +the happiness of one fellow-creature . . . may be contented with +his own performance</i>; <i>and</i>, <i>with respect to mortals +like himself</i>, <i>may demand</i>, <i>like Augustus</i>, <i>to +be dismissed at his departure with applause</i>.” He +reflected that he, an ironmonger’s son, was not born to +save the world, and if the great Dr. Johnson could say what he +did, with how little ought not a humble Cowfold tradesman to be +satisfied! We all of us have too vast a conception of the +duty which Providence has imposed upon us; and one great service +which modern geology and astronomy have rendered is the abatement +of the fever by which earnest people are so often consumed. +But George’s meditations all through that night were in the +main about his wife, and as soon as he reached his shop in the +morning, the first thing he did was to write a note to her +telling her to come home. This she did, although her mother +and father objected, and George found her there at +dinner-time. She looked pale and careworn, but this, of +course, was set down to fright. She was unusually quiet, +and George forbore to say anything about her father’s +behaviour. He dreaded rather to open the subject; he could +not tell to what it might lead. Priscilla knew all about +George’s repulse from her father’s door, and George +could tell she knew it.</p> +<p>His father and he had determined that Cowfold would not be a +pleasant place for them on the following Sunday, and that +business, moreover, demanded their presence in London. +Thither, accordingly, they went on the Saturday, as usual; and +Priscilla naturally communicating their intention to her mother, +Mr. Thomas Broad received an epistle from his father something +like one we have already read, but still more imperative in its +orders that the dutiful son should see whether the Allens made +Zachariah’s house their head-quarters. That they did +not sleep there was well-known, but it was believed they had +constant intercourse with that unregenerate person, a disciple of +Voltaire, as the Reverend John Broad firmly believed, and it +would be “advantageous to possess accumulated evidence of +the fact.” Priscilla knew that they lodged always at +the “George and Blue Boar”; but how they spent their +time on Sunday she did not know. There was also a +postscript, this time with a new import:</p> +<blockquote><p>“It has been reported that Coleman’s +daughter is a young female not without a certain degree of +attractiveness. It may perhaps, my dear Thomas, be some day +of service to me and to the church if you were to inform me +whether you have observed any tendencies towards familiarity +between George and this person. I need not at the present +moment give you my reasons for this inquiry. It will be +sufficient to say that I have nothing more in view than the +welfare of the flock which Divine Providence has committed to my +charge.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Thomas did his duty, and a letter was received by his +father on the following Tuesday, which was carefully locked up in +the drawer in which the sermons were preserved.</p> +<p>The next day—that is to say, on Wednesday—George +was at work, as usual, when his little maid came to say that her +mistress was very bad, and would he go home directly? She +had been unwell for some days, but it was not thought that there +was anything serious the matter with her. George followed +the girl at once, and found Priscilla in bed with a violent +headache and very feverish. The doctor came, and pronounced +it a case of “low fever,” a disease well enough known +in Cowfold. Let us make the dismal story as brief as +possible. Nurse Barton, hearing of her “dear +boy’s” trouble, presented herself uninvited that +evening at ten o’clock, and insisted that George should not +sit up. She remained in the house, notwithstanding Mrs. +Broad’s assurances that she really was not wanted, and +watched over Priscilla till the end came.</p> +<p>About a week afterwards, just when Priscilla seemed to be +getting a little better—she had been delirious, but her +senses had returned—and Mrs. Allen, who had been in the +house all day, had departed, a change for the worse took place, +and the doctor was summoned. George, sitting in the parlour +alone, heard Nurse Barton come downstairs.</p> +<p>“My dear boy,” she said as she entered, “God +in His mercy strengthen you in this trial as He has laid upon +you, but I thought I’d just come and tell you myself. +The doctor wor a-comm’, but I said ‘No; my boy shall +hear it from me.’ I don’t think as your wife +will get better; she don’t seem to pull herself up a +bit. She a’nt got no strength no more than a +fly. You’d better see her, I think.”</p> +<p>“Who is there?”</p> +<p>“Her mother and the doctor.”</p> +<p>“Can’t you get rid of them?”</p> +<p>“All right, my dear. I must stay with you both, +but you won’t mind me—God bless you!” and the +woman put her arms round George’s neck and kissed him +tenderly.</p> +<p>She returned, and presently she redeemed her promise, for she +actually got Mrs. Broad away. At first she was obstinate, +but Priscilla whispered that she wished to see her husband alone, +and the doctor took upon him to warn Mrs. Broad that resistance +on her part might be dangerous. She then retreated with +him, and George found himself by the bedside. His wife was +so prostrate that she was hardly able to make herself heard, but +she lifted up her finger and made a sign that he should bend his +head down to her. He bent it down, and her damp brown +hair—the beautiful brown hair he had loved so—lay on +his forehead, and its scent was all about him once more.</p> +<p>“George, my dear,” she just breathed out, “I +am a poor silly girl, but I always loved you.”</p> +<p>He stopped her instantly with his kisses, but Death had +stopped her too. He recoiled for a moment, and with a +sudden scream. “O God, she’s gone!” he +fell into the arms of his nurse, who stood behind him.</p> +<h2><a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +239</span>CHAPTER XXVI<br /> +A <span class="smcap">Professional Consultation</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Three</span> months passed, during which +the Allens’ pew was vacant at Tanner’s Lane. +George remained at home with his only child, or was at his +mother’s, or, shocking to relate, was in the fields, but +not at chapel; nor were any of his family there. During the +whole of these three months one image was for ever before his +eyes. What self-accusations! Of what injustice had he +not been guilty? Little things, at the time unnoticed, +turns of her head, smiles, the fall of her hair—oh, that +sweet sweet brown hair!—all came back to him, and were as +real before him as the garden wall. He thought of her lying +in her grave—she whom he had caressed—of what was +going on down there, under the turf, and he feared he should go +mad. Where was she? Gone, for ever gone—gone +before he had been able to make her understand how much he really +loved her, and so send her to sleep in peace. But was she +not in heaven? Would he not see her again? He did not +know. Strange to say, but true, he, a member of +Tanner’s Lane Church, who had never read a sceptical book +in his life, was obliged to confess, perhaps not consciously, but +none the less actually, he did not know.</p> +<p>In those dark three months the gospel according to +Tanner’s Lane did nothing for him, and he was cast forth to +wrestle with his sufferings alone. It is surely a terrible +charge to bring against a religious system, that in the conflict +which has to be waged by every son of Adam with disease, +misfortune, death, the believers in it are provided with neither +armour nor weapons. Surely a real religion, handed down +from century to century, ought to have accumulated a store of +consolatory truths which will be of some help to us in time of +need. If it can tell us nothing, if we cannot face a single +disaster any the better for it, and if we never dream of turning +to it when we are in distress, of what value is it? There +is one religious teacher, however, which seldom fails those who +are in health, and, at last, did not fail him. He was +helped by no priest and by no philosophy; but Nature helped him, +the beneficent Power which heals the burn or scar and covers it +with new skin.</p> +<p>At the end of the three months the Reverend John Broad +received a brief note from Mr. Allen announcing that their pew at +the chapel could be considered vacant, and that the subscription +would be discontinued. Within a week Mr. Broad invited +Brother Bushel, Brother Wainwright the cart-builder and +blacksmith, and Brother Scotton the auctioneer, to a private +meeting at his own house. In a short speech Mr. Broad said +that he had sought a preliminary conference with them to lay +before them the relationship in which the Allens stood to the +church in Tanner’s Lane. They had formally ceased to +attend his ministrations, but of course, as yet, they remained on +the church books. It was a matter which he, as the minister +of the flock, felt could not any longer be overlooked. He +would say nothing of the part which the Allens had taken in the +late unhappy controversies which had distracted the town, +excepting that he considered they had displayed a heat and +animosity inconsistent with their professions and detrimental to +the best interests of the cause.</p> +<p>“I agree with that, Mr. Broad,” interrupted Mr. +Bushel; “and I may say that, as you know, if you had done +nothing, <i>I should</i>; for how any member of +the—gospel—could live in—and go on—peace +harmony with all men in the Church of Christ, I, at, +least—that’s my opinion.” Mr. Bushel was +shortnecked, and shook his head always while he was talking, +apparently in order to disengage his meaning, which consequently +issued in broken fragments.</p> +<p>Mr. Broad resumed—“I may, however, observe that +George Allen was in company with the intoxicated mob which +devastated Cowfold; and although he has asserted that he merely +endeavoured to control its excesses—and such appears to be +the view taken by the civil authorities who have prosecuted the +perpetrators of the outrages—we, as members, my dear +brethren, of Christ’s Body, have to be guided by other +considerations. While upon this subject of George Allen, I +may say, with as much delicacy as is permissible to a faithful +minister of God’s holy Word, that I fear George has +been—a—h’m—what shall I say?—at +least led astray by an unhappy intimacy with a female residing in +the metropolis who is an infidel. I have no doubt in my own +mind that the knowledge of this fact accelerated the departure of +my dear daughter, whose sorrow was of a twofold +character—sorrow, in the first place, with regard to her +husband’s unfaithfulness, causing her thereby much personal +affliction, which, however, endureth but for a moment, for she +now inherits a far more exceeding weight of +glory”—Mr. Broad’s week-day and extempore +quotations from the Bible were always rather +muddled—“and, in the second place, sorrow for her +husband’s soul. I think we have distinct evidence of +this intimacy, which I shall be able to produce at the proper +moment. We have all observed, too, that whilst the Allens +have not latterly attended Divine Service at Tanner’s Lane, +they have not seceded to another place of worship. Finally, +and by way of conclusion, let me remark that I have wrestled long +with the Lord to know what was my duty towards these apostates +and towards the Church of Christ. I considered at first I +ought to remonstrate privately with Mr. Allen; but, alas! he has +shown a recalcitrant disposition whenever I have attempted to +approach him. I have consulted Brother Bushel on the +subject; indeed, I may say that Brother Bushel had previously +intimated to me the necessity of taking some steps in the matter, +and had assured me that he could not any longer occupy the +prominent position which he now occupies in the church—so +much, I may say, to our own edification and advantage—if +something were not done. We think, therefore, that the +church should be privately convoked for deliberation. +Brother Wainwright, what counsel have you to give?”</p> +<p>Brother Wainwright always had a heavy account with Brother +Bushel. He was a little man, with a little round head +covered with straggling hair, which came over his forehead. +He sat with his hat between his knees, looked into it, scratched +his head, and said with a jerk, “Oi agree with Brother +Bushel.”</p> +<p>“Brother Scotton, what do you say?”</p> +<p>Brother Scotton was a Cowfold man, tall and thin, +superintendent of the Sunday-school, and to a considerable extent +independent of village custom. He was not only an +auctioneer, but a land surveyor; he also valued furniture, and +when there were any houses to be let, drew up agreements, made +inventories, and had even been known to prepare leases. +There was always, therefore, a legal flavour about him, and he +prided himself on his distant professional relationship to +full-blown attorneyhood. It was tacitly understood in +Cowfold that his opinion in certain cases was at least equal to +that of Mortimer, Wake, Collins & Mortimer who acted as +solicitors for half the county. Mr. Scotton, too, +represented Cowfold urban intelligence as against agricultural +rusticity; and another point in his favour was, that he had an +office—no shop—with a wire blind in the window with +the words, “Scotton, Land Agent, Auctioneer, and +Appraiser,” painted on it. On Mr. Broad’s +present appeal for his verdict, he put himself in a meditative +attitude, stretched out his legs to their full length, threw his +head back, took his lower lip in his left hand, pulled up his +legs again, bent forward, put his hands on his knees, and looked +sideways at Mr. Broad.</p> +<p>“I suppose that Mr. Allen and his son will have the +charges communicated to them, Mr. Broad, and be summoned to +attend the meeting?”</p> +<p>“What do you say, Brother Bushel?”</p> +<p>“Don’t see no use in it. All very well them +lawyers”—a snap at Scotton—“come and +argyfy—I hate argyfying, I do myself—never seed no +good on it. Get rid of a man—I do. +‘Sickly sheep infects the flock and pisons all the +rest.’” These last words formed part of a hymn +of which Brother Bushel was fond.</p> +<p>“What do you say, Brother Wainwright?”</p> +<p>Brother Wainwright, although he could do nothing but agree +with Brother Bushel, and never did anything but agree with him, +preferred to make a show of reflection. He again looked in +his hat, shut his mouth fast; again scratched his head; again +shook it a little, and with another jerk, as if announcing a +conclusion at which he had arrived with great certainty, but +after a severe mental effort, he said:</p> +<p>“Oi go with Brother Bushel, <i>Oi</i> do.”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Scotton, extending his legs again and +gazing at the ceiling, “I must nevertheless be permitted to +adhere—”</p> +<p>“Adhere,” interrupted Bushel. +“What’s the use of talking like that? You +always adhere—what for, I should like to know?”</p> +<p>Scotton went on with dignity, not noticing the attack.</p> +<p>“Adhere, I was about to say, Mr. Broad, to my previously +expressed opinion. I am not at all sure that the Allens +have not a legal status, and that an action would not lie if we +proceeded without due formalities. Tanner’s Lane, you +must recollect, is in a peculiar position, and there is an +endowment.”</p> +<p>Mr. Scotton had this advantage over Cowfold generally, that if +he knew nothing about the law himself, excepting so far as bids +at a sale were concerned, Cowfold knew less, and the mention of +the endowment somewhat disturbed Mr. Broad’s mind.</p> +<p>“Brother Bushel is no doubt quite justified in his +anxiety to avoid discussion, which will in all probability lead +to no useful result; but, on the other hand, it will be as well, +perhaps, to proceed with caution.”</p> +<p>“Well,” ejaculated Bushel, “do as yer like; +you’ll see you’ll get in an argyfication and a mess, +you take my word on it.”</p> +<p>“Suppose,” said Mr. Broad, his face shining as he +spoke, “we hit upon a third course, the <i>via media</i>, +you know, Brother Scotton”—Brother Scotton nodded +approvingly, as much as to say, “<i>I</i> know; but how +about Bushel?”—“the <i>via media</i>, and have +a friendly meeting of the most influential members of the +church—a majority—and determine upon a course of +action, which we can afterwards ratify at the formal meeting, at +which the Allens will be present. We shall in this way, it +seems to me, prevent much debate, and practically arrive at a +conclusion beforehand.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Scotton—very slowly. +“I don’t see, at the present moment, any particular +objection; but I should not like to commit myself.”</p> +<p>“How does it strike you, Brother Bushel?”</p> +<p>“Arter that, I suppose Scotton ull want some sort of a +dockyment sent. I’m agin all dockyments. Why, +what’ll Allen do? Take it over to +Collins—Mortimer—stamp it, ten-and-sixpenny +stamp. What will yer do then?”</p> +<p>“No, Brother Bushel; I apprehend that it will be my duty +as pastor to write to the Allens a simple letter—a simple +pastoral letter—announcing that a church meeting will be +convened at a certain hour in the vestry, to consider some +statements—charges—naming them—not going into +unnecessary detail, and requesting their attendance.”</p> +<p>“That’s better; that wouldn’t be a +dockyment, I s’pose; and yet praps he might stamp +that. Resolution arterwards. Time they were out of +it. Come on, Wainwright, gettin’ dark.”</p> +<p>“Well then, we agree,” said Mr. +Broad—“happily agree; and I trust that the Lord will +yet prosper His Zion, and heal the breaches thereof. Will +any of you take any refreshments before you go? Will you, +Brother Bushel?”</p> +<p>Brother Bushel did not believe in Mr. Broad’s +refreshments, save those which were spiritual, and declined them +with some abruptness, preferring much a glass of hot brown brandy +and water at the inn where his horse was. Brother +Wainwright would have taken anything, but was bound to follow +Brother Bushel, who was about to give him a lift homewards; and +Brother Scotton was a teetotaller, one of the first who was +converted to total abstinence in Cowfold, and just a trifle +suspected at Tanner’s Lane, and by Bushel in particular, on +that account. Water-drinking was not a heresy to which any +definite objection could be raised; but Tanner’s Lane +always felt that if once a man differed so far from his fellows +as not to drink beer and spirits, there was no knowing where the +division might end. “It was the thin end of the +wedge,” Mr. Broad observed confidentially to Bushel once +when the subject was mentioned.</p> +<p>The preliminary meeting, therefore, was held, and Mr. Broad +having communicated the charges against the +Allens—absenting themselves from public worship, +disturbance of the peace of the church, intercourse with infidel +associates, and finally so far as George was concerned, +“questionable behaviour,” as Mr. Broad delicately put +it, “with an infidel female”—it was determined +to call them to account. There was some difference of +opinion, however. It was thought by some that all reference +to the election, direct or indirect, should be avoided, for the +majority in Tanner’s Lane was certainly not Tory. But +Brother Bushel seemed to consider this the head and front of the +offence, and declared that if this were not part of the +indictment he would resign. He also was opposed to giving +the Allens any information beforehand, and, if he had been +allowed to have his own way, would not have permitted them to +attend. He would have them “cut off,” he said, +“there and then, summararlilly.” He got into +great difficulties with this last word, and before he could get +rid of it had to shake his head several times. Others +thought it would be dangerous to act in this style; and there +seemed no chance of any agreement, until Mr. Broad once more +“healed the incipient division” by proposing another +<i>via media</i>, which was carried. It was determined that +there should be only an allusion to the political charge. +It was to be subsidiary. In fact, it was not to be a +political charge at all, but a moral charge, although, as Mr. +Broad privately explained to Brother Bushel, it would come to the +same thing in the end. Then Mr. Broad, as he had suggested +at an earlier stage, was himself to write a letter to the Allens, +stating in “general terms” the dissatisfaction felt +by the church and its minister with them, and requesting their +appearance in the vestry on the day named. Brother Scotton +was still malcontent, but as he was in a minority he held his +peace. He resolved, however, on his own account, to +acquaint the Allens with what had happened, and prepare +them. They were no particular friends of his, but Bushel +also was no particular friend, and his auctioneering trade had at +least educated him, in the disputes amongst buyers, to hold the +scales of justice a little more evenly than they were held by +Bushel’s hands.</p> +<p>Neither George nor his father were much disturbed by any of +the items in Scotton’s information nor by Mr. Broad’s +letter, save the reference to Pauline. It is true it was +very remote, but the meaning, especially after Scotton’s +explanation, was obvious, and George was in a fury which his +father found it very difficult to repress. For himself +George did not care, but he did care that Pauline’s name +should not be dragged into the wretched squabble. Father +and son both agreed that the case should be laid before +Zachariah; but when Mr. Allen came back from London he merely +said, in answer to George’s inquiries, that Zachariah and +himself were in perfect accord, and that at the meeting George +was not to interfere.</p> +<h2><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +247</span>CHAPTER XXVII<br /> +<span class="smcap">Mr. Broad’s last Church +Meeting—Latimer Chapel</span></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> eventful evening at last +arrived. It had been announced from the pulpit on the +Sunday before that a special meeting of the church would be held +on the following Wednesday to consider certain questions of +discipline—nothing more—as it was not thought proper +before the general congregation to introduce matters with which +the church alone was qualified to deal. Everybody, however, +knew what was intended, and when Wednesday night came the vestry +was crowded. Mr. Broad sat in a seat slightly elevated at +the end of the room, with a desk before him. On his right +hand was Brother Bushel, on the left was Brother Scotton, and on +the front bench were Brother Wainwright and a few of the more +important members, amongst whom was Thomas Broad, who, although +it was a week-day, was in full ministerial costume; that is to +say, he wore his black—not pepper-and-salt—trousers +and a white neckerchief. Mr. Allen and George were at the +back of the room. There were no women there, for although +women were members as well as men, it was always an understood +thing at Tanner’s Lane that they were to take no part in +the business of the community. Seven o’clock having +struck, Mr. Broad rose and said, “Let us pray.” +He prayed for about ten minutes, and besought the Almighty to +shed abroad His Holy Spirit upon them for their guidance. +As the chosen people had been brought through the wilderness and +delivered from the manifold perils therein, so God, he hoped, +would lead His flock then assembled, through the dangers which +encompassed them. Oh that they might be wise as serpents +and harmless as doves! Might they for ever cleave to the +faith once delivered to the saints! Might they never be led +astray to doubt the efficacy of the Blood of the Atonement once +offered by the Son of God! Might they, through their +Saviour’s merits, secure at last an entrance into those +mansions where all the saints of God, those faithful souls whom +He had elected as His own, of His own eternal foreknowledge, +would abide for ever, in full fruition of the joys promised in +His Word.</p> +<p>The prayer over, Mr. Broad rose and said that he was there +that night to discharge a most painful duty—one which, if +he had taken counsel with flesh and blood, he would most gladly +have avoided. But he was a humble servant of their common +Lord and Master. It behoved him to cease not to warn every +one night and day; to remember that the Holy Ghost had made him +an overseer to feed the church of God which He had purchased with +His precious blood. He had done nothing in this matter +without constant recurrence to the footstool of grace, and he had +also consulted with some of his dear brethren in Christ whom he +saw near him. They would have observed that Brother Allen +and his family had for some time absented themselves from the +means of grace. He should have said nothing upon this point +if they had joined any other Christian community. If even +they had attended the Established Church, he would have been +silent, for he was free to confess that in other religious bodies +besides their own God had faithful servants who held fast to the +fundamental doctrines of His book. But it was notorious, +alas! that his dear brother had gone <span +class="GutSmall">NOWHERE</span>! In the face of the +apostolic command not to forsake the assembling of themselves +together, what could they do but suspect that his dear +brother’s belief had been undermined—sapped, he would +say? But to that point he would return presently. +Then, again, they were all familiar with the circumstances +attending the late political contest in the county. He knew +that many of his dear brethren differed one from another +concerning matters relating to this world, although they were +all, blessed be God, one in Christ, members of His body. He +himself had thought it better to follow as far as he could, the +example of his Lord and Master to render unto Cæsar the +things that are Cæsar’s, and to lead a quiet and +peaceable life in all godliness and honesty. He would not +for a moment, however, condemn any who differed from him in +carnal policy. But his dear Brother Allen and his son had +overstepped the line; and, considering this was a mixed church, +he was of opinion that they should have acted—what should +he say?—with more Christian consideration. More than +this, Mr. George Allen was known to have abetted an unruly mob, a +position highly unbecoming, he might say, to one occupying the +position of member at Tanner’s Lane. But he might, +perhaps, be permitted to dwell for a moment on another +point. His dear Brother Allen and his son had—there +was no doubt of it—consorted with infidels, one of whom had +been convicted by the laws of his country—a +convict—and it was through their instrumentality that his +brethren had been led to wander from the fold. This was the +secret of the calamity which had overtaken the church. +Wolves, he would say—yes, wolves, grievous wolves—had +entered in, not sparing the flock. Let them consider what +an Infidel was! It meant a man who denied his Maker, +Revelation, a life beyond the grave, and who made awful jests +upon the Holy Scriptures! He had evidence that in this +miserable household there was a portrait of that dreadful +blasphemer Voltaire, who on his deathbed cried out in vain for +that salvation which he had so impiously refused, and amidst +shrieks of—despair, which chilled with terror those who +stood by him, was carried off by the Enemy of Souls to the lake +that burneth with brimstone, where their worm dieth not and the +fire is not quenched.—(Sensation.) (This was a famous +paragraph in one of Mr. Broad’s sermons preached on great +occasions, and particularly when he supplied a metropolitan +pulpit. The story had been contradicted twice in the county +paper by a Frenchman, a retired teacher of his native language, +who had somehow heard of the insult offered to his great +countryman, and a copy of the contradiction had been sent to Mr. +Broad. He was content with observing that its author was a +Frenchman, and therefore probably an atheist, “with no +consciousness of moral obligation.” Voltaire’s +diabolic disappearance continued, therefore, to be one of Mr. +Broad’s most striking effects.)—This was a subject of +great delicacy. They knew how closely related he was to +Brother Allen through that dear saint now in glory. He did +not—he could not—(Mr. Broad seemed to be +affected)—allude in any detail to what had happened; but +still it was his duty to point out that Mr. George Allen had been +in constant intercourse with a female in an infidel +family—yes, before his wife’s death he had been seen +with her <i>alone</i>! <i>Alone</i> with an infidel +female! He only hoped that the knowledge of this fact did +not accelerate the departure of his blessed +daughter—daughter in the flesh and daughter in +Christ. He could not measure the extent of that +intercourse; the Searcher of hearts alone could do that, save the +parties concerned; but, of course, as she was an unbeliever, they +must fear the worst. For himself, he had felt that this was +the root of everything. They would judge for themselves how +fervently he must have appealed to the Mercy-seat, considering +his position and relationship with his dear brother, before he +had seen his way to take the present course; but at last God had +revealed Himself to him, and he now committed the case to +them. Might God have mercy on them, and His Spirit lead +them.</p> +<p>Mr. Allen and George had scarcely restrained themselves, and +George, notwithstanding his father’s injunction, leapt up +before the concluding sentences were out of Mr. Broad’s +mouth. Mr. Scotton, however, rose, and Mr. Allen pulled +George down. Mr. Scotton wished to say just one word. +They could not, he was sure, overestimate the gravity of the +situation. They were called together upon a most solemn +occasion. Their worthy pastor had spoken as a minister of +the gospel. He, Mr. Scotton, as a layman, wished just to +remind them that they were exercising judicial +functions—(Brother Bushel fidgeted and got very +red)—and that it was necessary they should proceed in +proper order. With regard to two of the charges, the +evidence was fully before them; that is to say, absence from +public worship and what might perhaps be thought want of +consideration for the peace of the +church.—(“Praps,” grunted +Bushel—“praps indeed.”)—But with regard +to the third charge, the evidence was <i>not</i> before them, and +as this was the most important of the three he would suggest +before going any farther that they should hear what Mr. Broad +could produce.</p> +<p>Brother Bushel objected. It was very seldom indeed that +he offered any remarks in public; but this time he could not +refrain, and introduced himself as follows:</p> +<p>“Brother Scotton says ‘praps.’ I +don’t say ‘praps,’ when people go settin’ +class agin class. Praps nobody’s windows was +broke! Evidence! Hasn’t our minister told us +George Allen has been to London? He wouldn’t tell us +an untruth. Due respec’, Brother Scotton—no +lawyering—none of that—of them +functions—’specially when it’s infidels and +ricks may be afire—aught I know.”</p> +<p>Mr. Broad interposed. He quite understood Brother +Bushel’s ardour for the truth, but he was prepared to +produce some simple corroboration of what he had affirmed, which +would, he thought, satisfy Brother Scotton and the brethren +generally. “Thomas,” quoth Mr. Broad, +“will you please step forward and say what you +know?”</p> +<p>Mr. Thomas thereupon advanced to the table, and said it would +ill become him to expatiate on the present occasion. He +would confine himself to obeying the mandate of his father. +He then reported that he had been led to visit the Colemans at +first as friends of the Allens, and not knowing their devilish +tendencies. God had, however, he hoped, mercifully +protected him. If it had not been for God’s grace, +where might he not have been that day? It was true that +they were disciples of the French sceptic; his likeness was on +the walls; his books were on the bookshelves! Mr. George +Allen had been in the habit of associating not only with Mr. +Coleman, but with the daughter, and with the daughter +<i>alone</i>! as has already been stated. She was also an +infidel—more so, perhaps, than her father; and Satan had a +way, as they all knew, of instilling the deadly poison so +seductively that unwary souls were often lost, lost, lost beyond +recall, before they could truly be said to be aware of it. +He wished, therefore, that evening to confess again, as, indeed, +he had just confessed before, that by grace he had been +saved. It is not of him that willeth, nor of him that +runneth, but of God that showeth mercy. He trembled to +think how near he himself had been to the pit of destruction, +lured by the devices of the great Enemy of Souls; but praise be +to God he had been saved, not through own merits, but through the +merits of his Redeemer.</p> +<p>Mr. Broad purred with pleasure during this oration, and looked +round on the audience for their approval. Mr. Allen was now +completely quieted. The speech had acted like a +charm. He rose immediately.</p> +<p>“Mr. Broad,” he said deliberately, but with much +emphasis—you might have heard a pin drop—“the +value of the testimony just given depends upon character of the +witness. May I ask him to explain <i>how he came by that +scar on the back of his hand</i>?”</p> +<p>Mr. Allen remained standing. There was no sign of an +answer. He sat down for a moment but still there was no +movement. He rose again.</p> +<p>“Mr. Broad, as there is no reply, will you permit me to +give the explanation?”</p> +<p>Mr. Thomas Broad then slowly erected himself near the table at +which his father was sitting. He held on by it hard, and +gulped down half a glass of water which was there. His +tallowy face looked more tallowy than ever, and his voice shook +most unpleasantly as he was just heard to say that he did not +know with what object the question was put—that +it—that it—seemed—seemed +irrel—irrelev—and these were the last syllables ever +heard from the lips of Mr. Thomas in Tanner’s Lane, for he +dropped into his seat and apparently fainted. There was +great confusion while his recovery was attempted. He was +conveyed into the chapel, more water was given him, +smelling-salts applied, and in due time he regained his senses; +but his father, on his return to the vestry, announced that after +what had happened the meeting had perhaps better be +adjourned. He felt it impossible to go any further just +then. Tanner’s Lane Church, therefore, departed, much +musing, and was never again summoned on that business. Mr. +Allen had some thoughts of demanding another meeting and a formal +acquittal, but the pastor was suddenly struck with paralysis, and +although he lingered for nearly two years, he preached no +more. So it came to pass that George and his father are on +the church books till this day. There was, of course, +endless gossip as to the meaning of Mr. Allen’s +appeal. Whether George ever knew what it was is more than I +can say, but it is certain that Cowfold never knew. Mr. +Allen always resolutely repelled all questions, saying that it +would be time enough to go further when he was next +attacked. The Broads, mother and daughter, asserted that no +doubt Thomas had a mark upon the back of his hand, but that it +had been caused by a nail in a fence, and that he had fainted +through indisposition. This theory, however, was obviously +ridiculous, for Mr. Allen’s reference had no meaning if +Thomas had met with a simple accident. Mrs. Broad saw that +her son’s explanation, greatly as she trusted him, was +weak, and at last Thomas, with Christian compunction, admitted +that the fence was the palings of the College garden, over which +he had once clambered when he was too late for admittance at the +College gates. This was true. Mr. Thomas on the very +evening of his interview with Pauline, had obtained admission +over the palings, had been detected, and there had been an +inquiry by the authorities; but the scar, as we know, had another +origin. Mrs. Broad was compelled to circulate this story, +and accompanied it with many apologies and much regret. It +was the sorrow of her life, she said; but, at the same time, she +must add that her son was delayed by no fault of his. The +President had investigated the matter, and had contented himself +with a reprimand. Her friends would understand that Thomas +would prefer, under the circumstances, not to visit Cowfold +again, and considering her dear husband’s sickness, she +could not advise that prosecution of the Allens should be +pressed.</p> +<p>Cowfold, however, was not satisfied. Mr. Allen would +not, as a man of the world, have thought so much of such an +indiscretion. Why was Mr. Thomas late? Cowfold could +not endure simple suspense of judgment. Any theory, however +wild, is more tolerable than a confession that the facts are not +sufficient for a decision, and the common opinion, corroborated, +it was declared, by surest testimony, was that Mr. Thomas had +been to the theatre. There was not a tittle of evidence to +support this story, but everybody was certain it was true. +Everybody repeated it, and constant repetition will harden the +loosest hearsay into a creed far more unshakable than faith in +the law of gravity.</p> +<p>Just before Mr. Broad’s last illness, the secession of +the Allens was imitated by about twenty of the younger members of +the congregation, who met together on Sunday, under Mr. +Allen’s guidance, and worshipped by themselves, each of +them in turn making some attempt at an exposition of the Bible +and a short address. By the time Mr. Broad died +Tanner’s Lane had sunk very low; but when his successor was +chosen the seceders exercised their rights, and were strong +enough to elect a student fresh from college, who had taken an +M.A. degree at the University of London. He preached his +first sermon from the text, “I am crucified with +Christ,” and told his hearers, with fluent self-confidence, +that salvation meant perfect sympathy with +Christ—“Not I, but Christ liveth in me;” that +the office of Christ was not to reconcile God to man, but man to +God; and this is effected in proportion as Christ dwells in us, +bringing us more and more into harmony with the Divine. The +Atonement is indeed the central doctrine, the pivot of +Christianity, but it is an at<i>one</i>ment, a making of one +mind. To which Tanner’s Lane listened with much +wonderment and not without uncomfortable mental disturbance, the +elder members complaining particularly that this was not the +simple gospel, and that the trumpet gave an uncertain +sound. But opposition gradually died out; the meeting-house +was rebuilt, and called Latimer Chapel. The afternoon +service was dropped and turned into a service for the +Sunday-school children; an organ was bought and a choir trained; +the minister gave week-day lectures on secular subjects, and +became a trustee of the Cowfold charity schools, recently +enlarged under a new scheme. He brought home a wife one day +who could read German; joined the County Archæological +Society, and wrote a paper on the discoveries made when the +railway station was built on what was supposed to be an ancient +British encampment. For Cowfold was to become an important +junction on the new line to the north, and Mr. Bushel’s +death had been accelerated by vexation through seeing a survey +carried across his own fields.</p> +<p>As for Mrs. Broad and Tryphosa, they left Cowfold and went +into Lancashire, to be near uncle Flavel. George, +notwithstanding the new doctrine in Latimer Chapel and the +improvement in the Cowfold atmosphere, was restless, and before +the revolution just described was completed, had been entirely +overcome with a desire to emigrate with his child. His +father and mother not only did not oppose, but decided to +accompany. Mr. Allen had saved money, and though he and his +wife were getting on in years, there was nothing in either of +them of that subsidence into indifferent sloth which is the great +mistake of advancing age. Both were keen in their desire to +know the last new thing, eager to recognise the last new truth, +forgetful of the past, dwelling in the present, and, +consequently, they remained young. They were younger, at +any rate, just now than George; and it was his, not exactly +melancholy, but lack of zest for life, which mainly induced them +so readily to assent to his plans. One bright June morning, +therefore, saw them, with their children, on the deck of the +Liverpool vessel which was to take them to America. Oh day +of days, when after years of limitation, monotony, and +embarrassment, we see it all behind us, and face a new future +with an illimitable prospect! George once more felt his +bosom’s lord sit lightly on his throne; once more felt that +the sunlight and blue sky were able to cheer him. So they +went away to the West, and we take leave of them.</p> +<p>What became of Zachariah and Pauline? At present I do +not know.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">The +End</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: +center"><i>London</i> <i>Hodder and +Stoughton</i> <i>1913</i></p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<blockquote><p><a name="footnote132"></a><a href="#citation132" +class="footnote">[132]</a> “O ze (ye) my feris +(companions) and deir freyndis, quod he,<br /> +Of bywent perillis not ignorant ben we,<br /> +Ze have sustenit gretir dangeris unkend,<br /> +Like as hereof God sall make sone ane end:<br /> +The rage of Silla, that huge sweste (whirlpool) in the se<br /> +Ze have eschapit and passit eik (each) have ze:<br /> +The euer (pot) routand (roaring) Caribdis rokkis fell<br /> +The craggis quhare monstruous Cyclopes dwell:<br /> +Ze are expert: pluk up zour harts, I zou pray,<br /> +This dolorous drede expell and do away.<br /> +Sum tyme thereon to think may help perchance.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">—<i>Gawin Douglas</i>.</p> +<p>“Endure and conquer! Jove will soon dispose,<br /> +To future good, our past and present woes.<br /> +With me, the rocks of Scylla you have tried;<br /> +Th’ inhuman Cyclops, and his den defied.<br /> +What greater ills hereafter can you bear!<br /> +Resume your courage, and dismiss your care.<br /> +An hour will come, with pleasure to relate<br /> +Your sorrows past, as benefits of fate.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">—<i>Dryden</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 6690-h.htm or 6690-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/6/9/6690 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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