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diff --git a/old/rvtn10h.htm b/old/rvtn10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7201c0f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rvtn10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7887 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Revolution in Tanner's Lane</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Revolution in Tanner's Lane, by Mark Rutherford</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Revolution in Tanner's Lane, by Mark Rutherford +(#6 in our series by Mark Rutherford) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Revolution in Tanner's Lane + +Author: Mark Rutherford + +Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6690] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on January 12, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1913 Hodder and Stoughton edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<h1>THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER’S LANE</h1> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<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.”<br />- +<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.”<br />- <i>Gwain Douglas’s +translation</i>.</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER I - THE WORLD OUTSIDE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The 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, 1A 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>and more particularly the second verse:</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER II - OUTSIDE PIKE STREET</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>On 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER III - THE THEATRE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Major Maitland 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“But ye yourselves must bow: your praise be given<br />To Him, +the Lord of lords, your King in heaven.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p> “Of one whose hand,<br />Like +the base Indian, threw a pearl away<br />Richer than all his tribe.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER IV - A FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER V - THE HORIZON WIDENS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Jean Caillaud, 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, et qui crée +les ténèbres</i>; <i>qui fait la paix, et qui crée +l’adversité</i>; <i>c’est moi, l’Eternel, 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, l’Eternel, +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, of him also shall the Son of man be ashamed, +when He cometh in the glory of His Father with the holy angels</i>.”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VI - TEA À LA MODE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Sunday 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VII - JEPHTHAH</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The 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: 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: 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> +<p>“<i>My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me? Our fathers +trusted in Thee; they trusted, and Thou didst deliver them. . . . +Be not far from me; for trouble is near; for there is none to help. +. . . Be Thou not far from me, O Lord: O my strength, haste Thee +to help me. . . . Save me from the lion’s mouth: and from +the horns of the wild oxen Thou hast answered me</i>.”</p> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII - UNCONVENTIONAL JUSTICE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>In 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER IX - A STRAIN ON THE CABLE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Bow Street 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. 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“She rose - she sprung - she clung to his embrace<br />Till +his heart heaved beneath her hidden face?”</p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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, 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, and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and were made +partakers of the Holy Ghost, and have tasted the good word of God, and +the powers of the world to come, if they shall fall away, to renew them +again unto repentance; seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of +God afresh, 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER X - DISINTEGRATION BY DEGREES</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>We 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XI - POLITICS AND PAULINE</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Soon 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“<i>Deeply as I lament the pressure of these evils upon the +country, I am sensible that they are of a nature not to admit of an +immediate remedy. But whilst I observe with peculiar satisfaction +the fortitude with which so many privations have been borne, and the +active benevolence which has been employed to mitigate them, I am persuaded +that the great sources of our national prosperity are essentially unimpaired; +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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XII - ONE BODY AND ONE SPIRIT</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Next 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 you 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII - TO THE GREEKS FOOLISHNESS</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Neither 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 THING then on the throne; the THING that gave £180 +for an evening coat, and incurred enormous debts, while his people were +perishing; the THING that drank and lied and whored; the THING that +never did nor said nor thought anything that was not utterly brutish +and contemptible - when we think that the THING 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">{132}</a></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV - THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY THE SIXTH FORM THEREOF</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>When 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XV - END OF THE BEGINNING</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The 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>* * * *</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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI - COWFOLD</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Cowfold, 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 LONDON;” on the second, in equally large letters, “To +YORK;” 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 LONDON,” +“To YORK!” 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 ZOAR 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 though 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII - WHEN WILT THOU ARISE OUT OF THY SLEEP? YET +A LITTLE SLEEP</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII - A RELIGIOUS PICNIC</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Occasionally, 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX - “THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS LIKE UNTO LEAVEN”</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Mr. Isaac Allen, 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XX - THE REVEREND THOMAS BROAD’S EXPOSITION OF ROMANS +VIII. 7</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Such 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI - THE WISDOM OF THE SERPENT</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>George Allen 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 Allen’s 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII - THE ORACLE WARNS - AFTER THE EVENT</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>It 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII - FURTHER DEVELOPMENT</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Six 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV - “I CAME NOT TO SEND PEACE, BUT A SWORD”</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Mr. Allen, 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 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.</p> +<p>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 thus 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. +That man is conqueror of himself, and lord of the world, the friend +of Christ, 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 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<p>“My Dear Thomas, - 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>“JOHN BROAD.</p> +<p>“P.S. - 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV - “AND A MAN’S FOES SHALL BE THEY OF HIS +OWN HOUSEHOLD”</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The 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; and, with respect to mortals +like himself, may demand, like Augustus, 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div> +<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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI - A PROFESSIONAL CONSULTATION</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Three 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 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</i> <i>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 deckyments. 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> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII - MR. BROAD’S LAST CHURCH MEETING - LATIMER +CHAPEL</h2> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>The 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 NOWHERE! 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 contended 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="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div> +<p>Footnotes:</p> +<p><a name="footnote132"></a><a href="#citation132">{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.”<br /> - +<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.”<br /><i>- Dryden.</i></p> +<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div> +<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE REVOLUTION IN TANNER'S LANE ***</p> +<pre> + +******This file should be named rvtn10h.htm or rvtn10h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, rvtn11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, rvtn10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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