The American Senator III
.pdf
THE AMERICAN SENATOR
“I find,” said he, “that this irrationality, as I have ventured to call it, runs through all your professions. We will take the Church as being the highest at any rate in its objects.” Then he recapitulated all those arguments against our mode of dispensing church patronage with which the reader is already familiar if he has attended to the Senator’s earlier words as given in this chronicle. “In other lines of business there is, even here in England, some attempt made to get the man best suited for the work he has to do. If any one wants a domestic servant he sets about the work of getting a proper person in a very determined manner indeed. But for the care, — or, as you call it, the cure, — of his soul, he has to put up with the man who has bought the right to minister to his wants; or with him whose father wants a means of living for his younger son, — the elder being destined to swallow all the family property; or with him who has become sick of drinking his wine in an Oxford college; — or with him, again, who has pleaded his cause successfully with a bishop’s daughter.” It is not often that the British public is angered by abuse of the Church, and this part of the lecture was allowed to pass without strong marks of disapprobation.
“I have been at some trouble,” he continued, “to learn the very complex rules by which your army is now regulated, and those by which it was regulated a very short time since. Unhappily for me I have found it in a state of transition, and nothing is so difficult to a stranger’s comprehension as a transition state of affairs. But this I can see plainly; — that every improvement which is made is received by those whom it most concerns with a horror which amounts almost to mad-
231
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
ness. So lovely to the ancient British, well-born, feudal instinct is a state of unreason, that the very absence of any principle endears to it institutions which no one can attempt to support by argument. Had such a thing not existed as the right to purchase military promotion, would any satirist have been listened to who had suggested it as a possible outcome of British irrationality? Think what it carries with it! The man who has proved himself fit to serve his country by serving it in twenty foughten fields, who has bled for his country and perhaps preserved his country, shall rot in obscurity because he has no money to buy promotion, whereas the young dandy who has done no more than glitter along the pavements with his sword and spurs shall have the command of men; — because he has so many thousand dollars in his pocket.”
“Buncombe,” shouted the inimical voice.
“But is it Buncombe?” asked the intrepid Senator. “Will any one who knows what he is talking about say that I am describing a state of things which did not exist yesterday? I will acknowledge that this has been rectified, — tho’ I see symptoms of relapse. A fault that has been mended is a fault no longer. But what I speak of now is the disruption of all concord in your army caused by the reform which has forced itself upon you. All loyalty has gone; all that love of his profession which should be the breath of a soldier’s nostrils. A fine body of fighting heroes is broken-hearted, not because injury has been done to them or to any of them, but because the system had become peculiarly British by reason of its special absurdity, and therefore peculiarly dear.”
232
THE AMERICAN SENATOR
“Buncombe,” again said the voice, and the word was now repeated by a dozen voices.
“Let any one show me that it is Buncombe. If I say what is untrue, do with me what you please. If I am ignorant, set me right and laugh at me. But if what I say is true, then your interruption is surely a sign of imbecility. I say that the change was forced upon you by the feeling of the people, but that its very expediency has demoralized the army, because the army was irrational. And how is it with the navy? What am I to believe when I hear so many conflicting statements among yourselves?” During this last appeal, however, the noise at the back of the hall had become so violent, that the Senator was hardly able to make his voice heard by those immediately around him. He himself did not quail for a moment, going on with his gestures, and setting down his foot as though he were still confident in his purpose of overcoming all opposition. He had not much above half done yet. There were the lawyers before him, and the Civil Service, and the railways, and the commerce of the country, and the labouring classes. But Lord Drummond and others near him were becoming terrified, thinking that something worse might occur unless an end was put to the proceedings. Then a superintendent of police came in and whispered to his Lordship. A crowd was collecting itself in Piccadilly and St. James’s Street, and perhaps the Senator had better be withdrawn. The officer did not think that he could safely answer for the consequences if this were carried on for a quarter of an hour longer. Then Lord Drummond having meditated for a moment, touched the Senator’s arm and suggested a withdrawal into a side room for a minute. “Mr.
233
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
Gotobed,” he said, “a little feeling has been excited and we had better put an end to this for the present.”
“Put an end to it?”
“I am afraid we must. The police are becoming alarmed.” “Oh, of course; you know best. In our country a man is al-
lowed to express himself unless he utters either blasphemy or calumny. But I am in your hands and of course you must do as you please.” Then he sat down in a corner, and wiped his brow. Lord Drummond returned to the hall, and there endeavoured to explain that the lecture was over for that night. The row was so great that it did not matter much what he said, but the people soon understood that the American Senator was not to appear before them again.
It was not much after nine o’clock when the Senator reached his hotel, Lord Drummond having accompanied him thither in a cab. “Good night, Mr. Gotobed,” said his Lordship. “I cannot tell you how much I respect both your purpose and your courage; — but I don’t know how far it is wise for a man to tell any other man, much less a nation, of all his faults.”
“You English tell us of ours pretty often,” said the Senator. When he found himself alone he thought of it all, giving himself no special credit for what he had done, acknowledging to himself that he had often chosen his words badly and expressed himself imperfectly, but declaring to himself through it all that the want of reason among Britishers was so great, that no one ought to treat them as wholly responsible beings.
CHAPTER XXV
THE LAST DAYS OF MARY
MASTERS
The triumph of Mary Masters was something more than a nine days’ wonder to the people of Dillsborough. They had all known Larry Twentyman’s intentions and aspirations, and had generally condemned the young lady’s obduracy, thinking, and not being slow to say, that she would live to repent her perversity. Runciman who had a thoroughly warm-heart- ed friendship for both the attorney and Larry had sometimes been very severe on Mary. “She wants a touch of hardship,” he would say, “to bring her to. If Larry would just give her a cold shoulder for six months, she’d be ready to jump into his arms.” And Dr. Nupper had been heard to remark that she might go farther and fare worse. “If it were my girl I’d let her know all about it,” Ribbs the butcher had said in the bosom of his own family. When it was found that Mr. Surtees the curate was not to be the fortunate man, the matter was more inexplicable than ever. Had it then been declared that the owner of Hoppet Hall had proposed to her, all these tongues would have been silenced, and the refusal even of Larry Twentyman would have been justified. But what was to be said and what was to be
235
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
thought when it was known that she was to be the mistress of Bragton? For a day or two the prosperity of the attorney was hardly to be endured by his neighbours. When it was first known that the stewardship of the property was to go back into his hands, his rise in the world was for a time slightly prejudicial to his popularity; but this greater stroke of luck, this latter promotion which would place him so much higher in Dillsborough than even his father or his grandfather had ever been, was a great trial of friendship.
Mrs. Masters felt it all very keenly. All possibility for reproach against either her husband or her step-daughter was of course at an end. Even she did not pretend to say that Mary ought to refuse the squire. Nor, as far as Mary was concerned, could she have further recourse to the evils of Ushanting, and the peril of social intercourse with ladies and gentlemen. It was manifest that Mary was to be a lady with a big house, and many servants, and, no doubt, a carriage and horses. But still Mrs. Masters was not quite silenced. She had daughters of her own, and would solace herself by declaring to them, to her husband, and to her specially intimate friends, that of course they would see no more of Mary. It wasn’t for them to expect to be asked to Bragton, and as for herself she would much rather not. She knew her own place and what she was born to, and wasn’t going to let her own children spoil themselves and ruin their chances by dining at seven o’clock and being waited upon by servants at every turn. Thank God her girls could make their own beds, and she hoped they might continue to do so at any rate till they had houses of their own.
236
THE AMERICAN SENATOR
And there seemed to Dillsborough to be some justification for all this in the fact that Mary was now living at Bragton, and that she did not apparently intend to return to her father’s house. At this time Reginald Morton himself was still at Hoppet Hall, and had declared that he would remain there till after his marriage. Lady Ushant was living at the big house, which was henceforth to be her home. Mary was her visitor, and was to be married from Bragton as though Bragton were her residence rather than the squire’s. The plan had originated with Reginald, and when it had been hinted to him that Mary would in this way seem to slight her father’s home, he had proposed that all the Masters should come and stay at Bragton previous to the ceremony. Mrs. Masters yielded as to Mary’s residence, saying with mock humility that of course she had no room fit to give a marriage feast to the Squire of Bragton; but she was steadfast in saying to her husband, who made the proposition to her, that she would stay at home. Of course she would be present at the wedding; but she would not trouble the like of Lady Ushant by any prolonged visiting.
The wedding was to take place about the beginning of May, and all these things were being considered early in April. At this time one of the girls was always at Bragton, and Mary had done her best, but hitherto in vain, to induce her step-moth- er to come to her. When she heard that there was a doubt as to the accomplishment of the plan for the coming of the whole family, she drove herself into Dillsborough in the old phaeton and then pleaded her cause for herself. “Mamma,” she said, “won’t you come with the girls and papa on the 29th?”
237
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
“I think not, my dear. The girls can go, — if they like it. But it will be more fitting for papa and me to come to the church on the morning.”
“Why more fitting, mamma?” “Well, my dear; it will.”
“Dear mamma; — why, — why?”
“Of course, my dear, I am very glad that you are going to get such a lift.”
“My lift is marrying the man I love.”
“That of course is all right. I have nothing on earth to say against it. And I will say that through it all you have behaved as a young woman should. I don’t think you meant to throw yourself at him.”
“Mamma!”
“But as it has turned up, you have to go one way and me another.”
“No!”
“But it must be so. The Squire of Bragton is the Squire, and his wife must act accordingly. Of course you’ll be visiting at Rufford and Hampton Wick, and all the places. I know very well who I am, and what I came from. I’m not a bit ashamed of myself, but I’m not going to stick myself up with my betters.”
“Then mamma, I shall come and be married from here.” “It’s too late for that now, my dear.”
“No; — it is not.” And then a couple of tears began to roll down from her eyes. “I won’t be married without your coming in to see me the night before, and being with me in the morning when I dress. Haven’t I been a good child to you,
238
THE AMERICAN SENATOR
mamma?” Then the step-mother began to cry also. “Haven’t I, mamma?”
“Yes, my dear,” whimpered the poor woman.
“And won’t you be my mamma to the last; — won’t you?” And she threw her arms round her step-mother’s neck and kissed her. “I won’t go one way, and you another. He doesn’t wish it. It is quite different from that. I don’t care a straw for Hampton Wick and Rufford; but I will never be separated from you and the girls and papa. Say you will come, mamma. I will not let you go till you say you will come.” Of course she had her own way, and Mrs. Masters had to feel with a sore heart that she also must go out Ushanting. She knew, that in spite of her domestic powers, she would be stricken dumb in the drawing-room at Bragton and was unhappy.
Mary had another scheme in which she was less fortunate. She took it into her head that Larry Twentyman might possibly be induced to come to her wedding. She had heard how he had ridden and gained honour for himself on the day that the hounds killed their fox at Norrington, and thought that perhaps her own message to him had induced him so far to return to his old habits. And now she longed to ask him, for her sake, to be happy once again. If any girl ever loved the man she was going to marry with all her heart, this girl loved Reginald Morton. He had been to her, when her love was hopeless, so completely the master of her heart that she could not realise the possibility of affection for another. But yet she was pervaded by a tenderness of feeling in regard to Larry which was love also, — though love altogether of another kind. She thought of him daily. His future well-being was one of the cares of her
239
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
life. That her husband might be able to call him a friend was among her prayers. Had anybody spoken ill of him in her presence she would have resented it hotly. Had she been told that another girl had consented to be his wife, she would have thought that girl to be happy in her destiny. When she heard that he was leading a wretched, moping, aimless life for her sake, her heart was sad within her. It was necessary to the completion of her happiness that Larry should recover his tone of mind and be her friend. “Reg,” she said, leaning on his arm out in the park, “I want you to do me a favour.”
“Watch and chain?”
“Don’t be an idiot. You know I’ve got a watch and chain.” “Some girls like two. To have the wooden bridge pulled
down and a stone one built.”
“If any one touched a morsel of that sacred timber he should be banished from Bragton for ever. I want you to ask Mr. Twentyman to come to our wedding.”
“Who’s to do it? Who’s to bell the cat?” “You.”
“I would sooner fight a Saracen, or ride such a horse as killed that poor major. Joking apart, I don’t see how it is to be done. Why do you wish it?”
“Because I am so fond of him.” “Oh; — indeed!”
“If you’re a goose, I’ll hit you. I am fond of him. Next to you and my own people, and Lady Ushant, I like him best in all the world.”
“What a pity you couldn’t have put him up a little higher.”
240