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JOHN CALDIGATE
‘Better not. Believe me, she had better not. If so, how will
it be with her when he is released? The two years will soon go
by, and then she will be in his house. If that woman should die,
he might marry her — but till then she had better be with her
own people.’
‘She shall stay with me,’ the old man said again, repeating
the words angrily, and shaking his head. He was so stunned
by the blow that he could not argue the matter, but he knew
that he had made the promise, and that he was resolved to
abide by it.
She had better go back to her own people! All the world was
saying it. She had no husband now. Everybody would respect
her misfortune. Everybody would acknowledge her innocence.
All would sympathise with her. All would love her. But she
must go back to her own people. There was not a dissentient
voice. ‘Of course she must go back to you now,’ Nicholas Bolton
said to her father, and Nicholas Bolton seldom interfered in
anything. ‘The poor lady will of course be restored to her family,’ the judge had said in private to his marshal, and the marshal had of course made known what the judge had said. On
the next morning there came a letter from William Bolton to
Robert. ‘Of course Hester must come back now. Nothing else
is possible.’ Everybody decided that she must come back. It was
a matter which admitted of no doubt. But how was she to be
brought to Chesterton?
None of them who decided with so much confidence as to
her future, understood her ideas of her position as a wife. ‘I am
bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh,’ she said to herself,
‘made so by a sacrament which no jury can touch. What mat-
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
ters what the people say? They may make me more unhappy
than I am. They may kill me by their cruelty. But they cannot
make me believe myself not to be his wife. And while I am his
wife, I will obey him, and him only.’
What she called ‘their cruelty’ manifested itself very soon.
The first person who came to her was Mrs. Robert Bolton, and
her visit was made on the day after the verdict. When Hester sent down word begging to be permitted in her misery to
decline to see even her sister-in-law, Mrs. Robert sent her up
a word or two written in pencil —‘My darling, whom have you
nearer? Who loves you better than I?’ Then the wretched one
gave way, and allowed her brother’s wife to be brought to her.
She was already dressed from head to foot in black, and her
baby was with her.
The arguments which Mrs. Robert Bolton used need not
be repeated, but it may be said that the words she used were so
tender, and that they were urged with so much love, so much
sympathy, and so much personal approval, that Hester’s heart
was touched. ‘But he is my husband,’ Hester said. ‘The judge
cannot alter it; he is my husband.’
‘I will not say a word to the contrary. But the law has separated you, and you should obey the law. You should not even
eat his bread now, because — because ——. Oh, Hester, you
understand.’
‘I do understand,’ she said, rising to her feet in her energy, ‘and I will eat his bread though it be hard, and I will
drink of his cup though it be bitter. His bread and his cup
shall be mine, and none other shall be mine. I do understand.
I know that these wicked people have blasted my life. I know
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JOHN CALDIGATE
that I can be nothing to him now. But his child shall never
be made to think that his mother had condemned his father.
Yes, Margaret,’ she said again, ‘I do love you, and I do trust
you, and I know that you love me. But you do not love him;
you do not believe in him. If they came to you and took Robert away, would you go and live with other people? I do love
papa and mamma. But this is his house, and he bids me stay
here. The very clothes which I wear are his clothes I am his;
and though they were to cut me apart from him, still I should
belong to him. No — I will not go to mamma. Of course I have
forgiven her, because she meant it for the best; but I will never
go back to Chesterton.’
Then there came letters from the mother, one letter hot
upon the other, all appealing to those texts in Scripture by
which the laws of nations are supposed to be supported. ‘Give
unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s.’ It was for the law to
declare who were and who were not man and wife, and in this
matter the law had declared. After this how could she doubt?
Or how could she hesitate as to tearing herself away from
the belongings of the man who certainly was not her husband?
And there were dreadful words in these letters which added
much to the agony of her who received them — words which
were used in order that their strength might prevail. But they
had no strength to convert, though they had strength to afflict. Then Mrs. Bolton, who in her anxiety was ready to submit
herself to any personal discomfort, prepared to go to Folking.
But Hester sent back word that, in her present condition, she
would see nobody — not even her mother.
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
But it was not only from the family of the Boltons that these
applications and entreaties came. Even Mr. Seely took upon
himself to tell Mr. Caldigate that under existing circumstances
Hester should not be detained at Folking.
‘I do not know that either she or I want advice in the matter,’ Mr. Caldigate replied. But as a stone will be worn hollow in time by the droppings of many waters, so was it thought
that if all Cambridge would continue firm in its purpose, then
this stone might at last be made to yield. The world was so anxious that it resolved among itself that it would submit to any
amount of snubbing in carrying out its object. Even the mayor
wrote. ‘Dear Mr. Caldigate greatly as I object to all interference in families, I think myself bound to appeal to you as to
the unfortunate condition of that young lady from Chesterton.’ Then followed all the arguments, and some of the texts —
both of which were gradually becoming hackneyed in the matter. Mr. Caldigate’s answer to this was very characteristic: ‘Dear
Mr. Mayor, if you have an objection to interfere in families,
why do you do it?’ The mayor took the rebuke with placid
good-humour, feeling that his little drop might also have done
something towards hollowing the stone.
But of all the counsellors, perhaps Mr. Smirkie was the most
zealous and the most trusting. He felt himself to be bound in
a peculiar manner to Folking — by double ties. Was not
the clergyman of the parish the brother of his dear departed
one? And with whom better could he hold sweet counsel? And
then that second dear one, who had just been vouchsafed to
him — had she not as it were by a miracle been rescued from
the fate into which the other poor lady had fallen, and ob-
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JOHN CALDIGATE
tained her present thoroughly satisfactory position? Mr.
Smirkie was a clergyman who understood it to be his duty to
be urgent for the good cause, in season and out of season, and
who always did his duty. So he travelled over to Utterden and
discussed the matter at great length with Mr. Bromley. ‘I do believe in my heart,’ said Mr. Bromley, ‘that the verdict is wrong.’
But Mr. Smirkie, with much eloquence, averred that that had
nothing to do with the question. Mr. Bromley opened his eyes
very wide. ‘Nothing at all,’ said Mr. Smirkie. ‘It is the verdict of
the jury, confirmed by the judge, and the verdict itself dissolves the marriage. Whether the verdict be wrong or right,
that marriage ceremony is null and void. They are not man
and wife; — not now, even if they ever were. Of course you are
aware of that.’
Mr. Smirkie was altogether wrong in his law. Such men generally are. Mr. Bromley in vain endeavoured to point out to him
that the verdict could have no such power as was here claimed
for it, and that if any claim was to be brought up hereafter as to
the legitimacy of the child, the fact of the verdict could only
be used as evidence, and that that evidence would or would
not be regarded as true by another jury, according to the views
which that other jury might take. Mr. Smirkie would only repeat his statements with increased solemnity — ‘That marriage is no marriage. That poor lady is not Mrs. John Caldigate.
She is Miss Hester Bolton, and, therefore, every breath of air
which she draws under that roof is a sin.’ As he said this out
upon the dike-side he looked about him with manifest regret
that he had no other audience than his brother-in-law.
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
And at last, after much persevering assiduity, Mr. Smirkie
succeeded in reaching Mr. Caldigate himself, and expressed
himself with boldness. He was a man who had at any rate
the courage of his opinions. ‘You have to think of her future
life in this world and in the next,’ he said. ‘And in the next,’ he
repeated with emphasis, when Mr. Caldigate paused.
‘As to what will affect her happiness in this world, sir,’ said
the old man very gravely, ‘I think you can hardly be a judge.’
‘Good repute,’ suggested the clergyman.
‘Has she done anything that ought to lessen the fair fame of
a woman in the estimation of other women? And as to the next
world, in the rewards and punishments of which you presume
it to be your peculiar duty to deal, has she done anything which
you think will subject her to the special wrath of an offended Deity?’ This question he asked with a vehemence of voice
which astounded his companion. ‘She has loved her husband
with a peculiar love,’ he continued. ‘She has believed herself to
be joined to him by ties which you shall call romantic, if you
will — superstitious, if you will.’
‘I hope not — I hope not,’ said Mr. Smirkie, holding up
both his hands, not at all understanding the old man’s meaning, but intending to express horror at ‘superstition,’ which
he supposed to be a peculiar attribute of the Roman Catholic
branch of the Christian Church. ‘Not that I hope.’
‘I cannot fathom, and you, apparently, cannot at all understand, her idea of the sanctity of the marriage vow. But if
you knew anything about her, I think you would refrain from
threatening her with divine wrath; and as you know nothing
about her, I regard such threats, coming from you, as imperti-
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JOHN CALDIGATE
nent unmanly, inhuman, and blasphemous.’ Mr. Caldigate had
commenced this conversation, though vehemently, still in so
argumentative a manner, and in his allusions to the lady’s romantic and superstitious ideas had seemed to yield so much,
that the terrible vigour of his last words struck the poor clergyman almost to the ground. One epithet came out after another, very clearly spoken, with a pause between each of them;
and the speaker, as he uttered them, looked his victim close in
the face. Then he walked slowly away, leaving Mr. Smirkie
fixed to the ground. What had he done? He had simply made
a gentle allusion to the next world, as, surely, it was his duty to
do. Whether this old pagan did or did not believe in a next
world himself, he must at any rate be aware that it is the peculiar business of a clergyman to make such references. As to
‘impertinent’ and ‘unmanly,’ he would let them go by. He was,
he conceived, bound by his calling to be what people called
impertinent, and manliness had nothing to do with him. But
‘inhuman’ and blasphemous!’ Why had he come all the way
over from Plum-cum-Pippins, at considerable personal expense, except in furtherance of that highest humanity which
concerns itself with eternity? And as for blasphemy, it might,
he thought, as well be said that he was blasphemous whenever he read the Bible aloud to his flock! His first idea was to
write an exhaustive letter on the subject to Mr. Caldigate, in
which he would invite that gentleman to recall the offensive words. But as he drove his gig into the parsonage yard
at Plum-cum-Pippins, he made up his mind that this, too, was
among the things which a Christian minister should bear
with patience.
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
But the dropping water always does hollow the stone —
hollow it a little though the impression may not be visible to
the naked eye. Even when rising in his wrath, Mr. Caldigate had
crushed the clergyman by the violence of his language — having been excited to anger chiefly by the thick-headedness of
the man in not having understood the rebuke intended to be
conveyed by his earlier and gentler words — even when leaving the man, with a full conviction that the man was crushed,
the old Squire was aware that he, the stone, was being gradually
hollowed. Hester was now very dear to him. From the first she
had suited his ideas of a wife for his son. And her constancy in
her misery had wound itself into his heart. He quite understood that her welfare should now be his great care. There was
no one else from whom she would listen to a word of advice.
From her husband, whose slightest word would have been
a law to her, no word could now come. From her own family
she was entirely estranged, having been taught to regard them
simply as enemies in this matter. She loved her mother; but in
this matter her mother was her declared enemy. His voice, and
his voice alone, could now reach her ears. As to that great hereafter to which the clergyman had so flippantly alluded, he was
content to leave that to herself. Much as he differed from her
as to details of a creed, he felt sure that she was safe there.
To his thinking, she was the purest human being that had ever
come beneath his notice. Whatever portion of bliss there may
be for mankind in a life after this life, the fullest portion of
that bliss would be hers, whether by reason of her creed or in
spite of it. Accustomed to think much of things, it was thus
that he thought of her in reference to the world to come. But
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as to this world, he was not quite so sure. If she could die and
have that other bliss at once, that would be best — only for
the child, only for the child! But he did doubt. Would it do for
her to ignore that verdict altogether, when his son should be
released from jail, and be to him as though there had been no
verdict? Would not the finger of scorn be pointed at her; —
and, as he thought of it — possibly at future children? Might
it not be better for her to bow to the cruelty of Fate, and consent to be apart from him at any rate while that woman should
be alive? And again, if such would be better, then was it not
clear that no time should be lost in beginning that new life?
If at last it should be ruled that she must go back to her mother,
it would certainly be well that she should do so now, at once,
so that people might know that she had yielded to the verdict.
In this way the stone was hollowed — though the hollowing
had not been made visible to the naked eye of Mr. Smirkie.
He was a man whose conscience did not easily let him rest
when he believed that a duty was incumbent on him. It was his
duty now, he thought, not to bid her go, not to advise her to
go — but to put before her what reasons there might be for
her going.
‘I am telling you,’ he said, ‘what other people say.’
‘I do not regard what other people say.’
‘That might be possible for a man, Hester, but a woman
has to regard what the world says. You are young, and may
have a long life before you. We cannot hide from ourselves
the fact that a most terrible misfortune has fallen upon you,
altogether undeserved but very grievous.’
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
‘God, when he gave me my husband,’ she replied, ‘did me
more good than any man can do me harm by taking him away.
I never cease to tell myself that the blessing is greater than
the misfortune.’
‘But, my dearest ——’
‘I know it all, father. I know what you would tell me. If I live
here after he comes out of prison people will say that I am his
mistress.’
‘Not that, not that,’ he cried, unable to bear the contumely of the word, even from her lips.
‘Yes, father; that is what you mean. That is what they all
mean. That is what mamma means, and Margaret. Let them call
me what they will. It is not what they call me, but what I am.
It is bad for a woman to have evil said of her, but it is worse
for her to do evil. It is your house, and you, of course, can bid
me go.’
‘I will never do that.’
‘But unless I am turned out homeless on to the roads, I will
stay here where he left me. I have only one sure way of doing
right, and that is to obey him as closely as I can. He cannot
order me now, but he has left his orders. He has told me to
remain under this roof, and to call myself by his name, and in
no way to derogate from my own honour as his wife. By God’s
help I will do as he bids me. Nothing that any of them can say
shall turn me an inch from the way he has pointed out. You
are good to me.’
‘I will try to be good to you.’
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