by George Eliot
CHAPTER XX.
"Good earthenware pitchers, sir!--of an excellent quaint pattern and sober color."
The market dinner at "the Marquis" was in high repute in Treby and itsneighborhood. The frequenters of this three-and-sixpenny ordinary likedto allude to it, as men allude to anything which implies that they movein good society, and habitually converse with those who are in thesecret of the highest affairs. The guests were not only such ruralresidents as had driven to market, but some of the most substantialtownsmen, who had always assured their wives that business required thisweekly sacrifice of domestic pleasure. The poorer farmers, who put up atthe Ram or the Seven Stars, where there was no fish, felt theirdisadvantage, bearing it modestly or bitterly, as the case might be;and although the Marquis was a Tory house, devoted to Debarry, it wastoo much to expect that such tenants of the Transomes as had always beenused to dine there, should consent to eat a worse dinner, and sit withworse company, because they suddenly found themselves under a Radicallandlord, opposed to the political party known as Sir Maxim's. Hence therecent political divisions had not reduced the handsome length of thetable at the Marquis; and the many gradations of dignity--from Mr. Wace,the brewer, to the rich butcher from Leek Malton, who always modestlytook the lowest seat, though without the reward of being asked to comeup higher--had not been abbreviated by any secessions.
To-day there was an extra table spread for expected supernumeraries, andit was at this that Christian took his place with some of the youngerfarmers, who had almost a sense of dissipation in talking to a man ofhis questionable station and unknown experience. The provision wasespecially liberal, and on the whole the presence of a minority destinedto vote for Transome was a ground for joking, which added to the goodhumor of the chief talkers. A respectable old acquaintance turnedRadical rather against his will, was rallied with even greater gustothan if his wife had had twins twice over. The best Trebian Tories werefar too sweet-blooded to turn against such old friends, and to make nodistinction between them and the Radical, Dissenting, Papistical,Deistical set with whom they never dined, and probably never saw exceptin their imagination. But the talk was necessarily in abeyance until themore serious business of dinner was ended, and the wine, spirits, andtobacco raised mere satisfaction into beatitude.
Among the frequent though not regular guests, whom every one was glad tosee, was Mr. Nolan, the retired London hosier, a wiry old gentleman pastseventy, whose square, tight forehead, with its rigid hedge of grayhair, whose bushy eyebrows, sharp dark eyes, and remarkable hooked nose,gave a handsome distinction to his face in the midst of ruralphysiognomies. He had married a Miss Pendrell early in life, when he wasa poor young Londoner, and the match had been thought as bad as ruin byher family; but fifteen years ago he had had the satisfaction ofbringing his wife to settle amongst her own friends, and of beingreceived with pride as a brother-in-law, retired from business,possessed of unknown thousands, and of a most agreeable talent foranecdote and conversation generally. No question had ever been raisedas to Mr. Nolan's extraction on the strength of his hooked nose, or ofhis name being Baruch. Hebrew names "ran" in the best Saxon families;the Bible accounted for them; and no one among the uplands and hedgerowsof that district was suspected of having an oriental origin unless hecarried a peddler's jewel-box. Certainly, whatever genealogical researchmight have discovered, the worthy Baruch Nolan was so free from anydistinctive marks of religious persuasion--he went to church with soordinary an irregularity, and so often grumbled at the sermon--thatthere was no ground for classing him otherwise than with good TrebianChurchmen. He was generally regarded as a good-looking old gentleman,and a certain thin eagerness in his aspect was attributed to the life ofthe metropolis, where narrow space had the same sort of effect on men ason thickly-planted trees. Mr. Nolan always ordered his pint of port,which, after he had sipped it a little, was wont to animate hisrecollections of the Royal Family, and the various ministries which hadbeen contemporary with the successive stages of his prosperity. He wasalways listened to with interest: a man who had been born in the yearwhen good old King George came to the throne--who had been acquaintedwith the nude leg of the Prince Regent, and hinted at private reasonsfor believing that the Princess Charlotte ought not to have died--hadconversational matter as special to his auditors as Marco Polo couldhave had on his return from his Asiatic travel.
"My good sir," he said to Mr. Wace, as he crossed his knees and spreadhis silk handkerchief over them, "Transome may be returned, or he maynot be returned--that's a question for North Loamshire; but it makeslittle difference to the kingdom. I don't want to say things which mayput younger men out of spirits, but I believe this country has seen it'sbest days--I do, indeed."
"I am sorry to hear it from one of your experience, Mr. Nolan," said thebrewer, a large, happy-looking man. "I'd make a good fight myself beforeI'd leave a worse world for my boys than I've found for myself. Thereisn't a greater pleasure than doing a bit of planting and improvingone's buildings, and investing one's money in some pretty acres of land,and when it turns up here and there--land you've known from a boy. It'sa nasty thought that these Radicals are to turn things round so as onecan calculate on nothing. One doesn't like it for one's self, and onedoesn't like it for one's neighbors. But somehow, I believe it won'tdo: if we can't trust the Government just now, there's Providence andthe good sense of the country; and there's a right in things--that'swhat I've always said--there's a right in things. The heavy end will getdownmost. And if Church and King, and every man being sure of his own,are things good for this country, there's a God above will take care of'em."
"It won't do, my dear sir," said Mr. Nolan--"It won't do. When Peel andthe Duke turned round about the Catholics in '29, I saw it was all overwith us. We could never trust ministers any more. It was to keep off arebellion, they said; but I say it was to keep their places. They'remonstrously fond of place, both of them--that I know." Here Mr. Nolanchanged the crossing of his legs, and gave a deep cough, conscious ofhaving made a point. Then he went on--"What we want is a king with agood will of his own. If we'd had that, we shouldn't have heard whatwe've heard to-day; Reform would never have come to this pass. When ourgood old King George III. heard his ministers talking about CatholicEmancipation, he boxed their ears all round. Ah, poor soul! he didindeed, gentlemen," ended Mr. Nolan, shaken by a deep laugh ofadmiration.
"Well, now, that's something like a king," said Mr. Crowder, who was aneager listener.
"It was uncivil, though. How did they take it?" said Mr. Timothy Rose, a"gentleman farmer" from Leek Malton, against whose independent positionnature had provided the safeguard of a spontaneous servility. His largeporcine cheeks, round twinkling eyes, and thumbs habitually twirling,expressed a concentrated effort not to get into trouble, and to speakeverybody fair except when they were safely out of hearing.
"Take it! they'd be obliged to take it," said the impetuous young Joyce,a farmer of superior information. "Have you ever heard of the king'sprerogative?"
"I don't say but what I have," said Rose, retreating. "I've nothingagainst it--nothing at all."
"No, but the Radicals have," said young Joyce, winking. "The prerogativeis what they want to clip close. They want us to be governed bydelegates from the trades-unions, who are to dictate to everybody, andmake everything square to their mastery."
"They're a pretty set, now, these delegates," said Mr. Wace, withdisgust. "I once heard two of 'em spouting away. They're a sort offellow I'd never employ in my brewery, or anywhere else. I've seen itagain and again. If a man takes to tongue-work it's all over with him.'Everything's wrong,' says he. That's a big text. But does he want tomake everything right? Not he. He'd lose his text. 'We want every man'sgood,' say they. Why, they never knew yet what a man's good is. Howshould they? It's working for his victual--not getting a slice of otherpeople's."
"Ay, ay," said young Joyce, cordially. "I should just have liked all thedelegates in the country mustered for our yeomanry to go into--that'sall. They'd see wh
ere the strength of Old England lay then. You may tellwhat it is for a country to trust to trade when it breeds such spindlingfellows as those."
"That isn't the fault of trade, my good sir," said Mr. Nolan, who wasoften a little pained by the defects of provincial culture. "Trade,properly conducted, is good for a man's constitution. I could have shownyou, in my time, weavers past seventy, with all their faculties as sharpas a pen-knife, doing without spectacles. It's the new system of tradethat's to blame: a country can't have too much trade if it's properlymanaged. Plenty of sound Tories have made their fortune by trade. You'veheard of Calibut & Co.--everybody has heard of Calibut. Well, sir, Iknew old Mr. Calibut as well as I know you. He was once a crony of minein a city warehouse; and now, I'll answer for it, he has a larger rentroll than Lord Wyvern. Bless your soul! his subscriptions to charitieswould make a fine income for a nobleman. And he's as good a Tory as Iam. And as for his town establishment--why, how much butter do you thinkis consumed there annually?"
Mr. Nolan paused, and then his face glowed with triumph as he answeredhis own question. "Why, gentlemen, not less than two thousand pounds ofbutter during the few months the family is in town! Trade makesproperty, my good sir, and property is conservative, as they say now.Calibut's son-in-law is Lord Fortinbras. He paid me a large debt on hismarriage. It's all one web, sir. The prosperity of the country is oneweb."
"To be sure," said Christian, who, smoking his cigar with his chairturned away from the table, was willing to make himself agreeable in theconversation. "We can't do without nobility. Look at France. When theygot rid of the old nobles they were obliged to make new."
"True, very true," said Mr. Nolan, who thought Christian a little toowise for his position, but could not resist the rare gift of an instancein point. "It's the French Revolution that has done us harm here. It wasthe same at the end of the last century, but the war kept it off--Mr.Pitt saved us. I knew Mr. Pitt. I had a particular interview with himonce. He joked me about getting the length of his foot. 'Mr. Nolan,'said he, 'there are those on the other side of the water whose namebegins with N. who would be glad to know what you know.' I wasrecommended to send an account of that to the newspapers after hisdeath, poor man! but I'm not fond of that kind of show myself." Mr.Nolan swung his upper leg a little, and pinched his lip between histhumb and finger, naturally pleased with his own moderation.
"No, no--very right," said Mr. Wace, cordially. "But you never said atruer word than that about property. If a man's got a bit of property, astake in the country, he'll want to keep things square. Where Jack isn'tsafe, Tom's in danger. But that's what makes it such an uncommonly nastything that a man like Transome should take up with these Radicals. It'smy belief he does it only to get into Parliament; he'll turn round whenhe gets there. Come, Dibbs, there's something to put you in spirits,"added Mr. Wace, raising his voice a little and looking at a guest lowerdown. "You've got to vote for a Radical with one side of your mouth, andmake a wry face with the other; but he'll turn round by-and-by. AsParson Jack says, he's got the right sort of blood in him."
"I don't care two straws who I vote for," said Dibbs, sturdily. "I'm notgoing to make a wry face. It stands to reason a man should vote for hislandlord. My farm's in good condition, and I've got the best pasture onthe estate. The rot's never come nigh me. Let them grumble as are on thewrong side of the hedge."
"I wonder if Jermyn'll bring him in, though," said Mr. Sircome, thegreat miller. "He's an uncommon fellow for carrying things through. Iknow he brought me through that suit about my weir; it cost a prettypenny, but he brought me through."
"It's a bit of a pill for him, too, having to turn Radical," said Mr.Wace. "They say he counted on making friends with Sir Maximus, by thisyoung one coming home and joining with Mr. Philip."
"But I'll bet a penny he brings Transome in," said Mr. Sircome. "Folkssay he hasn't got many votes hereabout; but toward Duffield, and allthere, where the Radicals are, everybody's for him. Eh, Mr. Christian?Come--you're at the fountain-head--what do they say about it now at theManor?"
When general attention was called to Christian young Joyce looked downat his own legs and touched the curves of his own hair, as if measuringhis own approximation to that correct copy of a gentleman. Mr. Waceturned his head to listen for Christian's answer with that tolerance ofinferiority which becomes men in places of public resort.
"They think it will be a hard run between Transome and Garstin," saidChristian. "It depends on Transome's getting plumpers."
"Well, I know I shall not split for Garstin," said Mr. Wace. "It'snonsense for Debarry's voters to split for a Whig. A man's either a Toryor not a Tory."
"It seems reasonable there should be one of each side," said Mr. TimothyRose. "I don't like showing favor either way. If one side can't lowerthe poor's rates and take off the tithe, let the other try."
"But there's this in it, Wace," said Mr. Sircome. "I'm not altogetheragainst the Whigs. For they don't want to go so far as the Radicals do,and when they find they've slipped a bit too far they'll hold on all thetighter. And the Whigs have got the upper hand now, and it's no usefighting with the current. I run with the----"
Mr. Sircome checked himself, looked furtively at Christian, and, todivert criticisms, ended with--"eh, Mr. Nolan?"
"There have been eminent Whigs, sir. Mr. Fox was a Whig," said Mr.Nolan. "Mr. Fox was a great orator. He was very intimate with the Princeof Wales. I've seen him, and the Duke of York too, go home by daylightwith their hats crushed. Mr. Fox was a great leader of Opposition:Government requires an Opposition. The Whigs should always be inopposition, and the Tories on the ministerial side. That's what thecountry used to like. 'The Whigs for salt and mustard, the Tories formeat,' Mr. Gottlib, the banker, used to say to me. Mr. Gottlib was aworthy man. When there was a great run on Mr. Gottlib's bank in '16, Isaw a gentleman come in with bags of gold, and say, 'Tell Mr. Gottlibthere's plenty more where that came from.' It stopped the run,gentlemen--it did indeed."
This anecodote was received with great admiration, but Mr. Sircomereturned to the previous question.
"There now, you see, Wace--it's right there should be Whigs as well asTories--Pitt and Fox--I've always heard them go together."
"Well, I don't like Garstin," said the brewer. "I didn't like hisconduct about the Canal Company. Of the two, I like Transome best. If anag is to throw me, I say, let him have some blood."
"As for blood, Wace," said Mr. Salt, the wool-factor, a bilious man, whoonly spoke when there was a good opportunity of contradicting, "ask mybrother-in-law, Labron, a little about that. These Transomes are not theold blood."
"Well, they're the oldest that's forthcoming, I suppose," said Mr. Wace,laughing. "Unless you believe in mad old Tommy Trounsem. I wonder wherethat old poaching fellow is now."
"I saw him half-drunk the other day," said young Joyce. "He'd got aflag-basket with handbills in it over his shoulder."
"I thought the old fellow was dead," said Mr. Wace. "Hey! why, Jermyn,"he went on merrily, as he turned round and saw the attorney entering;"you Radical! how dare you show yourself in this Tory house? Come, thisis going a bit too far. We don't mind Old Harry managing our law forus--that's his proper business from time immemorial; but----"
"But--a--" said Jermyn, smiling, always ready to carry on a joke, towhich his slow manner gave the piquancy of surprise, "if he meddles withpolitics he must be a Tory."
Jermyn was not afraid to show himself anywhere in Treby. He knew manypeople were not exactly fond of him, but a man can do without that, ifhe is prosperous. A provincial lawyer in those old-fashioned days was asindependent of personal esteem as if he had been a Lord Chancellor.
There was a good-humored laugh at this upper end of the room as Jermynseated himself at about an equal angle between Mr. Wace and Christian.
"We were talking about old Tommy Trounsem; you remember him? They sayhe's turned up again," said Mr. Wace.
"Ah?" said Jermyn, indifferently. "But--a--Wace--I'm very busyto-day--but I wanted to
see you about that bit of land of yours at thecorner of Pod's End. I've had a handsome offer for you--I'm not atliberty to say from whom--but an offer that ought to tempt you."
"It won't tempt me," said Mr. Wace, peremptorily, "if I've got a bit ofland, I'll keep it. It's hard enough to get hereabouts."
"Then I'm to understand that you refuse all negotiation?" said Jermyn,who had ordered a glass of sherry, and was looking around slowly as hesipped it, till his eyes seemed to rest for the first time on Christian,though he had seen him at once on entering the room.
"Unless one of the confounded railways should come. But then I'll standout and make 'em bleed for it."
There was a murmur of approbation the railways were a public wrong muchdenunciated in Treby.
"A--Mr. Philip Debarry at the Manor now?" said Jermyn, suddenlyquestioning Christian, in a haughty tone of superiority which he oftenchose to use.
"No," said Christian, "he is expected to-morrow morning."
"Ah!----" Jermyn paused a moment or two, and then said, "You aresufficiently in his confidence, I think, to carry a message to him witha small document?"
"Mr. Debarry has often trusted me so far," said Christian, with muchcoolness; "but if the business is yours, you can probably find some oneyou know better."
There was a little winking and grimacing among those of the company whoheard this answer.
"A--true--a," said Jermyn, not showing any offence; "if you decline. ButI think, if you will do me the favor to step round to my residence onyour way back, and learn the business, you will prefer carrying ityourself. At my residence, if you please--not my office."
"Oh, very well," said Christian. "I shall be very happy." Christiannever allowed himself to be treated as a servant by anyone but hismaster, and his master treated a servant more deferentially than anequal.
"Will it be five o'clock? what hour shall we say?" said Jermyn.
Christian looked at his watch and said, "About five I can be there."
"Very good," said Jermyn, finishing his sherry.
"Well--a--Wace--a--so you will hear nothing about Pod's End?"
"Not I."
"A mere pocket-handkerchief, not enough to swear by-a--" here Jermyn'sface broke into a smile--"without a magnifying-glass."
"Never mind. It's mine into the bowels of the earth and up to the sky. Ican build the Tower of Babel on it if I like--eh, Mr. Nolan?"
"A bad investment, my good sir," said Mr. Nolan, who enjoyed a certainflavor of infidelity in this smart reply, and laughed much at it in hisinward way.
"See now, how blind you Tories are," said Jermyn, rising; "if I had beenyour lawyer, I'd have had you make another forty-shilling freeholderwith that land, and all in time for this election. But--a--the verbumsapientibus comes a little too late now."
Jermyn was moving away as he finished speaking, but Mr. Wace called outafter him, "We're not so badly off for votes as you are--good soundvotes, that'll stand the Revising Barrister. Debarry at the top of thepoll!"
The lawyer was already out of the doorway.