The Way We Live Now

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER LVI.

  FATHER BARHAM VISITS LONDON.

  It was considered to be a great thing to catch the Roman Catholicvote in Westminster. For many years it has been considered a greatthing both in the House and out of the House to "catch" RomanCatholic votes. There are two modes of catching these votes. This orthat individual Roman Catholic may be promoted to place, so that hepersonally may be made secure; or the right hand of fellowship maybe extended to the people of the Pope generally, so that the peopleof the Pope may be taught to think that a general step is beingmade towards the reconversion of the nation. The first measure isthe easier, but the effect is but slight and soon passes away. Thepromoted one, though as far as his prayers go he may remain asgood a Catholic as ever, soon ceases to be one of the party to beconciliated, and is apt after a while to be regarded by them as anenemy. But the other mode, if a step be well taken, may be veryefficacious. It has now and then occurred that every Roman Catholicin Ireland and England has been brought to believe that the nationis coming round to them;--and in this or that borough the sameconviction has been made to grow. To catch the Protestant,--that isthe peculiarly Protestant,--vote and the Roman Catholic vote at thesame instant is a feat difficult of accomplishment; but it has beenattempted before, and was attempted now by Mr. Melmotte and hisfriends. It was perhaps thought by his friends that the Protestantswould not notice the L100 given for the altar to St. Fabricius; butMr. Alf was wide awake, and took care that Mr. Melmotte's religiousopinions should be a matter of interest to the world at large. Duringall that period of newspaper excitement there was perhaps no articlethat created so much general interest as that which appeared in the"Evening Pulpit," with a special question asked at the head of it,"For Priest or Parson?" In this article, which was more than usuallydelightful as being pungent from the beginning to the end and asbeing unalloyed with any dry didactic wisdom, Mr. Alf's man, who didthat business, declared that it was really important that the nationat large and especially the electors of Westminster should know whatwas the nature of Mr. Melmotte's faith. That he was a man of a highlyreligious temperament was most certain by his munificent charitieson behalf of religion. Two noble donations, which by chance had beenmade just at this crisis, were doubtless no more than the regularcontinuation of his ordinary flow of Christian benevolence. The"Evening Pulpit" by no means insinuated that the gifts were intendedto have any reference to the approaching election. Far be it fromthe "Evening Pulpit" to imagine that so great a man as Mr. Melmottelooked for any return in this world from his charitable generosity.But still, as Protestants naturally desired to be representedin Parliament by a Protestant member, and as Roman Catholics asnaturally desired to be represented by a Roman Catholic, perhaps Mr.Melmotte would not object to declare his creed.

  This was biting, and of course did mischief; but Mr. Melmotte and hismanager were not foolish enough to allow it to actuate them in anyway. He had thrown his bread upon the waters, assisting St. Fabriciuswith one hand and the Protestant curates with the other, and mustleave the results to take care of themselves. If the Protestantschose to believe that he was hyper-protestant, and the Catholicsthat he was tending towards papacy, so much the better for him. Anyenthusiastic religionists wishing to enjoy such conviction's wouldnot allow themselves to be enlightened by the manifestly interestedmalignity of Mr. Alf's newspaper.

  It may be doubted whether the donation to the Curates' Aid Societydid have much effect. It may perhaps have induced a resolution insome few to go to the poll whose minds were active in regard toreligion and torpid as to politics. But the donation to St. Fabriciuscertainly had results. It was taken up and made much of by the RomanCatholic party generally, till a report got itself spread abroad andalmost believed that Mr. Melmotte was going to join the Church ofRome. These manoeuvres require most delicate handling, or evil mayfollow instead of good. On the second afternoon after the questionhad been asked in the "Evening Pulpit," an answer to it appeared,"For Priest and not for Parson." Therein various assertions made byRoman Catholic organs and repeated in Roman Catholic speeches werebrought together, so as to show that Mr. Melmotte really had at lastmade up his mind on this important question. All the world knewnow, said Mr. Alf's writer, that with that keen sense of honestywhich was the Great Financier's peculiar characteristic,--the GreatFinancier was the name which Mr. Alf had specially invented for Mr.Melmotte,--he had doubted, till the truth was absolutely borne inupon him, whether he could serve the nation best as a Liberal or asa Conservative. He had solved that doubt with wisdom. And now thisother doubt had passed through the crucible, and by the aid of fire agolden certainty had been produced. The world of Westminster at lastknew that Mr. Melmotte was a Roman Catholic. Now nothing was clearerthan this,--that though catching the Catholic vote would greatly helpa candidate, no real Roman Catholic could hope to be returned. Thislast article vexed Mr. Melmotte, and he proposed to his friends tosend a letter to the "Breakfast Table" asserting that he adheredto the Protestant faith of his ancestors. But, as it was suspectedby many, and was now being whispered to the world at large, thatMelmotte had been born a Jew, this assurance would perhaps have beentoo strong. "Do nothing of the kind," said Mr. Beauchamp Beauclerk."If any one asks you a question at any meeting, say that you are aProtestant. But it isn't likely, as we have none but our own people.Don't go writing letters."

  But unfortunately the gift of an altar to St. Fabricius was sucha godsend that sundry priests about the country were determinedto cling to the good man who had bestowed his money so well. Ithink that many of them did believe that this was a great sign of abeauteous stirring of people's minds in favour of Rome. The ferventRomanists have always this point in their favour, that they are readyto believe. And they have a desire for the conversion of men whichis honest in an exactly inverse ratio to the dishonesty of the meanswhich they employ to produce it. Father Barham was ready to sacrificeanything personal to himself in the good cause,--his time, hishealth, his money when he had any, and his life. Much as he liked thecomfort of Carbury Hall, he would never for a moment condescend toensure its continued enjoyment by reticence as to his religion. RogerCarbury was hard of heart. He could see that. But the dropping ofwater might hollow the stone. If the dropping should be put an endto by outward circumstances before the stone had been impressed thatwould not be his fault. He at any rate would do his duty. In thatfixed resolution Father Barham was admirable. But he had no scruplewhatsoever as to the nature of the arguments he would use,--or asto the facts which he would proclaim. With the mingled ignorance ofhis life and the positiveness of his faith he had at once made uphis mind that Melmotte was a great man, and that he might be made agreat instrument on behalf of the Pope. He believed in the enormousproportions of the man's wealth,--believed that he was powerful inall quarters of the globe,--and believed, because he was so told by"The Surplice," that the man was at heart a Catholic. That a manshould be at heart a Catholic, and live in the world professing theProtestant religion, was not to Father Barham either improbable ordistressing. Kings who had done so were to him objects of veneration.By such subterfuges and falsehood of life had they been best ableto keep alive the spark of heavenly fire. There was a mystery andreligious intrigue in this which recommended itself to the youngpriest's mind. But it was clear to him that this was a peculiartime,--in which it behoved an earnest man to be doing something. Hehad for some weeks been preparing himself for a trip to London inorder that he might spend a week in retreat with kindred souls whofrom time to time betook themselves to the cells of St. Fabricius.And so, just at this season of the Westminster election, FatherBarham made a journey to London.

  He had conceived the great idea of having a word or two with Mr.Melmotte himself. He thought that he might be convinced by a word ortwo as to the man's faith. And he thought, also, that it might be ahappiness to him hereafter to have had intercourse with a man whowas perhaps destined to be the means of restoring the true faith tohis country. On Saturday night,--that Saturday night on which Mr.Melmotte had so successful
ly exercised his greatness at the IndiaOffice,--he took up his quarters in the cloisters of St. Fabricius;he spent a goodly festive Sunday among the various Romanist churchservices of the metropolis; and on the Monday morning he salliedforth in quest of Mr. Melmotte. Having obtained that address fromsome circular, he went first to Abchurch Lane. But on this day, andon the next, which would be the day of the election, Mr. Melmotte wasnot expected in the City, and the priest was referred to his presentprivate residence in Bruton Street. There he was told that the greatman might probably be found in Grosvenor Square, and at the house inthe square Father Barham was at last successful. Mr. Melmotte wasthere superintending the arrangements for the entertainment of theEmperor.

  The servants, or more probably the workmen, must have been at faultin giving the priest admittance. But in truth the house was ingreat confusion. The wreaths of flowers and green boughs were beingsuspended, last daubs of heavy gilding were being given to the woodencapitals of mock pilasters, incense was being burned to kill thesmell of the paint, tables were being fixed and chairs were beingmoved; and an enormous set of open presses were being nailed togetherfor the accommodation of hats and cloaks. The hall was chaos, andpoor Father Barham, who had heard a good deal of the Westminsterelection, but not a word of the intended entertainment of theEmperor, was at a loss to conceive for what purpose these operationswere carried on. But through the chaos he made his way, and did soonfind himself in the presence of Mr. Melmotte in the banqueting hall.

  Mr. Melmotte was attended both by Lord Alfred and his son. He wasstanding in front of the chair which had been arranged for theEmperor, with his hat on one side of his head, and he was very angryindeed. He had been given to understand when the dinner was firstplanned, that he was to sit opposite to his august guest;--by whichhe had conceived that he was to have a seat immediately in face ofthe Emperor of Emperors, of the Brother of the Sun, of the CelestialOne himself. It was now explained to him that this could not bedone. In face of the Emperor there must be a wide space, so that hisMajesty might be able to look down the hall; and the royal princesseswho sat next to the Emperor, and the royal princes who sat nextto the princesses, must also be so indulged. And in this way Mr.Melmotte's own seat became really quite obscure. Lord Alfred washaving a very bad time of it. "It's that fellow from 'The Herald'office did it, not me," he said, almost in a passion. "I don't knowhow people ought to sit. But that's the reason."

  "I'm d---- if I'm going to be treated in this way in my own house,"were the first words which the priest heard. And as Father Barhamwalked up the room and came close to the scene of action, unperceivedby either of the Grendalls, Mr. Melmotte was trying, but trying invain, to move his own seat nearer to Imperial Majesty. A bar had beenput up of such a nature that Melmotte, sitting in the seat preparedfor him, would absolutely be barred out from the centre of his ownhall. "Who the d---- are you?" he asked, when the priest appearedclose before his eyes on the inner or more imperial side of the bar.It was not the habit of Father Barham's life to appear in sleekapparel. He was ever clothed in the very rustiest brown black thatage can produce. In Beccles where he was known it signified little,but in the halls of the great one in Grosvenor Square, perhaps thestranger's welcome was cut to the measure of his outer man. A comelypriest in glossy black might have been received with better grace.

  Father Barham stood humbly with his hat off. He was a man of infinitepluck; but outward humility--at any rate at the commencement of anenterprise,--was the rule of his life. "I am the Rev. Mr. Barham,"said the visitor. "I am the priest of Beccles in Suffolk. I believe Iam speaking to Mr. Melmotte."

  Father Barham.]

  "That's my name, sir. And what may you want? I don't know whether youare aware that you have found your way into my private dining-roomwithout any introduction. Where the mischief are the fellows, Alfred,who ought to have seen about this? I wish you'd look to it, Miles.Can anybody who pleases walk into my hall?"

  "I came on a mission which I hope may be pleaded as my excuse," saidthe priest. Although he was bold, he found it difficult to explainhis mission. Had not Lord Alfred been there he could have done itbetter, in spite of the very repulsive manner of the great manhimself.

  "Is it business?" asked Lord Alfred.

  "Certainly it is business," said Father Barham with a smile.

  "Then you had better call at the office in Abchurch Lane,--in theCity," said his lordship.

  "My business is not of that nature. I am a poor servant of the Cross,who is anxious to know from the lips of Mr. Melmotte himself that hisheart is inclined to the true Faith."

  "Some lunatic," said Melmotte. "See that there ain't any knivesabout, Alfred."

  "No otherwise mad, sir, than they have ever been accounted mad whoare enthusiastic in their desire for the souls of others."

  "Just get a policeman, Alfred. Or send somebody; you'd better not goaway."

  "You will hardly need a policeman, Mr. Melmotte," continued thepriest. "If I might speak to you alone for a few minutes--"

  "Certainly not;--certainly not. I am very busy, and if you will notgo away you'll have to be taken away. I wonder whether anybody knowshim."

  "Mr. Carbury, of Carbury Hall, is my friend."

  "Carbury! D---- the Carburys! Did any of the Carburys send you here?A set of beggars! Why don't you do something, Alfred, to get rid ofhim?"

  "You'd better go," said Lord Alfred. "Don't make a rumpus, there's agood fellow;--but just go."

  "There shall be no rumpus," said the priest, waxing wrathful. "Iasked for you at the door, and was told to come in by your ownservants. Have I been uncivil that you should treat me in thisfashion?"

  "You're in the way," said Lord Alfred.

  "It's a piece of gross impertinence," said Melmotte. "Go away."

  "Will you not tell me before I go whether I shall pray for you as onewhose steps in the right path should be made sure and firm; or as onestill in error and in darkness?"

  "What the mischief does he mean?" asked Melmotte.

  "He wants to know whether you're a papist," said Lord Alfred.

  "What the deuce is it to him?" almost screamed Melmotte;--whereuponFather Barham bowed and took his leave.

  "That's a remarkable thing," said Melmotte,--"very remarkable." Eventhis poor priest's mad visit added to his inflation. "I suppose hewas in earnest."

  "Mad as a hatter," said Lord Alfred.

  "But why did he come to me in his madness--to me especially? That'swhat I want to know. I'll tell you what it is. There isn't a manin all England at this moment thought of so much as--your humbleservant. I wonder whether the 'Morning Pulpit' people sent him herenow to find out really what is my religion."

  "Mad as a hatter," said Lord Alfred again;--"just that and no more."

  "My dear fellow, I don't think you've the gift of seeing very far.The truth is they don't know what to make of me;--and I don't intendthat they shall. I'm playing my game, and there isn't one of 'emunderstands it except myself. It's no good my sitting here, you know.I shan't be able to move. How am I to get at you if I want anything?"

  "What can you want? There'll be lots of servants about."

  "I'll have this bar down, at any rate." And he did succeed in havingremoved the bar which had been specially put up to prevent hisintrusion on his own guests in his own house. "I look upon thatfellow's coming here as a very singular sign of the times," he wenton to say. "They'll want before long to know where I have my clothesmade, and who measures me for my boots!" Perhaps the most remarkablecircumstance in the career of this remarkable man was the fact thathe came almost to believe in himself.

  Father Barham went away certainly disgusted; and yet not altogetherdisheartened. The man had not declared that he was not a RomanCatholic. He had shown himself to be a brute. He had blasphemedand cursed. He had been outrageously uncivil to a man whom he musthave known to be a minister of God. He had manifested himself tothis priest, who had been born an English gentleman, as being nogentleman. But, not the less might he be a good Catholi
c,--or goodenough at any rate to be influential on the right side. To his eyesMelmotte, with all his insolent vulgarity, was infinitely a morehopeful man than Roger Carbury. "He insulted me," said Father Barhamto a brother religionist that evening within the cloisters of St.Fabricius.

  "Did he intend to insult you?"

  "Certainly he did. But what of that? It is not by the hands ofpolished men, nor even of the courteous, that this work has to bedone. He was preparing for some great festival, and his mind wasintent upon that."

  "He entertains the Emperor of China this very day," said the brotherpriest, who, as a resident in London, heard from time to time whatwas being done.

  "The Emperor of China! Ah, that accounts for it. I do think that heis on our side, even though he gave me but little encouragement forsaying so. Will they vote for him, here at Westminster?"

  "Our people will. They think that he is rich and can help them."

  "There is no doubt of his wealth, I suppose," said Father Barham.

  "Some people do doubt;--but others say he is the richest man in theworld."

  "He looked like it,--and spoke like it," said Father Barham. "Thinkwhat such a man might do, if he be really the wealthiest man in theworld! And if he had been against us would he not have said so?Though he was uncivil, I am glad that I saw him." Father Barham, witha simplicity that was singularly mingled with his religious cunning,made himself believe before he returned to Beccles that Mr. Melmottewas certainly a Roman Catholic.