by George Eliot
'ull do you no good by his interferin'. Dissenters are not at all looked on i'
Milby, an' he's as nervous as iver he can be; he'll come back as ill as ill, an'
niver let me hev a wink o' sleep all night."
Mrs Jerome had been frightened at the mention of a mob, and her retrospective
regard for the religious communion of her youth by no means inspired her with
the temper of a martyr. Her husband looked at her with an expression of tender
and grieved remonstrance, which might have been that of the patient patriarch on
the memorable occasion when he rebuked his wife.
"Susan, Susan, let me beg on you not to oppose me, an' put stumblin'-blocks i'
the way o' doin' what's right. I can't give up my conscience, let me give up
what else I may."
"Perhaps," said Mr Tryan, feeling slightly uncomfortable, "since you are not
very strong, my dear sir, it will be well, as Mrs Jerome suggests, that you
should not run the risk of any excitement."
"Say no more, Mr Tryan. I'll stan' by you, sir. It's my duty. It's the cause o'
God, sir; it's the cause o' God."
Mr Tryan obeyed his impulse of admiration and gratitude, and put out his hand to
the white-haired old man, saying, "Thank you, Mr Jerome, thank you."
Mr Jerome grasped the proffered hand in silence, and then threw himself back in
his chair, casting a regretful look at his wife, which seemed to say, "Why don't
you feel with me, Susan?"
The sympathy of this simple-minded old man was more precious to Mr Tryan than
any mere onlooker could have imagined. To persons possessing a great deal of
that facile psychology which prejudges individuals by means of formul�, and
casts them, without further trouble, into duly lettered pigeon-holes, the
Evangelical curate might seem to be doing simply what all other men like to
do�carrying out objects which were identified not only with his theory, which is
but a kind of secondary egoism, but also with the primary egoism of his
feelings. Opposition may become sweet to a man when he has christened it
persecution: a self-obtrusive, over-hasty reformer complacently disclaiming all
merit, while his friends call him a martyr, has not in reality a career the most
arduous to the fleshly mind. But Mr Tryan was not cast in the mould of the
gratuitous martyr. With a power of persistence which had been often blamed as
obstinacy, he had an acute sensibility to the very hatred or ridicule he did not
flinch from provoking. Every form of disapproval jarred him painfully; and,
though he fronted his opponents manfully, and often with considerable warmth of
temper, he had no pugnacious pleasure in the contest. It was one of the
weaknesses of his nature to be too keenly alive to every harsh wind of opinion;
to wince under the frowns of the foolish; to be irritated by the injustice of
those who could not possibly have the elements indispensable for judging him
rightly; and with all this acute sensibility to blame, this dependence on
sympathy, he had for years been constrained into a position of antagonism. No
wonder, then, that good old Mr Jerome's cordial words were balm to him. He had
often been thankful to an old woman for saying "God bless you;" to a little
child for smiling at him; to a dog for submitting to be patted by him.
Tea being over by this time, Mr Tryan proposed a walk in the garden as a means
of dissipating all recollection of the recent conjugal dissidence. Little
Lizie's appeal, "Me go, gandpa!" could not be rejected, so she was duly bonneted
and pinafored, and then they turned out into the evening sunshine. Not Mrs
Jerome, however; she had a deeply-meditated plan of retiring adinterim to the
kitchen and washing up the best tea-things, as a mode of getting forward with
the sadly-retarded business of the day.
"This way, Mr Tryan, this way," said aid the old gentleman' "I must take you to
my pastur fust, an' show you our cow�the best milker i' the county. An' see here
at these back-buildins, how convenent the dairy is; I planned it ivery bit
myself. An' here I've got my little carpenter's shop an' my blacksmith's shop; I
do not end o' jobs here myself. I niver could bear to be idle, Mr Tryan; I must
al'ys be at somtehin' or other. It was time for me to ley by business an mek
room for younger folks. I'd got money enough, wi' only one daughter to leave it
to, an' I says to myself, says I, it's time to leave off moitherin' myself wi'
this world so much, an' give more time to thinkin's of another. But there's a
many hours atween getting up an' lyin' down, an' thoughts are no cumber' you can
move about wi' a good many on em' in your head. See here's the pastur."
A very pretty pasture it was, where the largespotted short-horned cow quietly
chewed the cud as she lay and looked sleepily at her admirers�a daintily-trimmed
hedge all round, dotted here and there with a mountain-ash or a cherry-tree.
"I've a good bit more land besides this, worth your while to look at, but mayhap
its further nor you'd like to walk now. Bless you! I've welly an' acre o'
potato�ground yonters; I've a good big family to supply, you know." (Here Mr
Jerome winked and smiled significantly.) "An' that puts me i' mind, Mr Tryan, o'
summat I wanted to say to you. Clergymen like you, I know, see a deal more
poverty an' that, than other folks, an' hev a many claims on 'em more nor they
can well meet; an' if you'll mek use o' my purse any time, or let me know where
I can be o' any help, I'll tek it very kind on you."
"Thank you, Mr Jerome, I will do so, I promise you. I saw a sad case yesterday;
a collier� a fine broad-chested fellow about thirty�was killed by the falling of
a wall in the Paddiford colliery. I was in one of the cottages near when they
brought him home on a door, and the shriek of the wife has been ringing in my
ears ever since. There are three little children. Happily the woman has her
loom, so she will be able to keep out of the workhouse; but she looks very
delicate."
"Give me her name, Mr Tryan," said Mr Jerome, drawing out his pocket-book. "I'll
call an' see her, I'll call an' see her."
Deep was the fountain of pity in the good old man's heart! He often ate his
dinner stintingly, oppressed by the thought that there were men, women, and
children, with no dinner to sit down to, and would relieve his mind by going out
in the afternoon to look for some need that he could supply, some honest
struggle in which he could lend a helping hand. That any living being should
want, was his chief sorrow; that any rational being should waste, was the next.
Sally, indeed, haging been scolded by master for a too lavish use of sticks in
lighting the kitchen fire, and various instances of recklessness with regard to
candle ends, considered him "as mean as aenythink;" but he had as kindly a
warmth as the morning sunlight, and, like the sunlight, his goodness shone on
all that came in his way, from the saucy rosy-cheeked lad whom he delighted to
make happy with a Christmas box, to the pallid sufferers up dim entries,
languishing under the tardy death or want and misery.
It was very pleasant to Mr Tryan to listen to the simple chat of the old
man�to
walk in the shade of the incomparable orchard, and hear the story of the crops
yielded by the red-streaked apple-tree, and the quite embarrassing plentifulness
of the summer pears�to drink in the sweet evening breath of the garden, as they
sat in the alcove�and so, for a short interval, to feel the strain of his
pastoral task relaxed.
Perhaps he felt the return to that task through the dusty roads all the more
painfully, perhaps something in that quiet shady home had reminded him of the
time before he had taken on him the yoke of self-denial. The strongest heart
will faint sometimes under the feeling that enemies are bitter, and that friends
only know half its sorrows. The most resolute soul will now and then cast back a
yearning look in treading the rough mountain-path, away from the greensward and
laughing voices of the valley. However it was, in the nine o' clock twilight
that evening, when Mr Tryan had entered his small study and turned the key in
the door, he threw himself into the chair before his writing-table, and,
heedless of the papers there, leaned his face low on his hand, and moaned
heavily.
It is apt to be so in this life, I think. While we are coldly discussing a man's
career, sneering at his mistakes, blaming his rashness, and labelling his
opinions�"he is Evangelical and narrow," or "Latitudinarian and Pantheistic," or
"Anglican and supercilious"�that man, in his solitude, is perhaps shedding hot
tears because his sacrifice is a hard one, because strength and patience are
failing him to speak the difficult word, and do the difficult deed.
CHAPTER IX.
Mr Tryan showed no such symptoms of weakness on the critical Sunday. He
unhesitatingly rejected the suggestion that he should be taken to church in Mr
Landor's carriage�a proposition which that gentleman made as an amendment on the
original plan, when the rumours of meditated insult became alarming. Mr Tryan
declared he would have no precautions taken, but would simply trust in God and
his good cause. Some of his more timid friends thought this conduct rather
defiant than wise, and reflecting that a mob has great talents for impromptu,
and that legal redress is imperfect satisfaction for having one's head broken
with a brickbat, were beginning to question their consciences very closely as to
whether it was not a duty they owed to their families to stay at home on Sunday
evening. These timorous persons, however, were in a small minority, and the
generality of Mr Tryan's friends and hearers rather exulted in an opportunity of
braving insult for the sake of a preacher to whom they were attached on personal
as well as doctrinal grounds. Miss Pratt spoke of Cranmer, Riddley, and Latimer,
and observed that the present crisis afforded an occasion for emulating their
heroism even in these degenerate times; while less highly insructed persons,
whose memories were not well stored with precedents, simply expressed their
determination, as Mr Jerome had done, to "stan' by" the preacher and his cause,
believing it to be the "cause of God."
On Sunday evening, then, at a quarter past six, Mr Tryan, setting out from Mr
Londor's with a party of his friends who had assembled there, was soon joined by
two other groups from Mr Pratt's and Mr Dunn's; and stray persons on their way
to church naturally falling into rank behind this leading file, by the time they
reached the entrance of Orchard Street, Mr Tryan's friends formed a considerable
procession, walking three or four abreast. It was in Orchard Street, and towards
the church gates, that the chief crowd was collected; and at Mr Dempster's
drawing-room window, on the upper floor, a more select assembly of
Anti-Tryanites were gathered, to witness the entertaining spectacle of the
Tryanites walking to church amidst the jeers and hootings of the crowd.
To prompt the popular wit with appropriate sobriquets, numerous copies of Mr
Dempster's playbill were posted on the walls, in suitably large and emphatic
type. As it is possible that the most industrious collector of mural literature
may not have been fortunate enough to possess himself of this production, which
ought by all means to he preserved amongst the materials of our provincial
religious history, I subjoin a faithful copy.
GRAND ENTERTAINMENT!!!
To be given at Milby on Sunday evening next, by the Famous Comedian, TRY-IT-ON!
And his first-rate company, including not only an
Unparalleled Cast for Comedy!
But a Large Collection of reclaimd and converted Animals;
Among the rest
A Bear who used to dance!
A Parrot once given to Swearing!!
A Polygamous Pig!!!
and
A Monkey who used to catch fleas on a Sunday!!!!
Together with a
Pair of regenerated Linnets!
With an entirely new song, and plumage.
Mr Try-it-on
Will first pass through the street, in procession, with his unrivalled
Company, warranted to have their eyes turned up
higher, and the corners of their mouths turned down lower,
than any other company of Mountebanks in this circuit!
AFTER WHICH
The Theatre will be opened, and the entertainment will
commence at Half-Past Six,
When will be presented
A piece, never before performed on any stage, entitled,
THE WOLF IN SHEEPS CLOTHING;
or
The Methodist in a Mask.
Mr Boanerges Soft Sawder,Mr Try-it-on.
Old ten-per-cent Godly,Mr Gander.
Dr Feedemup,Mr Tonic.
Mr Lime-Twig Lady-winner,Mr Try-it-on.
Miss Piety Bait-the-hook,Miss Tonic.
Angelica,Miss Seraphina Tonic.
After which
A miscellaneous Musical Interlude, commencing with
The Lamentations of Jerom-iah!
In nasal recitative.
To be followed by
The favourite Cackling Quartette,
by
Two Hen-birds who are no chickens!
The well-known counter-tenor, Mr Done, and a Gander,
lineally descended from the Goose that laid golden eggs!
To conclude with a
Grand Chorus by the
Entire Orchestra of converted Animals!!
But owing to the unavoidable absence (from illness) of
the Bull-dog, who has left off fighting, Mr Tonic has kindly
undertaken, at a moment's notice, to supply the "bark!"
���
The whole to conclude with a
Screaming Farce of
THE PULPIT SNATCHER.
Mr Saintly Smooth-face,Mr Try-it-on!
Mr Worming Sneaker,Mr Try-it-on!!
Mr All-grace No-works,Mr Try-it-on!!!
Mr Elect-and-Chosen Apewell,Mr Try-it-on!!!!
Mr Malevolent Prayerful,Mr Try-it-on!!!!!
Mr Foist-himself Everywhere,Mr Try-it-on!!!!!!
Mr Flout-the-aged Upstart,Mr Try-it-on!!!!!!!
Admission Free. A Collection will be made at the Doors. Vivat Rex!
This satire, though it presents the keenest edge of Milby wit, does not strike
you as lacerating, I imagine. But
hatred is like fire�it makes even light
rubbish deadly. And Mr Dempster's sarcasms were not merely visible on the walls;
they were reflected in the derisive glances, and audible in the jeering voices
of the crowd. Through this pelting shower of nicknames and bad puns, with an ad
libitum accompaniment of groans, howls, hisses, and hee-haws, but of no heavier
missiles, Mr Tryan walked pale and composed, giving his arm to old Mr Landor,
Whose step was feeble. On the other side of him was Mr Jerome, who still walked
firmly, though his shoulders were slightly bowed.
Outwardly Mr Tryan was composed, but inwardly he was suffering acutely from
these tones of hatred and scorn. However strong his consciousness of right, he
found it no stronger armour against such weapons as derisive glances and
virulent words, than against stones and clubs: his conscience was in repose, but
his sensibility was bruised.
Once more only did the Evangelical curate pass up Orchard Street followed by a
train of friends; once more only was there a crowd assembled to witness his
entrance through the church gates. But that second time no voice was heard above
a whisper, and the whispers were words of sorrow and blessing. That second time,
Janet Dempster was not looking on in scorn and merriment; her eyes were worn
with grief and watching, and she was following her beloved friend and pastor to
the grave.
CHAPTER X.
History, we know, is apt to repeat herself, and to foist very old incidents upon
us with only a slight change of costume. From the time of Xerxes downwards, we
have seen generals playing the braggadocio at the outset of their campaigns, and
conquering the enemy with the greatest ease in after-dinner speeches. But events
are apt to be in disgusting discrepancy with the anticipations of the most
ingenious tacticians; the difficulties of the expedition are ridiculously at
variance with able calculations; the enemy has the impudence not to fall into
confusion as had been reasonably expected of him; the mind of the gallant
general begins to be distracted by news of intrigues against him at home, and,
notwithstanding the handsome compliments he paid to Providence as his undoubted
patron before setting out, there seems every probability that the Te Deums will
be all on the other side.
So it fell out with Mr Dempster in his memorable campaign against the
Anti-Tryanites. After all the premature triumph of the return from Elmstoke, the
battle of the Evening Lecture had been lost; the enemy was in possession of the
field; and the utmost hope remaining was, that by a harassing guerilla warfare
he might be driven to evacuate the country.
For some time this sort of warfare was kept up with considerable spirit. The
shafts of Milby ridicule were made more formidable by being poisoned with
calumny; and very ugly stories, narrated with circumstantial minuteness, were
soon in circulation concerning Mr Tryan and his hearers, from which stories it
was plainly deducible that Evangelicalism led by a necessary consequence to
hypocritical indulgence in vice. Some old friendships were broken asunder, and
there were near relations who felt that religious differences, unmitigated by
any prospect of a legacy, were a sufficient ground for exhibiting their family
antipathy. Mr Bud harangued his workmen, and theatened them with dismissal if
they or their families were known to attend the evening lecture; and Mr
Tomlinson, on discovering that his foreman was a rank Tryanite, blustered to a
great extent, and would have cashiered that valuable functionary on the spot, if
such a retributive procedure had not been inconvenient.
On the whole, however, at the end of a few months, the balance of substantial
loss was on the side of the Anti-Tryanites. Mr Pratt, indeed, had lost a patient
or two besides Mr Dempster's family; but as it was evident that Evangelicalism
had not dried up the stream of his anecdote, or in the least altered his view of